Something Buried: An absolutely gripping mystery thriller

by Wilkinson, Kerry

  Jenny gave a small wave. ‘Hi again.’

  Andrew felt his worlds colliding horribly. ‘Someone put a brick through Jenny’s window,’ he said quickly. ‘She would have been back at her place tonight, but there was some issue with… I don’t know.’

  ‘Sealant,’ Jenny piped up. ‘Something to do with sealant. Don’t ask me.’ She grinned, but it was the wrong thing to do.

  Keira turned between Jenny and Andrew, almost overbalancing.

  ‘No need to explain.’ She stumbled over her words and then brushed Andrew’s arm with her free hand, offering him the bottle with the other. ‘Here, you take this. I’ve got nowhere to store it and it was only a fiver at the Tesco Express anyway.’

  ‘Keira—’

  ‘No, no, I understand. I should have called. I know I’m ambushing you and it’s late.’

  She pushed the wine towards him and Andrew had no option other than to take it. Keira turned quickly but tried to open the door with the lock part at the top, rather than the handle at the bottom. She pulled it inwards, but it didn’t open, then she tried twisting the catch, even though it wasn’t locked. Andrew opened the door for her, then Keira was somehow past him like a ninja before he could get out of the way. He followed her into the hall, trying to keep pace as she rushed back to the lift.

  ‘Hey,’ he called. ‘Can we talk?’

  Keira thumped the ground-floor button and then took a half step back, tapping her foot in anxious anticipation of the lift arriving. ‘I should have called.’

  ‘It’s nice to see you. I’m glad you came over.’

  ‘Another time, yeah?’

  The lift pinged, the doors sliding open, its timing appallingly impeccable. ‘I’ll call you,’ Andrew said.

  Keira smiled in a not-smiling kind of way. ‘Yep. See you.’

  With that, the doors clinked shut and she was gone again. Andrew found himself staring at the illuminated buttons as the lift zoomed downwards floor by floor. It stopped on the ground, with the G remaining lit up, taunting him.

  Eventually, Andrew turned and went back to his flat. He locked the door and then realised he was still holding the bottle of wine.

  Jenny hadn’t moved from the sofa. She had twisted to peer over the back towards him. ‘Sorry about that,’ she said.

  ‘Not your fault.’

  ‘If it’s any consolation, I really don’t mind sleeping on the sofa. I’ve got myself comfy now.’

  Thirty-One

  Much of the awkwardness had been forgotten by the next morning. Andrew drove his car to the office, while Jenny walked. She was there before him, kettle already boiling, as if the previous evening hadn’t happened.

  ‘No messages,’ she said. ‘All seems quiet. The general email box is only spam, too – though you might be in line to inherit half a million dollars from some bloke in Africa.’

  ‘Again? What am I going to do with all this money?’

  ‘I’ve sent him ten grand via Western Union to sort out the paperwork, so now you can sit back and wait for the money to roll in.’ She paused. ‘Is there anything you’d like me to do?’

  ‘Danny McMichael – Jack’s teammate and room-mate. Check him out the same way you did Jack. There’s probably nothing but you never know. We’re not going to get to talk to him either way, but he’s worth looking at. If Jack snuck out, Danny must be covering.’

  Jenny turned and started typing on her computer, already on it.

  Andrew’s desk phone started ringing and he scooped it up, cradling it to his neck while trying to put his laptop down.

  ‘Is that Hunter?’ a man’s voice asked.

  ‘This is Andrew Hunter, who’s calling?’

  ‘It’s Jack Marsh.’

  Andrew hadn’t expected to hear from Jack again, let alone the morning after their hotel altercation. He tried to sound professional, polite. ‘How can I help you, Jack?’

  ‘You busy?’

  ‘Not massively.’

  ‘I’ve phoned in sick to training. There’s a doctor coming over in a bit, but I’ve got an hour if you can get to the house.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Now – just you, though. Not the girl. She creeps me out.’

  When Andrew got to Jack’s house, there were no fans camped outside, but there was a mail van. A postman was standing next to the gates, wearing shorts and a red polo top. He nodded to acknowledge Andrew. ‘Y’all right, mate?’

  Andrew nodded at the sack of mail next to the postman’s feet. ‘Is that all for Jack?’

  A shrug. ‘It’s the same most days. Oh to be popular, hey? I don’t get it myself. What do people think they’re going to get back from him? He gets thousands every week. If his full-time job was replying to mail, he’d not get through it all.’

  The buzzer next to the gates sounded and then Jack’s tinny voice sounded. ‘On my way,’ he said.

  The postman raised his eyebrows to Andrew and then nodded up at the CCTV camera pinned to the post high above them.

  ‘You don’t carry that to his door every day, do you?’ Andrew asked, pointing at the bag of mail.

  ‘Most of the time it’s his mum who answers. She opens the gates and we drive down.’ He lowered his voice, though it was probably unnecessary, ‘Can’t see myself living with my mum if I had his money.’

  Andrew didn’t disagree. It was a bit odd.

  The postman went quiet as Jack appeared on the other side of the gates. He was in jeans and a hoody, somehow still managing to look fit and athletic. He nudged the gate aside and offered an unconvincing smile to the postman before handing over a pair of empty mail sacks. He took the full one with a muttered ‘thanks’ and then held the gate open for Andrew.

  The two of them headed along the drive in silence. When they got inside, Jack dropped the mail next to the door and then led the way into what turned out to be a kitchen. It was modern and sparkling, as if the counters and appliances had never been used. Like something out of a catalogue, as opposed to something in a person’s house. Jack perched himself on a stool, leaving Andrew to shuffle onto another one nearby.

  ‘Mum’s not here,’ Jack said. Andrew didn’t reply, so he quickly added: ‘How’d you know about the fire exit in the hotel?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ Andrew said.

  ‘S’pose not.’ He motioned to the kitchen. ‘You want a drink or something? Coffee? Make whatever you want. I don’t even know how half this stuff works.’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  Jack slumped, puffing out a long breath. ‘You think I’m scum, don’t you?’ he said.

  ‘I don’t think anything,’ Andrew replied. ‘If anyone has a problem, it sounds like it’s you. You always talk about other people judging you, looking down on you, or thinking badly of you. I’ve never said anything like that to you, never assumed anything, never tried to “stitch you up”, as you said. All I wanted to do is ask questions about Michelle.’

  Jack dipped his head slightly, acknowledging the point. ‘You’re right,’ he said, leaving a long, long pause afterwards. When he continued, he was almost whispering. ‘I did leave the hotel that night.’

  Andrew felt something punching his chest. It was the exhilaration of being correct, or, as Jenny had said, the buzz of knowing something nobody else did. But there was danger, too – and that was something of which he’d seen quite enough in recent times.

  ‘I didn’t kill ’Chelle,’ Jack added. He looked up. ‘Honestly? It’s horrible, but she didn’t mean that much to me. I’m not trying to be mean or owt, but I wasn’t in love with her. Never been in love with any girl really. At the time it all happened, I wasn’t sure if we were going out with each other. I told her we were done, but she was still calling and texting. I went round her house a few days before and we ended up shagging. It’s not like I planned it, it just happened.’

  ‘That’s probably why she thought you were still together.’

  He shrugged. ‘Right – but it’s not like I knew this was going to happen. I know
I’ve been a dick… a lot of a dick when I was younger. Mum’s always on about cleaning up my act. I can’t handle the booze, so I’ve cut right down. And, yeah, I like girls – so what? I’m not the only one. It’s not like I want to kill anyone and, even if I did, why would I go after someone everyone knows is connected to me?’ He motioned towards the house in general. ‘Why would I risk all this for someone I wasn’t that bothered about?’

  Andrew couldn’t argue with any of those points. ‘But you did leave the hotel that night…?’ he said.

  Jack nodded. ‘It weren’t a big deal – or it shouldn’t have been. If ’Chelle had got home that night, no one would have known any different. When it all happened, it’s not like I could tell the police I’d left the hotel. They’d have made their own minds up about why, then I’d have been in trouble at the club. The gaffer would’ve done his nut. Danny would’ve probably been in trouble as well, ’cos we’re supposed to keep an eye on our room-mates.’

  ‘If all that’s true, if this is all one innocent mix-up and a coincidence around the timings, then why did you leave the hotel?’

  Jack turned away again, running a hand through his hair. ‘Aww, man… look is this between us?’

  ‘If you want it to be.’

  ‘No police?’

  ‘That depends on what you have to say. If you actually did kill someone, I’m obliged to report it. Same with all serious crimes.’

  ‘I didn’t kill anyone.’

  ‘So…’

  Jack took a deep breath. ‘I went to a different hotel,’ he said. ‘There’s this one down the back of Bridgewater Hall about five minutes from the Radisson. You can get there along the alleys and there’s hardly anyone else about.’

  ‘What did you do there?’

  He looked at the floor, voice a croaky murmur. ‘I was with two girls.’

  Andrew took a moment to think it over. If he was making it up, Jack was a damn good liar. ‘Fans?’ Andrew asked.

  A gentle shake of the head. ‘I paid cash. It wasn’t the first time. I sort of knew them.’ He corrected himself: ‘Know them.’

  Andrew wasn’t entirely surprised. From what he knew about Jack, there was only ever likely to be one reason why he left the hotel that night.

  ‘How did you get back into the Radisson?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘Danny let me in through the fire exit. When everything came out about ’Chelle over the next couple of days, he kept quiet for me.’

  ‘And the girls…?’

  Jack took an enormous breath and started scratching his cheek as if there was a spot of which he couldn’t rid himself.

  ‘They want money,’ he said, more firmly this time. ‘You’re the only one who knows. At first it was a few hundred quid. One of them said her car had broken down and she couldn’t afford the MOT, then the other said Christmas was coming up and she needed some spare cash for presents. I probably gave them two or three grand each and then I didn’t hear from them for a little bit. Then it was new year and one of them wanted a dress. Then they both turned up outside the house. Mum was in – but she thought they were fans like all the others. I ended up taking them for a drive out towards the training ground. They said that they knew enough to bring me down. Unless I pay them five grand each a week, they’ll go to the papers. One of them reckons she’s got pictures of me on her phone.’

  ‘Does she?’

  Jack shrugged. ‘Maybe. I don’t know. It’s not just the papers, though. They say they’ll tell the police about me sneaking out of the hotel, and who knows what’ll happen then. I didn’t kill ’Chelle – I really didn’t – but I did lie and that’s all the police will hear. The best that can happen is that I’ll be in big trouble for saying I didn’t sneak out, plus I’ll be in the papers as that bloke who shags prostitutes. The worst is that they somehow pin everything on me.’

  ‘How long have you been paying them?’

  ‘Since January.’

  Andrew made a low whistling sound. It was a comfortable six-figures he’d already paid out. ‘How do you get that much cash without anyone asking questions?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘People are asking questions,’ Jack said, agitated. ‘My accountant wants to know what I’m spending it on. I tell him clothes, shoes and stuff – but it’s not like I’ve got the receipts. I can’t keep holding him off. Sooner or later Mum’s going to find out – and then it’ll all hit the fan.’

  Andrew had a moment to take it all in. The situation was quite the mess.

  ‘How long were you out of the hotel for?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘Dunno, bruv – it’s not like I had the clock running. Probably an hour, something like that.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Maybe one in the morning? Something like that.’

  It was Andrew’s turn for a deep breath. No wonder Jack had been so wary of talking. Michelle and her friend Chloe had said goodbye to each other at half past twelve. Give or take a few minutes, it was roughly the time Jack had sneaked out.

  ‘Are you asking me what you should do?’ Andrew asked.

  A shrug. ‘I dunno… I just thought you’d want to know.’

  As Jack slumped, Andrew knew that he believed him. It was an extravagant story but entirely conceivable. The problem was that Andrew didn’t know where that left him. Did Michelle really die through a drunken accident? Her mother was never going to believe that.

  Andrew stood and straightened his top. ‘You know what you’ve got to do,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know, Jack. You’re not a stupid lad – I know that from talking to you. Your mum might be a bit protective, but she’d know, too.’

  Jack dipped his head and offered a resigned: ‘Tell the police?’

  ‘What’s the alternative? Hand over ten grand a week for the rest of time? Sooner or later, one of those women will tell a friend anyway. Perhaps they’ll get drunk, perhaps they’ll get a boyfriend. Maybe they’ll just get bored – but one way or another, it’ll come out. At least if you go to the police then you’re in control to a degree. If the papers get it first, you’re done for.’

  ‘Yeah…’

  Andrew stepped around him, moving towards the door. ‘Have you got anything else to say?’

  A shake of the head. ‘I think I’ve probably said enough.’

  Andrew was almost through the door when he stopped himself, one foot in the kitchen, one foot out. ‘Can I ask you one more thing?’ he said.

  ‘Whatever you want.’

  ‘You told me not to bring Jenny. You said she creeped you out. Why?’

  Jack spun on the stool to face him. ‘Last night, bruv, the way she looked at me when she was standing in front of the door. She weren’t moving and she didn’t care if I was going to go through her. It’s not like I was going to kick off, but she didn’t know that. There was a moment – just a moment – where I thought she was going to go for me. She had this look in her in eye…’ He tailed off. ‘I dunno, bruv… you’ve got a volcano ready to blow there. I’ve been with a few girls, but I ain’t never seen a look like that.’

  Thirty-Two

  Andrew had a lot to think about as he drove back to the office, not least the fact that he believed everything Jack Marsh had told him. There was still the possibility that if Jack had left the hotel via the fire exit, Danny McMichael could have done as well. There was no room-mate to keep an eye on him – though he would have had to be back in time to let Jack into the hotel. Even with that, there was no chance of Andrew being able to speak to one of the other players. He’d gone through enough hoops to get to Jack.

  And then there was Jenny.

  People were lining up to tell him there was something not quite right about her – Braithwaite, Ollie, Jack – but what did any of it mean?

  He parked in the office space and then headed up the stone stairs, emerging onto street level and a narrow cobbled alley. The buildings were tall, their shadows making everything a few degrees cooler than it was elsewhere. The shadow
stretched across the entire passage, with only the faint hint of blue visible when he looked directly up.

  Andrew tucked his hands in his pockets and hurried along, taking the turn that led to the glass-fronted office where Tina was no doubt doing half a dozen things at the same time.

  He was just thinking about how much he fancied a cup of tea when there was a squeal behind. Andrew turned to see a white van barrelling towards him. The alley was only wide enough for a vehicle with a little clearance on either side, so Andrew pressed himself to the wall, as much out of the way as he could manage.

  It didn’t matter where he was, there was always some idiot driving too fast. Always some prat in a hurry to get to the next set of traffic lights.

  Andrew felt the rush of the wind as the van drew level with him, the head-height mirrors only a few centimetres from colliding with his skull. The rush only lasted a second and then the van was past him… except that it wasn’t. The brakes shrieked and then the rear doors clanged open.

  Two balaclava-wearing ogres jumped down from the tailgate and lunged for Andrew. He tried to race backwards but realised what was happening far too late. There was nowhere to go anyway. Andrew had his back turned, wanting to run, but the bigger of the men grabbed his shoulder, squeezing so hard that Andrew yelped in pain. He flung an elbow backwards, feeling it connect with flesh that was so solid he cried out a second time.

  A fist connected with his lower back and his vision swarmed a kaleidoscope of colours. He flung another elbow but connected with thin air as another blow thundered into him, this time booming into his ear. Andrew stumbled sideways, collapsing to one knee before being hauled roughly to his feet by the collar of his shirt.