NOMINATED FOR THECRIME WRITERS' ASSOCIATIONDEBUT DAGGER AWARD
The killer picked up his rucksack, nodded at thestill-stunned group and walked away, up the overgrown pathtowards the houses. The rest smoked fags, slowly calming down.'Fuck's sake,' said one.'I wouldn't trust that cunt as far as I could throw him,' said another, nodding after the killer.'What the fuck did Luke do, anyway?' said the third,still staring at the limp body.'Fuck knows,' said the kid. 'He did enough anyways.Snitched?''Fuck's sake. He'd never snitch. Never. This iscuntin civil war. There'll be wigs on the Green before this isplayed out.''Come on boys. Into the river with him. I'm gagginfor a pint of cider.''He's still pumpin.''Leave him a minute, so.'So they smoked more cigarettes, watched theblood ooze. The twitching heart finally stalled completely. Two lifted the upper body - an arm and an armpit each -and the other took the feet. The ruined corpse slipped intothe water and sank quickly, towards the deepest current. Themachete followed, glinting. A flood was up.