Free Plender by Ted Lewis Page A

go to the police and tell them exactly what had happened? And then the thought of losing everything I’d got because of a bloody stupid accident flooded back into my mind. Could I risk that happening? I thought of the body lying all twisted up in the boot. No one should have to lie like that, alone. I shouldn’t have to feel responsible for someone lying there like that. If only I’d never phoned her. God, what was I going to do?
    PLENDER
    I thought it was time I gave old Knottsy a bit of a hand.
    We were only a couple of miles from where he lived, if he hadn’t moved since he’d had his address put in the phone book. The road we were on was at its closest point to the river. There were a number of narrow access roads running down to the bank. He must have decided to dump her down there. Christ, if he went any further he may as well leave her out on his front lawn.
    No, he really did need the fairy godmother bit at the moment. So I went ahead and gave it to him.
    KNOTT
    I dipped my headlights as a car rounded the bend in front of me, coming from the opposite direction. But the minute I dipped, the Cortina behind me began to pull out. The fool was going to try and overtake. There wasn’t the time or the room. He must be able to see that. Any fool could see that . But he kept coming, accelerating all the time. He drew level with me. The other car was almost up to us. Then at the last minute the Cortina dropped back and tried to tuck in behind me again, but he misjudged my speed and his own speed and the length of our cars and just about every bloody thing else because he swung his wheel to the left too soon and clanged into the back of my Mercedes.
    I don’t know how I managed to keep the car on the road. The back end swung towards the curb. I whipped the steering wheel from side to side until I thought I was out of trouble but the fool didn’t even attempt to slow down after he’d swiped me and, as I tried to hold the Mercedes steady, the Cortina hit me again, ramming hard into the boot. I knew by the sound he’d done a lot of damage. Supposing he’d caused the boot to snap open. I had a mental picture of the body flying out into the road, sliding out of the sack, illuminated by the Cortina’s headlights. I jerked the steering wheel hard over and bumped the Mercedes on to the grass verge and stood on the brakes.
    I fully expected the Cortina to keep going; I imagined he’d be only too pleased to get as far away as possible without exchanging insurance companies. But that wasn’t the case. The Cortina came to a halt a little way up the road.
    I watched, fascinated, as the driver’s door opened and a man got out and walked round to the front of his car. I wanted to run. A little while later he reappeared and began to walk towards me. I managed to open the door and get out before he reached the car; after all, I was the injured party. To be passive would be suspicious. I walked round to the back of the car. The boot, thank God, was still closed. I heard the man approach. I pretended to inspect the damage. The footsteps stopped behind me.
    The man said, “Bloody hell, I’m sorry. I don’t know how it happened. I must have had a blank moment.”
    I straightened up and turned to face him.
    “It’s done now,” I said. “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is.”
    “Oh but it does,” he said. “I mean, it was my fault. It was all my fault.”
    “It doesn’t matter,” I said, walking past him, back towards the open door.
    The man followed me. He couldn’t believe his ears.
    “Doesn’t matter?” he said. “What do you mean? You’re not intending to pay for the damage yourself?”
    I eased myself into the driver’s seat and looked up at the man. The interior light illuminated his face.
    I stared at him. I could have sworn . . .
    “Hey,” said the man. “Hang on. Wait a minute.” A great grin broke over his face. “I don’t believe it. It can’t be. I just don’t believe it. Peter. Peter