Page 36 of The Unforgiven

Four down, only two discovered. The handiwork was neat, tidy. Less aggression, so they’d surmise once they’d found her. She’d been suspicious, of course she had. Two people she’d known had been found murdered and the city was on edge waiting for the Push-Her’s next victim.

Push-Her.

That was funny. It really wasn’t a push. More of a drag, or a fall forwards after being repeatedly stabbed in the back. That one, Brooke, was one to be proud of, really. She’d stabbed people in the back, so her ending was ironic.

He’d suggested fitting the murders to the crime committed, which was what had happened with number five, who was currently in a prison of her own doing. She really shouldn’t have turned that key all those years ago. A shame really. Number five had been nice most of the time, but like the others, she’d been a sheep. She didn’t have to turn the lock, so it seemed fitting that she should understand what it was like to be trapped in somewhere.

That was when understanding would hit; what it was like to be locked in, no one around to hear you cry for help, or cry at all. Only the mice and the rats and the beetles that looked at you like you were being prepared to be their dinner, slowly marinating in your own juices on a floor clothed with rubble.

Whereabouts unknown. Whereabouts uncared for.

No one had come looking. No one would be looking now, either.

This time, the body was weighted down so it should take longer to be discovered. The cause of death would be the same, but there were differences, of course, key differences so the cops would carry on with their theory that this wasn’t quite the same killer.

Later, when they eventually found what was really the first body, they’d question their ideas again, but it was doubtful they’d actually work out what’d actually happened.

Whether that was a good thing or not remained to be seen. If they couldn’t work out who’d killed them all, or they arrested the wrong person, then would the killing stop? Was giving up what was becoming a ritual possible?

The body was in the water now, peaceful, resting just underneath the surface, so if someone did come for a stroll down here and bothered to look in the water, they’d get rather a shock.

The tarp used to move the body was now folded back into the suitcase, which would soon be taken to a trip in Rochdale. The key thing had been moving Morgan into a foetal position before rigor had set in and getting her into the suitcase then. Morgan was small, she probably hadn’t grown any taller since that summer. A trip then to the culverts, pulling the suitcase which looked like a thousand others sold in supermarkets two years ago, dressed like a person moving out of the place they’d shared with their partner, to the culvert that no one had been in for half a century.

Another suitcase, from a different store, had been waiting in that culvert for the move to the river, just in case any of the cameras had caught the first one. A different size, different shape, harder to identify, a hard case that would be drenched in bleach once back at the garages.

So useful that the city had so many semi-abandoned buildings.

Then, tonight, the big coat had come out, the boots chosen so specifically, and the body met the water. They’d probably work out the body had been kept in the culvert, sniffer dogs would pick up on the scent of blood, far more competent than the police were.

They wouldn’t work out where the deed had been done, or maybe they would and it wouldn’t matter. They’d just think the modus operandi had altered.

They were already looking for the wrong person. He’d said that in one of their sessions. Meeting him had been useful, more than had been thought at the time. He’d been the encourager, even if he hadn’t meant it that way.

The body shuddered with the tide. This was a river again, and there was every chance the body would travel with the current, if the weights became dislodged.

Stones. That was what the weights were. Stones. Ones from years ago, found near the door when it’d eventually been opened. Stones the girls had pelted against the door, laughing, repeating mean names.

Everyone had been collected. Every one of them cleaned and polished like they were some sort of trophy.

Well now they were a prize for Morgan. Pretty, pleasant Morgan. Morgan who was always so quiet until she wasn’t.

She was quiet now.

Chapter Sixteen

I wasn’t used to waking up with anyone next to me, so to find that if I stretched out my legs, my feet or knees encountered hard blocks of muscle covering with slightly hairy flesh was disconcerting at first.

It took me a few seconds to remember that Cavan had stayed over after the party. I’d gone to bed before him, just after midnight, no longer able to stay awake. I’d had a couple of drinks and then found where the soda was, not wanting to gift myself a hangover on a day off. He’d stayed up later, then crawled into bed with me, waking me up in a way I could think about repeating more frequently.

I rolled over, my back to his front, and pushed against him with my backside. A big arm wrapped over me, his hand exploring.

Sounds, a word, fell, mumbled from his lips.

I sat up, awake and alert and confused.

“Mia? What’s up?” Cavan’s eyes flicked open; his hair mussed from sleep.

“I thought – sorry, I’m being weird. I thought you said Lucy’s name.” I lay back down, pulse a little too fast, brain overworking,kicking myself for doing my usual thing of trying to sabotage something just when I was considering investing.