The heavy grey mist that blanketed Bournemouth provided Werner a degree of camouflage. Ahead, there was a slight shimmer of the air. It became warped and twisted before it transformed to a soft susurration of wind. The 10:45 trolleybus passed, the last along this route, on its way to dock for the night. An angry wind swooped up from the ocean side, its salty taste igniting unwelcome memories. The small, limp body in his sack stirred. In the pub across the street the lights went on and movement within made him hesitate. Several minutes passed before the pub once again was plunged into darkness. Hands numbed with coldness, he adjusted the oversized potato sack slung over his shoulder and continued along Fisherman’s Walk.
Ahead, the marquee above the Palladium Cinema had been turned off, closed for more than an hour. He had been among the last to leave. His prey moved again. Damn! The chloroform must be wearing off. He quickened his pace. Newspaper wrappers that once housed fish and chips, swirled about in the wind, companion to other...