Silent Victim(64)

‘Boo!’ Theresa shrieked, jumping out from behind the machine. She was wearing a long black coat and woollen hat, and I had not seen her approach.

I clasped my hand to my chest as she dissolved into fits of giggles before me. ‘You nearly . . . gave me a heart attack,’ I gasped, and despite the grotesque situation, I found myself laughing just the same. But it was dark humour, mingled with a sudden sense of dread. It was several seconds before we gathered our strength, ready to focus on the task ahead.

‘If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry,’ Theresa said, handing me the keys. ‘Know how to work one of these things?’ Leading me to the cab, she showed me the controls. She flicked a switch, casting a spotlight on the ditch. With the help of the mini-digger, it wouldn’t take long to get into the drain.

A sudden flapping noise rose from the oak tree overhead. I ducked as a white feathery creature screeched its disapproval before flying away.

‘It’s just an owl,’ Theresa said. ‘God, you really are a city boy, aren’t you?’

I tried to laugh it off, but this time I struggled to raise a smile to my lips. Goosebumps rose across my flesh as I thought about the implications of our actions. Granted, I had apparently spoken to Luke, but what if we uncovered something? We could be digging up a grave. How would I feel if I unearthed the corpse of a man Emma had killed? Could I look at her the same way again?

I turned the keys in the ignition. The rumbling sound of the engine provided comfort, anything to break up the hoots and screeches of this dark observing world.

With Theresa instructing, I tore the bucket of the digger into the soil. I breathed in through my nose, strong, steady breaths, stopping to survey the land as we dug down the first foot. Just as Emma had described, there was no trace of any corpse, and I grew a little more relieved with each scoop. Soon we reached three feet down, and I was making short work of it with the digger. I tried not to imagine Emma with her shovel, the tang of metal against the earth as it sliced through the soil. But she had described the moment with sickening clarity, and the image came just the same. I was ready to call it a night when we’d dug four feet down, but Theresa insisted we keep going, just in case. I couldn’t imagine Emma digging this far down with a shovel. Could her adrenalin have fuelled her? Just how accurate had her memory been? On I dug, the controls vibrating under my grip, the machine screeching as it swivelled left to right, dumping the black, insect-infested soil. Under the light of the moon the world took on a surreal aspect, and I was working on autopilot when Theresa shouted at me to stop. Her call was loud and piercing, easily heard over the rumble of the digger. I switched off the engine, my hands still buzzing from the vibration of the controls. Theresa was pointing frantically into the bucket, which held the freshly dug soil. Something in there was white, glinting in the moonlight, and I jumped out for a closer look, my legs feeling like jelly as I walked. Our breaths laboured, we approached the bucket, aiming our torches for a clearer view.

I felt like I was in a scene of a horror movie as I approached the digger bucket. My legs and arms moved under their own steam as if they weren’t a part of me any more. It would have been easy to convince myself I was dreaming, that any minute I would wake up to find that none of this had been real. But there was no reprieve as we peered into the dirt, both rooted to the spot. Theresa was not laughing now, instead her mouth forming a perfect O. In this moment, I knew that my life was going to change for ever.

‘Steady,’ Theresa said, as I almost lost my footing in the mud. We stared at the subject of our torch beams, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Neither of us wanted to touch the bone jutting out of the soil.

‘It could be an animal,’ I said, realising I was whispering, and not knowing why.

‘Look,’ Theresa said, diverting her torch to the bottom of the pit we had just dug. A long thin bone lay on top, attached to what looked like a skeletal hand.

It took every ounce of my strength not to drop my torch and run. ‘Christ,’ I said, my stomach turning over as a sudden wave of nausea took hold. ‘I must have beheaded it with the digger.’ The taste of tomato-flavoured bile rose in my throat, and I swallowed it back, fighting to keep the contents of my stomach in place.

Theresa’s face had lost all colour, even her lips had paled from shock. Closing her eyes briefly, she took a deep breath, pulled back her jacket sleeve and checked her watch. ‘Right. We have to finish this by hand. Do you want me to get into the hole?’

The last thing I wanted was to do was to volunteer, but Theresa was shaking, and I would not be much of a man if I looked on. ‘I’ll do it,’ I said, forcing my feet towards the digger bucket. ‘But first, we need to get rid of this.’

I worked through the mud with gloved fingers as Theresa looked on, carefully plucking the bone from the digger bucket. My heart hammering, I brushed away patches of dirt to reveal a human skull. I stared into its hollowed eyes. Its sockets were thick with mud. Wisps of hair still clung to the bone, finding life as the cool night breeze took them. ‘God,’ I said. ‘It’s him. It’s really him,’ I breathed the words, my voice hollow with disbelief. Thoughts flowed like ice water through my veins. I shuddered. My wife. A murderer.

‘Emma must have buried him deeper than she thought,’ Theresa said.

I nodded. Emma had been telling the truth all along. She had killed Luke, and now she was driving herself insane, punishing herself over and over for her crimes. I heard something rustle behind me and saw Theresa holding out a bin bag. At least she had come prepared. I had not planned on what we were going to do if we actually discovered a body, or the remains of one. I stiffened at the thought of Jamie at home with Emma. I could not afford to waste time. We had to finish this.