The door was pulled inwards and Andrew heard someone stepping outside. He launched himself forward, thankfully shouldering into Tyler as opposed to the woman. The man’s puny frame barrelled backwards, his head smashing into the wall as Andrew ran over him. Andrew didn’t wait to look for the damage. The man groaned and that was that: Andrew was inside.
He found himself in a kitchen, the sink piled with dishes, a mop leaning against a tall freezer. Through the next door was a living room. The wall was filled with long rows of CDs and movie cases. The television was on, showing some sort of wildlife documentary, with a steaming cup of tea on a small table next to an armchair.
Everything was so normal, so unassuming. What if Jenny’s website was wrong? Or if Tyler had been in Manchester that day and found a lost earring in the street? Andrew was starting to worry. This was breaking and entering, possibly attempted burglary. Definitely assault because of the way he’d walloped Tyler in the garden.
He raced back into the kitchen and then through the second door, finding himself in a hallway. Up the stairs onto a landing and there were four doors from which to choose.
‘Jenny?’
Andrew’s voice didn’t sound like his own, cracking and panicked.
No answer.
The first door was the bathroom. Shampoo and shower gel bottles were in the corner, towels were hanging neatly.
The room next door housed a large, neatly made double bed, with a sky-blue teddy sitting at the end.
Andrew blasted through the next door, heart racing, adrenalin firing. He switched on the light but was moving so quickly that he had to do a double take to even begin to absorb what was in front of him. It was horrifyingly freakish. The stuff of nightmares. He was left staring at the walls open-mouthed as footsteps boomed on the stairs below.
Thirty-Eight
The floorboards were bare, with errant strands of carpet attached to the skirting boards from where it had been pulled up. The walls were covered in photographs, colour and monochrome, long-lens and close-up. Jack Marsh was in many of them – but so was a disturbing array of women. Andrew recognised almost none of them, but there, towards the upper right-hand corner of the furthest wall, was Michelle Applegate. She was sitting on Jack’s knee, one arm around the back of his neck as they smiled at one another. There were more, too: Michelle by herself outside her house; on an escalator; sitting with her friend, Chloe, at a bar somewhere.
Andrew barely had time to take it in before he heard the footsteps nearing. He turned to see Tyler approaching, kitchen knife in his hand. Blood was gushing from the side of his head, leaving a trail of red where he walked. He was gasping, gurgling, trying to run but struggling.
‘You,’ he said as he reached the landing.
Andrew backed into the room, having nowhere else to go. Aside from the photograph-lined walls, it was empty. Nothing to use as a weapon – unless he wanted to try jumping through the first-floor window. Given a rock hadn’t cracked the double-glazing, he didn’t fancy his chances of getting through the glass.
Tyler continued advancing, waving the knife in front of him.
‘Where’s Jenny?’ Andrew said.
Tyler didn’t reply. He stood where he was, catching his breath, and then Andrew saw the next hammer blow. Close to the light switch was a montage of photographs showing Jenny. She was outside her house; unlocking the office by herself; waving at Tina from the alley; in a supermarket with a basket full of biscuits. In the final photo, she was with Andrew and Eloise Marsh, heading up the driveway on the day they’d first visited Jack’s house. He and Eloise were facing the house, but Jenny was side-on, in perfect profile. Tyler had been stalking her – or them – since the weekend.
‘Did you put a brick through my car?’ Andrew asked, suddenly getting it. ‘And Jenny’s window?’
Tyler shrugged. He seemed to be struggling with keeping himself upright.
‘Where is she?’ Andrew repeated.
Tyler stepped forward, head bobbing from side to side as he stretched the knife in front of himself. Andrew jinked to his left and it was like they were dancing as Tyler circled him. He lunged with the knife, the tip nicking Andrew’s jacket but not catching as he darted away. Tyler tried again, this time the blade whistling past Andrew’s cheek.
They’d shifted positions completely, with Andrew finding himself next to the door. He could turn and run but didn’t fancy being chased by a lunatic with a knife. He’d seen too many Westerns in which some dead-eye dick could hurl a blade across a crowded bar and embed it in some bloke’s back.
Tyler was grinning manically, but, from nowhere, Andrew had a moment of clarity. When Tyler leapt forward again, Andrew flipped the light switch, dousing them in darkness. He ducked sideways and heard the clatter of Tyler colliding with the wall. Andrew could barely see himself, but it didn’t matter because he was a step ahead. He flung his fist forward, connecting with Tyler’s head and sending it thudding into the wall a second time. There was a clang of metal, a grunt of pain – and then silence.
Andrew moved carefully, leaning forward to turn the lights back on and then looking down to see the fallen man. There was blood pooling from both sides of Tyler’s head and he’d landed on his wrist, leaving it bent at a near right angle. Andrew picked up the knife and then turned back to the wall.
As well as Jenny and Michelle, there were at least another twenty women who’d been photographed with Jack at various times. For most, there was only a single picture, but for others, there were dozens. Close up, Andrew could see the other photos of Jenny. There were two of her at the training ground when they’d visited to interview Jack – and another of Jack himself heading into the hotel where Andrew and Jenny had been waiting to ambush him days previously.
Pinned to the back of the door was a large poster of Jack Marsh, resplendent in his kit, running in full flow with a football.
For whatever reason, the nutjob at Andrew’s feet was determined to protect his idol from any female attention. He’d likely done for Michelle and now he’d targeted Jenny. Andrew peered around the photo mosaic that covered the walls, wondering if there were any other missing girls among the pictures. Any more ‘accidents’ who didn’t happen to have a persistent mother like Anna Applegate determined to discover the truth.
The lump in his throat made him hope he wasn’t too late for Jenny.
Andrew nudged Tyler further into the room with his foot, switched off the light and then closed the door.
He tried the final room, but there was nothing except for a single bed.
Andrew headed back downstairs. He tried a door in the hallway, though it was only a cupboard. He had his phone in his hand, trying Jenny’s mobile once more – hoping he’d hear the ringtone from somewhere in the house, but there was nothing. He thought about calling the police. He might end up in trouble – but the room above at least proved some of what Tyler had been up to. There’d be more, too. Phone trails, forensics around the house, probably in the van. The police might be able to make him talk, but, if Jenny had been dumped somewhere, it could be too late by then. That didn’t explain why her earrings were apparently here.
Phone trails…
If it had been Tyler who’d put a brick through Jenny’s window and the back of his car, then perhaps he was responsible for the hang-ups as well.
Andrew dialled the mobile number that had been calling his office and then breathing heavily. He stood still, listening to it ring at his end and then… It was very faint, barely a whisper on the breeze, but Andrew could hear the rhythmic beeping of an old-fashioned ringtone.
He hurried into the living room, but the tone was even fainter. Back to the kitchen and it was a little stronger, though still sounded floaty and distant.
The phone rang off, so he dialled again, standing by the sink and listening. The tone started to beep once more and Andrew followed it out the back door, across the yard, through the gate, to the garage. There was a smaller door next to the main car entrance. He expected
it be locked but…
As soon as Andrew burst inside, there was a shriek of alarm. The woman who’d been with Tyler outside Jack Marsh’s gates was standing in the centre of the room, mobile phone in her hand. She was wearing the same tight football shirt he’d seen her in before, a squat beer-keg of a woman, with stubby arms and a dome head.
‘What the—?’ she exclaimed.
Jenny was in a chair on the other side of the woman, arms fastened behind her back, legs tied to the chair. Her eyes were closed, head flopped to the side.
Andrew didn’t think. He charged at the woman, taking her by surprise and slamming his shoulder into her. His force sent them both catapulting to the floor in a heap of sprawling limbs. The woman landed with a thud and gasped, winded, as Andrew’s elbow drove into her belly with his full weight. If nothing else, she provided wonderful padding.
Andrew bounced up, but the woman stayed down, gulping and groaning. He still had the knife in his hand and waved it in her direction, as if he was going to use it. She wouldn’t know that he didn’t have it in him.
‘Jen,’ Andrew said. He backed towards the chair, watching the downed woman as she crawled into a sitting position, eyeing him with fury. The garage smelled appallingly and it took Andrew a few moments to realise why. There was an empty vodka bottle at the feet of the chair and another half-filled nearby. Pooled underneath was a mushy pool of vomit.
Andrew crouched next to Jenny, trying to control his gag reflex. He spoke her name but got no response.
‘Jen,’ Andrew repeated, lightly touching her cheeks.
For a moment, nothing happened, but then her head lolled to the other side. Her eyes didn’t open, but at least she was alive.
‘Can you hear me, Jen?’
She mumbled something in reply, but it was a gurgle of words.
Andrew was standing in her vomit and the smell was almost overpowering. With the knife, he sliced through the cable ties that were holding her to the chair and then picked her up, half-carrying, half-dragging her to the garage door. All the while, he growled threats to the other woman, who remained winded on the ground, clutching her stomach.
There was a second or two while he lowered Jenny to the floor in which Andrew momentarily had to turn away from the woman. When Jenny was down, he sprang back up, expecting an attack, but she hadn’t moved since he’d landed on her. Every breath she took was a rasping wheeze.
Jenny was flat on the cold ground, moaning to herself, so Andrew crouched and turned her onto her side, whispering that she was safe now.
He went to stand, but her hand clasped his as she mumbled something under her breath. Andrew thought he heard his name, so he leaned closer.
‘Hi gonvh you,’ she said.
He asked he to repeat it, but it was no use, because she made even less sense the second time. The only word he could make out for sure was ‘you’.
After assuring her the ordeal was over, Andrew did what he probably should have done in the first place. He called the police.
Thirty-Nine
It was almost four in the morning when Andrew opened his front door and headed inside. He reached out to help Jenny, but she assured him she was fine to walk by herself. Her face was pale but, other than that, she looked relatively good given the circumstances.
Andrew switched on the light as Jenny headed to the sofa and yanked the duvet over herself. She’d slept through most of the journey from the police station, although she was looking more awake now.
‘Do you want something to drink?’ Andrew asked.
‘I’d love a brew.’
Andrew headed to the kitchen and filled the kettle. ‘Anything to eat?’ he called across.
‘What biscuits have you got in?’
Andrew searched through his cupboard but could only come up with half a Christmas cake his Aunt Gem had given him a few months before. He put it on a plate and gave Jenny the whole thing with a fork, which immediately cheered her up.
She was about to dive in when he suddenly realised something. ‘Do you need to take it easy with food?’ he asked.
Jenny shrugged. ‘I’ll live.’
She devoured a large corner piece, covered in thick marzipan and even thicker royal icing, then ‘mmmed’ in pleasure.
Andrew dunked a teabag into a mug, gave it a swirl and then put the tea down at her side. He sat at the far end of the sofa and she rested her feet on his lap.
‘So…’ he said. ‘Earrings.’
Jenny smiled and just about managed a croaky laugh. ‘I knew they’d come in handy sooner or later.’
‘Your invention?’
‘I ordered them from America. I registered the domain name for my site and then uploaded the software they provide. Not too hard, really. Didn’t know when it all might come in handy.’ Jenny swallowed another piece of cake, or, to be more precise, another chunk of icing. ‘This is good,’ she said.
‘Gem made it. I think she generally goes for a fifty-fifty split of cake to icing.’
‘That’s a good ratio.’
‘I’ll tell her you said so.’
Jenny sipped her tea and had some more cake.
‘Do you want to sleep?’ Andrew asked.
She shook her head. ‘Later. You?’
‘This is like being at uni. Stay out till dawn, sleep for an hour, then go to lectures.’
‘Did you do that often?’
‘Once or twice. I think I’ve been an old man since I was about seventeen.’
Jenny smiled again. She yawned and then swallowed a second. ‘Not tired,’ she insisted.
‘Why didn’t the doctors keep you in?’ Andrew asked.
‘They said I’d thrown up most of the alcohol. I’ve always been a lightweight with booze. They were talking about pumping my stomach, but then said they didn’t need to bother. I’ve had worse nights out. What about you with the police?’
‘I gave them a statement of sorts and I’m back there…’ Andrew checked the clock, ‘in about six hours. They want to talk to you as well.’
Jenny shrugged, consoling herself with more icing. She wasn’t bothering with the fork any longer, instead picking the chunks of white from the cake.
‘What do you remember?’ Andrew asked.
Jenny closed her eyes in a long, tired blink. She looked like she needed to sleep but batted Andrew away when he suggested as much.
‘I was nearly here,’ Jenny said. ‘I’d cut down the back of Great Northern where the arches are under the train line and this white van pulled up next to me. There was a woman in the front seat—’
‘The police say her name is Zoe,’ Andrew said.
Jenny nodded. ‘Right, Zoe. She asked for directions to the Trafford Centre and I was by her window. I was laughing, saying she was way off, and then… I don’t know. The next thing I know, I’m in the garage where you found me.’
‘Did she hurt you?’
‘Not really. What are those curved knife things?’
‘A sickle?’
‘She had one of those and told me that if I shouted for help, she’d cut my throat. She had a bottle of vodka and she’d tip some into my mouth and tell me to swallow. It’s quite hard to do that when you’re tied to a chair!’ Jenny laughed as if it was a joke but Andrew couldn’t match her.
‘How much did you drink?’ he asked.
‘I dunno – I’d swallow some but managed to dribble little bits out. That annoyed her, so she tried to tip it into my throat, but that only made me sick, which annoyed her even more. In the end, she was pouring a capful, making me sip it and then pouring a little more.’
Andrew waited for Jenny to have something else to drink, then asked if Zoe had mentioned Michelle Applegate.
Jenny coughed slightly before replying. ‘Not by name, but she was saying I was one of Jack’s sluts, that if she couldn’t have him nobody else would. That sort of thing. I didn’t know there was somebody else involved.’
It was Andrew’s turn to share information. ‘Tyler James,�
�� he said. ‘Zoe’s husband. I’m not sure why they were doing what they were. I’d guess it’s a bit like Eloise told us – the men want to be him, the women want to be with him. Who knows?’
‘She kept asking how many times I’d slept with Jack,’ Jenny said. ‘She wanted to know when we started sleeping together, what he was like, how big he was…’ She winced. ‘At first I was denying everything, but that only got her angrier. I started making stuff up because that was the only thing that calmed her down. I said we’d had an on-and-off relationship for two years, that I used to travel to away games to meet up with him, that sort of thing. If I answered all her questions, she gave me a break in between the drinks.’
Andrew ran a hand over his head. Suddenly, he needed a drink – then he resolved that he really didn’t.
‘What I don’t get,’ Jenny said, ‘is why me? It’s not like I’ve actually slept with Jack Marsh. I’ve only met him twice – both times with you.’
Andrew explained about the bizarre upstairs room that was wallpapered with photographs of various young women.
‘I don’t think it was specifically you,’ he said, ‘more, women in general. They either felt protective over Jack, or jealous of the women in his life. Perhaps both.’
‘Does that mean…?’ Jenny said, tailing off.
Andrew nodded. ‘Probably. There were pictures of Michelle in there. The police will go through the garage, but it’s been a long while since it all happened – and that’s if Michelle ended up in there at all. After she disappeared from the CCTV, anything could have happened. The van was big enough for Tyler or Zoe to bundle Michelle inside and then her body wasn’t found for another ten or twelve hours. The difference between her and you was that she was drunk to start with. At least you had the sense of mind to stall and buy yourself time – not to mention the earrings.’
Jenny was still picking at the icing and there was a thin white trail of crumbs on her chin. ‘Were there any other girls?’
‘I don’t know – there were a lot of photographs in the bedroom. The police will be looking through them all, so I suppose we’ll find out. It wouldn’t surprise me. Lots of people go missing in this city.’
Something Buried: An absolutely gripping mystery thriller Page 22