by Adam Croft
How much are we talking? Depends on type of rubbish and disposal method you want. We can talk.
Cagey, but promising. I click ‘Reply’ and quickly type out a response.
Three grand. Can’t negotiate – that’s literally all I have. Method up to you, whatever’s quickest. Will provide details later, but it’s a light load.
It seems bizarre that we’re both keeping it so cryptic, considering the secrecy and anonymity of the dark web, but I’m not complaining. So far as I can see, there’s absolutely nothing incriminating so far. Sure, a copper with even half an ounce of common sense would know what it was all about, but there’s nothing whatsoever that would stand up in a court. Besides, the anonymity is keeping me extra safe for now.
The anonymity is something that’ll have to be broken, though. As soon as I identify Tasha as the target, the odds will be stacked against me in terms of the killer working out who I am. I can throw him off that trail, though, by telling him I’m someone else and she tucked me up over a business deal. There’s nothing to trace it back to me. Not if I’m careful.
There’s a deep-seated worry that this person might not even be genuine. What’s to say they’re not just going to take my three grand and disappear? How do I know they’re actually going to go through with it? What if it’s a police sting?
I shake that last thought from my head. It’s impossible. I was the one who initiated the whole thing. But how do I know this person is trustworthy? I don’t know who he is or have any sort of guarantee it’s going to happen, but what choice do I have? If I want the reassurance of Warren’s word, it’s going to cost me an extra twelve grand that I don’t have. Besides which, I’m not about to draw up a fucking contract with some anonymous hitman I found on the internet. These things are all about trust. They have to be. A gentleman’s agreement. His word is his bond.
Handing over the money could be tricky, so I’d have to arrange some sort of dead drop. I’d leave the cash hidden in a container, somewhere no-one else will find it, then send him a dark web message telling him where it is. As long as I keep well away from cameras while I’m doing it and make sure the money’s put somewhere it can’t be accidentally found by someone else, I should be in the clear.
By the time I’ve pondered all this, I’ve already got a response waiting for me. This guy’s keen.
That’s cheap, but doable. Won’t be anything fancy, though. Low risk method needed. Identify the target and I’ll see if it can be done.
Christ. Identify the target. This is sounding almost military. I guess that means he’ll be efficient.
I realise that he’s probably going to want a photo of Tasha. How am I supposed to get one of those to him? I can’t go putting one on a computer without being traced. I’m going to need to think this through carefully.
I lean back in the chair and think. Whatever it is, it’s going to need to look natural. As natural as someone dying can look. Nothing too obvious like a shooting, but then again trying to make it look like suicide has its own risks, too. No, it needs to look accidental.
I remember the idea I had a little while back. What about a mugging gone wrong? Tasha’s so bloody obstinate, if some bloke tried to mug her or nick her bag she’s just the sort of person who’d try to argue and fight back and end up getting herself seriously hurt or worse. Or worse.
But where? She rarely goes out without me, and I sure as hell need to make sure I’m nowhere near when it happens, as I’m going to need the alibi. It’ll need to be done somewhere that won’t be too busy and preferably not in broad daylight, either. Fortunately for me, Tasha’s pretty fearless so she’s not the sort of person who’d walk the long way round just to stick to main roads.
I think back to my meeting with Mark in Jubilee Park. Almost no-one walks through Jubilee Park at night, even though it’s completely open. Tasha has a friend, Emma, who lives on the other side of Jubilee Park. She’d need to walk – no, would walk – through the park to get to Emma’s house. I’d really rather not involve Emma, though, if I can help it. She’s not the sort of person I’d really want to spend too much time with, but Tash has managed to systematically alienate every single one of her other friends. Even Cristina and Leanne aren’t massively keen on her. Before I know it, I’ve got my phone out of my pocket and I’m calling Emma.
‘Nick, good to hear from you,’ she says. A blatant lie. She’s been weird with me for years. ‘How are things? I mean, apart from the obvious. Is there any news?’
‘No, nothing really. All we can do is wait. There’s nothing much else we can do. That’s the hardest part,’ I say. Sympathy vote, please. ‘It’s starting to get to us both a bit, if I’m honest. Tasha says she’s alright, but I know her. She’s struggling as much as any of us. That’s why I’m ringing, actually. She won’t say anything, but I think she needs a friend.’
‘Oh?’
‘Yeah. Don’t tell her I told you this, though. You know what she’s like.’ I let out a small chuckle, trying to loosen the atmosphere. ‘I was thinking perhaps if you called her and invited her over to your place tomorrow night, I think that’d help her a lot. Help take her mind off things and give her some support, change of scenery, y’know. Get a few of the girls together and try to get her to relax.’
There’s a pause before she speaks. ‘Yeah, course,’ she says. ‘I’ll do whatever I can. Must be hard just waiting for news. You must feel helpless.’
‘We do,’ I say.
‘No worries, I’ll give her a call now.’ There’s a short pause before she speaks again. ‘And how are you bearing up, Nick?’
‘I’ve had better times,’ I say, trying to shrug it off. ‘Oh, and Emma? Can you do me one huge favour?’
There’s a short pause before she replies. ‘Of course. What is it?’
‘Don’t tell anyone that I suggested this. Especially not Tasha. You know what she’s like if she thinks people are trying to mollycoddle her.’
I can almost hear Emma smiling at the other end of the phone. ‘Of course.’
Once the rest of the updates and pleasantries are out of the way and the phone is back in my pocket, I realise how quickly things have moved. I click ‘Reply’ on the dark web site and update the stranger.
It’ll be tomorrow night, Jubilee Park. Needs to look accidental. Cash will be ready by then. Description to come.
I hear Alan shuffling around upstairs and I find myself letting out a small yelp. I know I’ve got to stay calm. Getting jumpy isn’t going to do me any favours.
A few seconds later, another message pings through on the laptop.
That’s not much notice. Will need closer contact. Have throwaway mob: 07700919663. Geoff.
Geoff. Is that his real name? I’m guessing not.
He might well have a throwaway mobile, but I certainly don’t. Can withheld numbers be traced by police if they need to? I don’t know, but I can’t risk it. I’m going to have to use phone boxes, and then preferably ones without CCTV anywhere nearby. I wouldn’t know where to get a throwaway mobile of my own, and was under the impression that even pay-as-you-go SIMs had to be registered to a name and address nowadays. The phone box seems like the only option.
I decide I need to head home and be with Tash. Once she’s been invited over to Emma’s, she’ll let me know the times and I can call Geoff to update him.
I intend to leave the cash in a holdall, hidden in the woods outside the town. There’s a small copse out towards Huish Farm which is pretty dense and has thick undergrowth and piles of old leaves. I go out walking there quite a lot when I need to clear my head or work through a particular plot point in my books. Tasha and I sometimes take Ellie for walks around there when the weather’s good, but that’s rare. We used to do it far more often, but nowadays I just find myself walking in the woods on my own instead. Story of my life.
I’ll bury the holdall under the leaves in the undergrowth in the woods, which’ll be fine for a few hours or a day or two. In fact, you could probably leave it
there for months and no-one would find it. Aside from the odd dog walker or two, it’s not exactly a busy thoroughfare.
I stand back and think for a moment. This is becoming real. I’m actually making plans and coming up with hiding places, routes and excuses. It scares me a little. It’s somewhat too real, too vivid. And it’s at that point that I realise I’m actually going to have to go through with this after all.
All of a sudden, things are moving very quickly.
41
Nick
When I get back home, I find a note from Tash to say she’s popped out for an hour to get some shopping. I always feel a pang of guilt when I see signs of normality like this. When a child goes missing, your life stops dead, yet there are things which have to continue as normal, like eating and sleeping. That’s one of the worst things about it; feeling guilty for carrying out your natural bodily functions. That’s what it does to you.
I’m glad Tash isn’t here as I need to get the money from the safe and go. Doing that with her in the house would be more than difficult. I have a sudden bolt of adrenaline as I realise how woefully unprepared I am for this. It was meant to be a carefully thought-through plan, but now I seem to be racing along at a hundred miles an hour, thinking of things just as I’m doing them. This worries me.
Ever since I received the photo of Ellie, I’ve known I needed to do something quickly. I’d known before that, but not as definitely. Seeing her little face was heartbreaking, and right now I’m battling between the side of me that desperately wants her back and the side that knows I need to remain calm and collected if this is to work.
Then again, you’ve got to take your chances.
I sprint up the stairs and into the bedroom, where I open the safe. The cash is still there. I open my wardrobe, remove my sports bag and put the cash inside. It’s an awkward amount – far too much to fit in a pocket or jacket, but lost inside my sports bag. To make it look less suspicious, I grab a towel and a pair of trainers from the wardrobe and throw them in, too.
I realise that I’m going to have to take the car. I’ve not wanted to use it up until now – not for anything other than the usual stuff – as part of me is convinced they’ve put some sort of tracker on it. My logical mind tells me they can’t have done, though. They’d need to get a warrant to do that, and that means they’d need sufficient evidence that I was involved in Ellie’s disappearance. Besides which, there’s just no real way of me getting to the woods without my car. If the worst comes to worst and they find out I was there, I’ll tell them I decided not to go to the gym and opted for a run around the woods in the fresh air instead.
I know that if I stop I’ll change my mind, and I know I can’t change my mind. I need to stick to the plan. I need Ellie back.
I head back downstairs and out the front door, which is when I see McKenna walking up the front path with a carrier bag in each hand. Tasha’s walking behind her.
‘Hi, Nick. Off somewhere?’ McKenna says.
‘To the gym,’ I say, holding up the sports bag. ‘I need to blow off some steam.’
‘Must be difficult sitting around waiting for news,’ she says. ‘Not knowing what’s happened.’
‘Yeah, it is. Just makes us feel so helpless, y’know? Frustrating. Which is why,’ I say, walking towards my car, ‘I’m off to pound the treadmill.’
‘Enjoy,’ McKenna replies, looking at me for a little longer than feels comfortable before heading into the house. Tasha stops to speak to me.
‘Before I forget, Emma called while I was out. She’s asked me if I want to go over to her place tomorrow night with Leanne and Cristina. Thinks it might do me good to get out of the house.’
‘She’s probably right. There’s nothing much we can do other than go mad waiting. Distractions help,’ I say, holding up the sports bag again.
‘I know. But it still feels wrong somehow. If I do decide to go, it’ll be at about eight, so I won’t be back late,’ she replies, leaning across to kiss me on the cheek as she walks past and into the house.
‘Have fun at the gym,’ McKenna says from the doorway, having already put the bags in the kitchen. I start up my car and drive off down the road.
I keep one eye on my rear-view mirror as I head off towards the town centre before turning up a side road and heading in the direction of the woods. I’m careful to make sure no-one’s following me, as I’d find it pretty tricky to explain why I’m heading for the woods with a sports bag.
The wooded area isn’t accessible by car, so I park up in a nearby road next to some houses, making sure the car doesn’t stand out like a sore thumb, and I walk up the footpath and through the field to the copse.
Fortunately, I see no-one on my way. The weather’s not ideal for dog walkers or families out exploring. When I reach the copse, I stick to the well-worn path for a few yards before checking around me and veering off between the trees, my feet stumbling as I try to traverse the logs and thickets to get deeper into the undergrowth.
Once I’m satisfied there’s no-one here, I use my boot to scrape aside a pile of leaves and dead branches and plonk the bag down on the damp mud before covering it back over. How I’m going to describe where this is, I don’t know. I scurry around in the leaves to find a sharp stone. I find something which looks a bit like flint, and I leave a mark on the nearest tree – an X. I retrace my steps back to the path and draw an arrow on a tree, pointing in the direction of the bag. It’s not obvious to anyone casually walking past, but visible enough to someone looking for it.
Even though I know it’s well hidden, I feel pretty uneasy just leaving three grand in a bag in the middle of the woods. Not as uneasy as I feel about coming face-to-face with the man who’s going to kill my wife, though, or having to identify myself to give it to him directly. I can handle losing three grand if that’s the alternative.
I retrace my steps back across the field to my car. I know there’s a phone box in the next village, Medbury – one which won’t have CCTV cameras anywhere near it. To be honest, I’d be surprised if Medbury had electricity. I start up the car and head in the direction of the village.
When I get there, I decide to leave my car a hundred yards or so away from the phone box. I’m not entirely sure why, but it just seems to feel safer. I get out and walk to the payphone, trying not to look too suspicious as I glance around me. I fish the piece of paper with Geoff’s number on it out of my pocket before lifting the receiver and dialling. I drop a pound coin in the slot as he answers.
‘Yeah?’
‘Geoff?’ I ask. It’s all I can think of to say.
‘Yeah,’ he replies.
‘It’s the guy who wanted the removal job done,’ I say.
‘I know who you are. I don’t reuse SIM cards,’ he says. That both reassures me and puts me on edge. He seems like a serious, professional kind of guy.
‘Oh, okay. Good,’ I reply. ‘If you head to the woods by Huish Farm, just outside Medbury, there are signs for a public bridleway. Follow the path into the woods. You’ll see a tree on your left. That’ll get you to where you need to be.’ I try to keep it as vague as I can, not mentioning money or anything of the sort. I guess you can never be too careful.
‘Right. And what about the job?’ he asks, a man of few words.
‘Female, mid thirties. She’ll be walking east through Jubilee Park between eight and quarter past, wearing a cream-coloured coat with a fur-lined hood.’ It’s the only way I can think of to describe Tasha. I have no idea what she’ll be wearing and there’s no way I can try to dictate that to her, but I know which coat she’ll be wearing – the one she always wears.
‘Any preference on method?’
‘Something quick, but needs to look accidental.’
‘Will she be carrying a bag? Phone? Money?’ he asks.
‘Yes, all of them I should think.’
‘Right. Mugging gone wrong, then,’ he says.
It sounds daft saying it to a contract killer, but I start speaking before
I’ve even realised. ‘Be careful, though,’ I say. ‘She’s pretty feisty. She’ll probably try fighting back.’
‘Oh, I’m not worried about that,’ he says. ‘Is that all I need to know?’
‘Uh, yeah,’ I reply. What else is there to say? This isn’t exactly something I tend to do every day.
‘Good. If the money’s where you say it is, we’re on. Either way, don’t call this number again.’
Before I can say anything, he’s hung up the phone. A lump forms in my throat as I now realise this whole thing is completely irreversible.
42
Tasha
‘What a time to go to the gym,’ Jane says as I take the tins from the carrier bags and put them into the cupboards. Her presence here has become completely normal recently. She’s almost a part of the family.
‘Yeah, well, that’s Nick for you,’ I say, not wanting to add anything else.
‘Maybe he wants to get rid of his frustrations through exercise. Wear himself out.’
‘Maybe,’ I reply.
‘His way of having some normality. Something to take his mind off things, perhaps.’
I put a tin down on the shelf in the cupboard a little harder than I normally would. ‘Perhaps.’ I think she senses I’m uncomfortable, as she quickly changes the subject.
‘I swear they’re making these carrier bags thinner nowadays. Bit of a con, really, seeing as they charge us 5p for each one.’
‘Got to look after the environment,’ I say, in a flat tone.
‘True, but it’s not doing the environment much good if I have to use three times as many bags because they’ve made them twice as thin.’
I let out a small sigh, my hand resting on a tin of beans. I don’t lift it. I just stand, staring at the tiles on the wall. ‘No, I suppose not.’
