No Telling

Untitled Part 3

Chapter One

To say he was anxious would be an exaggeration. He was annoyed, and maybe a little unsettled, which was why he had needed to follow up with a new one so quickly. That done and safely in the cupboard, so to speak, he felt better.

This one hadn't caused any problems at all. It had all gone like clockwork, and he didn't expect anything else to trouble him to-day.  

He grabbed a beer from the fridge, turned on his sixty-inch flat-screen and sat down to relax in front of the Open. He had barely settled into the comfort of the feather and duck-down cushions when the face that had been on the bill boards all week appeared on the screen.

Not again.

It was the last item on the news. Wouldn't you think that with a missing aircraft, a couple of high profile trials, and the teachers strike they'd have enough proper news? But no. An appeal for information concerning the missing girl, Anna Cox was being screened.

He stared at the screen, shaking his head as the detective introduced the parents. They hadn't even tidied themselves up for this. The mother wasn't wearing make-up, the father hadn't even combed his hair, and they were both wearing clothes straight from the discount stores. Who the hell should care about them and their delinquent child?

The detective was only slightly better. She was shapely enough. Fit even. The sort of woman he might notice if she chose to make something of herself, but she clearly didn't.

The parents were speaking now. "It's so out of character..." the mother said. Her voice broke and she couldn't say any more. He knew that this was a lie. The anguish, the shaking shoulders. She should learn to control herself.

"She wouldn't worry her mother..." the father said, putting his arm round his wife and drawing her close.

More lies. Then there was the photo again, a phone number flashed across the screen, and it was over.

He stood up, strode heavily across the room and picked up the land line. He thumped it down again without dialling. Waste of bloody time.

He had been careful, chosen so very carefully. He had used the usual criteria; low social class, a history of absconding, unsuitable previous relationships, and she was over sixteen. Just. Why the hell was all this happening?

He told himself to get a grip. The body was well hidden. No one would find it. No body; no murder. Simple as that. She'd be classified as a runaway, just as he had intended, and that'd be the end of it. Hadn't he got the other one ready and waiting? He should relax and think of her. Why should he worry?

Last time he had used that spot, it had taken over a year before someone stumbled across it. That was... God, how long ago? Fifteen years. Maybe a bit longer.

No.

It would have been better to have taken her higher up, further off the beaten track. What had he been thinking?

She had been surprisingly heavy. A dead weight. Or maybe he wasn't as fit as he used to be. The long slow climb on an ink black night had nearly killed him. His back ached, his breath coming in gasps, and he couldn't go any further. Sweat was pouring off him.

He had wiped his face with his handkerchief. The silk felt cool and soft. He made sure he put it away with extra care. It was monogrammed. He couldn't afford to leave any stupid clues this time.

The last time he used that spot he hadn't had to lug a body all the way. That time she had come willingly. On a bright and sunlit afternoon, he had persuaded her to take one last walk with him, into the hills where they had spent so much time together.