‘You mean you travelled all the way from Surrey? On your own?’
Lydia kept an embarrassed silence.
‘Did the taxi driver say anything to you?’
‘Like what, Jack?’
‘Did he ask what you were doing? Where you lived? What you were up to?’
Lydia thought. ‘No, I’m pretty sure he didn’t ask anything like that. He kept talking, but I wasn’t listening if I’m honest.’
‘We need to clean this up. Her partner, Dana, could be back any minute. Then we’re screwed,’ Jack warned. He found a mop stood next to the fridge in the kitchen and filled a bucket he’d found under the sink with water. Then he spent ten minutes mopping the hallway floor. The thick blood oozed and stuck to the mop head. Jack winced at the squelch as it dropped into the water.
‘Lydia, did you go anywhere else in the house?’
‘No. I came into the hall, shoved her – Oh, the kitchen. That was the only other place. I was looking for a charger.’
‘You’re sure? Did you go upstairs?’
‘No. Nowhere else.’ Lydia wondered suddenly if she had gone upstairs or into the garden. She fought to determine the facts, to get it straight in her mind.
Jack went back to the kitchen and took a cloth from under the sink. He wiped along the table, the chairs and finally, he ran the mop over the kitchen floor, hoping Chloe’s wife didn’t become suspicious when she returned home. He couldn’t use detergent; the smell would arouse suspicion.
‘Right, we need to place the body in the boot of my car. We have no choice. It’s dark and if we move quickly, it should be okay. We lift her and bring the body straight outside. Are you ready?’ Jack was concerned they’d be seen. He was an accomplice to murder.
Lydia had gained a little composure. She was more confident now that Jack was here. ‘I’ll check if anyone’s outside.’
‘Okay. I’ll wait. Be quick, Lydia.’
She returned a minute later. ‘It’s clear.’
Jack placed his arms under Chloe’s shoulders. She was heavier than he’d imagined – the realisation of what Lydia had done suddenly dawned on him. ‘Oh Christ, this is awful. Quick, grab her legs. We have to be fast, Lydia. Hurry.’
Once they had the body in the air, they manoeuvred Chloe out to the car. Jack drove a dark blue BMW and kept it in immaculate condition. The body was going to cause a stench. Lydia was panting heavily and had to drop Chloe’s legs a couple of times. When they reached the end of the drive, they placed her down on the pavement to open the boot and then dropped her body inside.
Jack moved back into the house and picked up Chloe’s handbag and phone. He’d have to hide her belongings under the car seat. He wiped the splurges of blood that were left by the body in the hallway, then cleaned the door and lock on the way out.
He shut the front door, and wondered where the hell they were going to hide his now ex-boss.
Jack drove along the Bayswater Road, heading to Surrey.
Lydia sat in the passenger seat. Her body was aching from stress. She continually watched in the rear-view mirror, checking every car that pulled up behind them, every person that stepped out onto the road. Her body was tense, and her mind agitated. She sat forward, straightening her back, hearing her spine click. Her head ached from the three bottles of wine she’d had earlier; the adrenalin had sobered her, now she felt like she’d been dragged through a thorn bush. ‘Jack, I’m so scared. What if we’re stopped? How will we explain what happened?’
Jack noticed how his wife used the word we. ‘Keep calm, Lydia. We need to make it home, sleep on it. We’ll think of something. How do people get rid of bodies? I don’t have a clue.’ He turned to his wife. ‘Do you?’
Her body slumped in the passenger seat. ‘I remember watching something on the telly. A documentary about a serial killer: he used to get rid of bodies by dropping them in a bath of acid. Apparently, it dissolved the flesh and just left the bones.’
Jack struggled to believe they were having this conversation. ‘How conspicuous will it look going to a hardware store at this time of night, asking for tins of acid? Come on, Lydia, you’re not thinking straight.’
‘I’m only trying to help.’
‘Shit, Lydia, we’re in over our necks. What the hell are we going to do?’
She turned to her husband. ‘We get rid of the body. The taxi driver was the only person that knew I was there. He’s probably picked up loads of people since then. I don’t think they keep a log of the passengers and addresses. It’s all in their heads, unlike a private firm where everything is pre-booked. Maybe they do log everything. I don’t bloody know.’
Jack thought for a second. His wife had a point. The only other concern was Dana, Chloe’s wife. How long would it be before the alarm bells rang and she made a call to the police? There’d be DNA, hair, fibres, fingerprints. No matter how much they cleaned the house downstairs, there was always the possibility of something being left behind as evidence that could incriminate them.
An hour later, Jack pulled into their drive, opened the car door and stood for a moment, eyeing the US style mailbox planted at the front of the house with the word ‘Hargreaves’ written in gold letters.
He imagined seeing the name splashed over the internet. Murderers. Hargreaves husband and wife team hide dead body.
Lydia joined him a few seconds later in front of their white-painted house. ‘What are you thinking?’ she asked, watching her husband’s face as he mulled over what had happened tonight. She knew Jack would deal with it. He was so much better at handling situations and resolving problems.
‘The garden. It’s the only way.’
‘Oh, Jack. Are you serious? We can’t.’
He turned to his wife and felt the stones from the front drive dragging under his shoes. ‘Have you got a better idea?’
Lydia paused for a second, thinking of ways they could dispose of Chloe. ‘No. Of course not. It’s just… the garden. It’s not right.’
‘An hour ago you wanted to drop her in acid.’
Lydia stepped forward, holding her husband. He gripped her tightly. ‘Jack, I need a drink. Let’s think about it tonight. I suggest we leave her in the boot. If we decide to bury her in the garden, we’ll do it early tomorrow morning.’
She went into the house, and Jack followed.
‘I’m home.’ Dana hung her jacket on the stand by the front door and removed her boots. ‘Chloe, are you in bed?’
She listened for a reply. The lights were off upstairs. Chloe always turned on the lights when she got home. Not just a habit, she was terrified of the dark, and if she came in before Dana, she automatically switched them on.
In the kitchen Dana looked at her watch. It was almost 10pm. She had a bad feeling; something was wrong. Chloe would have called her, left a message to tell her where she was going and when she’d be home. The last time she’d spoken with her partner was mid-afternoon. She was going for a drink with Jack after work.
Dana walked out of the kitchen and into the hall, getting the phone from her jacket. She dialled Chloe’s number, listening to the brief message and leaving a quick, sharp reply. ‘Chloe, it’s me. Not sure where you are, and I haven’t heard from you, which is a little concerning. Call me. Love you.’