Page 51 of The Taskmaster
Isaiah must’ve sensed my inner turmoil, because he took his gloves off, put them in his pocket, and leaned down. He picked up the knife from the floor, gripping it tightly and placing his fingerprints over mine.
“We’re in this together,” he said, dropping the knife on top of my backpack. “If you go down, we both go down.”
Who was this guy with the tattoos and dark stares?
A stranger that seemed so familiar.
“I’m guessing you’re not an IT guy,” I said, unsure what else to say, and then metaphorically slapped my forehead at the stupidity of my statement. Murder had turned my brain to mush tonight. I needed to get it together.
“On the contrary,” he replied proudly. “My IT skills are the best you’ll find. I might not be employed by your IT managementcompany, but trust me, they are elite. There’s no system I can’t hack into.”
“There’s a lot to unpack there. And I have no idea what you were doing in our office if you don’t work for the IT company. Knowing that alone has my guard up. And I’m starting to think you might know more about the injured guy in the car park than you’ve let on, but right now, I have more important things to focus on.”
“And we are wasting precious time,” he added. “Wait here. Don’t move. I’ll be back in three minutes and this...” He gestured to the room where we stood. “Will all be gone.”
He left, and I stood in the room, avoiding looking at Angela Maynard’s body in the armchair.
What the fuck had I done?
This was such a shit show.
Seconds ticked by that felt like hours, and then I heard the back door open. Isaiah walked in, holding reams of plastic sheets and a sports bag, and wearing a plastic apron.
He started to roll the plastic out on the floor, and I bent down to help.
“We need to wrap her in this,” he said. “Tape it up, and then we can move her to my van.”
He smoothed the plastic and took a roll of tape from a bag.
“And what do we do after that?” I asked, feeling a little useless as I watched him.
He went over to where she sat and took a knife out of his pocket, cut the duct tape that held her to the chair, and then began to heft her out of it, pulling her to the floor to lie on the plastic.
Once she was on the floor, he wiped his brow and peered up at me. “Then we destroy all the evidence.” He nodded to Angela Maynard. “Including her.”
I had no idea how he planned to do that. My previous dealings like this hadn’t ended this way. They’d been discreet, not messy, and every single one had looked like an accident. I was careful. I had to be. But I’d royally fucked this one up, and I couldn’t even think straight.
I knelt down, helping Isaiah roll her in the plastic, like we were creating some kind of sick burrito. Then, when she was tightly wrapped inside, he asked me to hold the bottom of the plastic so he could wind the tape around and secure the end. We did the same at the top, and once it was done, we both stood up and stared down at our work.
“I’ll be able to move her. I could do with some help with the doors though,” he said, taking off his bloody apron and throwing it onto the armchair.
I was about to argue that she’d be too heavy for one person, but he bent down, scooped her up in his arms and began walking towards the back door. He carried her like she weighed nothing. Like he’d done this a thousand times before.
“Abigail,” he said, to get my attention, as I stood there speechlessly watching him. Ogling, more like. “Can you get the door?”
“Yeah, sure.” I darted across the room and then pushed the back door open, stepping back so he could walk through.
“I’ve parked my van at the bottom of the garden. I’ll need you to do the back gate, and my van door too.”
“Of course,” I mumbled, walking on ahead, and glancing around to make sure no one was watching.
“We’re not overlooked here. It’s fine,” he stated, sensing my nervousness and trepidation.
I lifted the latch of the back gate and pushed it open, holding it so it wouldn’t retract and close on us. Once he’d walked through, I turned and went to the white van parked close by.
“Isn’t white a bit of a giveaway?” I stared at the van as it seemed to glow in the moonlight, like a beacon in the dark.
“I’ll spray paint it black, ready for next time,” he shot back, and then nodded to the side of the van. “It’s a side loader. You pull the handle there to open it.”
