Hanging Hill - Mo Hayder [83]
It wouldn’t come. All that came was a bright zigzagging light, like the after-image of a firework.
About ten minutes later another car on the main road indicated left and came off on the small turning. Slowly it climbed the road that snaked around the bottom of Hanging Hill. She saw the sweep of headlights and slithered off the bonnet, going to crouch behind the shrubbery at the edge of the parking area as the lights came nearer. The lights turned into the track, rattled over the cattle grid, then came to a halt. It was Steve.
He got out, and, silhouetted, tall against the darkening sky, pulled on a fleece, glancing around himself. She pushed herself out of the hedge and stood there, the cardigan wrapped tight around her to cover the blood on her clothes.
‘What?’ he whispered. ‘What’s happening?’
She didn’t answer. Head down, hands tucked into her armpits, she walked around her car and led the way into the parking area. He followed without a word, his feet crunching in the gravel. At the back of the Ford Sally stopped. Steve stood next to her and they were silent for a long time, looking at David Goldrab’s body. His running T-shirt was rucked up, showing his thick, tanned torso, his hair matted with blood. His face seemed calcified, his mouth widening around his gums. She realized she could still smell him. Just a little of his essence, streaking the grey air.
Steve crouched next to the body. Putting his bandaged hand tentatively in the gravel he leaned closer, peering at David’s face. Then he rocked back on his heels and wiped his hands. ‘Jesus. Jesus.’
‘There was an argument. He followed me out to the car and hit me on the back of the head. He was forcing me into the boot. Your nail gun was in there and I had to—’ She drew her hands down her face, felt the soreness where he’d pushed her into the boot lid. ‘My God, my God, Steve. It was over so quickly. It wasn’t what I meant to happen.’
Steve let all his breath out at once. He came and hugged her. She could feel his pulse jack-hammering against her own. The awful crackle of David’s dried blood on her clothing.
‘It just happened,’ she said. ‘Just like that.’
‘It’s OK.’
‘No one’s going to believe it was an accident.’
She cried then – long, drawn-out sobs. Steve said nothing, just kept his hands on her back, rubbing her soothingly. When at last she’d stopped, he let her go and walked back to the parking area’s entrance. He stood with his hands in his pockets, looking out at the landscape. She knew what he was seeing – the whole of the valley spread out. The beginnings of the city on the horizon. Her childhood land. The places she’d dreamed in, the places she’d cried and had hopes and fears in. All the valleys and the brooks and the glades – all the places she’d been and never spied this future crouching in wait for her behind the trees.
After a long time he turned round and came back down the slope. ‘What have you got in the car? Have you got your cleaning kit?’
‘Yes.’
‘Rubber gloves?’
‘Yes.’ She opened the boot, rummaged in her cleaning kit and held out a pair still in their pack. Steve took them. His face was white and controlled. He ripped the pack with his teeth and began pulling on the gloves.
‘Steve? What’re you doing?’
‘I’ve got a meeting at nine in the morning. That means we’ve got thirteen hours.’
39
Steve’s plan, he said, was the best possible solution. But if they were going to do it, it would have to be done quickly, and to start with they needed to find some plastic. Sally knew David kept a lot of his equipment in the garage, but it was at the side of the house where the camera was, and she worried they’d be caught on video. She wanted to check on the monitor inside what could be seen so she and Steve went back up to the house. Even in the daytime David was in the habit of leaving lights and TVs on, and now that it was getting dark the place seemed to be lit up like a bonfire. The halogens in the glass atrium blazed, casting the shadows of huge potted plants out