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

  ‘So none can go missing?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

  ‘We found a report that said the army lose around sixty guns a year.’

  Craig snorted, sitting up straighter. ‘Sixty? And the rest. Who did they ask?’

  ‘How many?’

  Craig shook his head. ‘It doesn’t work like that – the numbers aren’t really important. If you get caught bringing a gun home from abroad, or if you’ve somehow got one out from a base, then you’re in big trouble.’

  ‘It still happens, though?’

  ‘Sort of. Say you’re actually out in somewhere like Iraq or Afghanistan, there are guns everywhere. Some of them have been given out by us to bolster the local security forces, other times you might confiscate one for whatever reason. It’s only you and maybe a mate who knows you’ve got it. Maybe you hand it in when you get back to base, maybe you don’t. I would, but I know plenty of boys who like to keep mementoes.’

  ‘How would you get it home?’

  Craig turned to face him. ‘Do you really need to know?’

  ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘There are ways. Mementoes is probably the wrong word. There’s another thing too. Out in places like Afghanistan, it can be dangerous, even on routine patrols. One minute you’re driving along, the next, someone’s taking potshots at you – or a roadside bomb goes off. Say your vehicle takes a hit. You get to safety, perhaps return fire, but one of your guys has been killed. No one back at camp’s running around asking what happened to his weapon. If it lands by your feet and you pocket it, that’s it. It could be the last thing you have of the other person’s.’

  Jenny shuffled on the bench, most likely thinking the same as Andrew: according to the reports, Luke had experienced a roadside bomb. Andrew tugged Rory away from the bush, bending over and unclipping his collar. Instead of running away to explore, the pug lay on Andrew’s foot and closed his eyes.

  ‘So it wouldn’t be too hard for a soldier to get a military-issue gun back from wherever they were stationed?’ Andrew asked.

  Craig blew a small raspberry through his lips. ‘I wouldn’t put it like that. I couldn’t just contact someone I know in the forces and say, “Get me a gun” – plus, you’re missing the obvious.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This all affects the black market. Say you did get a gun home, what are you going to do with it? Most army lads don’t go out shooting – they don’t even want to look at a gun until they have to. Even if they did, it’d be unregistered. If you get caught with it, you’re going to prison.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  Craig tapped Andrew on the shoulder with a smile. ‘And you’re the one with the degree. How do you think most of these guns find their way onto the streets? Some of them are smuggled in on shipping containers from South America or Africa, others sneak across from Northern Ireland via people who can’t accept the Troubles are over. That’s big-time, though. Gangs are smuggling them in and perhaps selling a few things on.’ He nodded backwards towards the estate from which they’d come. ‘The small-time stuff – the scrotes who think they’re big men, the kids who don’t know what they’re doing – they’re all Brownings. If you wanted a gun, give me forty-eight hours and I could get you one. It’d definitely be a Browning.’

  ‘I don’t want a gun.’

  Craig ignored him. ‘Those guns are the ones that are sold by people like me – if that’s what I was into. Say I’d somehow got a gun home, I don’t want it sitting in my bedroom waiting to be found. There are always buyers out there, so give me a hundred quid and we’ll forget about it. That gun then gets sold up or down the chain over and over. Before you know it, some teenager’s waving it around side-on as if he’s on the streets of Detroit.’

  Andrew finally thought he got it: ‘So you’re saying that if professional criminal gangs have guns, then they could be any make – but Brownings are what are used by someone who’s desperate? A kid, or someone with a score to settle…?’

  ‘Exactly. It’s never a hundred per cent but yes.’

  ‘How easy is it to buy a gun?’

  Craig shrugged. ‘It depends. For you? No chance. What are you going to do – walk into a pub and ask the bloke in the corner? It’s a bit different when you live round here and you know people.’

  ‘All the kids around here respect you.’

  ‘Right – not because I’m army, just because I’ve done a few things locally. They know who I am. If I was to take the right kid aside – or wrong kid, depending how you look at it – he’d know who to talk to. It’s not easy but it’s not hard either.’ He pointed back towards the estate again. ‘I guarantee there’ll be a Browning somewhere out there, sitting under some kid’s bed in a shoebox, or under a mattress.’

  Andrew thought of his aunt, sitting peacefully in her deathtrap of a home, surrounded by a mountain of tat, not even knowing the danger on her doorstep.

  In the moment of silence, Craig glanced between Andrew and Jenny, forcing a smile. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘Do you know anyone with PTSD?’ Andrew asked.

  ‘Are you kidding? Everyone who comes home knows somebody.’

  ‘Where would you go if you were looking for help?’

  Craig puffed out a long breath that said more than words. ‘There are a few mental health places but you know what it’s like with funding nowadays, plus you have to admit you’ve got a problem.’

  ‘Everything’s confidential, then?’

  ‘Obviously. If you’re worried about someone, I can ask around.’

  Andrew shook his head. ‘Right, who’s up for a trip to the chippy?’

  Thirteen

  Jenny was, of course, up for a trip to the chippy. Rory didn’t mind either, even if he had to wait outside. After dropping the pug off with his sulking aunt, Andrew and Jenny headed back towards the city centre.

  As if the ice wasn’t bad enough, a horror-movie cloud had descended, clinging to the low buildings and enveloping the entire area in its freezing tendrils. Visibility was appalling, with long rows of red car lamps bleeding into the mid-afternoon haze. Andrew was driving with the clutch pedal, the accelerator not needed as they crawled towards the office.

  Jenny finished sorting through her notes and then dropped the file onto the back seat, before saying what they’d both been thinking. ‘Luke’s gun could have come from anywhere, then? He might have smuggled it back but it’s just as likely he bought it off a mate. It might have been resold over and over. The fact he’s a soldier doesn’t actually matter.’

  ‘Sounds like it.’

  ‘In all of the reports about the shooting, none of them said it was his gun – there was simply an assumption that he’d brought it back from the battlefield. Perhaps a correct assumption…’

  ‘It’s still guesswork. He could have brought it back, he could have bought it, or it might’ve been given to him. It doesn’t sound like anyone knows for sure. They wouldn’t have needed to do a deep investigation because it was so obvious he shot them. Easier to say he was a rogue officer that smuggled a gun home. No messy paper trails up the chain of command.’

  Andrew indicated to head onto what he thought might be a cut-through, only to be met by another long row of blinking red tail-lights. ‘I found Luke’s friend, Joe. He said Luke didn’t know Kal Evans. There was a vague connection through Joe himself but Luke didn’t do drugs and was a big enough guy to look after himself.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I don’t know… probably nothing, but it’s a different picture of Luke to what’s been painted.’ Andrew paused, realising what he was saying. ‘It doesn’t mean he’s innocent.’

  Jenny remained quiet but she must have recognised that Andrew was trying to convince himself more than her. For whatever reason, he wanted to believe Fiona’s story, to think that the killing of a young couple wasn’t so senseless.

  Travel through the university district was so slow that it would’ve been quicker – althou
gh colder – to walk. After fifteen minutes of barely moving, Andrew pulled onto a side street and parked.

  ‘Want to do something stupid?’ he asked.

  ‘Always.’

  ‘Just play along.’

  Andrew pulled his coat tight and walked around the car, crossing Oxford Road with Jenny next to him. He weaved into and out of the cut-throughs, heading towards the centre before he saw what he was looking for.

  According to the scratched black and gold sign above the door, Sampson’s Jeweller’s had been established thirty years previously. It was situated on a corner, with two windows showcasing its wares and heavy-looking shutters hanging above. An A-framed metal sign was sitting on the street close to the front door, creaking back and forth, telling passers-by that Sampson paid for gold by the gram. In the window were banners offering credit, along with others proclaiming the shop to be a ‘diamond specialist’ and ‘Manchester’s finest’. Quite who had decided that was unclear.

  The jewellery in the window was more or less the same as would be found anywhere: rings and necklaces that looked decent but didn’t cost too much. The really expensive stuff would be inside.

  Jenny pressed in next to Andrew, peering along the lines of jewellery. ‘You’re not going to ask me to marry you, are you?’

  ‘Craig probably would.’

  ‘He’s not my type.’

  Andrew was getting cold feet – in more ways than one – but it was too late. Jenny wrapped her arm around his and dragged him towards the entrance. ‘Come on then.’

  He glanced up as the bell above the door jangled its greeting, welcoming them in from the cold. As he closed the door, Jenny continued yanking on Andrew’s arm, pulling him towards the closest cabinet.

  ‘Look at these, hon!’

  Really?

  Andrew rolled his eyes – this had been his idea, after all. He crossed to the display, where Jenny was pointing at the ring with the biggest stud. It was pointy, not as sparkly as Andrew might have expected, and cost a bloody fortune. If she ever did get engaged, this would definitely be the ring she made the poor sod buy.

  A man was working at a bench behind the counter across from the front door. At the sound of the bell and their voices, he turned, wiping his hands on his stripy red and white apron and forcing a smile.

  ‘Afternoon… is there something I can help you with?’

  He unhooked his glasses, letting them dangle to his chest from a chain around his neck. He was almost bald, with the little hair he did have brushed back over his ears. There was no reason to but Andrew took an instant dislike to him. He looked like a rat.

  Jenny was too far ingrained in the role to care, reaching out to take Andrew’s hand. ‘My boyfriend, sorry, fiancé, proposed to me last night. It was so romantic. I live on the banks of the canal and he arranged for a barge to sail past. He’d hired this folk band to stand on deck and play me a song that he’d written. I’m called Jenny and the song was named “Marry me, Jenny” – he’s so clever like that. I came out onto my balcony and he was playing the triangle and mouthing the words. There were balloons, confetti, these pretty bows, all sorts. There were loads of people watching and they all cheered when I said yes.’

  She sighed with happiness at the made-up memory. There was a terrifying glimmer of a moment in which Andrew thought she was going to turn to him and ask him for an encore.

  The shop-owner’s eyes flickered towards Andrew with that ‘what-a-prick’ look. Even though it hadn’t happened, Andrew hated himself a little bit.

  ‘That’s beautiful,’ the man said, cracking into a clearly false smile. ‘Welcome to Sampson’s. I’m Leyton and this is my shop. Feel free to browse and ask anything you want. If you’re after a diamond, then they’re my speciality. I’ve got contacts in Botswana and they mine things directly. There are no middlemen, so you won’t find a better price anywhere around here.’

  Jenny rested her head on Andrew’s shoulder. ‘I told you this was the right place to come.’ She nudged him with her elbow. ‘He usually works in London but he’s on a week off. We’re going to Monaco tomorrow. He was saying we could get something out there but it’s always nice to put a bit back into the local community, isn’t it?’

  Sampson’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as the possibility of a huge sale washed through him. Jenny was perfectly dismissive, sashaying across Andrew and flirting her way towards the next case.

  ‘Hon, isn’t this the place that was robbed a couple of years back?’

  The shop-owner’s face sank back to normal as if he thought he’d won the lottery and then realised he was a number out. Andrew caught his eye as Sampson offered a faint smile. ‘We were in the news…’ Sampson replied.

  Jenny didn’t look up from the case. ‘Wasn’t there an expensive necklace taken? It was going to be worn at a film premiere by that actress: whatshername? I remember reading about it in one of my magazines.’

  Sampson shuffled around until he was next to his workbench, in front of the case Jenny was inspecting. ‘There were a few things taken. It was an incredibly scary time. Luckily, everything’s back to normal now.’ He glanced over their shoulders, as if expecting more raiders to burst in.

  Jenny drummed her fingers gently on the cabinet, again pointing to the most expensive item. ‘What do you think, hon?’

  Andrew peered at a ring that looked much like the others. ‘If that’s what you like.’

  He really hoped she didn’t tell Sampson to box it up. It was the type of thing he figured she’d do for a laugh.

  ‘Hmm… I’m not sure.’ She side-stepped to the next counter, tugging on her ponytail. ‘How did they know it was here?’

  Nobody replied for a moment until Sampson realised she was talking to him. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The robbers. How did they know the necklace for the movie premiere was here?’

  The shop owner shuffled nervously but Jenny hadn’t glanced away from the cabinet. She was scarily good at lying. Andrew had seen her in action before but not quite like this.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Sampson said, stumbling over the words. ‘I do repairs and resets for production companies fairly regularly, so it could have happened at any time.’

  ‘How much was the necklace worth?’

  ‘Er…’

  Jenny finally gazed up, hitting him with her light-up-a-room smile, dimple on show, hair-twiddling aplenty.

  ‘They said it was about £250,000.’

  ‘Wow.’ She twisted back, reaching for Andrew’s hand again. ‘Would you buy me a necklace for that much if I asked you to?’

  ‘Um…’

  She was back peering at the rings. ‘I suppose it was just bad timing then…?’

  Sampson was stumbling over his words worse than Andrew. ‘The police said they looked into it. I think they interviewed some of the production assistants – that sort of thing. I don’t really know.’

  ‘How long did it take you to get back up and running? It must’ve been a nightmare with the insurance and everything. We were broken into last year and it took ages to sort out.’

  ‘It wasn’t too bad – they didn’t steal everything, it was more about getting the shop into a decent state again. The men who did it were sent to prison a few weeks ago, so it’s nice to move on.’

  Sampson tapped gently on the case, ensuring that was the end of the conversation.

  ‘You can’t let them grind you down, can you?’ Andrew added. It was something his dad used to say.

  Sampson nodded, shuffling back towards his workbench until Jenny caught him in her gaze once more.

  ‘There are some nice things here,’ she said, ‘but I think I’m looking for something a bit… bigger. You said you get your own diamonds in…?’

  The shop owner glanced from Jenny to Andrew and back again.

  ‘Money’s not really an issue,’ she said, looking particularly pouty.

  He glanced over his shoulder towards a door next to the workbench. ‘I do have something in the back�
�’

  In a flash, he skipped across the shop, locked the front door, and flipped the sign around to read ‘closed’. He delved into his pockets and unlocked the internal door, leading Andrew and Jenny inside. The room was small, with a long table built into the wall on one side and rows of drawers and cabinets on the other. At the far end was a safe, almost hidden by a filing cabinet. There were no windows, only a bright white strip bulb overhead.

  As Sampson headed for the safe, Jenny peered around Andrew towards the table. He followed her gaze towards neat rows of small tools: tweezers, what looked like a dentist’s scraper, silicon, plus chain links for a watch and a few other odds and ends.

  ‘How about this?’ Sampson said.

  The ring he was offering Jenny looked like a child’s toy because it was so large. The prism-shaped diamond gleamed in the light, a row of tiny red jewels surrounding the main crystal. He licked his lips as Jenny took it, first twisting it around in her hand and then slipping it onto her little finger.

  ‘Wow.’

  ‘I set the stones myself.’

  ‘How much?’

  Sampson leant forward and whispered the amount in Jenny’s ear. She nodded along, adding a low whistle for effect before handing it back and waving Andrew towards her. As he bent his knees, she pushed onto tiptoes and spoke softly into his ear: ‘This is fun.’

  Andrew stepped back, smiling. ‘It’s up to you.’

  ‘When are you expecting your bonus?’

  ‘Any day now.’

  She nodded, twisting back to Sampson and offering a little curtsy. ‘We’ll come back after we’ve been to Monaco in that case.’

  The shop owner’s face fell as he crouched, returning the ring to the safe. Jenny was looking past Andrew towards the worktop again but he couldn’t figure out what had caught her attention. When the safe was locked, Sampson hauled himself up and ushered them back towards the main area of the shop.

  Jenny hurried towards the front door, unlocking it herself and calling ‘thank you’ over her shoulder. She grabbed Andrew’s hand and pulled him across the road until they were well out of earshot.