Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [56]
Her brother said, "What do you mean?"
She shook her head. She couldn't explain. She didn't have the words. "Forget it," she said.
And she had, until now.
That feeling, being immobilised. All you could do was think. And when you thought, you asked questions.
Martin was staring at her, eyes wide. He was saying something but she couldn't make out the words.
Why? Because of the heads in the bags? No. Because they were being watched? No. So, what then? She didn't know.
She couldn't stand here forever being a question mark.
Shit. It wasn't going to go away.
But it would. She knew it. Blame Martin. She'd been doing pretty well until he got her all jittery.
God, she was behaving like a fucking amateur. Richie would disown her. So would Dad.
Everybody was relying on her.
If you were an expurgator, it was to be expected that you'd behave oddly, now and then. Especially if you were just an apprentice. You suppressed your emotions to this degree, something fucked up had to trickle out somewhere. Even Richie had his moments. Wouldn't be normal otherwise.
She squeezed her hand into a fist. She was not going to cry. She was a hard-arsed bitch. Martin was spooked, that was all. The heads in the bags were watching them. Yeah, right.
Martin, Martin, Martin.
She wanted to lean forward, kiss him. She tried and was surprised to find she could move again. But of course she could. She'd just clenched her fist.
She kissed his cheek. She said, "Let's have that bath, eh? Then get on with the show."
***
EFFIE WAS STANDING in the bathroom watching Martin dangle his foot in the water, testing the temperature with his toes.
"Still a bit warm for you," he said. "But I'll get in. You can join me in a minute."
They had to be at Old Mrs Yardie's in a couple of hours to pick up Tommy Savage. It involved a short drive, so she needed to get cleaned up. And try to focus. Her head was still a mess.
She dipped her fingers into the water. Yeah, still too hot.
Unfortunately they couldn't clean up the house quite so easily as they could clean themselves. She'd asked Richie's advice. His best guess was that no one would be looking for signs of blood, but if they were, they'd find something no matter how thoroughly the place was scrubbed. Once reported missing, the police would be looking for Fraser and Phil and Tommy Savage, sure. And they'd come visit Fraser's house, as they'd visit the others, have a look around. But as long as Effie and Martin took reasonable care the police would find nothing out of the ordinary. With no bodies, no overt evidence of what they called foul play, the police wouldn't look very hard. They'd have no reason to be bringing in the forensic team to check for traces of blood.
That's what Richie thought. And, as he'd pointed out when he phoned, even if the police did look long and hard, and found a little blood, they wouldn't be able to tell much from it. For all they knew, maybe Fraser had cut his finger or had a nosebleed. And if it was Phil Savage's blood they found, well, it wasn't unlikely that Phil would have visited his nephew. And he too could have injured himself.
As long as the house wasn't swimming in the stuff, everything'd be fine. And since Martin and Effie had used the tub, and done the dirty work post mortem, the blood was kept to a minimum. The important thing was that there weren't any bodies. Leaving bodies lying around was asking for trouble.
If everything went according to plan tonight, the heads would get buried, and the bodies cremated. Practically a funeral when you thought about it. Which was more than the bastards deserved. And after that, everybody could rest easy, job done, Grant and Martin's dad avenged.
***
SHE GAZED DOWN at Martin as he splashed pink water over his chest. The water swept away a circle of bubbles. He ran his hand through his hair, picked at some muck that had caught there. "Need some shampoo," he said. "See any?"
There was none on the side of the bath. She looked in the shower stall. Found a small bottle