Something Hidden: A totally unputdownable murder mystery novel (Andrew Hunter Book 2) Read online

  He had a point.

  Kevin stepped forward, laughing in Andrew’s face. ‘You do that, pal. I’ll tell you what, I’ve got a Yellow Pages out the back, I’ll find you the number. You can use my phone. How about I go round there and offer her some energy-saving light bulbs? Twenty quid a pop – special offer – she’ll lap them up. I know the sort that’ll buy anything if you tell them they’re getting a deal.’

  Andrew lunged forward in fury, shoving Kevin in the chest and sending the beer can tumbling to the floor. He might have been bigger, perhaps stronger, but Andrew was no fighter. Kevin weaved sideways and cracked a punch into his jaw. The blow wasn’t hard but it caught Andrew by surprise, making his head snap to the side. He stumbled into the table, keeping his balance but unable to avoid the second punch that thumped into his temple.

  Kevin was dancing on the spot, giving an Ali shuffle as he whooped in delight; fists high, like a boxer. ‘Come on then.’

  Neither of the blows had hurt anything other than Andrew’s pride. He threw himself forward but had no idea what he was doing. The other man dodged left, kicking out a leg and catching Andrew painfully in the knee, cackling to himself.

  ‘I could do this all day. Come on.’

  Andrew was embarrassed. What the hell was he doing?

  ‘Are you going to return my aunt’s money?’

  ‘No.’

  It wasn’t even about the cash: it was the principle, the fact that good people shouldn’t be taken advantage of.

  Andrew opened the front door again. ‘Fine – I’ll tell the police, trading standards, Citizens Advice, the safety council – anyone who’ll listen.’

  Kevin was still bouncing from foot to foot, shadow-boxing with added sound effects, as if he was whacking a punchbag. ‘You do that.’

  Andrew let himself out, hoping no one he knew had seen him, Kevin’s joyous laughter ringing in his ears as he hurried along the street. He was such a wimp.

  Twenty-Eight

  Monday

  Jenny was already at the office when Andrew arrived. She peered over her glasses at him, sipping a cup of tea as he hustled through the door, trying to escape the cold and rain. ‘You look like you’ve been fighting,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve not.’

  ‘Well, you know what they say – you’re either a lover or a fighter, so if you’re not a fighter, that must mean…’

  Andrew ignored her, heading for the already made steaming cup of tea on his desk. He’d filled himself full of painkillers but his head was still pounding. More than any physical pain, he felt embarrassed. If he couldn’t defend his aunt against Kevin, or stand up for himself against Iwan or Keira’s father, then what was the point?

  ‘It feels like ages since I last saw you,’ Jenny added.

  Andrew logged onto the computer system, waiting as it went through its usual process of thinking about whether it wanted to boot up.

  ‘How was your weekend?’ she persisted.

  ‘Okay. How was Gem?’

  ‘She was good – excited to get home. She told me about all the things she’s done in that flat, about her family and growing up. It was interesting. She wanted to cook me tea but I ended up doing it for her and Rory.’

  That was it – no explanation for why she’d appeared at Andrew’s flat, no hint of anything being inappropriate, because, in Jenny’s world, it was perfectly normal to turn up at your boss’s house while he was away and spend a day with his aunt. Sometimes her quirkiness was endearing; too many times it was just strange.

  Andrew didn’t get an opportunity to follow it up because she was already onto the next subject.

  ‘… after I got home on Saturday night, my boyfriend dropped by unannounced, wanting to stop for the weekend.’

  His computer finally got its arse in gear and Andrew logged into his emails. Jenny had forwarded him links to a list of articles about Thomas Braithwaite.

  Unions last night condemned a move that will put three hundred people out of work in the Hull area.

  A spokesman for Braithwaite Industries, which owns a manufacturing factory in Kingswood, confirmed that consultation had begun on a plan to make the entire workforce redundant before the end of the year.

  Unite Secretary, Ken Walters, held a four-hour meeting with the plant’s owners on Monday. He said: ‘This is a plan that will devastate the local economy. The truly appalling thing is that this is a factory that actually makes money. Profit last year was close to £300,000 but, when this was pointed out, the response was that the amount wasn’t enough.

  The Braithwaite Industries spokesman refused to confirm that figure, and would not comment on speculation that the move was down to planning permission being granted for a new factory being built in Sunderland.

  A statement read: ‘Management would like to thank the Hull workforce for their hard work and tireless dedication. Unfortunately, tough decisions have to be made in harsh economic times, and it is with much regret that we confirm the necessary consultancy has begun to close the factory later in the year.’

  Mr Walters added: ‘At the heart of this is pure greed. This decision is not about the lives and livelihoods of three hundred hard-working people in this community, it’s down to the fact that making a large amount of money is not enough for some people. Three hundred families are going to be plunged into poverty through sheer gluttony.’

  Andrew took a sip of his tea, only then realising that Jenny was still talking. ‘… anyway, after that he went home by himself. I don’t know what his problem is. It’s not as if we’re married. Why are people so clingy?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Andrew replied, on autopilot.

  ‘Right, I mean, it’s not normal, is it?’

  He returned to the emails he’d not had the time or inclination to read on his phone.

  A local businessman last night condemned the ‘witch hunt’ against him, after a high-profile bribery case collapsed.

  Thomas Braithwaite, owner of Braithwaite Industries, was due to stand trial alongside Gerry Conway, who represents the Norris Green ward.

  Mr Braithwaite was accused of paying money to Mr Conway, who chairs the city’s planning control board, in an attempt to force through plans for a new factory within the councillor’s ward.

  Both men pleaded not guilty late last year, with a trial due to go ahead next month. But a judge yesterday threw out the case following a pre-trial hearing, citing a lack of evidence and inconsistencies in the prosecution’s documents.

  Mr Braithwaite, who claims his company employs more than four thousand people nationally, said: ‘This is complete vindication.

  ‘I’ve spent the past eighteen months fighting against the vicious, untrue charges, which have put the jobs of around one thousand hard-working Liverpudlians in jeopardy. After all of that, when it comes down to it, the police do not even have enough of a case to take me to court.

  ‘This has been a witch hunt against me and my family and I hope the people of this great city notice how the authorities around them choose to act.’

  Mr Conway was equally scathing, accusing Merseyside Police of ‘making up their own version of events and then trying to find the evidence to fit’.

  A spokesman for the Crown Prosecution Service said they were ‘astounded’ by the judge’s decision, adding: ‘This was the culmination of many months of work and to dismiss the case before it can be heard before a jury is unprecedented.’

  A police source claimed officers ‘felt physically sick’ when they heard the news, adding that there was a long trail of evidence, including recorded phone calls and financial documents.

  There was plenty to read between the lines: Braithwaite setting himself up as a local hero in an us-versus-them battle with the police. Given the choice, plenty would side with him because so many people knew a person he employed.

  Andrew realised Jenny had stopped speaking. He could feel her watching him from the side, turning to catch her smiling at him.

  ‘Okay?’ he asked.
<
br />   ‘That’s what I just asked you.’

  ‘Oh… right.’

  ‘I was wondering why Braithwaite might have turned on Sampson,’ Jenny said.

  Andrew took a moment to think. ‘Any number of reasons. Perhaps Sampson arranged the robbery of his own shop with one of Braithwaite’s rivals and Braithwaite was annoyed at being left out. Maybe Sampson went to Braithwaite, who got the Evans brothers to do it, but they then fell out over money?’ Andrew flicked back to the first article. ‘I’m not sure that’s what really matters. It’s like this piece about him closing the factory – everything’s about business. If you’re useful to him, making enough money and not causing trouble, then he’ll let things go. If you cause a problem, that’s the end of it. He heard the rumours about the killings of Owen and Wendy being linked to him because the Evans brothers once worked for him and he didn’t like them. For whatever reason, he blamed Sampson, so now he’s cutting him loose.’

  ‘But if Braithwaite is the person we think he might be – and the police clearly think he is – why would he need us? He could make Sampson disappear, or whatever it is they do.’

  Andrew shrugged. He couldn’t admit the truth: he thought Braithwaite was after a new plaything and he’d accidentally provided it.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

  Jenny removed her glasses and leant back in her chair. ‘Let’s say it was Sampson and Braithwaite. Sampson knows Braithwaite because he’s Mr Brasso: he cleans up stolen jewellery and they’ve worked together in the past. He only finds out the expensive necklace is coming in from the production company first thing in the morning, so there’s a window of three or four hours where it’s going to be in the shop.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Whether he goes directly to Braithwaite doesn’t matter because everything has to happen quickly. Either way, it’s the Evans brothers who do the robbery. They’re unreliable but perhaps they were all that was available because of the short notice. Braithwaite knew they’d stay quiet if they did get caught, so he wins in any case. They take the necklace, Sampson gets his insurance money and cleans the necklace so it can be sold on, probably with the jewels separated from the metal. He makes his money, the Evans brothers get a cut, as does Braithwaite, or whoever else it is he’s working with. The police might have had an inkling about the truth but they couldn’t prove anything and the Evans brothers were careless anyway. The police could have spent hours and hours peeling back the layers but, in the end, they had proof and three people in custody.’

  ‘That explains the robbery,’ Andrew said, ‘but why the shooting? If Sampson was in on it all along, why not usher Owen and Wendy out when they entered the shop? He’s got the CCTV camera, so the robbery would have been recorded. He didn’t need witnesses.’

  ‘Witnesses would be better, though – especially if the police were ever suspicious.’

  Andrew nodded. ‘Of course, so why were they killed? The robbery happened – the footage was on the news. Everyone saw it. When the Evans brothers were in court, it was played over and over. There were freeze frames in the papers. No one doubted it and the police would have found the brothers anyway. They weren’t caught because of the statements Owen and Wendy gave, they were caught because they were stupid.’

  Jenny was nodding. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen the video…’

  Andrew wasn’t listening properly. What had he missed? There must be something and he was pretty sure Braithwaite either knew what it was, or knew Sampson had done something he shouldn’t. He wanted Andrew to find it, which was why he’d put him on to the jeweller.

  ‘… I wonder if it’s on YouTube,’ Jenny added.

  Her glasses were back on as she clicked the mouse. Andrew wanted to focus but kept drifting back to Iwan’s amusement and Kevin laughing in his face.

  ‘It’s on the GMP website,’ Jenny said. ‘They put it up for a public appeal and never took it down.’

  There was the muffled sound of banging from Jenny’s computer speakers as she watched the footage, before setting it to repeat.

  ‘I had a good time with your aunt,’ she said.

  ‘So I heard.’

  ‘I think she needs a holiday.’

  Andrew finished his tea and pinched the top of his nose. He didn’t feel well. ‘I’ve told you – she likes Manchester. She’s hardly ever left the city, let alone the north-west. She doesn’t have a passport.’

  Jenny was uncharacteristically quiet, with the sounds of the CCTV footage continuing to play. Shouting, smash-smash, shouting, bang.

  ‘When I was at her flat on Saturday, I did have a thought,’ Jenny said.

  Andrew wasn’t in the mood to listen but had even less inclination to argue. ‘Go on.’

  ‘You know all the trinkets she has?’

  ‘How can you miss them?’

  ‘I was walking around the room and she was telling me about the teapots and the snow globes. Then she was showing me her postcards, the sticks of rock, the magnets and everything else, and it dawned on me.’

  ‘What did?’

  ‘Have you ever thought about what you haven’t seen?’

  ‘Oh, don’t give her ideas. She’ll be collecting dolls, T-shirts and God knows what else. The thimbles are bad enough.’

  The CCTV footage started another loop. Shouting, smash-smash, shouting, bang.

  ‘I don’t mean that, I mean the places.’

  ‘I think she wants something from South America,’ Andrew said. ‘She’s got something from the other continents. Someone from bingo went on safari last year and brought her back a few bits from Kenya.’

  Jenny’s voice was as level as it had been throughout, no showing off, no being a smart-arse. ‘You’re missing it – you’re seeing what’s there, rather than what’s not.’

  Andrew finally turned, infuriated. He couldn’t take another person talking down to him. ‘What?’ he asked, fully intending the aggressive tone.

  Jenny didn’t look up from her screen. ‘You say she loves Manchester, but there’s nothing from the area. No teapots, no snow globes. Nothing with “Coronation Street” on it, no football stuff, none of those stupid teddies you get on Deansgate. Not even that “On the sixth day, God created Manchester” sign they sell. If she loves the area so much, why hasn’t she got a single thing from around here? She even had Yorkshire teabags.’

  Andrew wanted to answer angrily that he knew Gem better than her but the words stuck in his throat. He’d been visiting his aunt for as long as he could recall and she’d always collected tat – but he could never remember anything from the local area.

  ‘I suppose she only collects things that people bring home for her,’ he said.

  ‘What if that’s not it?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘What if she’s been waiting her entire life to go on holiday to Spain, Greece, Egypt, or anywhere else she’s got knick-knacks from?’

  The footage started its loop again, with Jenny’s eyes fixed on the screen.

  ‘I’ve offered to take her away. She never wants to go anywhere.’

  ‘That’s what she always says. When you said you were going to take her to your flat, she argued for about five seconds and then caved. That’s what she’s like – she doesn’t want to feel like a burden, so she wants you to give her no option. Instead of offering to take her away and letting her say no, she wants you to tell her you’re taking her on holiday and she doesn’t have a choice.’

  There was a pause, the only noise coming from the speakers of Jenny’s computer.

  Oh, shit.

  Jenny was right. All this time, all these years. Of course she wanted to go and see some of the places her friends had visited, that’s why she covered her living room with it all. How had he missed what was right in front of him?

  Andrew stood, crossing the room to stand behind Jenny as the footage began again. Wendy and Owen were on screen, peering into a cabinet when there was a squeal and three balaclava-clad figures burst through the
shop door.

  ‘How did you know?’ Andrew asked.

  Jenny shrugged. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’

  Wendy hit the floor but Owen remained standing, as if his legs weren’t obeying what he wanted them to do. His knees crumpled slightly but he looked up to see one of the brothers pointing a sawn-off shotgun at his face. There was a stream of shouting and then the man thrashed Owen in the head with the butt of the gun.

  ‘Where do you think I should take her?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘Say you’re planning a holiday and you were wondering if she’s heard of anywhere that’s good. She’ll come up with something and you can book it for the both of you. Either that, or I’ll ask her.’

  Owen slumped to the floor as one of the other robbers pointed a gun at Leyton Sampson, who was behind the counter. There was more shouting and then a crash as the cabinet on the far side of the shop was shattered.

  ‘Why did you go around to my flat when you knew it was just her and Rory?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘I thought I could help. She seemed lonely.’

  ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but… you don’t really go out of your way to help people.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So, what’s different?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Jenny replied. ‘I like her.’

  Owen was on the floor but looking up as Wendy reached for him. He glanced from Sampson to the robbers and back again. Sampson largely ignored him, turning to the bench and back to the robbers. At the front of the shop, the man without the gun – Paulie Evans – shouted at his brothers, just as another cabinet was smashed.

  ‘Jen.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Pfft. It’s fine.’

  The trio grabbed what they could, dumping everything into bags before rushing into the street. The entire thing had taken barely ninety seconds.

  The screen faded to black, before displaying Greater Manchester Police’s logo and a phone number to call.

  ‘Again?’ Jenny asked.

  Andrew was chewing on the inside of his mouth, plucking a stringy piece of skin from his inner cheek. ‘Yes.’