He watched and waited, playing his favourite guessing game. Who was going to die tonight? He was sitting in the car with the engine running to keep the windows from steaming up. Autumn was his favourite time of year; he liked the dark nights and the frosty mornings, although today had been dismal. He’d been parked up the street from The Ball and Chain for an hour already. The dirty grey rainclouds that had filled the sky when he arrived had now turned black. The whole time his knees had been twitching; he kept clenching and unclenching his knuckles. His tongue kept snaking from his mouth and licking his lips. The excitement and anticipation were almost too much to bear. There were no stars or moon to illuminate the streets tonight and he liked it that way – the darker the better. It matched his soul.

The Ball and Chain was your typical working-class pub, full of contractors and locals who wanted cheap beer, cheap food and even cheaper women. Not that he knew the clientele particularly well; he’d only been inside once, a few weeks ago. There had been some old guys and a woman with bleached-blonde hair sitting by herself in the corner, nursing a large glass of wine.

Tonight the same woman had been out three times for a cigarette, first on her own and then with a couple of older men. At a guess she was in her early fifties, and was wearing jeans which looked as if they’d been spray-painted on. The top she was in wouldn’t have looked any better on a twenty-year-old because it was far too short to be flattering. He could see the pasty rolls of her stomach falling over the waistband of her jeans. Her two-inch, black roots were in dire need of a retouch, which made her the perfect victim: she was a very good match. Each time she came outside she stumbled that little bit more. He was wondering if she’d be there until closing time and hoped to God they didn’t have a lock-in.

Finally his patience was rewarded when there was a commotion, and loud shouting came from the direction of the pub. He looked up from the book he was reading to see the barmaid pushing the woman out. She wasn’t going without a fight and she swung for the younger woman, who expertly dodged the fist that came her way. The woman stumbled backwards and the pub door was slammed shut. She stepped forward and began to pound on the door with her fists. Nobody answered and he smiled as the rain, which had been threatening to fall all night, began to hammer against the car bonnet.

The woman, after screaming at the closed door, turned and began to stumble towards the car. She had her phone out and was trying to press the buttons. He assumed she was trying to call a taxi, but all he could hear was her muttering. She walked past his car and he watched her bouncing off the pebble-dashed wall of the pub, wondering how much alcohol she’d consumed.

He put the car in gear and followed her for a little while; then, as he pulled up next to her, he wound the window down.

‘Would you like a lift?’

She looked at his Volkswagen Golf and shook her head; if he’d been driving a Mercedes she would have said yes. He felt the anger rise in his chest: who was she to judge him? She looked back down at her phone, trying to dial, but she managed to drop it and she swore loudly. She swayed from side to side as the rain, which had begun to fall more heavily now, lashed against her, soaking through her clothes. He jumped out of the car, bent down to pick up the phone and handed it to her.

‘Thanks.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want a lift? You’ll never get a taxi now.’

He got back into the car, about to drive off, but she was shaking her head. He slowly pulled away from the kerb and she shouted, ‘Stop! Yes, please.’

He braked, leant across and opened the passenger door for her to get in. She did, her silver-blonde, shoulder-length hair hanging limply around her face and her mascara running, leaving dark trails down her cheeks.

‘Where to?’

She gave her address, which wasn’t that far away. He would have to pass Strawberry Fields to get to her house, which was perfect.

‘Thank you, it’s very kind of you. What’s your name?’

He didn’t look at her; he didn’t want to make polite conversation. She didn’t let that deter her, pulling down the sun visor as she winced at her reflection.

‘Bloody hell, I didn’t realise I looked like a sopping mess. It isn’t half raining – I’d have brought my umbrella if I’d known.’

He smiled at her. She didn’t strike him as the coat-wearing, umbrella-carrying type.

‘Do you live near the pub, then? I think I’ve seen you in there. It used to be all right in there until that snotty bitch took over.’

He looked at the clock on the dashboard and indicated to take the turning that led to the main entrance to Strawberry Fields.

She screeched. ‘Wrong way, darling, straight on to the traffic lights, turn right then it’s your first left. If you’ve got nowhere else to go you can come in for a coffee.’ She began to giggle and he felt his stomach lurch at the very thought of sitting on her sofa drinking coffee.

He ignored her and carried on turning.

‘Where you going? I told you it’s not the right way.’

He shrugged. ‘I’ve just got to pick something up.’

He noticed that she was sitting upright now, sensing that something was wrong. How perceptive of her – even though she smelt like a distillery, her natural survival instinct had kicked in.

As he pulled into the small car park in front of the huge expanse of grass, which was used for rugby training, she seemed to sober up a little. He snapped on a pair of blue latex gloves.

‘What you doing?’

‘I thought we could get to know each other a little bit better.’

He reached out to stroke her hair and she drew away from him.

‘Not in a car park while you’re wearing those. Fuck off, you freak.’

She opened the car door and he tried to grab her soaking wet top. She tugged herself away from him and he laughed. Picking up the hammer he had tucked out of sight in the driver’s side pocket, he got out of the car and followed her. Her phone began to ring and she fumbled to answer it, her fingers too wet to slide across the screen and unlock it.

The loud crack as the hammer smashed against the top of her skull startled him; he hadn’t expected it to sound so loud and he flinched. She dropped the phone and fell to her knees. He stamped on the phone before she could scream for help. He needed time to finish it. The woman was kneeling in the rain, dazed and unaware of what had just happened. A river of blood was running down her face and she looked as if she were in some awkward prayer position. It had been so long he’d almost forgotten how good the rush of adrenaline felt as his blood pumped faster around his body, the excitement filling his veins. Taking a mental snapshot of the scene in front of him he stepped towards her, swinging the hammer as hard as he could.