The sun is up when I walk out of the bathroom. My old shoes are still bloodstained, but I figure I can go to the supermarket without arousing suspicion. I walk in and grab a basket, taking the aisles one at a time. I pick up paper towels. Two bottles of refrigerated water. Some meat-tenderising powder. A hammer, just in case. I don’t know how to use Luxford’s gun, but I know how to use a hammer. I pay cash.

It takes me a few hours to clean the pick-up. I pour the meat tenderiser into one of the water bottles and shake it until the mixture thickens. Then I pour the fluid onto the bloodstained parts of the seat, rubbing it into the cloth with my fingertips.

When I’m done I sit on the back seat, waiting for the tenderiser to break down the proteins in the blood. I don’t know what I’m going to do about the body under the cover in the tray.

I assumed you’d eat it, Thistle says in my head. I hear that’s your thing.

‘I don’t do that anymore,’ I say.

Because you’re too busy having sex with me, right? Thistle says dryly. That was the plan? Tell me, at what point in the future do you picture me forgiving you?

‘When you realise I didn’t do anything wrong.’

She just laughs. It’s a sound with no joy.

•

I didn’t text Sleeping Beauty my real address. I told her to collect me from a random apartment building in East Houston. The pick-up is parked in one of the visitor spaces out front. Now I’m watching the sun go down.

I didn’t eat Luxford. I used his cash to buy a mattock and a shovel from a hardware store, then I drove all the way up to Huntsville State Park. I spent hours digging a deep hole way off a trail. Then I got him out of the trunk, dragged him to the grave and lowered him in.

I even said a few words before I refilled the pit. Trying to prove something, I guess, though I’m not sure what, or to whom.

Not long to wait now. It’s safe to make a call. If the FBI traces it, they won’t get here before the wigmaker does.

I reassemble my phone and dial Norman. She picks up straightaway. ‘Hello?’

‘Dr Norman, it’s Timothy Blake.’

‘Mr Blake. What can I do for you?’

Her tone throws me. If she’s heard that I’m wanted for murder, she does an excellent job of hiding it. Maybe no one thought to let her know.

‘Hello?’ she says.