Dead Silent

by Sharon Jones

  Dad looked over his shoulder at the Dean. ‘Bea, would you mind if I had a moment with Poppy? Sorry to chuck you out of your own office.’

  Bea glared at him, but then nodded. ‘Come on, Michael. I’ll take you for a tour of the old part of the college.’

  Poppy kept her eyes on the rippling surface of her tea as Michael and the Dean left. As soon as the door shut, Dad took the mug from her hands and put it on the table.

  ‘Poppy, what happened?’

  ‘I’m just tired, Dad.’ She stared at the floor.

  Dad put his finger under her chin and raised her face to his. ‘Who were you with?’

  ‘Ria and a couple of her friends.’

  ‘Which friends?’

  ‘Lucy and Conal and Devon.’

  At their names, Dad’s eyes narrowed. He cleared his throat. ‘I don’t think hanging around with them is such a good idea.’

  ‘OK. I won’t do it again.’

  ‘I also don’t think it’s such a good idea to be mucking around holding séances when you’re drunk.’

  ‘I wasn’t drunk.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘I didn’t have that much.’

  Dad squeezed her hand. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  ‘Obviously Michael’s already told you.’

  ‘Actually, your mum told me. So far, I’ve only had it third hand. I’d like to hear it from you.’

  ‘He called Mum?’ She’d kind of known that Michael would try to find Dad, but why had he called Mum?

  ‘Stop avoiding the question, Poppy.’

  ‘I just freaked out, that’s all.’

  ‘Like you freaked out last night?’

  She took a deep breath and nodded.

  ‘Has this happened before?’

  She hesitated. ‘No.’

  ‘Poppy, why are you lying to me?’

  ‘I don’t believe in…the supernatural. You know that! This is yours and Mum’s thing, not mine.’

  ‘That’s what I thought. So tell me what happened.’

  Poppy shrugged. ‘I think I might have fallen asleep. Ria had the curtains closed and incense burning and I was tired. I think I just fell asleep and started to dream. I must have been thinking about what happened to Danny. That’s hardly a surprise, is it?’

  He frowned, his eyes still sceptical. ‘You always did have very vivid dreams.’

  ‘That’s all it was, Dad: a nightmare.’

  She could tell by the worry in his expression that he didn’t believe her, but he took a deep breath and nodded. He took his phone out of his pocket. ‘You go and find Michael. I’m going to call your mum.’

  Despite feeling like she’d been run over by a bus, Poppy sprang out of the chair, glad to be given permission to leave the interrogation room.

  She got almost to the door when Dad said, ‘Poppy?’

  She turned to face him.

  ‘Don’t hold this against Michael. He’s worried about you. If it were him, you’d have done the same thing.’

  The problem with this damn college was that there were no benches – nowhere to just hang around and wait. Poppy stared around Great Court; the golden-coloured stones seemed to hold their own kind of heat, because despite the biting edge to the wind she was so hot she felt sick. And even though she knew that there were plenty of ways out of the college, the place felt sealed off from the rest of the world, as if once you stepped through the Great Gate, the ancient buildings claimed you for themselves. The weight of all that history was just damned oppressive – she had no idea how Dad could work here and stay sane. She’d only been here a couple of days and already she felt like she was losing it.

  Poppy wandered slowly around the pathway, towards the chapel with its dark windows and castle ramparts. There were no police guarding the entrance now, but the doors were firmly shut. They couldn’t keep it closed indefinitely, but she couldn’t imagine that when they finally let people back in there they would be thinking about God as they walked across the threshold. They’d more than likely be looking for blood-smears on the marble floor… and the boy whose eyes had been wide with terror and pain.

  She swallowed back the sudden nausea that accompanied the memory of that pain…that feeling of utter hopelessness…of not being able to do anything but to give in to the gaping black hole that was death.

  ‘Poppy, are you OK?’

  She realised her eyes were squeezed shut. Poppy forced them open and nodded.

  The organ scholar, Chrissie, was beside her. She squeezed Poppy’s arm. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘I just keep seeing him,’ Poppy said before she could stop herself.

  ‘That’s understandable.’ Chrissie gave her a sad smile. ‘You know, sometimes it helps to go back to a place and see it as it is, without…without the death.’

  It made a kind of sense, but she didn’t know if she could go back in there. What if it triggered worse memories?

  ‘Let me talk to the porters and see what they say about people being allowed back in there.’

  ‘You don’t have to do that,’ Poppy said, stepping away from Chrissie. The alarm in her voice caught the attention of three Italian tourists and their guide, who were now eyeing her like she was part of the tour.

  ‘It’s no problem. I won’t be a minute.’

  She watched Chrissie hurry away down the path and disappear into the porter’s lodge. She could leave – just walk away. Some time by herself would be good. She could probably get her head together if people would stop asking her if she was OK.

  Too late. Michael and Bea turned around the corner of the clock tower. She hadn’t even noticed that there was a break in the buildings there. They were deep in conversation and it took a moment for them to notice Poppy.

  ‘Hey.’ Michael walked forward and caught hold of her hand. He squeezed her fingers but his face remained serious and he didn’t even pretend to apologise for going behind her back to her parents.

  ‘Where’s your dad?’ Bea asked, looking around.

  ‘He’ll be down in a minute. He just needed to make a call.’

  The Dean nodded. ‘Ah, Chrissie, what can I do for you?’

  Chrissie’s face filled with colour. ‘I’ve just asked if one of the porters can open the chapel so Poppy can go in there.’

  Michael let go of her hand and turned to face her. ‘Why would you want to go in there?’

  ‘I don’t… I didn’t…’

  ‘I’m sorry. That’s out of the question,’ the Dean said, glaring at Chrissie.

  Chrissie folded her arms and stared at the ground. ‘I just thought it might help,’ she muttered.

  ‘I think Poppy can do without that kind of help.’

  Poppy got the impression that she’d unwittingly become a blade of grass in a long-running turf war.

  ‘There’s your dad,’ Bea said, nodding to the opposite corner of the court. Weird. She’d left him in Bea’s office, how the heck had he come out over there? They waited in silence as Dad took the central path that led directly to the chapel steps.

  ‘I’ve got quintet practice tonight, but maybe after that you and Michael could come out for a drink with me?’ Chrissie asked Poppy, shooting Bea a cold smile.

  ‘Umm…yeah, maybe,’ Poppy replied.

  When Dad reached them, he immediately put an arm around Poppy and smiled.

  ‘Hi, Chrissie. How are you?’

  Before the girl could answer, they were distracted by two porters bolting down the path from the lodge to the archway where Dad had just come from.

  ‘What on earth is happening now?’ the Dean said, beginning to walk in that direction.

  They all followed. When someone screamed, Dad let go of Poppy and began running. She followed, straight across the snowy lawn. At the archway, Dad whirled around and pointed a finger at her.

  ‘Stay there!’

  Poppy nodded, but the second he disappeared into shadow, she darted after him.

  The archway led onto a corridor that had various doors
off it. She spotted daylight to the right and ran towards it.

  ‘Poppy! Wait!’ It was Michael, hard on her heels.

  She ignored him and ran on. A doorway opened onto another court, smaller and less grand than the one she’d just come through. Two paved levels were divided by ten or twelve steps and surrounded by what looked like modern halls of residence. Lying at the bottom of the steps was a girl.

  Her long red hair looked dull in comparison to the scarlet blood pouring from the holes where her eyes used to be.

  The air was punched out of Poppy’s lungs. Her knees buckled. ‘Lucy!’

  ‘Michael, get her out of here now!’ Dad ran and kneeled beside the girl.

  She was alive? Poppy didn’t know whether to be relieved or horrified.

  Lucy cried and punched out at Dad, but he put a hand on her head and tried to hold her still. Oh God, she was awake…and feeling everything. Poppy’s stomach churned.

  ‘Sweet Jesus!’ the Dean gasped, stopping beside them. ‘OK, anyone who doesn’t need to be here, get back to your rooms!’ she shouted, to the growing crowd of people pouring out of doorways.

  ‘Let’s do as she says,’ Chrissie said. She tugged at Poppy’s arm.

  But Poppy couldn’t move. She couldn’t look away.

  Someone ran past them.

  Poppy recognised the blue hacking jacket and green scarf.

  ‘No! No!’ Devon wailed. ‘Not Lucy! No!’ He fell on his knees.

  Dad tried to put a hand on Devon’s shoulder, but he pushed it away. ‘Get off me!’ he screamed. ‘She’s my friend. She’s my best friend.’

  Lucy’s bloodstained hands reached out at the sound of his voice.

  ‘Talk to her, Devon. She needs to hear your voice,’ Dad said to him.

  Michael tugged Poppy’s arm, and pulled her back through the doorway they’d come through, passing more porters on the way.

  It had happened. It had really happened.

  The threat contained in Ria’s note had been carried out – the murderer had tried to kill another Apostle. Why Lucy? Of all of them, Lucy was… Her feet stopped moving – her legs seemed to have gone numb, but Michael urged her forward, out into Great Court.

  The sound of an ambulance siren echoed around the walls. Poppy automatically reached for Michael even though he had an arm around her. He squeezed her hand and hugged her tightly.

  ‘Come on, let’s go inside,’ he said, tugging her in the direction of M staircase.

  Poppy planted her feet. ‘I want to wait to see if she’s OK.’

  Michael sighed and gave her a look, but he didn’t try to persuade her.

  Poppy watched as two paramedics ran through the courtyard carrying packs of equipment. The sirens had brought faces to some of the windows, and a few students ventured into Great Court, huddled in coats and cardigans. Like a pack of wolves, they somehow knew that another of their own had been taken.

  No one spoke above a whisper. It was as if the whole college was holding its breath, waiting to hear what terrible thing had happened within its walls today.

  After five minutes more, several uniformed police officers bolted from the lodge to the same doorway everyone else had gone through. Then another two paramedics hurried across the court, wheeling a stretcher between them. They were followed by yet another group of people, one of whom she recognised at Detective Inspector Dalca. The woman’s shoulder-length blonde hair streamed out behind her as she hurried to the new…murder scene? Could anyone survive those injuries?

  Michael tugged her hand again. ‘You’re going to freeze if we stand around out here. Your dad’ll come and find us when he’s done.’

  She nodded, and was about to give in to the tugging on her hand when the paramedics reappeared, wheeling the now occupied stretcher. She saw bandages and a flash of red hair.

  That was good, right? If they were taking her to hospital, it meant Lucy was still alive.

  Dad reappeared, escorted by Detective Inspector Dalca. The two of them headed in their direction.

  ‘What happened?’ She dropped Michael’s hand and ran to meet Dad and the detective.

  Dad was as white as a sheet. ‘Poppy, I want you and Michael to go home now.’

  ‘Actually, I need them to stay,’ the detective said. ‘You’re welcome to move them elsewhere in Cambridge but this is a major investigation and Poppy is a witness. In fact, Poppy, I’d like to talk to you again now, if that’s convenient?’

  ‘You can come back to my rooms,’ Dad said. ‘But then I want them out of here.’

  The detective eyed her. ‘Why don’t I buy you a coffee? You look like you need a warm drink.’

  ‘I was just going to take them, you’d be welcome to join us,’ Dad said. He moved ever so slightly into the detective’s eye line, as if trying to draw the detective’s gaze from her.

  The detective shook her head. ‘Thank you, Reverend Sinclair, but if you have no objections, I’d like to talk to Poppy alone.’

  Dad looked like he was about to blow a gasket. ‘I suppose…if it’s OK with Poppy…’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Poppy said, widening her eyes at Michael, who looked like he was about to lodge an objection. ‘Really. I’ll call you when I’m done.’

  Dad and Michael glanced at each other. Neither of them was happy, but neither seemed able to muster a reason why she couldn’t go.

  ‘Seriously, guys. I’m going to have my very own police escort. I’ll be fine. I promise I’ll call you the minute I’m through.’

  Dad sighed. ‘OK. But I don’t want you hanging around here by yourself. Call me the second…’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘Are we allowed to leave?’ Dad asked the policewoman.

  ‘Yes. Officers have closed Angel Court until we can establish where the attack happened.’

  At the word ‘angel’ Poppy gasped. Dalca’s eyes darted to her, as did Michael’s. Neither of them looked pleased.

  ‘Reverend Sinclair, I’d like to talk to Poppy now. I’ll return her to you very soon.’

  ‘Fine,’ Dad said. ‘Come on, Michael.’

  Poppy waited until Dad and Michael had reached the corner of the court before she blurted, ‘There’s an Angel Court? Didn’t you guys have people in there? So obvious.’ She ran a hand through her hair. Why hadn’t she remembered that there was a part of the college called Angel?!

  ‘As a matter of fact we have a quite a few officers undercover. But we can’t be everywhere, Poppy. I wish we could.’ The woman touched her arm. ‘Come on.’

  The detective led her out through the porter’s lodge where there were several uniformed officers, onto the street. They turned right, past the massive bookshop and various boutique windows all snazzed up with tinsel and baubles for the holidays. Poppy stuffed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie to stop them from freezing.

  The policewoman stopped when they reached what looked like a church stuck between the shops. The sign said Michael House Centre and Café.

  ‘It’ll be quiet in here at this time,’ she said.

  Poppy followed her into what was obviously a converted church. Modern-looking tables and chairs were spread out across the floor and next to the till there was a wrought iron spiral staircase that led up to a balcony where there were more tables. Brightly coloured oil paintings of poppy fields were hung on every wall – it seemed to be some sort of exhibition – and to the right, behind glass doors, there was what looked to be a chapel.

  ‘What would you like to drink?’ the detective asked.

  ‘Oh, umm, coffee, please.’

  The woman smiled. ‘Go and have a look around while I get the drinks.’

  Poppy walked between the mostly empty tables, looking at the pictures. Weird that all the paintings were all of poppies, especially in a place called Michael House. She was actually kind of fond of poppies, despite her name rather than because of it, but seeing all that red only reminded her of Lucy’s bloody eyes. She gravitated towards the chapel part and looked through the
doors. Someone had lit candles on the circular stand, making the place look kind of alive, even if it wasn’t much of a church any more. A part of her wanted to go in there and light a candle for Lucy; why, she didn’t know. Maybe it was the only thing left to do for her. She’d been so nice…so normal compared to the others. Surely this did away with Michael’s theory that MI6 were involved. People who worked for the government – even trained assassins – couldn’t be that…cruel.

  A statue caught her eye; it was of an angel, presumably the Archangel Michael. He had golden wings and held a sword against his chest. The whole of Cambridge seemed obsessed with the winged creatures. Why, when it felt like they flew around all the towers and steeples waging war against humanity?

  The detective came up beside her holding a tray. She nodded to the furthest corner.

  ‘Let’s go out of the way.’

  Poppy slumped down on a chair. Detective Inspector Dalca put a steaming hot cup of coffee in front of her, as well as a plate of toast and jam each.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘No problem. Go ahead and eat.’

  She wasn’t sure whether the churning feeling in her stomach was revulsion or hunger pangs. She hadn’t eaten all day, but… ‘I don’t think I can.’

  ‘Try. You need to get your sugar up after the shock.’

  Reluctantly, Poppy set about buttering her toast. The first mouthful stuck in her throat, but she added a dollop of strawberry jam and after that, it seemed to go down OK. She wiped the stickiness from her lips with a napkin and looked at the detective who was making short work of her toast.

  ‘Do you know what happened? Was she conscious?’

  The detective snorted. ‘I shouldn’t tell you anything.’

  ‘But you’re going to?’

  ‘All she managed to tell us was that she was attacked at her room. When she came to she couldn’t see. She managed to make it out of the building, but she fell down the steps and that’s where she was found.’ The detective’s gaze dropped to Poppy’s jam on toast.

  The bottom fell out of Poppy’s stomach. She dropped the toast back to the plate and pushed it away. Strawberry jam had been a big mistake.

  ‘Is she going to be OK?’

  ‘I’m not sure. She’d lost a lot of blood and she’d fallen unconscious by the time they took her away. We’ll know in a couple of hours.’