by OMJ Ryan
Deadly Silence
OMJ Ryan
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Rights Info
1
She hadn’t changed much. Older, of course, and a lot heavier than when he had first known her. Since she wore a hat and scarf against the winter weather, most of her face was covered, but there was no denying it was her. Even as a young girl she had carried herself apologetically, and the years seemed to have amplified her timid posture. She scurried along the dark street now, as if hoping to avoid human contact.
She did not notice him step out of the alleyway and slip in silently behind her. It wasn’t the first time he had followed her home.
The walk from the church to her house took the usual five minutes. This evening, though, with the bitter wind biting to the bone, she appeared to be in a hurry. Careful not to get too close, he watched from the opposite side of the street as she fumbled with her keys on the doorstep of the large Victorian terraced house, a moment later stepping inside. A creature of habit, she busied herself switching on lights and closing the curtains in the front rooms before heading into the kitchen.
At the rear of the property, he positioned himself in his usual spot, in the shadows of the alley that ran along the back of the house. While the homes on either side enjoyed open-plan living rooms that opened onto smartly decked gardens, hers remained locked in the past, tired and dishevelled, in need of some TLC. Despite her insistence on closing the front curtains, the kitchen shutters always remained open, and for the next hour he watched her potter about before eating her evening meal alone at the breakfast bar.
He checked his watch: 7.30 p.m. With the school run complete and the majority of commuters already home, this was the perfect opportunity. Slipping on latex gloves, followed by a pair of leather ones, he returned to the front of the house and checked to see if the street was empty.
With a final glance, he walked up to the front door and pressed the old metal bell, which rang feebly in the hallway. He waited, attempting to appear as casual as possible, all the time careful to keep his face hidden from sight.
He heard footsteps in the hall, then the heavy lock released as she pulled the door open on its chain. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked, staring quizzically through the gap.
‘Susan Gillespie?’
‘Yes?’ She looked him up and down. ‘Have we met?’
He smiled warmly. ‘It’s been a long time Susan, I’ll grant you. Have I really changed that much?’
She continued to stare out at him, looking confused.
‘Surely you remember me and my pyjamas? You and the gang loved them, as I recall.’ He chuckled. ‘Please, Susan, don’t leave me hanging here.’
Her expression changed, replaced by a slow dawning of recognition. ‘Winnie…is that you?’
‘The very same.’ He doffed his cap and bowed theatrically.
‘Well, I never. It must be twenty years since we last met.’
‘Twenty-eight, actually.’
Susan stared at him uncertainly. ‘Would you like to come in?’
He smiled. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
She unchained the door and ushered him into the hall, where he waited patiently for her to lock it again. ‘Can’t be too careful these days.’
‘Quite.’
She squeezed passed him and headed for the kitchen, ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’ she asked over her shoulder.
‘Coffee, if you have it.’
‘I don’t drink it myself, but I think I still have some in the cupboard. Noel likes it. You remember Noel, don’t you?’
‘Yes, of course.’
He followed her into the kitchen. He had only ever seen glimpses of it from outside, but after so many nights watching from the alley, he knew the layout well. Still, the house itself appeared much larger inside than he had expected, almost too big for one person.
With her back to him, she continued to chatter, busy in her search of the coffee. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t recognise you, Winnie. You look so different. I don’t mean to be rude, but you were a chunky monkey, weren’t you? Now you’re built like an action hero.’ She turned to face him, a wide grin on her face.
He returned her smile. ‘Many hours in the gym.’
Susan opened a cupboard door. ‘The coffee’s in here somewhere.’
He pointed to her left. ‘What about that one?’
She followed his direction and stepped over to the farthest corner, exactly where he wanted her. He removed the leather gloves. Glancing over at the window, he took what he needed from his jacket pocket and stepped forwards.
‘You must be psychic.’ Susan grabbed the jar of coffee from the top shelf and turned to face him.
‘Something like that.’ His words sounded muffled through the surgeon’s mask pulled tightly across his face.
For a moment Susan looked confused, then terror filled her eyes as he raised his right hand towards her face. She tried to speak, but was immediately silenced as he pumped two large sprays from the dispenser directly into her nose and mouth. A second later, he stepped forwards to catch her as she dropped like a stone towards the floor.
In the living room, his final preparations were complete. He dragged an old armchair in front of his victim, who he’d cable-tied to a chair he’d retrieved from the kitchen.
Still unconscious, she sat slumped in the middle of the dimly lit room, the single lamp casting long shadows across the floor. Taking his seat, he inspected the transparent plastic bag in his hands with forensic attention. He pulled it back and forth, testing its strength. He was sure it would do the job. He checked his watch: almost 8.30 p.m. Time flies when you’re having fun. Exhaling heavily, he sat in silence and waited for stage two to begin.
Sometime later, Susan began to stir. When she realised where she was, she bolted upright, shock written on her face.
‘Welcome back, my dear.’
She stared at him wild-eyed. ‘Wh-what is this? What are you going to do to me?’
‘Exactly what you did to me.’
‘But I didn’t do anything, Winnie.’
‘Precisely, that’s the whole fucking point. And don’t call me Winnie. I always hated that stupid nickname.’
Susan remained silent, continuing to stare at him fearfully.
�
�Are you scared, Susan?’
A tear rolled down her cheek. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘Good,’ he purred as he leant in and wiped the tear away. ‘They say animals can smell fear, but do you know, I swear I can taste it.’ He licked his finger.
Susan began to sob uncontrollably. He smiled as he heard liquid dripping noisily onto the carpet. ‘Same old little Susie. Crying and wetting herself.’
He walked over to the fireplace and picked up a photo of an elderly couple in his gloved hand. With his back to her, he examined it closely. ‘I remember this used to be your mum and dad’s house. Is this them?’
Susan nodded.
‘What happened? Did you lock them in a home?’
Susan controlled her tears long enough to speak, ‘They died within twelve months of each other. Mum went first, and Dad couldn’t cope.’
‘Died of a broken heart, did he?’ he asked sympathetically.
Susan starred sobbing again.
He put the picture back on the mantelpiece. ‘I never knew my father,’ he said coldly, then walked back over to her. He stood behind her and took out the plastic bag again, then held it above her head. ‘Right, Susan, it’s time to tell me the truth.’
He pulled the bag over her head so that it covered her nose and mouth. Standing over her, he watched in awe as she writhed in panic, the plastic forcing its way into her airwaves. His heart raced, and adrenaline surged through his body as he held it in place.
After fifteen seconds, he pulled it off. Immediately, Susan gasped for air, spit running down her chin.
‘Come on, Susan…the truth.’
She was crying like a child now. ‘The truth? About what?’
‘About why you didn’t do anything, that’s what.’ He pulled the bag over her head again, holding it longer this time. Her screams were muffled as she involuntarily sucked the plastic in and out of her mouth, her legs kicking against the carpet.
Finally, he pulled it off, ‘Tell me the truth, Susan. Why didn’t you do anything to help me? We were supposed to be friends.’
He waited for her to speak as she desperately sucked in air. ‘I-I couldn’t,’ she wailed. ‘He told me I’d be next if I told anyone – I was terrified of him.’
Holding the bag taut, he stood in fury as the words landed. ‘You were terrified? How do you think I felt for all those years?’ He pulled the bag over her head once more.
Her whole body fought for air, every muscle straining in the hope of finding oxygen. He watched coldly from above, his jaw tightening before ripping the bag away just in time.
She heaved and gasped, her mouth dripping with saliva, and she began bawling like a distraught child. ‘Please, you have to believe me. I did try, once. But he was too powerful. I’m so, so sorry.’
He stood in front of her, then knelt to stroke her cheek gently. ‘Yes, he was powerful…and evil. And you did nothing to stop him.’
‘I know I did wrong. I should have spoken out.’ She broke down again. ‘Believe me, I ask God for forgiveness every day.’
‘Oh, it’s a little too late for prayers, Susan.’
‘I’m begging you, please let me go. I won’t say anything, I promise.’
His voice was almost tender now. ‘I know that, Susan. You never do.’
He pulled the bag over her head one last time and held it there as her body thrashed from side to side. As he stared into her eyes, the energy coursing through him was almost overwhelming. As her lungs finally ran out of air, she stopped moving and her body came to a complete rest. With his hands still gripped tightly around the plastic, he was aware of a deadly silence that now permeated the room; it was almost deafening.
He turned his gaze back to Susan. Her dead eyes stared through the condensation that clung to the inside of the bag. He checked her pulse to be certain she was dead, then withdrew a roll of black duct tape from his pocket. It was time for stage three.
2
Detective Jane Phillips slammed on the brakes, narrowly missing an oncoming car as she attempted to cross a busy junction. She had suffered one of her flashbacks and hadn’t seen him until it was almost too late. The wound in her chest chafed against her seatbelt, a constant reminder of her terrifying ordeal just six months ago. She wasn’t right yet, and she knew it.
Sticking to the speed limit, she drove the remaining ten minutes without incident and arrived at the house shortly after 3 p.m. She killed the engine and sat for a moment, breathing deeply. ‘Come on, Jane, get a grip of yourself.’
Putting on her game face, she stepped out of the car and strode over to the SOCO tent, where she pulled a set of protective overalls over her charcoal trouser suit and black boots. For convenience, as ever, her hair was tied back against her head.
She stepped through the front door and walked hurriedly down the hall. Jones and Bovalino had already arrived. She was late again, which would almost certainly cause problems with her new DCI.
In the lounge, she was confronted by the body of a woman slumped in a chair. Her face was covered by a plastic bag secured around her neck with a cable tie. Four strips of black gaffer tape had been used to create an X over each eye.
Jones and Bovalino were inspecting the room. Their white protective suits appeared incongruous to the rest of the scene. Jones’s wiry frame was drowned out by the baggy material, while the man-mountain that was Bovalino looked like a huge balloon, filled to breaking point.
‘Jesus, Bov, could that suit be any tighter?’ she said as she approached.
Both men turned to face her. ‘Guv,’ they said in unison.
She lowered her voice. ‘Where’s Brown?
Jones pointed across the room. ‘In the kitchen with Evans.’
‘Jesus, Evans doesn’t mess about, does he?’
‘Just been made up to senior CSI,’ Jones replied. ‘Trying to get on the right side of Brown.’
‘Does he have one?’ Phillips gazed around the room. ‘Do we know who the victim is?’
‘Susan Gillespie,’ came the sharp Glaswegian tones of DCI Brown, emerging from the kitchen. ‘Detective Inspector Phillips. How good of you to finally join us.’
Reluctantly, she apologised. ‘Sorry sir, I got held up.’
‘Of course you did.’ Brown’s dislike of Phillips was so evident that even Susan Gillespie might have noticed it.
Brown had taken charge of the team after Phillips had been demoted to inspector following the Marty Michaels case. Despite catching the mastermind responsible for a killing spree that had shocked Manchester, she had broken the law in doing so. In such a high-profile case, an example had to be made. Vigilantism would not be tolerated in the force.
Now she reported to DCI Fraser Brown. Originally from Glasgow, he had transferred to the Northwest fifteen years ago, and he and Phillips had clashed many times. Their contempt for each other was widely known, and evident for all to see.
Brown stepped closer, his lack of height making him look ridiculous in his billowing SOCO suit. Phillips believed his small man syndrome was one of the many things that made him so unpleasant.
‘Right, now we’re all finally here, let’s get on with solving this case, shall we? Jones, what do we know so far?’
‘Well, sir, there’s no obvious signs of forced entry. There’s two coffee cups and a biscuit tin next to the kettle. Nothing appears to be missing, and there’s no outward signs of a struggle. From what we can see, there’s no indication of rape or sexual assault.’
‘We’ll know for certain once we get her on the slab,’ Evans chirped in, clearly trying to make an impression.
Brown ignored him. ‘What do we know about the victim?’
‘Forty-three. Single, lives alone. No pets.’
‘Who found the body?’ asked Phillips.
‘Her brother,’ said Jones. ‘When she didn’t turn up for work at the family accounting firm, he called around and let himself in with his key,’
'Approximate time of death is early evening last night,’ Evans cut in.
‘Could it be a sex game gone wrong?’ asked Bovalino.
There was a pause, then Jones responded, ‘We’ll need to check her sexual history. Maybe the brother can give us some idea of the kind of life she lived behind closed doors.’
Brown rubbed his chin, attempting to look intelligent. Phillips had seen him do it a thousand times. Each time, she had to fight the urge to slap his hand away.
‘Right,’ he said. ‘Phillips, you carry on here with Jones and Bovalino. I have to get back to the station and brief the Chief Super. This is not your run-of-the-mill murder case, so we need to manage it carefully. If one sniff of this gets to the press, there’ll be panic across the city. We can’t have innocent women murdered in this manner.’
‘How do we know she was innocent, sir?’ asked Phillips.
‘Does she look like a criminal to you, DI Phillips?’
‘Well, admittedly, she’s not wearing a mask and carrying a swag bag.’
Jones and Bovalino attempted to stifle their childish grins, which didn’t go unnoticed by Brown.
Phillips continued. ‘Isn’t it a bit early to make assumptions on who Susan Gillespie was and what might have brought the killer to her door?’
Brown stepped in closer to her. She was at least two inches taller than him. ‘Don’t get funny with me, Phillips. Instead of acting up in front of the gang, why don’t you use that smart mouth of yours to find our killer, and fast. I don’t want a case like this hanging over my head. And not a word to the press, you got that?’