by Will Carver
Aubrey laughed. ‘The bag. Looks like you’re hoiking around a dead body in there or something.’
‘Oh. Ha, ha,’ she faked, awkwardly.
‘Did I just see you coming out of Abe’s place?’
‘Er … yes … I … I just … I’m doing a goodwill run, you know? Taking some things to the charity shop. I told Abe, and he asked if I could take a few things for him.’ She pulled at one of the blankets as though it would prove something.
‘Well, that’s very kind of you.’
‘We try to help each other out here at The Beresford.’ Gail had no idea where that sentence had come from.
‘I shall bear that in mind. Maybe we could go for a coffee sometime. You could let me know a bit more about what it’s like around here.’
‘I’d like that, yes.’ She picked up the bag, trying to make it look as though it wasn’t heavy. ‘But, you know, just got to get rid of this body first.’ And she forced out a laugh, which Aubrey reciprocated.
‘Good luck with that.’
Aubrey dragged her slender frame back up the stairs to her apartment and sat back down at her desk. Mrs May’s music had stopped, and it gave Aubrey the headspace needed to get on with her work.
Gail took the bag outside and heaved it up into the boot of her car. She had done what had been asked of her. Three body parts only. She had murdered somebody and now she had to try to get away with it. She flicked the engine on, and the fuel gauge said that she had three-quarters of a tank. More than enough.
She belted up and took a breath before putting the car into gear. The Beresford was supposed to be her escape. She was about to drive a hundred miles in one direction but somehow she still felt trapped inside that building.
FOURTEEN
When the old lady awoke from her nap, the first thing she did was open the blind to the front of the house and check to see whether Gail’s car was gone.
It was. She was somewhere out there, thinking up the best way to dispose of three death packages, and that meant Abe’s room was vacant.
Something hadn’t sat well with Mrs May about the Conroys’ visit. She found the people abhorrently rude and had prayed hard as a result to let that frustration out, but it was something they had said that really niggled.
Blair had been texting them. Recently, too. Those screens were difficult enough to navigate in the cold or rain, but Mrs May knew that it was impossible for Blair to tap her finger against the phone glass when her bones were dust in the wind.
It had to be Abe. Good old reliable Abe, with his awkward smile and the benevolence of his time for others. He had been messaging the parents of his dead almost-lover. To keep the pretence going that she was still alive, no doubt. But perhaps some perversion, some pleasure, moved him.
There was a light jazz beat falling from upstairs, so Mrs May knew that Aubrey was inside her apartment. She glided over to Abe’s and let herself in with another set of spare keys she had hanging by her front door.
Sythe’s painting in the hallway made her snarl. As much as she had been fond of Abe, she had never really warmed to the artist. He had not found out who he was supposed to be. He was trying, desperately. He could have been at The Beresford for another fifty years and he still would be no closer to the truth.
Mrs May could see that Abe’s place had had a woman’s touch. And it had been recently. It wasn’t an after-effect of his relationship with Blair, it was Gail. The kitchen was spotless. No crockery on the sides, no rubbish in the bins, the recycling had been taken out, and the work surfaces were disinfected. No way was that Abe. That was a desperate woman trying hard to fill her time and distract her mind from the heinous crime she had committed.
Blair’s mobile phone was in a drawer in Abe’s bedside table. Gail was happy to stab Abe through the eye and give his apartment a spring clean, but she still respected his privacy.
There was no code to unlock the screen, and the top two contacts in the texting app were Mum and Dad.
Mrs May did not respect Abe’s privacy. It was her building. If you tried to hide something, she would find it.
She scrolled through the texts. The ones to Blair’s mother were short and to the point, almost dismissive. As far as she scrolled, the words were like that. Abe knew Blair and he knew about the complications of the relationship with her parents. He mimicked Blair’s style. She wouldn’t be able to tell that it was not her daughter responding to messages.
It was the same with her father. The texts were warmer. Abe would have had to instigate some of them to keep up the deception. He spoke warmly about himself.
Abe is a great guy.
Abe always helps me out with that kinda thing.
Sorry I didn’t text back but Abe and I went out for dinner.
Mrs May shook her head. She’d been so wrong about Abe. She imagines him lying on the bed in the same way Gail was that morning, and he’s laughing to himself as he hits send. And she tells herself that you can never really know anybody. She’d always had such a soft spot for the kid. He made one hasty decision with Sythe, it was instinctive, self-preservation, and it altered him. Abe had never been mean or malicious, and he certainly was not stupid. So what did he get out of tormenting the Conroys with those messages from beyond the grave?
Nobody would ever locate Blair Conroy, Abe had made absolutely certain of that. There was nothing, no evidence whatsoever. Apart from that phone. He should have burned it in the same way he had burned Gail’s. He could have left it all behind him.
How could she possibly know somebody who didn’t even know themselves?
And now she had to get rid of that phone. Her. Mrs May. The woman who never left the building. These devices are always listening, they can always be detected.
Stupid Abe.
Dumb, impulsive Abe.
Perverted Abe.
She shut the front door, locked it and cursed that boy.
In her haste and maddened mind, Mrs May had forgotten to check the peephole before exiting. She turned around from Abe’s door, one hand on the keys, the other on a dead girl’s mobile phone, and Aubrey was back in the lobby, watching everything.
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
If there is a God, where is He? And what is he playing at?
And, while we’re talking, what’s the deal with child cancer? And Onchocerca volvulus? Whose idea was it to have parasites? And parasites that burrow into people’s eyes and eat them away from the inside, causing blindness? Who creates something with that kind of life cycle?
Why should man not lie with another man? What’s the deal with slavery? Why do women get raped and families get murdered and countries get bombed? Who, being all-powerful, would allow that to happen?
Why create whisky and cirrhosis of the liver?
Sugar and obesity?
The wondrous beauty of the orgasm and AIDS?
All-loving, you say?
What if a person has devoted their life to you, prayed every day, been Christian in everything they do? What if they have loved their neighbour and offered charity where needed? What if they never committed adultery or coveted another man’s wife? Why, then, are they rewarded with a cancer of their own? What’s the great plan behind allowing another believer to watch as their mind disintegrates with Alzheimer’s disease? What was their fault that you gave them such a feeble reward?
Why do you not answer their prayers?
Why are you silent?
Is the world not as you want it?
Would you like the chance at a do-over?
Mrs May, you know what you want.
Time. I want more time.
Then do not ask God.
I have seen that He does not answer. He will not cover up your indiscretions. He will not punish somebody who has mistreated you. He will not get you out of paying that speeding fine. He wants your undivided attention and complete devotion.
But he does not answer your questions.
I know what I want.
I’m not going to ask anyon
e. I’m going to tell them.
FIFTEEN
What was he going to say?
My wife has been gone for weeks now. I think she ran out on me because I keep getting drunk and beating the shit out of her. Anyway, here are the details of the registration plate on her car.
Gail’s husband couldn’t even admit that he was an alcoholic. He was still ambivalent about whether the beatings were provoked and deserved. So he wasn’t going to call the police and explain that.
Maybe she would get a speeding ticket or accidentally drive in a bus lane, and he could get an idea of her location from that when the fine turned up at his address. Otherwise, he would continue to drink and he’d have to beat himself up about something.
Since arriving at The Beresford, Gail had hardly used the car she had arrived in. She was a city gal now. She walked into town. She might ride the train, but she rarely used her car. And with her baby thriving inside her, she felt uncomfortable about strapping a seatbelt across her waist; the steering wheel was also a threat should she get into an accident. So, everything about the journeys she had lined up for the rest of the week was filled with added peril.
She was sweating, driving to nowhere. The navigation app on her phone was open but she wasn’t using it to follow a route, it was to keep her heading in one direction. There was quarter of a tank left but she wasn’t going to risk running it too low, despite what Mrs May had told her.
The roads had been dark and winding for ten minutes, but that eventually gave way to the lights of a small village. A church on the left as she entered looked immaculately cared for, as did the driveways and front gardens of any houses she passed. A stark contrast to the world she had left behind her.
Three miniature roundabouts later and she arrived at a petrol station. Quaint. Two pumps and an outhouse. She filled her tank, bought a bottle of water and asked whether the toilets were open. She rubbed her stomach to indicate her condition. The guy behind the till was half interested, half watching a video on his phone. He waved one of his hands in the direction of the building she needed.
Gail used the facilities, expecting them to be as disgusting as any roadside café she’d ever visited, but they were as pristine as anything she had passed in that place. The only thing that was dirty in their beautiful little town were the large metal bins around the back of the toilets. They were for work use only, not for patrons – a sign said so. But Gail tried her luck and the chained lid could be lifted a little way.
She went back to her car, nobody else was around, and the employee inside was taking no notice of her. She casually looked around for any cameras but didn’t want to draw undue attention to herself, so got back in, started the engine and drove forward, out of view.
That gap, it was big enough to get something through. She didn’t want to put all three packages in one place, that would be irresponsible. Abe’s pelvis was flat enough to squeeze in there. And if for some reason it was discovered, it wouldn’t give anything away, surely. It would cause a stir, obviously, but authorities would look around that village – too perfect to be perfect, in Gail’s opinion – for the rest of the body. And they’d never find anything because Gail was going to put the arm and the shin another fifty miles north. The remainder would be scattered so far and wide nobody would be able to link two pieces together.
There was a rush of adrenaline as the justification formed in Gail’s mind. She stepped out of the car, leaving it running with the lights still turned off, and approached the back. She took the wrapped pelvis from beneath one of the blankets, pushed the lid of the bin up as high as the chain would allow and dropped her first package off. The stench of whatever else was rotting inside hitting her immediately.
She dry heaved. Twice. Then ran back into the toilet and threw up. Perhaps it was the smell, perhaps it was the pregnancy, perhaps it was the gravity of the situation, Gail had no idea, but whatever was inside her had to come out. She washed her face with water and stopped outside.
The employee was waiting for her.
No.
Her eyes widened.
She stopped in front of him and said nothing.
‘Is everything okay?’
What had he heard? Was she too loud when she lowered the lid? She couldn’t get caught. Not now. It was her first package. Would she have to kill the young petrol attendant, too?
‘I … er … I…’
‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening or creeping up or anything. I remember when my older sister was pregnant, she was sick all the time. I just noticed on the monitor that you’d left your lights off and I didn’t want you to drive off like that when you’d finished.’
Gail could not disguise her relief.
‘Oh, yes, the lights. Baby brain, eh?’
‘Quite. My sister used to say that, too.’ He smiled and bid her a good day, said he’d see her again soon.
Not a chance in hell.
SIXTEEN
‘That’s Abe’s room, right?’ Aubrey knew exactly what it was, she wanted Mrs May to explain herself.
The Beresford was her building. As far as the old lady was concerned, she could go wherever she pleased, she did not have to justify herself.
‘That is right.’ She shut it down.
‘It just looked as though you were locking up.’ It hung in the air.
The woman who did not have to explain herself decided that the best course of action was to explain herself.
‘I was locking up. Gail had taken some of Abe’s old things on her charity run. She called me, from a payphone of all things, frantic that she had lost her mobile phone. She thought she may have dropped it at Abe’s when she picked his items up but didn’t have his number.’
‘But she did have yours?’
‘The Beresford is in the directory, dear. I called Abe and he said he had found it and left it on a table in the hallway and that I could get it for Gail.’ She held up Blair’s phone.
Her story had a million holes, but she’d given more than she believed she had to.
Mrs May started to walk off.
Aubrey could have left it there, gone on with her business and pondered over the alleged plot, but that was not the kind of person she was.
‘Why do you need to go in there and get it if Gail isn’t even here?’
Mrs May stopped, took a breath, and turned around to the inquisition.
‘There are a few reasons, Ms Downes. Firstly, Abe won’t be back this evening. Gail will. But she is overly stressed about losing her phone because her ex-husband was a physically abusive man, and it leaves her feeling paranoid. She is calling me back in ten minutes and would like to know that I have the phone in my possession. Now, that may not be the reason but I didn’t want to ask too many questions because it isn’t really my business. I was just trying to help.’
She had laid it on thick, talking about the abusive ex to elicit some guilt, adding in a dig about not asking questions and being a busybody.
Aubrey didn’t care.
‘That all makes sense apart from the bit where you got into Abe’s apartment while he wasn’t in.’ She raised her tone towards the end of the sentence to make it sound like a more playful enquiry.
‘With a key, dear.’
‘You have a key to Abe’s apartment?’
‘It is my building, Ms Downes. I have a key to every lock in this place, of course.’
‘I’ll be honest, I don’t know what I think of that, Mrs May.’
Aubrey’s computer held a lot of personal information about herself and her clients. She also kept physical records of policies and transactions – they were locked in a file that Mrs May did not have a key to. She wasn’t worried that Mrs May would go snooping in her apartment while she was out, trying on her knickers or using her toilet, but she didn’t explain that. Instead, she said, ‘I don’t know what I think of that.’
‘Check your terms and conditions. I have to have spare keys for safety. Also, people lose keys or forget keys. It’s a lot cheaper
for me to let you in rather than paying a locksmith. I don’t use them without permission. There’s nothing to worry about.’
‘No. No. I wasn’t saying … I just have sensitive information about work. I guess I understand Gail’s phone paranoia now.’
The conversation was left on a friendly note. Aubrey went outside to smoke a cigarette, and Mrs May went back to her apartment with Blair’s phone, content that Aubrey was walking off with her tail tucked firmly between her legs.
But Mrs May had been at The Beresford for longer than anyone could remember, she had seen all kinds of people pass through her doors, so she knew that Aubrey Downes was not right for the place, she didn’t fit. The old lady would give her the benefit of the doubt on this occasion, but she knew that her new tenant’s suspicious nature would eventually get her into trouble.
At some point, she would have to deal with Aubrey Downes.
She’d have to go.
It wasn’t like it was with Abe, Mrs May wanted him to leave. She wants Aubrey to go. And, at The Beresford, that is not the same thing.
SEVENTEEN
Gail received a text from Mrs May that told her, briefly, what had happened with Aubrey and that she should seem a little frantic about her phone on arrival at The Beresford, just in case she was being watched.
She was on her way back to The Beresford at that point. The text had interrupted the on-screen navigation, which she now had to use because she had driven so far out of her way that she no longer knew where she was. According to the application, she was an hour and forty-five minutes from the place she now called home.
And the boot was empty.
Abe’s pelvis was locked inside a large bin, filled with half a tonne of stinking rubbish she hoped would be collected and shoved into landfill within the next day or so. She had made a note of the name of the town so that she could look up the local news for the next week.
His arm and shin were buried deep into the woods sixty miles further north from his pelvis. Going into those woods with the light on her phone and a small garden trowel was terrifying but also told her that she needed to be better prepared for the next trip. The trowel was easier to hide beneath the blankets in her bag, but the effort to dig deep enough to bury two body parts so that they would degrade, rather than be uncovered by an animal or dog walker, was far more than she wanted. And she was already sweating profusely due to anxiety.
