Oliver held up his hand. ‘Wait. Just wait, I need to think.’ He played out the scene in his head; getting into the building, finding the store cupboard in the basement, climbing the stairs, standing in the communal hallway on the second floor, the lift to his right, finding apartment six, jimmying the Yale lock with a credit card, opening the front door. He’d acted quickly, not taking any notice. Why would he?
He recalled how disorientated he’d become, stressed from their scheme, the plan that they’d plotted together. He remembered steadying himself, holding onto the hallway wall, but Oliver was struggling to recall what happened.
He moved out of the bedroom, down the stairs and out to the communal hall, Meagan following.
‘I need to get this clear. I came up to the second floor. I found number seven at the top of the stairs. I counted down the apartments from the right. I remember finding number six past the lift.’ Oliver pointed along the hall. ‘That’s apartment six, down there. I shone the torch on the door, for fuck’s sake. Look and see.’ He quickly went past the lift. ‘This is number six’.
Oliver shone the torch at the door he was standing in front of, next to the apartment that he and Meagan had just walked out from. The number on the door was clear and visible – apartment seven. ‘Wait, that can’t be! I remember seeing it clearly when I came here earlier. I was sure this was apartment six. I walked along the hall to the right of the stairs, and past the lift. Number seven was next door, the one we’ve just come out from. I’m fucking sure, Meagan.’
Oliver pointed to the first apartment to the right of the stairs, the apartment he’d broken into.
Meagan stood dishevelled, numb. Oliver listened to her rapid breathing, saw the tension in her body. He heard the panic in her throat as she tried to talk. She stood back, watching him, staring right through his body.
After a minute, she mustered the strength to speak. ‘The apartments go down, not up, not fucking up, Oliver. I’m six, to the right is seven, then eight. How the fuck could you get it wrong? How, Oliver?’
‘Keep your voice down; we’ll be heard, for Christ’s sake. I made a fucking mistake.’ Oliver went out to the fire escape, gaining access to the back. ‘There, see?’ He was pointing to a large window. He guessed it was the kitchen. Oliver and Meagan stood on the flat roof space, surrounded by small cupboards containing the water tanks.
Oliver pointed towards a window at the end of the building. ‘Earlier, there was a couple in the kitchen just there; I watched as a woman mixed ingredients in a bowl, her partner pouring them wine. He kept pulling her towards him, showering her with kisses, and she was jokingly pushing him away, holding up a finger to let him know he’d have to wait. I kind of guessed it wasn’t you and Rob. I waited. A light came on in the room to the right of the kitchen, the same guy moving across the floor, setting out plates. I remember he lit candles. I watched them sit and eat, knowing I wouldn’t get disturbed.’
Meagan looked up at the window; the lights were now off. ‘Yeah, that’s Jen and Paul. They moved into apartment eight a couple of months back. What did you do then?’
Oliver paused, thinking, trying to recall his exact movements. ‘Okay. So I looked to the left of where I saw the couple, to the one I thought was your apartment where I’d find Rob. I had to be sure I had it right. I looked in at the windows, keeping hidden. I made sure Rob wasn’t downstairs walking around. The lights were off as I looked across the kitchen into the hall. Then I made my way back to the communal hall and got inside the apartment.’ Oliver looked towards Meagan, fear in his eyes. ‘For fuck’s sake, what have I done?’
They stood in the hall, staring, blank expressions on both their faces, thinking what to do.
Meagan broke the silence. ‘Look, did anybody see you?’
‘No. I’m pretty sure of it.’
‘Pretty sure isn’t good enough, Oliver. Why did you go out onto the roof? The instructions were clear. You’ve just killed an innocent man. How are we going to deal with it?’
He dropped to his knees, holding his head with both hands, pulling his hair. ‘I don’t fucking know. It’s your mistake, Meagan. You said apartment six was on the second floor, to the right.’
Meagan raised her voice. ‘Left. I fucking said left. I know what I bloody said. Top of the stairs to the left. Don’t go blaming me, Oliver.’
Oliver stood. ‘We need to deal with it – both of us. It’s our mess now. We’re in it together.’
Meagan turned, rubbing her face hard, swinging her head back, facing away towards the back of the communal hall. ‘We need to get rid of the body.’ She turned back round. ‘Do you hear me?’
Oliver contemplated the idea, mulling it over. ‘How, exactly?’
‘You broke in earlier. Do it again. You get your car, then we lift the body downstairs, load it into the boot, drive and dump it somewhere, that’s how.’
‘You’re crazy. We’ll never get away with it. We’ll be seen. You know it.’
‘Not if we’re quick. The hardest part will be getting it outside; the rest should be straightforward.’
Oliver thought. He could run, get out now and never return. Leave Meagan to deal with the shit. He could disappear and she’d never find him.
‘Oliver. Are you hearing me?’
‘Yes. I hear you. Let’s do it then.’
Oliver removed from his wallet the card that he’d used to gain entry earlier. Placing it into the side of the door, he slid it, pulling up and down, forcing the lock.
‘Hurry up,’ Meagan demanded.
‘I’m doing my best here.’
He wriggled the card, pushing it hard against the Yale. ‘Come on.’
‘Where did you learn to do this?’
‘My granddad was a locksmith. When I was younger, he took me out on Saturdays. I carried his tools mostly, but every so often he let me have a go. I guess it’s like riding a bike.’
The door opened. Oliver entered and Meagan followed. ‘Hello. Is anyone here?’
‘Oliver, for Christ’s sake. What are you doing?’
‘I have to be sure. What if he has a visitor, or someone else lives here with him?’
Meagan suddenly had a flashback to when she’d called Oliver. ‘Shit, the girl in the bath. This is gloved-man’s apartment.’
Oliver climbed the stairs, trying to ignore what Meagan had said. He couldn’t deal with this now.
Using his phone torch to light the path, he went upstairs to the bedroom. Meagan shut the front door and followed him.
They looked at the body, the guy lying on his stomach, motionless.
‘There’s not much time,’ Oliver announced. ‘We need to get him out of here.’
‘And how do you envisage doing that? We can’t just walk out of here with him, wandering around in the hall with a stiff and risk being seen. Use your bloody head, Oliver.’
‘I’m thinking. How can you expect me to do anything when you’re shouting? You’re making me panic. This isn’t my fucking fault.’
Meagan stared across, wanting to shake him, make him realise the seriousness of the shit that had gone down and what he’d done. Now wasn’t the time to curl up in a ball and pass the blame back and forth. They had to act fast, hide the corpse, move it out of there to somewhere safe – someplace it would never be found.
‘Wait.’ Meagan had a plan. ‘Here’s what we’ll do, Oliver. It might just work.’
Oliver watched as she paced around the bedroom of apartment seven, her brain working overtime.
‘Rob has a travel trunk; a large leather container where he keeps his paperwork, all sorts of shit from the club he owns. He hasn’t opened it for ages. It’s lying in the spare room downstairs under the bed. He shouldn’t miss it. Come and help me get it, and if anyone sees us, we can make out we’re helping a friend move, storing junk, anything, but it won’t look suspicious.’