Something Buried: An absolutely gripping mystery thriller

by Wilkinson, Kerry

  Gem reached and stroked Rory’s back and then the area around his eye that was a slightly different colour from the rest of him. A few years previously, she’d found him abandoned at the bottom of the stairs by her flat. He was covered in blood from where he’d been used as a football. Nobody had come forward to say the dog belonged to them, so Gem had nursed him back to health. Now the pudgy little so-and-so rarely left her side.

  The moment of tenderness was interrupted by a loud knock at the door. Gem froze, her fingers resting on Rory’s ear. When her eyes met Andrew’s, all he could see was fear.

  Andrew raced to the window but couldn’t get a good enough angle to be able to see the door. He couldn’t see anyone outside, so moved through the flat, undoing all the bolts and then opening the door.

  There was nobody there.

  Andrew stepped outside, peering both ways along the concrete balcony, but it was clear. Down below, the green was empty. He leaned over the rail, trying to get a glimpse of the row of flats below, though he couldn’t see anyone there either.

  Back inside, Andrew locked only the central bolt and then headed back to the living room.

  ‘Have you had many of those recently?’ he asked.

  ‘One this morning, another just after lunch. I shouted “hang on” because it takes me a while to get to the door, but when I opened it, there was no one there.’

  Gem might be in her seventies, but Andrew wouldn’t have guessed if he didn’t know. She kept as active as her body would allow her and her mind was still sharp when it needed to be. Now, though, she looked her age. Her skin greyer, eyes tired. She’d lived on the estate for a long, long time, watching it decay around her, though she didn’t think like that. She was loyal to an area that showed no loyalty to her and it broke his heart. No matter how often Andrew tried to get her to move, or how much help he offered, she wouldn’t have it.

  Andrew could feel his hands shaking with rage that he was struggling to conceal. ‘I’m going to pop out for a bit,’ he said. ‘Lock up behind me. When I get back, I’ll tap the window so you know it’s me. If anyone knocks on the door, ignore it.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘For a walk. I won’t be long.’

  Gem trailed Andrew to the front door, where he put on his shoes. When he got outside, he waited until he heard the final bolt slide into place and then moved quickly to the concrete steps at the end, heading down to the ground. He was on the edge of the green, with four sides of two-storey flats around him. There were a couple of hundred flats in total, plus the pair of tower blocks a short distance away.

  Andrew walked quickly, sticking to the walkway underneath the balcony and looping around the green. He heard televisions that were too loud, music seeping through fragile front doors, a few kids crying, a couple having a row. Nothing unusual in an area where there were so many people living on top of one another.

  He continued past the row directly opposite Gem’s, circling around the back of the block to where there was a play park. There was a sorry-looking roundabout with much of the paint scratched off. One of the swings had been spun around the top of the frame, leaving it too high to reach. There was nobody in sight.

  Andrew moved back to the quadrant, following the route he’d taken when he first arrived. It was only when he neared the stairs close to Gem’s flat that he saw a flash of dark. It was hard to muffle footsteps on the harsh concrete, but Andrew did his best, jogging on tiptoes up to the balcony, where he found a kid in a black top edging along the walkway in the direction of his aunt’s flat. The boy had short sandy hair and was moving slowly for seemingly no reason.

  Making sure he didn’t step on the assortment of rubbish that was outside the various flats, Andrew trailed the boy, gaining on him easily. The youngster was in line with Gem’s window when Andrew snagged him, taking him by surprise and spinning him around until the boy was pressed backwards against the railing.

  ‘What the—’ the boy gasped in surprise, but Andrew was bigger and stronger.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Andrew demanded.

  ‘Get off me, you paedo.’

  Andrew pushed harder so that the boy was bent backward across the rail. His legs were kicking but nowhere near Andrew. ‘Why are you harassing an old woman?’ Andrew shouted.

  ‘It’s not me.’

  ‘What’s not you?’

  The lad snarled up at Andrew, annoyed he’d even acknowledged anything untoward was going on.

  ‘Who sent you?’ Andrew said.

  ‘You gay or summat? Get off me.’

  Andrew had his forearm across the boy’s chest and pressed a little harder, enough to lift him off the ground. Andrew was now the only thing stopping him from tumbling over the rail and the kid knew it. There was panic in his eyes.

  ‘What makes you think you can make people’s lives a misery?’ Andrew growled.

  ‘I’m not.’

  ‘So what are you doing?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Andrew released a little of the pressure, allowing the kid’s feet to touch the ground. ‘Do you even live here?’ he asked.

  ‘What’s it to you?’

  They glared at one another, but there was only anger in the youngster. What was he going to do next? Throw him over the railing? The kid was only fourteen or fifteen. Andrew released him and stepped away.

  ‘Don’t let me see you round here again,’ he said, trying to sound as threatening as he could.

  The boy edged around him, backing towards the stairs. When he was out of arm’s reach, he called Andrew a sneering list of four-letter words and then ran for it. Andrew watched him go, leaning over the balcony to see the direction in which he headed – though it was away from the estate rather than towards it. It crossed Andrew’s mind that perhaps there was some innocent reason for the youngster being there. Perhaps he wasn’t going to knock on Gem’s door at all and Andrew had misread the situation?

  Bit late now.

  Andrew stood with both hands on the rail, staring out towards the green and the flats beyond. Could the harassment of his aunt be a coincidence? It couldn’t be Tyler or Zoe this time, so if not them, who?

  Braithwaite?

  Was this a way of getting to Andrew through his aunt?

  He knocked on the window and heard his aunt unbolting lock after lock before she welcomed him back in with a smile.

  ‘What do you want for tea?’ Andrew asked. ‘I’m cooking and I’m not debating it.’

  Gem opened her mouth, all set to argue regardless. There was nothing she liked better than piling a plate with enough food for a small family and then watching Andrew struggle to eat it all. In the end, she smiled warmly.

  ‘Mashed potato,’ she said. ‘Plus something meaty for Rory. He likes steak on a Friday. I got him some in especially. He likes it well done but not too well done. And make sure you cut it up into little pieces for him – you know what he’s like.’

  Forty-Two

  Andrew’s pledge to cook tea became a promise to stay for the evening and then to stop for the night. Gem had fussed, saying she was fine, that Rory was fine, that everything was all right – but it clearly wasn’t. She spent the evening nervously eyeing the window and any outside noises made her jump, even though nobody else knocked on her door.

  She insisted that Andrew take her bed, but that was never going to happen and, in the end, she fell asleep halfway through the news anyway. Andrew gently shook her awake and then helped her to bed. After she’d changed, he tucked her in, although Rory seemed determined to take up as much of the bed as possible. For a little guy, with his limbs splayed, he was almost as big as Gem. She kissed Andrew on the forehead, whispered a ‘thank you’, and then rolled over.

  Andrew grabbed a blanket and headed for her sofa, which was surprisingly comfortable. He slept in the clothes he’d been wearing all day, only managing to doze in short bursts before he was awoken by a noise from outside. Each time, he checked the window, though there was nobody there. As t
ime passed, the number of lights dotted around the green dwindled until it seemed like everybody was asleep.

  Everyone except Andrew.

  At half past one in the morning, Andrew jumped awake, certain something awful was happening – only to realise that the asthmatic elephant that had woken him was a combination of Gem and Rory trying to outsnore each other. He stood in the bedroom doorway, watching their respective chests rise and fall in almost perfect symmetry. Rory had somehow contrived to take up even more space on the double bed, lying on his back, hind legs spread wide, leaving Gem with only the corner.

  Not that she appeared to mind.

  Back in the living room, Andrew switched on the television. Gem only had the basic channels, which wasn’t a problem as he found a late-night repeat of some game show. He couldn’t hear it over the snoring anyway, so turned on the subtitles and snuggled back under the blanket. As the contestants became stupider, Andrew’s blinks became longer until…

  Andrew sat up, kicking the blanket aside. He was sure he’d heard something. The snores of Rory and Gem were now silenced and the television was showing the rolling news channel. Andrew looked to the clock – half three.

  He stood, stretching and yawning, then nudged the curtain slightly to the side. Through the slim gap, all he could see was the darkness of the green, lit by intermittent lamps around the edge. There was nobody on the balcony immediately in front of the flat.

  Andrew returned to the sofa and sat, stretching once more. He turned off the television and then sat listening to the silence. Whatever had woken him – if it was anything other than a dream – was gone.

  After yet another yawn, Andrew realised the pressure from his bladder was probably the reason he had woken up. He headed through the flat barefooted until he reached the toilet next to the front door. He left the light off, fumbling around until he’d found the bowl. He closed the door and then, moments later, it was like a tap had been turned on.

  Life brought with it many pleasures. There was food, drink, travel, company, sex and much more – but very little touched the perfection of emptying a bladder in the early hours of the morning.

  Andrew’s head was drooped and he was half-asleep, ready to return to the sofa, when…

  Footsteps: more than one pair. Voices, too: male and young-sounding.

  Andrew strained to listen, willing his bladder to give it a rest. He hadn’t drunk that much through the day. The voices continued and then there was a low metallic clang, quickly followed by the snap of a letter box.

  Was it Gem’s? Andrew couldn’t tell.

  More voices, urgency.

  Andrew finally zipped himself up and opened the bathroom door. The smell hit him instantly. He’d filled up enough cars in his time to know the unmistakeable, throat-grating stench of petrol.

  It was already too late.

  The letter box was open, a puddle of liquid oozing across the welcome mat, more still dribbling along the inside of the door. A hurried voice from outside shouted ‘now’ and then Andrew saw everything as if it was happening in slow motion.

  A match flicked inside, cartwheeling towards the ground. The letter box snapped shut with a deep clang as Andrew leapt away from the door a moment before the fire hit. There was a whoosh and then flecks of orange, red and yellow erupted from the mat, engulfing the front door in a frenzied blast of licking flames.

  Time sped up again with a frenetic bang that made Andrew drop to his knees, covering his ears. He pulled himself up on the wall, the singeing flames prickling at his back.

  ‘Low,’ he shouted to himself, charging along the hall on all fours like a chimp. He blasted into Gem’s bedroom, shouting her name. Rory was already up, huge brown eyes gazing at Andrew in confusion. Gem took longer to move, rolling over and moaning in sleep-deprived stupor. Andrew had no time to explain, so he grabbed her. She shrieked in alarm before realising it was him – but by then, they were already in the kitchen. Rory raced as best he could around Andrew’s feet, though speed wasn’t his greatest asset.

  Andrew slammed the door to the hallway, though smoke immediately began to seep around the edges.

  ‘We’ve got to go,’ Andrew gasped. ‘The flat’s on fire.’

  Gem immediately burst into tears, screaming with fear and confusion. Andrew was sweating from the heat.

  ‘My bag,’ she said.

  ‘There’s no time.’

  ‘But Francis… it’s my only picture.’ She pointed towards the living room. Francis was her husband who had died such a long time ago that Andrew couldn’t remember ever meeting him. There were more tears in her eyes as she stood and tried to push past him into the living room.

  Andrew turned back to the hall door, where the paint was beginning to bubble. ‘I’ll get it – but only when you’re outside,’ he replied.

  As she stood at the kitchen table listening to the flat she so loved crackle around her, Andrew leaned across the sink and opened the window. He pushed it as far as he could but it was one of those stupid security ones, which could only open wide enough to let flies in and nothing out. Andrew lifted himself onto the counter next to the sink, resting his back against the wall, and then he kicked the frame as hard as he could. His first blow barely registered, but the next bent the window back by a few more centimetres.

  Behind him, there was a loud boom from the hallway, but Andrew didn’t turn, kicking with all his might until the hinge finally buckled and the window swung outwards.

  ‘The window, Gem,’ Andrew said. He jumped down and lifted his aunt onto the counter, then helped her to spin so that her legs were hanging outside to where there was a rickety metal catwalk. Whoever had designed the building must have a degree in buffoonery because they’d installed a fire escape at the rear of a block of flats where there were no back doors.

  ‘You’re going to have to jump,’ Andrew said. ‘It’s only a short drop. You’ll be all right.’

  Gem whimpered softly, not wanting to go. ‘Rory,’ she said.

  ‘I’ll pass him to you when you’re out – then head to the far end of the walkway. Knock on everyone’s back windows as you go.’

  Gem breathed deeply, sobbing once more as another bang echoed from behind. Sweat was pouring from Andrew’s back.

  ‘You’ve got to—’

  Andrew didn’t need to finish his sentence because his aunt jumped. The drop was only the height of the window, minus the length of her legs, but she still disappeared out of sight for a few terrifying moments. Andrew jumped up, trying to see where she’d landed, but she reappeared almost immediately, tears streaming down her face as she called Rory’s name. Andrew lifted the dog into the sink and then climbed onto the counter again, picking him up and handing him through the window to his aunt. He was so heavy that she almost dropped him, sinking herself as the pair of them landed on the metal.

  ‘You okay?’ Andrew shouted.

  Gem didn’t reply, but she set off along the walkway, shouting and banging her next-door neighbour’s window.

  Andrew turned to see things had deteriorated quickly. Thick, dark smoke now covered the entire ceiling and was wisping its way around the cupboards. The paint on the kitchen door was popping and snarling, leaving a crust of blue on the lino. Andrew ducked low, rushing into the living room. He grabbed his phone from the side table next to the sofa, pocketed it and then hunted around underneath until he found Gem’s bag. It was ridiculously large, not far off the size of Rory and more like a holdall someone might take to a gym as opposed to a handbag. It was also as heavy as the weights someone might do in a gym. She must have biceps like a weightlifter.

  He hoicked it over his shoulder and then dashed back towards the kitchen, where the smoke was spiralling down to the floor. He’d seen fire before, worked on a case in which someone seemed intent on burning things to the ground. In a moment of clarity, he paused momentarily in the living room, gulping down as big a breath of air as he could manage, and then he was off.

  The smoke sizzled his eyes, tor
e at his skin. He could feel it clawing him, trying to tear him down, but Andrew moved with the frenzied fury of someone who’d just witnessed another person try to burn down his aunt’s flat with her in it. The pain didn’t matter. He leapt onto the counter, clearing the taps with his feet and then launched himself outside, somehow managing to land without even stumbling.

  The unsteady metal groaned underneath him but held firm. Andrew ran one way, knocking on windows and shouting ‘Fire,’ then raced back the other, making as much noise as he could until he found Gem at the far end of the catwalk. The metal ladder was going to be hard work for her – not to mention poor, terrified Rory – but it would be manageable.

  First Andrew gasped in the clean, cool air, savouring each wonderful breath – then he took out his phone and called 999.

  Forty-Three

  It was late afternoon when Andrew knocked on Jenny’s front door. She was in an apron, the front covered in a mix of crusty butter and sugar, a smear of chocolate on her cheek.

  ‘You again!’ she deadpanned, before realising that Andrew wasn’t laughing. ‘What’s happened?’ she added quickly.

  She invited him in and Andrew told her about the fire, plus his second day in a row with the police. They were going to be on first-name terms before long. Jenny listened, her face a growing blur of confusion and horror. The story was interrupted by a ding from the kitchen. Jenny popped up, first grinning and then remembering what was happening.

  ‘Cupcakes,’ she said.

  Andrew followed her into the kitchen, where the smell of cake seemed to be seeping from every corner.

  Jenny opened the oven and took out two dozen cakes, placing them on the side. ‘I was hungry,’ she said, fighting back a small smile that Andrew didn’t mind at all. Normality was good. ‘Where’s Gem now?’

  ‘I’ve got her in a hotel that’s pet-friendly. There’s actually a pet spa on site, so she was going to have a bath, while Rory was toddling off for a shampoo of his own.’