The Silent Ones: Could You Leave A Child Behind? (Chrissy Livingstone Book 3)

by Linda Coles

  The sentence wasn’t lost on Chrissy and she glanced at her sister who caught her eye.

  “I’ve got a headache and I thought sitting outside in the fresh air might help it disappear.” She looked pale around her eyes, and Chrissy could see she was in pain.

  “Have you had a painkiller?” asked Chrissy. “Or more kumbaya?”

  “Painkiller actually, though it’s not shifting it.”

  “If you’re not feeling well, do we need to cancel this afternoon?” Richard enquired.

  “No,” she said faintly. “I’ll be fine.”

  Chrissy didn’t look persuaded, but Julie was an adult and could decide for herself. She’d been the one that had suggested afternoon tea in the first place. “We can easily do it tomorrow,” Chrissy tried again.

  “I’m fine really. Just a headache,” she said with a little more snap than usual.

  It wasn’t like her to grumble and it hadn’t gone unnoticed by the others as she strode from the room and headed through to the living room and beyond. No one in the kitchen said anything, but everyone felt it. Richard, ever the diplomat asked, “Did you have a nice picnic?” as he opened the fridge and pulled out bread and cheese.

  “Have you not eaten?” Chrissy asked without answering his question first.

  “I was waiting for Julie then I got engrossed in my book and didn’t realise what time it was.”

  “She’s been gone all this time?” said Chrissy. “That really isn’t like her.”

  He shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t how long she’s been sitting outside with a headache. Like I say, I was engrossed in my book.”

  “Well, I’ll go and get changed ready and then we should go. I’ll check on Julie,” she offered, glancing across to Adam that he should stay away from the conversation. He took the message. Richard, oblivious, buttered his bread and laid cheese on one slice. Chrissy took the opportunity and disappeared to find her sister and gently knocked on the bedroom door. She peered her head round to look inside. Julie was sitting on the bed nursing the back of her head.

  “Are you really all right?” Chrissy asked.

  Julie swung round. “I said I’m fine.” Chrissy made her way over, sat down next to her and put her arm around her shoulders.

  “I know when you’re not fine. So why don’t you tell me what happened?” Chrissy said gently.

  She stayed silent for a moment or two and then said simply, “I feel a bit of a fool.”

  “Oh?”

  “Somebody came to the castle.”

  “What!”

  “I know. As I was coming out of the cellar, walking into the living room, someone whacked me from behind with a lamp base.” She pointed to the back of her head as if Chrissy could see the exact spot.

  “Heavens, somebody hit you?” Poor Julie. She wasn’t built for dealing with aggro.

  “Knocked me out cold. I woke up on the sofa. That’s why I’ve been gone ages. I don’t how long I was out for.”

  “Did you see anyone?”

  “No, and it gets worse, or better, depending on your view.”

  “How so?”

  “Because then I spoke to you and as the call ended, I heard a vehicle, so I hid in case it was somebody coming back to finish me off. I ended up almost attacking someone else.”

  “Someone else?”

  “Yes, but it wasn’t the man that attacked me the first time. I say man, I’m assuming it was a man, but this was another man, the man from the garage. He’s called Brocc. I almost knocked him out.” Chrissy was having trouble following which man was which.

  “How do you know he’s not involved in whatever is going on?”

  “Because he told me he wasn’t, and I believe him. But he did say his sister is involved and even though he’s pressed her, she won’t say what.”

  “I’d like to know what it all means.”

  “He’s not going to the Gardai because it’s his sister, says he can’t do that to her.”

  “So, let me get this straight, somebody knocked you out and you tried to knock someone else out?”

  “Yes.”

  Chrissy thought for a moment, but it didn’t make sense. “You looked in the cellar before you were knocked out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you check again after you’d been knocked out?”

  “No, why would I?”

  “Just curious. And then this other chap from the garage, he’s not involved. What was he doing there then?”

  “His sister had told him to look in on Flynn, get the boy a bottle, and when he got to the castle, he was already gone. We’d already found him that morning. He said he just felt he needed to go back and take another look – curiosity, I suppose. A bit like us.”

  Chrissy blew her cheeks out at the news of yet another person entering the picture. The mystery was growing in size with every day that passed by.

  Chapter 45

  Maureen did the calculations in her head before responding to the vague group text. She hadn’t got any plans for the evening and wasn’t due to be back on the road again until the following night shift anyway, so she had oodles of time to oblige and then get some rest before work. Not waiting to see if anybody else responded, she quickly tapped a message saying she would do the pickup. A moment later a regular location popped onto her screen. It was in Liverpool, one she was quite familiar with, one just on the outskirts of the city. She checked her watch; it was already getting late. The message informed her the destination was Dublin which meant she needed to have the package on the 2.30 am ferry out of Holyhead. It was too late for anything any earlier. Three hours on the ferry, then someone else would meet her to offload it, allowing her to drive straight back. The message said no paperwork. Maureen hated that aspect; it was far riskier if she got caught, but still, this was her way of giving a little back. She quickly tapped a reply that she had received instructions, and all was good at her end, before going upstairs to grab the few things she needed for an overnight bag.

  Maureen had worked out on the road for many years, enjoyed the quality time alone with her own thoughts and music, and when she was feeling a little more sociable, she picked up the odd hitch-hiker along the way. A masculine-looking woman with close-cropped grey hair, she had tattoos of various domestic animals around her arms and, by her own description, sported a duvet-covered body shape. She was a regular up and down the motorway networks, stopping at service café’s, and lately on the ferry crossing across to Dublin and back. Call it a hobby. With no one sitting at home waiting for her to return, her time was her own. She took a can of Coke from the fridge and a couple of energy bars and stuffed them into her bag before grabbing a jacket and leaving. It would be almost lunchtime the following day before she’d get back home for a proper rest but that didn’t worry her. She headed out to her car, drove to the lock-up nearby, swapped to the van, and made her way across to Liverpool and the pickup. No paperwork was far riskier but once they’d made their decision to leave and a rendezvous was set, there was precious little time to do anything about it. They left with no possessions, no bag, no ID, no nothing. Another member of the team will have organised to get them to the address she was now heading to, before they were passed over to Maureen and her network, and beyond.

  Immigration could be tricky, but after so many successful crossings, they had their system down pat and she’d never been stopped yet. It was always in the back of her mind though, there was always a first time. It was worth the risk though. People have been smuggled across borders since time began almost and it was Maureen’s job to make sure they got across safely without any interest from the authorities. Their current set-up was working a treat.

  An hour later she pulled up at an old warehouse in Liverpool. She knew the collection point well and pulled in through the old metal gates which were open, waiting for her. She spotted the light on in one of the old outbuildings and headed towards it, reversing up to the door ready for collection. She wound her window down, popped her head out and no
dded to a silhouette as the man loaded the cargo in the back. No one said a word. No one needed to. A thump on the rear door told her she was ready to go. Maureen waited while a passenger jumped up into the seat beside her and nodded his greeting. She pulled out of the dark warehouse grounds and headed out to the motorway and on towards Holyhead. It would be a couple of hours’ drive, but at least there was little traffic and they would be in plenty of time to catch the early ferry. Finally, when they’d been travelling for about an hour, her passenger said, “I hope you didn’t have plans for this evening?”

  “Hardly ever have plans,” answered Maureen. Her deep, gravelly voice sounded almost male and she coughed a little as if for emphasis. While she’d never smoked a cigarette in her life, the many years of second-hand smoke in the bars she’d worked in had played havoc with her lungs.

  It was coming up to 1 am when they finally hit the port at Holyhead and parked the van in the loading queue. This was the bit she hated the most. While she and her passenger had their own documents, her cargo didn’t. Over the years though, she’d perfected her poker face and the contents of her van had never received more than a cursory glance. Wicker storage bins weren’t of much interest to anyone and that was why it had been designed that way. Tonight was no different and at 2.30 am on the dot, the ferry pulled away from Holyhead harbour and headed out on the Irish Sea towards Dublin. By 6 am, they would be rolling off and on to their next organised destination where her cargo would be handed over and she would be free to return back home.

  Chapter 46

  Maureen drove to the assembly point, one of three they used not far outside Dublin Harbour itself. It was yet another remote and disused warehouse, so there would be no prying eyes to witness what went on. It was early, most people still in their warm beds, as she prepared for the swap. She had hardly slept on these journeys, there was no time for it, but there would be an opportunity for a nap on the return ferry. A long yawn told her she needed it.

  As she pulled into the yard, she spotted the van easily and pulled up alongside it. It was identical to the one she was driving. A man she had seen on many occasions got out of the driver’s seat and she got out of her own. The two exchanged brief pleasantries, nothing more. She watched as he swapped over the vehicle registration plates before climbing into the other van. When her old plates were attached to the new van, she was ready to go, but she paused for a moment to make sure that the first vehicle drove away with its cargo before her. They would be heading in a very different direction. She was back on her own now, her passenger with the new driver as they moved on through Ireland and ultimately to their destination. It made her smile; she hoped her earlier cargo made a go of it without having to watch over their shoulder for the months to come. Things always settled down for them, but the start, she knew, could be rough.

  Maureen made her way back towards the port to wait for the 8 am ferry. There was plenty of time to get something to eat and drink, so she pulled in at a nearby service station that she often used. It was her treat, her celebration of another swap-over successfully completed. She high-fived the steering wheel before getting out.

  When the van was about half an hour out from the port of Dublin, it pulled over in its designated lay-by, a quiet one again, where no one would be overlooking. The passenger slipped out, opened the rear door and entered the back of the van. He spoke quietly, knowing the stranger would be able to hear him as he removed the lid from one of the wicker coffins. Inside lay a man of about forty years old.

  “You can get out now. I hope the journey wasn’t too arduous?” He offered the man a hand to pull him up and generally gather his bearings before the passenger suggested he sit up front with himself and the driver.

  “Bet you need to pee,” he asked, smiling.

  “I do,” he said, and made his way over to the hedgerow where he relieved himself. The other two watched as the man stretched out his shoulders and shook his legs out individually. Being confined to a coffin for several hours wouldn’t be fun or comfortable but their system worked, that was the important thing. Once he was seated, the passenger handed him a sandwich and a bottle of water. He’d be hungry and thirsty after his journey, having been told not to drink anything for several hours prior to his pickup. They couldn’t risk a mess in the van, it was too dangerous for all concerned.

  “How are you feeling?” the passenger asked.

  “Glad the worst is over.” He spoke with a certain finality in his voice that said he didn’t want to talk about it, but there was no mistaking the relief that he was on his way to a new life. The worst indeed was now behind him, the rest he could cope with. “How far have we got to go?

  “A couple of hours,” said the passenger. “Everything will be ready for you. A lot of work goes into this.”

  “And I appreciate it,” he said. “I really do.” He sounded weary, though it wasn’t from the lack of sleep. Every one of their ‘packages’ sounded the same at first, worn out from the stress of it all and anxious to get on with the next stage. They rarely felt like talking. The rest of the journey passed by in silence apart from local radio chatting away in the background, nobody really listening to it. It filled the usual void. The job almost over, the destination almost in sight, the ‘package’ almost delivered.

  At mid-morning, they pulled up at a small bungalow in a town somewhere in southern Ireland. The man had no idea where he was, and he didn’t much care. It was only temporary until he could move on again. The driver pulled the van down the side of the of the property where it would be tucked away out of sight of the main road. Not that there was much traffic, but again it was better to be cautious and away from prying eyes that they didn’t need. The passenger turned to the man and said, “Everything you need is inside. The key is under the mat. Someone will contact you shortly and be around at lunchtime to see if you need anything else and give you your new contact details. The best thing you can do now is sleep for a while and wait for the call. There will be a phone inside.”

  Behind the front door lay his new life and he approached it feeling lighter than he had done in many months. Things could only get better from now on and he couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips. It was the first one in a long time.

  Chapter 47

  Elliott Wilson looked at the sparse surroundings of his new home. It had all happened so quickly, but he’d got out and what stood in front of him was now his, for a while at least. Everything he needed was here, as he’d been told it would be, and he couldn’t have been more grateful. There were clothes in the cupboard, second-hand, but that didn’t matter. There was food in the fridge. Magazines and books would keep him entertained and an older TV sat in the corner. He walked through to the master bedroom, where he’d be sleeping, though it wasn’t much of a master. A large single bed filled the room along with basic furniture that had seen better days. It was functional, that’s all he needed. It was the same set-up in the other bedroom. He wondered what she’d be like when she arrived.

  A phone that sat on the kitchen counter would presumably ring at some point during the day and he’d find out the next steps of his life. The house felt chilly. Likely nobody had lived in it for a while and it reminded him of his grandma’s place when he’d visited not long after she’d passed. It had felt like its soul had died along with her. He glanced around the rest of the small property, reaching out to touch various items as he went. Everything was used. The curtains, the towels, everything he touched had had a previous owner, a previous life, much like himself.

  “I think we’ll get along just fine,” he said to the empty room and made his way back to the master bedroom. Elliott found some sleepwear and then headed to the bathroom to freshen up. It had been a long journey and it had played with his mind somewhat, being smuggled across the border in a wicker coffin. But the team had assured him they’d never been caught, never once been questioned and Elliott wondered about that. Perhaps they had a contact at the ferry terminal, someone that turned a blind eye whe
n needed. It wasn’t his concern though and he shook the question from his head. He turned the shower on and was grateful it had decent pressure.

  Soon enough the small room filled with warming steam and he stepped under the water, letting it cascade over his head and shoulders, washing grime, tears, and a previous life away. His nostrils filled with pine from the supermarket shampoo and he scrubbed himself clean with a new vigour. By the time he stepped out to dry himself, he felt a whole lot better. He knew he’d made the right decision, no matter how painful it had been at the time, and everything was going to be just fine. Slipping into fresh pyjamas, he retrieved the new mobile phone from the kitchen then slipped in between the sheets. Deep sleep engulfed him almost immediately.

  It was about four hours later when he was disturbed by the sound of a phone ringing and he struggled to sit up in bed and orientate himself. It took him a moment to remember. “Hello, Elliott” he answered. It was a woman on the other end. She had a soothing Irish accent and sounded pleasant enough as she said, “Don’t you mean Ronan?” There was a slight ripple of laughter at the end of the question. “No bother,” she added, “I’m teasing.”

  He felt groggy and Elliott rubbed his eyes in an effort to try and grasp what she was saying. He switched the phone to the other ear, as if that was going to make any difference in understanding what was going on.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “I hope you managed some rest,” she said with more Irish lilt. “I’ll be there in an hour. Does that suit?”

  What else was he going to do? Since he had nothing else planned, he may as well get moving with things. “An hour is fine,” he said. “I’m guessing you know where to come?”

  The same light laugh filled his ears and made him smile for the second time in one day. He was beginning to get the hang of it.