Week Twenty-Eight

Again continuing on from previous weeks…

The murderer pressed the ‘STOP’ bell on Malta Avenue, only 6 stops before hers. He stood up slowly, as if he didn’t want to look too eager to get to the front of the bus. She watched him closely. He didn’t seem like a murderer, from her limited knowledge of murderers. He seemed too ordinary. No tattoos, no creepy glasses or facial hair. She remembered that being what struck her when she saw him on the news.

Suddenly, everyone on the bus turned to the left, eyes glued to a Police crime scene at number 40.  The blue flashing lights bounced off the surrounding windows and flickered across the faces of the passengers, and stringy yellow crime tape crowned the ordinary-looking garden. This was probably the most exciting thing everyone would see today, and she could imagine them all going home to their wives and husbands and parents saying ‘Have you heard anything about what’s happened on Malta Avenue? Hundreds of police cars there there was!’.

As soon as the bus turned the corner onto Grape Crescent, the atmosphere on the bus settled a little, and she noticed that the murderer had sat back down again. When the bus fizzed to a halt, he didn’t get off and she could see that the driver looked confused in his rear-view mirror, waiting for a passenger to get off, but no one did. He drove on.

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