Live to Tell

What must I do? I couldn’t stay here all night like this. The house was in silence, the silence of death. Was anyone about in the world outside? Where were Mrs Jeffery and Mr Bonneville? Had they heard any noise? Surely someone must have. I had murdered a man. A recurring image of the policeman who interrogated Jurgen and me filled my head. He made me feel cheap and nasty even though we were innocent. This time things were different. I felt sure they would accept one blow as self-defence. But a torrent of blows? Never. Especially with the history between us.

I couldn’t expose Mum and Dad to all this. I was stalking the man and now I had killed him. Who would want a tax consultant connected to a murderess? It would ruin him. And Mum, facing the pity of her friends? They didn’t deserve this. No I must somehow conceal what I had done.

I looked at my watch and was amazed that it was only just after midnight. It felt later. I forced myself to stand up. My back and side still ached and my legs were stiff but although I couldn’t think clearly, I knew I had to act. I couldn’t bear to touch the creature, so I tugged at the thick sheet of blue polythene his body was lying on, and dragged it across the room. When I was level with the front door I turned off the light and peered out. The mews was as quiet as a graveyard and the houses were in darkness. I wrapped the plastic sheet around the body and rolled it over to secure it. This isn’t enough, I thought. I must find something to tie it with. I’ll never be able to move it like this.

I managed to find an old washing line left over from my house move. It was all I had and would have to do. I spread the line out along the carpet and rolled the body back within its makeshift shroud. Alert to prying eyes, I pulled the plastic-coated corpse outside. Then I opened the back door of Barry’s van and with super-human effort, hoisted it in. My state of shock had been replaced by a tenacious determination to cleanse my home of the canker that recently invaded it.

Terrified I would disturb my neighbours, I drove quietly away. I used only sidelights to illuminate my route and headed North through the affluent suburb of St. John’s Wood towards the Finchley Road. It’s amazing how little traffic there is here, I thought, just a few taxis. In the darkness I drove past the Wellington Hospital. Must be because it’s Sunday night. All’s quiet except inside my head.

I had never driven Barry’s van before and knew I would look suspicious if I wasn’t careful. Gear crashing at night in a built-up area would definitely draw attention to someone trying to evade the police. I knew I had to keep to the speed limit, despite the urge to go as fast as possible. This was in case somehow the creature wrapped up in the rear came back to life to attack me again. Aside from this fear, I felt no remorse at all. I didn’t think of him as a man who might have a family or friends. To me he was a monster who thought nothing of inflicting terror and pain on his victims.

I drove up the broad, northbound carriage-way of the road I only knew as the A41 and suddenly saw a sign ahead for the North Circular Road. That’s it. That’s where I must go. That’s the way to Essex. They have woodland in Essex. I knew I could never make it to Hertfordshire where I grew up. Even though it was nearer and abounded in woodland, it was just too close to home. The North Circular Road that formed an east-west beltway across North London was almost deserted. It stretched away from me into the night as I cruised along, hoping there was enough petrol in the van to keep me going. Then I saw something ahead that took my breath away. A massive roadside hoarding loomed in the distance. Incongruous in its suburban setting it pointed the way to a place called Gallows Corner. Was this a prophetic sign of the retribution coming? I can’t go there, I thought. I must get off this road. Suddenly a police siren and a blue flashing light were roaring up behind me but ignoring me they shot by. Farther on there was another sign this time for Epping Forest. I headed to it with relief.

The A104 Woodford New Road that I drove along was peaceful and quiet. After a mile, it became High Road, Woodford Green and then Epping New Road, a rural idyll that no doubt I was about to despoil. I drove past several old inns that at any other time would have seemed most welcoming but tonight they were to be shunned. Half-a-mile farther wooded glades stretched on either side of the road. Seeing a turn off for ramblers and dog-walkers, I slowed down and entered it.

Carefully I drove down a rutted rough track overhung by branches. I came to a shallow ditch half covered by brambles and there I stopped. In the moonlight motionless in the still air, the trees around me formed a petrified canopy. This will do, I thought, anxious to get my task over. My heart was pounding. I looked about me and listened, but I was totally alone. I opened the van’s rear doors and tugged at the plastic. With a slither my load slipped out onto the track and I dragged it to the edge of the ditch. I tipped it over and watched it disappear beneath the undergrowth.