Something Hidden (5 page)

‘Who’s Edie?’

‘Oh, she’ll be dying to meet you.’ With no other explanation, Margaret hurried inside, locking the back door and blowing into her hands. ‘You’re in luck –
she’d usually be in school today but it’s one of those inset day things.’

At least Edie was human.

Margaret led them upstairs, clunking her knee into the banister by accident, muttering ‘fiddlesticks’ again, and then nearly wiping out the framed photo that was hanging on the wall
behind. She was seemingly desperate to prove that gravity existed.

At the top, she headed to the first door on her right, knocked twice and then pushed her way in without waiting. Andrew followed, only to step backwards at the sound of a girl’s angry
voice. ‘Get out, Mum!’

Too late.

Margaret took Andrew’s sleeve and yanked him inside, making him a part of the intrusion.

Edie Watkins was tugging a set of headphones away from her ears as she thrust her laptop to one side. She had been sitting cross-legged on her bed but leapt up, scowling towards Andrew but
saving the real annoyance for her mum.

‘I’ve told you not to come in unless I say so!’

She was fifteen or sixteen, blonde, thin, and looked nothing like either of her parents. Her walls were adorned with band posters, with a rucksack covered in purple and green badges resting
against her scrunched-up pillow.

Andrew started to step backwards but Margaret wasn’t letting him go. ‘Come on Edie, hon, I know you’re upset about Elvis and Presley but this nice man is here to see if he can
find them.’

Edie’s fringe covered the top of her eyes but she stared through her hair towards Andrew with barely concealed disdain. ‘Whatever. Can you stay out of my room? I’m
working.’

‘Now, now, there’s no need to take that tone.’

‘I’m not
taking
a tone – I’m
doing
my homework, like you said.’

‘Edie, I’m your mother and—’

‘Can you just get out?’

Mother and daughter stood in a hands-on-hips impasse. Jenny hadn’t even got into the room before Andrew shuffled backwards as quickly as he could, finally free from Margaret’s
grip.

Back on the landing, Margaret smoothed down her top, unable to stop her features folding momentarily into a frown before she caught herself. ‘Usually, she wouldn’t be that abrupt
but, er, you can see the effect the loss has had on her. She loves those cats. They’re like brothers to her.’

Andrew doubted that but Edie’s mother was at least kidding herself.

In the living room, Geoffrey was at the dining table, head buried in a newspaper. The knocked-over tea had left a butterfly-shaped stain close to the sofa, which almost perfectly matched a
similar one near the armchair. If Margaret kept knocking things over, she could create her own pattern. She flopped onto the sofa with a sigh and a rub of her temples, before bursting into tears.
Andrew exchanged an awkward look with Jenny as they gazed at the back of the room, waiting for Geoffrey to do something.

He didn’t move.

‘I just miss them,’ Margaret blubbed into her sleeve. ‘You will get them back, won’t you?’

Andrew muttered an ‘erm’ as she peered through her fingers, tears streaming around the selection of oversized rings. ‘Money’s not an issue, I just want to see them
again.’

Andrew hadn’t actually agreed to take the case – he’d only said he would come out to hear what Margaret had to say but could hardly turn her down now . . .

‘We’ll try our best, Mrs Watkins.’

‘Margaret.’

‘Right. Is there anything else you can tell us that might help?’

She slipped a tissue from her sleeve, blowing her nose long and hard, like a baby elephant with congestion issues. She then screwed it up, dabbing her eyes, and sliding the tissue back into her
sleeve.

Lovely.

‘Oh, I can do more than that,’ she said. ‘I know
exactly
who took them – I just can’t prove it.’

‘Who?’

‘Harriet Coleman. That bee-eye-tee-see-haitch has always been jealous of my cats.’

It took Andrew a moment to realise the word that had been spelled out. ‘Did you tell that to the police?’ he asked.

Margaret flung both arms into the air, revealing her mascara-streaked face and wide, wild eyes. ‘Yes! They looked at me as if
I
was the nutter. Can you believe that?’

As another clump of errant hair sprung up from behind her ear, providing what looked like a devil’s horn, Andrew continued to sit on his hands. It was best he didn’t answer that
question.

Jenny leant on the passenger door of Andrew’s car, gazing back towards Margaret’s house. Andrew was wearing a hat, gloves, and huge coat; she had on a thin-looking
jacket.

‘Aren’t you cold?’ Andrew asked.

‘I don’t really get cold.’

‘Why am I not surprised?’

She offered her best grin, single dimple and all. ‘You’re going soft – she started crying and suddenly you’re agreeing to anything. If she’d have asked you to mop
up her tea, you’d have done that too.’

Andrew wanted to argue but Jenny was right. ‘Five figures for a cat! What’s the world coming to?’

Jenny shrugged. ‘I don’t get pets. Why wouldn’t you spend the money on yourself?’

Andrew opened his mouth to answer but reckoned they could be there all day. There was plenty Jenny didn’t get. If she couldn’t figure out how people worked, then animals were
definitely beyond her. Plus he couldn’t explain himself why someone would pay so much for a cat. A few hundred quid for a pedigree breed plus some injections was fair enough – but more
money than it cost to buy a new car was baffling. Despite Jenny’s assertion that he’d caved because Margaret had cried, it was situations like this that the job was all about.
Sometimes, the police couldn’t help and that meant people turned to him. Admittedly, he hadn’t thought that would mean trying to find errant moggies.

The wind was starting to howl again but Jenny was unaffected, chewing on the inside of her mouth, presumably because her mound of snacks was back at the office.

‘Shall I hang around and knock on a few doors?’ she asked.

Andrew shook his head, digging into his pocket and handing her his car keys. ‘I’ll do it. If you head back, dig up whatever you can about the Evans robbery and Methodist’s
shooting. Press articles, daily court reports, the verdict, the sentencing – everything.’

‘How are you going to get back?’

Andrew sighed, peering towards the ice-topped sign at the end of the street. ‘Bus.’

Jenny didn’t bother to hide her snigger. ‘Good luck.’

The house next door to the Watkins’s was covered with layers of frost-glazed ivy, the tendrils winding their way across the entire top half of the property like something
from a horror movie.

Andrew stood at the bottom of the driveway, tightening the top button of his coat and tugging at the sleeves, trying to ensure the only part of him open to attack by the wind was his face. There
wasn’t much he could do about that. He rang the doorbell and waited, bobbing from foot to foot until the door was tugged open, revealing a dark-haired woman in huge pink fluffy slippers.

She eyed him suspiciously. ‘I’m not buying anything if that’s what you’re after.’

Andrew shook his head, having to take a glove off to hunt for his identification. ‘I’m a private investigator looking into the disappearance of next door’s cats . .
.’

The sigh and knowing look told him plenty. ‘Her F3 studs were taken last week,’ the woman said. ‘They’re worth a fortune, they’ve been trying to get them to breed
with another pair across the city, blah, blah, blah . . .’ She broke into a slightly embarrassed grin. ‘Sorry, I know I shouldn’t joke.’

‘How do you know all that?’

The woman moved onto the doorstep, not quite closing the door. She waved a hand to indicate the rest of the street. ‘
Everyone
knows that. It’s all she talks about. I got back
from the supermarket yesterday, car loaded with all sorts, but she was on the driveway. The moment I was out of the car, she was off, telling me about how the police weren’t interested, that
there was no sign of where the cats had gone, that they’d changed the locks – everything. I’m standing out there freezing my arse off trying to think of a way to get out of the
conversation – not that it’s a two-way thing: you can’t get a word in.’

Andrew knew that feeling.

The neighbour’s face hardened slightly, her voice dropping. ‘Course, it’s awful to think that someone burgled next door. I’ve got two young lads and they’re
frightened that someone’s going to break in here. There are a few elderly people who live on this street and it’s shaken everyone up.’

‘I take it you didn’t see anything?’

‘I wasn’t even in. I’d taken the boys to football training. When we got back, there were police cars everywhere.’

Andrew nodded, knowing he was getting nowhere. The police would have already talked to people on the street – he’d be better off trying something else. He’d be even better off
if he knocked at Margaret Watkins’ house and told her he’d changed his mind.

‘I take it you’ve seen the website?’ the neighbour added. Andrew stared blankly at her as she snorted humourlessly. She took out her phone and tapped in an address before
turning it around for him to see. On screen was a gallery of cat photographs. ‘There are contact details on there too,’ the woman said. ‘Anyone could go on, see what both cats
looked like, and then find out their address. I’m not saying they asked for their cats to be nicked, but . . .’ She shrugged. ‘Well, maybe they did.’

The wondrously alluring smell of chips, salt and vinegar greeted Andrew as he walked into the office at lunchtime. There was a spread of grease-soaked paper laid across the
corner of Jenny’s desk, with a smidge of mashed-up potato clinging to the centre.

‘I would’ve got you some but didn’t know when you’d be back,’ Jenny said, spinning in her chair as she licked her fingers.

Andrew shivered his way out of his coat and settled for a spot by the radiator, holding his fingers as close to the heat as he could stand.

‘How’d you get on?’ Jenny asked.

‘Not well – it looks like everyone in a three-mile radius of the Watkins’s house knew they owned expensive cats. Anyone could’ve nicked them – that’s probably
why the police couldn’t do much. You should see the website.’

Jenny scrunched up the chip wrapper and dropped it in the bin by her feet. ‘Sounds like a right cat-astrophe.’ She grinned, waiting for the laugh that didn’t come.
‘Fine,’ she added, ‘be like that. Anyway, I’ve got lots about the Evans brothers if you want?’

Andrew twisted so that he could face her properly. ‘Go on.’

‘They got away with around £700,000-worth of items from Sampson’s Jeweller’s but the police only recovered a few minor things that weren’t worth much. The main
thing they stole was a diamond necklace and earrings that were being reset for an actress to wear to a film premiere that night. According to a “production company insider” –
however reliable that is – the original setting made her look fat, so the pieces were being reworked.’

‘The necklace made her look fat?’

Jenny shrugged. ‘That’s what it says. It was being altered at Sampson’s on the day of the robbery.’

‘How much were the necklace and earrings worth?’

‘Quarter of a million – bit of a coincidence that the robbery happened on the day such an expensive piece happened to be there.’

Andrew wrote the number on his pad. ‘Coincidences do happen.’

‘I know . . .’

She was right but Andrew didn’t have enough background information. It could be that Sampson frequently worked on very expensive items, meaning it wasn’t a coincidence at all. The
police would have most likely checked such things. He wasn’t supposed to be investigating the robbery anyway, yet that and Luke Methodist’s shooting were surely connected.

Jenny continued outlining what she’d discovered. ‘The gun that killed Owen, Wendy and Luke Methodist was a military-issue Browning. There’s nothing that says it belonged to
Luke – but plenty of insinuations that he could’ve smuggled it home from where he was serving.’

‘Any mention of how?’

‘Nothing – but I found a report that said the army loses around sixty weapons a year – and that’s just on home soil.’

‘
Loses?
’

‘That’s what it says. The police didn’t find anything at the site of the shootings to make them doubt that Luke shot the couple, then himself. Two witnesses were on the scene
pretty quickly – but there are no names. I’ll keep looking but it seems like it was a deliberate policy not to name them. At the inquest, they were Witness I and Witness G.’

She paused.

‘What?’ Andrew asked.

‘I feel like I’ve read something written by one of the witnesses but I have no idea where. There’s nothing with their names on, so perhaps I’m thinking of something else.
Anyway, the only connection mentioned from Luke to Owen and Wendy is that Kal Evans was known to supply drugs on the street. They say Kal supplied drugs to Luke – and Kal was one of the
robbers, which links him to Owen and Wendy. There’s a lot of speculation but no one’s got anything other than the Evans brothers wanted to get rid of the witnesses.’

‘How would Kal Evans have known who Owen and Wendy were?’

‘They both gave interviews to the local news channels about what they saw, plus they’d posted on the Internet about seeing a robbery. It wouldn’t have taken much.’

‘What about where they were shot? How did Luke Methodist know they were going to be there?’

‘I suppose he didn’t – but if he knew their names and where they lived, he could have followed them. It’s less than a five-minute walk. Most people aren’t going to
pay any attention to a man in an army jacket sitting on a bench in that area.’

All unfortunately true.

Andrew was finally beginning to warm up and shrugged his coat off onto the back of his seat. He could really do with some chips. ‘What about Wendy and Owen?’

‘They graduated together a few months before they were killed and shared a flat not far from the university. Both had jobs but nothing to do with their degrees. Owen’s brother told
the paper they were thinking about moving from the area because they weren’t finding the right jobs. They’d just got engaged the weekend before, which is why they were in the
jeweller’s – they were looking for a ring.’