copyright © Andi Dawson
“And finally, on a lighter note, an 18 year old cat called Gentile was rescued from her owners’ roof today after being up there for more than a week.”
Stacy got up, turned the TV off and sank back into the settee. It had been 2 days since she had buried Chris’ body in the woods. She had only dug a very shallow grave, partly because she only had a small spade and partly because she was afraid that someone would spot her. She had thought he would have been found by now and had flicked from one news programme to the next, expecting to see a report about the body being found by a jogger or an old man walking his dog. No such report had appeared.
She had been in her flat for 2 days now, too petrified to go out. Stacy hadn’t planned on burying her best friends’ boyfriend; admittedly, she had never liked him, but that didn’t mean she wanted to wrap his dead body in bin liners and bury him. All she could do now was think about what had happened and watch the news.
When she’d arrived at Cherie’s house for their girl’s night in she had expected to be greeted with a glass of wine. Instead, Chris had opened the door and tried to slam it in her face. Luckily, she got her foot in before he had the chance. She heard Cherie crying in the kitchen, but it was only when she walked in that she saw the bruise across her cheek. Stacy had warned Cherie so often, she’d told her a million times that Chris was bad news, but it was no use. Cherie was mad about him and he was always appeared to be mad about her.
Stacy had immediately stormed after Chris, yelling and telling him to get his things and leave. He was already in the bedroom, packing his few belongings into his gym bag. He too had a bruise on his face, which she hadn’t noticed when he’d opened the door.
“She hit me first you know.” he said softly as Stacy continued to rant and rave. This made no difference to her at the time; it didn’t really make much difference now either. He had then barged past her and headed back downstairs into the kitchen. She had darted after him, ready to protect her friend, but Cherie wasn’t there. Chris left the room and went down the hallway into the study. A scream caused Stacy to grab the rolling pin and run to help.
Chris was standing in the doorway with his back to Stacy. Cherie was opposite, as still as a mannequin, with a look of horror on her face. The paper knife was lodged in Chris’ neck, blood spurted over the fake Picasso hanging on the wall; he fell to his knees and died.
Since leaving the woods, Stacy had done nothing but smoke and watch TV. For 2 days she had flicked from channel to channel waiting for news of the discovery, waiting to become involved in a murder investigation. She wished now that she had called an ambulance and the police, but Cherie had stopped her from doing either. Her friend had never been forceful before, mind you she had never stabbed anyone with a paper knife before.
Cherie had taken Stacy back to the kitchen and poured them both several shots of vodka; this did nothing more than make Stacy sick. After several minutes of silence Cherie finally spoke. “You see it all the time in the movies. Someone kills someone by accident and then buries the body. It doesn’t look that hard and I have a whole roll of bin bags.” The statement made Stacy’s heart miss a beat; her best friend had turned from a sniffling mess, to a cold, calculating murderer.
She remembered a time from years before, when they were just kids; the school bully had forced Stacy to eat a mud pie. She had eaten every last bit and then thrown up all over herself. Cherie had tried to punch the girl to hurt her for hurting her friend, but she had been no match for the bully, who had hit her in the face and bloodied her nose. The two best friends cried together and promised that they would remain friends forever and help each other no matter what. But this ‘no matter what’ was totally different; this was something far more serious than a mud pie and a bloody nose.
Cherie continued to go on about how easy it would be, stating that they wouldn’t have to cut him into pieces or anything. She seemed to have it all worked out; they could wrap him in bin bags, put him in the boot of Stacy’s car, drive to the woods and bury him.
Stacy couldn’t now remember how they had managed to do all that and clean the study up in one night, but they had. As the sun rose they had even hovered and cleaned the boot of her car before saying goodbye and swearing never to mention anything to anyone ever. Over the two days since Stacy had lifted her mobile a million times, intending to call Cherie; each time she had chickened out. She had absolutely no idea what she wanted to say, but she knew it wasn’t wise to talk over the phone. She’d have to go round to the house.
Outside it was sunny and warm, but Stacy felt chilled to the bone. The walk to Cherie’s house would do her good and leaving her car locked in the garage was probably best. When she had been digging the hole in the woods she had been very worried about being spotted. She might not have been seen, but her bright yellow Escort may have been. It was far safer to leave it locked away.
The walk was almost over when she saw a police car racing down the street. It zoomed straight past Cherie’s house, but Stacy couldn’t help notice that it was heading towards the woods. She crossed the street and saw that the porch door was open as usual. She climbed the steps up to the front door and knocked; there was no answer. She tried calling through the letterbox and even phoning the house phone from her mobile, but there was still no answer.
Stacy left shortly afterwards, but not before posting a short note through the door. She had tried to make it as friendly as possible and she hoped that her desperation hadn’t shown through. Walking home though, her heart was beating faster and her mind was racing. Stacy had no idea where Cherie was. On a normal day she would have been at home in the afternoon, preparing for her evening aerobics class. She had been an aerobics instructor for many years and it suited her; she didn’t earn a fortune, but she loved the job. It was very strange that she wasn’t home getting ready. Although, the events 2 days ago weren’t particularly normal, but still, Stacy thought that Cherie should have been home.
She tried calling Cherie’s mobile several times on the way home, but it went straight to voicemail. She had no idea what she was going to do now, but as she approached her front door she saw what she hoped would provide an answer.
A red floral envelope was sticking out of the post box at the side of her front door. Cherie was the only person she knew who used red floral envelopes. Stacy grabbed the letter and headed inside. Ripping it open, a sense of calm filled her for a split second, until she started to read. In short, the letter simply said that her best friend was going on a long holiday. She didn’t mention murdering her boyfriend, or convincing Stacy to bury him, she simply stated that the holiday was something she had felt like for a long time.
That was it; Stacy was scared. Cherie was probably boarding an airplane at that very moment, leaving Stacy alone. The only comfort was that Chris’ body hadn’t been found. Stacy would have time to pack some things, give Lucy her goldfish to the little girl next door and head to the airport.
While racing around the bedroom, lifting clothes and trying to find her passport, she switched the portable TV on.
“And finally, the body of a local man was found in the woods earlier today, by a jogger out with his dog. Police have launched a murder inquiry and have already received some helpful leads from members of the public. At this time we cannot confirm the name of the man, but we can say that police are looking for the owner of a bright yellow Escort seen in the woods two days ago.”
