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“The what?”
“I’m telling you, she was dead.” He paused. “She had to be.”
“You sound like you’re not sure.”
“Look, I didn’t do it in the house. Didn’t want to leave a mess. Chloroformed her, got her out of there, drove to the location, buried her. She was dead.”
“How long did you stay there?”
“I didn’t stay there.”
“Why didn’t you stay?”
“Why the fuck would I stay?”
“Could she have been, like, just unconscious when you put her in the ground?”
“Fuck, no. And even if she was, the dirt would have smothered her.”
“What if the second you walked away, somehow she dug herself out? Held her breath for a while. Like, an air pocket or something.”
“No way,” Matt insisted. “And even if, somehow, she got out, then what? She crawls out of a hole and goes on a six-year vacation? She go on a cruise?”
“Look, I don’t have all the answers. First step is confirming whether she’s alive. Second step is to find out where she’s been.”
Matt was thinking this was not good. This was not good at all.
“Maybe …” And now Matt was really grasping, trying to come up with any possible explanation. “Maybe someone saw me bury her. Rescued her, gave her mouth-to-mouth or something. And, you know, nursed her back to health.”
“You think someone else was out there?”
“If there had been, you think I wouldn’t have done something about it? This is insane. Maybe she had amnesia or something and just realized who she is.”
“You better hope she did get amnesia and still has it. She gets her memory back, she’ll remember the last person she saw before everything went dark.”
Matt looked at the dead writer. The day had been going so well.
“Where’s she been seen?”
“Milford.”
“Maybe she’s a fucking ghost,” he said. “My work doesn’t guarantee against spirits.”
“You better—”
But Matt had heard enough, and ended the call. He took a few deep breaths and let them out slowly.
He was so sure.
He remembered the moment so clearly. When her essence left her body. Like he had inhaled it. Before he put her in the ground.
Had Matt been mistaken? Had he imagined the moment? It was one of his earlier jobs.
“Shit,” he said under his breath.
Looking down at the writer, Matt felt a wave of doubt wash over him. He was sure he’d suffocated the man, but what if he hadn’t?
So he scanned the ground for a rock that was equal to the task, picked it up with two hands, held it over Glenn Ford’s head, and made sure.
