by DH Smith
‘I feel so damned stupid,’ he said. ‘What on earth are we doing here, Maggie? It’s not as if we’ve killed anyone.’
‘Just carted a body into the forest and buried it,’ she said archly.
‘As one does,’ he said.
‘Every other week.’
‘Let’s find a café and get a bite to eat,’ he said. ‘Talk it over there.’
‘OK.’
She patted him on the arm and they crossed to the car. She went round to the driver’s side.
‘Hell!’ she exclaimed. ‘The window’s smashed in.’
He came round to see. The driver’s side window was broken. There was glass on the seat and floor.
She opened the doors.
‘Anything missing?’ he said.
Maggie looked around inside, opened the compartments, then searched her pockets. Then searched them again.
‘What’s up?’ he said.
‘My phone’s gone.’
Chapter 50
Bert was triumphant. A classic morning. And to top it all, here he was with Anne. Smart, classy, and in her sitting room. She’d gone off to make them coffee. Was she giving him the come on? No wrong moves, this was worth a bit of patience.
He rubbed his hands. He knew where Frank was buried. The couple had gone round and round that area, searching. He’d managed to sneak in closer to hear them talking. And got the gist of it, the burying in the night. He noted the T carved on the tree. Why T? It didn’t matter why. Just where.
That place, the clearing, his old mucker was buried.
And he’d left them, still searching for what he had in his pocket. At the car park, he looked in her car, knew they were in the forest and would be there for a while yet, there was no one about. So he’d smashed in the car window and taken her phone. Fancy leaving what must be 400 quid’s worth of phone in your car. And she a teacher, for God’s sake.
And could you credit it! He’d tried several pin numbers to get in. And hers was 4321. Why bother with a pin – if that is all you’re going to do? He pitied her poor kids.
Then he’d driven to the other car park. And it was Frank’s car alright. The first three letters, BEC in the number plate. His orange Aurora. Obvious it had been there a couple of days from the leaves around and on top. He’d looked inside. It had been cleaned up. And so he made sure not to touch it. No way was he going to leave his prints.
A classic morning.
Anne returned holding a tray with two coffees and a plate of biscuits. She put it down on the low table and handed him a coffee.
‘Help yourself to biscuits, Bert.’
‘Thank you, Anne.’
He liked saying her name. Best mates already.
She said, ‘I haven’t seen Frank for a few days. His car hasn’t been around… I’m a bit worried.’
He said, ‘It’s good to have concerned neighbours.’
He sipped his coffee and crunched a ginger biscuit.
‘We always had a chat, most days,’ she said. ‘He had strong views. He was disturbed about the state of this country. All the immigration… And I must say I tend to agree. You catch a bus – and you hardly hear any English spoken. The Queens Market is all Asian and West Indian…’
‘Eastern Europeans catching up fast,’ said Bert.
‘Why do we let them all in, Bert?’
‘Soft government,’ he said. ‘They want cheap labour. Except half of them are on the scrounge. Out to get what benefits they can and make use of the health service. HIV tourists.’
‘Oh!’ said Anne, throwing her hands up, ‘I went to the doctor the other day, and the waiting room…’
‘I bet.’
‘I swear I was the only English person there.’
‘Typical of the state of this country,’ said Bert. ‘It’s no good pussy footing. You have to get tough if you want to sort it out. Frank knows that.’ He was careful with his tense.
‘He does.’
She passed him the biscuits. He took one in silver paper.
‘Any idea where he is?’ she added.
‘I know where he is, Anne.’
Her attention roused him. Had she just put on lipstick while making coffee? For him.
‘Where?’ she said.
He sucked his lower lip, considering, then said, ‘He’s dead.’
‘My God!’ she exclaimed throwing up her hands. ‘How can you know that? An accident or what?’
‘No accident,’ he said. Loving how he was her total focus.
‘You’re not suggesting murder?’ her hand on his arm. ‘Whoever would do such a thing?’
Bert tapped his nose. ‘Who’d you think?’
Anne leaned back on the sofa. She cupped her chin. ‘Who? You’re implying I might know.’ Then flicked her fingers. ‘He had a fight with David upstairs. I was there.’
‘Got it in one,’ said Bert impressed.
‘Him and his wife Maggie,’ she exclaimed almost gleefully, ‘they might’ve killed him then and there – if we hadn’t been present. Frank was only speaking his mind, when David went wild. I was terrified.’
‘They killed him,’ he said. ‘In this house maybe. Perhaps their flat. Then they took him to Epping Forest in his own car. Buried him. And dumped his car there.’
‘How do you know all this, Bert?’
He smiled. She smiled back. Dare he make a play? No, show her he could be civilised. Drink coffee and biscuits. Accept the attention.
‘I’ve been doing a bit of nosing.’ He took a bite of biscuit, playing out his tale. ‘I found her dress in the skip outside. Torn, blood on it. So obviously, there’d been a fight.’ She was nodding, rapt. He sipped his coffee. ‘I was at Bessie’s last night, and heard the two of ‘em upstairs having a row. So I crept up and listened in. And sort of pieced together what they’d been up to. They lost some keys in the forest when they were burying him. Had to get ‘em back, didn’t they?’ He smirked at the thought of his triumph today and the woman who was now hanging on every word. ‘I followed them this morning. Both took the day off work, they were that desperate, and drove out to the forest.’
‘To find the keys?’
He nodded. ‘They were searching all over the path. Went right in the forest to where he was buried. I heard ‘em say so clear enough. Round and round searching. But they never were going to find them. Because I did.’
He took a small plastic bag out of his pocket and held them up.
‘May I?’ she said.
He handed them over. ‘Don’t take them out the bag.’
She examined them through the plastic. ‘That one’s the front door key to the house. I don’t know the others. Nigerian flag on the fob.’ Her hand went to her mouth. ‘Must be his.’
‘They’re shitting themselves, I’m sure.’
‘We should call the police,’ she exclaimed. ‘A couple of murderers in this house… They can’t go unpunished.’
‘They won’t,’ said Bert. ‘I just want to make sure of it.’ He shook the little bag, and took another bag out of his pocket containing a smart phone. ‘I will tie ‘em up so tight they’ll get twenty years or more.’
Chapter 51
Jack entered the sitting room.
‘What do you want, Jack?’ said Anne sharply.
Bert slipped the phone and keys into his pocket.
‘I want to talk to him. Bert.’ He strode across the room, and stood over the back of the sofa where Bert was seated. ‘You, mate. I want a word with you about Bessie.’
‘Look, mate, I don’t know who you are or what you want.’ He was twisted round to look up at Jack. ‘But you’d be wise to mind your own business.’
‘It’s my business when you rape her!’
‘The little cow is lying.’
Anne bit her lip. Jack would ruin everything.
‘Please leave, Jack,’ she said as calmly as she could. ‘Bert is my guest. I will not have my guests insulted.’
He turned to her in amazement. ‘He raped Bessie.’
&
nbsp; ‘He said he didn’t,’ said Anne.
‘And you believe him!’ He pointed outwards. ‘She is in your nursery, looking after your children – and you are calling her a liar!’
‘I’d like you to leave, Jack.’
‘And what about this rapist?’
‘You’re well over the top, mate!’ exclaimed Bert getting to his feet. ‘I’ll poke your eyes out.’
‘Get out, Jack!’ yelled Anne. She rose. She pushed him on the chest with both hands. ‘This is my flat. I will not have you here insulting my guests.’
‘He raped Bessie, I tell you!’
‘I don’t believe it. Now, leave. Or I’ll call the police.’
‘Oh, you will, will you?’ he said with a short laugh. ‘You’ll call the police?’
‘Shall I throw him out for you?’ said Bert.
She was between the two, their mutual hatred incinerating the air.
‘Please, no, Bert. This is my nursery. I don’t want violence here.’
‘Point taken,’ said Bert contritely.
‘Go, Jack. Leave, at once.’ She gripped his arm firmly, and pointed out of the door. ‘I will not have this gutter behaviour.’
‘If I go, I won’t be back.’
‘Leave!’ she yelled at him. ‘You have no rights here. Go!’
Jack went to the door, where he turned and pointed at Bert.
‘If you lay another finger on Bessie, I’ll strangle you with my bare hands.’
And was gone.
For a while neither spoke, floored by the tornado that swept through the room, scattering everything.
‘She’s lying,’ said Bert. ‘How could she say such things?’
Anne nodded. ‘I know she tells lies. About her dad too. It’s disgusting.’
‘And she convinced that prat. Is he your fella?’
‘We had a short fling, if that’s what you mean. And it’s well and truly over, I’ll tell you that. How dare he come in here and throw accusations around… How dare he!’
Bert suddenly grasped her. He kissed her. In the first instance, she resisted, and then accepted, hungrily.
Chapter 52
Jack dug as much soil as he could out of the hole. It wasn’t wide enough. There were bricks in the ground on either side. He got down on his knees and attacked them with his cold chisel and club hammer, taking out the bits as they broke away.
He couldn’t believe what had just happened. Anne had thrown him out, and was now having coffee and biscuits with that animal. They were on the sofa together. Flirting? He’d heard of women turned on by violent men. Sado-masochistic. Which made him wonder what really might have happened with Frank. Her damsel-in-distress tale of rape… Or was it a sex game gone wrong? Then there was her husband’s death six years ago… All he’d heard was her side of the story.
He didn’t know her at all.
He had simply been taken in by her helplessness, by sex of course. The old, old story. Put the body in a bag, run it up to Epping Forest. Buried it like a faithful dupe. Carted off her sofa. And now she had no further use for him.
What a player!
She was a childminder. In there with her toddlers, reading them stories, giving them their juice and slices of apple… That was her theatre. The other actors confirmed her. But what was she really?
Break bricks. Make holes for fence posts. That made sense. But the whys and wherefores of yesterday all rested on the foundation of her say-so.
Had he been taken for the biggest ride of his life?
What was she doing with that ape? Her next dupe? It hardly mattered to Jack. Sex and murder, he was out of it. Except of course, he wasn’t. That folly of the other night bound him to her. Everything was now cleaned up; he’d been her knight errant, her total fool, had got rid of her sofa for her, put her carpet in his skip. Everything that might implicate her, he had removed.
She could plant it on him.
His stupidity, his utter stupidity.
Except there were witnesses, weren’t there? Bessie, Nancy, David and Maggie. But they were not witnesses; they had all turned up after the murder. And joined in the tidy up.
Such a mess! She was playing her own game. All he could do now was get the job done and get the hell out of here.
He put his hammer and chisel aside. The hole was big enough. The post lay on his wheelbarrow. Make up some more cement.
Bessie came out of the house. He watched her approach. She looked better with her hair done, but that shapeless overwashed dress… And the bruise on her face.
She said quietly, ‘I heard you shouting.’
‘Bert called you a liar.’
She seemed to shrivel, bit her lip. He knew she wasn’t lying. And knew what he must do.
‘You can’t stay here, Bessie. Not with him around.’
She shrugged, her eyes wide. ‘It’s where I live. I haven’t anywhere to go.’
He sighed, looking at the house, the open French windows on the ground floor, the brickwork and windows of the upper stories…
‘I’m not leaving you here this weekend,’ he said.
‘What about Tickles?’
For a second or so, he tried to recall who she was on about. Right. The cat with the silly name.
‘He can manage without you for a couple of days…’ he said, though he knew it might be a lot longer.
‘And what about Nancy?’
‘You’d best go and see what shopping she needs for the weekend,’ he said.
Chapter 53
Maggie was lying flat out on the sofa, her bare feet up on one arm, head resting on a cushion. She had showered when they’d got back, but was achy after their trek in the forest. David in an armchair was reading the Guardian, though much of it seemed not to his liking as he was simply turning pages, reading a few sentences and moving on.
‘They’re going to be awfully pissed off with me at work,’ he said.
‘I will have been deputised by some useless supply-teacher,’ sighed Maggie. ‘In they come with their box of tricks. The kids go wild. And they don’t care because they are off at the end of the day. I won’t make head or tail of what she’s been doing with them… It’s childminding really.’
‘What are you going to do about your phone?’
She sighed, looking up at the ceiling as if there might be an answer there. ‘Buggered if I know. Though I have to report it stolen for them to switch it off… He, I assume a he, could be phoning Africa or Tokyo and talking for hours. Bollocks. Do I have to inform the police?’
David put down the paper.
‘When one loses 450 quid’s worth of phone, one phones the police,’ he said tartly.
‘Thank you, darling, for your advice. Remind me never to ask for it again.’
‘You just don’t have to say it was in Epping Forest. Say it was around here in the street. How will they know?’
The landline rang.
As she went for the phone, she said, ‘Food poisoning. I’d better groan if it’s school.’ She picked up the handset. ‘Hello?’
‘Is that Maggie Ayo…’ said a male voice, attempting her full name.
‘Ayodele,’ she said helpfully. ‘Yes, it is. How can I help you?’
‘I’ve got your phone, darling.’
‘I beg your pardon…’ She signalled to David as she switched to speakerphone.
‘I have your very handsome smart phone. Quite something.’
‘You broke into my car,’ she said.
‘You’re a stupid woman, leaving it in your car in an isolated car park.’
‘I’m sure you haven’t phoned me to call me stupid.’
‘Almost as stupid as your husband, dropping his keys in the forest.’
David looked to her in alarm. She put a finger to her lips and tried to keep the fear out of her voice.
‘My husband hasn’t lost any keys,’ she said.
‘Oh yes he has. A Nigerian flag on the fob. I’ve got them here.’ There was a sound which could have been jangling
keys. ‘Like I said, I found them in the forest.’
David was trembling, she wanted to scream, instead said, ‘There’s a reward for the phone… and for the keys.’
‘I thought you said he hadn’t lost any keys.’
‘Maybe he has.’
‘And maybe he buried a body, darling, and maybe you helped him, being a loving wife.’
She could barely breathe, fear clutching at her diaphragm.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she managed to say. ‘You’ve lost me.’
‘T is for tits, T is for tub thumping lie, T is for two murdering arseholes.’
The phone went dead.
Maggie and David stared at each other. Words had evaporated. They were revealed naked in their sin.
‘He knows,’ she said at last. ‘He has my phone, he has your keys. He knows.’
‘Not quite,’ said David. ‘He thinks we murdered him.’
‘Does that make any difference?’
‘I don’t know. I really don’t know. But it means he doesn’t know everything.’
‘However did we get into this devilish business!’ Her hands were pressing her forehead as if trying to push out the events. ‘What possessed us to go burying bodies in the forest?’
‘Neighbourliness.’
‘It has to be blackmail,’ she said. ‘We are about to be stripped of every penny we’ve got.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘We don’t pay.’
‘So what on earth do we do, David?’
‘We bury the body somewhere else.’
‘Oh no, I can’t stand it. Will this never cease!’
She sank her face in her hands and wept.
Part Four:
In The Forest
Chapter 54
They had a Chinese takeaway, though Jack ate most of it. He kept offering Bessie more but she wouldn’t have it.
He had seen no other option but to take her to his place. No way could he ask Anne, and didn’t trust her anyway. Nancy couldn’t help, in fact it might be danger for Nancy herself. He had gone up to see Maggie and David and found them both pretty disturbed over something. He’d guessed it might be connected to recent events, but said nothing, not wanting to know. Maggie had obviously been crying, David was shaky. They said they couldn’t help, were busy this weekend, family stuff.