After all, Carlton Park is the biggest park within the city boundaries, and there's a brass-band concert there every Sunday from April to September. I deliberately kept the cam corder at chest level rather than on my shoulder; I've read of instances where correct estimates of height have been made simply from the angle photographs have been taken from. If some forensic scientist was going to draw any conclusions from this video, I wanted to be sure they would be the wrong ones.
Leaving the bandstand behind, I walked down the nature trail towards the shrubbery. I panned across the general area where I thought I'd dump the body, then stopped filming. I passed nobody on my way back to the jeep. That was probably just as well, since I was grinning from ear to ear at the thought of the news editor puzzling over my Christmas message.
The message would also serve two other functions. It would minimize the time it took to identify Gareth's body, which meant the publicity machine would have plenty of fodder to keep it going through what was always a slack news period. Secondly, it would send the police on a wild goose chase, working out who could have had access to the Christmas cards.
The police might even decide that someone connected with Gareth through work had decided to bump him off and make it look like a copycat killing by dumping the body in a gay cruising area. just the sort of thing a deranged and disillusioned client would do. If I got really lucky, they might even give the bitch a hard time, too.
I drove into the city centre to post the packet at the main post office. There were enough last-minute panicking gift-givers for me to be unremarkable. I stopped at an off licence on the way back to buy a bottle of champagne. I don't normally drink when I'm working, but this was a special occasion.
When I got back, Gareth was semi-conscious, mumbling incomprehensibly.
"Santa's here," I said cheerfully as I came down the stairs. I popped the cork on the champagne and poured two glasses. I took one over to Gareth and, standing on tiptoe, I gently lifted his lolling head. I held the glass to his lips and tilted it.
"You'll enjoy this," I said.
"It's vintage Dom Perignon."
His eyes snapped wide open. for a moment, he looked bewildered, then he remembered and he fixed me with a look of pure hatred. But he was parched, and couldn't resist the champagne. He swallowed it greedily, not savouring it rR at all. Then he belched in my face, a look of strange satisfaction in his eyes.
"Wasted on you," I said angrily.
"Like all the fine things - in life." I stepped back and slashed the glass across his face. 'or It shattered against his nose, cutting his cheek to ribbons.
I was glad Auntie Doris wouldn't be coming back. She'd a had that set of six fragile crystal glasses as a silver-wedding P6 present, and she'd never used them, terrified that someone ca' would break one.
She'd been right to be concerned. R Gareth shook his head.
"You're evil," he slurred.
"Pure w evil."
"No, I'm not," I said softly.
"I'm justice. Remember justice? It's what you're supposed to stand for." 1 "Twisted, evil bastard," he replied. I couldn't believe he still had the stamina for bravado.
It was time to show him who was boss. I'd already pinned his hands to the cross with a couple of cold chisels. The blood had congealed around them, black and hard. How it was the turn of his feet.
When he saw me pick up my tools from the workbench, he finally cracked.
"There's no need for this," he said desperately.
"Please. You could still let me go. They'd never find you. I've no idea where we are. I don't know who you are, where you live, what you do for a living. You could move away from Bradfield and they'd never find you."
I took a step closer. Tears welled up in his eyes and spilled over, trickling through the blood on his cheek. They must have stung, but he never flinched.
"Please," he whispered.
"It's not too late. Even if you killed those other men. Was it you who killed them?"
He was smart, I had to give him that. Too smart for his own good.
He'd just earned himself some more suffering. I turned away and dropped the chisel and club hammer on the workbench. Let him think I was having second thoughts.