Reader, I Buried Them & Other Stories by Peter Lovesey

Author:Peter Lovesey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
Publisher: Soho Press
Published: 2021-12-16T14:28:43+00:00

My dear Chris,

Since we last spoke on the phone, I have been searching my soul because I allowed you to get a wrong impression of what happened when we were boys. I didn’t lie to you. I wouldn’t, but I didn’t tell you everything. I left you to draw your own conclusions and I think they may be mistaken. You are entitled to know the full truth.

It wasn’t Uncle Cyril who murdered Serge. It was me. I don’t know how much you knew of what was going on. You were only eight at the time and I was fourteen. Mum was lonely after the divorce and formed a friendship with Serge, who worked as a fruit picker. He was charming at first and they soon became lovers (which was why you and I were told to get out of the house some afternoons) but his behaviour soon changed and became cruel to the point of sadism. I saw what was going on and got angry as only a teenager can. I couldn’t bear seeing the changes in Mum’s personality. She was quite unable to find the strength to break away from him. Sometimes I could hear her through my bedroom wall, sobbing. It really got into my head.

There was no way I could take him on. I was tall for my age, but he was a grown man, physically strong from years of farm labouring. I decided to shoot him, using the shotgun our dad had left in the loft after he and Mum parted. I knew which days he called and I waited for him one time when you were out all day on a school trip. Mum as usual had asked me to be out of the house. I hid behind the drystone wall in the lane and when Serge came along I stepped out and shot him in the chest. He died immediately. I managed to drag his body to the side and went home and told Mum what I had done. She was horrified, of course, but I wasn’t scared. I said I would bury him and no one would know or care. She said it was wrong and it wouldn’t work and anyway I’d need help. She was right. Deep down, I knew she was right. While she was still in a panic about what I had done, I walked up the street to Uncle Cyril’s. I knew he was a clever bloke from the tricks he had performed at Christmas and, what was more, he was the village handyman, ready to fix any problem.

This was more than just a problem. It was a real emergency, but he agreed straight away to help. Together the same evening, we lashed the body to a sheep hurdle and dragged it out to the centre of a ploughed field, dug a hole and buried it. All we could manage was a shallow grave before it got too dark. I thought that was the end of it, problem solved, but Uncle Cyril was already planning something smarter.

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