Something Hidden: A totally unputdownable murder mystery novel (Andrew Hunter Book 2) Page 12

‘I have but what can we do? We’re here to look at a cat, not start a fight. It’s not like I’m going to turn up packing heat.’

  ‘Packing heat? How old are you?’

  ‘Old enough to watch American movies. Anyway, there are two of us.’

  ‘There might be two of them. Or three. Basically, your thinking is that everything’s fine because if they’re a bunch of nutters who go mental, they’re at least going to have to murder the pair of us, rather than just you?’

  It really didn’t sound so good when she put it like that.

  ‘We’re in Wigan – it’s hardly the gun capital of Europe.’

  At least he was trying to convince himself.

  As Andrew finished speaking, a banged-up green Citroen flung itself into the car park, catapulting over the kerb and nearly hitting a concrete post, before swerving sideways and spinning one hundred and eighty degrees. The rear bumper was held on with duct tape, with the exhaust howling like a tractor that had failed its MOT.

  Nice and incognito.

  Jenny was out of the car and on her way before Andrew could stop her. By the time he’d opened his door, heaved himself out, and pulled his trousers up, she was almost by the green car.

  A man stepped out of the other vehicle wearing a purple basketball vest, baggy grey three-quarter-length shorts and Converse trainers.

  In. Bloody. February.

  Jenny was right: he probably was a nutter. He was white, with cornrows and, apparently, no mirror.

  A second man bundled his way out of the passenger seat, wearing a puffed-up coat so huge that he looked like a giant grey bubble. He was wearing a baseball cap with sunglasses.

  In. Bloody. February.

  Cornrows eyed Jenny up and down. ‘You a’ight, baby?’

  She wasn’t fazed: ‘Have you got the cat?’

  ‘Jack first.’

  Andrew wondered if the translation app on his phone would be of any use. Not only was Cornrows talking nonsense, he was doing it in an accent that had a sort of Australian-American twang, albeit with a Lancashire inflection. It sounded like he’d had a stroke.

  Jenny turned to Andrew, who still had his hands in his pockets, thinking that it might look a tiny bit intimidating. No one had to know that the only thing in his pockets was a half-eaten packet of Polos.

  ‘We want to see the cat first,’ Andrew said.

  Cornrows shook his head. ‘No way, bro.’

  Baseball Cap had walked around the car, all five foot four of him. With the coat, he was almost as wide as he was tall. Andrew took half a step backwards to try to peer through the rear window of the green vehicle but the glare was too intense.

  Andrew attempted to catch Jenny’s eye, but she was trying to hide her disdain for the walking marshmallow. He reached into his back pocket and took out a handful of notes, holding them out towards Cornrows, but then repocketing them as the man leant in to take the money.

  ‘That’s two hundred and fifty,’ Andrew said. ‘The rest’s in the car. Now show us the cat.’

  Cornrows and Baseball Cap nodded at each other, before slouching around to the boot. After arguing over who had the keys, they popped it open, revealing a cardboard box with scissor-stabbed holes in the top.

  ‘There you go, Bo.’

  Andrew presumed he was the ‘Bo’, although it wasn’t entirely clear. He stepped towards the boot but Cornrows blocked his way, with an arm across the chest.

  ‘Time for the cabbage.’

  ‘Cabbage?’

  ‘The jack.’

  ‘We’ve still not seen the cat.’

  Cornrows looked at his mate. ‘You open it.’

  ‘I ain’t opening it, that thing’s crazy.’

  Baseball Cap tried to roll up the sleeve of his coat but it was as if he was wrestling with bubble wrap. In the end, he unzipped it, pulling out his arm to show a long line of painful-looking scratches close to his elbow.

  Cornrows turned back to Andrew. ‘I ain’t opening it neither. It’s well messy, bruv.’

  He stepped aside, motioning Andrew towards the box and potentially demonic cat within.

  Andrew looked from Cornrows to the box and back again. ‘Er…’

  Jenny shoved him aside. ‘Fine, I’ll do it – it’s only a cat.’

  Cornrows looked impressed, flicking his wrist so violently that it might have dislocated. ‘You is crazy, baby.’

  Jenny stood over the box, one hand on either side. Cornrows and Baseball Cap each took a step backwards, nervously glancing from Andrew to Jenny to the box.

  In one quick movement, like ripping off a plaster, Jenny pulled the top of the box off.

  Nothing happened.

  Andrew took half a step forward, standing on tiptoes to peer inside.

  Hisssssssss.

  ‘You scared her,’ Jenny said accusingly, turning to scowl.

  Andrew took two steps back. Whatever was in the box did not sound friendly.

  Cornrows was edging backwards too. ‘Yo, I told you, bro.’

  Jenny reached carefully into the box, slowly emerging with an orange and black cat and cradling it in her arms. It might have been a trick of the light but, from where Andrew was standing, it looked like the animal was glaring at him, its green eyes of death threatening to slice him into shreds if he risked going any nearer.

  Andrew didn’t dare move, thinking it would be more productive to try to remember the details. He glanced down at the car’s number plate and ran the digits through his head, repeating them until he thought he might be able to recite it back. Memorising the owners wouldn’t be too much of a problem.

  Jenny was stroking the cat’s back, whispering quietly to it as Cornrows and Baseball Cap edged forward. Andrew couldn’t work out if it was one of Margaret Watkins’ stolen creatures. It sort of looked like them but he was too far away to be sure about the distinctive markings.

  ‘How much?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘Toldya – big one,’ Cornrows replied.

  ‘A grand’s way too much,’ Jenny said, not looking up.

  ‘We had a deal, girlie. That’s a bony-fido bangle.’

  Jenny set the cat on the floor, where it scowled up at Andrew, daring him to go closer. ‘It’s not a Bengal,’ she said. ‘It’s just a normal cat – some sort of tabby. The markings are all wrong.’

  Cornrows peered down at the cat and then turned and bashed Baseball Cap in the shoulder with the back of his hand. ‘Yo, I told you, man. It don’t look like no tiger. You got the wrong one.’

  Baseball Cap was busy trying to get his jacket off again. ‘Look at the scratches! Only a tiger can do that.’

  ‘It’s not a Bengal,’ Jenny repeated.

  Cornrows whacked his friend again. ‘I told you it was the house next door.’

  ‘You said the orange cat – that’s what I got.’

  ‘The wrong one!’

  Jenny removed the box from the boot and set it down next to the cat. ‘How much do you want for her?’

  Cornrows straightened himself up, smoothing down his vest and trying to retain some degree of dignity, not that he’d had much to start with. He hoicked his boxer shorts up so they were covering his arse and then checked his oversized watch.

  ‘Ton,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not paying a hundred quid for a tabby you nicked.’

  Cornrows stepped towards the cat, arms outstretched.

  Hisssssssss.

  At least it wasn’t just Andrew the demon wanted to attack.

  Cornrows skipped backwards again, eyes narrowing.

  Jenny stood, pressing onto the tips of her toes and facing him. ‘How about you let me take the poor little thing to a cat sanctuary somewhere?’

  ‘No way, bitch.’

  She stepped forward, making him take another stride back. ‘Either that, or I could just call the police to give them your number plate and phone number.’

  Jenny reached for her pocket but Cornrows was ahead of her, snatching her wrist with one hand, and scrambling in his s
horts with the other. Andrew moved forward but Baseball Cap elbowed him away, catching him under the ribs.

  Andrew gasped to catch his breath but, as the clouds shifted slightly, a glimmer of sunshine flittered through, reflecting into his eyes from the lock knife in Cornrows’ hand.

  Eighteen

  The blade was slightly curved, the handle thin and metallic. Cornrows grinned as he waved it towards Jenny, showing off a single golden tooth that Andrew had missed before. Suddenly the ridiculous appearance and gangster talk didn’t seem so funny.

  Andrew straightened himself, slightly winded from the elbow to the chest. He held both arms out, palms up, being as unthreatening as he could. They were close to the corner of the pub, hidden from the main road, but visible to any pedestrians who might be nearby. His eyes flickered towards the empty pavement, willing someone to walk past.

  Cornrows flashed the blade between Jenny and Andrew, still holding on to her wrist. ‘You disrespectin’ us?’

  Andrew took a small step forward, still wary of the cat, but focusing on the knife. ‘Hey, there’s no need for that. We can all walk away from this.’

  Considering how quickly his heart was thumping, his voice sounded surprisingly steady.

  Cornrows rotated the knife in his hand, showing off the glittering studs embedded within the handle. The blade was thin and pointy at the end, bowing down to a thick join where the bolt had locked in place. As he waved it towards Andrew, Jenny took the moment to snatch her wrist away from his other hand. Andrew expected her to step backwards, out of harm’s way, but instead she pressed herself onto tiptoes again, angling forward until she had Cornrows’ attention.

  ‘Whatcha gonna do, gangsta boys?’

  Her tone spat disdain, top lip snaking into a smiling, aggressive snarl. Cornrows twisted from Andrew to Jenny, unsure where to look.

  ‘Jen…’

  Andrew was ignored by everyone.

  Jenny wasn’t flinching. ‘You gonna slice us up here in broad daylight?’

  Cornrows was beginning to panic, his hand with the knife shaking as he swapped a glance with Baseball Cap, who had taken a step closer to the car.

  ‘You gonna leave us in a pool of blood and drive off?’

  Jenny stepped forward, making Cornrows move back further. Her eyes were locked onto his, dimple on show, cocky smile fixed.

  She nodded past him towards the main road. ‘There are number plate recognition cameras whichever way you go on that road, meaning you’ll have already been recorded coming here. You were stupid enough to pass by the car park twice, so you’re probably on there more than once. When the police find our bodies and start looking for suspects, that’s the first thing they’ll check.’

  Another step forward.

  Jenny tilted towards the link road. ‘Try going that way and there’s a giant Tesco with cameras on the forecourt of the petrol station, so you’ll be spotted too.’

  The knife was now at Cornrows’ side, his arm hanging limply.

  ‘And that’s if you drive away. You could abandon the car and run for it – but then you’ve got housing estates on three sides and the town centre on the other. You’re wearing a bright purple vest and shorts, while your mate looks like a giant beach ball. Do you think there’s a chance that at least one person might remember you?’

  Cornrows had backed away so far that he was almost at the driver’s door. Baseball Cap was on the other side with the passenger’s door already open.

  If anything, Jenny’s voice found a new level with which to taunt. It was like she was bullying a smaller kid for his dinner money in a playground corner. ‘You want to cause all of that trouble for the sake of a cat that’s not even worth anything? A cat that’s not even yours?’

  Cornrows made his decision, flicking the blade back into the handle and lunging for the car door. Baseball Cap did the same on the other side and, with a ferocious growl of the engine, they were racing towards the main road, leaving Andrew coughing in a cloud of exhaust fumes.

  Jenny shrugged, watching them go and then crouching to pick up the cat, which started to lick at her hands.

  She spun on her heels. ‘Are you going to bring the box?’ she asked as she took a step back to the car, as if she’d just returned from a relaxing stroll in the park.

  Andrew felt frozen. ‘Jen.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘I dunno. I figured we could find an animal sanctuary somewhere. She’s obviously been nicked, so perhaps the owner’s looking for her.’

  Andrew didn’t move. ‘Not the cat. I mean with them. He had a knife.’

  She shrugged again, apparently not seeing the risk. ‘They’re idiots.’

  ‘But idiots can still be dangerous. Usually that idiocy makes them more dangerous. The guy in the jacket could’ve had a gun, like you said. Or the one with the knife could’ve used it.’

  ‘Nah.’

  ‘That’s not an answer – you didn’t know if he was going to use it.’

  ‘He didn’t.’

  ‘But he could have!’

  ‘Pfft.’

  Jenny was walking too quickly for Andrew to have a proper conversation with her. He trailed behind, heart still thundering. Back at the car, he packed the box into the boot, with Jenny giving the back seat over to the cat. As Andrew climbed into the driver’s seat, he glanced nervously over his shoulder, meeting its beady green eyes and deciding the creature could have its space. He certainly wasn’t going to try to move it on. Jenny was leaning against the passenger’s side window, humming something upbeat.

  Andrew sat, breathing in the car’s slightly stale air. His fingers twitched on the ignition key but he didn’t turn it.

  ‘How did you know about the cameras?’ he asked.

  ‘What cameras?’

  ‘The number-plate ones.’

  Another terrifying shrug. ‘I guessed – they’re everywhere nowadays. Someone’s on the Guardian website every day banging on about surveillance. It seemed like a fair assumption. It’s not as if they were going to know any differently.’

  ‘But why do all of that for a cat? I thought you didn’t get pets?’

  Jenny shook her head with an infuriating dismissiveness, apparently unaware that there had ever been any danger. She glanced to the back seat, where the cat was stomping in a circle, making a nest for itself, or whatever it was that cats lived in. ‘I dunno – she didn’t seem happy in that box and it wasn’t as if they were going to look after her. It felt like the right thing to do.’

  Andrew wasn’t convinced that fronting up to someone with a knife was ever the right thing to do. He was firmly in the run-for-it school of thinking. He wasn’t sure he’d ever heard Jenny expressing such concern for another creature, so perhaps this was a step forward. She was so hard to read. As he watched her, she reached into her backpack and pulled out a can of fizzy Vimto, popping the ring pull and taking a slurp.

  Not a care in the world.

  As he ran over what she’d actually said, Andrew realised that she hadn’t actually shown any concern – she’d said it felt like the right thing to do. Not that she thought it was, or that she was bothered herself. She did what she thought she probably should. Perhaps more worryingly, she had again shown no concern for her own welfare.

  A chill licked his spine and Andrew shuddered.

  ‘Were you scared?’ he asked.

  ‘Um…’ Jenny leant back in her seat, can pressed to her lips. ‘I’m not sure.’ A pause. ‘Probably not.’

  ‘I was.’

  She turned to face him, eyebrows arching. She seemed confused. ‘You didn’t show it.’

  Andrew twisted the key, making the engine growl to life. What else was there to say? One day they’d have to have a conversation about Jenny doing stupid things… just not today. He was too much of a wimp – and he wasn’t sure what scared him more. It should be men with knives. It was men with knives. But sometimes, every once in a while, there was a glint in Jenny’s eye that
made him think he didn’t know her at all.

  Eventually, he turned back to the windscreen, his heart rate slowing to something normal. ‘I suppose we’d better find an animal shelter.’

  Getting rid of the hissing, spitting ginger ball of fur wasn’t as easy as Andrew had hoped – though he hadn’t lost any fingers, nor been scratched to pieces, in the process of offloading it at an RSPCA place just north of Manchester city centre. It was the fifth spot they’d tried, with all the others saying they were full. That was one afternoon he wouldn’t be getting back any time soon.

  Considering the antagonising effect Jenny could have on people, it was an irony that she was the only person the cat didn’t want to attack. The green-eyed demon gave one final death stare at Andrew, before disappearing into the animal care area of the shelter. He pitied the poor kid who ended up with that as a pet. Whoever it was would have to sleep with one eye open.

  Andrew was on his way back to the car when his phone started to ring. He checked the screen and then held it out towards Jenny. ‘Do you want to answer it?’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Gem. She’s going to go on at me about not eating properly. If you answer and tell her I’m busy, she’ll forget why she called.’

  ‘I think she’s lovely. If I answer, I’ll tell her you’re avoiding her calls.’

  ‘Fine.’

  Andrew answered with an optimistic-sounding ‘hello’.

  Gem’s tone was frazzled, out of breath. ‘Andrew?’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  She stammered, sniffing and coughing. Crying. ‘I don’t know… please come.’

  Nineteen

  Andrew blazed through the decidedly red-looking traffic light, ignoring the beeps of annoyance from behind and bumping over a road hump, sending the back of the vehicle catapulting into the air.

  ‘Andy…’

  Jenny never called him that, only Andrew. It was his name, after all. Why did people always want to shorten things? They were both two syllables, how much time were people saving? Salespeople wanted to do it all the time: ‘Can I call you Andy?’ No, you sodding well can’t. Can I call you ‘dickhead’?