Which left the most damning bit of evidence.
Andrew pulled his night-vision goggles from the bag.
Only they were, like, nearlythree hundred quid.
Maybe a good going over with antibacterial wipes would do it? But there was one thing he absolutely couldnotkeep.
He popped open the small rectangular cover on the goggles’ housing, and ejected the micro SD card hidden inside.
Because even thick bastards like DS Davis’s mates might find a recording of Andrew breaking into the victim’s home alittlesuspicious.
He clutched the fingernail-sized card in his fist.
What if dumping it in the incinerator wasn’t enough? Police IT guys could recover all sorts of things these days. You saw them do it on the telly all the time.
Have to record over everything a few times, first...Or download one of those file shredders off the internet.
Yeah, but the card had some of his favourite creeps on it.
That didn’t sodding matter.
The choice was ‘getting away with this’ or ‘ending up in prison for the rest of his life’.
Besides, it wasn’t like this was the end of Andrew’s creepingcareer, was it? Could make a new videotomorrow, if he wanted...
Yeah, but maybe one last look for old-times’ sake? Before he destroyed everything.
Andrew’s bedroom was at the back of the house, meaning he had a perfect view of the garden incinerator, smouldering away, giving off an evil orange glow.
Sitting at his childhood desk, he reached out and lowered the blinds, shutting the outside world away. Because even though it was highly sodding unlikely someone would march across the field, climb the garden wall, and scramble through the hacked-back bushes, to peer in through his bedroom window and watch him sitting here in the nip, having a wank – better safe than sorry.
It wasn’t a big bedroom, but then it wasn’t a big house.
Which is why, even though he had black satin sheets, his bed was a single. Posters for the films he’d loved growing up, lined the walls:Nanny McPheeandKung Fu Pandarubbing shoulders withThe Dark KnightandReservoir Dogs.
To start with, he’d put Post-its over their eyes, so they couldn’t see him sitting there, all naked, bashing away, but they were used to it now.
Quick check to make sure the bedroom door was locked, and Andrew fired up the laptop he’d nicked from that woman in Danestone – the one who’d stayed out all night, instead of coming home while he hid in her wardrobe.
One of his non-good-night creeps.
But then he’d needed a new computer anyway, and you’d have to be an idiot to steal something like that from a woman you’d just given a ‘treat’.
Too much risk of being tied back to the event.
So: the blinds were down, the door locked, his clothesneatly folded and put away. He had his hand lotion and his box of tissues ready. Headphones on.
But before he gavehimselfa ‘treat’ – probably best to check the footage from last night. Yes, it would ruin the mood, but better to get it out of the way now, rather than leaving it hanging over him.
Deep breath.
Then Andrew clicked play.
A fancy-looking garden filled the laptop’s screen. Much bigger than the one here. Better-kept as well, because rich wankers like this always had little men to do the gardening for them, didn’t they. The scene was from above, looking down at trees and bushes and the back of the house, all rendered in a sickly shade of night-vision green.
Then Andrew jumped from the fence, into a manicured border. Freezing as the security light clacked on.
Count to ten...
