The Note (Unsolved Mysteries Book 1) by Kim Knight (red seas under red skies .TXT) 📗

quickly dumped his dad’s body without a second thought, then made his way back to his garage.

Sandip brought his mind back to the present and made a metal note to clear the garage one more time. Just in case. Sure, they’ve convicted Lance, but you never know. He pondered that situation as he watched the cars rush by from behind the wheel.

“I’ll get onto that today.” He pulled out his phone to set a reminder on his calendar.

His thoughts went back to the night of the murder, so what happens next? He asked himself, oh yeah! The old man. He chuckled and went back down memory lane.

By the time he arrived back at the garage after dumping his dad’s body, his cocaine high had long since left him, and he started to panic. With a newfound sense of urgency, he cleaned up the blood and vomit, using the household bleach he had in the garage. In a large metal drum, he burned his clothing and the plastic he used to wrap Tony up. The smell and smoke wafted from the garage in the early hours, and he hoped that the smell and smoke wouldn’t cause suspicion.

Once done he looked around. The garage and his car were spotless. His watch read five in the morning. He had to get home before anyone noticed he was out. So, he put on an extra pair of overalls he had in the garage, then sat for a moment.

“Shit, what now?”

Am I a cold-blooded murder, he wondered?

His dad was dead, but on the other hand, he was now an heir to the old man’s estate. The thought of a handsome sum of money comforted him.

I did him a solid. He was gonna die soon anyway. Cancer would’ve eaten him up, Sandip reasoned with himself. He climbed into his car.

Yeah, I done him a favour and put him out of his misery. And it was the truth, as far as he was concerned.

Twenty minutes later, he creaked open the door and snuck into his house. Everyone was still asleep.

His wife and kids were in bed on the top level of the house.

Sandip headed to the kitchen, grabbed a pair of pyjamas from the tumble dryer full of clothes waiting to be folded and put away. He changed quickly and dumped the overalls in the shed in the back garden.

Silently, he tiptoed back into the house and up to bed.

When he slid under the covers, he glanced at the clock. It was now five-forty-five.

His wife stirred in her sleep, but soon began to snore again.

Sandip glanced at her, then wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Rushika wasn’t his pick for a wife. His father had arranged the marriage, placed them together as part of their Asian-Indian culture.

He loved who he was, and his heritage, but he was born and bred in south London. And in all honesty, he had longed to date and marry whoever he wanted, there were so many different cultures in the city—so many choices to choose from.

His friends were an array of the rainbow. He had even wanted to date and marry outside of his race. But his dad wouldn’t have it, ‘not my son,’ the old man had said.

Sandip pictured Chelsea, then smirked. She was a far cry from Asian-Indian with her long, dark hair, green eyes, and Eastern European looks.

Fuckin’ hypocrite.

He thought about his dad’s choice of woman to have an affair with. She looked every part the Russian doll, even if she removed her links to Russia by changing her name. Sandip had studied Chelsea well, as soon as he found out about the affair, he knew who she was and where she had come from.

As dawn broke, Sandip tossed and turned in bed. With the birds chirping outside and odd car engines passing by the house, he could hardly sleep.

Adrenaline pumped through him. He had an urge to do another line of cocaine. But he behaved himself and moved his mind off the drugs and focused. He started to form a plan.

Sandip turned his attention to Chelsea months ago. He had started to follow her movements, and when he learned of his dad’s affair, it was him who made the recording of her having sex with Lance, and then installed a camera in the restaurant to catch her and his dad’s affair. He knew exactly what to do.

Sleeping dogs can lie for now, he thought. Hell, the police have no reason to suspect me of Tony’s murder, not as his son.

He had covered his tracks. The garage and car were spotless. So, he decided to wait for the news of his father’s unfortunate stabbing to surface—confident nothing would lead back to him.

Weeks later, after the funeral, when his dad’s Last Will in Testament was read--when he and his family had learned that not only were they cut out of his dad’s will, but he also had an affair, that’s when he became a walking time bomb. Not over the latter, he was already clued up on the affair.

When he threated to tell his mum about the affair, the old man laughed in his face. And now, he knew exactly what to do with the video tape of Chelsea and Lance, now that the little bitch had taken what was his.

He listened to the recorded conversation between Chelsea and Lance, where she boasted about his dad changing the will. At the time, he didn’t believe it and assumed Chelsea was bull shitting Lance—living in hope that Tony would change it. But now, he had a plan to carry out to fix the mess. He and his sister had to encourage his mum to contest the will, and he needed a Plan B in case that fell through—and it did, fall through that is, or at least, the first contest had.

Sandip already had copies of the keys for each of the properties his dad owned—he thanked God for that, and even remembered how he cursed his dad for the help he was forced