Page 47 of The Taskmaster
“Let’s start with the lack of floor covering. If it was me, I’d cover the whole place in plastic, roll the carpet up maybe. Do you know how many hairs and clothes fibres you’ve already scattered in this place for the police to find?”
“You’re here too,” she added.
Touche.
“And the armchair,” I went on. “What are you gonna do, stab her in the chair and let the fabric soak up all the blood and evidence?”
Angela Maynard’s eyes went wide as she glanced from Abigail to me, sweat trickling down her face.
“Why even do it here?” I added. “It’s so much better to coax them out of their home, get them to a place you choose. Then you can control the narrative.”
“You’re insane,” she said, and I took it as a compliment.
“Thank you. I’ve done this a lot.”
“I don’t need your help,” she said through gritted teeth. “You need to leave.” She moved to stand behind the armchair, keeping her eyes on me, waiting for me to do what she said. But I wouldn’t.
“And leave you to deal with this mess on your own?” I tutted. “That’s not gonna happen.”
“I work alone,” she stated.
“So do I,” I shot back.
“Then go.”
Again, I shook my head. “No.”
She huffed and held her arms out. “So now what?”
“Now, I give you an ounce of my wisdom, and you’ll leave here wondering what you ever did without me.”
She gave a wry smile. She wasn’t convinced yet, so I carried on.
“What were you planning to do with the body once you’d killed her? No offense, but you don’t look like you could drag fifteen stone of dead carcass across a shitty ground like the one outside.”
Angela Maynard started to struggle, her cries muffled by the duct tape, tears rolling down her face.
“I brought bin bags. Heavy duty ones. I know what I’m doing.” Abigail nodded to the backpack on the floor.
“So, you’re going to cut her into pieces and move the body in stages?” Abigail went white.
“No. I just thought?—”
“You didn’t think. That’s the problem. But I’m here now... to help you.”
Her knuckles went white from gripping the knife so tightly, and she positioned the blade on the back of the armchair, pushing it into the fabric in annoyance.
“I already told you; I work alone.”
“I get that. But let me give you some pointers.” She didn’t want to hear what I had to say, but I was going to say it anyway. “Rule number one, always have an escape plan. What were you gonna do if she got out or someone called the police?”
“I... I don’t?—”
“And how are you planning on getting home after this? Gonna call the cab company again, get them to pick you up covered in blood? Or were you planning on using her shower before you left? Spreading even more DNA around for the police? Do you know how much evidence they can get from handles, taps, and towels?”
“I knew you were stalking me,” she said, her jaw clenched as she glared at me.
I cocked my head. “Stalking and following are two completely different things. I followed you tonight to make sure you didn’t put yourself in danger or make any stupid mistakes. But stalking? Thatisa mistake, don’t you agree?”
