Untouchable: A chillingly dark psychological thriller Read online

  Special Branch. MI5.

  Yes, they were experts, so surely any extra security measures would be pointless. If they wanted to get in, nothing would stop them.

  I set Jackson down next to the kitchen table and stroked his cheek. Ava went round opening curtains, lifting blinds, and opening the kitchen window to get rid of the stuffy, stale, oppressive air that had built up. Then she pulled out items from the carrier bag onto the worktop.

  ‘I bet you’ve got no food in the house, have you?’ She peered in my fridge at the lone cucumber, mushy with furry mould growing on one side, a bottle of white wine, half opened, a bottle of vodka, and a bottle of Diet Coke. She swung around to face me, her hand on her hip. ‘You’ve got to start taking more care of yourself.’

  I sat at the table, fidgeting with my hands, and nodded, as if she was the parent and I was the incapable little girl. ‘Yes, Mum.’

  ‘Good.’ That seemed to satisfy her, and she set about preparing roast chicken with roast potatoes and vegetables. She chattered away as she worked, about Mum and Dad, about Jackson and Craig, the weather, in an attempt to distract me from my insular thoughts about Jamie. I gave one-syllable answers in reply, all the while my eyes darting around the room.

  Could it be taped underneath the dishwasher? In the microwave? Behind the white plinth at the bottom of the kitchen cupboards? What about behind the bath panel? Under the carpets? Hidden in a photo frame underneath another picture? Is that why the photo of us in the lounge had been moved out of place?

  It could be anywhere.

  It could be nowhere.

  Ava whipped her head round suddenly. ‘I can’t hear you, what?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘You were mumbling about something.’

  Had I said all that out loud? Shit! Had ‘they’ heard me on any bugs they were listening to?

  ‘Um…what did I say?’

  She stared at me as if I’d just sprouted a new head. ‘You mean you don’t know what you were just talking about?’

  I waved a hand vaguely. ‘Um…I’m just…just tired.’

  She studied me for a long time before eventually rummaging around in her bag. She pulled out a box of tablets and put them on the table in front of me. ‘These are natural sleeping tablets. Why don’t you give them a try? I know you’re not sleeping well, understandably.’

  I picked them up, turning the packet over and over in my hand, staring at them as the silence filled the room. ‘Did you hear what I said just now?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head and chewed on her lip anxiously. ‘Will you try them?’

  ‘Okay,’ I said in an effort to placate her.

  Apparently satisfied, she went back to preparing the dinner, and an hour later, she finally put a piled-high plate in front of me.

  ‘Eat!’ She sat opposite, shook some salt and pepper onto hers, and tucked in, keeping an eye on Jackson, who was due for a feed soon and would be waking up.

  Dutifully, I chewed and swallowed like a robot, hardly tasting anything, pushing away the plate when it was half finished.

  Ava looked at my plate and glared at me. ‘You didn’t eat very much.’

  ‘I’m not a horse! That plate was huge.’

  ‘Well, you can have the rest tomorrow, can’t you? Put it in the microwave.’ She gave me a decisive smile.

  The thoughts chased around in my head as I half listened to her with a rising impatience. I sat on my fingers to stop myself from picking them. Jigged my leg up and down. And finally, finally, Jackson woke up, and she suggested leaving.

  ‘Now, make sure you eat that tomorrow, and if you want to come round, just do it, okay? And I’ll phone you to check in. I’m keeping my eye on you.’ She wagged a finger at me playfully, and I wondered just who else was keeping an eye on me.

  I waved them off in the car, closed the door behind her, and stood with my back against it.

  Right. To work.

  I made sure all the doors and windows were locked. Then I closed the curtains, turned on lights, cranked the stereo up loud, and started searching. I moved furniture and pulled up the carpets, running my hands along the floorboards to check for any loose ones. I checked for loose skirting, behind pictures and photos, and in between the pages of books and CD and DVD covers. I went through my laptop, searching through every file I could find to see if there were digitised versions of photos or film on there. I checked in the DVD player, stereo, printer, microwave, behind the kitchen plinths, in the curtain hems. I checked under, in, and behind furniture, cushions, and drawers, pulled the washing machine and dishwasher out and felt underneath them, looked behind them, inside. I checked the wardrobes, my hands hovering over Jamie’s clothes, that familiar ball of anguish detonating inside me again. I checked his pockets, trousers, jackets, shirts. I looked inside his shoes. The browny-orangey clay mud on his hiking boots was dried now, and bits fell off onto the floor of the wardrobe. Nothing was inside them. Nor in any other boots, bags, suitcases. I checked all my clothes, too, just in case Jamie had hidden something there. I stood inside the wardrobe and closed the sliding mirrored doors, searching for something taped to the back.

  Leave no stone unturned.

  I looked in boxes of teabags and in the freezer. In Tupperware boxes, between the stack of baking trays. Searched through all Jamie’s document folders again. All the boxes in the loft, sifting through mostly my stuff that I’d had when I moved in and hadn’t unpacked yet because there was no room. I looked behind the cobwebbed water tank and felt inside the insulation jacket of the immersion tank, in toilet cisterns. Sifted through piles of towels and bedding in the airing cupboard.

  I searched the garden, looking for patches of grass that had recently been disturbed. I checked under the whole border of gravel this time. Beneath the patio table and chairs. In plant pots. I rifled through the shed, lifting lids of half-used paint and in toolboxes, in the middle of folded dust sheets.

  Everywhere.

  I looked everywhere one could possibly hide something, but I didn’t find any photos or videos or even a flash drive that could hold any digitised versions of them. Nor did I find anything that looked like a bug or camera.

  It was getting dark the next day by the time I finally finished in the shed, a film of perspiration on my forehead, the armpits of my hoodie and between my shoulder blades damp. I needed a shower. I blew away the hair stuck to my sweaty forehead and stared back at the house, wishing the bricks and mortar could tell me what I needed to know.

  Where did you put it, Jamie? Where?

  Chapter 28

  Car? Workplace? Storage unit? Safety deposit box? Gym locker? Somewhere else in the whole world?

  I downed a cup of coffee early the next morning, grabbed my bag, and checked up the street before exiting the house. Neighbours were leaving their houses, going to work. Cars passed by on the main road at the end of the cul-de-sac. Life was going on as normal for everyone.

  Everyone except for me.

  A clattering sound to my left made me jump. My head whipped round to see one of my neighbours dumping a rubbish bag in his wheelie bin inside his front gate. I put a hand to my chest with relief.

  He turned away quickly and avoided my gaze, probably not knowing what to say to me anymore. Death made people jittery and uncomfortable. He’d put a condolence card through the door several weeks ago, but I’d thrown it in the bin, where I’d put all the rest, unable to stand the sight of them staring at me.

  I got into Jamie’s Jeep, not knowing where I was going. I just had to make sure no one followed me.

  I kept one eye on the rear-view mirror and drove around randomly, taking turns without signalling, which resulted in a few angry blasts of horns. I pulled up in a quiet street, where I’d be able to see someone coming, and turned off the engine. I checked the glove box again. I felt underneath the front seats and behind the visors. I got out, opened the doors, and felt along the fabric to see if something were somehow hidden inside them. I opened the boot, peeled back
the carpet, and lifted out the spare wheel, which I inspected before checking every inch inside. I opened the rear light covers, looked in the first aid kit, in the box where the emergency red triangle was kept. Pulled off the cover to the fuses.

  Nothing.

  I groaned to myself, but I wasn’t beaten yet.

  I drove back into town, parked, and went into Costa Coffee. There were more commuters, suited and booted, stopping in for their caffeine fix before they started their day. I had half an hour to kill before anyone would be starting work at Porterhouse Solutions, so I nursed a latte with three sugars and watched people hurrying up and down the street as everything spun around inside my head, ramming against my skull.

  My coffee was cold when I took the last sip. My hands shook, but I didn’t know whether that was from the caffeine, lack of food, fear, anger, or frustration. My stomach grumbled, and I ignored it.

  I drove out to the business park, and as I was getting out of my car, Paul pulled up in the spot reserved for the managing director. I licked my dry lips and got out, walking towards him.

  ‘Hi, Paul.’

  He swung around, surprise registering in his eyes before he smiled. ‘Maya. How are you?’ He stood up straighter, briefcase in hand.

  ‘I’ve been better.’

  ‘Of course. Stupid question, I suppose, but I bet everyone else keeps saying it.’ An awkward smile flitted across his lips. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve just been going through Jamie’s stuff, trying to sort out his estate for the lawyer, and I think Jamie might’ve kept some of his personal things at the office, because I can’t find them.’ The lie rolled quickly off my tongue. ‘Is it possible to check his desk?’

  Paul’s face flushed. ‘Actually, someone else is using Jamie’s desk now.’

  ‘Oh.’ I took a step back, surprised Jamie’s life had been erased so quickly when he’d been a loyal employee for years. But then it had been four weeks. How long were people supposed to wait before moving on with their lives? A stab of anger penetrated my gut. Not long, obviously.

  ‘I was going to call you, actually, because there were a few non-work-related things in his drawers I thought you might want.’ He tilted his head towards the entrance. ‘Shall we go inside?’

  I followed him past the reception, where a smart young woman with lashings of makeup filtered calls. We got into the empty lift, and a silence descended between us. Before Jamie died, I would’ve been making lively small talk, laughing and joking, finding something to say. Now I didn’t care if it felt uncomfortable. Laughter and jokes were meaningless. Conversation was overrated, which was why I couldn’t speak to Becca and Lynn anymore. Why I let their messages go unanswered. How could I talk to them about normal things? Shopping, fashion, which pub we were going to hit on Friday night, what was happening in Emmerdale, who’d been voted off X Factor. Who gave a shit about that anymore? Nothing was normal now I’d been plunged into this surreal nightmare. Except I could wake up from a nightmare, couldn’t I? This was far, far worse. And pretty soon, they would stop calling altogether, which was fine with me. I was so far removed from them, from what I’d once been, I didn’t have anything to say anymore that didn’t involve paedophiles and murderous thoughts. I hated them for being able to carry on with their lives while I couldn’t.

  Paul shifted from foot to foot until the doors opened. He said good morning to his staff in their cubicles and led me to his office at the back of the open-plan space. He put his briefcase on his desk and picked up a large cardboard box from underneath the window in the corner of the room. ‘This is everything personal.’ His lips flattened into a sympathetic smile, which, inexplicably, made me want to punch him. I was sick of people looking at me like that.

  I took the box from his outstretched hands. ‘Thanks. Is it…would it be possible to look at his desk? Just to sit at it for a moment?’

  He gave me an odd look.

  ‘I just want to…you know, feel close to him. Where he worked.’ I blinked rapidly. I will not cry. I will not cry.

  ‘Um…yes, I suppose so.’ He led me to an office down the hallway.

  The door still had a plaque with Jamie’s name on it. The breath hitched in my throat. I reached out and fingered the words.

  ‘Bob’s out training today, so he won’t be using it. Take your time.’ He leant against the door frame for a moment, watching me as I sat down in Jamie’s old chair. He pointed back towards his office. ‘I’ll just be…er…I’ve got some urgent work to do.’ He shut the door and scurried away.

  I put the box on the floor and looked through the drawers, underneath them, inside folders of notes. I checked the filing cabinets, which were empty. Jamie’s replacement obviously hadn’t spent enough time here yet to accumulate more paperwork. I felt underneath the drawers and chair. There was no computer on the desk because all employees used their own company laptops. At some point, Paul would probably ask for Jamie’s back.

  Satisfied nothing was in the office, I picked up the box and left, the cardboard burning a hole in my skin.

  I drove home erratically again, watching out for someone following me, itching to open the box. Once inside, I dumped the box on the kitchen table and checked the door locks and windows. Everything was as I’d left it. Everything secure. Nothing looked out of place or disturbed.

  I snatched off the lid from the box and rummaged around, but it contained only the usual detritus left from years of working at the same place: An old Christmas card from Paul, ancient copies of Smart Computing and Wired, a Parker pen I’d bought him for Christmas last year, a framed photo of me when we’d been in Scotland for that first romantic weekend away, a spare phone charger for his missing iPhone, a silver flask to keep his water chilled, a pocket-sized pack of tissues, a Tupperware box with some cashews and raisins in it, a can of deodorant, and a pair of goggles. There was no Filofax or diary or address book that might’ve held a clue, as Jamie always used the organiser app on his phone.

  I ran a despairing hand through my knotted hair. I needed to wash it. I needed to start eating, instead of surviving on coffee and alcohol. Take care of myself. Do normal things. Put washing on. Go food shopping. Normal? Who was I kidding? Nothing would be normal again.

  My mobile rang then, breaking the silence that seemed to be closing in around me. It was my iPhone, not the Nokia. I looked at the screen, which showed my boss calling.

  ‘Hi, Maya.’

  ‘Hi, how are things at work?’ I asked, deflecting the conversation before she could ask how I was.

  ‘It’s a bit hectic at the moment. The appraisals are all due, and we’ve taken on a few more big clients. You know how it is.’

  ‘Yes.’ I stared out the window into the garden. Stared at the shed where Tony had found the rope that ended Jamie’s life.

  ‘Um…how are you doing?’

  I’m angry and bitter and I want to kill them. And I’m scared. And hopeless. And alone. And…I settled for, ‘Tired. I’m exhausted.’

  ‘Look, I know how awful this is, but I just wanted to know if you were coming back. If not, we need to recruit someone else. I’m sorry to have to bring it up when you’re going through this, but…well, we really need to know where we are so we can plan.’

  I don’t care about my job! I wanted to yell at her. I couldn’t go back to the real world now. Couldn’t go to work with a bounce in my step and supervise the girls and talk to stupid, annoying, complaining customers all day long. Couldn’t go home at the end of the day feeling happy and satisfied. Couldn’t cook dinner, singing along to the radio. Run myself a leisurely bath with candles dotted around the room, relaxing. Nothing would ever be the same again. I knew too much, and I couldn’t unknow it.

  I rubbed at my forehead and turned away from the shed. ‘No. I…I’m sorry, but I won’t be coming back.’

  ‘Ah. I’m sorry, too. I’ll be very sad to lose you. We’re all going to miss you. But I understand.’

  You don’t! No one does. No one e
xcept for those other boys and Mitchell.

  She carried on talking, but her words weren’t penetrating. ‘Sorry, I have to go now.’ I stabbed the off button with my finger and hurled my phone across the kitchen worktop.

  Chapter 29

  Next stop was the leisure centre. I’d discovered Jamie’s locker key was missing. He used to keep it on the same ring as his car keys, but it wasn’t there now. Had the people who’d killed him taken it? Had they got there first?

  I was sure a member of staff would be able to open it for me with a master key, though, so I entered reception, the cloying smell of chlorine and ammonia hitting the back of my throat, the heat steaming the glass panels to the swimming pool behind.

  I asked the young, spotty guy on reception if I could talk to the manager, and he called her to reception. I was flicking through some membership brochures, pretending to read them, when a gangly woman appeared next to me.

  ‘You wanted to talk to me? I’m Sally, the duty manager.’ She tilted her head with a big smile, and I wished everyone would just stop fucking smiling at me!

  ‘Yes. My boyfriend has just died, and he used to have a locker here. I’m his next of kin, and I’m trying to sort out his estate for the lawyer. I think he may have left some personal items in there.’

  That made the smile slide straight off her face. ‘Oh, my condolences. I’m very sorry to hear that.’

  ‘Thank you.’ I reached into my bag. ‘I have his death certificate here if you need to verify it, and a letter from his lawyer.’

  She glanced me up and down briefly. Probably taking in a gaunt woman with bloodshot eyes and dark bags underneath, messy hair that smelt stale, who’d thrown on any old clothes that no longer fit, and surmised I must be who I said I was. A woman on the edge of hysteria. A woman trying desperately not to crack into a million scattered pieces. ‘No, that won’t be necessary. Do you have his key?’