It only took a quick stroll along the street for Andrew to spot the RSPB sticker in the upstairs window of one of the houses. Considering how close it was to the centre of the city, the street was wonderfully quiet and was empty aside from a few cars parked half on the pavement. The house they assumed was Mia’s had a neat lawn, but the one next to it was a total contrast. It was bin day, with rows of wheelies lined up along the pavement. Piles of pizza boxes were stacked next to the wall, with empty cans and bottles spilling out from a recycling box.
Andrew held the gate open for Jenny, motioning for her to go first. When looking to get information from young women, it really helped to have another young woman there to do the talking.
After Jenny knocked, the door was answered by a girl with long red hair and thick-framed dark glasses. She was wearing a dressing gown with enormous Elmo slippers. ‘All right?’ she said.
‘Are you Mia?’ Jenny asked.
The girl shook her head and muttered something that sounded like ‘hang on’. She disappeared inside and moments later there was a loud cry of ‘Mia!’
Mia was next to the door, a short girl with a dark mob of hair and even thicker-rimmed glasses.
‘Er… hello?’ Mia said, eyeing Jenny and then Andrew, wondering if she knew them.
‘Hi, I’m Jenny. I was wondering if you’re free for a bit of a chat…?’
‘Who are you?’
‘Private investigators…’ Jenny nodded at Andrew. ‘Well, he is. We were hired by the mother of Michelle Applegate and—’ Mia started to edge the door closed, but Jenny moved quicker, wedging herself into the gap while still managing a friendly smile. She didn’t even break the rhythm of her sentence: ‘We only need ten minutes.’
Mia stopped pushing at the door, frowning. ‘I’m not sure what you think I can tell you about anything.’
‘You worked at the Radisson, right?’
‘Yeah… how—’
‘And you were there on the night Jack Marsh and the rest of his team stayed there. Jack’s girlfriend ended up in the canal at some point that evening. The police probably spoke to you at some point…’
Mia stepped backwards, allowing the door to open slightly. ‘Well, yes… they talked to everyone who worked there. We all had to give statements, but then I never heard anything after that.’
Jenny sounded as firm but friendly as before. ‘We just want ten minutes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Michelle’s mother really wants to know what happened to her daughter.’ Jenny shrugged, her smile slipping into something sadder. ‘Look, we’re roughly the same age. Michelle was the same when she ended up in the water. Imagine if your best mate or sister died and you didn’t know why? You’d really want to get to the bottom of it, wouldn’t you?’
Mia stared at Jenny and then reached for the door and tugged it open with a stifled yawn and a sigh. ‘I guess you better come in.’
Twenty-Five
The inside of the house was a lot tidier than anything Andrew remembered from his student days. Classical music was drifting from upstairs, but Mia led Andrew and Jenny through a set of swing doors into a living room that had a television at one end and a sofa at the other. On the wall was a large poster of the periodic table next to an even larger poster that had drawings of various birds, along with the species names underneath. Mia sat at the dining table, which acted as some sort of barrier between the two ends of the room, waiting for Jenny and Andrew to sit opposite.
‘Sorry for the mess,’ she said, indicating the room that was devoid of anything Andrew would ever define as ‘mess’.
Jenny turned in a circle. ‘You should see my place if you think this is a mess.’
Mia peered around, yawning and wafting a hand to stop herself. ‘Tess must’ve cleaned up. I didn’t even notice. She’s a bit of a clean freak. That suits the rest of us, though.’ She looked from Jenny to Andrew and back again. ‘So…’
Jenny didn’t hesitate. ‘Is it true you were working on the night Michelle Applegate ended up in the canal?’
She nodded. ‘Right. Did someone at the hotel tell you?’
Jenny nodded, which was a little naughty. Andrew didn’t correct her. ‘How well do you remember it?’ she asked.
Another yawn – and another apology. ‘We had football teams stay every now and then, so it wasn’t unusual. I wasn’t on shift the next day, but when it all came out about what happened to Jack Marsh’s girlfriend, everyone was talking and texting. The police interviewed everyone who worked that night.’
‘Did you know any of the footballers?’
‘Only because I’d seen some of their photos – and then because they’d stay over every couple of weeks. Some of the lads at uni were jealous. You got used to seeing the same faces, but that’s not just footballers. We’d have business people and others stay every weekend. They’d nod at you and you’d nod back.’
‘What are the footballers like?’
‘How’d you mean?’
‘I suppose some sportspeople have bad reputations.’
Mia stifled another yawn and said something about late-night revision. Her eyes were bleary. ‘I never had a problem with anyone,’ she said. ‘Most of them kept to themselves. Some didn’t really speak English. They were all polite when they were asking for stuff. I think one of the cleaners complained once that someone had left a mess – but I don’t really know. Nothing major.’
‘What about Jack Marsh specifically?’
‘What about him?’
‘Did you know him?’
Mia shrank slightly, leaning back in the chair and picking her knees up so that she was cross-legged. Suddenly, she couldn’t meet Jenny’s gaze. ‘Sort of.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Well…’
Jenny scrabbled into her bag and pulled out her phone, tapping the screen and spinning it for Mia to see. ‘He gave me his number.’
Mia broke into a smile and the two young women laughed at the shared moment. ‘Did he take your phone and type the number in?’
‘Yep.’
They both winced. ‘Ugh,’ Mia said. ‘I didn’t know if it was just me. I suppose some girls must go for it.’
‘Imagine that, though. What would you say when you called back? “Hi, remember me? You typed your number into my phone.” Then he’d have to ask which girl you were because he’d given his number to so many people.’
Mia laughed again, nodding in agreement. ‘I kept it for a few days, mainly to show the lads at uni. I deleted it after that.’
‘Did you tell the police he gave you his number?’
The smile disappeared from Mia’s face. ‘I didn’t think it was relevant.’
Jenny nodded along. ‘You’re probably right.’
Mia examined her before nodding slightly. She seemed a little embarrassed and had probably been wondering whether she should have told the police ever since it had happened. This would have been the first time someone had reassured her that it was okay.
‘So what was he like?’ Jenny added.
Mia was staring at her bird poster, not quite able to meet Jenny’s gaze again. ‘I didn’t…’
Jenny said nothing, leaving a perfect silence that Mia couldn’t stop herself from filling.
‘I did think about it,’ she said quietly.
Neither Jenny nor Andrew filled the gap. Mia took a breath. ‘It was a few weeks before everything happened. I was on room service duty and had taken something up to a room where Jack Marsh was staying. He was with another bloke – one of his teammates. Danny something. I took their food in and he was telling me about what position he plays, that sort of thing. I wasn’t interested, but then Jack said he had to pop next door. I assume he meant someone else’s room. Anyway, me and Danny, well…’ she shrugged, ‘we had a bit of fun.’ She peered at the table, apparently regretting it.
‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’ Jenny said.
‘I didn’t tell the police that, either. Danny
and Jack were staying in the same room together on the night they were asking about, too.’
‘So…’
Mia shook her head slowly. ‘It was a one-time thing with Danny. Then, a couple of weeks later, Jack gave me his phone number.’
‘Did anything happen with Jack?’
A shake of the head. ‘Not that.’
‘But something did…?’
Mia gulped, still fixed on the table. ‘Can I get in trouble for talking to you? I didn’t do anything bad, but, well… you hear about withholding evidence and all that. I didn’t think it was a big deal, plus I didn’t want my bosses finding out that I’d… y’know… with one of the players. They’d have sacked me and I needed the money.’
‘If you’ve not done anything wrong, then you can’t get in trouble,’ Jenny said. ‘We’re not taking notes, we’re not recording anything. If you have something to say, nobody aside from us needs to know where it came from.’
Mia blew out a long breath. ‘I didn’t see either Danny or Jack on the night that girl ended up in the canal,’ she said, before finally looking up to catch Jenny’s stare. ‘I was waitressing downstairs. I don’t think I saw any of the players.’
‘But something happened, didn’t it?’
‘I don’t know – I really don’t. It’s just…’ She gulped. ‘On the night I was in the room with Danny, we got talking. I don’t know how we got onto it, but he told me he was gasping for a smoke. He said some of the players smoke quite a lot and one of the reasons the club book them into a hotel is because it makes it really hard for them to get away with having a fag.’
Andrew felt a prickling at the back of his neck as Mia told her story. This was it.
‘He was being really nice and I suppose I was a bit flattered. Anyway, there’s a back exit at the hotel. You have to go through this staff-only door to get there and then there’s another one marked as a fire exit.’
Andrew and Jenny already knew that from their jaunt around the hotel.
‘Isn’t it alarmed?’ Andrew asked. It was the first thing he’d said since entering the living room and Mia turned to look at him. She seemed surprised, as if she’d forgotten he was there.
‘Anyone can push through the fire exit,’ she said. ‘There’s a sign to say it’s alarmed, but I don’t think it’s ever worked. All the kitchen lads use it to nip out for a fag. Not all the staff know about it, I guess, but I was friends with one of the cooks and we used to use it. It opens into this alley that’s in the shadow of the hotel.’
Andrew was surprised Jenny managed to hold onto a smirk of knowing she was right after all.
‘Are there any cameras?’ Jenny asked.
‘Not that I’ve seen. Certainly not inside the hotel.’
‘And can you get out onto the main road from there?’
‘If you wanted to.’
‘So Jack Marsh could have got out of the hotel without going through the front where the security cameras are?’ Jenny spoke quickly, but it was the biggest question of them all. The hairs on Andrew’s arms were standing.
Slowly, very slowly, Mia nodded. ‘If Danny had told him about the door. He’d have had to use the stairs, go through the staff door, then get along the corridor and out the fire exit without being seen, but that’s possible.’
‘I’m sorry to ask this,’ Jenny said, ‘but to be absolutely certain: did you tell the police any of this?’
An even slower shake of the head. ‘I didn’t want to mess up my course by losing my job. It was only a part-time thing for a bit of money on the side.’ From nowhere she grasped Jenny’s hand and squeezed, blurting out a flurry of words. ‘It wouldn’t have been him, though, would it? They say she was drunk and fell in the canal. It’s not like he got her drunk, is it? She’d already been drinking. I read about it.’
Jenny didn’t remove her hand. ‘You’re probably right,’ she said.
Mia carefully released her grip and then leaned back. ‘Do you think he did it?’
Jenny couldn’t resist a quick sideways glance towards Andrew. ‘That’s what we’re hoping to find out.’
Mia had little else to say, though she repeated herself to make clear that she’d definitely not seen Jack Marsh on the evening Michelle Applegate had ended up in the canal. She’d told them more than enough anyway. The issue would have been whether Jack knew about it. Without Mia’s testimony, there was nothing to say he had any knowledge of another way to exit the hotel. There was nothing concrete, but for the first time, they knew that Jack could have exited and perhaps re-entered the hotel without being seen.
Jenny thanked Mia for her help and then she and Andrew headed outside. The front door was closed and they were at the end of the path when Jenny stopped. Andrew did too, following her gaze to his car, where there was a splintered circle in the centre of the shattered rear window. As he moved closer, Andrew could see the reason. Sitting on his back seat was a half-brick surrounded by a glittering pile of jagged glass.
Twenty-Six
Andrew might have complained about how annoying the radio advert was with its catchy, mind-drilling jingle about fixing windscreens – but he was ultimately glad the rhyming series of numbers had forever etched itself into his brain.
After returning to the office, Jenny was uncharacteristically quiet, though she still said she doubted it was her ex-boyfriend who was responsible. Andrew’s car wasn’t exactly distinctive – a dark blue Toyota – and yet, if someone knew he drove it, it would be easy enough to follow.
The afternoon had passed and they’d both gone home for the day – but Andrew couldn’t sit around doing nothing. Somebody was targeting Jenny and he had a decent idea of who.
He was in a pub, trying to block out the warblings of the frontwoman whose band was currently offending his ears. The singer had green, spiky hair with a studded leather collar connected to a dog lead that was dragging behind her as she made various lunges with the microphone. Andrew couldn’t make out many of the lyrics, though he did catch that she had rhymed ‘depression’ with ‘oppression’, which seemed about right. The longer she went on, the more he felt a victim of both.
He was by himself, wedged into a small booth close to a bar on the edge of Manchester’s Northern Quarter. It was a mixed crowd of student types along with those he generally assumed to be hippie sorts. That would no doubt have him labelled a snob by Jenny. There was also a handful of suited beardy-weirdy pseudo-hipsters, with ludicrous amounts of hair wax.
It wasn’t Andrew’s scene. Despite the flat pint of bitter he was cradling, he quite fancied a cup of tea somewhere warm where he could put his feet up.
Oliver Raphael had been easy to find. His social media pages were largely concealed to people who didn’t know him – but, with such a distinctive name, there was still a drip-drip of information about him online. Andrew had looked him up when Jenny was out of the office, noting the address and saving a photo to his phone. After leaving work, Andrew headed to the shop where Ollie worked and then followed him. With the rush-hour crush, it had been easy enough to go unseen.
Andrew had expected to trail him towards a house or flat, waiting until Ollie was alone and away from the crowds for them to have a chat. Instead, Ollie had headed through the throng of people past the Arndale Centre and then cut along Oldham Street, ducking into a pub. Andrew had followed… waiting for the right moment.
Two and a half hours later and it hadn’t happened.
Andrew was on his second pint, not particularly wanting another and hoping the bar staff didn’t notice how slowly he was drinking.
He wasn’t sure what he expected of Jenny’s boyfriend, given he’d only found out the lad’s name a short time before. Ollie was a cross between the hipster lot and the slightly younger sportier crowd. His hair was ridiculous, some sort of whippy ice cream quiff thing that likely took hours every day to perfect. He had the sort of designer stubble that could only be sculpted with a precision razor, even though it was supposed to be casual, with a ‘couldn�
�t-be-bothered-shaving’ look.
Ollie was wearing a Manchester United football shirt. He was mid-twenties, surrounded by his mates and crowded around a pool table. They were the usual gel, T-shirt and too much Lynx crowd. Even though the singer was doing her best to shatter eardrums in a quarter-mile radius, the lads were largely ignoring her, concentrating instead on beating each other at pool. Between them, there was around forty quid’s worth of pound coins on the side of the table. They’d been playing for most of the time Andrew had been there and showed no sign of stopping.
Finally, Andrew spotted his moment. Ollie separated from his friends, whispering something to one of them and then plonking his empty pint glass on the bar before edging through the crowd towards the toilet. Andrew left his pint by his chair and followed, apologising his way through the packed pub until he reached the far side.
It only dawned on Andrew after he’d entered the toilet that, to an untrained eye – or even a trained one – he had just followed a younger lad into the bathroom having sat surreptitiously watching him for more than two hours.
This had ‘grooming’ written all over it.
Luckily the toilet was empty. Andrew crouched, spotting a single pair of bright white trainers in the end booth. He waited next to the hand-dryer, fiddling with his phone in case anyone entered. He’d rarely heard a sweeter sound than the flushing of the toilet. Ollie emerged and headed for the sinks, which at least meant he wasn’t a complete psycho. He washed his hands and then moved towards the hand-dryers, wringing his hands and then noticing Andrew for the first time.
‘Oh,’ he said.
‘Hi, Ollie.’
Ollie stopped where he was, eyes narrowing. ‘Do I know you?’
Andrew moved quickly, striding forward and shoving his forearm hard into Ollie’s breastbone, forcing him back into the wall. Ollie struggled, but he was skinny and, though Andrew wasn’t exactly athletic, he had what could kindly be described as a ‘bit of padding’. More importantly, he had momentum. Ollie struggled but had missed his chance to skip away.
Something Buried: An absolutely gripping mystery thriller Page 15