One more thing before I go. I pick up a rock about the size of a deck of cards, and pitch it as far as I can, over the tops of the trees. It crashes down somewhere in the distance. I can’t see the flashlight, but I can hear the tracker changing direction, moving with renewed urgency.

I wait until the sound fades. Then I start the engine, release the park brake and pull out onto the highway.

•

My house is a dilapidated two-bedroom, one-bathroom thing in a bad neighbourhood just outside the loop. The rent is surprisingly high for such a crummy place. Ideally I’d split it with someone, but since I ate my last roommate—a drug-dealing rapist—the idea makes me nervous. It’s safest for everyone if I live alone.

I reverse the car into the carport, jump out and open the trunk. Contrary to popular belief, it’s not always darkest before dawn. Already a cold blue glow is starting to spill across the street. The sun will be up in an hour. I need to get the body inside before someone—

‘Morning, Timothy!’

I look up. My neighbour is on the sidewalk, dressed in a tank top and sweatbands. A blond labrador sniffs around his running shoes.

I always feel sorry for dogs, even though I’ve been bitten a few times. Like me, they’re keen observers of body language and have a good sense of smell. Also like me, they love meat, they have poor impulse control and they’re usually at someone else’s mercy.

‘Hi, Shawn,’ I say. ‘You’re up early.’

Can he see the blood on my face and my shirt? Probably not, if I stay in the shadows of the carport. And from this angle, he can’t see the inside of the trunk. I casually close the lid.

‘New Year’s resolution,’ Shawn is saying. He does an exaggerated hamstring stretch. ‘I’m gonna get into shape.’

Shawn is already in shape. I’ve often thought he looks tasty. Two hundred pounds, five foot nine, thirty years old, black. There’s no sweat in his moustache, so he hasn’t started his run yet.

‘It’s December,’ I say.

‘I know. I’m training for New Year’s.’

‘Oh. Have fun.’

The dog looks very interested in the trunk of my car. She strains at the chain.

Shawn tugs her back towards him. ‘You should come with me,’ he says. ‘We could make it a regular thing.’

‘Maybe another time,’ I say.

Shawn has lived next door to me for years, but only started talking to me recently, after my roommate disappeared. I think Shawn was scared of him. He should have been scared of me instead. He seems like a good guy, so I try to avoid him. I don’t want him to get hurt.