Deadly Silence

by OMJ Ryan

  ‘Happy, fun-loving kids who suddenly become introverted, isolated and difficult to communicate with – years before puberty – sounds like the hallmarks of abuse to me.’

  ‘Maybe the other kids were the abusers? It’s not unheard of. Could Logan be a victim and this is his revenge?’ said Bovalino

  Phillips shook her head. ‘I’m not so sure, and after talking to Father Maguire, I’m not convinced the photograph is the only link. He told me the reason why Susan was cleaning the church that night. Apparently, the church was broken into a few weeks earlier and the ladies were getting the office back in shape after the workmen had been in to make some repairs. Hardly enough damage to warrant a cleaning party, but as two of the team were octogenarians, I’m pretty sure Gillespie would have been doing most of the work that night.’

  ‘And what has any of this got to do with the four unsolved murders currently on our plate Inspector?’ Brown said sounding exasperated.

  ‘I’m coming to that.’

  ‘I wish you bloody would!’

  Phillips ignored the jibe. ‘Maguire reckons that whoever did it must have been disturbed, because they only got away with twenty quid and a file they lifted, along with the entire top drawer of his bureau.’

  ‘They nicked a drawer? That’s a first,’ said Jones.

  ‘Yeah, I know, and I don’t believe they were disturbed. I think they got exactly what they were looking for.’ She retrieved the printed copies from Maguire’s PC, passed one to Brown, another to the guys, who huddled around it, and kept one for herself. ‘These are the church’s donation records for every parishioner who gives regularly. It contains the names and addresses of Susan Gillespie, Deidre McNulty, Betty Clarke and Ricky Murray.’

  Jones scanned the long list of names. ‘Jesus. That can’t be a coincidence, can it?’

  ‘I don’t believe in coincidences. I’m sure it’s linked.’

  ‘This is all very enlightening, of course—’ Brown’s tone was laced with sarcasm. ‘—but what does this list have to do with catching the killer?’

  Phillips turned the page around to face him. ‘This list was one of the items stolen during the break in at St Patrick’s Church. A month after it was taken, four people on it were ritually murdered in exactly the same way. I hate to tell you sir, but there’s a chance that any one of the two hundred names listed here could be our next victim.’

  The colour drained from Brown’s face as Phillip’s words landed. He steadied himself against a nearby desk, leaning on its edge. ‘Two hundred?’ he echoed, in almost a whisper. ‘That’s all I fucking need.’

  ‘So how would you like us to proceed from here, sir’

  Brown didn’t reply, appearing lost in his own thoughts. No doubt thinking what damage this might do to his career.

  ‘Sir?’ repeated Phillips, louder this time.

  Brown turned his head to face her but appeared distant. ‘What?’

  ‘How would you like us to proceed from here?’

  The DCI seemed suddenly aware of all eyes trained on him and stood bolt-upright, back to full bluster. ‘Find out where Logan was on the night of the burglary. As we’ve got nothing concrete to hold him for the murders, we’ll have no choice but to let him go in a couple of hours. So, let’s see if we can get him on breaking and entering. It’ll give us a chance to hold him for another twenty-four hours at least.’

  ‘Yes sir,’ said Phillips.

  Brown ran his hand through his hair and straightened his tie before heading for the door. ‘I have to brief the Chief-Super on this new development.’

  When Brown had disappeared out into the corridor, Bovalino chuckled. ‘Delivering the news to Fox that there could be two-hundred-plus potential victims? Rather him than me.’

  ‘You’re not kidding. She’s going to tear him a new arsehole,’ said Phillips.

  Jones laughed and rubbed his hands together. ‘And it couldn’t happen to a more deserving bloke, could it?’

  37

  Just after 11 p.m., Matt Logan finally unlocked the door to his tiny room at the hostel. He closed it behind him, flopped down on the single bed and shut his eyes. Another long day at the office, he thought, and allowed himself a wry smile.

  He was drifting off to sleep when, a few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Then it opened tentatively.

  He spied one of the volunteers peering through the gap. ‘All right, fella?’ Logan called everyone fella; it saved having to remember names.

  ‘You okay, Matt?’ said the volunteer.

  Logan sat upright. ‘Yeah, just a bit knackered.’

  ‘You fancy a smoke?’

  Logan nodded and the volunteer stepped inside, finally revealing the name badge on his chest, which read Trevor.

  ‘Tough day?’ Trevor took a seat on the grey plastic chair next to Logan’s bed.

  ‘You could say that.’ He took one of the cigarettes offered, lit it and enjoyed a deep drag before leaning back against the wall. ‘You not having one?’

  ‘Just put one out, but when I saw you come in, I thought you might need one. So, where you been the last few days?’

  ‘Ashton House.’

  ‘The police station?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What were you doing there?’

  ‘You won’t believe this; I was arrested on suspicion of murder.’

  Trevor let out a nervous laugh. He stared at Matt uneasily. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Deadly. They were looking at me for those Cheadle murders.’

  ‘That’s hardcore! How the hell are you connected with them?’

  ‘I used to know the victims – in a previous life.’

  ‘Bollocks, you did.’ Trevor laughed and slapped his leg, stopping as Logan fixed him with a steely glare before taking another drag of his cigarette.

  ‘I wasn’t always a junkie, you know.’

  Trevor raised his arms in defence. ‘Sorry, Matt. I didn’t mean to offend you.’

  ‘It takes more than that to offend me, fella, but you should never judge a book by its cover. Not everyone, or everything, is always as it seems.’ A wry smile spread across his face.

  ‘How long did they keep you there?’

  ‘Two days. They started with the suspicion of murder arrest, then when they couldn’t find enough to charge me, they re-arrested me yesterday on suspicion of burglary – to hold me for another twenty-four hours. They hadn’t counted on me having a cast-iron alibi for the first murder, as well as the night they reckon I broke into my old church in Cheadle.’

  ‘Really? That’s lucky.’

  ‘No luck needed when I’ve got Dannielle. She’ll say anything I want her to.’

  ‘Dannielle? is that your girlfriend?’

  ‘I wish. Nah, she’s my old cellmate’s sister. Lives in Levenshulme. In fact, you probably know her brother, Mitchy. He stays here sometimes.’

  ‘As in David Mitchell?’

  ‘That’s him. He backed up my story too. Mind you, the issue with Mitchy is juries don’t like junkies as alibis. Whereas Dannielle, well, she’s an upstanding member of the community. Has a job at the Town Hall and everything.’ Logan chuckled.

  ‘And she lied for you?’

  A cunning smile crossed Logan’s face. ‘Lied? No. Let’s just say, she backed up my story.’

  ‘So, what happens now? Are you free and clear?’

  Logan took another drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke billow from his nostrils as he spoke. ‘No chance. I’ve got form. They think I know how to get into houses without being seen.’

  ‘Is that what you were inside for?’

  ‘Yeah. I did a few stretches for burglary when things got tough on the outside. I was in and out like a bloody yo-yo for a while.’

  ‘Well, you’re here now, so they obviously didn’t have enough to charge you then?’

  ‘Not yet. But you can bet they’ll be doing everything they can to find something.’

  Trevor sat forwards in his chair, his expres
sion grave. ‘What you gonna do, then? I mean, murder? That’s serious. They could put you away for the rest of your life.’

  Logan shrugged his shoulders. ‘I know that, but what can I do?’

  Trevor appeared frustrated. ‘Well, you can’t just sit here and do nothing, Matt. If you think they’re going to come after you, then you’ve got to take control of the situation and do something – anything.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know, but you can’t let them send you down if you’re innocent. What a waste of a life.’

  ‘That’s my life all over, fella.’ Logan took one last drag from the cigarette before pressing it into an overflowing ashtray on the bed stand.

  Trevor stood up. ‘Look, I’d better be going, I’m due to finish at midnight and I need to finish my rounds before I go. You going to be ok?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll be fine. It’ll all work itself out in the end.’

  ‘Well, at least take a couple more of these.’ Trevor opened the packet of the cigarettes.

  Logan scooped out a few fingerfuls. ‘Thanks fella, very good of you.’ He placed them on the bed stand.

  ‘You’re welcome. And let me get you a fresh one of those…’ Trevor left the room, returning a minute later with a clean ashtray and replaced the full one.

  Logan looked him up and down. ‘You know, you look really familiar. Were you in a band or something?’

  ‘For a while, yeah. Did a few gigs in Liverpool but we never played in Manchester. And it was a long time ago now.’

  ‘I definitely wouldn’t have seen you then. I’ve always made it a policy to stay out of Liverpool.’

  Trevor laughed. ‘Like so many Mancs before you.’ His expression turned grave. ‘Seriously, Matt, don’t let them send you down for this. Life in Hawk Green is no way to spend your days. Don’t give in. Like I say, you’ve got to get the upper hand while you still can; take control before they do.’

  Logan groaned as lay down on his back and closed his eyes. ‘I’ll have a think about it, fella,’ he muttered without conviction.

  Trevor headed for the door.

  ‘Switch the light off on the way out, will you?’

  ‘No problem,’ said Trevor.

  A moment later, the door closed and the windowless room was plunged into darkness.

  ‘I’m sure I can come up with something, fella,’ he whispered as he began to drift off to sleep.

  38

  Starting her day with a post mortem was always a challenge, made all the more difficult this morning as Phillips had been partnered with Brown. Over the years, she’d learned the hard way that it was best to watch proceedings without breakfast, though she still struggled with the noise of slicing flesh, organs being scooped onto weighing scales and, where necessary, bones being drilled or sawn apart. Thankfully this morning had been a straightforward procedure that Chakrabortty had completed in just a few hours.

  ‘So, Doctor, Murray’s cause of death is essentially the same as the other three, then?’ said Brown.

  ‘Very close, but there are a few differences. The first three victims were suffocated with plastic bags, whereas Murray was strangled whilst the bag was over his head.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  Chakrabortty explained. ‘Well, in the cases of Gillespie, McNulty and Clarke, each victim died of asphyxiation – essentially, the plastic bag placed over their heads deprived them of oxygen. In Murray’s case, the killer pulled the plastic bag over his head, but also used their hands to squeeze his neck until he stopped breathing. Heavy bruising on the trachea and vocal cords indicate consistent pressure was applied for some time.’

  ‘So, are we looking at a copycat then, Tan?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘I don’t think so, but I can’t be one hundred per cent sure. The tetryzoline in Murray’s system was also a first.’

  Brown already seemed to be losing patience. ‘Tetryzoline? What the bloody hell is that?’

  Judging by the expression on her face, Chakrabortty had the same dislike for Brown as the majority of the GMP. She stared him in the eye, her features hard and unflinching, her voice clipped. ‘Tetryzoline is a drug found in eyedrops. If administered in large enough quantities, it can cause nausea and vomiting, and occasionally diarrhoea. In some cases, it can also be used as a sedative.’

  ‘Do you think that was how Murray was subdued?’ asked Phillips.

  ‘I don’t believe so. We found the same quantities of benzodiazepines, methoxyflurane and chloroform in his blood as the others.’

  ‘Information that hasn’t been released to the press,’ said Phillips.

  ‘Exactly, Jane. So, despite the differences in the method of death, there’s a very good chance Murray was killed by the same person as the first three.’

  ‘Right,’ said Brown. ‘Now that we’ve established that life-changing information, did you find anything that can actually help us identify the killer?’

  Chakrabortty didn’t respond to Brown’s sarcasm. ‘Nothing. As per the others, the body was wiped down with benzalkonium chloride.’

  ‘A cleaning agent, sir,’ Phillips explained.

  Brown shot Phillips a look. ‘I know what it is, Inspector. I’m not a total idiot.’

  Phillips suppressed her grin as she watched Brown’s face begin to turn red. ‘Of course not, sir.’

  Chakrabortty caught Phillips’s eye and smiled briefly, straightening her face instantly as Brown turned back to her. She continued her deadpan delivery. ‘We found traces of Latex gloves on the body, but again a generic brand found in most chemists across the country. Whoever your killer is, he may have adjusted his method of killing, but his attention to detail when cleaning up after himself is exceptional. He leaves nothing behind. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.’

  ‘You sound like you admire the guy?’

  ‘DCI Brown, in the ten years I’ve been doing this, I’ve yet to find a killer so thorough in their attempts to clean up after themselves.’

  ‘So, we’re still no closer to finding our killer, then?’ said Brown curtly.

  ‘From a pathological point of view, no, we’re not.’

  Phillips chuckled to herself, following at a distance as Brown stormed across the wet car park like a petulant child, his collar turned up against the rain. He said nothing as she unlocked the doors and got in the driver’s side.

  ‘Well, she’s absolutely no fucking use.’ Brown slammed the door unnecessarily hard as he took his position in the passenger seat next to her.

  Phillips switched on the ignition. ‘She can only find what the killer leaves behind, sir.’

  ‘Exactly. Are you telling me that the killer left nothing behind whatsoever? No fibres, no spit, no sweat?’

  ‘If he had, then Tan would have found it.’

  ‘Bollocks. It’s there, she just can’t be arsed to look for it. All she’s interested in is getting that body off the slab as quickly as possible and clearing her caseload.’

  Listening to his hypocrisy, Phillips struggled to stay quiet.

  ‘I’ve a good mind to speak to the coroner and demand a second post mortem.’

  It was an empty threat and Phillips knew it. The coroner, Dr Thiel, was a powerful and strong-willed woman who had trained Chakrabortty, and they were still close allies. Brown had no idea how to handle strong women. She was confident he would rather eat his own hand than take Theil on himself.

  Just then, Brown’s phone rang. ‘Aw shit, the Chief Super. That’s all I need,’ he said, glancing at the screen. He answered it, his voice suddenly turning light and jovial. ‘Hello ma’am.’

  Phillips looked away as if distracted, but trained her ears on the conversation. From what she could tell, Brown was getting a dressing-down.

  ‘No, ma’am. No forensics as yet, but we are working on it.’ He suddenly sounded very subservient.

  Phillips could just about hear the agitated voice of Chief Superintendent Fox on the other end of the line.

  ‘Of course. R
ight away. I’ll be there within the hour, ma’am.’ The phone went dead.

  ‘Everything ok, sir?’ From experience, Phillips knew the answer only too well.

  Brown forced a thin smile. ‘Fine. Just the Chief Super looking for an update. She wants to see me as soon as we get to Ashton House.’

  Phillips steered the car towards the exit. ‘Right, sir. Best not keep her waiting.’

  Aside from the sound of the engine as they navigated city centre traffic, the car was silent for a few minutes. Brown finally spoke. ‘What are you doing when you get back to the station, Phillips?’

  ‘Catching up with the team.’

  ‘Cancel it.’

  Phillips looked puzzled. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Cancel your catch-up. You’re coming with me to see the Chief Super. It’s about time she had an update on what you and your team have been doing to catch this guy.’

  My team, is it now? thought Phillips. She knew exactly how the meeting was going to go.

  39

  Chief Superintendent Fox was a thirty-year veteran of the force and had spent her entire career in the Greater Manchester Police. Openly proud of the fact that she had worked her way up through the ranks from WPC, she had a formidable reputation for getting results, and her conviction rates were second to none. On the face of it, Fox appeared relaxed and jovial, but for those unlucky enough to land on the wrong side of her, her temper was legendary. Urban myths abounded that battle-hardened coppers had been reduced to tears when pulled up in front of her.

  When Brown and Phillips entered her office on the top floor of Ashton House, Fox was sitting in uniform behind her large smoked-glass desk, reading a thick report. Her reading glasses were perched on the end of her overly tanned and prematurely wrinkled nose, the brown skin accentuated by her badly bleached blonde hair. Phillips had always wondered how someone on a Chief Super’s salary could find a way to look so cheap.

  Fox glanced up briefly before scribbling something in the margin and moving the file to the edge of the desk. ‘DCI Brown… and DI Phillips? I wasn’t expecting you, Jane, but please take a seat.’ She smiled widely, but her eyes remained cold and black.