Chapter 19 Burial
I arrive at Tor’s in the Porsche, as it’s getting dark.
Given the increased stakes, I’ve bought burner phones for me and Cait.
I call Cait, hoping she’s not heard about the police search, as she’d freak out.
I’ve done an online search for Mercer but there’s about a million results, and I couldn’t find a picture matching him anywhere.
‘Hi, I’m at the front. Just saw the concrete lorry leave. Anyone else around?’
‘Not as far as I know,’ she says. ‘Not done this kind of thing before.’
‘No, me neither,’ I say.
‘True, but I’ve also not killed a man. You did.’
‘Let’s not split hairs – we’re both involved now, so can you please stay calm,’ I say.
‘If you stop trying to make me bury someone, I could,’ she says.
‘I’m doing this for both of us. To keep you and your girls safe.’
‘You’re just covering your own bottom,’ she says.
‘I’ve texted you something,’ I say. ‘You may find images easier to understand.’
There is a long pause, after which Cait says, ‘I don’t know what the paw prints mean.’
‘I couldn’t find a fingerprint emoji,’ I say.
‘Where is the knife, by the way?’
‘It’s with the body,’ I say, lying through my teeth, as I’ve kept the knife hidden in the car, should I need it. ‘So we’re actually burying evidence of your involvement, thank you very much. Now, come around and help me,’ I say and end the call.
I get the car into position and Cait appears with the wheelbarrow. I see that she is wearing a large white T-shirt with the words ‘Not an Accomplice’ hand-painted across the front.
‘You’ll be a victim all your life, Cait, unless, at some point, you acknowledge that you’re here by choice,’ I say, as I open the hatch and start dragging the corpse out of the boot.
‘This isn’t my choice,’ she says, watching as I groan with effort.
‘Oh, Cait. You’re free. Everything is a choice.’
‘Ha! As long as you’re not being blackmailed.’
‘Please can you pull!’ I instruct.
She grabs the body with some determination and yanks it powerfully. The corpse shifts. His buttocks cross the lip of the boot and drop into the wheelbarrow.
‘Well done, you!’ I say. We drag the rest of the body out of the car in silence and then stop to stare at the long cylindrical object wrapped in thick plastic and sealed with masking tape and Christmas-themed Sellotape.
‘Do you think I chose to be Owen’s victim too?’
‘No. And I didn’t choose to be burgled, but we do choose how we respond. And it’s time to say fuck to all of them.’
‘Fuck them all,’ she says, as we grip the wheelbarrow handles and lift. It’s surprisingly easy with the two of us.
‘Cait,’ I say, and look up suddenly.
‘What is it?’ Cait says fearfully.
‘Isn’t Hampstead beautifully quiet?’ I say. ‘Muswell Hill always has a background buzz of traffic, but here, you could imagine you were in the countryside.’
Cait has nothing to add to this observation. I ask her to push the wheelbarrow up the side return as I need to put on plastic booties to protect my shoes. She gives me a disapproving look.
In the dark of the side return, the front wheel hits an abandoned brick and the load nearly topples over. Fortunately, the security lights come on as we get to the back garden so even though Cait has to wheel the body across a thin scaffolding plank, there are no further mishaps.
I inspect the different footings, trying to discern the order they were filled in, but they all look exactly the same. I find a stick and poke each of the footings in turn. The trench nearest the house is freshest.
‘We’ll put him in here,’ I say.
Cait, always one to put problems above solutions says, ‘But that means reversing backwards.’
‘That’s a tautology,’ I point out. ‘We’re rather pushed for time, so saying things twice is rather unhelpful.’
She bites her lip and, if I’m not mistaken, raises her eyebrows to the CCTV camera as if she’s on Candid Camera and wants an imaginary audience to side with her. I make a mental note to keep out of camera shot, and delete any incriminating footage as soon as we’re through.
Cait’s making rather heavy weather of reversing the wheelbarrow across a narrow plank. She ignores my advice to keep her eye on the body rather than look behind her, and shrieks as the wheelbarrow tips to the right and the body rolls lethargically into the concrete.
We stare down as the head dips beneath the grey sludge, while the legs stick on the plank.
‘Well,’ I say. ‘He seems content to go here.’
Cait gets down on her knees and tentatively attempts to roll the rest of the body into the footing.
‘Use your legs,’ I suggest.
She doesn’t seem pleased with being told how to push a dead body into a puddle of concrete, but she follows my advice and his legs roll in. Cait stands and I take her arm.
‘Bravo, you’ve buried your first body.’
Cait can’t help smiling.
‘Do you want the chocolate orange now?’ I say. ‘You’ve earned it.’