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The ground is tough, forcing me to hit the dead grass as hard as I can. And each time I do, I check if the neighbours are watching. Luckily, the wall is a little too high on the left side of the garden, but Mary’s fence on the right side is only about five feet high, with a thin gap between each wooden slat. In my mind, I see her head popping over, peering down at me, wondering why on earth I’m digging a great big hole in the garden. I suppose I could make up some bullshit story about re-turfing the lawn, especially given the state it’s in. But what happens if the police come calling? What if they ask Mary if she’s seen anything suspicious?
Digging a human-sized hole in your garden isn’t exactly inconspicuous.
Maybe an hour and a half passes before it’s deep enough to fit the body. A
