The Black Car

It had been raining for the last few days, but it had just stopped for a short time. It was a momentary relief, for it seemed to have been raining continuously, forever. And, indeed, it nearly had. There had been just constant rain and it seemed to dull the senses, and tire the spirit making one feel dizzy with the damp and less keen on life, because of it.

The memo said, ‘If you happened to have been parked in the Flinder’s Lane car park last Friday, at around 7am and you saw a black sedan with the license plate quite possibly JM 0 something, or JN 0 something, or possibly YJM something... could you please call the number supplied. You may be able to assist with an enquiry regarding a woman who allegedly parked in the car park at around the same time.’

Amy was taken back a little, as she had seen the car in question. Jeremy Marshall, 30 years old. Her Jeremy, his BMW JM 030. She had parked behind it, as she had on other occasions. Amy's car had been parked in the underground car park from 6am on the morning in question. Amy had been one of the first people to arrive, but she hadn't seen anyone else in the car park as she exited through the back stairwell. The back stairwell was the closest to her office and it gave her a reason to walk the five flights of stairs, rather than being lazy and taking the lift. Of course, she could take the lift and just go back to the gym. Or suspend her membership, at the very least. But, using the stairs gave her a sense of, actually, doing something healthy, you know. Gym membership, or not. No further action required.

Had she seen anyone that morning? She didn't think so, she couldn't quite remember now, as she really hadn't take that much notice, as she struggled with her two bags and her leather coat – it’s all very well having a briefcase with wheels, but the stairs? Was she talking on her phone and therefore distracted, as she was so often as she arrived at the office? Yes, Jeremy had called her to discuss the two of them, she thought as she gazed at the number plate.

Would anyone else remember the two door car? She only remembered because the car meant something to her. Of course, the car isn’t a sedan at all, as it said in the email, it is a coupe. She felt relieved and then wondered straight after that thought why she should feel relieved at all.

In hindsight, that was the tactical phone call to sure up the proposal, later that night. She was a bit hung over from the night before, she remembered she was concentrating that morning, more than usual, her head ached, and she didn't want to forget anything. She must have looked a wreck. She laughed, at the thought, more of a defence mechanism than because she thought it was humorous. Lucky there isn’t any security footage attached to this email. She wasn't hung over on alcohol. She'd realised lately that she couldn't smoke anything, if she wanted a clear head. Although she hadn't stopped, it was Jeremy’s influence, so it was vagueness she was battling.

I don’t want to call anyone, she thought. I don’t want to get involved. What did she care, Jeremy had asked her to marry him, just out of the blue? Well, clearly not just out of the blue for Jeremy. Amy’s head spun with every bridle picture she’d ever seen, as she found herself saying yes. She deleted the memo and then emptied the trash.

She wondered if she should call Jeremy.

What enquiry could this be assisting with, she also thought?

If Jeremy was on the phone to her? What time was that? What could he have to do with another person? Woman?

She decided to call him.

“Jeremy, there is an email circulating around our office about anyone seeing a black car with the number plate something like your number plate last Friday morning in my parking lot?”

“Really,” said Jeremy. “Funny hey? But… but… I didn’t park in the parking lot, last Friday. I was at a clients all morning.”

Amy hadn’t really thought that the memo was referring to Jeremy’s car at all, she suspected that she was being a drama queen, open to salacious gossip as we all are now a days, that was until Jeremy had just obviously lied to her.

Still, he probably wouldn’t be stupid enough to park in the car park in the immediate future, whether he has, actually, done anything or not.

She felt relieved, of sorts. Her mother’s words came into her head.

“Stop mothering that boy, he’s more, um, worldly than you give him credit for. He’s more…” Her mother shook her head.

Tim, Amy’s PA, was dutifully at his desk.

“Morning,” he said, as he did every morning. “When do you want to go through your schedule?”

“Oh, give me a moment,” replied Amy. “I’ll let you know when I am ready.”

She closed the door to her office and sat at her desk and switched on her computer, hoping that work would replace the troubled feeling she had.

She couldn’t get Jeremy out of her head.

She decided to go and make coffee.

“I’m just going to make a coffee.”

“I could go down stairs and get you a real one,” said Tim.

“No, it’s okay, I’m in the mood for instant.

Tim looked perplexed.

In the kitchen they are discussing the email and the rumour of what it all might have been about.

“What’s it about?” asked Amy.

“Oh, some girl got her bag snatched by some whack job,” said Dave from IT. “Apparently, the whack job took off in a black Holden. That’s why they are asking for witnesses, to collaborate the story.”

“A Commodore,” you say?”

“I said Holden,” said Dave. “But yes, I believe it was a Commodore.”

“Oh, a Commodore.”

“Yes.”

That let Jeremy off the hook, thought Amy. But why did he lie? Why would a man lie to his girlfriend, she thought?

She couldn't stop thinking about it all afternoon. By 3pm, she told Tim she was leaving for the day. She headed to the local gadget shop and purchased a GPS. It was the magnetic type. The nice sales boy said she could just attach it under Jeremy's mudguard on his car. Once she had done that, it was simple to track where Jeremy had been.

She wasn't really sure why, but she wanted to know why he'd told her a lie.

Jeremy's BMW was still in the car park when she got down to the basement carpark. Amy felt a chill run up her spine as she looked at the black car. She walked to the back of the coupe. She looked up and down the driveways, they were clear. She opened her bag and slid her hand in. She stopped. Hesitated. Looked up and down the driveway again. She slipped her hand out of her bag, clicked it shut and turned and walked back down the driveway to where her car was parked.

She walked directly to the back of the car. She looked around for a final time and then reached in under the rear mudguard and attached the tracking device. Then she just casually walked away. Her stomach was in a knot, belieing the whole scene.