Kate went up to the bar. She glanced at the large clock on the wall. It was six thirty. She’d have a half of lager and make her way home. She was seeing Patrick at eight, and wanted to ring round and see if she could find Dan first. She had a few words to say to him which he wasn’t going to like.

She was quite looking forward to it.

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

George stood in his bedroom, perplexed. His face settled into a deep frown. He knew, in fact he was absolutely sure, that his tiepin had been in the top drawer of the dressing table. Now it was nowhere to be seen. He lifted the drawer out and placed it on the bed. He began to rummage through it again.

Nothing.

He bit his cheek in consternation. There was only one place it could be. He had searched his bedroom thoroughly so he must have lost it on New Year’s Eve. He began to sweat. When Elaine had left that night he had dressed quickly. He could not remember whether he had put a tie on at all, but the logical side of him said that he must have. He put the drawer back and absentmindedly tidied it.

There was only one thing for it: he would have to go back and see if it was on the body. Thank God he had had the sense to bury this one! The devil looked after his own - another of his mother’s sayings that proved once more to George that she was always right.

He looked at his watch. It was six fifty-five. Elaine was off out with the girls tonight, he would go as soon as she left. He straightened the bedcover so it was nice and smooth, he hated untidiness of any kind, and walked from the bedroom. On the landing he could hear Elaine, in the bath, singing ‘I Could Have Danced All Night’. He grimaced. Elaine’s singing was like everything else about her: terrible. As he walked down the stairs she reached a high-pitched crescendo and George felt his shoulders disappearing into the back of his neck. Elaine’s voice grated on him.

She grated on him.

At eight forty-five, George was standing over the makeshift grave of Louise Butler. He had brought his large torch with him. Setting it on the ground, he began to disinter the girl. George was puffing and panting, his gardening gloves making the removal of the stones difficult. He had not realised he had buried her so deeply. He squatted for a second to get his breath.

That’s when he noticed the smell. An awful smell of rotting meat. George heaved, his face in the torchlight looking green-tinged and old. Standing up, he took his handkerchief from his pocket and tied it across his nose and mouth. Steeling himself, he began once more to pull at the stones and dirt.