What to do with the evidence? Probably a question asked by countless felons over countless years. But what was the answer? What was the best way to get away with it?

At fist Joyce thought of just burying Gerald. Drive out to the country, dig a hole; let the worms have him. But then she thought of the logistics in doing that. They didn’t have off road parking, she’d have to somehow get the body down to the car without the neighbors seeing – and Mrs. Prentice never missed a thing. Plus Gerald was twice her size; she’d never be able to shift him. Plus he was in a heap at the bottom of the cellar stairs, and even if they had off road parking she’d never get him up those.

Next up she thought of setting fire to the house. Gerald had always been a stickler for keeping the insurance up to date, so she knew she’d have a nice payout at the end of it. But she’d seen too many CSIs to know that wouldn’t work, she was no arsonist and knew she’d incriminate herself. Then it came to her, a flash of insight, sat halfway down the cellar stairs looking at Gerald’s crumpled form with his head twisted too far round so it looked like he had it on back to front.

As she thought about it she was initially disgusted, the thought of going through with it turned her stomach. But then she thought of her life with Gerald, the years of mental abuse, the twisted sex, and that awful way he had of honking like a pig whenever he was in her. Disgusted had been her life for the past fifteen years, disgusted was letting him do those things, making her watch him do them to others as well.

She’d got up off the stairs and went down, stepping over his body with a tickle of fear that maybe he was faking and would grab her leg. Then she’d crossed to his workbench, something he’d always taken such pride in, always kept clean. She’d picked up the hacksaw and flicked the blade, then turned to look at him.

“Any ketchup?”  Joyce jumped, shook her head to clear the memories. Mark from across the street stood in front of her, the top of his head starting to go pink from the sun. “You were miles away Joyce?”

“Sorry, wool gathering.”

Mark waved his plate that held more meat than salad.

“Thinking of when Gerald gets back hey?” He winked at her and she suppressed a shudder, he’d winked at her like that during one of Gerald’s little parties, the ones where he’d made her do things.

“Can’t wait.” She clamped her teeth together to keep the bile from rising and picked up the bottle handing it to Mark. The back yard was full of friends and neighbors, Pet and Cathy from next door. Marcia and John from next to Mark. Pat, Frank and Billy, three of Gerald’s party friends. She smiled to herself, glad they were all having such a good time. Looking back at Mark he’d covered his steaks in sauce and was picking up a large morsel.

“Damn fine pork Joyce. Gerald get it for you?”

“Yes.” She looked around at the BBQ; Billy was throwing some more steaks on, stepping back as the sizzled and spat. “They’re from Gerald.”


All Rights Reserved © Philip J Norris November 2012