Chapter 3

The rest of the evening was a nightmare for both Carol and Steve. Fear of what the future might bring coupled with guilty consciences gnawing at the pair of them made for frayed nerves and short tempers. Added to this was the need to dispose of Brenda's body. After changing back into her regular clothing, Carol suggested that they put the corpse into the Transit and drove it round to a building site she knew of.

"The builders went bust a while back," she explained to Steve "and the place hasn't been touched for months. There's a few skips... we could dump her in one of them and hope she's not found for a bit..."

"But someone's going to report her as being missing anyway," he protested, "a boyfriend, her mother, there's always someone for god's sake!"

"So what do you suggest? We leave her here, in a lock-up rented out in your name? For fuck's sake, Steve, we've gotta dump her and dump her quick before it gets light!"

"Yeah... I suppose you're right. Alright, I'll back the van up. There's some plastic sheeting in the back of it... we can wrap her up in that..."

Of course, making a plan and carrying it out are two different things and since neither Steve nor Carol had even seen a dead body in their lives before, let alone touched one, even getting Brenda loaded up was not without its problems. But eventually it was all done, the body was disposed of and Carol dropped of at the entrance to her block of flats just before dawn. Leaning back into the transit before it pulled away, Carol begged Steve to destroy the photos one more time.

"Yeah... yeah. Okay, whatever you say," he replied before driving off... but Carol wasn't holding out much hope that he really would. Climbing wearily up to her floor (the lifts were out again) she finally let herself into her home. Luckily the kids were still asleep but would soon have to be woken up ready for school. Carol realised that it wasn't worth going to bed - not that she felt she could sleep anyway - so she settled into a chair while the moment she became a murderer replayed endlessly in her mind. And while she was terrified of the consequences of her actions, she felt herself becoming aroused as she recalled her treatment of Brenda before the silly cow started to fight back. Lowering the zip of her jeans, Carol forced a hand into her knickers and began to gently stroke herself. It felt good and she continued, her other hand pinching the nipple of her left breast through the thin material of her blouse. Suddenly she stopped and, pulling her hand out of her panties, asked aloud "What the hell am I doing?" before going on silently, "Jesus, I've just killed someone and here I am playing with myself over it. What kind of pervert have I become?"

"Mornin', mummy" a tired little voice muttered as Carol's youngest daughter entered the room wiping sleep from out of the corners of her eyes. All other concerns forgotten, Carol bent down and swept her child up and into a warm embrace...

The telephone ringing roused Carol from a troubled sleep. Disoriented momentarily, she struggled to gather her wits and to figure out that she must have nodded off in her easy chair at some point in the afternoon. Grabbing the phone, she mumbled a greeting.

"Carol? It's me, Steve."

Panic gripped her heart. "What's the matter? Something gone wrong?" she blurted out.

"No... no, nothing like that. Just another job."

"Another job? Now? You gotta be kidding me! Besides, I'm not on duty tonight..."

"I know which is why you'd be perfect for this. Look, it's an easy fifty in your hand, no cameras and I'm not involved... well, only as an agent."

"Fifty quid and no cameras? Well, the kids do need new shoes... so, tell me about it."

Steve went on to explain how he'd made contact with a Mr Dobson though an Internet club they both had connections to. "I've never met him, Carol, but we've chatted a few times. Seems the guy's got a weird kink."

Carol's heart dropped.

"He gets off at being arrested for as a flasher."

"You what? You gotta be kidding me! That's a bit short term on the gratification front, ain't it?"

"Not really... he's not stupid. He pays a woman - in tonight's case, you - to call the cops and make a complaint. They come come along arrest him, quiz him, toss him in the cells for the night so that he gets his jollies. The next morning, the woman tells the cops that she's not willing to press charges and he gets released. It's all rather neat, really."

"And dangerous if anything goes wrong..." Carol added hesitantly.

"But only for him. You willing to do it?"

Carol thought the pros and cons over but, in her heart, she always knew that the answer would be 'yes'. Steve then told her to meet with the man in a certain public house at eight in the evening and to make sure that she was wearing a blue top and to be carrying a copy of the TV Times. "Don't forget to get the money off him before you leave the pub... and my twenty quid commission. And don't forget to make sure you drop the charges in the morning. Mr Dobson doesn't want to spend the next few years inside!"

Carol smiled and agreed.

By seven forty-five, Carol was sat at a table the Frog & Night-Gown, a pint of lager in front of her. A copy of the TV Times lay very visibly on the table. She was feeling a little nervous since the plan involved her having a run in with the cops so soon after Brenda's accident. In fact, Carol had read the Evening Standard from cover to cover before arriving here but there hadn't been a mention of the incident in it at all. Carol rather thought that this must be good news for, clearly, the body had not yet been discovered.

Just before eight, the main door of the bar opened and a man who just had to be Mr Dobson walked in. He was thin and stood about five foot seven tall, he was in his mid forties with horn rimmed spectacles and a raincoat that reached below his knees. His eyes scanned the room before settling on Carol and the magazine beside her. He flashed a nervous smile in her direction before walking over to the bar and ordering himself a double whisky which he then carried over to where Carol sat waiting. "Miss Hargreaves?" he asked polity before sitting down.

"Mr Dobson? Pleased to meet you."

A uneasy silence descended. "You know what to do?" he suddenly blurted out. Carol replied in the affirmative before briefly running through the instructions that Steve had given her. "Very good. Now, I'm going to pass you an envelope under then table. Please be discreet and don't count it until later."

"Mr Dobson, this is South London, not far from the river... deals of dubious legality take place hereabouts all the time. No one would notice if you handed me three televisions and a hot microwave, believe me."

Mr Dobson smiled wanly and asked if Carol had any idea where she could go for him to do his 'thing'. Carol pointed out that there was a park not too far away which would allow the pair to conclude their business without the problem of other uninvited parties becoming involved. He agreed and suggested that she lead the way but Carol cried off stating that she needed to go to the ladies... which, as far as it went, was true but once she was locked into a cubicle, she carried out the main reason for her arriving there and that was to count and check the money. Once she was satisfied, Carol returned to the table and, nodding at her 'client', left the pub with Mr Dobson trailing behind by several yards.

The park was dimly lit and deserted when they got there but there was a few lamps that hadn't been vandalised. Carol took up a position beneath one and glanced behind her. Mr Dobson moved to a spot nearby while she reached for her mobile phone. "No, not yet," he called urgently.

"Why not?" she returned.

"Because I haven't flashed you yet!"

"Erm... no one mentioned that..."

"You have to be able to give a full description of me to the law... they'll check, they always do."

"Oh, god! Alright then - flash away..."

In almost comic book style, Mr Dobson unbuttoned his coat and then, placing his hands in his pockets, swept the halves of it apart. Carol suddenly found herself trying desperately not to laugh for the man before her had the smallest set of wedding tackle that she'd ever seen! The word 'pathetic' sprang to mind; added to that his entire frame was weedy and his trouser legs, which only came up to his knees where they were belted into position, just made him look absurd. He held the posture for about fifteen seconds and then closed the coat again but he didn't do the buttons up. He then nodded at Carol who reached for her mobile and dialled 999...

It was well after eleven in the evening before a tired Carol let herself back into her flat. Giving her statement had seemed to take forever but at least the kids had eaten the salads and deserts she'd left out for them and she gratefully undressed and eased her aching body into bed.

Next morning, after the kids had been dropped off at school, Carol returned to the police station and, after explaining what she wanted, she was lead to a small interview room. Clearly someone had decided that it would be best to put members of the public who found themselves in here at their ease, for the room was brightly painted with several cheerful prints on the walls, not like the drab greens and browns of the rest of the station with the posters advising you to help them crack crime together. Carol sat herself down on one of the three chairs that weren't exactly comfortable but weren't office furniture either. There was no desk, just a low, bare coffee table. And here she stayed for rather longer than she thought necessary and, when the door finally opened, instead of the single constable she was expecting, she found herself facing an Inspector and a female sergeant while a woman constable took up a position standing by the door. Carol's heart sank and butterflies began to fluttered about in her stomach - something had gone wrong. "You wish to drop the charges you levelled last night against a Mr Ian Dobson, is that correct Miss Hargreaves?"

"Erm... yes. it is," Carol replied licking her suddenly dry lips.

"I see... and you're sure that this is what you want to do?" the man asked.

"Erm... yes..."

"Are you sure that Mr Dobson exposed himself to you at all?"

"Yes, he did... but I've been thinking about it and no harm was done. It seems a bit vindictive of me to continue, all things considered."

"Hmmm... you know that wasting police time is a crime, don't you, Miss Hargreaves?"

'Oh, shit, ' Carol thought, 'what has Steve got me into now?' Gathering herself, Carol agreed that she did know this.

"You can go to jail, if convicted," the inspector continued. "Three to five."

Carol squirmed uncomfortably in her seat and stayed quiet. "Let me tell you one thing, Miss Hargreaves. We've been in contact with our colleagues 'up north' and we've discovered that, to date, your Mr Dobson has had twenty-seven charges of indecent exposure brought against him and, in each case, the complainants withdrew her allegations the next morning. You're number twenty-eight. We're not stupid, Miss Hargreaves. I'll leave you to think on that." And, so saying, the inspector rose and left the room.

Carol closed her eyes and leant back. She was confused and didn't know what to do. The sound of the sergeant clearing her throat snapped Carol's eyes back open. "Bit of a mess you've got yourself in, Carol, isn't it?" the woman said, concern ringing in her voice.

Carol nodded slightly.

"We know what he's been doing. It's not major villainy, of course, but we don't like being played for patsies. The inspector's very cheesed off. The way he's looking at this is that he can probably get a conviction against Dobson simply by squeezing the complainants up in the provinces and that way he'll get you as well - after all, it's only your case that's wasted this forces time. On the other hand, if you tell us what really happened, we still get Dobson and we turn a blind eye to what you've done. Think about it, Carol." And, with that, the woman stood, smoothed down her jacket and left the room too.