Don't Make a Sound

by David Jackson

  ‘What kind of other reasons?’

  ‘All kinds. An example would be if to do so would endanger life.’

  There, thinks Cody. Suck on that one. Let’s see if that banged-up head of yours can join the dots I’ve just drawn for you.

  Malcolm looks around the room. ‘Endanger whose life? These kids couldn’t have done anything to bring you back to the house. It’s not possible.’

  ‘No. You’re right. I was just giving an example.’

  This time he deliberately speaks with less conviction. If the girls couldn’t have contacted the police, then who could? Eh, Malcolm? Who is the only other person who knows about this? And are you certain you really trust her?

  Malcolm looks confused, frustrated. He doesn’t know what the truth is, or whom to trust.

  Just as Cody hoped.

  ‘It’s crap,’ says Malcolm. ‘You’re talking crap. You’re making it up.’

  ‘I’m not, Malcolm. I’m—’

  Cody halts as Malcolm dives across to him and grabs hold of his bound wrists.

  ‘I say it’s crap. The police knew nothing. You knew nothing. You got lucky, that’s all.’

  ‘You think so? You think tracking down you and the children like this could really be down to pure luck?’

  ‘I can get the truth out of you,’ says Malcolm. He digs the knuckles of his right hand into the scissor wound on Cody’s thigh. Cody yells as the wound reopens.

  ‘I saw your feet,’ says Malcolm. ‘I saw your missing toes. You want to lose the rest of them? I’ll cut them off and feed them to you. How about that, Sergeant Cody? I can do things to you that you can’t even imagine.’

  Cody holds his tongue again, waiting for Malcolm to calm down.

  ‘You need to start thinking, Malcolm. You need to realise how serious this situation is. I’m a police officer, and right behind me are a whole load of other police officers. Any—’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘Any harm you do to me now will only make things worse for yourself. Accept that it’s over, Malcolm. Turn me loose, before this goes too far.’

  Malcolm straightens up. He stares down at Cody as if seeing him properly for the first time. As if finally appreciating the ramifications of what he’s done.

  This is it, thinks Cody. If I don’t turn him now, I don’t think I ever will.

  Come on, Malcolm. Do the right thing.

  And then Malcolm says, ‘You just don’t get it, do you? I already know how serious this situation is. I take it extremely seriously. That’s why I’m not about to let you or anyone else split up my family.’

  It’s not what Cody wanted to hear. A fireball of anger rockets through him, and he reacts to it before he can stop himself.

  ‘Family? You call this a family? This isn’t a family, Malcolm. It’s a prison. These girls aren’t here because they want to be. They’re here because you took them and locked them up. Real families are held together by love, not by threats and bolted doors.’

  The heat in Cody’s words is reflected in Malcolm’s fierce expression. He gestures towards the three girls. ‘I know more about family than you will ever know, than even their birth parents know. We love these girls, and they love us back. They know what’s right. They know whose side they’re on.’ He pauses, as though something occurs to him. ‘You want me to prove it to you? I’ll prove it. I’ll show you just how close a family we really are.’

  He grabs the cotton wool then. Rips it apart and stuffs it into Cody’s mouth. Cuts off some more duct tape and plasters it across Cody’s face.

  He draws the curtain angrily as he goes, leaving Cody with an uneasy feeling about this promised demonstration of familial love.

  61

  The ringtone seems to go on forever.

  Answer the fucking phone, thinks Webley. I know it’s late in the day, and you’ve probably got a wife and kids to get home to, but this is important. I’ve done a bloody long shift too, you know, so answer the fucking—

  ‘DS Rockford.’

  ‘Oh,’ she says. ‘Hi. It’s me again. Megan Webley.’

  ‘Hi, Megan.’

  They are on first name terms now. She has called enough times to get past the formalities. She likes his surname, though. Admires its solidity, its grittiness. She has always thought of her own surname as having a certain kick-ass ring to it, but Rockford wins hands down.

  ‘Hi, Ade.’ He has asked her to call him that. She’d prefer Rockford. Or maybe Rocky. She’d prefer to hang on to her image of someone who has the dogged determination and street smarts to solve this mystery.

  She says, ‘You’re probably sick of me by now—’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘—but Cody is a good friend, you know? And, don’t get me wrong, I have complete faith in your team, but I just need to know that we’re doing everything we can to find him. Is that . . . I mean, is that okay with you?’

  ‘Megan, it’s fine. And the leads you’ve given us have been great, but at the moment—’

  ‘The family,’ she says. She doesn’t like to cut him off, but it sounded as though he was about to go all negative on her, and she can’t have that. ‘Did you speak to Cody’s family?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, we did. Have to say the response wasn’t quite what I expected.’

  She knows what this means. ‘You met his dad, right?’

  ‘Yeah. To say he didn’t seem concerned would be an understatement.’

  This comes as no surprise to Webley. Cody’s father disowned him the day he decided to join the police. Even back when she and Cody were an item, he hardly ever spoke about his family, and she suspects he rarely sees them now. She knows only too well that his story about spending time with them at Christmas was bullshit.

  She says, ‘So they haven’t been in touch with him, then?’

  ‘Nope. “Haven’t seen him, don’t want to see him,” were the father’s exact words.’

  She wonders how it’s possible for a man to be so uncaring, so cruel about his own offspring.

  ‘Okay. And Devon Bayliss, his ex-fiancée? I don’t suppose you’ve had time to speak to her yet?’

  ‘Actually, yes, we have.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m being pushy. It’s just—’

  ‘I understand, Megan. It’s okay. So, yes, we spoke to Miss Bayliss. She was very helpful.’

  He halts there, and it seems so abrupt.

  ‘Helpful in what way?’

  Rockford hesitates. ‘Well, I don’t want to reveal too much about DS Cody’s personal life. Let’s just say she talked to us about his possible state of mind.’

  Shit, thinks Webley. Devon has dropped him in it. Cody is going to have some difficult questions thrown at him when he returns.

  ‘Look,’ says Webley, ‘I know more than most about Cody. I know about the awful attack on him, and I know how traumatic it was for him. I also know that he’s fully fit now, and one of the best detectives in Merseyside. So if Devon has said something to make you think he’s not all there—’

  ‘Actually, no. She said the opposite. She said he went through one hell of an ordeal, but dealt with it remarkably well, considering.’

  ‘Oh,’ says Webley. She feels ashamed of her quickness to judge Devon. The woman has protected Cody when she could so easily have condemned him. ‘But I take it she hasn’t seen or heard from him?’

  ‘Afraid not. She’s worried about him, though. She’s been calling me nearly as often as you.’

  She wonders if Rockford is having a subtle dig at her, then realises he’s probably right. To him, Cody is just another ‘misper’ – cop speak for a missing person. But to Webley, Cody is a colleague. A friend. An ex-lover.

  ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I’m working on child-abduction cases at the moment, and seeing the bogeyman around every corner.’

  ‘That’s understandable,’ says Rockford. ‘If it’s any consolation, Cody seemed perfectly fine when he left his flat.’

  She struggles to make sense of his words. �
��I’m sorry, what?’

  Rockford pauses. ‘I’m not sure you realise how seriously we’re taking this case, Megan. It’s all hands to the pump here.’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’

  ‘And one of the things we’ve been doing is analysing traffic data. Lo and behold, we got an ANPR ping on Cody.’

  Webley feels a surge of excitement. ANPR is the Automatic Number Plate Recognition system. The ‘ping’ means that Cody’s car number plate was spotted on a police camera.

  ‘Where?’ she asks. ‘When?’

  ‘Yesterday evening, heading away from town on Wavertree Road.’

  She thinks about this. Wavertree Road? What would he be doing there? Heading towards the M62, perhaps?

  ‘Okay,’ she says. And then: ‘Why do I think you’ve got more to tell me?’

  ‘Because I have. We’ve started pulling in CCTV from the area. I’m hoping there’s a lot more to come yet, but we’ve already got one positive.’

  ‘You’ve got Cody’s car on camera?’

  ‘Better than that. We’ve got the man himself. Want to see?’

  ‘What? Yes! Yes, please.’

  ‘I’ll email it to you now. Not sure where this is all going to lead yet, but it’s a start.’

  ‘Ade, you’re a star. You’ve done so much already today. Thank you.’

  ‘No problem. We’ll find him. Check your email, and if anything else occurs to you, let us know. Take it easy, Megan.’

  She thanks him again and ends the call, then grabs her computer mouse and opens up her email browser. The most recent message has the subject line: ‘DS Nathan Cody’. It feels strange to her to see his name in print like that.

  She opens the message, and then the attachment. She gasps at the crystal-clear image that fills her screen.

  Cody.

  The photograph is of the front of his car, but he can be seen behind the steering wheel. There doesn’t appear to be anybody else in the car. Nobody with a gun to his head, or a knife to his throat. In fact, he seems to be wearing the expression of someone who doesn’t have a care in the world.

  So what happened?

  Why does a man dash out of his flat, go for a drive, and then disappear into a black hole?

  Webley touches a finger to the computer monitor. To Cody’s face.

  She prays that this is not the last ever image of him alive.

  62

  Cody’s stomach practically howls at its emptiness.

  He hasn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. Hasn’t drank much, either.

  The kids have eaten. Burgers, chips and beans. Cody had his nose in the air, sucking in the aromas and trying to imagine them solidifying in his stomach.

  He was given nothing. Literally not a bean, baked or otherwise. He wonders if they will simply allow him to starve to death.

  He doesn’t want to die that way. If he has to go, let it be quick. Preferably painless, too. Slowly wasting away in the darkness is not how he pictured his end. He has always envisaged something more dramatic. A hero’s parting.

  But he doesn’t want to think about endings. Not yet. Not while there is still hope. He’s managed to unsettle Malcolm a little. Put thoughts and fears in his head that he can’t cope with. Cody needs to keep picking at those scabs. Get Malcolm to start thinking about cutting his losses and surrendering.

  The door again. Those damn bolts. Every time they are pulled back they seem to twist into his gut.

  ‘Hey, girls.’

  Malcolm. Shit. Cody can relax a little when it’s Harriet: she appears to have no interest in what lies within the curtained-off area. Malcolm is a different kettle of fish. He is too unpredictable.

  The girls don’t answer. They hardly ever do unless one of them is asked a direct question, and even then it is uttered through a veil of fear.

  ‘Who’s up for a game?’ says Malcolm.

  No replies to that one either. Cody wonders what they’ll play. Hide and seek, perhaps?

  ‘I’ll go first. See if you can beat me this time.’

  It all goes quiet. Cody listens intently. And then he hears it: three soft thunks.

  Darts. They’re playing darts.

  ‘Your turn, Daisy.’

  Thunk . . . thunk . . . clatter.

  She missed one.

  ‘Nice darts, Daisy. Okay, Poppy. Show us what you can do.’

  It continues like this for several minutes. Cody’s mind begins to wander. For the millionth time, he tries to think up a way out of this.

  ‘I’ll tell you what, girls. Now that we’ve all had a bit of practice, why don’t we make it a little bit more interesting? Why don’t we bring Mr Cody into the game?’

  At the sound of his name, Cody stiffens. He hears Malcolm step towards him, and then the curtain is whipped back.

  Malcolm’s expression is a blend of delight and malevolence that causes Cody to dread his intentions even more.

  ‘You really want to doubt the loyalty of my family?’ Malcolm whispers. ‘Then watch and learn. See how we play together.’

  He moves aside, drawing the curtain back all the way round the rail. Ahead of Cody, the three girls stand together and stare at him.

  This is the first they’ve seen of him since he regained consciousness. They are transfixed. Scared and fascinated at the same time, like they’re observing a vicious animal at the zoo.

  Because that’s what Malcolm told them, Cody remembers. That’s what he has made them believe.

  He locks eyes with the oldest of them. Daisy. Tries to make her understand without speaking. If any of them is capable of reading faces, it will be her.

  But then she has been here for three years. How will that have affected her empathy? What kind of brutality has she suffered here, and what will that have done to her ability to connect emotionally?

  He has to hope. Because he thinks he sees a spark of something in her eyes. A willingness to give him at least the benefit of some doubt.

  But I could be wrong, he thinks.

  ‘Right then, girls. Let’s show Mr Cody here how good we are at this, eh?’

  Nobody in the group moves. They don’t know what this is, why they are being expected to put on a show.

  ‘Come on,’ says Malcolm. ‘We’re one big happy family. We have a good time together. Mr Cody doesn’t believe it. He told me so. That’s why he wants to take you away and do nasty things to you. But we’re not going to let him, are we? We’re going to stay here and have fun. So come on. Who’s going first?’

  When there is still no movement, Malcolm steps up to Daisy and drags her away from the other two girls. Cody sees how terrified she seems of his touch.

  ‘Daisy! You’re letting the team down. Show Mr Cody how you can hit that double top.’

  Daisy tears her eyes away from Cody. She turns to focus on the dartboard, raises her arm to throw.

  ‘Wait, wait!’ says Malcolm. ‘I almost forgot.’

  He moves to the wall. Unhooks the dartboard from its nail. Turns with a look of glee on his face.

  Heads towards Cody.

  And now Cody understands. He finally realises what has been going through Malcolm’s mind all this time.

  This is his proof. His test of family loyalty. His demonstration that, given a choice between their new father and the stranger in their midst, the girls will always choose Malcolm.

  No matter what that choice entails.

  And so Cody watches with mounting horror as Malcolm unwraps a length of string attached to the back of the dartboard. And much as Cody tries to struggle and shout, he is powerless to prevent Malcolm hooking the string around his neck.

  Powerless to avoid being turned into a human target.

  63

  The board is heavy. Its weight causes the string to bite into the back of Cody’s neck. Perspiration breaks out on his forehead as Malcolm herds the girls together, ready to launch their missiles.

  ‘What do you think, girls?’ says Malcolm. ‘Much more fun this way, isn’t it
? Who’d like to go first?’

  Cody looks at each of the girls in turn. Wills them to see that this is not all right, that even at their tender ages they must know it’s wrong to hurt another human being. His eyes bulge with the effort.

  The girls stay where they are.

  Malcolm remains unperturbed. Cheery, in fact. At least for now.

  ‘Look,’ he tells them. ‘It’s no different this way. I’ll show you.’

  Cody knows this man doesn’t have to inflict pain. He heard each and every one of Malcolm’s darts hitting the board during the earlier game. He has seen the trophies downstairs.

  ‘But just to make it fairer,’ Malcolm continues, ‘I’ll throw backwards.’

  Cody shouts, but it is just noise. If anything, it causes the girls to recoil in fright.

  Malcolm is unaffected. Slowly, he turns his back on Cody. Begins aiming a dart over his shoulder.

  He’s going to do this, Cody thinks. He’s actually going through with it.

  Cody issues another muffled cry. He strains against his bindings until they cut into his limbs.

  And then Malcolm lets fly.

  Cody sees the trajectory. Sees that it’s wildly high, above the dartboard. He tries to dodge to his left, but he has so little room to manoeuvre, and then he feels it strike, feels it sink into his right shoulder. He cries out, then looks down at the shaft sticking out of his flesh. It is like a tropical insect, sinking its proboscis deep into his body.

  Malcolm grins as he assesses his throw. ‘Oops. Not a great start. I’ll try again.’

  Another dart comes flying Cody’s way. This one hits the board. Malcolm appears disappointed.

  ‘Only a six. I’m sure I can do better than that.’

  When Malcolm lines up his third dart and makes the throw, Cody realises that its path is even higher than the first. It streaks towards him, coming straight at his head. At the last moment, Cody twists to the side and hears the dart as it sails past his ear.

  Malcolm turns to face Cody, sees that his final dart lies on the floor beyond him. He looks annoyed.

  He walks behind Cody and picks it up. Then he pulls the second dart from the board. Finally, he yanks the one from Cody’s shoulder. Before he retreats, he gives Cody a look of sheer contempt.