They found the trunk exactly where Meagan had said it was. Oliver lifted the bed while Meagan slid it out into view.
Oliver crouched beside it, feeling the top, blowing off the dust and sizing up the container. ‘It’s perfect. Quick, let’s get it out and move the body. We haven’t got much time.’ He opened the leather flap while Meagan ran to the kitchen, returning with a handful of carrier bags.
Oliver lifted the paperwork out in bundles, flicking through the contents.
‘What are you doing? We’re on a fucking deadline here. Dump everything into the bags and let’s go. Jesus, Oliver.’
Once everything was neatly bagged, Meagan slid the contents under the bed. There were four carrier bags that Meagan would have to explain the next time Rob came looking for the trunk. But she didn’t care to think about that at this moment.
Oliver felt the weight of the trunk, thankful it wasn’t as heavy as it looked.
Meagan came out from under the bed. ‘Okay. Let’s bring the trunk next door, get the body into it and go.’
Oliver lifted the trunk, trying to balance it while Meagan guided him, making sure it was safe. He struggled, unable to see in front, because the large trunk was pushed against his face. He was trying to get a grip, his arms wrapped around it in a bear hug, and he was banging into the walls on the way out.
‘You need to be careful, Oliver, someone will hear. That’s it, move along, no, no, back up a little. There you go, that’s it.’
Oliver struggled to squeeze the trunk through the front door and out into the communal hallway.
Once inside apartment seven, he laid the trunk on the ground and Meagan moved around the side, gripping the handle. They pushed it awkwardly up the stairs. It was much easier to move now that the two of them had a hold of it.
‘Okay. You lift him, I’ll grab his legs. On three.’ Meagan was standing in the bedroom, with Oliver just in front of her. They were staring at the body.
‘I don’t think I can.’
‘What are you talking about? Hold him, Oliver. This is ridiculous. Or shall we leave him here? Is that a better plan?’ Meagan asked with a hint of sarcasm.
‘What if he moves? He might jolt or something. What then?’
‘Oliver, you’ve been watching too much shit on the telly, just carry him.’
He moved forward, his arms placed in front, steadying himself in case gloved-man shifted suddenly. He slowly edged forward, his head aching with stress, wanting to be anywhere but here. He began humming a tune in his head as a coping mechanism. He counted backwards from 100 but was unable to get the numbers in order. He saw a haze of digits as he struggled to think straight; a mass of confusion which steered his thoughts away from what he was doing.
Once at the bed, he grasped the body under its belly with both hands, then lifted. Meagan took the legs. Oliver was struggling to move the blanket which was coming away from the bed, aware he could be leaving fingerprints, saliva, DNA.
As he moved the body to the end of the bed, Meagan pushed the trunk across the carpet and Oliver dropped the body inside. She quickly shut the flap, securing the leather straps.
Meagan had a plan. ‘Here’s what we do, Oliver. Go and get the car. The straps of this trunk are too flimsy and we can’t risk it opening while we move it. Rob has a strong chain in a drawer in the kitchen. He used to cycle occasionally and used it to lock his bike. He sold the bike recently so he won’t miss it. We can wrap it tightly around the trunk.’
Oliver took gloved-man’s phone from the bedside cabinet. ‘We need to dump this as well.’ He went out onto the street, leaving Meagan to clear up his dirty work.
While Oliver was gone, Meagan went into apartment six, frantically opening cupboards and pulling out drawers in the kitchen, scrabbling through the junk and tipping all the contents onto the floor. She found the chain under a pile of papers, checking its strength by pulling it tightly, pleased to see the key was still in the lock of the barrel.
It was sturdy enough and would definitely be secure.
She quickly placed everything back as neatly as possible, turned out the kitchen light and returned to apartment seven and the trunk with the body.
Oliver returned to apartment seven forty minutes later. He’d parked around the back of the building.
Meagan had managed to secure the trunk with the chain. Her face was flushed, her breathing heavy. She looked exhausted. ‘Let’s just get him out,’ she commanded.
‘Go and open the door, Meagan. Make sure the hall outside is empty.’
Meagan stood by the front door of apartment seven, keeping a lookout, making sure the communal hall was deserted. ‘Come on. It’s clear.’ She looked inside. Oliver was struggling to pull the trunk, crouching low. One end of it was trapped at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Push him back. He’s stuck. Take the angle wider.’ Meagan went back inside the hall, forcing the edge of the trunk away from the skirting board.
Oliver looked up; his face was bright red, sweat dripping down his forehead. He wiped it away with his sleeve. ‘What’s the plan?’
Meagan was outside, again checking the communal hall. ‘I know a reservoir in north west London. I remember passing it a few times. It’s quiet. No one goes there much. It’s at the back of the main road, the A406 if I remember correctly. It’s perfect as it’s deep and we can drop him off from the edge.’
Oliver looked down at the trunk, wondering how he had got in this mess, how he had let Meagan talk him into it. ‘Fine. Let’s do it then.’
They reached the ground floor, Oliver struggling to pull the trunk, Meagan keeping watch. The trunk bashed along every step, the noise echoing through the hallway. He thought that any minute someone would come out from one of the doorways. How would they explain what was going on?
Hey, what are you doing? It looks like you’re dragging a dead body?
Oh, he’s had too much to drink. Yeah, he’s dead. But I’d rather he was dead outside your property. I can’t deal with the flies, my friend. I’m joking of course, it’s a blow-up doll – my partner’s kinky like that.
Oliver’s thoughts were interrupted; Meagan was calling out. ‘Oliver, quick, someone’s coming.’
He stood still, feeling his heart racing, panic flooding his body.
Meagan watched the front door of the building as they stood in the communal hall. Someone was moving a key, flicking it left and right, grunting, puffing out deep breaths. The door opened. Meagan turned to Oliver, who was standing behind her. ‘Quick, the lift. Go.’
Oliver glanced behind him then pulled the trunk backwards, sliding it along the wooden floor, racing to the lift doors. He placed it inside and joined Meagan.
‘Mrs Sheehan! You’re out late,’ Meagan commented.
Meagan had startled her. The old lady from the fourth floor gazed at the couple, watching them. ‘I could say the same for you. Hello, Rob.’
Oliver thought it better to play along; it was too confusing to introduce himself.
‘We’re popping out. Speak soon, okay?’ Meagan stood, waiting for the lady to pass and go on her way up the stairs.
‘I’m going to see if the lift is working,’ Mrs Sheehan announced.
‘No. I mean, it’s still down. I think they’re coming next week. Didn’t you get the letter?’ Meagan asked.