Don't Make a Sound

by David Jackson

  She wonders if the Pied Piper has somehow managed to ensnare him, too. Is that possible? Could there be a connection there?

  ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘The Pied Piper. Typical tabloid response. Make everyone even more shit-scared than they already are, just so they can sell a few newspapers.’

  Parker nods, but she can tell he’s not really interested in her job right now. He wants a proper answer to his question.

  She is glad when the drinks arrive. She uses the opportunity to divert the conversation onto several other trivial matters.

  But it can’t last forever. Parker eventually raises the central item on the agenda.

  ‘Megan, can we talk about us?’

  So there you go, she thinks. That’s plain speaking. No avoiding the issue now.

  ‘Of course. Isn’t that why we’re here?’

  ‘Yes. And I want to begin by apologising to you.’

  Well, thinks Webley. That’s an unexpectedly promising start.

  ‘Go on,’ she says.

  He seems surprised. ‘Well . . . that’s it. I’m apologising. I’m deeply sorry. Now, can—’

  ‘What is it exactly you’re apologising for, Parker? Can we be a bit more specific here?’

  ‘The hurt I caused you. I got too controlling. I know that now.’

  ‘Okay. That’s good.’ She pauses. ‘I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be a pain, but I don’t want this coming back to haunt us later. Just to clear the air, you’re admitting that trying to break up my friendship with Cody was wrong?’

  Parker takes a long slug of his wine. ‘If you really want me to eat my words, then yes, I shouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘Don’t do that, Parker. It’s not about making you eat your words. I just need us to establish that we’re agreed on this. Neither of us should try to break up the other’s friendships, no matter how much we might hate the friends.’

  ‘I don’t hate Cody. I think he’s a complete basket case, but I don’t hate him. That’s not what it was about.’

  ‘Then what was it about?’

  He stares at her, then looks away. ‘Oh, forget it,’ he says petulantly.

  Webley struggles to maintain her calm, even though she has already registered Parker’s use of the term ‘basket case’.

  ‘No,’ she says. ‘Tell me. We’re here to talk this through, so let’s talk. But we have to be honest with each other.’

  He sups his wine again. ‘I’ve already told you this. I don’t know why I have to say it again. I was jealous, okay? Is that what you want to hear?’

  ‘If it’s the truth, yes. It’s nice that you were jealous. It shows you cared. You just took it too far.’

  She hopes that’s an end to it, that they can move on now.

  And then Parker says, ‘You have to see it from my point of view, though.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Well, it’s not exactly a normal situation, is it? Cody isn’t just a random work colleague. He’s an ex-boyfriend.’

  ‘Emphasis on the ex, Parker. He’s not my boyfriend anymore.’

  ‘I think it would be nice if somebody told him that.’

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’

  ‘He’s got issues, hasn’t he? Mental issues. If you ask me, he’s not fit for duty. And how do I know this? Because he told you, and you told me. Of all the people in the world he could have opened up to, he chose you. And then there was that time you were a hostage on the roof. Who is it that comes running to save you like a white knight on his charger? Why, it’s Detective Sergeant Cody again. Isn’t that funny? And then you get injured, and why do you get injured? Because you’re saving Cody’s life, that’s why. Do you see what I’m getting at now, Megan? This isn’t exactly a normal working relationship by anybody’s standards. Add to that the fact that he was seeing more of you in a day than I ever did . . .’

  He lets his rant trail off then. Turns to his wine again.

  Webley shakes her head in disbelief. She is stunned at the vehemence in Parker’s words. His green-eyed monster seems to have been eating away at him for months. Even after all the time they have spent apart from each other, he is unwilling to let the matter go. This evening wasn’t meant to be about Cody, and still he manages to find his way into the centre of her life. He is always there.

  Unlike Parker, she decides. He hasn’t changed, and so this isn’t going to work.

  She says, ‘You don’t need to worry about Cody anymore. He’s disappeared.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Parker says sulkily.

  ‘What I say. He’s gone. He’s officially a missing person. Nobody knows where he is.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay, well . . . Maybe it’s for the best.’

  Webley’s mouth drops open. Did he really just say that? ‘What?’

  ‘All I’m saying is, maybe that’s a stroke of luck for us. I mean, if he’s run off somewhere, he won’t be able to come between us again, and so—’

  ‘He hasn’t “run off”. Something has happened to him. He could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere, or—’

  ‘Come off it. It won’t be like that. The guy’s a nut job. He’s unpredictable. He’s probably holed up in a cave somewhere, thinking about the meaning of life.’

  ‘Parker, we’ve got half the police force out looking for him. You don’t seem to appreciate the seriousness of this.’

  ‘Actually, I think you’re making it perfectly clear to me how serious this is. To you, anyway.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘You’re missing him, more than you’ve been missing me. How long has he been gone? A day or two? We split up at Christmas, and yet he’s the one you can’t bear to be without.’

  Webley is starting to feel really angry now. While everyone else in this place is staring longingly into the eyes of their partner, Webley is on the verge of landing a punch in the eye of hers.

  ‘Parker, you’re blowing this out of all proportion. My relationship with Cody bears no comparison to what you and I had together. It’s a totally different thing.’

  ‘Well, you know what? I’m glad he’s gone. I don’t care if he is lying in a ditch somewhere. He has caused so much trouble between us. Look at us now: still arguing about him. Good riddance to the guy, that’s what I say.’

  Later, Webley will analyse what she says next. She will wonder what on earth possessed her. She will wonder whether it was due to tiredness, stress, desperation or just a need to strike back. Whatever the reason, the words come tumbling out.

  ‘Parker, please tell me you don’t know anything about what’s happened to Cody.’

  He looks as though he has been slapped.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m asking you about Cody. I’m asking you if you’ve seen him in the past couple of days. Because if you have, I need to know.’

  Parker remains speechless for what seems like an age. Then he wipes his mouth on a napkin, tosses it onto the table and stands up, pushing his chair back noisily.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Megan. I can’t believe you just asked me that. I can’t believe how much Cody has you wrapped around his little finger. I’m out of here. Happy Valentine’s.’

  And then he’s gone. And Webley realises that everyone else has seen and heard. All the lovers who were previously lost in each other are now glaring their accusations and their pity at her.

  She lowers her head to avoid the pressure of their stares. Tears well up in her eyes.

  Well done you, she thinks. Good job, Megan.

  She reaches for her bag, finds some tissues. As she digs them out, she realises she’ll probably have to pay the bill for the drinks, too.

  Damn you, Cody. Always there. Always causing me pain.

  A waiter appears at her side. She begins to dab at her cheeks before daring to show him her ruined make-up. He surprises her by starting to fill her glass with white wine.

  ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I didn�
��t order any wine.’

  The waiter gives her a humble nod. ‘No, madam. It has been ordered for you. Perhaps a friend of yours?’

  He nods again, this time gesturing towards the rear of the restaurant. Webley turns in her chair to discover the identity of her mysterious benefactor.

  Well, this is a night of surprises, she thinks.

  70

  Hearing the words is one thing. Understanding them is another.

  Daisy has nobody to ask what is really going on. She was brought here when she was only seven, with the limited knowledge of the world that seven-year-olds usually have. And since then her exposure to new information has been strictly controlled.

  What, for example, is an ‘officer of the law’?

  That’s what Mr Cody called himself: an officer of the law. She doesn’t know what that means. She thinks the most likely explanation is that he’s a policeman, but why would a policeman be sneaking into their bedroom? And why isn’t he wearing a uniform? If he was a policeman and he’d come to rescue them, why did he come by himself, and why didn’t he take Malcolm and Harriet off to jail?

  So maybe he’s not a policeman after all. Maybe he’s something else. The only other people she thinks might be ‘officers of the law’ are judges and all those who wear wigs in court, but that doesn’t seem to make any sense at all.

  Or maybe he was just lying. Making stuff up so he can escape.

  And then there was what they said about other people who might arrive. Malcolm asked where all the ‘clever men and women’ are, and Mr Cody said they were coming.

  Who are those people? Are they really coming here?

  Daisy cannot deny that the thought frightens her a little. She doesn’t know if they are good people or bad people. She has this vision of hundreds of evil men descending on the house in the middle of the night.

  Because that’s the big question, isn’t it? Who is good and who is bad? She knows that Malcolm does bad things sometimes, but what if Mr Cody is even worse?

  And there’s one other worrying bit of information she managed to pick up from the conversation.

  They talked about what Malcolm had done to Ellie’s parents.

  They weren’t specific, but the way they talked about killing Mr Cody suggested that what was done to Ellie’s parents was just as bad.

  Ever since she caught Daisy unplugging the audio cable, Ellie has been giving her searching looks. Although she still refuses to speak, her eyes seem to be filled with a million questions.

  Daisy wishes she had a few more answers.

  *

  Webley feels it would be rude not to drink the wine that has been so kindly bought for her. Ruder still to quaff it and not convey her gratitude.

  So she stands up. Walks with trepidation to the table in the far corner.

  ‘Thank you. You didn’t have to . . .’

  ‘You looked like you needed it,’ says DCI Stella Blunt. ‘Care to join me?’ She gestures towards the empty chair opposite her. It is clear that she has just eaten, and is now on a coffee and what is left of her wine. It is also clear that she has dined alone.

  ‘Er, sure. Okay. Let me just get my things.’

  Webley heads back to her own table and grabs her bag and wineglass. Thinks to herself, What am I doing? Why did I say yes?

  She returns to Blunt’s table and settles herself into the empty chair. Tries to put some words together that aren’t just gap-fill.

  Blunt beats her to it. ‘I often eat here. Forgot it was Valentine’s night, though, or I mightn’t have bothered sitting here looking like I’ve been left on the shelf. Still, now you’re with me, anyone coming in will probably think we’re lesbians.’

  Webley laughs nervously. She’s not sure how long she’ll be able to keep up the pretence of wanting to be here.

  ‘That was your fella, wasn’t it?’ Blunt asks. ‘The one with the funny name.’

  ‘Parker.’

  ‘Yes, Parker. That’s it. I always think you’re calling him by his surname. Bit like Cody.’

  Blunt sips her coffee, acting as though her remark was totally innocent. But Webley knows better. Connecting the two names like that wasn’t just a throwaway comment.

  ‘I guess . . . I suppose you saw what happened between me and Parker just now?’

  ‘I got the gist. Do you want to talk about it?’

  Webley blinks. Suddenly the woman in front of her has transformed from her boss into her agony aunt. Blunt has never offered to discuss personal matters with her before.

  ‘I don’t think there’s much to say. It was probably as much my fault as his.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ says Blunt.

  What is this? thinks Webley. Leaping to my defence like that. What’s going on?

  She takes a long draught of her wine. ‘Actually, you’re right. It’s not my fault. Parker was a complete arsehole tonight. He had no right to humiliate me like that.’

  A hint of a smile forms on Blunt’s lips. She puts down her coffee and picks up her wineglass. ‘Chin chin,’ she says.

  Webley clinks her glass against Blunt’s. ‘Cheers, ma’am.’

  ‘We’re off-duty, Megan. You can call me Stella.’

  ‘Er, right,’ says Webley. She has no intention of using Blunt’s first name. She would rather avoid calling her anything than get so awkwardly familiar.

  ‘What a week, eh?’ says Blunt.

  Webley nods. ‘One of the worst I can remember. I could down a whole bottle of this right now.’

  ‘Drink up, then. I’ll order some more.’

  ‘No, I didn’t mean—’

  ‘Megan, it’s fine. Drink the sodding wine and put aside your worries for a short while.’

  Blunt signals a waiter and places her order. Webley admires the woman’s confidence, her absolute self-assuredness.

  ‘That’s the problem, though,’ says Webley. ‘The relief is only temporary. The stress will be back in spades tomorrow.’

  ‘As it should be.’

  ‘Ma’am? I mean . . . How do you mean?’

  ‘We get stressed because we care, Megan. I’d be worried if you weren’t stressed. Especially with what’s going on with young Cody.’

  There she goes again, thinks Webley. Sneaking Cody into the conversation. But then again, I’m pretty shit at hiding his importance in my life. I might as well have a big red ‘Cody’ sign on my forehead.

  ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘To explain that . . . I don’t know whether you’re aware of it, but Cody and I used to . . . well, we used to be an item.’ Hastily she adds, ‘A long time ago. Not recently.’

  Blunt’s smile is more pronounced this time. ‘Get away,’ she says.

  ‘You know about that, then?’

  Blunt leans forward conspiratorially. ‘Megan, I knew about that before I brought you onto the team.’

  Webley feels like she has just been jabbed on the chin. ‘You . . . You knew? And you still wanted me?’

  Blunt shakes her head in bemusement. ‘You lot make me laugh. You seem to think I just stomp around all day, breathing flames and quoting regs and breaking balls. Believe it or not, I also put a lot of effort into getting the best out of my team. And when I take on a new member, I do my research. People think I don’t know what’s going on, but I do. I know things about you, and I know things about Cody, even though he believes nobody can see through his disguise. But I don’t give a rat’s fanny what you and Cody got up to in a past life. All that matters to me is that you do a good job. So far, I think you’ve proved I made the right decision.’

  ‘Even after yesterday?’

  ‘Yesterday?’

  ‘I gave you some grief in your office. About Cody.’

  ‘You were upset. You were anxious. I get that, Megan. I’m a human being too, you know. I do have feelings sometimes.’

  Webley is starting to realise how true that is. She drinks some more of her wine, and starts to welcome its effects. Starts to feel the tingling
sensation as her inhibitions dissolve.

  ‘I came to see you again today,’ she says.

  Blunt shows her puzzlement. ‘When?’

  ‘I didn’t come in. I went to knock on your door, but you . . . you were preoccupied.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You were looking at a photograph. A picture of Cody.’

  Blunt looks across at the single red rose in its slim vase on the table. ‘I see.’

  ‘You were . . . well, you seemed pretty upset. So I guess I’m not the only one who’s missing Cody.’

  Blunt goes quiet for a long time. She continues to stare at the rose.

  ‘Shit, I’m sorry,’ says Webley. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. It’s none of my business. I was just trying to let you know . . . trying to share . . .’

  Fuck, thinks Webley. I should never have touched the frigging wine. Shouldn’t have come out this evening at all. What a crap day.

  Blunt reaches for the bag hanging over the back of her chair. Webley thinks she’s getting ready to leave, and starts thinking up new insults for herself.

  ‘Ma’am, I—’

  ‘Just a second,’ says Blunt. She slips her hand into a partition in the bag. Pulls out a photograph. ‘I think this is the photo you caught me looking at today.’

  She hands it over. Webley takes it, stares at it.

  It’s not Cody.

  It looks like him, certainly. From a distance, it could easily be taken for him. Similar hair and cheeky grin. But it’s definitely not him.

  ‘Who is it? If you don’t mind my asking.’

  ‘His name’s Evan. He’s my son.’

  Another surprise, and this one’s a doozy. Webley almost falls off her chair.

  ‘I didn’t know you have a son.’

  ‘Most people don’t. He’s not around anymore.’

  ‘He . . . he died?’

  ‘He went missing. About ten years ago. Not long after that picture was taken. He’d just turned eighteen.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I don’t really know. His dad and I divorced, he became a sulky teenager. We argued a lot. And then one day he just left. I got a text from him saying he was okay, and not to look for him, and that was it.’