Miriam Clendon lay down the small bunch of flowers and pulled her coat tight around her aging body. The wind was biting today, whipping into the coast and rolling up and over the cliffs that formed the border between the village and the sea, battering the dwindling clumps of farms and cottages that formed Flintsea.
My heart was going mental as Monica turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. The only light in the hallway was a dim yellow glow coming from a room to the left. I knew that room – the bedroom – right down to the last detail. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d been in this flat. These days, Monica was the only prostitute I would ever fuck. There was a time when I’d screw any of them. I realised how easy it was, and I just went for it. It didn’t matter what they looked like as long as they opened their legs. Nowadays, though, things were different. I’d known Monica for a while now. She was good at what she did and she wasn’t bad looking, so I didn’t mess with the others anymore.