My mind whirrs as I gaze out of the rear window of the taxi on the way back home. Images and memories collide and explode like fireworks in my head. I’m not sure where to go next, who to turn to. As I’ve shared so much with Roisin, it makes sense to speak with her about my latest findings. Plus, I really should tell her about the arrest. Switching my attention from the scenery to my mobile, I tap on Roisin’s name and listen to the ringing tone drone on.
‘Come on, come on,’ I mutter. My hands grip the phone as I silently plead for her to pick up. I really don’t want to have to leave a message.
‘Jen, good timing,’ Roisin says, out of breath. ‘I’ve just … got back … was going to call you.’
I wait for her to regain her composure before speaking. The driver is on a call of his own, a woman’s voice blaring out of the hands-free, so hopefully he won’t be listening in. ‘I beat you to it – I’ve had the mother of all days so far. I was wondering if we could meet for a chat.’
‘Yes, definitely. I’ve been doing some further investigation – I’ve gone full-on private investigator – and there’s something I think you should see in person anyway. I’ve got to pop out again now, but can you be here for seven? If Mark is okay with looking after the kids.’
I humph loudly down the phone. ‘He’s got the kids at his parents’ place. I’ll explain all when I see you.’
‘Oh, that sounds a little ominous. Okay, hon, I’ll see you soon.’ There’s a pause before she adds, ‘Take care, Jen, won’t you.’ Then she’s gone. I glance at the time display. I’ve got just over two hours. Time to get home, reread my letters – the ones Mark and the police didn’t find – and make a plan.
The driver drops me at the top of my drive and I tap the reader with my card to pay him.
‘Can I book you again, for around six-thirty?’
‘You’ll have to call the office to book, love. Do it nice and early; we get a flurry around teatime.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ I say, climbing out. I don’t go inside the house; instead, I rush to the shed, go inside, unhook the shovel, then go out and around the back of it. There’s a gap big enough for me to walk behind and it’s here I dig. It’s not long before the shovel hits against something solid. Not bothered now about getting dirty, I drop to my knees and scoop earth with my hands. A rotten smell hits me and I rear back, covering my nose.
‘Oh, God!’ For a moment, confusion invades my mind along with the stench, then I realise what it is.
I don’t understand.
A bin liner, half opened, lies close to the top of the hole. The hole I dug when we first moved in. No one but me knows about it, I’m certain. So, I must’ve buried this bin liner. But when?
Holding my breath, I carefully take hold of the liner and pull it out, placing it beside the mound of earth while I retrieve what I came for. I lift the metal box from its grave and set it down. The last time I recall digging the box up to read the letters it contains was last year. The bin liner has been placed on top, and now, as I dare peek inside, I realise the remains of the dead rabbit are relatively fresh. Put here, I’d guess, within the last two weeks.
If I’ve done this, it must’ve been during a blackout as I have no recollection of it.
Could this be what I was doing the night Olivia was taken? When I awoke, cold and dirty, my pyjamas stained with wet earth, mud embedded under my nails – had I been digging to bury the mutilated animal? It doesn’t make sense I would go to the lengths of burying it if I had been the one who’d taken the animal and left it on my own doorstep. But even more doubtful is the likelihood I’d bury it here, in my special place – where I keep the things I want to remain private. Unless I knew, even in my trance state, that I would eventually uncover it. Was I leaving a clue to my conscious self?
If I’m not the one doing this, why was I at the practice the night before finding one of these gifts? I saw myself getting out of the car on the vet CCTV – it has to be me.
My heart jolts.
I close my eyes tightly as I play over the footage in my head. I watched my car pull in, but the driver’s side door was out of shot. The car jostled as a person got out. I’d immediately made the assumption it must’ve been me. But I didn’t see myself.
What if someone else drove my car there?