Hanging Hill - Mo Hayder [141]
‘What about the photos though? If he’s got any evidence against me – photos or something – they might still be in there.’
‘I promise you, there’s nothing in that house. I went through it. There were pictures … but not of you. Anyway, he’s not organized enough to have done that. He’d have needed a long-range lens.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure. I swear.’
Sally rubbed the goosebumps on her arms. ‘Plan B, then?’
‘Plan B it is. Just a few more hoops to jump through. Come on, let’s get a wriggle on.’
She climbed out, got into her Mondeo and started the engine. Sally followed in the Ka, driving slowly down to the cottage. They parked at the top of the driveway. They left the doors open, keys in the ignition – if Kelvin did reappear he couldn’t take both cars at once. They’d have a precious few seconds to start the engine of the other to make their escape. Anyway, Zoë insisted, he wasn’t going to show his face again. Not round here.
They wandered around the house, trying to find a way in. But he’d worked fast, and since Zoë had escaped he’d padlocked everything – Sally had never seen so many padlocks. Some of the windows had been nailed closed, there were planks hammered across the back and front doors, and the french windows in the first-floor room had been boarded up. They found a garage neither of them had noticed before. According to Zoë, Kelvin drove a Land Rover – she’d made a call in the police station and had its registration number on a scrap of paper in her pocket – but it wasn’t here now. There was just an oil stain on the floor and wheel tracks outside on the ground.
Zoë stopped near the mill. She squatted down and tugged at the rusty chain that wound through a grate covering a hole. She tested the padlock. It came open with a creak.
‘You do your thing,’ she told Sally. She dragged the chain out of the grate and lifted it off. ‘I’m going to check in there.’
She bent double and went in, disappearing from view. Sally watched her go. Then, with a glance around at the stillness, she pulled on the nitrile gloves Zoë had given her, and began to dig with the gardening fork they’d brought. The ground was soft, if stony, and soon she’d created a yellowish scar. She felt in the pocket of her duffel coat for the tin. Fingers trembling, she removed the lid and tipped out the contents. Planting the teeth had been Zoë’s suggestion, which was ironic, considering how Sally hadn’t done it earlier because she’d thought Zoë would have found a better way. Now Sally knew about the rapes, though, she’d changed her mind about doing the right thing by Kelvin. Zoë hadn’t asked how Sally had had the nerve to remove David’s teeth – how she’d managed to mastermind getting rid of his body all on her own, or whether someone else was involved. Sally had a feeling she knew, though.
Now she dropped the teeth into the hole and stirred them a little, letting them mingle with the soil. She filled in the hole, covered it crudely with the turf she’d dug out. Seeing those human teeth, with their fillings and vulnerable roots, she felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. You’re a monster, a voice said in her head. You’ve become a monster.
‘Empty.’ Zoë came out of the hole, doubled up, brushing cobwebs from her head. ‘Nothing. It’s an ice house.’ She rattled the padlock. Opened and closed it a couple of times. ‘I don’t know if this was locked before or not. I didn’t try.’
Sally straightened, pushed her hands into the small of her back and bent backwards a little to get the cricks from her muscles. ‘Why? Do you think there was something in there?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe something was. Gone now. Taken away in the Land Rover.’
‘What sort of thing?