Burial Page 16

  'I don't know. An elbow?'

  'Or an ankle.'

  'Whatever.'

  In the black soil, it looked like the head of a mushroom.

  They got down on their knees and began to dig and sift the soil with their gloved hands. The cold seeped through until their fingers ached.

  Bob told Nathan to stop. Under his hand was a long bone. It looked cracked and old, even in the darkness.

  Nathan sat.

  'There's nothing left.'

  He was on the edge of the excavation. The soil was cold and it wet his arse. He wanted a cigarette. He said, 'What do we do?'

  Bob leaned on his shovel. Dirt like camouflage on his face.

  'Find as much as we can. The skull. The hips. The important bits.'

  'It's a fucking skeleton, Bob. She's gone.'

  Bob was breathless. He looked at Nathan, and then began digging.

  Over the next forty-five minutes, they found a number of vertebrae; they were scattered through the soil like the beads of a snapped necklace. They found a few dozen smaller bone fragments. They threw them all on the plastic sheeting. They found two more long bones. They chucked them on the sheeting, too. They lay like firewood.

  Then

  Bob stooped, examining the ground.

  He'd found Elise's skull. It lay close to the river's edge.

  It was no longer face down.

  Close by, Nathan spotted the edge of her lower mandible, protruding from the soil. He lifted it clear and placed it on the plastic.

  Then he joined Bob, digging under the skull with his fingers, prising it from the soil.

  They placed the skull on the plastic. Nathan turned it to face away from them, into the trees.

  An hour later, they found the carrier bag. It was black and oily and had been compressed by the weight of the soil, but it was intact.

  Inside were the damp remains of Elise's clothing. Nathan felt it: congealed fabric gone black and rotten. Even the rubber remains of the Adidas had perished. But they threw the bag on the plastic sheeting too.

  Then they stopped to examine it all. It didn't look like much. A ,

  broken skull, a few cracked bones. A bag of rags. Nathan looked down at the churned soil.

  'We'll never find it all.'

  'It doesn't matter. If a builder unearths what he thinks is a human skeleton, he's obliged to call the police. But if he finds a few scraps of bone by a river in the woods, what's he going to think ? He's going to think it's an animal. I mean . . .' He stooped to lift a chipped fragment from the plastic. He cleaned the caked earth from it and said, 'What's this?'

  'I don't know.'

  'I don't know either. It might not even be part of her. And we're the ones who put her here.'

  Nathan counted the long bones.

  'Bits are missing. A leg, or something.'

  Bob considered the plastic sheeting.

  'It was probably dragged off and eaten in the early days. By a badger.'

  'A badger?'

  'How the fuck should I know?'

  'A fox. A dog maybe.'

  They examined the grave.

  Bob said, 'What time is it?'

  'Gone three.'

  'Right. So we don't have much time.'

  They rolled the bones into a plastic bundle and sealed it with duct tape. They left the bundle in the woods and began to fill in the hole.

  They threw rocks and rotted leaves and twigs and branches at the area where they'd been digging. It hurt to breathe. Nathan's hands were numb.

  When they were done, Bob evaluated the scene. He probed at the ground with the beam of his torch.

  He said, 'Now, have you got everything? Keys, wallet? Glasses?

  Everything you bought. You haven't left anything? Your mobile phone?'

  'No.'

  'You're sure?'

  'Pretty sure.'

  'Two torches,' recited Bob. He counted off on his gloved fingers.

  'Two shovels. Carpet knife. Tape.' He looked round himself. 'I think that's it.'

  He patted his pockets.

  'Car keys.'

  Nathan waited until Bob found the keys. They walked into the trees. They'd come to the end of their endurance, and their tempers.

  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.'

  Bob said, 'Look, okay. It's been a long night. But we did it. So let's not fuck up now, by doing something rash when we're both so tired.

  The truth is, that's how people get caught. They do something stupid when they're feeling exactly the way we're feeling right now. Like going to an Internet cafe and looking up how to dispose of a body and being caught on CCTV.' He held up a hand - pre-empting Nathan's interruption - and said, 'Look, I'm sure you're right. I'm sure we can just douse the clothes and burn them. Fine. But what if, I don't know - you've seen the way stuff floats around when you light a fire.

  The embers, whatever. What if, by burning the clothes, you're leaving little fragments all over the garage? The kind of thing you can't see, but that Scene of Crime Officers can detect in two minutes flat?

  Traces of human fat, or whatever.'

  'It sounds pretty unlikely to me.'

  'And to me. But I'm not sure. Okay? I'm not sure. I just want to research this stuff. Believe me, it's the best way.'

  'Keeping her in a freezer?'

  'It's as good as anywhere else. It's better than where she was.'

  He watched Nathan's eyes flit to the boot, and said, 'Look, we got away with it. We're not even suspects. But we'd become suspects if they found her, out there in the woods. But they're not looking, Nathan, they're not even looking. We just have to make sure that, if they do come looking, they find nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I want to find out the best way to do that.'

  There was a standing pipe in one corner. Nathan flicked away the cigarette and walked over to it. He ran the tap. He took off his shirt.

  The water was unbearably cold. He forced his head under. His scalp constricted. He straightened, spluttering. Goosebumps ran the length of his torso. His sparse body hair stood erect, his hair in wet-cat spikes.

  He was shivering when he said, 'You're right. I can't think straight. I don't know what to do for the best.'

  Bob nodded, with gravity.

  Then he opened the boot and hoisted the plastic-wrapped remains in his arms and carried them to the freezer. Still half naked and shivering, Nathan opened the lid. He removed the baskets of frozen vegetables. They put Elise in the bottom and hung the racks of frozen vegetables above her.

  Then Bob closed the lid and secured it with a padlock.

  Nathan watched him do it. 'Now that's suspicious.'

  'What is?'

  'Padlockinga freezer. Who padlocks a freezer?'

  'What if some kids decide to burgle the place?'

  Nathan buried freezing hands in the pockets of his trousers. He hurried to the bonnet of the car, where his clothes lay, and pulled the T-shirt and shirt over his head.

  'I'm going home.'

  'Do you want a lift?'

  I'll take the bus or something.'

  'Are you sure? You look like shit.'

  I'll be fine. I need to get my head together.'

  'What will you say to Holly?'

  She'll be gone when I get home.'

  'Better make sure she is.'

  'She will be.'

  'Because you look fueled, mate.'

  'That's pretty funny.'

  'Can you do me one favour?'

  'What?'

  'Take our clothes and dump them somewhere?'

  Nathan sagged. He reached into the boot and removed the bag of muddy clothing. It smelled of soil. He tied a knot in it.

  'Just dump it outside one of the shops on Endymion Road,' said Bob. 'There's always rubbish piled out there.'

  Nathan tested the bag's weight. It seemed heavy. His arms were so tired.

  He said, 'What are you going to do?'

  'Sleep. Then get rid of the car. The spades. The rest of it.'

  'Okay.'

  There was nothing else to say. So, clasping the bag of evidence in his fist, Nathan unbolted the garage door and stepped into the fragile morning.

  Behind him, Bob slid the bolts shut, one by one. Locking himself inside with the bones.

  28

  Nathan carried the binbag along the tree-lined street of Victorian bedsitters.

  At the corner, it joined a main road. A yellow skip stood outside the gutted shell of a house in the early stages of renovation. The skip was half full of plasterboard and broken bricks and rusty wire frames. It was still early. Nathan leaned in, lifted a piece of plasterboard and wedged the binbag in the bottom corner of the skip. Then he dusted his hands and turned on to the main road.

  At the bus stop, he paused to open his Adidas sports bag. He removed the pack of Nurofen Plus and dry-swallowed a handful.

  There was a greasy spoon across the road. Nathan half-jogged over to it. His legs were stiff, on the edge of cramp. Inside, there was the sound of frying and hot water jets and local radio. He ordered a full breakfast and a mug of tea a
nd sat down with a copy of yesterday's Sun. When the breakfast arrived, he looked at it without conviction. But hunger found him. He ate the breakfast and drained the tea and hoisted his bag on to his shoulder. He left the cafe and caught the bus home.

  It was full daylight when he opened the door. The house was quiet. He could smell Holly's perfume in the hallway. A floorboard creaked, the house warming to the new day. He set down his bag by the telephone and stared at the photos on the wall. He could not connect that laughing girl to the cracked remains in Bob's freezer. He reached out, to straighten a frame. But he couldn't touch her. He thought of those rattling teeth, loose in the skull. And those clean limbs, gnawed at by foxes and badgers and local dogs drawn to the scent of rot.

  He couldn't go upstairs.

  He put the kettle on, and the television. While he waited for the kettle to boil, he sat in the armchair and fell asleep.

  In the dream, he awoke. Elise was in the room with him. She didn't say anything. She was on the sofa, legs crossed. She looked at him. He felt a swell of love for her, as he might for a lost child.

  He said, 'I'm so sorry.'

  Elise said, 'I'm cold,' and then she began to scream.

  Nathan woke in the act of wetting himself. The warm-cold stain spread across his crotch and thigh.

  He moved to the centre of the room and stood there with his back to the bay window, until his queasily thrashing heart had slowed. He stood there so long that twice he nodded off, his head dropping to his chest. He saw Elise tearing at her hair, hanks of it in her fists.

  He jerked awake and sat on the windowsill. The television was meaningless and brash.

  He stayed there until 1 p.m. He walked to the kitchen. With every footstep he glanced over his shoulder. Each creak of the house made his heart lurch.

  He opened the fridge. Looked at the eggs and the cold meats and the milk and the remains of a chicken, the half-drunk bottle of wine.

  He closed the fridge door. Got himself a glass of water. He was shivering.

  He went to the thermostat and turned up the heating.

  He was asleep, face down on the dining table, when Holly got home.

  Her smile fell.

  'My God, are you all right?'

  Opening one eye, he said, 'Heavy night.'

  He wanted her to lower him into a hot bath, to let the heat seep into his frozen bones that felt like rods of cold steel inside him: he wanted her to wash his hair with her fragrant shampoo, and he wanted her to wrap him in a warm towel, and then he wanted to undress her, her warmth and her softness, and he wanted to smell her and he wanted to make love to her; he wanted to make her pregnant, he wanted to make a little comma of life, something to double and increase in the secret heat, the pink half-light inside her.