Something Buried: An absolutely gripping mystery thriller

by Wilkinson, Kerry

  Braithwaite was still like a statue and then he sat, putting the violin next to the newspaper rack and picking up a china teacup that was on a small side table. He sipped the liquid and swallowed. Sipped and swallowed.

  Silence.

  Andrew felt like every hair on his body was standing up, as if he’d been electrified. He’d been so angry that he’d blurted out the first thing that came into his head, the one thing he knew with no question would infuriate Braithwaite. He wanted to hurt him, to let the other man know that two could play the game. The problem was that Braithwaite would always be able to play it better than Andrew.

  Braithwaite eventually put the teacup down, smacking his lips as he picked up the violin case. He unclipped it and removed the instrument, running his fingers across the grain of the wood. He put it to his nose and then inhaled deeply, before tracing the LK in the bottom corner with a single finger.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said softly.

  Andrew nodded, not trusting himself to reply properly.

  Braithwaite fitted the violin under his chin, resting the bow on the strings. He rattled it back and forth, wincing as the instrument squeaked like a rusty door. He twiddled the tuning pegs, trying again with the bow and then making another half-dozen adjustments until he was happy.

  When he did play, it was beautiful. Andrew had no idea what the piece of music was called, but he had a vague memory of hearing it before. Incomplete memories of a large music hall crept into his mind, though Andrew didn’t know when he’d ever visited anywhere like that. Certainly not recently. Braithwaite’s hand with the bow flitted back and forth delicately but forcefully, while the other darted across the fingerboard.

  Andrew didn’t know how long had passed, but Braithwaite finished with a frenzied flourish. He lowered the violin and gave Andrew a gentle nod, before returning the instrument to the case.

  He took another sip of his tea and then licked his lips. ‘Where did it come from?’ he asked.

  ‘I asked a few people I know, followed a couple of leads and it led me to this. You said you didn’t need names.’

  Braithwaite nodded to acknowledge the point. ‘Fair enough, Mr Hunter.’

  ‘Does this mean we’re even?’

  There was another long pause in which Braithwaite once again licked his lips. He stared off towards the large map pensively. ‘That’s a hard question to answer – but I do appreciate the work you’ve done.’

  From nowhere the door behind him pinged open, with Iwan standing tall and wide, blocking the light from beyond. Andrew didn’t know if he was psychic, had impeccable timing, or if he himself had missed some sort of secret signal.

  Braithwaite offered a watery smile but didn’t stand and didn’t offer his hand to shake. ‘Stay safe, Mr Hunter.’

  Twenty-Nine

  Jenny emerged from the hotel bathroom and twirled on the tips of her toes, ballerina-style. ‘Ta-da!’ she sang, before stopping and curtsying. ‘So, what do you think?’

  Massively inappropriate, Andrew thought. He was alone in the room of a hotel with a woman who was a decade and more younger than him and also his work colleague. It was dark outside and, though the hotel was four-star, it all felt decidedly seedy. He was one step away from becoming a Tory MP at this rate.

  Jenny was wearing a figure-hugging short black dress with what could only be described as stripper heels. He hadn’t asked her to wear anything specific; she had brought along the outfit in her bag and then disappeared off into the bathroom.

  ‘Well?’ she asked again.

  ‘Different,’ Andrew replied. ‘Very different.’

  ‘Pfft, you’re such a man sometimes.’ She turned in a circle, looking for a clock. ‘What’s the time?’

  Andrew checked his phone. ‘Two minutes past nine.’

  ‘Hmm… he’s late.’

  As if on cue, there was a loud rap on the door. Jenny grinned – she was in her element of danger and surprise.

  Andrew darted out of sight, sliding across the king-size bed and wedging himself behind the floor-to-ceiling wardrobe. He pressed his back to the wood and muttered ‘okay’, listening to his heart race.

  Moments later, he heard the snap of the door latch and then Jenny saying, ‘Well, hell-ooooh there.’ She sounded flirty and playful.

  The next voice was male – Jack Marsh’s: ‘Wow, you look different from the last time.’

  The door closed and then Andrew heard Jenny’s heels clacking across the floor. ‘Amazing what a bit of Polyfilla can do,’ she said.

  Jack laughed half-heartedly and then Andrew heard a soft squeak of springs. He stepped out from behind the wardrobe to see Jack sitting on the bed, legs splayed wide. He was relaxed in jeans and a tight T-shirt, with a baseball cap and pair of sunglasses next to him. Jenny was leaning on the writing desk, knees together, looking in Andrew’s direction. Jack soon got the hint, turning and jumping at the sight of the other man in the room.

  ‘Whoa,’ he said, leaping to his feet.

  Jenny shuffled around until she was blocking the way out. ‘We needed to talk to you,’ she said, ‘but the only way I knew we could definitely get you to see us was if I phoned you.’

  Jack turned between them, face falling as he realised the prospect of a filth-filled hotel tryst had been denied.

  ‘Do you know what I went through to get here?’ he said, raising his voice. ‘I had to get past that lot outside my gates, drive across the city, park in the shadows at the back end of the car park and then take the stairs up here. I think the bloke on reception might’ve clocked who I was.’

  ‘I once read about this woman in Ethiopia,’ Jenny said. ‘She walked eleven miles each day to get water for her family. The moaning cow doesn’t know she’s born.’

  Jack smirked, at least showing he wasn’t entirely self-centred. ‘Fair enough,’ he said, flopping back onto the bed. ‘What do you want then? I’ve got to get back to the house by half-ten, else Mum will be on one.’

  ‘Will she ground you?’ Jenny replied.

  Jack smiled even wider. ‘It’s not that, I just can’t be done with her moaning. Ever since Michelle, she’s always going on about not putting myself in situations and all that.’

  ‘That’s probably good advice,’ Andrew said.

  ‘Whatever, mate. What do you want?’

  ‘We know you sneaked out of the hotel on the night Michelle ended up in the canal,’ Andrew said. ‘You went down the stairs near the lifts until you got to the ground floor, then you went through the door marked “staff only”. You followed the corridor to the fire exit and, though it says it’s alarmed, it isn’t. You dropped the catch and there you were – outside. Your mate Danny McMichael told you about it. I’m guessing he’s covered for you ever since.’

  Jack’s mouth hung open. A human flycatcher. No longer was he relaxed flop-on-the-bed Jack, he was shoulders-tensed coiled-spring Jack. He stood and then sat, then stood again. He twisted from Andrew to Jenny and then lunged towards the door. Jenny was in front of him, refusing to budge. It was through her or retreat and, for a moment, Andrew thought the footballer was going to barrel straight through her.

  ‘You gonna hit me, too?’ Jenny said. In her heels, she was as tall as Jack. She didn’t flinch, her brown eyes staring into his, daring him. Andrew felt frozen across the room, too far away to do anything.

  After a moment of stand-off, Jack stepped away, holding both his hands up and then backing away further until he was standing next to the office chair that was wedged under the desk. He tugged it out and spun it, then stopped it and leaned on the back.

  ‘This is bollocks, bruv.’

  ‘What is?’ Andrew said.

  ‘This. This is all wrong. I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Yes you do. That’s the door that some of the staff use when they want to go outside for a smoke. Your mate Danny was craving a fag a few weeks before it all happened and he found out about it. You were in a room with him on the night Michelle died. She’
d been texting you all night and you told Danny you wanted to go and meet her – if only to tell her to stop bothering you. The problem was that if you’d gone out the front, people would’ve noticed. It would have got back to your manager, or whoever was looking after you. Luckily – or unluckily – Danny had the solution. He told you about a way to get out where it was unlikely anyone would notice. If one of the kitchen staff happened to be hanging around, you’d apologise – “sorry, mate, I was just after a crafty ciggie”. Most of the lads were star-struck by you anyway. As it was, I’m guessing nobody saw you leaving. All you had to do is make sure Danny kept his mouth shut and that was that.’

  Jack stared at Andrew, eyebrow twitching as he wondered if there was more. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Don’t I?’

  ‘Can you prove it?’

  ‘Do I have to?’

  Jack stepped towards Andrew, pushing himself up tall and shoving a finger in his face. ‘I knew you were out to get me. Knew it. Told me ma so. This is a stitch-up.’

  ‘So tell me it’s not true. You’ve said it’s “all wrong”, you said I don’t know what I’m talking about. What you absolutely haven’t done is deny it.’

  They glared at one another, but Jack broke first, spinning away and then kicking the bin across the room. It clattered into a tall lamp in the corner, which clanged into the wall, flickered, but remained on. Jack and Andrew both stared at the bin as it twirled on the floor next to the lamp and then tumbled over. There was nothing in it anyway.

  ‘I’m going,’ Jack said. He grabbed his cap and glasses and then stormed across the room, going face to face with Jenny once more. ‘Move!’ he shouted.

  Jenny glanced over Jack’s shoulder to Andrew, who nodded slightly. She stepped out of his way, giving him a free route to the door.

  Jack stepped around her and then swivelled to face Andrew again. ‘I know your sort, mate: bitter and jealous. You wanted to be a policeman but you weren’t good enough to pass the exams. If you reckon you’ve got something, then go to the police and prove it. If not, you can do one.’

  With that, he trampled out of the room, slamming the door with as much force as he could manage – which ended up not being much because of the hinge at the top that ensured it closed softly and quietly.

  Jenny slipped her heels off, shrinking half a foot in the process. She turned to Andrew. ‘Well,’ she said with a shrug, ‘that went well.’

  Thirty

  By half past ten, Andrew and Jenny were back at his flat. It struck Andrew far too late that, given he’d already paid for the hotel room, Jenny could have stayed there for the night. He’d not thought of it and she’d not suggested it.

  Her flat was still out of bounds because of ‘the wrong sealant’ for the window, or something like that. Who knew? It sounded like one of those builder-type things that only burly men with dirty fingernails could get away with saying. ‘Yeah, mate, there’s not enough super grease in that. You’ve only got the normal stuff.’ Still, that was nowhere near as bad as some privately educated prat in a suit sitting in some London skyscraper playing silly beggars with other people’s money. At least the builder could spin a yarn to a person’s face.

  Jenny was still wearing the dress from the hotel room, her bare legs curled up underneath herself as she watched the local news. Some poor woman had been snatched outside a pub in Rusholme, bundled into a car and then raped in a car park somewhere on the back end of an industrial estate on the edge of the city. The police had photofits and good descriptions of the men and their car, but, even if they were caught, the woman’s life would never go back to being the same.

  Jenny watched transfixed and Andrew watched her. He wanted to ask what was in her past. Was it something bad? He almost hoped it was – at least that was a reason to lie. If she had simply pretended to not have a brother with no reason, wasn’t that much worse? Lying for the sake of it, because it was possible… well, that was psychotic, wasn’t it? He didn’t know the terms, wasn’t sure he wanted to know them.

  Andrew was washing up a pair of plates when he remembered one more thing. A few months ago, Jenny had spent a couple of days with his Aunt Gem while Andrew had been away. It had felt strange – yet Gem was charmed by her. Gem told him that Jenny had spoke about her mum and dad. They’d had entire conversations about Jenny’s parents living abroad. Could she really have made all that up?

  Andrew put the plates away and then flashed a smile towards Jenny. She returned it, but then started to yawn and rubbed at her eyes.

  ‘Long day,’ she said.

  ‘Long day,’ he echoed.

  She stretched her arms high, showing off far more flesh than Andrew was comfortable seeing.

  ‘I don’t mind sleeping on the sofa tonight,’ she said. ‘I can sleep anywhere. I’m like a sloth.’

  She gets night terrors. Screaming, shouting, waking up and clawing at the air…

  ‘You take the bed,’ Andrew replied. ‘I’m fine out here. I’ve fallen asleep on the sofa on more nights than I care to remember.’

  Jenny patted the spot close to her and Andrew crossed the room and sat. The news had ended and it was onto the weather. There was another sunny day due, with a strong chance it would carry through to the weekend. That would mean the city’s streets would be packed with people wanting to enjoy the warmth while they could. It was hard for Manchester to seem welcoming when everyone had their heads down, fighting against gales and squally rain. The city was always a different place with the sun out. There’d be entertainers in Piccadilly Gardens, probably pop-up food stalls around the various public squares as well. There were always more young people around on the warmer days, too; shopping, mooching or generally just hanging around. Andrew always felt as if the city came into its own on the days when the skies were blue.

  ‘Are you worried about something?’

  Andrew had been drifting but Jenny brought him back into the room. ‘Sorry?’ he said.

  ‘Is something on your mind… other than Jack Marsh, I mean. You seem distracted.’

  Andrew continued watching the television, not taking the risk of looking at Jenny. ‘Just busy,’ he replied. ‘I’m off on holiday with Gem soon enough. I think I need a break from it all.’

  ‘You’ve never really told me what you want me to do while you’re away. Should I still go into the office?’

  ‘You’re fine doing any bits of due diligence or CV checking by yourself. I’ll have to sign anything off, but we won’t take on any work that’s urgent. If you end up running out of things to do, it’s not a problem. You don’t have to go in for the sake of going in. You’ve been working for me for, what, nine months? Ten? You’ve not had any time off. Not only that, you’ve done extra hours all over the shop. Lates – like tonight – weekends, like when we visited Jack Marsh’s house on Sunday. It’s my fault—’

  ‘I choose to do those things.’

  ‘Yes, but I should be making sure you have a break, too. It’s only us, it’s not like I’ve got an HR department to keep on top of this, so it’s down to me.’

  ‘Pfft, it’s fine.’

  ‘It’s not, Jen. I’m probably breaching employment laws over hours and breaks. I’ve taken advantage and things are going to have to change.’

  Jenny went quiet at that, folding her arms and focusing on the television. A few minutes passed and then she said, ‘I am allowed to make my own decisions, you know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s not like you force me to do anything, or make me work when I don’t want to. Half the time it’s my idea anyway.’

  As well as the multitude of new questions Andrew had fizzing around his mind, there was the oldest one he’d wanted to ask since she first started to work for him. Finally, he asked it: ‘Why do you do this, Jen?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Work for me. You have an IT degree and, though there’s a bit of crossover, there’s not much. Lots of people study one thing, then go off to wor
k doing another but you’re capable of so much more than this. You could get more money elsewhere, definitely better hours. You could probably set up your own business if you wanted. I’m not complaining – I’m really not – but I don’t know why you’d want to spend every day sitting around the office.’

  ‘It’s fun.’ Jenny made it sound as if it was the most obvious thing going.

  ‘What’s fun? The paperwork? The typing?’

  ‘All of it. I like the people. Not knowing who’s going to knock on the door. Not knowing the answer – like today. All the official stories say Jack Marsh couldn’t have left that hotel, then we go and find out that he might have done. It’s exciting.’

  ‘Lots of things are exciting, Jen.’

  ‘But this is me and you versus the world, isn’t it?’

  Andrew didn’t know how to reply. In some ways, he felt like that, too. His reason for working, even though he could retire to his flat, was that he liked the variety of people who came into his life. He could be picky enough to turn away the cases that didn’t interest him and work on those that would keep his mind whirring.

  A knock on the door interrupted anything with which he could have replied. Jenny looked to Andrew, who could only return a blank stare. He lived so high up that he wasn’t used to visitors at all, let alone when it was closing in on eleven at night. His flat’s buzzer hadn’t sounded, either.

  Andrew jumped up and crossed to the door, unlatching the bolt and opening it, then stepping back. Keira walked into the flat without a word. She was dressed modestly in skinny jeans and a floaty top. Her short hair was poking out from underneath a beret that was at such a gravity-defying angle that Andrew couldn’t quite figure out how it was remaining on her head. She had a bottle of wine in her hand and closed the door without looking around.

  ‘Hi,’ she said.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘I thought I’d surprise you. I’ve been looking at flats today, then I didn’t fancy driving back down south, so I got a room at the Travelodge on Piccadilly. It was all a bit… lonely – plus I think they’ve got a hen party in. Bit early in the week but who knows nowadays. There was someone crying in the room next to me and I couldn’t take listening to it any longer. I was going to call, then I figured I may as well walk here. Some bloke downstairs was on his way up, so I tailgated him into the lift and here I am.’ She did a small leg-bob curtsy. ‘Honestly, you should see some of the places I’ve been around earlier. There was this two-bedroom flat just over the river and the walls—’ She stopped, turning and noticing Jenny for the first time. ‘Oh,’ Keira said.