The space was empty. This was real. The car had been stolen.
Jack slammed the front door, edging back, holding the bannister for support. He couldn’t go upstairs to Lydia and tell her what had happened. She couldn’t deal with this. There was no way she could get to grips with what had happened. The car had been stolen from the drive, and Chloe was in the boot.
Jack walked into the kitchen. He had to think logically. If someone had stolen the car, he had to find it. It may have been dumped somewhere close by. The thief could have found the body already, in which case, Jack couldn’t report it missing. Jack didn’t want to contemplate the other scenario. The thief had been pulled over, the car searched and it had led the police back to their drive.
The more Jack thought, the bigger the problem. He imagined putting an ad out on social media. A reward for the safe return of their car.
Hey everyone. This morning, I opened the front door and POW! Our car was gone from the drive. Stolen. Some shitbag got into the front seat and helped themselves.
I’m asking for your help because it’s not a normal situation and Lydia and myself are desperate to get it back.
See, there’s something different about this plea. My boss, who I think the world of, is dead in the boot. Lydia killed her – by accident, I’ll add. Anyway, if anyone sees it about, give me a call.
Oh, just to add: don’t open the boot.
Just call me if you know where the car is, and I’ll look after you.
If by any means you do open it, don’t mention the corpse in the boot. I’m really stressing this.
Thanks again,
Jack and Lydia.
Jack decided against the ad.
He sat in the kitchen, listening for Lydia. He was sure she was still asleep. He had an idea.
Jack went into the garden and started to fill the hole. There was no way Lydia would know if Chloe’s body was buried there. She’d see the turned-over soil and assume Jack had buried the body. Lydia would never go out and start digging, wanting to see it. She’d have no reason to believe anything else. Jack would tell her he’d done it, that he’d buried Chloe.
His forearms ached as he began filling the hole. He had a vision of finishing, maybe sticking a small cross on the mound by way of respect. He imagined Lydia coming downstairs, thanking him for his effects, then seeing the car back on the drive, finding the body in the boot and asking what the hell he was up to. That would be a little tricky to explain.
Of course, Lydia would ask about the car. How the hell would he explain that? This situation was getting more complicated by the second.
Okay, think, Jack. Here’s what you say. I got up early and dug the hole. I went to the car and moved the body. You were asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you, Lydia.
I pulled the body through the house, I know, it was horrible, something which couldn’t be helped. Then, I brought Chloe into the garden, dropped her into the hole and filled it all in again. Done. Job’s a good one as they say.
But about the car… I’m sorry, I couldn’t drive it again knowing what had been in the boot. I just can’t face getting into it again. It’s been tainted. I can’t deal with the thought that my boss was lying in the boot so I drove it to the nearest reservoir and pushed it into the water.
Hey, we’ll get another one. A new car. One that has never had a body in it. How does that sound?
Jack patted the earth with the shovel and stuck it into the ground. It was another way to hopefully convince Lydia that Chloe was buried in the garden.
He walked back into the kitchen. He needed to think of an excuse as to why the car was gone from the drive.
He heard Lydia upstairs, going to the bathroom. He went to the hall and called up, ‘Do you want a tea, Lydia?’
She grunted back, ‘Umm. That would be nice.’
Jack filled the kettle and switched it on. He listened to her moving around upstairs, wondering if she’d looked out the front window onto the street below. The front of the car would normally be visible from there. If she had seen the car was gone, she hadn’t said anything yet. Jack braced himself; it wouldn’t be long before she realised. He had to think of something. The steam rose from the kettle, billowing into the kitchen.
‘I’ll bring it up in a minute,’ Jack called. He waited for a response.
He heard water running and then the creak of floorboards as she went back to the bedroom.
He finished making the tea and climbed the stairs. He needed to act as normal as possible, wait on the end of the bed until she turned over and nodded off.
He pushed the bedroom door with his left hand and entered the room.
Lydia sat up. ‘Thank you. I need to rest, Jack. I didn’t get much sleep.’
Jack placed the tea on the bedside table as relief washed over him: he had another hour or so to think of an excuse. ‘Okay. See you a bit later. It’s Saturday. You don’t need to get up for anything.’
‘Is it done?’ she asked.
Jack turned and headed towards the bedroom door, making sure she couldn’t see his face. ‘Yes. It’s done.’
Gareth.
The first thing Gareth did when he woke was call Stephen. He’d missed a few calls from him, and he needed his friend, now more than ever.
He had a lucky escape last night; Dr Norris, his least-favourite lecturer, had seen him in the car park and followed him for what seemed like hours. He recalled how he’d dumped his own car a few miles from home and stolen another one that had been left parked on a drive with the keys in the ignition. But now he had to get rid of this car. Maybe drop it back. This wasn’t him. It wasn’t the way Gareth acted. In the last twenty-four hours, he’d been involved in a hit-and-run, became a voyeur, obtained obscene photos for use in blackmail and robbed a car.
He dialled Stephen’s number. His friend answered on the third ring. ‘Gareth. How’s it going? I called you a few times and texted. I thought you were ignoring me. What’s happening?’
Gareth explained the events of yesterday evening.
‘Shit, mate. That makes what I did seem a bit less severe,’ Stephen said.
‘I’m in trouble, Stephen. I don’t know if Dr Norris saw me. I can’t go in on Monday. Everything is a mess, mate.’
‘I think he’s the one in more trouble. Do you have the photos saved on your phone?’
Gareth pressed the loudspeaker button and flicked through the pictures. ‘Yes. They’re a little dark, but you can tell it’s him.’
‘Well stop worrying then. You have him by the balls.’
Gareth laughed nervously. ‘What are you going to do about the woman?’
‘I went back to the woods. She was gone,’ Stephen said.
The phone went silent for a second. ‘What do you mean, “she was gone”?’ Gareth asked.
‘I drove back to where we saw her – the same spot. I don’t know how long after, but I drove back.’
‘Stephen, she can’t have gone. It’s not possible. You hit her. You left her on the road. How could she have gone?’
‘I saw her,’ Stephen said.
‘Hang on. You said a second ago that you didn’t see her.’
‘I saw her at my flat. At the window, in the garden. She kept appearing. I had to go back, put it right. When I arrived in the woods, she’d disappeared. She must have got up, brushed herself down and left. But then I saw her on the road, crawling towards me; and she messaged me, telling me she was sat in the passenger seat.’