No.
The door swung open, the harsh light making Edwin jump. A man stood there on the threshold in a sombre black suit. He was about the same age as Farrow, except he had a full head of black hair and a well-kept beard. He wasn’t thick-set, more lean than anything, like a runner, and he laughed then stepped outside and hugged Farrow as though he hadn’t seen him in ages. Lots of back slapping was going on, the pair of them laughing, then Farrow took a pace backwards, gripping the tops of the man’s arms.
“Quiet night?” Farrow asked.
“Yes,” the man said.
“Got a space that’ll be relatively quick to dispose of?”
“Yes.”
A space?
“Brilliant.” Farrow gave a thumbs-up.
“I’ll leave the door propped open, then,” Black Hair said and dragged a heavy brass stopper across the floor, putting it in position. “There, that should do it. Bring your bounty through.”
Bounty?
Black Hair walked off down a hallway then disappeared to the right. Farrow turned and opened the boot, and Edwin didn’t want to look at what it held. But he had to, so he turned himself and stared at Mr Lyons, now crumpled into a wickedly horrifying position, arms and legs at strange angles. The light coming from the shop hallway showcased him in terrible glory, and Edwin shuddered at not just the sight of him, but at everything to do with this situation.
“Let’s get him inside, then,” Farrow said, voice quiet.
How Edwin curled his hands under those armpits again he had no idea, but suddenly he was in the hallway, the top of Mr Lyons’ head poking him in the belly. Farrow, his back to Edwin and holding Mr Lyons’ ankles like they were nothing more than sodding wheelbarrow handles, led the way. Around the corner that Black Hair had gone, the man himself was waiting.
“You know the drill,” he said. “Through there. I’ll go and lock up. Wouldn’t want anyone knowing what we’re up to, now would we?” He laughed uproariously as he walked away.
Edwin blew air out through pursed lips and helped carry Lyons into a room on the left. His legs almost gave out on him. A large, shiny pine coffin was perched on a white, material-skirted dais. On the wall beside it was a gold-framed picture of clouds and angels, something that Edwin supposed was meant to give a calming, soothing effect. It didn’t calm him. The whole set-up was eerie to Edwin, his first time in what he assumed was a viewing room in a funeral director’s place.
This is bloody madness. A funeral director helping to dispose of an unreported dead body? This only happens in books and movies, for fuck’s sake. Doesn’t it?
Edwin lost his grip, and the top half of Lyons’ body thunked to the floor.
Farrow laughed. “Good job he’s dead, otherwise that might’ve hurt.”
Edwin stumbled backwards, wanting nothing more than to be out of that room, but something was blocking his way. He swivelled and came face to face with Black Hair.
“First timer?” Black Hair asked.
Edwin didn’t know who he was speaking to, and anyway, his throat felt like it wasn’t going to let him answer.
“Yeah,” Farrow said. “But he’s a good lad, aren’t you, Ed? Won’t say a word, this one. Part of the real team now.”
“Sit your arse down before you bloody fall down,” Black Hair said to Edwin and pointed to a chair in the corner that Edwin hadn’t noticed before.
He staggered over to it and sat gratefully. Shit, his legs had gone to jelly along with his guts. Dipping his head, he stared at the carpet, which was burgundy with green, blue and cream patterns, the sort old people had in their living rooms. Surreal, that was what this felt like. If anyone had told him when he’d woken up this morning that he’d end the day here, he wouldn’t have believed them.
“Best you just watch tonight,” Farrow said.
Edwin glanced up. Farrow wasn’t holding Lyons’ ankles anymore, and the body was in a parody of the foetal position on the floor.
“Yes, then you’ll know the procedure for next time,” Black Hair said.
So Edwin did as he’d been told and watched as the two men opened the coffin lid, scooting the dead resident already in it onto its side. They snapped Lyons a few more times, until he was as straight as a pencil, then wedged him in next to the other body, as though they were a spooning couple. Edwin couldn’t bring himself to take in what the other body looked like. But it was a woman, he knew that much, because he’d allowed himself to digest the fact that the outfit on the corpse was a purple flowery dress.
The coffin lid was slapped down and screwed shut.
“Funeral is at nine tomorrow morning,” Black Hair said, “so no chance of any family members wanting a last glimpse of the body now. The pair of them will be ashes come ten o’clock, after the usual service. Best I can do, I’m afraid, because the other bugger I’ve got here isn’t due to leave until three, and that’s a bit dodgy. And besides, that’s a burial, and we don’t want that, do we.”
“Not on your nelly.” Farrow brushed his palms together like he was getting rid of the sugar after eating a fucking doughnut.
It was all so casual, this behaviour, so normal to them, and Edwin couldn’t get over that—would never get over it. This would haunt him forever.
And it was something he could never tell another soul outside of Farrow’s inner, nefarious circle.
But Stuart knows…
Shit, yeah, Stuart knew.
And that was a high hurdle Edwin would have to jump over at some point.
Chapter Four
Back in the car, Edwin’s breathing was erratic and juddery. He couldn’t get a handle on it, and panic was setting in. Farrow was talking to Black Hair at the steel door, the hallway light off so no nosey parkers could identify the boss. Edwin assumed his earlier mention of CCTV was being discussed, which made him panic even more in case Black Hair forgot to wipe the discs, so he grabbed the limited time to take deep lung-filling sucks of air through his nose then out through his mouth.
Several long, slow inhales and exhales later, he was less spaced out and more with it—which wasn’t a good thing. Being spaced out had made him somewhat one step removed from the situation. Now, the enormity of what he’d been involved with—what he was involved with—pinched cruelly at his nerves and had him truly realising that he was up shit creek without a paddle. Whatever way he looked at it, he’d been complicit, no getting away from that fact.
Farrow wrenching open the car door startled the hell out of Edwin, but he managed to make his gasp sound like a yawn. Yeah, a yawn was a good concealment of his real emotions at this point. It hopefully gave the impression that he was bored and just wanted to get home after a long day’s work.
Some day’s work that was.
“All right there?” Farrow asked as he sat beside Edwin, shut the door then shot the car out of the courtyard and into the street, seemingly without a care as to who might be driving along it.
Did the man intend on giving Edwin a heart attack or what?
“I’m not too bad,” Edwin said, going for calm and I’m-not-bothered.
“Nice one. Told you, you’re born for this lark.”
While Edwin wouldn’t call it a lark, he knew what his boss was getting at, what he was trying to do—get Edwin to think this type of work was nothing to be concerned about, that it was all he was good for, convincing him that he was on the right path in life. Edwin would let Farrow think that way until Edwin came up with a better plan on how to stop himself being involved with this sort of madness in the future. Advising people who owed Farrow money would only take Edwin so far. At some point, someone was going to fuck it all up by not paying their dues despite himself and Gunner giving them a visit, and then Edwin would be forced to dispose of their bodies himself.
Maybe even kill them…
Shit, he hadn’t thought of that one before.
No, Farrow wouldn’t expect him to do that. Would he?
There was a time I didn’t think Farrow would expect me
to even have knowledge about his other business, the other side of him, yet here I am, sitting next to a bloke who has the majority of the town fooled into thinking he’s a top fella, when really he’s a wanker. No, more than that. He’s an out and out wicked bastard.
Edwin could see it all now, how the manipulation had started, how he’d basically been groomed for the moment when Edwin was needed for things outside of his initial job description. Edwin finding out about the drugs, the money lending, the beatings, then the dead bodies turning up, all drip-fed to him over time so that he accepted each new revelation without much of a thought. Except Farrow had been wrong there. Edwin had thought about it—thought about it ninety percent of the fucking time—and he wasn’t some kid able to be brainwashed into thinking what Farrow and his men did was okay. It seemed on the outside Edwin thought it was okay, but inside? No. Never.
I should have got out when the first weird thing happened. When I walked into Farrow’s office that time and saw all those drugs piled up on his desk, the top of Farrow’s head nigh on invisible behind them. I should have made out I didn’t know what those packages were and told him I’d just come to hand in my notice because I’d found another job.
It would have been easy doing that, now he looked back on it, but at the time it had been such a shock that he’d just stood there, mouth hanging open while Farrow had casually said that Edwin was welcome to try the merchandise if he had a mind. Edwin didn’t have a mind, thank you, and he’d said so. Then Farrow had asked what he should do about the packages—he’d supposedly found them dumped behind the office building; what a load of old bollocks—and was in quite a dilemma about it.
You should hand them in to the police, that’s what I told him. How naïve had I been? And as for Farrow laughing at me after I’d said that…
The memory gnawed at Edwin, and it took quite some strength for him to hold back his anger. He wasn’t a violent bloke, but right now he wanted to strike out and punch Farrow in the face. The man was driving along without a care in the world, and soon, Mr Lyons’ disappearance would be noticed, his wife worrying, crying, and frantic that something awful had happened. His kids would be without a father, their kids without a grandad, and oh, fuck, this was getting to be too much. Too deep.
He was someone’s everything, and now he’s been stuffed into a coffin and his family’ll never see him again. All over a load of shingle costing a grand. A grand!
“Want me to nip into the chippy before I drop you home, get you some dinner? My treat?” Farrow asked.
Treat? What? He’s thinking of eating fish and chips after…after doing what we just did?
“Er, nah. Thanks.” Edwin wondered if Farrow would take that as a sign of weakness, that Edwin couldn’t stomach eating, so he rushed on with, “I’ve got some leftover Chinese from last night in the fridge, haven’t I. A bit of rice and a few spare ribs. That’ll do me.” He had to maintain the illusion that he was okay with this shit, so that right up until the last minute, when Edwin finally decided on what he was going to do to get out of it all, Farrow would think Edwin was someone he could trust. Having the boss suspecting that Edwin wasn’t on the level wasn’t something he needed at the minute.
“That’s a good idea,” Farrow said. “A Chinese will hit the spot for me, too. I’ll drop you off then go and see old Wong. Makes a mean spring roll, that bloke.”
Edwin was careful not to wince. Mr Wong owed Farrow money, too—for what, Edwin didn’t know and didn’t want to. Glad he wouldn’t have to visit the Chinese takeaway with Farrow, and convincing himself Mr Wong wouldn’t come to any harm tonight, Edwin gave the expected smile and a “Yeah” in response.
They finished the journey to Edwin’s place in silence.
* * * *
Edwin stared at the taillights of Farrow’s vehicle until they were red pinpricks in the quilt of darkness. A few seconds ago, as he’d got out of that car, the boss had told him not to come into work until tomorrow afternoon, seeing as he’d stayed on late. In normal circumstances, Edwin would have thought that a generous gesture, but this wasn’t normal circumstances, so he thought Farrow was a top-class knob-end if he reckoned Edwin was going to be grateful for the offer.
All right, he was grateful, but not in the way Farrow would take it had Edwin expressed his thanks. He was grateful because he wouldn’t have to see Farrow again for a few extra hours, and he could think about his escape plan for longer before turning up for work again, pretending everything was hunky-bloody-dory.
He turned to face his front door, but to his right a white speck caught his attention. He looked that way, the brief thought entering his head that Farrow had tricked him, sending Gunner in his trademark white T-shirt to pounce on him and shut Edwin up for good.
But Gunner wasn’t there. Nor was anybody else.
Edwin shrugged it off as a case of moonlight glinting or as a lamp going off in one of the other pack cottages. He patted his groin for the key to his place. There it was, snug in his suit trouser pocket, a metal bulge that was literally the key to him feeling safe once he got inside. As safe as he could be, anyhow. He pulled it out, and it tinkled along with the key for his car, which was parked in front of his cottage. He should have known something was iffy about today when Farrow had turned up this morning to give him a lift into work. That had never happened before. And Farrow had said he’d ‘just been passing by’ so thought it would be nice for them to go in together.
Nice. Together. Those two words didn’t marry when applied to Farrow. He wasn’t nice, and Edwin never wanted to do anything together again.
He inserted the key and, as he made to twist it, that white speck flickered again. Guts churning, Edwin spun quickly, catching a glimpse of a fluffy tail disappearing into the hedge that bordered his front garden.
Shit. It had to be Stuart. Why had Edwin thought his friend would leave things be? Why had he imagined that good, law-abiding Stuart would go to bed tonight and forget what he’d seen, making out, when he next saw Edwin, that nothing had been witnessed at all?
“I saw you, Stu,” Edwin said and continued opening his door.
He stepped directly into his living room but didn’t bother switching on the lights. Last thing he wanted, if Stuart followed him inside, was for him to see Edwin’s face. To be able to read every expression that would be there for him to examine. Edwin never had been able to wear a mask while with Stuart, and he’d be stupid to think he could start now.
He tossed his keys onto the coffee table then toed off his shoes. While he waited with the front door slightly open for Stuart to slink in, he removed his clothes then stretched out his muscles, ready for when he shifted. And he would be shifting tonight. He needed the peace of mind it would give him, and besides, his wolf would start growling in a second, and he didn’t have the energy to push the beast back any more today.
A snort preceded the tip-tap-scrape of claws on the path in the garden, and Edwin sighed. Stuart was on his way, then. Edwin had half hoped the wolf would bugger off and leave him alone, yet at the same time it would be good to go for a run with the one man who understood him. Who knew him better than anyone else on the planet. Christ, they’d shared some shit over the years, hadn’t they?
The question was, could Stuart share this shit, too?
Edwin doubted it. Stuart didn’t have a deviant bone in his body. He’d tell Edwin to call the police, to admit his part in tonight’s activities, and accept the consequences. If he were honest, it was what Edwin wanted to do, too, but at the same time he was terrified of doing so. He’d be charged with whatever by the police, remanded in custody while he awaited the day of reckoning in court. Or even if he wasn’t remanded, he’d be a marked man, maybe having to report in somewhere or other every day to prove he wasn’t the absconding sort. A flight risk.
Jesus.
He sat on his sofa and waited. It wasn’t long before Stuart came in, his fur being ruffled by the breeze that followed him into the room. The wolf sat, the coffee tabl
e between them, and stared.
“I can explain,” Edwin said.
Stuart chuffed.
“But first I need a run. Got to clear my head.” Edwin stood. “So if you’re coming, come, if not, you can wait here if you like, makes no odds to me.” He was lying. It did matter whether Stuart came along, but he wasn’t about to force the bloke. It was Stuart’s choice as to whether he hung out with a sodding criminal or not.
Edwin stood then went to the front door. He held the handle and looked at Stuart, silently asking if he was staying or going. Stuart didn’t move, so Edwin closed and locked up then walked through to the kitchen, where a dog flap set into the wall gave him outside access. He shifted, the transformation swift and without pain and, once he was settled into his wolf body, he slunk through the dog flap. Paw pads cooled by the patio slabs, he sniffed the air. Nothing seemed untoward, no scent of Gunner hanging about, so Edwin squeezed through a gap in the rear hedge then let his wolf take him wherever it wanted to go.
Chapter Five
After running across fields for what seemed like miles, Edwin slowed to a stop. He hadn’t let himself check whether Stuart had followed, had been running so fast his friend’s scent wouldn’t have been detectable. Part of him, as he’d pounded along, his paws smacking onto the grass, had hoped that Stuart had remained in the cottage, but the other part, the needy side of him, the side that wanted Stuart to understand that Edwin wasn’t a bad man, hoped his pal had tagged behind.
Edwin lowered himself to the ground so he could catch his breath. His bones and muscles ached from the punishing run he’d forced himself to take, and he panted, tongue lolling from the side of his mouth. He needed a damn drink, but he was far from any pond or stream. And the type of drink he wanted wasn’t water anyway. A long, cool glass of lager would suit him at the moment. Something to slake his thirst but not get him tipsy.
The Adviser Page 3
