‘What do we do, Drover?’ Pete had said as soon as Drover was happy with the room.
‘We can’t run now, Pete,’ he replied. ‘Definitely not now.’
‘But they will find him.’
‘Yeah, and we would have run off. A bit suspicious, I’d say. We have to make sure they don’t find the body.’
‘How?’
It looked like Pete was going to cry.
Drover went and stood in front of him. He could hear Myles coming back down the stairs, but upstairs was no problem. Nothing had happened up there.
‘Listen, Pete,’ he said, calmly and kindly. ‘Nothing’s gunna happen to you.’
‘I ain’t worried about me.’
‘We are gunna be fine, yeah? I mean, both of us. We just need a plan. So, keep them sweet, right? You make some mugs of tea, find a tray, put out milk and all that and make it look nice. We’re here to help the old man, right? Can you do that? For me?’
‘Sure, Drover,’ Pete said, and Drover saw that he was shaking. He was either still in shock at seeing William killed or he was very nervous, or both. Drover needed a new plan and soon. There was every chance that Pete’s honesty would come creeping back up at any moment and land them both in prison.
Pete started opening cupboards to find cups and things while Drover filled the kettle. His mind was churning through possibilities when he saw the man come in from the hall.
‘Hi,’ Myles said as he looked around. ‘Don’t bother with tea for me, lads, I’ve got a touch of the hard stuff, know what I mean?’
You’re a twat, Drover thought, but said, ‘Gotcha, man, nice.’
Myles looked confused for a moment and then worked out what Drover had said. He headed to the other door. Drover watched as he flicked a light switch and then went through to a garage. He could see a car in there. He could see Myles look around the door to see if there was anything behind it and heard him call out, ‘Dad?’ But there was no reply of course.
Myles came back into the room his soft face all wrinkled up as he thought.
‘He called a taxi,’ Drover said.
‘Ah, I see.’ Myles’ mouth screwed up to one side. ‘Strange,’ he said, and opened his eyes wide. ‘Curiouser and curiouser, eh boys?’
A real twat.
‘Not really,’ Drover said quite reasonably. ‘He said he fancied a drink and didn’t want to run the risk, you know, don’t drink and die, like.’
‘Hmm. Dad doesn’t usually drink,’ Myles mused.
‘Sure, but it’s his birthday.’Twat-guy nodded, shrugged, and left the room. Jesus, thought Drover, this one’s a prize div.
He saw that Pete still hadn’t found anything to put the tea into, in fact, he hadn’t found any tea. Maybe William didn’t drink anything, full stop. He switched the kettle on, noticing how new and shiny it was, and then went to the fridge.
He didn’t fancy the cold sausage thing but he was still hungry and as they were now ‘legit’ in the house, his story having been accepted, at least for now, there was no reason that, as a hungry volunteer worker, he couldn’t help himself.
He stood and chewed, finding the meat tasted a bit like pork, even though it looked like beef. A strange feeling came over him. He expected to be feeling panicked, sick, all kinds of things. After all, he’d just shot a guy. But, here he was, chewing on something tasty and watching his mate making a pot of tea all normal like, and only a few feet away a woman was sitting on a sofa over the top of her dead father-in-law. Why wasn’t he feeling… something?
He knew why.
He had shaken himself then, to get rid of that particular thought, and, as he chewed, he had watched Pete. He was looking in the kitchen drawers. Drover had just wondered how on earth anyone would think you’d find a tea pot in a drawer when an idea had hit him and his eyes had flashed to the garage door.
That was only a minute or two ago. Now, he is looking down the hallway.
His eyes, alert and cunning, move from the sitting room door, to the hall, the kitchen, and across to the garage. With the old guy tucked under his arms and dragged, he could probably get him from the sitting room door to the garage in, what, thirty seconds? He’d been heavy to manoeuvre behind the sofa, but once he was out from there (add fifteen seconds) it would only be a case of dragging, and once he’d got the momentum up he could pull him to the garage in under a minute. Say sixty seconds, to be sure.
The carpet?
He looks at the hall carpet and wonders if the guy’s shoes would leave tracks in it. Possibly. He looks at where Myles recently walked and doesn’t see any imprints. That is a good sign. The sitting room carpet? That is thicker, isn’t it? Yes, but it has a pattern; he doubts that dragged heels would cause a track that you could pick out from that mess. If they do, he’ll find a way to cover it over. Kitchen floor is no problem. That has tiles, but he will still have to check for scuff marks.
And, once in the garage?
Into the boot of the car. That will be hard work, but fortified with some more roast beef and feeling stronger, Drover could manage it. Then, when the family has gone?
Drive the car out to the woods somewhere, clean off the prints and set it up. Classic gangland killing. No questions asked, except, why didn’t it happen to the old crook sooner?
Plan sorted.
And the family in the living room sitting on the sofa right over the old man’s head?
Drover sees the weird girl coming towards him down the hall, her face alive and her cheeks flushed. He thinks that if she turns sideways she will vanish. He steps out of her way as she practically skips into the kitchen.
As Drover watches her, making sure she doesn’t go near the cupboard with the gun in it, he figures out the rest of his plan. He sees her smiling at Pete who looks really uncomfortable. That makes Drover smile, not because he wants his mate to feel bad, but because he thinks it’s sweet that someone should fancy Pete, as this anorexic thing obviously does.
‘When did you last eat?’ he asks her as she opens a cupboard over the worktop.
‘Not that it is any of your business, but… why?’
‘You’re very thin.’
‘I’m saving myself,’ she says, and her manner has gone from girlish to cool.
‘For what?’ There is actually something about her that Drover finds attractive.
She doesn’t answer, but says, ‘Some boys like thin girls. It’s slinky. Do you like it?’
She turns to Pete, who shrugs and looks at Drover.
‘I think he does,’ Drover says. ‘Don’t you, mate?’
Pete’s face turns red and he rummages through a drawer of cutlery.
‘If you are looking for the tea,’ Lily says, and sidles over to Pete, ‘you need to look in that cupboard there. Pam has her own cupboard here, you see? Grandpa doesn’t drink tea. They think I don’t know, but I do. I know lots of things.’
Pete, completely flustered now that she is so close to him, inches past her and then hurries across the room to the cupboard she was pointing at.
‘Like what?’ Drover asks. He’s sure she doesn’t know about William, but then, she has been in the sitting room, she might have seen something he missed. The body is well covered, the sofa’s frill comes all the way down to the floor, but you never know.
‘All kinds of things,’ is all Lily is going to say.
She takes an ashtray out of a cupboard and then flounces back to the door. There she turns and looks first at Pete and then at Drover.
‘Liam,’ she says, ‘I think you two should stay around for the evening. We can have a party. It’s going to be rocking.’
‘Well, we can’t leave until William gets back.’ Drover puts in a slight laugh and a smile for authenticity.
‘No,’ she says, ‘you mustn’t
leave. You’ll miss the fireworks.’
And with that, she leaves the room.
‘Are we having fireworks?’ Pete asks, his face suddenly alight with a beaming smile.
‘Oh, shuck it, Pete, you can be so dumb…’ Drover laughs. ‘No, it’s an expression. Say, come here.’
He calls Pete over to him and stands so he can see down the hall, in case anyone else comes in. He puts his arm around Pete’s shoulder and whispers.
‘I got a plan, Pete, and I need your help.’
‘O-kay,’ Pete says, slowly, sounding unsure.
‘We gotta move that body,’ Drover says, and he feels his mate tense up under his arm. He’s not surprised. He feels a bit sick about it all himself. ‘You’ve got to do a bit of play acting. Think you can do that?’
‘I dunno, Drover.’
‘And you gotta call me Liam.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s my name, Pete, alright? Forget Drover for now, just stick with Liam.’
‘Liam Lamb?’
‘That’s me.’
‘It’s not.’
‘It sure is, Pete Painter.’
‘Peter Michael Painter.’
‘Quite right, mate. Okay, so, the plan, you ready?’
‘Tell me, Liam,’ Pete says, and puts on his serious face. ‘Tell me what you want me to do now.’
Twelve
‘I CAN’T DO THAT, DROVER.’ Pete’s face is white.
‘You gotta, mate, it’s the only way we’ll get out of this.’ Drover is angry. It doesn’t happen very often, certainly not around Pete, but no matter how much he tries to tell himself everything is going well, he knows he is only one discovered body away from life in prison.
‘I want to go home.’
‘We ain’t got a home. Come on, Pete, a little while longer and we’ll be out of here, suspicion free and rich. Yeah?’
‘You think your plan will work, Drover?’
‘Liam. And, yes, I do.’
In truth, Drover is now wondering why he didn’t just run when he saw the car coming. Surely no-one would be able to pick out a face at that distance, at dusk, through a windscreen and a window. Why didn’t he just run? Doesn’t matter, he says to himself and shakes the thought from his head. It’s done now.
‘Make the tea.’ He says it harshly and it comes out wrong. He needs to get himself under control. The problem is deep inside where he is angry at himself for not running when he had the chance, and angry at Pete for being worried. Of course, he’s going to be worried, who isn’t? Drover is a mess inside, but forces himself to swallow his feelings.
He can see from Pete’s shocked look that he is about to protest but Drover hasn’t got time for that. They have things to do and he can’t make time for Pete’s nervousness now. He has enough of his own to deal with. He’ll have to trust his friend to do as he is told, tell stories and keep to the plan.
‘But it’s all wrong, Drover.’
‘Make the fucking tea, Peter.’
Pete looks at him in shock. Drover has never spoken to him like that before.
‘I’m going to tell them,’ Pete says, and stubbornly folds his arms.
‘Oh, come on, Pete…’
‘You’re being nasty to me.’
‘For Christ’s sake!’
‘Don’t shout at me.’
‘Grow up.’
‘I’m going to tell them the truth. It’s what you should do, my dad told me. Always tell the truth.’
‘Truth is, Pete, if you do that you can kiss the rest of your life goodbye.’
‘You shot him.’
‘Says who?’
Drover is standing so close to Pete that he can smell him, but there is suddenly something between them. It’s like a sheet of safety glass came down and cut them off from each other. He can see his only friend but he can’t reach him.
‘Says me,’ Pete says, trying hard to be defiant.
‘Think about it, mate. Who are they going to believe?’ Drover tightens up his Irish accent, wondering exactly how he came by it. ‘Me, with me gift of the blarney; “You see officer we were looking for a bite to eat, for my man here, he was sick with hunger, and I had no idea he’d picked up me gun. The first I knew was when I heard the shot…” Or you, with your, “He did it, honestly, I can’t lie and if I do I will go to hell on a ghost train.” Who d’you think will come out on top, Peter?’
Pete swallows, and his forced look of confidence slips away to reveal a frightened, innocent face behind it. Drover feels rotten, but it’s got to be done if they are to get through this. He reaches out, smashes the safety glass and puts his hand on Pete’s head. His hair feels greasy and thick.
‘Stick to the plan, Pete, and we’ll have our own ghost train. Our own fairground, yeah?’ He runs his hand down to Pete’s neck and tips his head back, forcing Pete to look into his eyes. Their faces are inches apart. He speaks softly. ‘You want that?’
Pete nods. ‘Yes, Drover,’ he says, meekly, his lips only a whisper distance from Drover’s.
‘Good man. So, all you gotta do is make the tea and keep quiet.’
‘Do you still like me?’ Pete asks, and looks up at Drover from under heavy eyelids.
Drover quickly ruffles his hair and steps back. ‘Everyone loves you, mate. Okay? You know what you got to do?’
‘Yes… Liam,’ Pete says, and, still unsmiling, returns to what he was doing.
Drover watches him for a moment and then, satisfied that Pete will do as he has been told, heads to the garage. As he passes the hall door, checking that there is no one approaching, he can hear Pam and Myles talking in the front room. There’s the sound of a bottle chinking against a glass and he knows Myles is drowning something in drink. Probably wishing it was his wife.
Have I seen her before? Drover thinks, and wonders where that thought came from.
Wrapping his sleeve around his hand, he opens the door to the garage and finds that Myles has left the light on. He steps inside.
The garage feels damp, cold and musty. He scans the room quickly, looking over the top of the car to the up and over doors. He can see they work electronically, so that’s going to be easy when the time comes. His eyes travel around to take in the metal shelves, the rusty tools, the piles of junk on one side, and then the chest freezer on his left by the door.
He steps up to the car and sees that the boot is slightly open. Good.
Drover scuttles back to the kitchen and checks the coast is still clear before collecting the gun from the cupboard. Heading back to the garage, he sees Pete watching him intently, his finger tapping on the worktop beside the kettle which is only just starting to make noises.
Back at the car, Drover lifts the lid of the boot and finds the carpeted inside wide, deep and completely clean. It’s empty except for a jack attached to one side. He lifts the grey carpet to reveal the spare wheel, and shoves the gun as far back under the carpet as he can. The covering won’t lie flat, and there’s an obvious lump, so he looks around for something to put over it. Finding some old sacks, he throws them in and then adds a battered old tool kit which, he notices, is full of things that look like medical equipment; rusty scalpels, pointed probes, and small saws. This William was clearly a bit of a hoarder. The boot looks reasonable now. Should anyone glance in they won’t see anything out of place. He shuts the boot and it locks with a click. He steps back into the kitchen and stops dead in his tracks.
Shuck it! Someone is approaching. He closes the garage door quickly behind him, leaving the light on to make things easier for himself later.
Shit!
He shut the boot. Now he’s going to need the keys to open it.
Lily is coming back into the kitchen as Drover heads to the sink and turns on the
tap. He stands there listening and making sure Pete sticks to the hurriedly worked out script. Half his mind is on that, and the other half is now wondering where the old man might have kept his car keys.
‘Pam told me to find out what is taking you so long,’ the girl says.
‘Waiting for this,’ Pete replies.
‘She wanted to know what you are up to.’
‘Washing my hands, making your tea,’ Drover says.
‘She thinks you are up to something.’
‘Can’t blame her,’ Drover says, his back still to her. ‘I mean, she doesn’t know who we are and we’re in your house. Well, your granddad’s house.’
Drover can see Lily’s reflection in the window over the sink. Outside is now complete blackness, turning the glass into a mirror. All traces of the day have gone and seeing the night out there makes his eyes prick with tiredness.
‘Pam’s always suspicious,’ Lily says.
‘She sounds it,’ he says, and turns off the tap.
‘She works for the police.’
Drover’s heart runs cold and his words catch in his throat.
‘Oh?’ he says, trying to keep his voice steady. ‘That explains it then.’
That explains why he has this feeling that she recognised him. Drover has been in a few police cells in his time. Has she seen him before? Is that why he feels like he recognises her?
‘She’s like it with everyone,’ Lily says. ‘I shouldn’t worry. How old are you, Peter?’
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