Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
He didn’t have a lot of time to clean up the mess he’d made. He should not have done that here, but his anger had taken over his brain and he’d acted on emotion instead of rationale.
The body on the floor, lying in a puddle of her own blood, was now a problem, a huge problem.
What if someone came into his home? Her handbag was on the table.
He needed to get rid of her phone and quick before anyone realised she was missing, or they would trace it to this area and then it wouldn’t take much before somebody connected the dots.
When the water under the faucet ran clear he studied his fingers, checked his nails weren’t caked with her blood then picked up a tea towel to rub them dry.
His stomach groaned. The Bolognese smelled good, its aromas of tomato, garlic and basil were currently masking the smell of death that would soon begin to permeate the air in his small kitchen.
He probably already had blood spatter all over his shirt and trousers, so he would have to dispose of them.
He began pulling open drawers until he found what he was looking for – an ancient pair of bright yellow rubber gloves that he’d bought to use when he was washing-up, when his skin had got a touch of dermatitis.
Slipping them on he opened the door that led into the small storage cupboard next to the sink.
He should just about be able to cram her body in here and he had a lot more time on his hands to get rid of it properly.
It wasn’t easy dragging her dead weight and trying to support her head at the same time, which lolled to one side because of the deep wound that had slashed her throat open with so much violence it had nearly severed it from her neck.
He was furious with her, but more so with himself for being so careless and creating a problem that would not easily be solved.
‘Why didn’t you wait until you had her in the car? At least you could have driven her somewhere remote and dumped her body. Now you’re going to have to clean your flat, get rid of it and stop.’ He realised he was muttering out loud.
Panting at the exertion, he managed to cram her into his cleaning cupboard and slammed the door. He twisted the key in the lock but didn’t remove it in case he misplaced it. Keys were not his friend; he was always losing his flat or car keys.
He expected no visitors, he never really had them but there was always the chance someone could turn up.
He hadn’t made much noise, and no nosey neighbours would be coming down to check if he was okay, thank God.
But still, this was not ideal. Pressing his back against the cupboard door, he inhaled deeply, trying to get control of his spiralling thoughts and get his breath back.
Then grabbing a fresh kitchen roll, he pulled paper towel after paper towel off it, dropping them onto the pooled blood.
He mopped up the worst of it and then put them in a plastic bag.
The metallic smell was strong. The closer to the floor he got, the stronger it became, and his stomach was churning.
He carried on, no time to spare. When the thickish pool of blood was soaked up and the towels placed in the plastic bag, he soaked the tea towels and used them to wipe up the bloody smears the best he could and then put them in with the blood-soaked paper towels.
He’d ruined his new towels from TK Maxx that he’d bought in Kendal last week.
Straightening up, he knew that if a forensic team were to ever come in here, they would have a field day.
It would have to do for now though; time was not on his side, he needed to get back to work.
Stripping off his clothes as he went into the bathroom, he turned on the shower and stepped under the lukewarm spray, shivering.
The piece of ancient crap needed to run for five minutes at least before it warmed up, but he was almost out of time.
Towel drying his hair he looked for another shirt similar to what he’d been wearing, hoping that nobody would notice his abrupt change of clothes.
Tying the handles of the plastic bag into a knot, he carried it to the car and put it in the boot. He would dispose of it in a bin somewhere that was far from here when he got the chance.
He placed the palm of his hand on his heart and began to rub it gently.
There was an uncomfortable feeling inside of his chest, it felt as if the muscles were contracting tighter and tighter.
He paused as he got into the car. Was this how it was going to end for him, lights out, heart attack, game over?
After the mess he’d just made of things, it might not be a bad thing.
He didn’t know how he could get out of this massive error of judgement unscathed.
He knew things were tightening up, his time was getting shorter, and he had a choice.
Cut his losses and run, or hang around and stick it out a little bit longer?
If he cut and run now it would be like handing it to them on a plate, and he was enjoying the chaos he was causing a little too much to leave.
Maybe the cops wouldn’t figure it out this time and he would be able to carry on as normal.
The only issue he had was how he was going to dispose of his so-called mother’s corpse without any of his neighbours seeing him doing it and phoning the police.