by Carol Wyer
A tap on the door interrupted her. Matt came in and whispered to her. It was what she needed to hear.
‘Liam went to their house, attacked Mrs Roper and stole the ticket. We’ll find something that will place Liam at the Ropers’ house. Lichfield Constabulary has kept every piece of forensic evidence on file. All they require is a suspect. Now they have one. It’s over, Ella. You can stop protecting him.’
Ella levelled her gaze at Robyn. Her words spewed out, almost unintelligibly. ‘Look, I didn’t want to kill Henry. He was Liam’s only real friend and Astra loved him so much. I had to do it. I had to for Liam’s sake. You can understand that, can’t you? Henry was going to notify the lottery people. I couldn’t allow him to do that.
‘This was not my fault. Hawkins and his teammates were responsible for Henry’s death. They drove Liam to steal the ticket, and as a consequence, Henry had to die. I wanted them all to pay for their part in the deception and his death. They were desperate to share in the fortune so they also deserved to share the blame.’
Ella shrugged again, her face impassive, and began humming.
Seventy
THEN – LIAM
* * *
No sooner does Henry leave than I ring Ella and confess. She doesn’t call me stupid. She doesn’t shout at me. She says one word. ‘Okay.’
‘What do I do?’ I ask.
‘Look after Astra. Take her to the park in an hour. Walk around the village and say hello to a few people. Call in at the butcher’s shop and buy something for dinner. Behave as if nothing has happened. It’ll be fine. I’ll talk to him. He’ll listen to me.’
‘Ella, I’m sorry.’
‘I know,’ she replies. ‘Don’t worry. Look after Astra.’
I do as she suggests and play with my little girl, fix the wooden dog she drags along the floor while she observes me, talk to her, tell her we’ll go out in a minute. I take the mobile phone with me, wrapped in a plastic bag. I’m going to throw it in the bin near the butcher’s shop. It’ll serve no further purpose. Ella knows about my treachery so I have no need to keep my conversations with Henry secret.
As I walk down the road to the playing fields, holding onto Astra’s hand, I’m sure I see Ella pass by in the back of a taxi. It can’t be her. She’s at the hospital in Burton with a sick friend called Cassie, who I’ve never met. I have Ella on my mind.
Time floats by, like I’m on heavy medication or out of my skull on booze. I have no real sensation of what I’m doing. I merely go through the motions, and after we return home, Astra watches the television while I prepare her lunch. She giggles at Dora the Explorer and chats as if nothing is wrong in the world. I hope it’s always like that for her. At some point, my eyelids become too heavy to stay open and I drift off to a dreamless sleep until Ella wakes me.
‘Is it okay?’ I ask.
‘It’s sorted,’ she says. ‘We just have to stay silent.’
Seventy-One
DAY ELEVEN – FRIDAY, 24 FEBRUARY, LATE AFTERNOON
* * *
‘I have to admit I had my doubts, but you really pulled this together, Robyn,’ DCI Flint said, head nodding up and down with approval, his neck fat squeezing behind his collar like a concertina. Robyn was reminded of one of the nodding dogs found on car parcel shelves.
‘Only doing my duty, sir. Couldn’t have got anywhere without my team. I’d like to have it noted officially that they all contributed in the investigations, and without their diligence, we would not have had such a good result.’
‘Duly noted,’ said Flint, with a twinkle. ‘It’s also noted that you are rapidly becoming one of my best officers. Have you ever considered further promotion, Robyn?’
She had, on many occasions, but a vision of her old DCI, Louisa Mulholland, sprang to mind, and as much as she admired the woman, she didn’t want to lose sight of what she had – a great team. Their commitment to both the job, and to her, were what kept her motivated each day. She didn’t want to be in a position that distanced her from investigations and work in the field. This was where she belonged.
‘I have, sir.’
‘Should you wish to pursue that avenue, I’d be happy to recommend you.’
‘Thank you, sir. I really appreciate that.’
‘And how is Anna?’
‘She’s fine, sir. The wound was superficial and she’s itching to get back to work already. I had to insist she take a couple of days off with Mitz.’
‘Good. Okay. Right. Thank you, Robyn. It was a fine job.’ He patted the thick file on his desk. ‘Witness statements, evidence and confessions. Couldn’t have got a tighter case. And another murder charge to be taken into account – Johnny Hounslow. I see Ella Fox is pleading diminished responsibility.’
‘That’s correct, sir. She’s undergone psychological assessment, and the clinic report suggests she suffers from anxiety and mental trauma. She was a minor at the time and acted purely to save her brother’s life. I think any judge will have difficulty sentencing her. Liam Carrington confessed to purchasing the gun from a man in the Stag in Stoke-on-Trent in 2000, and then staging Johnny Hounslow’s death so it appeared to be an accident. He’s more likely to be charged. Add to that the attack on Mrs Roper, and he’ll be banged up for a very long time.’
‘Gruesome. What on earth makes people act in such despicable ways?’
‘Fear and greed. They’re often the reasons. Although I think in Fox and Carrington’s case, there was something more – a murky past maybe – something else in the shadows. They have an unusual relationship.’
‘And the child?’
‘Astra’s in care at the moment, but I understand Lauren Gregson is getting advice about trying to adopt her.’ Robyn’s heart lurched as she thought of the little girl, last seen holding an officer’s hand and clutching the toy black cat. Robyn might have been able to take in Schrödinger and look after him, but she hadn’t been able to do the same for the sweet little child with the beautiful eyes.
Flint grimaced. ‘I can’t figure people out,’ he said.
‘We’re not supposed to. We find and deal with those who cross the line, sir. If we thought too much or too often about what we do, we’d all go mad.’
He heaved a sigh. ‘Wise words, Robyn. So, once again, well done and remember what I’ve said.’
‘Thank you.’
Robyn left the office with a sense of worth. The outcome was as good as she could hope for. The lottery jackpot was being returned and the Ropers had been notified they were the real winners. Roger Jenkinson was facing a mandatory five-year sentence for possession of firearms and had been charged for obstructing a police officer. Naomi, who’d convinced him to take Anna to the health clinic in Uttoxeter, had been cleared of any major wrongdoing, although she had been cautioned for perverting the course of justice. Following a full confession, Ella Fox was facing charges for the murders of Henry Gregson, Tessa Hall, Anthony Hawkins and Juliet Fallows, as well as that of Johnny Hounslow.
There would be more conclusive evidence if needed: the fingernail in Tessa’s kitchen might have her DNA on it, the black jacket stuffed into a box in the shed with fibres that would undoubtedly match those found at the scene of Henry Gregson’s death, and the Nike LunarGlide 8 hidden at the bottom of McNamara’s wheelie dustbin. They’d been her brother’s – a brand new pair he’d purchased from eBay at a huge discount. Ella had scooped them up when she stopped off to collect the gun, and stuffed them with socks so they fitted her feet. Robyn had almost admired her logical thinking and attempts to deflect from her guilt. However, try as she might, Robyn still couldn’t dismiss the blank look on Ella’s face. Some event or curse of nature had turned Ella Fox into one of the cruellest murderers Robyn had come across. Ella’s confession had been thorough, right to the end.
‘So you killed all those people to protect your brother?’
‘Yes. But I also did it for me.’ She had turned her face towards Robyn. The scar on her face rose like a thick, flat worm. Even un
der the concealer, Robyn could see its uneven, thick surface. ‘The others were little more than greedy bullies, but Liam and I deserved that lottery money. We were entitled to it. Liam’s share was for his and Astra’s future. Mine was for salvation, to rescue me from my past.’ A solitary tear trickled down her cheek, tracing the line of the scar. She let it fall.
* * *
As Robyn meandered into her office, it was to applause. Shearer was alone, sitting in her chair.
‘Congratulations! I just heard. That was some achievement.’
‘It was touch and go for quite a while there.’
‘I knew you’d pull it all together.’
‘Did you, Tom?’ she said, quietly.
He beamed a lopsided grin. ‘Of course I did.’
In spite of his apparent openness, she couldn’t gauge his sincerity. That was the problem with Shearer. Just when you thought he was being nice, he’d drop you in it. It was as if there was always a hidden agenda with him. Had he been hoping she’d fail? She may never know. Whatever his thoughts or motives, she felt he had to be kept at arm’s length.
‘Then thank you.’
‘Fancy a celebratory drink?’
‘I’d love to but I have to get home to Schrödinger.’
His brow dropped and the grin left his face. ‘It’s a cat. It’ll be perfectly fine without you for an hour. It doesn’t need a bath and bedtime story, does it?’
His attempt at humour was weak and he knew it. He stood before she could reject his proposal again and spoke softly as he left the office. ‘You did brilliantly.’
Robyn’s phone buzzed. It was a message from Ross.
Can you meet me in the café in ten minutes? I have some news.
Seventy-Two
DAY ELEVEN – FRIDAY, 24 FEBRUARY, EVENING
* * *
Robyn couldn’t control the flipping in her stomach as she pushed open the café door and joined Ross at the table without first buying anything. As usual, her cousin’s face was unreadable.
‘No cake?’ he said, lip jutting out.
‘You can have as much cake as you want in a moment. First put me out of my misery. You know how much this is messing with my head.’
Ross rested his arms on the table, and the elbows of his navy-blue blazer rode up to display the cuffs of a mauve shirt he’d owned for at least a decade.
‘Tell me,’ she said.
He picked up a sugar packet from the bowl on the table and shook it. ‘I’ve got closer to finding Davies’ boss, Peter Cross. His ex-secretary has agreed to meet me but she’s going on vacation tomorrow and can’t see me until she returns. I’ve made an appointment for the third of March. I’m unlikely to track down Peter Cross until I’ve spoken to her, and she categorically refuses to discuss him over the phone.’
Robyn gave a brief smile. He’d done well. She hadn’t been able to make that much progress in the time she’d been looking into the mystery of the photograph.
‘And there’s some more good news. I’ve located the florist your flowers came from and spoken to the very person who arranged for them to be delivered to the station.’
She could barely think for the hammering of her pulse in her temples, nor could she ask the question. Had Davies ordered them? Ross tapped the sugar packet on the table, allowing the contents to settle. His lips twitched.
‘Ross! Tell me.’
‘They’re not from Davies.’
‘Oh.’ Her energy suddenly drained from her and she couldn’t establish if she was upset or relieved by the news.
‘You disappointed?’ Her cousin returned the sugar packet to the bowl.
‘I don’t know. I think so. No. I’m sort of glad. If they had been from him it would have proved he was alive, and I really don’t think I’m prepared for that news yet.’
‘I was sort of glad too. I’m hoping this is all one big set-up and it’ll all go away again, and although I don’t like anyone messing with your head, I’d rather it was that than your life being overturned again. I don’t want to find out Davies has been alive all this time. I’m not sure how I’d react if I found him. I think I’d like to drive my fist into his face for all the hurt he’s caused.’ He sat back and folded his arms. ‘Still, it hasn’t come to that yet, has it? So, don’t you want to know who sent you those anemones?’
‘I suppose so. I can’t imagine who else it could be. I didn’t think I was on anybody’s radar.’
There was a glint in his eyes as he answered. ‘Oh, you are. You’re on somebody’s radar all right – Shearer’s.’
Robyn’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re joking.’
‘Seen the actual order. Tom Shearer sent you a dozen scarlet-red anemones for Valentine’s Day. So, that’s my part of the deal completed. Where’s this cake you promised me? And you might like to get an extra slice to take back to the station. For DI Shearer,’ he said with a wink.
Epilogue
EPILOGUE
* * *
As Robyn pulled up on her drive in Leafy Lane, she acknowledged for the first time in many weeks the heavy loneliness that ordinarily haunted her was not present. The automatic timers had come on and her home looked welcoming. The curtains were wide open and she could see the pastel-coloured soft furnishings in her sitting room. The television, thanks to another automatic timer, flickered, adding to the impression the house was occupied and somebody was watching the dancers on stage performing a rigorous routine. Then, as she clambered out of the car, head filled with thoughts of Davies and Tom Shearer, a shape appeared at the window.
She smiled as it opened its mouth and meowed at her, and then marched up and down the window ledge, eager for her to come in.
She’d decided Schrödinger was going to stay. Amélie had sent a text earlier asking if she could come and visit at the weekend to see them both. He had a profoundly calming effect on Robyn’s ragged nerves, and in the short time she’d had him, she’d come to love him. Besides, what harm could come of having a lucky black cat?
She alarmed her car and entered the house, murmuring softly for him. Schrödinger leapt from the ledge to greet her. She bent to caress him.
* * *
Outside, the man hiding behind the lamp post opposite her house slipped into the darkness. He’d transformed since she’d last seen him. Could he really approach her after all this time and tell her the truth? He thrust his hands deeper into his coat pockets and moved swiftly away. He had to exercise extreme caution. He was a hunted man and he couldn’t face capture again.
* * *
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Also by Carol Wyer
The DI Robyn Carter series:
Little Girl Lost
Secrets of the Dead
The Missing Girls
The Silent Children
* * *
Life Swap
Take a Chance on Me
* * *
Mini Skirts and Laughter Lines
Surfing in Stilettos
Just Add Spice
* * *
Grumpy Old Menopause
How Not to Murder Your Grumpy
Grumpies On Board
* * *
Love Hurts
A Letter from Carol
Dear everyone,
* * *
I really hope you’ve enjoyed reading The Silent Children and are keen to find out what will happen next.
Robyn’s not had the easiest of times, but now she has Schrödinger and he’ll provide comfort and companionship while she tackles her next investigation.
www.bookouture.com/carol-wyer
The Silent Children has been a difficult book to write as it tackles the thorny subject of abuse. I gathered a lot of my material from a lady who wishes to remain anonymous: she married for love but found herself in a hateful relationship in which she was at first verbally abused, then physically. She was unable to speak about it for many years, but it was only after a prolonged incident where she feared for her life that she reached out for help.
I fear there are many people – men and women – who find themselves in abusive relationships, unable to speak out or escape, and who, like Juliet Fallows, wonder sometimes if they deserve to be treated this way.
If you enjoyed reading The Silent Children, please would you take a few minutes to write a review, no matter how short it is? I would be most grateful. Your recommendations are most important. If you’d like to keep up-to-date with all my latest releases, just sign up at the following link. Your email address will never be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time.