Cutting up a dead body is a lot harder than they make it seem in the movies. Hard or not, I knew I had to get rid of Frieda’s body before she was discovered. People were calling and one had knocked on the door. I told people she was out shopping. I didn’t want to say she was at a particular individual’s house where they could call and verify that that wasn’t true.
Fortunately, they didn’t ask to use the bathroom and then happened to use Frieda’s while they were at it instead of the guest bathroom. I was hoping that because that bathroom was closer to the living room, anyone who did request a bathroom trip would automatically go to that one. I had to use Frieda’s bathroom to dismember her body. It took me forever to drag her body down the hall and into it, but I knew it would be less messy cutting her up in her bathtub. The other bathroom only had a shower stall.
Exhausted, after cutting away for hours with a hacksaw I had purchased, I sat back to catch my breath. This was my third night of cutting. At least I had managed to get through it without throwing up.
My head casually turned toward the toilet a few minutes later. I wished I could cut the bitch into tiny enough pieces to flush down the toilet but that would take forever. The internet probably had plenty of tips and pointers on how to make this task easier, but I wasn’t about to leave those kinds of search results behind. I was going to be under a heavy enough cloud of suspicion as it was.
I looked at what was left of Frieda’s unrecognizable body. “Damn you for being such a bitch! This never would have happened if it wasn’t for you.”
I thought about staying for the rest of the month to save a little more money, but I knew that the longer I hung around after getting rid of the body, the more likely the police were to investigate and suspect me enough to arrest me. I had to get as far away as possible. I wasn’t familiar with German laws, but I knew that if I could keep the body from being found, there would be less risk of being arrested and convicted of murder.
I had to cut Frieda into nearly a dozen pieces in order for my short arms to be able to carry her. I placed each part in a large duffel bag and took a bus to different places to dispose of her in various dumpsters, careful not to leave any trace evidence on the body parts.
I didn’t want to take taxis because they were not only more expensive, but the drivers would likely see me struggling with such a large and bulky bag that they may feel compelled to help and then discover its gruesome contents.
When I finally had all of Frieda gone, nearly five days had passed. The incident happened on a Friday night which bought me some time but once Frieda failed to show up at work, that would only heighten people’s concerns. The phone calls and visits to the apartment were picking up as it was. I did my best to string her friends and family along, but I knew they would send someone to investigate soon enough so I quickly gathered what I could and checked into a hotel. I didn’t want to spend one more minute in the apartment than necessary. I’d watched enough forensic shows to know that even though I had scrubbed the entire bathroom, luminol would be sprayed and the blood would be revealed. They could prove the blood was Frieda’s by getting a blood sample from her mother for DNA testing.
I paid cash at the hotel and used a false name. I wore a lot of makeup to alter my appearance and I also put my hair in a high-pitched ponytail which I almost never did.
I flew back to the States the following morning. I knew there would almost certainly be a warrant out for my arrest and that if I was pulled over in a car in which someone was driving too fast, for example, my name would automatically be run, and I could be arrested and extradited. It was simply a chance I would have to take.
I meant to hurt Frieda when I lashed out at her, not kill her. Her death was truly an accident. I did feel bad about it, but I knew I had to get on with my life for as long as I was able to do so. Turning myself in wouldn’t change anything or bring Frieda back. So now it was up to fate. I would either live out the rest of my life a free person as I hoped or I would be caught, tried and probably convicted.
After checking into my Miami hotel room, I decided to go down and get a bite to eat before I started browsing rentals in the area.
I yawned, fluffed out my loose hair, and looked forward to filling my empty stomach. I thought of what I wanted as I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button to go down to the lobby. By the time the elevator doors opened, I decided to take a walk across the street to a burger joint I had seen on the way in.
I didn’t see Christian rise from the couch in the lobby, fold the newspaper he’d been reading, put on his shades and follow me.
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