Read Online Something You Are by Hanna Jameson - Free Book Online Page A

piss out of me!’ he shouted back, his voice drenched in fear and humiliation.
    â€˜I’m not! Just… making conversation.’ I put down the saw and leant back on my arms, sitting back up when my muscles complained. ‘I’m not taking the piss, accidents happen to everyone. I’ve seen all sorts, I could tell you some stories…’
    There was a silence that I waited for him to break. A mental image of him having a moral meltdown and sprinting from the kitchen to turn himself in prompted me to call, ‘Still with me, Mackie?’
    Silence.
    â€˜Don’t mess with me, fella.’
    â€˜I’m here.’
    The acknowledgement allowed me to relax. I looked around at the stained sheets and the man’s head, mouth still gaping against the plastic, lolling back from an armless torso like a broken deckchair. I was glad Mackie was in the kitchen; I didn’t need to see myself through someone else’s eyes right now.
    â€˜We worked together a bit,’ Mackie said from the kitchen. ‘If it’s just blow-jobs and stuff, that’s not even like being properly… you know…’
    â€˜Gay?’
    â€˜Shh! Are you fucking crazy?’
    I snorted. ‘You live in a detached house, calm down.’
    â€˜Well, it’s not the same.’
    â€˜Blow-jobs and stuff, with a guy, that is gay. Or bi-curious, whatever…’
    â€˜Bi-
curious
! You a fucking issue of
Cosmopolitan
?’
    â€˜You
are
a fucking issue. Oh look, I’m in here, right now, cleaning up one of your issues!’ I picked up the saw again. ‘You’re gonna stay here while I take the car out, all right? Did anyone else know he was here?’
    â€˜No, how stupid do you think I am?’
    The question hung in the air for a while. I got back on to my knees and tried, once again, to ignore the smell.
    There was a sniff from the kitchen, a choke, a sigh caught in his throat. The noises weighed heavily on the silence and I coughed, hoping to disperse the atmosphere.
    There was a tattoo on the man’s forearm. Of what, I couldn’t work out, but I didn’t want to know any more.
    â€˜Can you stick the radio on in there?’ I called.
    As the house was abruptly invaded by Blondie’s ‘Call Me’, it occurred to me that Jenny Hillier had lied.

7
    Eleven in the morning.
    No sleep.
    I dashed some cold water on my face from the kitchen tap and dialled Jenny Hillier’s number. I had only left Mackie’s an hour ago, drained and dressed in a new set of clothes from the boot of my car.
    â€˜Hello?’
    â€˜Is this Jenny?’
    â€˜Yeah, who’s this?’
    I took a breath. ‘Hey, my name’s Nic Caruana. You don’t know me but I got your number off Emma’s mum, Clare.’
    There was a pause as she registered what I had said.
    â€˜Oh, OK, what’s this about?’
    â€˜Emma’s dad, Pat, has asked me to help find out what happened to Emma and apparently you were going to meet her that day, is that right?’
    She sounded wary. ‘So you’re the police?’
    â€˜No, I’m not the police, I’m kind of a private investigator. I’d just like to ask you some questions about what happened.’
    â€˜I didn’t see her.’ This time there was a hint of panic.
    I softened my voice. ‘I know you didn’t, I know. I just need to get all the details so I can help Pat Dyer. You know the police aren’t really very forthcoming with their findings so I need to do everything from scratch.’
    I guessed that as a middle-class teenager she was going to be fashionably anti-establishment.
    â€˜Well… if it’ll help, I can’t see any problem.’
    I walked into the living room and picked up the drawing of Emma. ‘Are you free today?’
    There was another pause, loaded with suspicion.
    â€˜You can meet me anywhere that’s convenient for you,’ I said, folding