Chapter Three
Lee Holmes thought it likely that if a version of hell did exist, the pair of them would now be setting up residence there upon their deaths, regardless as to their method of disposal, and so, when Morgan had asked her how they were going to move a body out of their busy New York apartment close to midnight without raising any questions, Lee had simply responded with “people who donate to charity don’t often seem like the murderous type, so I suppose it’s time to become charitable,” and here they were, Morgan behind the wheel, and Lee in the passenger seat, the scent of blood still firmly attached to their nostrils as they drove out of the city and into the countryside towards the next stage of their plan.
The plan in question was simple, or as simple as it could be if either of them wanted to avoid prison.
The now likely unidentifiable body would be transferred from the charity boxes and placed within the coffin of a freshly dug grave.
The body would be sprayed with a concoction that Lee had crafted earlier at home consisting of vinegar, tea-tree, lemon and eucalyptus oil.
Upon completion, the boxes labelled ‘Charity’ would be burned and replaced with new boxes that were currently sitting in the backseat that smelt less of blood and other bodily fluids.
The new boxes were to be filled with various items from their apartment and placed outside of their local thrift store.
Lee Holmes deduced back at the apartment that this was a good idea for two reasons.
“Firstly, should the police question our alibi, it would seem a little strange leaving the apartment at almost midnight with charity boxes without any actual evidence that we donated to charity; and secondly, we could both use the good karma.”
Upon asking Morgan Finch back at the apartment what they would be doing with the rest of the body, namely, the identifiable parts of him such as his tattoo’s and head, Morgan had simply held up her hands and said “don’t worry about those. I’ve got it covered.”
Lee Holmes didn’t exactly feel comforted by the remark, nor did it stop her from worrying just because Morgan had told her not to.
If anything, the comment only made her worry further, allowing her mind to travel back to the apartment when Morgan had referred to her victim as “this one.” Perhaps Morgan was less phased by the rest of the plan because it was a plan she had carried out multiple times in the past with multiple other victims. Perhaps what had already been the craziest night of Lee’s life was just a regular Friday to Morgan.
Regardless, now that they were at the cemetery, they had a job to do, and as a result, Lee put the thoughts of worry aside, not completely disregarding the anxiety, but rather, shelving it for a later date.
After arguing as to whether they would donate the traditional teapot that Lee had purchased approximately three years ago and used twice, they unclasped their seatbelts and shuffled out of the car.
“All I’m saying is that I should be entitled to keep the teapot given what I’m doing for you right now. ”
Morgan Finch was already around the back of the vehicle before Lee had even finished speaking, popping open the trunk to reveal the same boxes they had expertly carried down the elevator and out of their apartment approximately half an hour prior.
To the right-hand side of the boxes sat two pairs of black leather gloves.
She retrieved both, holding out one pair to Lee as her girlfriend made her way over towards her, before donning the other pair herself.
“We can worry about your goddamn teapot later. Let’s just focus on not being arrested for now. ”
Lee Holmes had never understood how a smell could ‘hit’ you until that very evening, both in their apartment, and now, at the cemetery.
Upon stepping beside the trunk of the vehicle, the smell of blood just about knocked her senseless.
If there was any silver lining in this scenario, it was that he also smelt of lavender.
She offered a simple nod in her girlfriend’s direction before retrieving one of the boxes that was beginning to leak into the carpeted trunk.
The pair had ensured that the body be wrapped in multiple trash bags to avoid this very situation, and yet, it appeared that multiple was not enough.
“We’ll sort out the mess later, right about the same time we circle back to my teapot,” she added.
Morgan had barely registered her words it seemed, leaning over the trunk to assess the damage from the leakage.
“Let’s just grab the shovel from the backseat and throw it over the fence.
We can throw these bags over after, and then climb over it ourselves. ”
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea” Morgan stated, grabbing a second box from the trunk with less leakage.
“One of us jumps over the fence first. The other throws the shovel and the trash bags over after. If someone interrupts us it might be difficult to explain why random body parts alongside a shovel and a spray bottle filled with oils have been thrown over into the cemetery. Speaking of trash bags, we’ll need the extra ones in the backseat as well.
We’ll wrap these bags again so they’re not leaking everywhere when we throw them over.
I don’t particularly enjoy being showered with bodily fluids, unless of course they’re yours,” Morgan winked, making a clicking sound with her mouth at the same time.
Positioning the box back where it was in the trunk temporarily, Lee Holmes huffed, ignoring Morgan’s lewd comments as she made her way over to the backseat, returning with the concoction in a spray bottle she had made earlier for masking smells, a green-handled shovel and a collection of bags.
She threw the latter alongside the spray bottle towards the fence in preparation, leaning the shovel against the trunk of the car.
Replicating her previous movements, she retrieved the leaking cardboard box for a second time, huffing as she carried it knees-bent to the fence where the trash bags lay against the grass.
“Who wants to go first?” she asked, placing the box down with a grunt.
Morgan followed shortly after, carrying her own box as similar sounds of exertion filled the newly formed silence.
“I’ll go,” she offered rather breathlessly, placing the box down beside Lee’s own.
“I realize that I’m probably giving you the harder job of trying to get the bags over the fence, but if there’s a gravedigger in the cemetery that we’ve not accounted for and one of us gets caught, realistically, it should be me. ”
She shouldn’t have been thinking it, but at present time, after coming to the realization as to how strenuous the task at hand would truly be, Lee Holmes was beginning to regret working out earlier.
“Fine,” she muttered. “Climb over whilst I grab the shovel. I’ll throw that over first along with the spray bottle.
It’s easier to explain than body parts if anybody shows up. ”
Her girlfriend laughed effortlessly, as if they had just stepped outside for margaritas, placing two gloved hands into the wiry fence as she found her footing towards the bottom of the metal grating just above the grass. “If anyone asks, we can just say we were trying to save money on a funeral.”
By the time Lee had returned, Morgan had already reached the other side of the fence, looking relatively pleased with herself, either from the joke, or the time in which it took to climb over, Lee wasn’t sure.
“That’s not even remotely funny, Morgan.
Why don’t you tell that joke to your detective mother? I’m sure she’d love that.”
“Perhaps on my deathbed,” Morgan responded, theatrically jumping out of harm's way as Lee threw the shovel and the bottle over the fence. “Okay, easy part over. Are you ready for this?”
Lee nodded, exhaling until all of the oxygen had left her body.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she responded, finding her breath again when she opened the first box—her own leaking one.
She covered her nose with her right arm, bending down to retrieve the trash bags with her left.
Closing her eyes, she picked up what she could only assume to be the torso, hovering it over the cardboard box as she wrapped another two bags around it.
If it wasn’t for the lack of food in her stomach after having already dispersed it into the toilet prior, she concluded that she would have likely thrown up along the grass at that very moment.
Moving out of the way a second time, Morgan could only watch as a large black bag was thrown over the fence with a grunt that could wake any neighbor in a one-mile radius; that is, if there were any.
Lee, however, had chosen this place for a reason.
The pair of them were nestled behind the cover of trees, alongside a downtrodden path with no streetlights.
In the daytime, Rosehill Cemetery could be perceived as rather picturesque, in a morbid sense of the word.
At night, the cemetery was eerie incarnate, and, more importantly, closed to the public.
The act was replicated a total of five times.
Upon the fifth bag, Lee Holmes wiped the sweat from her brow, and picked up the newly empty boxes, placing them back into the trunk, closing it behind her.
“We should probably burn those boxes here afterwards, where it’s quiet,” she proposed whilst clutching onto the fence, using her last remaining strength to haul herself over it.
When Lee found herself on the other side of the fence, she was met by two gentle hands on each side of her waist, helping her down towards the ground. “That works for me,” Morgan said behind her. “We can worry about that later. Let’s just find the grave first.”
Having scanned the obituaries earlier, the pair had produced a reaction that was likely on the rarer side as far as reacting to obituaries go, uttering a “yes!” and a “thank God,” in unison.
The feeling of relief came in the form of a seventy-two-year-old widow who had passed a few days prior.
Her funeral had been held yesterday afternoon, making her grave the most recent of the bunch, allowing them to dig up fresh soil and replace it once their grotesque act had been carried out.
Leaning against the fence now for support, Lee regained her breath and stared directly into Morgan’s eyes, wondering if she could see through them and into her psyche, pulling out the parts of her that had made her do what she had done.
“I think it best that one of us stays here with the bags whilst the other searches for the grave. We can’t be hauling these around without any clear direction and we also can’t just leave them here, either.
Even if it’s pitch-black outside and the bags blend in, the smell alone could make them easily locatable. ”
“Rock, paper, scissors?” Morgan offered, creating the snipping motion of scissors with a gloved hand. “Kidding,” she continued, reacting to Lee’s huff of disapproval. “I’ll stay here if you like. You go find our old gal Maggie.”
Neither option filled Lee with enthusiasm at present time, although, she supposed it was easier to explain trespassing than it was standing beside body parts, and so, she simply nodded and aligned herself with the closest path, walking down it with haste, her eyes focused not on the path ahead, but rather, the rows of graves alongside it, and more importantly, the names that were etched into them.
The term ‘finding a needle in a haystack’ came to mind as she searched, her head turning side to side like a dance move in a nineties pop video as she scanned the graves from left to right.
Upon twenty minutes of repetition, Lee Holmes huffed in frustration and began devising a new plan when a fresher-looking white headstone caught her eye towards the far right-hand side of the path.
“Please let this be it,” she whispered, as if the graves themselves might hear her and finally give her a break.
Stepping onto the grass now, she walked a few meters towards the right, passing headstone after headstone, until she was standing before the fresh marble headstone of one Margaret Spence.