A Deathly Silence

by Isaac, Jane;

  ‘Pretty much exhausted. She only had a couple of long-term relationships before Blane. His last girlfriend lives in France. I’ve left her a few messages, she hasn’t come back to me yet.’

  ‘Okay, let’s go and speak with Blane. See if he can shed any light on where Turner might be or any connections he had.’

  CHAPTER 42

  The shop assistant stood beside the till, watching them make their way past the crisps and chocolate bars to the fridges at the back.

  Connor lifted a small bottle of cola down from the fridge and pressed it to his face. It was deliciously cold.

  ‘Come on,’ Rhys said. ‘I’m gasping.’

  Connor felt the heat of the assistant’s gaze as they approached the counter. He stared back at her defiantly. Did she really think they were in there to shoplift?

  She didn’t speak as he handed over the cash and they left the shop. Outside, they walked around the corner and sat on a low stone wall, cracking open the cola and passing it between them. The bubbles fizzed in Connor’s mouth. After they’d drained the bottle, he felt decidedly refreshed.

  They watched a dog walker pass, and then a cyclist. Roxten was quiet on this sleepy Saturday afternoon.

  ‘I ought to get back,’ Connor said eventually. ‘Are you coming?’

  Rhys widened his eyes. ‘I’m not going to your house. He knows where you live.’

  ‘My mum’s there,’ Connor said. This man was blatantly following them in broad daylight, with only a baseball cap to shield his face. And he wasn’t letting up. Now he knew who he was, that he’d lost his wife to a brutal murder and clearly thought they were involved in some way, Connor couldn’t be sure what he’d be capable of. His mother hadn’t asked for any of this. When he was satisfied she was safe, he’d decide what to do next. ‘I’m going,’ he said. ‘You’re either with me or you’re not.’

  Rhys looked uncertain. He followed him back towards the main road. They paused outside the shop on the corner, dropped the empty bottle in the bin and started. A man was hurrying down towards them, one hand holding a baseball cap, another pressing a phone to his ear.

  It was him.

  ‘Leg it!’

  Connor didn’t look back. He could feel his friend on his heels as he ran, past Lime Street and into Groves End. Oakwall Park loomed in the distance, the other side of the main road. A brief glance over his shoulder. The man was less than thirty metres away.

  Horns blew as the boys ran into the traffic, weaving in and out of the cars. Connor narrowly avoided colliding with the nearside of a Volvo. They could see him on the other side of the road now. He was almost on them. But the traffic was too thick, he couldn’t cross.

  They reached the cricket pavilion. Beyond that was the river and then the modern housing estates at the edge of Hampton. If they could get behind the pavilion, they’d be out of sight and could double-back, cross the main road at the top and head towards home.

  The man was jogging beside the cars, eyes darting about, looking for an opportunity to cross.

  ‘Up here,’ Connor said and they both jumped off the path. The grass was softer under their feet.

  The man was still on the other side of the road, his face strained. He was losing them.

  Along the side of the pavilion, they ran, hard and fast. Rhys was struggling to keep up. They were almost there, the end in sight, when Rhys glanced over his shoulder and grabbed Connor.

  Connor slowed and turned to see the man jogging across the main road, zigzagging through vehicles steering in all directions to avoid him. A chorus of horns mingled with motorists shouting expletives out of their open windows. Pedestrians pausing to watch.

  He was across, toes touching the kerb, when he crashed into a cyclist. It happened quickly, the boys catching it in snapshots, through quick checks over their shoulders, like an old movie flickering in the background. The brakes of the bike screeched in protest. The cyclist was thrown into the man. Both men thumped to the ground.

  The boys reached the end of the pavilion wall and turned to watch, clutching each other. Miraculously, the cyclist stretched out and appeared to be unhurt. The man rolled from side to side on the grass verge, holding his leg. Cars pulled over, motorists got out and huddled around them.

  One more glance back, and the boys scarpered. Connor’s heart hammered in his chest. When they rounded the pavilion and crossed the road at the top, heading back into Weston, they could see a small crowd had gathered on the verge.

  ‘What if he’s hurt?’ Connor panted.

  ‘Well, if he is, he won’t come after us.’ They crossed the road and didn’t slow their step, didn’t dare to walk, until they entered Connor’s road.

  Connor’s lungs were bone dry, his chest ached and his legs were seizing up. They didn’t notice the car parked outside in the row of others, the officer climbing out and approaching his front door. Barely spoke as they slipped down the aperture between the houses and around the back of Connor’s house.

  They rushed inside the back door, the key rattling in the lock as Connor secured it, and turned to find Detective Dark and Connor’s mother standing in the kitchen, arms folded.

  ‘Hello, boys,’ Rosa said. ‘I think you’d better tell me what’s going on.’

  CHAPTER 43

  A dishevelled Blane O’Donnell answered the door that afternoon. His usually manicured beard looked ruffled, his hair bedraggled. Mud was smeared up the thigh of the tracksuit bottoms he wore.

  ‘Everything all right?’ Pemberton asked, noticing a slight limp as he led them down the hallway.

  ‘Tripped playing with the kids in the garden,’ Blane said.

  Helen looked through the kitchen window at the empty lawn outside.

  ‘Where are the children now?’ Pemberton asked.

  ‘Mum’s taken them over the park.’

  ‘Do you know a man named Gordon Turner?’ Helen said, getting straight to the point.

  Blane placed his hands on his hips and scrunched his eyes. ‘Yeah, I was his case officer when I worked on the MOSOVO team. Why?’

  Helen chose her words carefully. Blane might be police, but he was also the victim’s husband. The syringe found in the factory hadn’t been released outside the investigation team and she wanted to keep it that way. For now. ‘His name has cropped up in the investigation,’ she said. ‘When was the last time you saw him?’

  ‘Well, it would be…’ he lifted his chin for a second, ‘six months ago now, maybe longer. You’ll be able to find the exact date from his file.’

  ‘You haven’t seen him since you moved to training?’

  ‘No. Why would I? He’s not the sort of guy you’d hang around with.’

  ‘Not even passing in the street, in the shopping centre maybe? This is a small town, Blane.’

  ‘No.’ His face was deadpan.

  ‘What about Sinead?’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘Has she ever dealt with Turner?’

  ‘I don’t understand. What do you mean his name has cropped up? What’s happened?’

  Helen sidestepped his question. ‘His name has been mentioned. We need to locate him.’

  ‘Then speak with his case officer. Look at his file. I don’t see what this has to do with me.’

  ‘He went AWOL about a month ago.’

  Blane’s face darkened. ‘You’re not suggesting he had anything to do with Sinead’s death?’

  Helen gestured at the chairs around the table. ‘May we?’

  He checked his watch, nodded. ‘Okay, just for a few minutes. I need to have a shower before the kids get back.’

  The chair squeaked as Helen sat down. She waited until Pemberton and Blane were settled before she continued. ‘Why don’t you start by telling us what you know about Gordon Turner?’

  Blane gaped at her for several seconds, then scraped a hand down the front of his face.

  Helen let the silence in the room linger.

  ‘Well, he was one of the most serious offenders I loo
ked after on the team, I guess you’ll know that from his file. Others were deemed more dangerous, like some of the paedophiles, but somehow Gordon… I don’t know, he was different, manipulative. I was warned not to let him chat, to stick to the brief. Vowed not to let him get under my skin. But he was clever. Would answer every one of my questions with another question, constantly trying to change the subject, deflect the attention from himself. I wasn’t sorry to leave his file behind when I left, I can tell you.’

  ‘Did Sinead ever meet him?’

  ‘She knew about him. I mentioned him to her several times. Mainly to get things off my chest. We didn’t like to talk shop, especially at home, but there were some exceptions and he was one of them. As far as I’m aware she didn’t meet him. She never mentioned it if she did.’

  ‘Did he ever talk about her?’

  Blane’s eyes widened. ‘He talked about everything rather than himself. Wanted to know all about me, my family. When I didn’t answer, he remarked on my wedding ring. I remember taking a phone call there once and Sinead was the screen saver on my phone. He made great play of telling me I was punching above my weight. After that he asked after her every time I visited. Said things about her.’

  ‘What kind of things?’

  ‘Oh, the usual crap. “Tell her the dark underwear suits her better.” “She should wear her hair up more often.” Mostly general. There was one line he said towards the end of my time on the team that really got to me. “Tell her not to wear the red coat when she collects the kids from school. Too sexy.”’

  Helen raised a brow. ‘Did Sinead own a red coat?’

  Blane nodded. ‘Her mother bought her one years ago. She rarely wore it though. That wasn’t what bothered me. It was more he knew, or guessed, we’d got kids. I’d never mentioned them.’ Blane tapped at his temple. ‘As I say, manipulative. I felt sorry for the poor lad who took over when I left.’

  The shrill ring of a mobile filled the room. ‘I need to take this,’ Pemberton said.

  Blane watched him wander out into the garden. ‘What’s going on?’ he said to Helen as soon as the door closed. ‘Is Gordon Turner a suspect?’

  Helen held his gaze a moment. Everything Blane said supported the theory that Turner had developed a fixation with Sinead. A fixation that culminated in her murder. They needed to track him down fast.

  ‘He is someone we need to question. Is there anywhere you think he might be? Any friends or associations he mentioned when you worked with him?’

  Blane shook his head. ‘Turner was a bit of a loner. Oh, he had contacts, plenty of them from prison. He’d talk about them from time to time and meet up. There’s no law against associations and Turner wasn’t one to miss out on an opportunity. But he generally kept himself to himself. Satisfied the conditions of his licence, kept his nose clean. Everything he mentioned to me, I recorded on his file.’

  The door swung open, interrupting their conversation. Pemberton’s face was stern. ‘Where were you earlier this afternoon?’ he said, looking directly at Blane.

  Helen passed a confused gaze between them. Pemberton was rarely ruffled.

  ‘I went out for a walk to get some air.’

  ‘Where did you walk exactly?’ Pemberton’s eyes hardened.

  What the hell had happened?

  ‘Around here.’

  ‘You were spotted in Weston.’

  Blane swallowed. ‘I can explain…’

  Pemberton glanced at the mud down the leg of his trousers. ‘Did you, or did you not, follow Rhys Evans and Connor Wilson?’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Helen said. This was moving way too fast.

  For once in his life, Pemberton ignored his boss. ‘Chase them, in fact?’

  Blane gulped. ‘I just wanted to ask them some questions.’

  ‘They’re twelve years old!’

  ‘Those kids were at the factory on Wednesday, when Sinead—’ His voice cut.

  ‘We know, we’ve already questioned them. How the hell did you find out who they were?’

  Blane looked away.

  ‘And where were you last night?’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘You were at the Wilsons’ house, weren’t you? Connor claims you grabbed him. He’s a minor! You can’t take the investigation into your own hands. Christ, you should know that better than anyone!’

  Blane’s face pained. He looked at Helen imploringly. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt him, honestly. I just wanted answers. For Sinead.’

  Helen dropped her head into her hands. This was all she needed.

  ***

  Helen stared at Blane O’Donnell via the CCTV monitor. He struck a sorry state, the palms of his hands resting on the table, his head hung low. For the past hour, he’d been questioned regarding harassment allegations made by Connor and Rhys. He’d admitted to every single one, from watching Connor in the park to grabbing him in his back garden, and later chasing the boys through town. He was looking at charges for assault and harassment of witnesses. Facing a suspension from duties. If convicted, his career was on the line. Who would put themselves and their family at risk of losing their livelihood, their home, everything? But one look at Blane answered that question outright. Desperation seeped out of him. Desperation to get answers, for Sinead, had overridden every rational thought.

  There was still one burning question plaguing her. ‘How the hell did he get hold of the boys’ identities and their home addresses?’ she said to Pemberton, standing beside her.

  He shook his head. ‘No idea. He’s refused to say. The boys’ details hadn’t been released to the press.’

  Which meant the leak had to come from within the team.

  Helen baulked. After everything she’d said and done, the appeal, the locks on the incident room door. She ran through her team in her mind, stopping at each name, desperately searching for any reason why they’d disobey a clear command. And came up with nothing. No, she trusted them. Each and every one of them. Didn’t she? They all knew how important this inquiry was and the need for confidentiality.

  ‘Call technical support. I want to know the names of every user that has accessed the homicide network system in the past four days.’

  CHAPTER 44

  Helen opened her front door to the rhythmic thud of Matthew’s music. Her family were home. She heeled the door closed and dropped her bag beside the array of shoes and trainers in the hallway.

  Yvette Edwards’s face looked up at her from the local newspaper on the mat; the photo was taken in the sunshine, her blonde hair glistening. Helen reached down, opened it out and scanned the headline: Murder Victim’s Neighbour Found Dead. She flicked through the short article while shedding her jacket, a couple of paragraphs about where Yvette was found and when, a short quote from her husband expressing the family’s sadness and a line to say police weren’t treating her death as suspicious. The story was continued at the bottom of page three where they talked about Sinead’s ongoing investigation and shared a grainy photo of Gordon Turner, with a note appealing for any sightings and calling him a person of interest. It was about a quarter of the size of Yvette’s. Helen’s stomach pitted. They could really have done with his photo on the front page, gracing news stands. Perhaps Turner’s photo would be more prominent online. She hoped so.

  Suddenly, she was knocked sideways by Robert, who’d rushed out of the front room and wrapped his arms around her.

  ‘That’s a nice welcome,’ she said, hugging him tight. ‘Good time?’

  ‘It was amazing!’

  ‘I can’t wait to hear all about it.’ She slipped the newspaper on top of the pile of magazines underneath the hall table. Her mother still insisted on having a physical copy delivered, even though it had dropped from a daily to a weekly newspaper, but the news article on the front, and the headline relating to their inquiry, was the last thing Helen needed her to see this evening.

  Matthew appeared at the bottom of the stairs, surprising her by stepping in with a hug after his brother.
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  Helen grinned. ‘I am popular tonight. It’s good to see you guys.’

  She lifted a carrier bag and followed them through to the kitchen.

  Her mother was standing beside the kettle. ‘Hello, darling,’ she said. ‘Tea?’

  ‘Wouldn’t say no. I hear you had a good week?’

  ‘Lovely, thank you.’ She poured the tea and passed over a mug. ‘Now, what would the worker like for dinner?’

  ‘I’m cooking,’ Helen said. The boys, who’d followed her into the kitchen, gawped at her. ‘Well,’ she raised the bag, still in her hand, ‘courtesy of M&S. We’re having Chinese.’

  They roared their approval.

  ‘Should be ready in about twenty minutes,’ she said, lifting the cartons out of the bag.

  Dinner was an animated affair, full of chatter and laughter. Robert talked about learning to windsurf and teased Matthew for his fear of swimming in open water. Matthew claimed to be the family archery champion. Helen’s heart warmed as she sipped her wine and listened to their stories and anecdotes from the week. It was lovely to have them back, their excitement and enthusiasm filled every corner of the house, restoring it to a home once again.

  When they finished, Matthew scraped a carton, eating the last remnants of rice, and everyone looked happily full. Robert disappeared into the front room to watch television. Matthew drifted upstairs. Within seconds, the gentle thud of his music resonated above and for once Helen resisted the temptation to ask him to turn it down.

  Jane eased back in her chair and surveyed the plates and cartons on the table.

  ‘Thanks for taking the boys away,’ Helen said.

  ‘They’re such fun.’ Her mother tipped her glass back and finished the last drops of wine. ‘What about you?’ Her face turned grave. ‘How’s the case going?’

  ‘Oh, you know, the usual,’ Helen said, brushing it aside. ‘Waiting on forensics.’ She didn’t want to have that conversation now.

  Her mother opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. The silence in the room was broken by Helen gathering up the cartons, placing them in the bin. Whether she was reminded of how much her daughter had lost, the hours she put in to make the job work and still find time for her family, or how much she tried to do the right thing by her boys, Helen wasn’t sure. When she looked up, a switch flicked behind her mother’s eyes and she pulled back. The conversation stored away for another day.