Something Wicked (13 page)

Jenny sniffed the air and then took a deep breath. ‘I can’t quite figure out what it smells of.’

Andrew shifted the car down into second gear and took the turn into the parking area for the Salford University halls. ‘It’s that new car smell thing they put in rented
cars.’

Jenny shook her head. ‘It’s more like a wet dog.’

Andrew kept quiet, parking in the ‘residents only’ bay, unfolding an A4 sheet of paper with the words ‘contractors at work’ from his pocket and leaving it on the
dashboard. ‘I spoke to Lara last night via a communal phone for her block of flats. She wasn’t happy but when I mentioned Nicholas’s parents had asked me to look into things, she
agreed to have a chat. She gave me her mobile number but she’s in lectures from ten to twelve.’

Jenny opened the passenger’s door. ‘So why are we here at half ten?’

‘Because it’s not just her we need to talk to.’

Manchester and Salford were each cities in their own right, separated by the River Irwell and sitting next to each other like slightly envious siblings, arguing over which was the
real
city. Manchester had two universities of its own and, with Salford’s student population a mile and a half away, around 100,000 young people were added to the general population during the
academic year.

Andrew clambered out of the car, trying to get his bearings. Ahead, a large area of parkland curved down towards the river as it hooped its way between the cities. Individual dorms were
scattered in the distance: three-storey sand-coloured landscape blights with peeling green awnings over the doorways. Like a holiday camp that had gone bust twenty years previously that had
squatters. A large noticeboard towered over the car park, every spare centimetre taken up by posters advertising gigs, karaoke nights, various pub events as well as photocopied pictures of
someone’s hairy arse with ‘Vote Dave P for President’ imprinted across.

Andrew followed the signs for the block number in which Lara was apparently living, making sure Jenny was close by just in case anyone asked who he was. She could easily pass for a student; he
would either be seen as one of those creepy older people who ended up trying to fit in among the younger students, or a pervy old man trying to groom undergraduates outside their dorms.

Lara’s block was identical to the others: flaking cream paint on the outside, military green overhang next to the door. The front door was clamped shut, so Jenny pressed the buzzer for a
random flat. Moments later the door clicked open in what was clearly an entry system only marginally more compromised than Britain’s border control.

‘Which flat is she in?’ Jenny asked.

‘Eight.’

‘Right at the top.’

Jenny led the way up the stairs but there were no signs of life. More posters were stuck to the walls and banisters. ‘The ultimate end-of-term party: fishbowls for a fiver’,
‘Back to Skool fever’, ‘Back together (again), back in concert (again): Steps – live at the Bee Hive’.

Seriously?

More print-outs urging people to vote Dave P for President. An A4 flyer with tags to rip off at the bottom, urging people to get in contact about a rat problem. That sounded particularly
lovely.

On the top floor, Jenny scooted around the banister and rapped on the door for flat eight. For a few moments, nothing happened and then the door swung open violently, thumping into the inside
wall. A thin young man, naked from the waist up with frizzy black hair, was eating a yoghurt with his fingers.

He eyed Jenny up and down. ‘Y’all right?’

Who said love was dead?

Jenny took a half-step over the threshold, making yoghurt boy bounce backwards. ‘Is Lara in?’

‘I think she’s at lectures.’

‘No worries, we’ll wait.’

Jenny edged forward, making space for Andrew, who pressed in behind her, closing the door with the flat of his hand. They were in a hallway with dim strip lighting across the top and four doors
on either side.

‘Which one’s your loo?’ Jenny asked.

Yoghurt boy scooped another blob from the pot with his finger and sucked on it, nodding towards the door at the end of the corridor on the left. Andrew could smell the previous night’s
alcohol and/or curry on his breath even from a few paces. Perhaps he was studying chemical weaponry?

Jenny arched her body so that she didn’t have to touch his bare torso as she skirted around him, before hurrying to the end of the corridor and entering the toilet for a poke-around.

‘What d’ya want Lara for?’

Andrew turned back to the student, who was swaying slightly, pupils large and unfocused. ‘We’re here for a chat. She knows we’re coming. Is there somewhere we can
wait?’

Yoghurt boy spun around, shoulder colliding with one of the door frames along the side. ‘Kitchen.’

‘What’s your name, by the way?’

‘Alex.’

The kitchen was directly opposite the bathroom, an expanse of cheap lino, various brown and orange stains, a fridge that buzzed like a vacuum cleaner, and a row of cereal boxes in the windowsill
that looked like someone was collecting them. Pushed against the mustard-yellow wall was a rickety dining table, with a glowering young woman half-slouched over a laptop.

‘For God’s sake, Alex, will you put some clothes on?’ she said. ‘No one wants to look at your nipples.’

Alex dropped his yoghurt pot on top of an overflowing bin, crossed to the sink, plucked out a bowl, gave it a wipe with a tea towel, and then moved across to the windowsill. He opened a box of
Rice Krispies and emptied a few sprinkles into the bowl, before adding to it with a cascade of Coco Pops.

He grinned towards the girl at the table as he yanked open the fridge door and reached for a carton of milk. ‘Ebony and ivory, innit? Paul McCartney, give peace a chance. All that
shite.’

‘It’s just cereal, and I still don’t want to see your nipples.’

‘You love it, babe. It’s our destiny.’

‘It sodding isn’t, now piss off. I’m trying to work.’

Alex stumbled towards the door, still smiling as he fumbled his way through. As it slammed itself shut, Andrew heard voices on the other side – Jenny back out of the bathroom. There was a
girlish giggle and then footsteps retreating along the hallway.

Andrew offered a flimsy smile to the young woman at the table. ‘Sorry, I’m Andrew. I’m waiting for Lara. I think she’s in lectures.’

She leant back in her seat, more relaxed now that Alex had gone. She had thick-rimmed glasses, with wavy gingery-fair hair that was a similar colour to Andrew’s. She was still in her
pyjamas, thick felt-looking things with a teddy-bear pattern. Comfy.

With a dismissive wave, she pointed to the empty chair opposite her. ‘I’m Alex – and before you say it, yes, we’re both named Alex. That’s why he keeps saying
it’s “destiny” for us to be together. The only destiny he’s going to know is when my knee shatters his bollocks if he ever comes anywhere near me.’

She yawned widely and loudly as Andrew perched uncomfortably on the chair opposite. For some reason, the back arched inwards, meaning that there was no option other than to hunch forward.

Alex tapped the table with the palm of her hand. ‘You’re not one of the council’s residency inspectors, are you?’

‘Sorry.’

‘I’ve been trying to get someone out to check for rats for ages. Everyone always passes you on to the next person and you end up going in circles.’

‘Sounds grim.’

Alex pressed forward again, ready to vent. ‘Oh, this lot don’t help.’ She pointed at the bin. ‘I only emptied that yesterday but no one else ever does it. It’s like
living in anarchy. You can never keep track of who’s in this building, let alone the flat. There are always people popping in: boyfriends, girlfriends, one-night conquests, and, occasionally,
people interested in studying. The other Alex is always trying to get girls into his room.’

She crossed to the row of cupboards above the sink and took out a packet of jam rings, spinning it around to show the words ‘ALEX (MAN)’ written on it in felt-tip.

‘He’s pathetic. He could just keep them in his room but he knows it annoys me.’

She opened the fridge, taking out a packet of cheese and turning it to show the post-it note.

‘ALEX’

In smaller letters underneath, in different handwriting, were the words:

‘(NOT MAN)’

Alex returned the cheese to the fridge and then sat back down. ‘He’s such a prick. It doesn’t matter if you put names on stuff anyway because things are always going missing.
Then the bin’s always overflowing and you can hear the rats. It’s disgusting – there’s six of us living here and it’s only me who ever does anything. If it
wasn’t so cheap, and if I hadn’t paid up front, I would’ve left already.’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘Since September – two and a bit months . . .’ She stopped herself, eyes narrowing. ‘You’re not Lara’s dad, or something, are you?’

Andrew took a business card from his pocket and handed it over. From what Richard Carr had told them, Lara was an orphan – something clearly not shared with her flatmates.
‘Lara’s ex-boyfriend went missing nine months ago,’ Andrew said. ‘I’m doing what I can to find out what happened to him.’

‘Oh . . . right . . . so you don’t really know her, then?’

‘No. What’s she like?’

Alex stared at Andrew for a few moments, trying to read him. With a puff of her lips, she apparently decided he was all right. ‘She’s a bit . . .
weird
.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘She doesn’t
do
anything. She doesn’t seem to have any friends, doesn’t go out, doesn’t get pissed. On our first night here, we all arranged a flat night
out. There’s this pub at the front by the car park. It’s like hell on earth – sticky floors, full of chavs – but it’s one fifty a pint so it’s always rammed. We
all set off there to try to get to know each other but Lara said she didn’t fancy it. We didn’t know about her boyfriend then but it’s not as if
she
died, is it?’

Bit harsh.

‘Does she ever go out with you?’

‘You’re lucky if she even talks to you. Someone on her course reckoned she applied to do medicine but then dropped out and started doing social care instead. How strange is that?
Then she’s always on the edge. Sophie in flat one moved in during the summer. They let you come early if you want. Three of them moved in but she was arguing over rooms on the first day.
That’d be fair enough if one was bigger than the other, but they’re all identical. Three look over the courtyard, three over the car park. Pick your view, get your bags inside, stop
moaning. It rains all the time anyway.’

‘Which room did she get?’

Alex nodded beyond the door. ‘Next to the bathroom. Maybe she’s got a weak bladder or something? All she had to do was say but Sophie reckoned they had a row about it. Not the best
way to get in with your new housemates, is it?’

It was a similar story to the ones Nicholas’s next-door neighbour and college friend had told: an angry teenage girl ready to pick arguments.

Andrew felt a strange need to defend the young woman he’d never met. Her boyfriend had walked her home one night and then disappeared, after all.

‘She can’t be all bad?’

Alex closed the lid of her laptop. ‘I suppose she’s quiet. In the first week we moved in, when it was just three of them, she’d play music all the time. That death metal shit
where it sounds like a horse is having sex with a pig. They all ganged up on her basically, saying they’d get the housing management involved if she didn’t keep it down.
Everything’s been fine after that. Well, except for the bins and the mess but that’s not her fault.’

She crossed to the fridge and took out a loaf of fancy-looking bread – all multigrain-this and good-for-you-that. On the front was a clearly marked ‘ALEX (NOT MAN)’. Alex
counted the slices through the transparent packet. ‘Some bastard’s been nicking my bread again.’ She dropped two pieces into a grimy toaster and pushed down the lever, then
emptied the rest of the loaf onto the counter top. One by one, she licked each slice before putting it back into the bag. ‘That’ll teach them.’

Andrew suppressed a smile – student politics at its best. He’d been through all of this himself in shared accommodation.

‘This might sound like a weird question,’ he said, ‘but has Lara ever shown any interest in magic or witchcraft?’

Alex screwed up her face, the assortment of freckles becoming one large splodge. ‘Why’d you ask?’

‘I’m following something up.’

The student let out a low hum before replying. ‘There’s a communal living room on the ground floor with a TV. Most times, the lads use it for FIFA tournaments, or whatever.
It’s like living with five-year-olds. Sometimes, someone will put a movie on. Usually it’s “Zombie Porn Stars From the Planet Mars” or something else that no one with half a
brain cell is interested in, but a couple of weeks after term started, one of the girls downstairs wanted to do a Harry Potter night. Someone got a few boxes of wine in, so we were sitting down
there chatting when Lara appeared in the doorway. She was going mental, screaming about how magic was real and that we should turn it off.’

‘What happened?’

‘Nothing really. There were about a dozen of us in there, so we turned it off, waited until she’d gone upstairs, and then turned it back on again. Everyone thought she’d been
doing mushrooms or something.’

Andrew didn’t have time to ask anything else as the front door thumped into the hallway wall. Footsteps padded along the corridor and then Lara appeared in the kitchen door, dressed
entirely in black: platform shoes, ripped tights, a short skirt and a long-sleeved sweatshirt. She had dark eyes, darker hair and ethereal white skin, as if she’d just stepped out of an
old-fashioned film.

Lara glowered towards the table, face a mix of uninterest and annoyance. ‘You Andrew?’

‘Yes.’

She nodded backwards. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

Directly opposite the kitchen was the door to the bathroom, with a patch of blank wall between that and the door to Lara’s bedroom. As Lara unlocked the door, Jenny
emerged from Alex (Man)’s room, sidling along the corridor and winking at Andrew in a ‘we’ll-compare-notes-later’ way.