Untouchable: A chillingly dark psychological thriller Read online

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ Tony said again. ‘Unfortunately, these things have to be done.’

  Ava squeezed my hand.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, because I didn’t know what else to say.

  ‘Cause of death has been listed as asphyxia due to suspension.’

  My stomach contracted painfully, as if being squeezed by sharp claws.

  ‘An interim death certificate will be issued, and the body will probably be released for burial in a few days. Have you thought about which undertaker you’ll be using?’

  I shook my head. How can I think of that?

  ‘We have some time, so don’t worry about that at the moment.’ He clicked the top of his pen and adjusted his clipboard. ‘I know this is very difficult for you, but as you know, we found Jamie in an area known as Bluebell Wood, yesterday evening. A dog walker reported it to the police, and they attended the scene. You then identified him last night. I want to look into what happened leading up to his death.’

  My muscles stiffened. Ava squeezed my hand again.

  ‘Can you go through everything that happened yesterday? I’ll be making notes as I go, and then at the end, I’ll prepare a witness statement and get you to sign it. Okay?’

  No. It’s not okay! None of this is okay!

  He looked at me expectantly. I didn’t want to speak. It would make it too real.

  ‘Take your time.’ He gave me an encouraging nod.

  ‘Well…Jamie brought me breakfast in bed. I didn’t start work until nine, so he was always up before me. Then he left.’

  ‘And where did he work?’

  ‘Porterhouse Systems and Solutions. They do software for companies. Jamie designed the software and trained personnel how to use them.’

  ‘Where are they based?’

  ‘At the business park.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He scribbled that down. ‘Does his work involve a lot of stress?’

  ‘Not usually, no. He loved his job. But the last few weeks, he said he had been a bit stressed about work. But what’s really weird is that when I phoned his boss, Paul Porter, last night, trying to find Jamie, he said Jamie was on annual leave. That he’d booked two weeks off for personal reasons, and that Paul hadn’t seen him for the last week.’

  Tony made more notes. ‘And he didn’t tell you about the annual leave?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you know what these personal reasons could’ve been? Was he having financial troubles?’

  ‘No. Jamie never mentioned anything to me. He’d been leaving for work as usual, dressed as usual. Coming home at around the same time. In fact, I always asked him how his day was in the evenings, and he mentioned some software system he was designing and a training course he was doing, and some meetings he was having.’

  ‘So he was stressed about work…did he seem worried about anything else recently?’

  ‘No. I mean, last week, he was a bit quiet and distracted. He blamed something he was working on, but he wasn’t upset or anything. But it couldn’t have been to do with work, could it? If he wasn’t even there?’

  Tony made some more notes.

  ‘It was our anniversary yesterday. We’d been dating for two years. I moved in here with him six months ago.’ I played with the tassel on the hood of the sweatshirt I’d changed into, rolling the end into a ball then unravelling it. ‘He’d been saying that he had a big surprise for me. I thought…’ I looked at Ava. ‘I thought he was going to propose.’ My voice cracked, and I looked up at the ceiling, blinking back tears.

  ‘What kind of mood was he in when he left?’

  We’ll have all the time in the world later.

  You’ll love what happens after dinner.

  ‘He was happy. That’s why I don’t understand how he could’ve done this. He was excited. Looking forward to the evening when we were going to celebrate. I was cooking him dinner, and he was due back at six.’

  ‘What did he say before he left the house?’

  ‘He said he…was late for a meeting. I assumed it was something to do with work. And then he said…he said he loved me.’ I wiped my eyes with the heel of my hand.

  ‘Apart from that, was there anything else that might’ve been out of character leading up to yesterday?’

  ‘No. Nothing.’

  ‘No arguments?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And you’re sure about no financial problems?’

  ‘As sure as I can be.’

  ‘Did he have a history of depression?’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head vehemently.

  ‘Who was his GP?’

  ‘Dr Lattimer. Grove House Surgery.’

  ‘Had he visited Dr Lattimer recently?’

  ‘Um…he had tonsillitis about six months ago and got some antibiotics for it.’

  ‘And he hadn’t visited him for anything else?’

  ‘Not that I know of.’

  ‘You mentioned to the officers last night that Jamie doesn’t have any other family, is that correct?’

  ‘Yes. His parents died in a car accident when he was sixteen. There’s no one else.’

  ‘How would you describe his personality and frame of mind?’

  ‘Um…he was a homebody, really. He liked doing things round the house, DIY, reading. He wasn’t the life and soul of the party, but he was fun. He had a tendency to sit back and watch rather than being in the midst of things. Like, if we were out with friends, he felt more comfortable with just a few people there rather than in a big group. He had his quiet times, like we all do, I guess. But he wasn’t moody or anything. He was happy. He worked hard. He was kind and caring. Generous. He was organised and dependable and focused. He had a dry sense of humour. He liked swimming and walking. Sometimes at the weekends, we’d head out to the countryside and walk for a few hours, then stop off at a country pub for lunch. He was just Jamie.’ I stopped, wondering what else he wanted me to say.

  ‘Had he been out with any friends recently? Perhaps he mentioned some kind of worries to them.’

  ‘We usually went out once a week on Friday nights with my friends Becca and Lynn and their boyfriends.’

  ‘Can you give me their contact details, please?’

  I told him, and Tony wrote it all down.

  ‘But Jamie didn’t really have many close friends. Just acquaintances, I suppose. Colleagues he worked with. Sometimes he met up with his old army buddies, though.’

  ‘Do you know who they are?’

  ‘No, I never went with him. It was a guy’s thing. The last time he met up with them must’ve been about a year ago when he went to a reunion organised by a guy called Lee who Jamie had worked with. I don’t know his surname, though.’

  ‘Do you have a contact number for him?’

  ‘Um…hang on, I’ll need to look through Jamie’s phone bills.’ I made my way upstairs, feeling like a thick fog held me under water. I pulled out Jamie’s itemised bills and searched through them, looking for Lee’s name, but it wasn’t there. I trudged back downstairs again. ‘It’s not listed anywhere. Maybe Jamie spoke to Lee at work, or maybe they emailed each other to arrange the reunion.’ I handed Tony the plastic file of bills. ‘Do you want to look through these? I’m not sure how they can help because the last few months aren’t there.’

  ‘No, that’s okay for now. If I need to, I’ll come back to them. You mentioned you went out walking with Jamie. Did you ever visit Bluebell Wood together?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said, my voice a whisper. ‘Once. We were at Tyttenhanger Gravel Pits, walking around the lake there, watching the birds, and then we went to the woods.’

  ‘Did they seem to have any special significance to him?’

  I swallowed hard. ‘Not that I know of.’

  Tony made more notes. ‘Okay. So you said he seemed happy yesterday when he told you he was leaving for some kind of meeting that you assumed was work-related. Do you know where he might’ve gone? The post-mortem puts his time of death at around five thirty.’

 
; ‘I’ve got no idea.’ I fiddled with my necklace, a silver Tiffany heart that Jamie had bought me out of the blue one day. He was always doing things like that. Little romantic gestures to let me know he was thinking of me. That I was special.

  ‘His car was parked in a side street nearby. His wallet and keys were in his pocket. It would seem as though he parked up after it got dark, took some rope that he’d brought with him, and took his own life. The rope is a common type found in any DIY store. Do you know if he had any rope around the house?’

  My hand instinctively went to my throat. ‘Um…I don’t think so, but if he did, it would be in the shed.’

  ‘Can I have a look inside?’

  ‘Yes.’ I stood up on unsteady legs and held onto Ava’s shoulder before I keeled over.

  ‘Do you want me to show him?’ Ava offered.

  ‘No, it’s okay,’ I said to her, then to Tony, ‘Follow me. I’ll get the key.’

  I retrieved the key from a drawer in the kitchen, and we left through the back door into the small garden, Tony carrying his briefcase. We walked up a slate path Jamie had laid when he’d first moved into the house twelve years ago. It led to the wooden shed he’d built at the end. I reached for the padlock and unlocked it.

  I stood back to let Tony inside. Watched as he inspected items and nosed around. Some hooks were along one wall of the shed with various tools hanging on them, neatly lined up. On the end hook hung a coil of rope.

  I turned away, unable to stand the sight of it. I stared at the fence along the neighbouring detached property until my eyes smarted. Behind me, I heard the snapping sound of Tony’s briefcase opening. Plastic rustling. Then his footsteps creaking on the wooden floor of the shed as he moved around in there.

  ‘I need to take the rope with me,’ he called out.

  More plastic sounds filled my ear. I stared at a robin pecking at a worm and wondered for the millionth time, Why? What could’ve been so bad, Jamie? Was it me? Was it something I did? Something I didn’t do? Was it us?

  When I turned around, Tony held a plastic bag in his hand, tied with a cable tie. Inside was the rope.

  ‘Does it…does it look the same kind that he…?’ Ava asked.

  He nodded gravely. ‘It looks like it, yes.’

  ‘What happens now?’

  ‘I’ll write up a witness statement for you to sign. Then I’ll be making other enquiries. With his colleagues, his doctor, that kind of thing. I have some leaflets I can leave about grief and grief counselling. It may help to talk to someone when you’re ready. I’ll contact you when we release the body, and you can decide on which undertaker to use. And I’ll send the death certificate to you in the post so you can start making arrangements.’

  I imagined Jamie’s coffin being lowered into the ground. His body being eaten by insects. Did he want to be buried or cremated? How the hell was I supposed to know things like that? We hadn’t talked about death. We were still in the honeymoon stages of our relationship.

  It wasn’t right. Nothing about this was right.

  JAMIE

  Chapter 4

  I was six years old when they came and took me away. One minute my mum was there, lively and vibrant. The next, she’d died from a ruptured brain aneurysm. She had no other family to take me in, and my dad had died when I was two. Before her body had even been taken away from the tiny council flat we lived in, I was bundled into a car and driven to Denby Hall Children’s Home by a social worker and left to their care.

  I was alone and scared, confused and grieving for my mum, for a life that was now lost, and even though the other kids were in the same situation, I didn’t make many friends. The place was so overcrowded and short-staffed, children came and went frequently, and it was better not to get attached to them. I couldn’t help them. They couldn’t help me.

  A social worker was assigned to me, a young woman called Mary. In the beginning she did her best to find me a foster family, but there were too many kids and not enough places, and although she was kind and tried to reassure me everything would be okay, it wasn’t. No one wanted me. Slowly Mary visited less and less, and I became like the rest of them, a neglected, forgotten child, just another face blurred in amongst hundreds of other faces. Little more than a number lost in a system.

  I’d been in Denby Hall four years when we were told the home was closing. Excited whispers spread around the place, wondering where we’d be sent now. I fantasised about my future. How I’d be spotted and adopted in the new place. How I’d finally find a forever home with parents who doted on me, their new son, because they couldn’t have children of their own and were looking for a boy to pour out all their love onto.

  Little did I know I was being sent straight to hell.

  Crossfield Children’s Home was a large, imposing Victorian building with an oppressive gloom hanging over it. The first thing I noticed was its high brick wall with metal spikes on top, and tall iron gates that separated it from the world beyond. Inside, long dark corridors and wooden floors were everywhere. On arrival, I was marched by a new social worker straight to the head’s office.

  ‘This is James Taylor.’ The social worker introduced me to a powerfully built man sitting behind a desk in a large office with a window that overlooked the grounds.

  The man’s thin lips lifted in a gentle smile. ‘Nice to meet you, James. I’m Mr Barker. I’m sure you’re going to enjoy Crossfield.’

  The social worker handed Barker some paperwork, and I studied him as he read it. He had receding ginger hair kept short at the sides, an aquiline nose, and watery pale blue eyes.

  Barker scrawled his signature on the papers and handed them back to the social worker, who was gone in a flash.

  ‘So.’ Barker sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers, his eyes appraising me. ‘I run a tight ship here. There’s to be no messing about. No stepping out of line. You do what you’re told, when you’re told. Understand?’

  I glanced down at my shoes. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Look at me when I’m talking to you.’ He said the words softly. ‘Yes, what?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  He smiled again. ‘Good. If you follow my rules, I’m sure we’ll get along just fine. Now, let me show you around.’ He stood up and walked towards me. Compared to my small frame, he seemed like a giant. He slung an arm around my shoulder and walked me along an empty corridor. ‘The other boys are out at school at the moment, but you’ll meet them at teatime.’

  He showed me the refectory with three long tables where we’d eat our meals. The kitchen, where I’d be expected to do washing up and vegetable preparation. There was a common room that didn’t hold many games, mostly shelves upon shelves of books. Upstairs were three dormitories that housed two rows of fifteen beds on either side. Apart from the beds, the dorms were almost bare, just a rickety chair next to each one. No cabinets or bedside tables. Nowhere to store any personal possessions. I’d learnt that we never actually owned anything in the homes. Clothes were handed down and around. Nothing was actually ours.

  Barker pointed at a bed with a pile of clothes on top nearest the door. ‘That one’s yours.’ He looked me up and down. ‘There are some clean clothes for you, but first we need to get you into the shower. Can’t have a dirty boy in clean clothes, can we?’

  ‘No, sir,’ I mumbled.

  He led me through a doorway at the opposite end of the dorm, where there were sinks, urinals, toilet cubicles, and a long wooden bench with hooks in the wall above. Past the toilets was a row of open communal showers.

  I glanced around, trying to get my bearings and take everything in.

  ‘Come on. Let’s get you into the shower.’ He did a gentle ushering gesture with his hands, sat down on the bench, and crossed one leg over the other.

  I froze for a moment. In Denby Hall, we’d never had to undress in front of the staff. They always left us to it, and there was something different about the way Barker was watching me that made me uneasy.

  ‘Get und
ressed, boy. There’s some soap in there already.’ His thin lips formed into a smile, but there was an underlying authority in his voice. A voice I didn’t want to challenge.

  Don’t panic. Don’t answer back. Do what he wants.

  I fumbled with the buttons of my shirt and removed it, carefully folding it as I’d been taught in the last place and putting it on the bench, all the while feeling Barker’s eyes on me. Next came my trousers and pants. I didn’t dare look at him as I walked into the shower block. I turned the water on, and it was cold. That was nothing new. They didn’t like to waste hot water on us. A bar of carbolic soap was on the floor. We’d used that in Denby Hall, and it made our skin burn. I quickly lathered myself up and began washing with my back to Barker.

  ‘Turn around,’ he ordered. A glint of something in his eyes looked like excitement. ‘I want to make sure you wash properly.’

  I did what he said, my head down, trying to get on with the task at hand and get it over with as quickly as possible so he’d leave. I rinsed away the fiery soap and turned off the tap.

  ‘Here.’ He held out a towel that had been hanging on one of the hooks. His hand was extended only a little way, so I had to come close to him. So close I could smell his stale breath laced with cigarettes and see white specks of dandruff on the shoulders of his jumper.

  I took the towel and dried my skin as he watched, all the while singing a song in my head to distract myself from the embarrassment of his unwavering gaze.

  ‘Put the towel back on the hook and get dressed.’ He stood up, waited for me to pull on my clothes, then put his arm on the back of my neck and led me back to the dormitory with his fingers stroking up and down my hairline.

  A chill broke over my already cold skin, and goose bumps rose on my arms and legs. In Denby Hall, none of the staff had ever touched me. There were no hugs or kisses like Mum used to give me, and I missed being cuddled. Missed the warmth of someone holding me tight and whispering not to worry, not to be scared, that they loved me. So even though I was frightened and bewildered, it felt quite nice, calming, even. Caring. Maybe this place really would be better than Denby Hall.