Page 41 of Haven't Killed in Years
A motorcycle revved it’s engine obnoxiously from a few streets over and it reminded me we weren’t alone in the world.
“We have to get out of here. I’ll take care of this. Take my car, the keys are inside. Go home.Yourparents’ house. I don’t care what you have to say to them. You need to go home. I’ll call you when I’m done.”
Porter nodded.
“What about her house?” I asked. “Do we need to worry about that?”
“I used gloves. I found cleaning supplies under the sink. I cleaned it all up, I think.” His face begged for me to agree that it was probably good enough.
“And she was alone? There was no one else there?”
He shook his head.
I guess Gustus picked a good day to get out of the recliner. I hoped wherever he was, he was with enough people to give him a good alibi.
“Okay,” I said. “Wash up in the bathroom and then go. Do you understand?”
He nodded again.
“Go,” I ordered. He turned around and went inside without a word. Porter—speechless. That’s how I knew it was bad.
- - - - -
I drove two hoursnorth to a pond in New Hampshire that I found on Google Maps by scrolling around the screen and not creating a record of searching for it. I wrote down the directions, then turned off my phone. I avoided any toll roads. I pulled over to pick up pieces of scrap metal I saw along the way—a discarded bumper, a piece of rebar, a rusty pipe-like thing, and a loose chain I saw hanging off a pasture gate.
I dragged the metal pieces and the body through the woods from the road to the edge of the pond. It took me three trips. I used the chain to attach the bumper to Reanne’s neck. I shoved the rebar and the pipe under her shirt and then snaked them through her pant legs.
The water was murky, full of slimy overgrown plants. At least it seemed unlikely anyone would be looking to swim there. I dragged her in as far as I could manage, thankful she hadn’t used her time in prison to bulk up. Then I made sure she sank to the bottom.
I didn’t know if it was smart. I didn’t know if her body would surface two hours later. I didn’t know if it was a great fishing cove and some local was going to hook her eye socket the next morning. I only knew it was the best I could do given the circumstances. I’d spent a lot of my life thinking about killing and absolutely not enough time thinking about what I would do after the fact. I had to hope it was good enough, but I was confident the plan was a hell of a lot better than the kiln.
I texted Porter a few times once I was closer to home, but hedidn’t answer. I hoped that meant he was asleep. He needed it. I brought his car to a twenty-four-hour self-service car wash and did my best to clean it. Then I went home and did my best to clean myself.
The sun was starting to rise by the time I turned onto Porter’s street. I pulled up in front of the house, but I didn’t need to knock on the door to realize there was a problem. My car wasn’t in the driveway. Porter hadn’t gone home.
Twenty-Two
I was at Elyse’s doorearlier than anyone could justify was reasonable. I brought the mug she’d painted, hoping she didn’t notice I hadn’t actually put it in the kiln. I buzzed her apartment from outside and she gave me the code through the intercom.
She met me at her door in a baggy ripped T-shirt and leggings. Her eyeliner was rubbed off but not washed enough for it to be completely gone. “Good morning,” she said as she opened the door.
“I brought your mug.” I shoved it in her face like it was a valid reason to have asked for her address at six in the morning.
“Thanks. Do you want to come in?”
“Is Jake here?” I asked, maneuvering past her.
“No,” she said, a slight crease forming over her eyebrow, like it was weird that I had asked, leaving me wondering how serious they really were.
I looked around, postponing eye contact. There was something that seemed off about her place. At first I couldn’t pinpoint it, but it was the emptiness. There was nothing on the walls, there were nopicture frames, no candles, no books, no nothing. I figured she’d at least have some plants—she must get a good discount from her job—but there was only furniture and life things like dishes and lamps.
My curiosity overcame my apprehension and I had to confront her. “Why did you show up at Painting Pots last night?” I was so convinced she was involved, but Porter knew Elyse, and Porter had metMarin. If I really was wrong about Elyse, I needed more convincing. I wanted to be sure.
Her face scrunched, uneasy with my tone. “I told you. I was just in the area.”
“Yeah, for what?”
“I like the sandwich place that’s in that plaza.”
