Something Buried: An absolutely gripping mystery thriller

by Wilkinson, Kerry

  ‘Probably. They wouldn’t risk eBay, so it’ll be pub car park, or tower block stairwell – that sort of thing. It’s not every day people will get offered hooky musical instruments, so it’ll stick in memories.’

  Craig was nodding now. He was so well respected on the estate that if anyone had heard anything, he’d be able to find out. ‘Any other details?’ he asked.

  Andrew thought about mentioning the markings on the violin but figured it wouldn’t make much difference. If someone had been offered a nicked violin, they’d remember regardless. ‘Not really,’ he said.

  The first shot whistled past the bent-over lad’s backside, missing him and sending the watching kids off to fetch the wayward effort. Their laughs and jeers echoed around the park as Craig stood.

  ‘Fancy a Sunday afternoon pint?’

  Andrew shook his head. ‘I have somewhere to be in a while and I’ve got to drive.’

  Craig offered a ‘fair enough’ shrug. ‘She still in Thailand?’

  ‘Yep. Got a postcard about a month ago.’

  ‘She ever coming back?’

  Andrew turned and started to walk back towards Craig’s house. ‘I wish I knew.’

  Fifteen

  Andrew’s car engine idled as Jenny checked the map on her phone.

  ‘This is definitely the place,’ she said.

  She probably didn’t need the phone to tell her that.

  The gates to Jack Marsh’s house were closed, although the giant ‘JM’ that had been welded into the metal posts was the giveaway.

  They were on the furthest edge of a housing estate, close to the airport but largely surrounded by fields and dead-end cul-de-sacs. It was a strange area in that there were hundreds of houses a minute’s drive away and yet, on the road outside Jack’s house, surrounded by high hedges and fields, it felt like they were in the middle of nowhere.

  Or, it would do if it wasn’t for the half-dozen fans wearing sky-blue shirts who were gathered by the gatepost.

  A wall that had to be three metres high surrounded the property, but Andrew could see Jack’s house through the gates. It was two storeys and big – but not overly extravagant and nowhere near as large as Andrew might have suspected. He’d visited vast mansions with stables in the field at the back – and, aside from the gates, this was far more normal.

  Jenny put down her phone and wriggled so that she could see past Andrew through the driver’s window. ‘Who are that lot?’ she asked.

  ‘Probably fans.’

  ‘Imagine waking up every day to that. I’d go crazy. What do you reckon they want?’

  Andrew put a hand to the glass, shielding the glare from the early-evening sun. He wondered if any of the misfits from the stadium were there, making a weekend of it. That was probably a thing – Saturday: go to the football; Sunday: stalk the players.

  ‘An autograph, maybe? Selfie? Who knows? It’s almost six on a Sunday and they’re standing outside someone’s front gate.’

  ‘So are we.’

  Andrew switched off the engine and turned to grin at Jenny. ‘Except you don’t have to be here. I only called because I thought you’d be annoyed if I didn’t.’

  ‘I had nothing on.’

  ‘Why not? It’s the weekend – you’re young. When I was your age, I was…’ Andrew tried to think back but all he came up with was playing fantasy board games on Sunday afternoons. ‘Well, I can’t remember, but I wasn’t doing this.’

  ‘I broke up with my boyfriend last night.’

  ‘Oh.’ Andrew stared at Jenny, wondering if she was going to expand. She tugged a loose strand of hair from her face but shrugged. ‘He was boring me.’

  ‘That’s brutal.’

  Another shrug. ‘He must’ve seen it coming. I’d been putting it off for weeks.’

  ‘Right.’

  Andrew wasn’t sure what else to say. Jenny had never been one to talk about her relationship – or relationships – and on the rare occasion she did, she only ever referred to the poor lad as her ‘boyfriend’. Andrew didn’t even know his name. Not that it was any of his business.

  ‘Is everything… okay?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine. Shall we get on with it? It’s two minutes to six.’

  Andrew checked the dashboard clock and then climbed out of the car. The fans stopped to turn as one in his and Jenny’s direction, perhaps wondering if he was anyone important. When they realised he wasn’t – and that he also wasn’t a fan like them – they turned back towards the house.

  As they neared the gates, Andrew noticed that there were light blue ribbons tied around some of the metal posts towards the edges. Someone had looped a scarf around too, plus there was a small teddy bear wearing a light blue bobble hat that was sitting on the floor.

  The fans were standing at the opposite gatepost to the buzzer. Next to it was a small sign that read ‘deliveries only’. Andrew was about to press it when he noticed the small huddle of fans eyeing him and Jenny. There were five men and a woman.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Andrew asked.

  One of the bigger blokes glanced at Jenny, then Andrew. ‘You not ’eard?’

  ‘Heard what?’

  The man dug into a rear pocket and removed a screwed-up newspaper, holding it up so they could see the back-page headline: ‘JACK-POT: Spanish giants in for Marsh.’

  ‘He’s leaving?’ Andrew said.

  ‘So they reckon. Off to Madrid or something. You never know with the papers.’

  The woman pushed past him, jabbing a finger towards Andrew. She was wearing a football shirt that was way too tight. ‘He ain’t going if we ’ave anything to say about it.’

  As Andrew continued talking to the fans, Jenny stepped around him and pushed the buzzer, muttering ‘It’s six o’clock’ quietly enough that only he would hear.

  ‘You shouldn’t do that,’ the man said, nodding at Jenny.

  ‘We’ve been invited,’ she replied.

  There was a silence in which it felt like everything had stopped. All six of the fans stared at Jenny open-mouthed.

  ‘Invited?’ the woman eventually managed.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘You were invited?’

  ‘That’s why we’re here.’

  There was a low ‘ooooh’ and a collective widening of eyes as Andrew suddenly wanted to be somewhere else. He wasn’t even famous – far from it – and yet the way the fans were ogling him left him cringing. For the first time, he felt a twinge of sympathy for Jack Marsh. When could it ever be normal to wake up and find people standing at the bottom of the driveway wanting to say hello?

  Andrew turned to avoid the stares, peering through the gates as Eloise Marsh appeared in the doorway of the house and then started to walk towards them. Her bob of grey hair looked more silvery in the sinking sun and she was shorter than she’d appeared when she was sitting in the players’ lounge.

  When she got to the gates, she nodded towards the group of fans, offering a crisp but polite ‘good evening’.

  One of the fans couldn’t hold his tongue, blurting out: ‘Is he off to Spain?’

  Eloise smiled tightly but said nothing, instead opening the gate just enough to let Andrew and Jenny slip through. She closed it behind them and then set off along the patch, waiting until they were out of earshot before speaking.

  ‘I usually open the gates remotely from the house – but I didn’t want any of the lunatic fringe getting in. If I’d known they were going to be around, I’d have given you a different time.’

  ‘Do you get many fans hanging around?’ Jenny asked.

  Eloise stopped and stared at her, making Andrew and Jenny halt too. Andrew hastily explained that Jenny was his assistant and the older women pursed her lips, seemingly annoyed at something, though not saying what. ‘Sometimes,’ was all she said, before turning and striding to the house.

  Inside, there was a large tiled reception room loudly echoing their footsteps. The walls were covered with various football shirts, some wi
th Jack’s name on the back, others with the last names of players so famous even Andrew knew who they were.

  Eloise closed the door and led them through to a carpeted study, where the walls were decorated with rows of glittering trophies and medals. The corner of the room was given over to a shelf containing a collection of hardback books that all seemed to be about football. A large ceiling fan whirred above, though it was largely moving around already warm air.

  Eloise sat in a wide leather armchair and then motioned for Andrew and Jenny to sit in similar seats.

  ‘Is this Jack’s house?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘More of a family house, you could say.’

  ‘Is it just you and Jack here?’

  Eloise said nothing at first and then offered a small nod. It was all a bit odd. Jack was twenty-three years old, yet seemingly living in this large place with his mum. When Andrew thought about it, he hadn’t seen many other people in the players’ lounge who could’ve been a parent. It was partners and children – except for Jack, who had his mum at his side.

  ‘I was questioned, you know,’ Eloise said.

  ‘Sorry?’ Andrew replied.

  ‘About that Applegate girl’s death. When she was found in the canal, the police came to the house. They talked to both Jack and me.’

  ‘Okay…’

  ‘I know how you types think and I can only imagine what that girl’s mother has said to you. You did at least keep to one thing – that hateful cow’s website has disappeared, which is why you’re here.’

  ‘What did you tell the police?’ Andrew asked, realising he was pushing it.

  ‘The truth.’

  ‘Which is…?’

  Eloise fixed Andrew with a glare so forceful that he had to will himself not to shrink into the chair. Dealing with Braithwaite was bad enough but now there were two people seemingly wanting to harm him with looks alone.

  ‘I assume you already know that Jack was in the hotel with his teammates on the night that Applegate girl ended up in the canal?’

  ‘That’s what the police say.’

  ‘That’s what happened. The police asked about me, too – but I was here by myself that night.’

  Eloise held up a hand to indicate the room. It was the little things that gave away the wealth – the thick rug in the corner that didn’t look as if anyone had ever stood on it; the lack of dust on any surface. There would be a cleaner – cleaners – who came in every day to keep everything looking as new as possible. Even the doorknobs gleamed as if they’d never been touched.

  ‘You think it’s easy just because we have money, don’t you?’

  She spoke as if it was a challenge.

  Andrew could have told Eloise that he also had money. Lots of it. Enough that he never had to work a day if he so chose. That was a story in itself – and a large reason of why his once wife was now his ex-wife.

  Eloise wasn’t waiting for a reply anyway. She flapped a hand towards the front window. ‘You saw that lot outside. Today’s are almost sensible, but you should see some of them. We’ve had people try to come over the gates. One woman got stuck trying to squeeze between the bars. They only want to say hello, or shake Jack’s hand, but it’s too much. If Jack scores at the weekend, especially if it’s in the derby or something like that, you should see them out there. The men hero-worship him. They want to buy him a pint, be mates, that sort of thing – but it’s the women…’

  Her gaze shot spitefully towards Jenny and then moved back to Andrew again.

  ‘That slut who ended up in the canal was like all the others. At the least, they’re desperate to get photographed with Jack. They think that if they get in the papers, or on one of those trash websites, that they’ll be made for life. Someone Jack knows was tricked into getting one of these girls pregnant.’

  ‘How—?’ Andrew didn’t get his question out because Eloise talked over him.

  ‘Word’s gone round that players should use only their own condoms. This girl had one in her bag, but she must have tampered with it. Next thing you know, the dirty slag is on the front page of the Sun, saying how some horrible footballer has knocked her up and then abandoned her.’ Eloise glanced at Jenny again, speaking with a hissed fury. ‘It’s a different world out there.’

  ‘I’m not sure why you’re telling me this,’ Andrew said.

  Eloise snarled her top lip. ‘Because I’ve seen it all before. Someone threw themselves in front of Jack’s car as he was leaving the training ground a couple of months ago. He wanted compensation, saying Jack had run him over. Jack already had a dashcam to stop all that. You can see the guy jumping off the kerb for no reason and then the car doesn’t touch him. Whatever that woman’s told you is because she wants a payout. Compensation culture – that’s what the world’s like nowadays. She doesn’t care that her stupid drunk bimbo of a daughter fell in the canal, she just wants money. Jack’s money. She’s using you to rake up old details. They’re all at it.’ She leaned forward, thrusting a finger towards Andrew. ‘I’m not having it. You might think you’re doing something noble, but she’s tricking you. When she ends up using some insignificant detail to try to get a payout from Jack, don’t say you didn’t know.’

  Andrew gave her a few seconds to calm down, but the ceiling was so high that her words echoed on. The room suddenly felt very small.

  ‘I think you might have misunderstood what I’m trying to achieve, Mrs Marsh.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I’m only interested in if there’s something that was missed. The police say Michelle Applegate died from alcohol poisoning and that, at some point, she ended up in the canal. I’m not trying to stitch him up – but Jack was going out with Michelle. He might know something about what she was like, or why she was near the canal. They might have had a conversation that he’s forgotten about how she liked to go to the park and watch the water – that sort of thing. If you can arrange it, I’d really like to talk to Jack one-on-one.’ He nodded towards Jenny. ‘Perhaps two-on-one—’

  ‘He’s got a lawyer for that sort of thing.’

  Andrew shook his head. ‘I’m not police. There are no summons, no warrants, nothing like that. Just a chat. He might not know anything more than he’s already said – but perhaps there’s a small detail I can stir that will end up exonerating him completely. You think I’m trying to work against you, but, if the official version of what happened to Michelle Applegate is wrong – and I can find out the truth that it’s nothing to do with Jack – then many of these rumours about him will go away.’

  Eloise’s gaze flickered to Jenny once more. ‘I’ll ask him,’ she replied. ‘But I’m not making any promises.’

  At that, she stood and stepped towards the door, their time seemingly done. Andrew and Jenny followed back through the echoing hall until they got to the front door. Next to it was a large bulging, grey sack with ‘Royal Mail’ on the side. It was open at the top, with a mound of letters and parcels spewing.

  Eloise smirked a knowing, wicked grin and then delved through the sack’s contents before pulling out a large padded envelope. ‘Jack Marsh’ was written on the front in pink swirly characters. The address simply read ‘Manchester’ – yet it had arrived.

  ‘Here,’ Eloise said, handing Andrew the package.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Open it and you’ll see what these girls are like.’

  The parcel felt soft and squishy. It weighed hardly anything. Andrew carefully unsealed the top, eyeing the crowned figure on the stamps gazing up at him.

  The waft of sickening perfume hit as soon as the envelope was open. It was a cross between something fruity and congealing vomit, but edging closer to the vomit end of the scale.

  ‘Go on,’ Eloise encouraged, her smile spreading.

  Andrew reached into the package and pulled out half a dozen photographs. A glimpse of the first had him blinking in stunned disbelief, coughing for breath.

  Eloise peered over the top of the envelope, looking at the picture upsi
de down and laughing. ‘Not a hair on her,’ she said.

  Jenny was on tiptoes, smirking. ‘She must’ve done gymnastics as a kid.’

  Eloise forgot her hostility towards Jenny and laughed at that. Andrew realised he was essentially looking at hardcore pornography while surrounded by an aggressive older woman and his assistant, but, at Eloise’s insistence, he flicked through the rest of the photos. They somehow became more graphic.

  ‘You see what these girls are like?’ Eloise said with a sneer.

  ‘I wish I could un-see,’ Andrew replied.

  Eloise took the parcel from him and then handed it back, saying he’d not finished going through the contents. Andrew reached inside tentatively, emerging with a silky pink thong, which he held at arm’s length between his thumb and forefinger.

  ‘Used,’ was the only word Eloise said, which prompted Andrew to drop the garment and wheel away.

  ‘That is rank,’ Andrew said, ignoring Jenny’s grin.

  Eloise nodded at the bag. ‘There’ll be at least another half-dozen like that. Probably more. We get a sack of mail like that every other day.’

  Andrew put the envelope down, wondering if he should ask if there was a sink somewhere where he could wash his hands.

  ‘You might have a low opinion of my Jack,’ Eloise said. ‘You might have read things, you might think he’s all about the money – but what would you do if you had women throwing themselves at you? If you got letters like that every day?’

  Andrew gulped. ‘I’d probably get a bigger washing machine,’ he said.

  Sixteen

  Jenny was sitting on the low wall outside her house when Andrew pulled up in his car the following morning. The sun was already simmering over the tops of the buildings, with wispy white clouds bobbing across the brilliant blue sky.

  Manchester was outdoing itself for once.

  Jenny jumped into the passenger seat, mischievous grin on her face. ‘Got any more dirty knickers in the post?’ she asked.

  ‘I thought about bleaching my fingers last night just in case. I could still smell that perfume, even after having a shower.’