Something Hidden Read Online Free PDF

on fire. After
police found drugs and weapons hidden at Kal Evans’ house, everything had come crashing down, though the stolen items were never found.
    Andrew scratched at his hairline, trying to think. ‘Weren’t the Evans brothers sent down a few weeks ago?’
    Jenny click-clacked her keyboard, nodding as she typed. ‘Three weeks back. Kal and Aaron Evans each got life for armed robbery, with the prospect of parole in fourteen years, Paulie got
eighteen years. He could be out in about nine.’
    ‘Why’d he get less?’
    ‘He wasn’t holding a gun, plus the evidence wasn’t as strong that he was there. They were never charged with organising the shooting of the witnesses, only the armed
robbery.’
    Andrew nodded along, reaching into his memory. At the time they’d been charged, it had been a big story but, as with most things, it soon went away. Police believed Luke Methodist knew Kal
Evans because he bought drugs from him. It was the only link they had from robbers to killer – but there was no confession from any of the brothers.
    There was speculation that Methodist owed them money and this was what they wanted as payback. Having seen what he’d done, he turned the gun on himself in shame. No one knew for sure and
it wasn’t as if Methodist could dispute things. It couldn’t be proven in court, so the CPS did the brothers for the robbery – and Owen and Wendy’s killing was officially an
unconnected crime, even if everyone knew they were killed because of what they’d seen.
    It was time to go, so Andrew stood again, looking around to see where he’d left his coat.
    Jenny was on her feet too, leaning over to shut down her computer and then pulling her jacket on. ‘Do you think Luke Methodist killed them both?’
    ‘Of course he did.’
    ‘Why tell Fiona you’re going to look into it then?’
    ‘I
am
going to.’ He couldn’t meet Jenny’s gaze, stumbling over the reply. ‘Crime has another side. Everyone talks about victims and criminals but we all
forget there are others scarred too. Sometimes the family of the victim or the perpetrator has it as hard as anyone.’
    ‘Right.’
    Jenny accepted the explanation at face value but it was better than telling her the truth. Andrew felt sorry for Fiona and perhaps giving her a sense of closure might help him forget the girl of
a similar age who’d slit her wrists when he was supposed to be watching her.

5
    The haunted face of Fiona Methodist sat in Andrew’s mind as he tried to forget her story, at least for an hour or so. Instead, he focused back on the woman in front of
him who hadn’t stopped talking in at least six minutes. He wasn’t even sure she’d breathed.
    Margaret Watkins was quite the woman: one for whom age was merely an inconvenience. She could’ve been anywhere between forty and seventy – it was hard to tell. Her definitely dyed
brown hair was almost a separate entity, fighting against the layers of hairspray with which it had been attacked and sprouting in all directions like a dropped cauliflower.
    Some research showed that non-verbal signals made up to ninety-three per cent of all communication but Margaret’s must’ve been close to one hundred – either that, or she was
practising backstroke without the pool. Every time she said something, her arms flapped manically, making her husband duck for cover at the other end of the sofa.
    Jenny sat patiently, taking notes, but Andrew was wondering where Fiona had gone. He suddenly realised there was silence, with Margaret’s helicopter arms now by her side. She was looking
at him expectantly, as was Jenny.
    Andrew nodded quickly. ‘Right, Mrs Watkins—’
    ‘It’s Margaret, dear.’
    ‘Margaret . . .’ Andrew glanced down at Jenny’s thumb as she tapped a note on the pad in between them. Thank goodness one of them was paying attention. ‘. . . Can you
explain exactly what an F3 Bengal cat is?’
    It felt like he was reading another language but Margaret was