Her Last Tomorrow (12 page)

When I get to Alan’s, I see he’s left the laptop on the same spot on the dining table, untouched. This doesn’t surprise me; Alan’s a trustworthy kind of guy and he’s not the sort of person to get much use out of his dining table anyway, judging by the empty drinks cans and microwave ready-meal packages stacked up on his kitchen work surface.

I open the laptop and wait for it to boot up before loading the TOR browser and navigating my way to the site. It seems to take an age, but I know I’m just being impatient. I log in and see a
(1)
next to my username. I presume this is the number of responses I’ve had. Better than nothing, though. I click the 1 and the response pops up on the screen.

How much are we talking? Depends on type of rubbish and disposal method you want. We can talk.

Cagey, but promising. I click
Reply
and quickly type out a response.

Three grand. Can’t negotiate — that’s literally all I have. Method up to you, whatever’s quickest. Will provide details later, but it’s a light load.

It seems bizarre that we’re both keeping it so cryptic, considering the secrecy and anonymity of the dark web, but I’m not complaining. So far as I can see, there’s absolutely nothing incriminating so far. Sure, a copper with even half an ounce of common sense would know what it was all about but there’s nothing whatsoever that would stand up in a court. Besides, the anonymity is keeping me extra safe for now.

The anonymity is something that’ll have to be broken, though. As soon as I identify Tasha as the target, the odds will be stacked against me in terms of the killer working out who I am. I can throw him off that trail, though, by telling him I’m someone else and she tucked me up over a business deal. There’s nothing to trace it back to me. Not if I’m careful.

Handing over the money could be tricky, so I’d have to arrange some sort of dead drop. I’d leave the cash in a container somewhere hidden, where no-one else will find it, then send him a dark web message telling him where it is. As long as I keep well away from cameras while I’m doing it and make sure the money’s put somewhere it can’t be accidentally found by someone else, I should be in the clear.

By the time I’ve pondered all this, I’ve already got a response waiting for me. This guy’s keen.

That’s cheap, but doable. Won’t be anything fancy, though. Low risk method needed. Identify the target and I’ll see if it can be done.

Christ.
Identify the target
. This is sounding almost military. I guess that means he’ll be efficient.

I realise that he’s probably going to want a photo of Tasha. How am I supposed to get one of those to him? I can’t go putting one on a computer without being traced. I’m going to need to think this through carefully.

I lean back in the chair and think. Whatever it is, it’s going to need to look natural. As natural as someone dying can look. Nothing too obvious like a shooting, but then again trying to make it look like suicide has its own risks, too. No, it needs to look accidental. Cutting the brake cables on the car would be far too risky, as would anything of that sort. There’ll be forensic mechanics who’ll always be able to tell.

I remember the idea I had a little while back. What about a mugging gone wrong? Tasha’s so bloody obstinate, if some bloke tried to mug her or nick her bag she’s just the sort of person who’d try to argue and fight back and end up getting herself seriously hurt or worse. Or worse.

But where? She rarely goes out without me, and I sure as hell need to make sure I’m nowhere near when it happens, as I’m going to need the alibi. It’ll need to be done somewhere that won’t be too busy and preferably not in broad daylight, too. Fortunately for me, Tasha’s pretty fearless so she’s not the sort of person who’d walk the long way round just to stick to main roads.

I think back to my meeting with Mark in Jubilee Park. Almost no-one walks through Jubilee Park at night, even though it’s completely open. Tasha has a friend, Emma, who lives on the other side of Jubilee Park. She’d need to walk — no,
would
walk — through the park to get to Emma’s house. I’d really rather not involve Emma, though, if I can help it. She’s not the sort of person I’d really want to spend too much time with, but Tash has managed to systematically alienate every single one of her other friends. Even Cristina and Leanne aren’t massively keen on her. Before I know it, I’ve got my phone out of my pocket and I’m calling Emma.

‘Nick, good to hear from you,’ she says. A blatant lie. She’s been weird with me for years. ‘How are things? I mean, apart from the obvious. Is there any news?’

‘No, nothing really. All we can do is wait. There’s nothing much else we can do. That’s the hardest part,’ I say. Sympathy vote, please. ‘It’s starting to get to us both a bit, if I’m honest. Tasha says she’s alright, but I know her. She’s struggling as much as any of us. That’s why I’m ringing, actually. She won’t say anything, but I think she needs a friend.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah. Don’t tell her I told you this, though. You know what she’s like.’ I let out a small chuckle, trying to loosen the atmosphere. ‘I was thinking perhaps if you called her and invited her over to your place tomorrow night, I think that’d help her a lot. Help take her mind of things and give her some support, change of scenery, y’know. Get a few of the girls together and try to get her to relax.’

There’s a pause before she speaks. ‘Yeah, course,’ she says. ‘I’ll do whatever I can. Must be hard just waiting for news. You must feel helpless.’

‘We do,’ I say.

‘No worries, I’ll give her a call now.’ There’s a short pause before she speaks again. ‘And how are you bearing up, Nick?’

‘I’ve had better times,’ I say, trying to shrug it off.

Once the rest of the updates and pleasantries are out of the way and the phone is back in my pocket, I realise how quickly things have moved. I click
Reply
on the dark web site and update the stranger.

It’ll be tomorrow night, Jubilee Park. Needs to look accidental. Cash will be ready by then. Description to come.

I hear Alan shuffling around upstairs and I find myself letting out a small yelp. I know I’ve got to stay calm. Getting jumpy isn’t going to do me any favours.

A few seconds later, another message pings through on the laptop.

That’s not much notice. Will need closer contact. Have throwaway mob: 07700919663. Geoff.

Geoff. Is that his real name? I’m guessing not.

He might well have a throwaway mobile, but I certainly don’t. Can withheld numbers be traced by police if they need to? I don’t know, but I can’t risk it. I’m going to have to use phone boxes, and then preferably ones without CCTV anywhere nearby. I wouldn’t know where to get a throwaway mobile of my own, and was under the impression that even pay-as-you-go sims had to be registered to a name and address nowadays. The phone box seems like the only option.

I decide I need to head home and be with Tash. Once she’s been invited over to Emma’s she’ll let me know the times and I can call Geoff to update him.

I intend to leave the cash in a holdall, hidden in the woods outside the town. There’s a small copse out towards Huish Farm which is pretty dense and has thick undergrowth and piles of old leaves. I’ll bury it under the leaves in the undergrowth there, which’ll be fine for a few hours or a day or two. In fact, you could probably leave it there for months and no-one would find it.

All of a sudden, things are moving very quickly.

When I get back home, I find a note from Tash to say she’s popped out for an hour to get some shopping. I always feel a pang of guilt when I see signs of normality like this. When a child goes missing your life stops dead, yet there are things which have to continue as normal, like eating and sleeping. That’s one of the worst things about it; feeling guilty for carrying out your natural bodily functions. That’s what it does to you.

I’m glad Tash isn’t here as I need to get the money from the safe and go. Doing that with her in the house would be more than difficult. I have a sudden bolt of adrenaline as I realise how woefully unprepared I am for this. It was meant to be a carefully thought-through plan, but now I seem to be racing along at a hundred miles an hour, thinking of things just as I’m doing them. This worries me.

Ever since I received the photo of Ellie, I’ve known I needed to do something quickly. I’d known before that, but not as definitely. Seeing her little face was heartbreaking, and right now I’m battling between the side of me that desperately wants her back and the side which knows I need to remain calm and collected if this is to work.

Then again, you’ve got to take your chances.

I sprint up the stairs and into the bedroom, where I open the safe. The cash is still there. I open my wardrobe, remove my sports bag and put the cash inside. It’s an awkward amount — far too much to fit in a pocket or jacket, but lost inside my sports bag. To make it look less suspicious, I grab a towel and a pair of trainers from the wardrobe and throw them in too.

I realise that I’m going to have to take the car. I’ve not wanted to use it up until now — not for anything other than the usual stuff — as part of me is convinced they’ve put some sort of tracker on it. My logical mind tells me they can’t have done, though. They’d need to get a warrant to do that, and that means they’d need sufficient evidence that I was involved in Ellie’s disappearance. Besides which, there’s just no real way of me getting to the woods without my car. If the worst comes to the worst and they find out I was there, I’ll tell them I decided not to go for the gym and opted for a run around the woods in the fresh air instead.

I know that if I stop I’ll change my mind, and I know I can’t change my mind. I need to stick to the plan. I need Ellie back.

I head back downstairs and out the front door, which is when I see McKenna walking up the front path with a carrier bag in each hand. Tasha’s walking behind her.

‘Hi, Nick. Off somewhere?’ McKenna says.

‘To the gym,’ I say, holding up the sports bag. ‘I need to blow off some steam.’

‘Must be difficult sitting around waiting for news,’ she says. ‘Not knowing what’s happened.’

‘Yeah, it is. Just makes us feel so helpless, y’know? Frustrating. Which is why,’ I say, walking towards my car, ‘I’m off to pound the treadmill.’

‘Enjoy,’ McKenna replies, looking at me for a little longer than feels comfortable before heading into the house. Tasha stops to speak to me.

‘Before I forget, Emma called while I was out. She’s asked me if I want to go over to her place tomorrow night with Leanne and Cristina. Thinks it might do me good to get out of the house.’

‘She’s probably right. There’s nothing much we can do other than going mad waiting. Distractions help,’ I say, holding up the sports bag again.

‘Yeah, you’re probably right. I’ll be going at about eight, so I won’t be back late,’ she replies, leaning across to kiss me on the cheek as she walks past and into the house.

‘Have fun at the gym,’ McKenna says from the doorway, having already put the bags in the kitchen. She smiles, walks past me and heads back to her car. I start mine up and drive off down the road in the opposite direction.
 

I keep one eye on my rear-view mirror and head off towards the town centre before turning up a side road and heading in the direction of the woods. I’m careful to make sure no-one’s following me, as I’d find it pretty tricky to explain why I’m heading for the woods with a sports bag.

The wooded area isn’t accessible by car, so I park up in a nearby road next to some houses, making sure the car doesn’t stand out like a sore thumb, and walk up the footpath and through the field to the copse.

Fortunately, I see no-one on my way. The weather’s not ideal for dog walkers or families out exploring. When I reach the copse, I stick to the well-worn path for a few yards before checking around me and veering off between the trees, my feet stumbling as I try to traverse the logs and thickets to get deeper into the undergrowth.

Once I’m satisfied there’s no-one here, I use my boot to scrape aside a pile of leaves and dead branches and plonk the bag down on the damp mud before covering it back over. How I’m going to describe where this is, I don’t know. I scurry around in the leaves to find a sharp stone. I find something which looks a bit like flint and I leave a mark on the nearest tree — an
X
. I retrace my steps back to the path and draw an arrow on a tree, pointing in the direction of the bag. It’s not obvious to anyone casually walking past, but visible enough to someone looking for it.

Even though I know it’s well hidden, I feel pretty uneasy just leaving three grand in a bag in the middle of the woods. Not as uneasy as I feel about coming face to face with the man who’s going to kill my wife, though, or having to identify myself to give it to him directly. I can handle losing three grand if that’s the alternative.

I retrace my steps back across the field to my car. I know there’s a phone box in the next village, Medbury — one which won’t have CCTV cameras anywhere near it. To be honest, I’d be surprised if Medbury had electricity. I start up the car and head in the direction of the village.

When I get there, I decide to leave my car a hundred yards or so away from the phone box. I’m not entirely sure why, but it just seems to feel safer. I get out and walk to the payphone, trying not to look too suspicious as I glance around me. I fish the piece of paper with Geoff’s number on it out of my pocket before lifting the receiver and dialling it. I drop a pound coin in the slot as he answers.