Chapter 8
Holly shakes her head violently. ‘No. I can’t.’
‘You can. Listen to me. We’re going to wrap him in something—’
‘In what?’
I raise a hand, as if to say, ‘I’m getting to that,’ even though I have no idea what I’m doing. ‘We’re going to wrap him up and drag him into the garage.’
‘And then what?’
‘Then I’ll think of something.’
She tugs at her fingers. ‘I don’t know if I can do that,’ she whispers.
‘You can. You have to.’ I look around, trying to think. I dig out two pairs of rubber gloves from under the sink and hand a pair to Holly. ‘Put these on.’ I do the same. ‘There’s a pile of tarpaulins in the garage, on the far wall. Go and get one and bring it back here.’
‘Kate…’ She looks like she’s in pain.
‘Come on, Holly. We don’t have any time to lose.’
She does as she’s told.
I take a breath. I feel dizzy and have to hold onto the back of a chair. I force myself to survey the scene. The first thing I do is check if he’s really dead, because it occurs to me that, in my panic, I might have missed something. Like a pulse.
I take off one glove to feel his skin with the back of my hand, and the moment I touch him, I can tell he must be. He’s already cool. The knife is still in the wound. I put the glove back on and prepare to take it out.
I kneel by his side and take a closer look.
The knife seems to have gone in at an upward angle between two ribs.
There’s very little blood near the wound, thank God.
Only a pool the size of a teacup, already darkening.
I hold my breath and take the knife with both hands, then slowly pull it out.
A short whooshing sound escapes and I turn away, my wrist over my mouth, convinced I’m going to throw up.
A few more breaths and I’m all right. When I look back, a trickle of blood is seeping out.
‘This one okay?’
I turn around. Holly is standing a few feet away, holding up a dark green sheet. It’s huge.
‘It’s perfect.’ I check the wound again. The trickle of blood has stopped. I stand up and add, ‘We need to put it down, here—’ I indicate the area ‘—then we’ll roll him into it.’
I expect Holly to argue, but to my surprise she just nods.
We get to work, laying down the tarpaulin and shifting him onto it. Then we fold it over and manage to wrap him in it, more or less. We both breathe out. It’s a relief not to have to look at him anymore.
The garage is accessible from the kitchen through two doors. The first door leads to a small utility room where I store the vacuum cleaner, the ironing board and cleaning utensils. Then, to the left is a heavy door leading to the garage.
Dragging him to the first door isn’t too difficult, but manoeuvring him inside the very small utility room is tricky. It’s not just a matter of dragging him, it’s also a matter of keeping the tarpaulin closed. I keep expecting Holly to give up, but her face is set.
We make it around the tight corner. I keep the heavy fire door open with my back, my elbow and one foot wedged against it as we drag him down the step.
When we finally make it into the garage, we lay him down right in front of his Porsche.
We take a moment to catch our breath. ‘Are you all right?’ I ask, panting.
Holly nods, but she’s shaking all over. ‘What—’
The doorbell rings. We both jump and look at each other. There’s panic in her eyes, and probably mine, too.
‘Let’s wait for them to go away,’ she whispers.
And then I hear, ‘Kate?’ Someone bangs on the door. ‘Are you there? It’s Teri, from next door.’
‘It’s the new neighbour,’ I whisper.
‘What new neighbour?’
But all I’m thinking is, it’s not the police. Thank you, God.
The doorbell chimes again. I hesitate, aware that my car is parked outside, that it’s Saturday morning and not even ten a.m. ‘Give me a second – I’ll get rid of her.’
‘No!’ she hisses. ‘Don’t leave me here!’
‘I’ll send her away. I’ll just be a minute.’ I quickly pull my gloves off and hand them to Holly. She takes them, reluctantly.
I walk back inside the house.