Just too good to be true.

"It'll be a dog. Pound to a penny." Sergeant Evans, Leicestershire
Constabulary, folds his arms and enjoys the sight of hapless motorists
pulling aside to let them pass, fearful of being pulled over when they
see that blue flashing in their mirrors. It's a comfortable sort of
feeling, and he doesn't even acknowledge their craven admissions of
inferiority.

"What sort?" Constable Caddick laughs, flooring the accelerator even
harder.

"Oh.. German Shepherd," Evans decides magisterially. "A big 'un.
Stinking to high heaven. We'll call out the RSPCA, let that pompous fat
beggar who was on telly last year clear it up."

"Yeah. Here we go. And it'll be an alsation." Caddick swoops into the
layby, leaving the customers at Den's Snax caravan gaping and choking
in his slipstream.

"Now, sir.." Evans positions his cap without any great sense of urgency
and strolls across to the white-faced man leaning on his Vectra, still
clutching his mobile. "This body you've discovered.."

"Over there!" the man points a wavering finger. He is unused to such
drama: nor is he used to the awful stench of rotting flesh. "By those
trees. I went for a you-know-what, and just kicked it. Thought it was
just an old carpet."

"It'll be someone dumping a dog. Get it a lot, sir, what with the price
of vets these days." Evans vaults the fence and strides bravely across
the freshly-turned soil. The material is quite visible now, though not
directly from the layby.

"I see it!" he shouts nonchalantly, before turning the old carpet, the
bright scarf, aside with his foot and leaping back. It's no dog. Though
even telling the sex of the remains is difficult, it's easy enough to
recognise the putrefying corpse as human. Holding his breath, Evans
reaches for his radio.

*****

Some two months previously, Hugh Neville had been driving along that
same stretch of road towards the lay-by: the main road between
Peterborough and Leicester, one he knew like the back of his hand. By
dusk, the snack caravan had disappeared for want of custom and only one
forlorn vehicle was parked there. Normally, Hugh would have driven
straight past and ploughed on homewards, but the sight of a raised
bonnet caught his eye. Standing in front of the silver Mondeo, arms
folded and with a pensive expression on her face, was a very attractive
young woman; and Hugh took a fateful decision.

Stamping on his brakes, he pulled off the carriageway and reversed back
up to the stricken driver. He knew a bit about these things, after all,
and he wasn't expected home from the sales conference until the next
morning. No-one would know that he'd stopped to assist a young lady in
distress, would they?

"Er.. need a hand?" he asked shyly, stepping out but remaining at a
decent distance.

"Maybe.." the young woman replied, eyeing him up suspiciously. She
seemed to be alone: in fact, apart from the odd car whizzing past,
there appeared to be no-one else within several miles.

"Look," Hugh said, spreading his hands wide. "I'm not an expert, but I
know a bit about cars. Do my own servicing.. "

"That's lucky," the girl said, relaxing slightly as she realised that
he was alone and distinctly non-threatening. "I'm Judy, by the
way."

"Hugh Neville." The pair shook hands awkwardly, stepping aside as a
passing juggernaut sent a volley of gravel pittering across the
lay-by.

"Now, you've not simply run out of petrol?" Hugh's question, though
innocently meant, produced an angry scowl.

"I'm not some little bimbo," Judy advised him in an acidic tone,
reminding Hugh that he'd started off on the wrong foot. He'd sounded
distinctly patronising, and Judy looked flustered enough already.

"Of course not!" Hugh backpedalled. "I didn't mean to sound.. look,
it's easily done out here. I ran out myself in Wales last year."

"Did you?" Judy asked, thrusting her hands into the pockets of her
skin-tight jeans.

"Yup," Hugh affirmed, though the alleged incident was entirely
fictional. The comforting untruth had reassured her, though, and had
thus fulfilled its purpose. "Let's check the engine."

He seated himself in the driving seat, turned the key and produced
nothing but a grating rasp.

"Mm. Sounds healthy," he muttered.

"That's what I thought." Judy had leaned down to watch, and Hugh found
her proximity unnerving. She was young, she was very good-looking; she
might need his help, and who knew what might happen in these
circumstances? His mind worked overtime as he made several more
desultory, unsuccessful, attempts to restore life to the dormant
engine.

"Look, I'm sorry," Judy apologised. "For sounding ungrateful, I mean.
You didn't have to stop."

"It's no problem. Let's check under the bonnet." Hugh poked around for
a few seconds, checking odd wires that he knew nothing about, but the
task seemed hopeless. The whole car was electrically dead: the
alternator had obviously given up the ghost and there seemed to be no
easy solution.

"Sorry, but it's a garage job. This won't be going anywhere by itself.
You in the AA?"

"No, but the car's hired. I'll have to contact them, I suppose."

"Hired?" Hugh asked, slamming the bonnet shut. "They should have
serviced it, the idle so-and-sos." By this time, Judy was rapidly
stabbing at her phone without result.

"Oh, bugger," she hissed. "No answer. They must have gone home for the
night."

"And they didn't give you the number of an emergency service?"

"They might have," Judy sniffed. She looked close to tears, and it was
all Hugh could do to prevent himself from going over to comfort her. "I
didn't collect it, my boyfriend did. This was going to be a holiday,
but.."

"I don't want to intrude," Hugh lied shamelessly.

"We.. we argued tonight, it's all over. I was just driving, trying to
clear my head."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Hugh whispered. This was just too good to be
true..

"It's okay, why should you bother yourself?" Judy said, reaching for
her tissues. "It wasn't the big thing, anyway. I don't know why I'm
even telling you this."

"I've got a sympathetic face," Hugh said, and Judy chuckled along with
him. "Look, you'll have to lock the car and leave it. Tell the company
where to collect it from tomorrow. But what about tonight?"

"Could you.. I mean, it's an awful imposition, but.. could you give me
a lift? Anywhere?"

"Of course. Where do you live?"

"London, actually."

"Oh, that's a bit of a diversion," Hugh said hurriedly and Judy laughed
out loud. It was almost completely dark now, deathly quiet between the
occasional passing cars.

"No, I mean drop me off somewhere where I can get a hotel room. I think
I brought my credit card.."

"No problem," Hugh brightened up. "There's a decent pub about three
miles ahead. They do accommodation, and good food. I was going to eat
there myself, actually.."

"What an amazing coincidence!" Judy said, shaking her head. Whether she
believed him or not, she was making for his car.

"And don't bother about that card," Hugh shrugged. "I can always lend
you enough. Besides, the meal's on me. On my firm, rather. I'd be glad
of the company."

"I don't know what to say." Judy smiled at him, tossing her thick
auburn hair back over her shoulders.

Hugh plopped the locks off, and Judy settled herself into the sumptuous
leather of the passenger seat.

"Nice, very nice," she murmured as Hugh adjusted the climate control
and CD player before starting up: the engine was almost soundless as
Judy stretched and relaxed. The conversation was non-commital all the
way to the car park of the "Cross Keys," but Judy stiffened and swore
under her breath as Hugh turned in.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "My case! It's still in the boot!"

"No trouble," Hugh laughed. "Straight back. We'll be hungry when we
finally get that meal, right?"

"You know, you're a really nice bloke," Judy turned to grant her
benefactor a coy whisper as he performed an effortless three-point
turn. "Not dashing home to the wife?"

"Divorced last year," Hugh lied again.

"I'm sorry." Judy patted his knee as he shrugged bravely and headed
back the way they'd come. This might yet be the night he'd dreamed of
since his teens, Hugh told himself: the lovely, anonymous pick-up; the
country hotel, everything. What a good couple they'd make for the
night, Hugh and Judy. At that point, he had no inkling that only one of
them would be stepping back into the car at the lay-by.

*****

"More coffee?" Chris Neville asked her catatonic husband. It had been a
wearing week, and he was slumped in front of the box staring at nothing
in particular.

"Thanks," he mumbled. "Christ almighty!"

"Hugh, not in front of the children!" Chris scolded him. "What on earth
is it?"

Hugh wasn't listening; he was concentrating fully on
"Crimewatch."

"Think back," the presenter intoned. "To this lay-by, on the evening of
May the twelfth. A silver Mondeo was left there overnight. But, around
nine, a dark saloon - possibly a Lexus or something similar - was seen
drawing up by a lorry driver. One man, a tall dark-haired man in his
thirties, was seen looking into the bonnet of the Mondeo accompanied by
a young woman. We need to trace this man and eliminate him from our
enquiries.."

"God.." Hugh whispered.

"May the twelfth?" Chris asked sharply, alerted by her husband's
unnatural interest in the item. "You were at that conference near
there!"

"It wasn't me!"

"They were talking about finding a body earlier! No, Hugh.. "

"You can't think.."

"Tell me you didn't!"

"I didn't!" Hugh yelled, leaping to his feet. "I swear! I was there,
but.. I only stopped to help! She was fine when I left her!"

"Left who? You've got some serious explaining to do, Hugh." He'd seldom
seen such a furious glint in his wife's eyes.

"Yes, but I'd better ring the police first, tell them all I know.." It
was a relief to scurry off to the phone.

Hugh drove straight down to be interviewed and spilled the whole sordid
story in a statement, though his explanation wasn't of much practical
use to the police. No, he was told, Judy Phipps never got into your car
at the layby. Or at the "Cross Keys," come to that. Judy Phipps, with
whom you spent such an enjoyable night, never actually existed. Miss
Penelope Morris, however, the cause of all those marital problems
looming on your horizon, is still at large and wanted for questioning
in connection with the recent discovery of her boyfriend's
semi-decomposed body. .