Their mock-up portraits hadn’t overly concerned him. The shot of Nelly and her loaded trolley exiting the public toilets concerned him. He was making mistakes, and get two of them side by side and like mice they bred. He’d bred up a plague with this one, and he’d known it. He’d intended buying Nelly a new outfit, just hadn’t got around to it. He had to finish this. He had to get rid of her and the Kingswood, then get out of this place and keep his head down. He checked his watch as he unlocked the gate. Plenty of time. He drove through, got out, closed and locked it, and cursed the neighbour who’d caused him to lock it. That padlock was a mistake. It advertised ownership. The newness of it advertised recent occupation. He cursed the hunters for forcing his hand with this one. He’d made his own rules with the others, had decided when the time was right. The time wasn’t right. It was necessary. The Herald Sun had printed a photograph of a Kingswood, cleaner, in better condition than his, but otherwise identical, and every man and his dog in Victoria would recognise it if they passed it on the road.
What do You think about The Silent Inheritance (2015)?
