Digging Deeper - (chapters 5 & 6)

5

As the evening’s events churned over in his head, fear turned to anger. Although lacking concrete proof, he was now convinced something had been going on between Emma and Finn. ‘I bumped into her in town,’ he’d kept saying. Will knew it was a lie. Finn had been sniffing around his house more times than he cared to remember. What had they been doing in there? Playing tiddlywinks? No, this was all wrong. Why hadn’t he nipped this in the bud sooner? By the time he reached his house, the adrenalin was pumping painfully through his veins. He beat ferociously on the front door with his fist. The hall light flicked on. Emma appeared, her tight white vest and silk knickers not co-ordinating with her grubby bandaged foot.

‘What the hell are you doing here?’ she yelled through the crack in the door.

‘Not expecting me, were you eh?’ Will leaned forward, trying to get a better look along the hallway.

‘It’s late,’ she said rubbing her eyes. ‘Where the hell have you been? You’re covered in dirt and wet through … is that blood?’

‘Never mind that … I know exactly what’s been going on between you and Finn.’ Will forced the door open with the side of his steel toe capped boot.

‘No, you can’t …’ Emma struggled in desperation but to no avail. Forced back, the door lay wide open, revealing the richly decorated hallway. Balloons hung from the light fittings and ceiling; banners hung loosely over the door frames and up the stair banister. Will froze.

‘What’s all this?’

‘It’s for your birthday,’ said Emma quietly.

‘But who … how did you get … with your ankle?’ Will broke off, fearing the answer.

‘Sorry, did you want to talk to me about Finn?’ She folded her arms defiantly. Will, clinging to his theory that the pair of them had been up to no good, barged past Emma and made his way up to the bedroom. He stood in the doorway staring at the perfectly made bed. Grunting, he paced to the spare bedroom; again, no signs of activity. There was however a black leather briefcase on the futon.

‘Who the fucks is this?’

‘If it’s the case you’re referring to,’ said Emma hobbling up the stairs, ‘it’s Finn’s.’

‘Oh ho, so he’s moving in now is he or is it just more convenient to leave his stuff here?’

‘He asked if he could leave it.’

‘Why can’t he keep it at his own fucking house?’

‘Look, what’s the problem?’ She rested her weight on her good leg and her hands on her hips.

‘What’s in it?’

‘I dunno. He never said and I never asked.’

‘And you just said it was okay did you?’ Will threw his hands in the air.

‘Yeah. I really don’t know what your problem is … barging in here …’

‘Barging in? It’s my bloody house.’

‘Look, it’s not as if he’s a stranger. How long have we known him for?’

‘Exactly. We know exactly what sort of bloke he is.’

‘It’s not like that. Finn’s been really good with trying to sort your birthday out and you know I couldn’t get everything done on my own, not with my ankle.’

If it had been another occasion Will most probably would have once again given Finn the benefit of the doubt, wanting to believe that he was a changed character, turned over a new leaf. Having spent the evening in his company in the pub listening to the same old drivel, Will knew better.

‘It still doesn’t allow him to leave suspicious packages at our house.’ Will knew he still lacked hard evidence. He was clutching at straws here, but the package was the only thing in any way damning. ‘There could be anything in there.’

‘Like what, Will?’ Her tone was condescending. ‘What could possibly be in the case to worry about?’ Her hands remained firmly planted on her hips.

‘I … I dunno … anything, drugs.’

‘Ha,’ laughed Emma sarcastically.

‘Oh you find that surprising do you?’ Will matched her for sarcasm. ‘You of all people should know how much dope he used to peddle.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Emma’s voice wavered.

‘You know exactly what I mean. Have we forgotten the drug-fuelled weekenders, you smacked up to the eyeballs?’

‘That was a long time ago.’

‘Long enough to forget who gave you the stuff? There’s every chance there’s drugs in that case.’

Emma shrugged.

‘Doesn’t it just strike you as just a little bit odd,’ Will continued, screwing up his face, ‘that Finn decides to store one solitary briefcase at our house when his place is like twice the size?’

Emma stood in silence, staring at Will opened mouthed with her “whatever” face.

‘Open it,’ barked Will.

‘What?’

‘You heard me. Open the case.’

‘No,’ said Emma in disbelief, ‘have you lost your mind?’

‘Have I lost my mind?’ repeated Will, placing his hand on his forehead. ‘It’s our house for Christ’s sake. There could be anything in there.’

‘So you keep saying,’ Emma retorted.

‘Open it up and let’s find out.’

‘No.’ Emma angrily shook her head.

‘Well if you’re not, I’m going to.’

‘Will, it’s not yours to open.’

‘Yes, but it’s in my fucking house,’ he hissed through gritted teeth.

‘God, you’re so damn … I’m not having anything to do with this.’ Emma pouted and turned to make her way downstairs. ‘Anyway, I think you’ll find it’s locked.’

Will knelt down by the side of the futon, smiling to himself. She knew damn well it was locked. For all her self-righteous rubbish, Will guessed she’d already fiddled with the case to get some idea of the contents. Now it was his turn. He couldn’t help thinking about the break-in at Finn’s. Maybe he’d felt vulnerable and decided to store some of his more valuable stuff here. Will studied the case, running his fingers over the cold, smooth leather. He slid his hands underneath to assess the weight. Something didn’t quite fit. It was fairly heavy, surely too heavy to be drugs. Curiosity got the better of him. He examined the two locking mechanisms. Both fairly flimsy for a case of this quality, it appeared on closer inspection that the makeshift hasps and staples had been poorly fitted over the original fasteners. Two plastic coated padlocks held the case firm. Their existence was rendered useless considering the hasps and staples had been screwed to the case from the outside. Will attacked the heads of the screws with his pocket knife, jabbing and prising until one of them worked loose. He glanced over his shoulder, checking Emma was still downstairs. He used his knife to lever the other screws out, forcing them free rather than messing about with the corroded heads.

‘I hope you’re not still toying with opening that case,’ Emma shouted from downstairs.

‘No,’ Will shouted as he worked the last screw out, ‘you’re right. It’s padlocked tight shut.’

Will took a deep breath through his nose, excited and anxious about what he might discover inside. Lifting the lid, he sat back in disbelief and swallowed hard. The faux-suede interior was divided into two compartments. The left hand side was filled with around fifty compact disks. None of the clear plastic cases had covers. There were no obvious markings on the disks themselves although they didn’t appear to be blank, the two-tone colour on the back suggesting they had been partly recorded. Whilst he considered this to be odd, seemingly used disks shrink-wrapped as if brand new, the contents of the other half of the case grabbed his attention. It was filled with £50 notes banded in plain white paper. How much was in a bundle? £5000 he guessed.

Jesus, how many bundles are there, fifty, sixty?

Normally he’d have yelled down the stairs, alerting Emma. Despite the fractious circumstances he was still tempted to share his find. This would prove Finn was up to no good, not a man to be trusted. How else would he get his hands on this kind of money? Reality soon kicked in. Finn lay unconscious in a ditch whilst a considerable amount of his money sat in the spare bedroom of the man who’d put him there. He needed to find out more before firing off further accusations. It was essential to discover what this case business was about, keeping Emma in the dark as much as possible in the meantime. Accusing Emma of having an affair suddenly slid down the list of Will’s worries. He took a handful of the bundles and stuffed them into his jean pockets. He paused, staring at the cash, wondering how he’d feel in Finn’s shoes once he’d sobered up. Whilst he doubted he’d go to the police, not with briefcases like this in his possession, chances are he’d want some kind of revenge for being left unconscious in a ditch. Will took more of the bundles, cramming the pouches of his ski jacket.

It’s gotta be worth a few quid for me to stay quiet. There’s no way this is legit.

He carefully replaced the improvised locking mechanisms, gently tapping the screws into their previous holes, and slid the case under the futon. Reaching the top of the stairs, he hesitated once more, wondering if he should take the rest of the cash.

Where would I put it? No, I’ll deal with it at the weekend. Huh, something else I’ll have to confront Finn about.

‘Where are you going?’ Emma shouted from the lounge as she heard his boots clambering down the stairs. Will ignored the question. His answer, whatever it might be, would only lead to more questions. He flicked up his jacket collar and slammed the front door behind him.

6

Will’s heart pumped faster and faster as he neared the road where he’d left Finn, practically hyperventilating by the time he pulled the car over.

Fuck! There’s nothing here.

It had occurred to him that maybe Finn would come round and wander off. What the hell would happen then? What would Finn remember? The car’s headlights suddenly caught a glimpse of colour on the otherwise wintry roadside. There, lying face down in the ditch, his arms splayed above his head, was Finn. He’d moved. He’d definitely moved, now lying in the opposite direction to before but the driving rain and overgrown ditch still giving more than ample cover. Nobody would have noticed him there. The tinny sound of the rain on the roof, as if being showered in brass tacks, rang in Will’s ears. He began to sway, only slightly, in time with the wipers whirring across the windscreen. It was grim out there. Getting Finn back to his feet was going to be a slow process. He’d be soaked through, his wet clothes doubling in weight. Will loathed the prospect but shut the engine off and flicked over to the sidelights. He lit a cigarette and vigilantly scanned between Finn and the road ahead. A car appearing at this hour was even more remote than before. It was only when Will looked at his watch that it occurred to him just how long Finn had been lying by the roadside … facedown in a ditch … in all this rain … it had been well over an hour for sure. He scrambled for the door handle, hauled himself out of the car and down on his knees next to Finn. He flipped the rain-drenched body over onto its back. The eyes were closed, the torso lifeless. The rain stung the back of Will’s neck as stared at Finn, half expecting, hoping he would stir. He slapped him across the face. There was no response. He slapped him again, this time much harder. Nothing. Surely he wasn’t … he couldn’t be. Consumed with nausea, Will swallowed hard.

Where’s the pulse?

He’d been taught basic first aid at work but now, when he needed to put it into practice, his training was no more than a blur. Will reluctantly placed two fingertips on the side of Finn’s neck. He couldn’t feel a thing. He pressed harder. There was still no sign of life. Will began to panic.

‘Finn,’ Will whispered shakily, ‘can you hear me?’ He gently took hold of him by the shoulders. Finn’s lifeless head squelched in the wet grass. ‘Can you hear me Finn?’ Will spoke with increased desperation, now shaking the body vigorously. He took a deep breath and looked up at the heavens, wiping the piercing rain from his eyes. He inhaled once more, his body trembling with fear. ‘Finn,’ shouted Will, punching him in the chest. The resultant slapping noise from his wet clothes echoed through the surrounding woodland. Gritting his teeth, he attempted to keep his composure.

Think … what do I check for?

He angled his head and looked along Finn’s chest. There was no movement from his ribcage. Moving his ear towards Finn’s nose and mouth, there wasn’t a hint of breath from his lips.

So that’s it? He’s dead?

Will shook his head in disbelief.

What the fuck am I going to do now?

Will beat the sodden ground, muttering to himself, sobbing like a spoilt child. Hauling himself from the mud, he slammed his fist against the bonnet of the car before grabbing his lighter. He repeatedly flicked the damp flint, barely managing to light another cigarette in the atrocious weather, biting his fingers between drags. His mind flooded with options. Did this make him a murderer? It didn’t bear thinking about. He had to revive him, try at least. Would it work? He knew the basic principles but was almost too scared to attempt anything. Kneeling back down beside the body, he tipped Finn’s head back, supporting his neck with his right hand. He grimaced as his hand came into contact with something sticky behind Finn’s ear. He tentatively pinched Finn’s cheeks, forcing his mouth open before momentarily sealing it with his own. He rocked back on his haunches, spitting vehemently into the hedgerow and wiping his mouth. He attempted to settle himself with another lungful of smoke but the tobacco was now wet through. Cursing, he threw the cigarette down on the grass. He had to have another go but as he began to lower his head, he felt sick. He couldn’t do it. Who was he trying to kid? It was futile. Finn was dead. He wiped his hand across his face, detached from reality, unable to take it in. He repeated it over and over in his head.

Finn is dead. Finn is dead.

What to do now? Taking him to hospital was surely his final option. Will gently tapped his forefingers against his temples. ‘Hospital,’ he thought. That would never do. It’d be admitting liability. He might as well handcuff himself to Finn and ring 999. His phone. He could ring Charlotte, she’d know what to do. The chill of the rain must have numbed his senses. What was he thinking? How was he going to explain the night’s events in a hasty mobile phone conversation? Furthermore, why should Charlotte know what to do with a dead body? He slapped himself repeatedly on the forehead in the hope of stirring some rational thought. There was only one option. He wasn’t taking the rap for this. No one had seen them down the lane. He’d leave him where he lay.

What about fingerprints? Would they still be detectable after all this rain?

Will mulled this over, before becoming more concerned with the people in the pub. Molly at least had seen them leave together. Questions were sure to be asked when the body was discovered and it was splashed all over the local news. Then there was Emma. How would she react? She knew there was something wrong, Will turning up on the doorstep drenched in rain and covered in mud, shouting his suspicions about Finn. Affair or not, she was bound to say something. She’d seen the blood on his shirt after all. Maybe it was best to go to the police, explain it had been an accident. It had been an accident after all, hadn’t it? Will didn’t mean to - he shuddered - kill him. It was surely manslaughter at the very worst. Even so, prison? Running the risk of incarceration for an unfortunate mistake … involving Finn of all people? It simply wasn’t an option.

It’s no good. I have to get rid of the body.

Will rose to his feet, breathing in deeply through his nose. The smell of the wet countryside reminded him of a much more innocent time, camping with his father when he’d been a kid. He’d always moaned as a child, hours spent with his head propped on his hands looking out from a drenched tent on another washed out holiday. His Dad had always said it didn’t matter, trying to make the most of the time with his son, trying to optimise the sporadic bonding sessions following the break-up of the marriage.

‘Bit of rain never hurt anyone,’ he always used to say, ‘good for the gardens.’ His Dad has always been a keen gardener. Will pursed his lips, the ideal place to get rid of the body suddenly occurring to him.