The Silent Man: A British Detective Crime Thriller (The Harvey Stone Crime Thriller Series Book 1)

by J. D. Weston

  “Are you okay with that, Harvey?” said Donny, snapping him back to reality.

  Harvey didn’t reply.

  “You weren’t even listening, were you?”

  The new solemn, almost likable Donny gave way to the man Harvey knew and recognised in the form of a sneer. But the sounds of the wedding party behind him softened the look and the new Donny emerged once more, all in the space of a second or two.

  He was a slight man with slender hands. The hands of a girl, Harvey had always thought. He fidgeted as he spoke, uncomfortable in his own skin, and he pushed his flock of dark hair from his brow, an opportunity to avert his eyes from Harvey.

  “I asked if we can draw a line in the sand, Harvey. I’ll forget about the past, you forget about the past, and we can all move on. I’m happy now. I’m married. I want to enjoy life and I want our children to have an Uncle Harvey, and I want to be able to come home without…”

  He stopped and eyed Harvey, as if daring himself to say the word.

  “Without what, Donny?”

  There was a silence as the momentum that Donny had built up came to a grinding halt and the pause began to build pressure.

  “Without what, Donny?” Harvey said again.

  “Fear, Harvey. I want to come home without the fear of bumping into you and feeling your eyes burn into me. What I’m saying is that I’m tired of it all, Harvey. I want a truce.”

  “So, you’ll stop your lies and backstabbing then?” said Harvey.

  Donny nodded. “Whatever it takes.”

  “And you’ll stop your dealings with your druggy mates?”

  “They’re not…” He caught himself and sighed. “No more drugs. I’m not a bad person, Harvey. I want you to see that.”

  Donny held out his hand, ready for Harvey to shake.

  Harvey eyed it and felt Julios’ eyes burn into him, pressing him to do the right thing. He took the hand and gripped it hard so that Donny couldn’t pull away. But Harvey pulled him close enough to lean and whisper into his ear.

  “You’ve got your truce, Donny,” said Harvey. “But don’t even think about letting me down.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The Standings’ home was an ordinary end-of-terrace house. The front garden was fenced and there were roses around the border that appeared to be well-tended, as did the lawn. A little path led from a small gate to the front door, which was white PVC with three pie-shaped frosted windows that formed a semi-circle.

  A distorted figure approached through the frosted glass and stepped back.

  It was Mr Standing who answered the door and stood, defensive of his family in the doorway with a long sleepless night etched into the skin around his eyes.

  “Mr Standing?” said Myers. “I’m DI Myers and this is DS Fox. I believe you were expecting us.”

  Standing glanced up the street, looked both ways, then nodded.

  “You’d better come inside,” he said, and opened the door further, standing back to let them pass.

  The house had been decorated with as much equal care as the front garden. The walls were smooth and white, and the floor was hardwood, expensive and tasteful. It was similar to the flooring Myers had installed in his own family home but could no longer enjoy.

  “Go through to the kitchen,” said Standing from behind them, and Myers moved in.

  The kitchen had been decorated to a higher standard than Myers had expected. There was a large central island with an expensive knife set, a sink, and a huge, wooden chopping board on the functional side. On the side nearest to Myers, there were three comfortable stools for the breakfast bar.

  Behind the island was the range cooker, another pair of sinks, and enough work surface to prepare dinner for more than a large family. In the space beyond the island was a lounge area that enjoyed the sun through the glass roof above. Lobelia plants hung from elevated pots on shelves and small tropical trees stood guard on either side of the bi-folding doors that led into the garden.

  “You have a beautiful home,” said Fox.

  “Thank you,” said Mr Standing, and held his hand out for them to take a two-seater rattan couch. “Please, make yourself comfortable while I go and find my wife.”

  While Standing was gone, Myers admired the photos that were on small shelves and had been hung on the walls. Jennifer was in each of them. Alone in her school uniform, with her parents at what looked like a wedding, and as a young child beaming with smiles. Mr Standing bore the confidence of a man who had achieved mild professional success with the support of an incredibly beautiful family. The image stabbed at Myers, reminding him of how he had once been.

  Standing’s wife was picture perfect and if the families’ similarities stretched further than the wooden floors and confident smiles, then it must be Mrs Myers who was the budding interior designer.

  Myers remembered a time when his wife was articulating her vision over coffee. They hadn’t been in their house for very long and Harriet was yet to be born. She spoke about light and space and colour and contrast to the point that Myers had tuned out, nodding in the gaps where he thought it was appropriate and agreeing with hummed confirmations that rose and fell in pitch to convey enthusiasm.

  But despite the huge cost, the disruption of builders and decorators, plumbers and electricians, unforeseen issues that could only be fixed with four figures in a chequebook, the result had been astounding. The house had been transformed. Each day, Myers would go to work and return home to a new change. A wall had been replaced with a steel joist and an archway, an extension had been built and the entire rear side of the house was glazed with bi-folding doors, and just as Alison had said, light bellowed into the open kitchen.

  There were footsteps on the wooden floor. Myers looked up and stood to greet Mrs Standing and Jennifer, who also and understandably wore the tired eyes of a girl who had cried herself to sleep and woken to find the nightmare was indeed reality.

  She wore a pair of jeans and trainers, the type that Harriet liked to wear. On top, she wore a thick, woollen sweater despite the heat of the morning, and her hands were lost to the sleeves of her arms as she hugged herself.

  They sat. Mr Standing took the seat closest to Myers, and Jennifer sat beside him. Mrs Standing sat furthest away and took Jennifer’s hand. It was as Myers had thought. They were a close family and although Mr Standing was not a large man and his success had been through good business, he still bore the protective instinct of a father. He was admirable in Myers’ eyes. The whole family were, and the scene raised a pang of jealousy within Myers.

  “How are you, Jennifer?” asked Myers.

  But her expression told him more than her words, which came in a low mumble, indistinguishable through the tears and phlegm.

  “I’m Detective Inspector Myers and this is Detective Sergeant Fox. We understand you’ve been through a terrible ordeal, so we’ll keep this as short as we can. Is that okay?”

  She nodded but couldn’t meet him eye to eye.

  “My colleague will ask you a few questions,” said Myers. “It might be hard to talk about it, but if you can give us any information at all, we’d be grateful.”

  She nodded again and looked at her mum, who squeezed her hand and offered her a reassuring, thin-lipped smile that barely raised the corners of her mouth.

  “Mr Standing,” said Myers, “why don’t we leave them to it? Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  “I’d rather stay.”

  “I’m sure you would,” said Myers. “But some things are easier told when Daddy isn’t around, in my experience, you understand?”

  He turned to his daughter. “Do you mind if I go, Jen?”

  She looked across to her mum and then to Fox, who, which Myers was grateful for, gave a warm smile that would melt frozen butter.

  “I’ll be here,” said Mrs Standing. “It’ll just be the three of us.”

  Jennifer nodded and Mr Standing rose, letting his hand graze his daughter’s shoulder and then smooth her hair.

>   “If you need me, just call out, okay?”

  She nodded again.

  Myers followed Mr Standing through the kitchen to the lounge and heard Fox begin her questioning.

  “I’d like to see Jennifer’s room, if I may,” said Myers, before Mr Standing could settle.

  “Is that necessary?” he replied, but his protective tone had dropped and had become subservient to Myers’ in the space of that short walk. It was as Myers had expected. The man’s wife and daughter were being cared for and were in safe hands. It was time for a man to man chat, and Myers’ age and experience showed.

  “It might,” said Myers.

  “I’d rather we didn’t.”

  Myers smiled. “As you wish.”

  “He’s dead, isn’t he?” said Standing. “The boy. He’s dead.”

  “Yes.”

  Myers saw no reason to withhold that kind of information from Standing. If anything, it would ease the tension, if only slightly.

  “Do you think Jennifer did it?” he asked.

  The question took Myers by surprise.

  “Your daughter is not a murder suspect, Mr Standing. If she was, we’d be having this conversation in an interview room.”

  “Am I a suspect?” he replied. “Or my wife? I can assure you, we-”

  “You’re not suspects. Jennifer isn’t a suspect. Your wife is not a suspect. You’re the victims. Unfortunately, Jennifer is the only witness.”

  Mr Standing was silent. He was reassured but was processing the information in what Myers could only imagine was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.

  “Mr Standing, can you tell me what happened? In your own words?”

  “Well, we left Jennifer in here and went upstairs for a few minutes. When we came back, she was gone. My wife called for her. She didn’t respond. We checked her room and she wasn’t there.”

  “So, you called the police?”

  “It wasn’t like her. It’s strange. We both knew. I don’t know how. But we both knew something was wrong. She was acting strange, had been for the past few weeks. She hadn’t closed off, but I don’t know. We put it down to her age. We thought maybe she had a boyfriend.”

  “Parent intuition,” said Myers. “I’m a dad myself. I know what you mean.”

  Standing nodded.

  “It’s hard to describe. As a parent, you have these feelings, these…I don’t know what. But they border on paranoia, I guess. But this was different. We knew. I’m sorry. I know that won’t stand up in court. It’s not tangible.”

  “You’d be surprised at how understanding a jury can be, Mr Standing. They’re parents themselves, some of them anyway. But there won’t be any need for you to go to court for Jennifer’s abduction.”

  He nodded. “And the murder?”

  “Tell me what happened next.”

  “The police arrived, and I have to say, they responded very fast.”

  “Tell me what happened when Jennifer came home.”

  Myers was keen not to let Standing slip into a story he’d heard before, about how a female officer came to sit with them while the search began and how questions about who might have taken her were weaved into empathetic conversations about friends, family, and neighbours.

  “The doorbell rang,” said Standing. “The doorbell rang, and the policewoman went to answer it, but I beat her to it. This is still my home. Our home.”

  The defensive male was creeping back.

  “And then?” Myers prompted, keen to get Standing back to their mutual parental discussion.

  “And she was there. Just standing there with her head bowed.”

  “She was alone?” asked Myers.

  “Yes. But as soon as I got her through the door, I heard a struggle further up the street. There were screeching tyres and car doors slamming.”

  “And you didn’t see the man?”

  “I didn’t. I was told that whoever it was, he was seen in the area. He watched me open the door then walked away. It was as if he was just out for an evening stroll, the officer said.”

  The story married up with the arresting officers’ accounts.

  “It was him, wasn’t it?” said Standing. “He did what he did and brought her home and I was just a few feet away from him.”

  Standing began to pace the room. That possessive masculinity inside him was enraged at how close he had been to the man who had stripped his daughter of her clothes and done God knows what to her.

  “Your daughter was unharmed, Mr Standing. I don’t need to tell you how much worse things could have been.”

  “Did he die in custody?” asked Standing. “I heard he was dead. Did he die in custody? You hear about these things happening. Police brutality getting out of control.”

  “Has Jennifer told you anything?” asked Myers, leading the father away from the silent man.

  “She hasn’t said a word since she came home. My wife cleaned her and dressed her. She said she hadn’t been raped. The medics checked and…” Standing paused and shook his head before altering course. “But Jennifer hasn’t said a single word.”

  The fact that Standing still thought the unknown man was the abductor was favourable to Myers. He would know more than the average public, being the victim’s father. And the fewer people who knew about the slaughter in the woods, the better.

  Myers said nothing to affirm either way. His expression was grim enough to convey that Standing shouldn’t press such matters.

  He waited for Standing to talk and, in their silence, Jennifer’s sobbing could be heard. The barrier had come down and she would be spilling out the details to Fox and her mother.

  The sobbing was too much for Standing who went to head into the kitchen. But Myers stopped him.

  “It’s better if you don’t,” said Myers. With his hand on the man’s chest, he could feel his racing heart. “Let the story come out. Let her get it off her chest in one go.”

  Standing was tense and was almost bitter toward Myers, but then relented.

  “I can’t listen to it. I can’t listen to her crying.”

  Myers watched, waiting for him to open up further. Emotions were like that, he thought. Emotions always bring out the truth.

  But Standing was frustrated. They could both hear the sobs and whining voice but were too far away to understand what was being said.

  “How about we see her room?” said Myers, and after a short pause for thought, Standing relented.

  The noise of the sobbing subsided, and Myers followed Standing up the stairs. Jennifer’s room was at the rear of the house.

  “You have a strong family, Mr Standing. Jennifer will need that.”

  They reached the top of the stairs and Standing turned to see where Myers was going with the statement.

  “I can’t imagine what you’re going through. I have a daughter about the same age as Jennifer and if the tables were turned, I have no idea how I’d handle it. Not as well as you are, that much I do know. Jennifer is fortunate to have parents like you. A stable home is what she needs now.”

  Myers reached the top of the stairs and met Standing eye to eye. Man to man. He was about to enter the man’s teenage daughter’s bedroom. He needed to be trusted.

  “I don’t know if this helps, Mr Standing, but keep doing what you’re doing. Keep loving her and you’ll get through this. She’ll never get over it. But if you and your wife do as you’re doing, she’ll come to terms with it. In time.”

  Standing nodded and the two shared a moment, father to father. Myers looked away to give Standing time to wipe his eyes and take a few deep breaths.

  “Is this her room here?”

  Standing waved his hand for Myers to go in.

  The room was like any other teenage girl’s room. There were no posters on the walls; the family had too much style for that. But there was a shelf with stuffed toys, presumably from the girl’s childhood. There were photos of her and her friends and her parents. The bed was unmade, but hadn’t been slept in. Only a thin blanke
t lay on top which Myers imagined the girl had curled beneath the night before. It was a comfort thing that Harriet would have done too.

  There was a small dressing table with a mirror and a few cosmetics. Not the full array that Myers imagined Harriet to have. Jennifer was still just fourteen. But if Mrs Standing was anything like Alison, Jennifer would be allowed a handful of products and a hairdryer. She was a girl, after all.

  The room was decorated in white with accents of pink and the furniture was expensive. Myers knew all about expensive furniture, even in a child’s bedroom. He could tell the difference between solid oak and flat-packed chests of drawers and handmade wardrobes over factory-built products. He could also tell the difference between expensive clothes and cheap counterfeits. The collection of shopping bags and boxes in the corner of the room was a token of Jennifer’s pride in owning the items. People didn’t do that kind of thing with knock-offs.

  Then Myers’ eyes fell on a familiar item. And just as Mr Standing had described that uneasy feeling of borderline paranoia when he had described Jennifer’s initial absence, Myers felt the same.

  “What is it?” asked Standing when he saw Myers staring too long.

  “Nothing,” said Myers. “I’ve seen enough.”

  “You saw something. I might not be a detective, Mr Myers, but I do know a liar when I see one.”

  “It’s nothing, Mr Standing. Just that bag.” He smiled a thin-lipped smile. “My daughter has the exact same one.”

  Chapter Twelve

  While Julios had walked anti-clockwise around the grounds, Harvey had taken a clockwise route.

  He stepped through the orchard and stared down at the party below. The children had long since returned to their parents, and the relative silence gave him time to contemplate what Donny had said.