A Deathly Silence

by Isaac, Jane;

  Dark pressed her lips together empathetically.

  ‘At least it explains the syringe found in the factory.’

  ‘Why don’t I get us both a drink?’ she said. ‘I’ve given you some tough news. Take a moment to let it sink in.’ He shifted in his seat. ‘Unless you’re in a hurry for your appointment?’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine. I’m meeting Mum and the kids in McDonald’s in town. I can manage a few more minutes.’

  She made to stand.

  He was up before she could do so. ‘I’ll do it.’

  While he was in the kitchen, she checked the road outside. Over half an hour had passed since she’d arrived. It was odd that Spencer wasn’t there. He hadn’t messaged her either. She was wondering how the team were getting on with the retrieval of evidence at Turner’s squat when a thought struck her.

  The discovery of the syringe at the factory hadn’t been released. The DCI was quite insistent. How did Blane know? Did he find out when he accessed their files? Christ, Blane was a cop. And one thing Dark hated more than anything else was cop’s abusing the systems for their own ends, whatever their intentions.

  Her temper bubbled. Before she knew it, she’d followed him into the kitchen.

  ‘Blane.’

  He jolted around like a naughty schoolboy caught pinching food. ‘You made me jump!’ he said.

  She noticed a packet of Benson and Hedges on the window ledge. ‘I didn’t know you smoked.’

  ‘Oh, they’re my mother’s.’

  She was reminded of the cigarette burns on the victim’s wrists. She’d never seen his mother smoke either. In fact, very few people did these days.

  A muffled sound rang out.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Milk sloshed over the sides of the mugs as he finished up the tea. ‘Let’s go back into—’

  ‘How did you know about the syringe in the factory?’ Dark said, unmoved.

  ‘What?’

  He didn’t look up, too busy mopping up the sloshed coffee with a dishcloth.

  ‘The syringe found at the factory. It wasn’t released.’

  ‘You must have told me.’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  ‘I must have seen it in the paperwork. It hardly matters now.’ His voice was strained.

  There it was again. A muffled squeak. No, more of a squeal. A person’s squeal. Somebody was outside.

  Their eyes met. He looked afraid.

  Dark reached for the back door and made to pull it open when she felt the blow to the back of her head. The room spun. She was aware of his voice in the background but couldn’t decipher the words. As if in slow motion, her legs buckled. And the floor came up to meet her.

  ***

  Rosa Dark felt someone pulling her. A tug at her wrists. She flinched, flexed her hands. Made to move and faltered. Her wrists were tied together. She opened her eyes. To find Blane O’Donnell fastening cable ties around her ankles.

  ‘No!’ she bellowed. She struggled and winced. The cable was secure. Every time she moved, the plastic dug into her the skin. ‘Don’t do this!’ she pleaded.

  Blane worked like a robot, oblivious to her words. He checked the ties again.

  ‘Blane, no!’

  He stopped. She’d caught his attention.

  ‘We can talk about this—’

  Before she could finish, he’d grabbed a tea towel off the side and shoved it into her mouth.

  Dark choked as the material pushed in deeper, wedging her jaw open.

  Blane leapt to his feet, bent down and lifted her over his shoulder.

  Her stomach wrenched. She tried to wriggle, to kick, but her resistance was no match for his strength.

  Out of the door, she bounced on his shoulder, every movement winding her. Down the garden. As they approached the car, the boot flicked open. Dark could see something inside. It looked like…

  Her screams were muffled by the tea towel. She had to think fast. Spencer hadn’t arrived to relieve her. The DCI was in a press conference. It could be hours before anyone noticed she was missing.

  Dark worked her hands. Blane didn’t notice her engagement ring slip off her finger. Didn’t hear it nestle into the grass. Her body clattered into the boot with a thud. And the door came down, immersing her in darkness.

  CHAPTER 52

  A dull ache pulsed Helen’s temple as she left the press conference. She’d stood beside Jenkins in his Armani suit, her hair freshly combed, with Chief Constable Adams in full regalia on the wing. It was a PR exercise, with Adams valiantly announcing the capture of Sinead O’Donnell’s killer. Jenkins thanking his staff for working around the clock to track down a dangerous criminal; any suggestion of organised crime involvement now dropped from his agenda as he expressed his gratitude to the press and the public for their support on what had been ‘a difficult investigation’.

  Even when the men and women of the press had countered with questions about Gordon Turner’s background, his previous convictions and speculated about whether or not he should have been released from prison, they were undeterred. ‘That’s out of our remit,’ Adams had said. ‘I’m sure there will be an inquiry and those questions will be raised.’

  Helen hadn’t uttered a word. Wheeled out as the SIO heading the case, to show a united front. A PR exercise of the worst kind. She’d never been more relieved to leave Jenkins and Adams behind and return to the paperwork on her desk and a fresh investigation into how Gordon Turner died, though even without those pressing needs, somehow this didn’t feel like a result to be celebrated.

  She snuck outside for some fresh air, surprised to find Vicki Gardener standing outside the back door, cigarette in hand.

  ‘Well done,’ Vicki said.

  Helen gave her a thin smile. ‘Didn’t know you smoked.’

  ‘Guilty pleasure.’ She took a last drag and stubbed it beneath her foot.

  ‘Don’t suppose you can spare one?’

  Vicki flicked open the box and offered them across.

  Helen thanked her and took one. An occasional smoker, she’d given up when Matthew was suspended for smoking at school last year. She’d always indulged away from the house and usually only at work, keeping the habit away from her family, but she was aware her boys were growing up, experimenting. And the secrecy of her actions wasn’t setting much of an example. But there were times, like now, when she really missed its calming effect.

  ‘I’ll see you inside,’ Vicki said and wandered back in.

  It was a warm day, a low-level breeze whistling across the car park. Helen relished the long drag she took, holding it several seconds before she exhaled. A crow cawed overhead. She took another drag, and another, feeling the tension ease out of her shoulders. Her mobile buzzed against her thigh. She stubbed out the cigarette and clicked to answer.

  Pemberton didn’t bother with preamble. ‘Spencer’s been involved in a car accident.’

  Helen froze. ‘Is he okay?’ A car engine ignited nearby. She placed a hand on her free ear to block out the noise.

  ‘Think so. Some idiot jumped the lights at Cross Keys, crashed into the side of his car. He’s conscious. The paramedics have taken him to hospital on a board. I’m told it’s only precautionary though. Chris Tappers from incident response is with him.’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘The incident room.’

  ‘I’m on my way.’

  ***

  A cacophony of noise was seeping out of the incident room as Helen approached, animated voices all talking at the same time. She opened the door to find officers firing messages at a shocked Pemberton beside the door.

  ‘What happened?’ Helen asked.

  The voices immediately quietened. ‘Incident occurred at 3.05 p.m. at Cross Keys roundabout,’ Pemberton said. ‘Car looks like it’s going to be a write-off. Steve’s being checked out by the docs now.’

  ‘We need to get down to Hampton General.’

  He touched her elbow as she turned to go.
‘Wait.’ The urgency in his tone caught her attention. The room stayed silent while he relayed his conversation with Angela Ingram, pinching the skin on his throat as he finished. ‘It seems our Blane O’Donnell isn’t quite the upstanding individual he claims to be.’

  Helen’s mind raced. Spencer would have been on his way to see Blane when the car crash stopped him in his tracks. Which meant Dark went unaccompanied. She searched the room for DC Rosa Dark’s spiky hair. ‘Where’s Rosa now?’

  ‘Don’t know. I’ve tried her mobile twice since I left the café. Goes straight to voicemail.’

  ‘Has anyone tried Blane?’

  ‘He’s not picking up.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s more.’

  ‘Natalia Kowalski’s brother called twenty minutes ago. Claims she’s disappeared.’

  ‘Disappeared?’

  ‘She stayed with him on Friday evening, after she left the station. He took her home the next morning, helped her unpack. When he messaged her last night, to check on her, he got no response.’

  ‘Has anyone been to her flat?’

  ‘He has a spare key and went around this morning. No sign. He’d given her a spare phone, since we have hers, and it was on the kitchen table.’

  Helen stiffened. ‘Get proof-of-life checks done on Natalia, find out when she last used her credit card and accessed her bank account,’ Helen called out to the room.

  Blane had broken into the homicide systems, stalked the young witnesses, tenacious in his attempts to investigate his wife’s death. What if he’d read about the private phone Sinead kept to speak with Natalia and confronted her? If Angela Ingram’s account was to be believed, he was jealous, controlling.

  She turned to Pemberton. ‘We need to get to Blane O’Donnell’s mother’s now.’ She was out of the door before she’d finished the sentence.

  CHAPTER 53

  The car rattled as Pemberton screamed through the traffic, overtaking vehicles, waving crossing pedestrians aside. Inside the car it was stifling. They wound down the windows, the background hum of the traffic becoming white noise as they focused on the task in hand. Helen phoned for backup and arranged for a patrol car to stop by the O’Donnells’ house to check for any presence. Even though Blane hadn’t moved home since Sinead’s murder, there was every chance he could have retreated there and she wanted to cover all bases. When they’d tried the landlines of both properties, they were unanswered, but that didn’t necessarily mean the houses were empty.

  Her mobile erupted. Charles was calling. She pinched her lips together, answered.

  Helen didn’t have time for greetings. ‘Charles, I’m rather tied up—’

  ‘Sorry to bother you,’ he cut in. ‘I’ve had the tests back on Yvette Edwards’s fingernails – the labs are on overtime to clear their backlog – you’ll be interested in the results.’ A car horn beeped as Pemberton overtook another vehicle.

  ‘Okay, you’ll need to be quick.’

  ‘You were right. Small skin particles were found underneath her nails. They ran them through the database and found a match with Blane O’Donnell.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He must have surprised her, she lashed out when he placed the bag of coal over her head and she caught him. Anyway, it’s a definite match.’

  Helen thanked him and ended the call. She recapped the conversation to Pemberton.

  ‘So, he was there when the neighbour died,’ Pemberton said. ‘That’s interesting.’

  ‘The question is why, Sean? Why would he murder his own neighbour?’

  ‘Sinead and Yvette were close. Perhaps he thought she knew something…’ His words tailed off as he steered around a corner.

  ‘Blane was on the duty stats for the whole day when Sinead was killed,’ Helen said. ‘We did double-check, didn’t we?’

  ‘Yup. And we’ve a statement from another member of staff, saying she was with him.’

  His ensuing silence put her on edge. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Doesn’t mean he didn’t have help.’

  Helen grabbed her phone and dialled Jenkins, relaying the pathologist’s findings and urgently requesting a check on Blane’s movements last Wednesday. They were pretty sure he’d already accessed the homicide computer systems using a colleague’s login. Had someone helped him to commit murder?

  Every tick of the clock scratched at her. Right now, finding Rosa Dark and Natalia Kowalski was her priority. Jenkins would have to deal with the rest. She’d witnessed Blane’s temper first-hand. At the time, she’d put it down to the anxious frustrations of a grieving man. He was a decorated police officer, a man of purported respectability and integrity. But he wouldn’t be the first officer to hide corrupt or controlling behaviour behind a police badge.

  Pemberton’s interview with Angela Ingram rolled around her mind, along with reminders of her conversations with Blane. He’d said Sinead had a lot of friends and was always messaging someone, yet when they’d checked her phone records, most of the calls were to the nursing home, him and her neighbour, who was now also dead. It seemed Sinead actually had little family and few close friends. And she’d kept her friendship with Natalia private.

  Was he monitoring his wife? If so, if he suspected her of having an affair, it might give him a motive for murder.

  She tried Blane again, every ring grating at her, then ordered an urgent trace on his phone.

  As soon as they rounded the next corner, they spotted the silver Focus outside Blane’s mother’s house. The police pool car. Rosa hadn’t left.

  The brakes screeched across the asphalt as Pemberton parked.

  Blane’s mother was at the door before they reached the step. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked, looking at their car blocking the driveway.

  The high-pitched sound of a child’s laugh was heard from inside.

  ‘Is Blane here?’ Helen asked.

  ‘No. I’ve just got back from the shops with the children. His car is missing from the car port, he must have gone out.’

  ‘An officer visited here earlier. DC Rosa Dark. Have you seen her?’

  She shook her head. ‘What’s all this about?’

  ‘May we have a look around? The officer’s car is still parked outside. She can’t be far away.’

  Small faces peered up at them as they entered the front room. Helen managed a small smile and retreated, nodding for Pemberton to check upstairs. She looked in the dining room, the playroom, the kitchen. By the time Blane’s mother joined her, she was trying the back door.

  ‘Do you know where Blane’s gone?’ Helen asked her.

  ‘No. I noticed his car was gone when I came back with the children a few minutes ago. What’s happened?’

  ‘How was Blane when you saw him earlier?’

  ‘Okay,’ she said warily. She looked afraid.

  Pemberton was back down the stairs now. He gave a quick headshake.

  They raced outside, down the pathway at the side of the lawn and to the car port. Her station wagon was there, alone.

  ‘I’m trying Blane again,’ Pemberton said. ‘He can’t be far away.’

  Helen placed her hands on her hips, eyes sweeping the ground when she noticed something sparkle.

  She moved closer and crouched down, holding it up for Pemberton to see. ‘It’s Rosa’s engagement ring.’

  Pemberton ended the call and dialled another number. She could hear his voice in the background, chasing the trace on their phones, checking up on the patrol car dispatched to the O’Donnells’ family home, putting out an urgent trace for Blane O’Donnell’s car.

  She imagined Dark arriving. Checking her watch. Sitting in the car, waiting for Spencer. Trying his phone when he didn’t arrive and, when he didn’t answer, deciding to continue solo. She was a trained liaison officer, accustomed to dealing with families in distress. And she was here to deliver news to alleviate Blane’s stress, to tell him they’d apprehended his wife’s killer. He’d be pleased. No reason why she couldn’t make a sta
rt.

  She looked back at the house. What happened in there? And how did Blane lure her out here?

  Pemberton ended his call. ‘We’ve got a trace on O’Donnell’s phone. He’s at Keys Trading Estate.’

  Helen’s heart thumped her chest as they darted back into the house, past Blane’s bewildered mother and out into the street.

  Within seconds, they were in the car heading towards town. Cross Keys was only five minutes away. Every pedestrian, every traffic light, every vehicle in front plagued them.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Helen said. ‘If Blane’s evading us, why would he leave his phone on?’

  ‘He’s playing a game. Drawing us in.’

  The derelict factories looked eerie in the late-afternoon light, the road and surrounding car parks empty. Pemberton drove down the road and stopped outside Billings. There was no sign of Blane’s Peugeot. Helen tensed. Cell-site traces on phones could only pinpoint the location of a device to within a couple of hundred yards. Which meant he could be anywhere on this side of the estate.

  Billings was quiet. The CSIs had finished their examination of the factory yesterday and there was no longer a guard standing outside. If ever they needed one, Helen thought, it was now.

  It seemed unlikely Blane would bring Dark to Billings, the scene of Sinead’s murder, but they knew he’d visited there before and they had to start somewhere.

  Sunshine bounced off the windows as Pemberton left the car, approached the door and looked through the glass panel. Helen followed him. They moved around to the rear. The back door with the faulty lock had been boarded up. The Bracken Way in the distance was empty.

  They walked the perimeter of the building and found nothing to indicate a presence.

  Back at the front, Pemberton called a number, put his finger to his mouth and held out his phone. The faint sound of a phone ringing came from inside. His eyes glistened.

  Helen looked back over her shoulder. Where was their backup?

  They couldn’t wait. Preserve life was an officer’s first priority. If Blane was inside, there was a chance he had Dark with him and there was no knowing what state either of them were in.