Chapter Three
Edwin blinked, and the wolf was gone.
Mr Lyons had been ‘snapped’ into position, and Farrow had slammed the boot shut.
Edwin blew out a long breath, his pulse raiding his ears with such a loud set of throbs that he thought he’d either be sick again or faint. Hardly something a big bloke like him ought to be doing in front of his boss, when he wanted said boss to think he had all of his emotions under control. That he was cool with this.
He concentrated on his breathing and getting it back to normal while Farrow walked back into the barn. Should Edwin follow him? His legs said no, they wouldn’t take him there, so he remained where he was and glanced to where the wolf had stood.
Now he wasn’t so sure it had been Stuart. Or was that his mind playing tricks on him, making him worry because, if it hadn’t been Stuart, and someone else knew what he’d just done with Farrow, what would Edwin do then? He wracked his brain, trying to think whether the pack had any other grey-white wolves.
It didn’t.
So it was either Stuart or some unknown wolf, and the chances of a stranger wolf just happening by was a remote possibility.
The light in the barn went off, thrusting Edwin from his thoughts. Farrow came back out. Going by the sound of a chain, the boss was securing the door. Edwin just about managed to see him strutting towards the car. Normally, if someone in person form—someone Edwin didn’t know and wasn’t close to—had seen their activity, Edwin would have considered telling Farrow they’d been watched. But not if it was Stuart, no fucking way. Or any of the pack, come to think of it. Opening his mouth would result in death for the watcher, he was sure of it, and they would be Edwin’s ‘next time’, the time he might have to be more hands-on with their dead body.
He couldn’t do it.
Farrow folded himself into the car, and Edwin followed suit. They sat in silence for a few moments, both of them staring through the windshield at the black night, Farrow no doubt thinking up some more threats to keep Edwin on his side.
“Just so you know, I’ll not be saying anything,” Edwin said. He wanted this conversation over and done with, out of the way. “I know what’ll happen if I do. I’m not stupid. I’ve known about your other business for a while now and not said a word. I don’t like what you do—what we just did—but… Well, there’s nothing I can do about it, is there? It’s not like you’re going to let me walk away. So I know I’m stuck.”
“Glad you do.” Farrow nodded, as though telling himself he was happy with what Edwin had said. “Shame to waste that beefy body of yours. I mean, I could do with some extra muscle in my disposal team.”
“So is that what you want me doing now? Getting rid of bodies?”
I can’t do that as a full-time job. This one time…this body in the boot…yeah, that’ll have to be done, but doing it again, with some other body? No.
“Maybe.” Farrow shrugged. “But if you advise me right, and the people you’re advising me about play ball, there won’t be any more bodies, will there. So I suggest you make sure what you tell me in future is stellar, then you’ll have nothing to worry about.”
Relief seemed to pour from every part of Edwin, draining his body so that his shoulders sagged and the tendons in his neck relaxed. He could do that. Give decent advice and prevent anyone else getting killed. Shit, he’d even go to the people messing Farrow about and warn them himself that Farrow would kill them if they didn’t do what he wanted. He almost laughed at that. He would potentially become an adviser to many, not just to Farrow.
“I have a proposition, boss.” Edwin cleared his throat. “What about if I use my ‘muscle’ and give those people a warning? I know Gunner usually does it, but I could be the second visitor, if you catch my drift—then Gunner won’t be offended or think I’m taking over his job. I don’t want to get on his bad side. And I can be their last chance saloon or whatever the fuck it’s called.” It wasn’t a thrilling prospect and went against everything he stood for, but surely it was better than allowing those people to die? Although he had it in mind to only give verbal warnings, nothing more if he could help it.
“Good man.” Farrow turned to stare at him.
Edwin didn’t stare back; he continued facing ahead.
“I knew you’d see sense.” Farrow started the engine. “I’ll let you know when someone needs a visit. Now, we need to get rid of Lyons, so we’re taking a trip to see my mate. Known him all my life. We do each other favours, see.”
Edwin dreaded visiting this ‘mate’—dreaded doing whatever they were about to do—but right this second he had no choice. All right, he did. He could get out of the car and do what he’d thought about earlier—either go to the police or run then set up home somewhere else. Leaving Stuart behind would devastate him either way, but what else could he do? Wasn’t it better to be in prison than looking over his shoulder every five minutes?
It’s pointless running. Farrow would probably find me wherever I go. So it’ll have to be me serving some time for my part in this so far.
Fuck it.
Edwin shook his head, realising they were now on the road back to town. His nerves rattled harder the closer to Kortley they got. If fate had it in for Edwin, she’d have Farrow pulled over for speeding or something and Mr Lyons would be discovered in the boot.
Edwin felt sick.
It seemed that fate was giving him a reprieve, though. They sailed through town with no problems, and at the end of the main road, Farrow took a left, then a short way down took another. The car seemed to crawl along a backstreet then stopped, and Farrow leant forward to peer past Edwin and through the passenger window.
“Ah, he’s still there. His car is in the courtyard. Good.” Farrow drove forward a few metres then reversed into the courtyard so the boot was right in front of a steel door.
Edwin had no idea where they were and mapped the main street in his head to work it out. They were at the rear of one of the shops, he knew that much.
“Out,” Farrow said.
Edwin’s stomach rolled, and once again he felt sick. Was this even happening? Really? Or was it some dream that had swallowed him up and would soon spit him out in his bed, leaving him shaky and relieved that he hadn’t done anything illegal?
The tarmac beneath his shoes told him it wasn’t a dream. It felt too solid, too real, and as he closed the car door quietly, he automatically glanced about to make sure anyone who rented the flats above the shops weren’t looking out of their windows. All curtains and blinds were drawn tight, thank fuck, but he lowered his head all the same. Who knew if there was CCTV around here that could capture his image?
He had to say something about that.
Once Farrow had climbed out of the car, too, Edwin whispered, “CCTV?”
“It’ll be sorted. Good advising, though, Ed.” A low chuckle from Farrow swam through the air.
Such a creepy, horrible sound.
Farrow rapped on the steel door with his knuckles while Edwin stood by, all but shaking in his damn shoes. With another person entering the mix, things could get sticky. Loose lips and all that.
“This mate,” Edwin said.
“Yeah, I trust him. He’s done this before.” Farrow knocked on the door again.
“I see.”
So there had obviously been others that Farrow had had to make disappear instead of just leaving them where they’d died. Others where questions would undoubtedly be asked had their bodies been found. He thought about the people who had died recently, then went farther back in time, but he couldn’t think of any prominent member of the town who would be missed should they fall foul of Farrow. Then again, Kortley was a pretty big town. It wasn’t possible for Edwin to know everybody. And did he really want to know who else this ‘mate’ of Farrow had helped hide?
No.
The door swung open, the harsh light making Edwin jump. A man stood there on the threshold in a sombre black suit. He was about the same age as Farrow, except he had a full head of black hair and a well-kept beard. He wasn’t thick-set, more lean than anything, like a runner, and he laughed then stepped outside and hugged Farrow as though he hadn’t seen him in ages. Lots of back slapping was going on, the pair of them laughing, then Farrow took a pace backwards, gripping the tops of the man’s arms.
“Quiet night?” Farrow asked.
“Yes,” the man said.
“Got a space that’ll be relatively quick to dispose of?”
“Yes.”
A space?
“Brilliant.” Farrow gave a thumbs-up.
“I’ll leave the door propped open, then,” Black Hair said and dragged a heavy brass stopper across the floor, putting it in position. “There, that should do it. Bring your bounty through.”
Bounty?
Black Hair walked off down a hallway then disappeared to the right. Farrow turned and opened the boot, and Edwin didn’t want to look at what it held. But he had to, so he turned himself and stared at Mr Lyons, now crumpled into a wickedly horrifying position, arms and legs at strange angles. The light coming from the shop hallway showcased him in terrible glory, and Edwin shuddered at not just the sight of him, but at everything to do with this situation.
“Let’s get him inside, then,” Farrow said, voice quiet.
How Edwin curled his hands under those armpits again he had no idea, but suddenly he was in the hallway, the top of Mr Lyons’ head poking him in the belly. Farrow, his back to Edwin and holding Mr Lyons’ ankles like they were nothing more than sodding wheelbarrow handles, led the way. Around the corner that Black Hair had gone, the man himself was waiting.
“You know the drill,” he said. “Through there. I’ll go and lock up. Wouldn’t want anyone knowing what we’re up to, now would we?” He laughed uproariously as he walked away.
Edwin blew air out through pursed lips and helped carry Lyons into a room on the left. His legs almost gave out on him. A large, shiny pine coffin was perched on a white, material-skirted dais. On the wall beside it was a gold-framed picture of clouds and angels, something that Edwin supposed was meant to give a calming, soothing effect. It didn’t calm him. The whole set-up was eerie to Edwin, his first time in what he assumed was a viewing room in a funeral director’s place.
This is bloody madness. A funeral director helping to dispose of an unreported dead body? This only happens in books and movies, for fuck’s sake. Doesn’t it?
Edwin lost his grip, and the top half of Lyons’ body thunked to the floor.
Farrow laughed. “Good job he’s dead, otherwise that might’ve hurt.”
Edwin stumbled backwards, wanting nothing more than to be out of that room, but something was blocking his way. He swivelled and came face to face with Black Hair.
“First timer?” Black Hair asked.
Edwin didn’t know who he was speaking to, and anyway, his throat felt like it wasn’t going to let him answer.
“Yeah,” Farrow said. “But he’s a good lad, aren’t you, Ed? Won’t say a word, this one. Part of the real team now.”
“Sit your arse down before you bloody fall down,” Black Hair said to Edwin and pointed to a chair in the corner that Edwin hadn’t noticed before.
He staggered over to it and sat gratefully. Shit, his legs had gone to jelly along with his guts. Dipping his head, he stared at the carpet, which was burgundy with green, blue and cream patterns, the sort old people had in their living rooms. Surreal, that was what this felt like. If anyone had told him when he’d woken up this morning that he’d end the day here, he wouldn’t have believed them.
“Best you just watch tonight,” Farrow said.
Edwin glanced up. Farrow wasn’t holding Lyons’ ankles anymore, and the body was in a parody of the foetal position on the floor.
“Yes, then you’ll know the procedure for next time,” Black Hair said.
So Edwin did as he’d been told and watched as the two men opened the coffin lid, scooting the dead resident already in it onto its side. They snapped Lyons a few more times, until he was as straight as a pencil, then wedged him in next to the other body, as though they were a spooning couple. Edwin couldn’t bring himself to take in what the other body looked like. But it was a woman, he knew that much, because he’d allowed himself to digest the fact that the outfit on the corpse was a purple flowery dress.
The coffin lid was slapped down and screwed shut.
“Funeral is at nine tomorrow morning,” Black Hair said, “so no chance of any family members wanting a last glimpse of the body now. The pair of them will be ashes come ten o’clock, after the usual service. Best I can do, I’m afraid, because the other bugger I’ve got here isn’t due to leave until three, and that’s a bit dodgy. And besides, that’s a burial, and we don’t want that, do we.”
“Not on your nelly.” Farrow brushed his palms together like he was getting rid of the sugar after eating a fucking doughnut.
It was all so casual, this behaviour, so normal to them, and Edwin couldn’t get over that—would never get over it. This would haunt him forever.
And it was something he could never tell another soul outside of Farrow’s inner, nefarious circle.
But Stuart knows…
Shit, yeah, Stuart knew.
And that was a high hurdle Edwin would have to jump over at some point.