Nathan took the shovels. Bob lifted the plastic-wrapped remains.
They were light, but bulky, and Bob's arms were tired. He couldn't carry it alone. He couldn't drag it; it might rip open on a tree root.
Nathan would have to help. But Nathan couldn't do that and also take the shovels.
'One of us will have to come back for them,' whispered Bob. 'We'll draw lots.'
'Fuck that. Let's throw her in the river.'
'What?'
'For Christ's sake. We wore gloves. We haven't bled or spat or whatever the fuck else. The river will wash away any trace elements.
And it'll scatter the bits: it'll wash them all the way downstream. To the sea maybe, to the ocean. It's the safest thing to do.'
'Are you mad?'
'No. What's mad, is to dig her up, then take her home in the boot of your car. Why not just get rid of her now?'
'It's leaving too much to chance.'
'Not so much as driving out of this lane at 4 a.m. with a fucking skeleton in the boot.'
'If we abandon the evidence, just throw it in the river, then we have to spend the rest of our lives worrying that someone, somehow, is going to find it -- and identify it. And we'll have to go to bed at night hoping we haven't left some clue, some trace of ourselves, that can be traced back to us. Christ, I don't know - maybe one of your hairs is trapped between her teeth or something, maybe it lodged there when you lifted the skull from the ground.'
'The river would wash it clean.'
'Maybe it would. Maybe not. Do you fancy taking that risk?'
'The hair would rot.'
'Maybe the cold water would preserve it.'
'Fuck,' said Nathan, knowing Bob was right.
They glared at each other and at the plastic-wrapped remains.
They taped the spades to the parcel and carried it between them like a stretcher. It took a long time to retrace their steps. They left behind several hundred muddy footprints. They used no torches and it was very dark. Because their arms were weary, the remains of Elise eventually grew very heavy.
Back at the car, they removed their shoes and shoved them into a black bin liner. They removed their clothes and shoved these into another bin liner. Inside the boot were six large bottles of Evian. They used these first to slake their thirst, then to rinse the worst of the mud from their hands and face and hair. The water was cold. They spluttered and swore. Bob had not thought to bring a towel.
Bob put Elise in the boot while Nathan put his suit back on. He was cold and wet and muddy, and the clean fabric abraded his skin.
His fingers shivered as he laced his shoes. Bob closed the boot. He supported his weight with one hand on the roof while he dressed in a pair of jumbo cords and a cable-knit sweater gone in the elbows. It smelled of motor oil.
They sat in the Audi, shivering.
'Right,' said Bob.
He engaged the engine and pulled the car through a U-turn.
Nathan turned in his seat to see how the red brake lights illuminated the half-moon of tyre tracks they left on the road behind them. Bob told him not to worry. The tyre tracks and the footprints would be long gone before the builders got here, let alone the police: erased by the wind and the rain and the passage of other cars with muddy wheels, cars that brought young lovers down this dark lane. And when the footprints and the tyre prints were gone, they would be gone forever. Any fresh traces they'd left behind would be hopelessly compromised.
The Audi stopped where the lane joined the road.
Bob waited until he was sure no cars were coming -- no car whose driver or passenger might take note of the old Audi slipping out of such a sinister track, so late at night. But it was late and there was no traffic. The road stretched empty in both directions.
They barely saw another vehicle until they pulled on to the motorway, and even then the traffic was intermittent and forlorn. Bob drove at a measured pace in the inside lane. They passed two flashing :fe police cars breathalysing somebody at the roadside. They grew tense.
But that was it.
It was after 5 a.m. when they arrived at Bob's house. People on early shifts were leaving for work. Clubbers were still getting home.
It was dark but the night had gone. It was a new day.
27
Bob had rented a lock-up garage just round the corner from his house. The Audi idled in front of the doors while Nathan fiddled with numb hands at the padlock.
The garage was dark and smelled of mildew and oil, exactly like Bob's sweater. Nathan stepped inside its damp mouth, fumbling for the light switch. He found it on the breeze-block wall and now the garage was filled with wan radiance and dark corners. Nathan stepped aside to allow the car to enter.
It crept in, brushing its snout against the far wall. Nathan pulled the garage door closed, engaging the four heavy-duty slide bolts Bob had fixed there.
Inside the garage was a workbench. Its corners and holes were linked with ancient cobwebs. There were some oil canisters, a hat rack against one corner, and there was a chest freezer with rusted hinges.
Nathan looked at it. He could hear the low humming of its motor.
Bob got out of the car. He dug his knuckles into the small of his back and lit a cigarette.
'What a night.'
Nathan lit a cigarette too.
'What now?'
'I'll keep it in the freezer until I've researched the best way to get rid of it.'
'Just burn it.'
'And where do you suggest I burn it? Where do I procure a heat source powerful enough to break down human bone? Would you like me to take it home and do it in the oven?'
'All right. The clothes. Let's just douse them in petrol and burn them on the floor. We can do that right now. Right here and now.'
'And what if they leave trace elements?'
'They won't, Bob. There's nothing left.'
'And you know that, do you? You can be certain?'
'Pretty certain, yeah.'
'I wish I could be.'
Nathan was exhausted. The walls seemed far away.
'It's all going in the freezer,' repeated Bob, patiently. 'Until I've found the best way to dispose of it.'
Nathan threw down his cigarette and drew near to Bob.
'We just took a stupid risk, digging this stuff up. Now you want to keep it in your garage, for Christ's sake? What's the matter with you?'
'Are you going to tell anybody it's there?'
'Of course not. But Jesus, you can't just leave it there. We should be dissolving it in acid or something.'
Good idea. Do you know where to get it?'
'I'll Google it.'
Excellent idea. And do you know how to handle it safely?'
'I'll Google that, too. I'll go to an Internet cafe, right now, and I'll order a coffee and I'll
He trailed off. Then he kicked the car, almost hard enough to break his toe. Then he leaned on the bonnet and said, 'Jesus fucking Christ. What a mess. What a mess.'
