Dead Silent

by Sharon Jones

  ‘She’s an Apostle.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘She’s friends with Ria and Conal. I – me and Michael – got invited to the wake they were having for Danny this morning.’

  ‘This morning?’

  ‘Yeah. It was all very weird,’ Poppy said, not wanting to go into the details of the special tea and séance.

  The detective nodded. ‘I can imagine. What can you tell me, Poppy?’

  ‘I don’t know. I would lay bets on Ria and Conal being Apostles. And there’s a guy called Devon. He was the one with Lucy. But there must be more of them. Why did the killer gouge out Lucy’s eyes? Why not just…kill her?’

  The detective shook her head. ‘I really don’t know.’ She sipped at her cup and then very purposefully put it back on the saucer. ‘Poppy, your dad was a student here, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I think he knows something he’s not telling me.’

  Shit! Was this why she wanted to talk? She wanted her to inform on her dad? ‘You have got to be kidding me.’ Her voice echoed around the café.

  ‘He knows something, Poppy. And I need to know what that is. Do you know what it might be?’

  ‘No.’ Damn. She’d said it too quickly, too defensively.

  Detective Inspector Dalca picked up the teaspoon from her saucer and stirred the last dregs of her coffee. ‘He was seen coming out of the chapel at about the time that Danny died.’

  He was? ‘He works there.’

  The detective’s phone rang. She touched the screen and held it to her ear. ‘Yeah – really?’ Her gaze flicked up to Poppy. ‘Now that is interesting – Abdul’s still on him? Then bring him in. Do me a favour and give Messenger a heads up.’ She ended the call and slipped the phone back into her coat pocket.

  Messenger? That was the person Dad was trying to get Conal to contact. ‘Who’s Messenger?’ Poppy asked.

  ‘He’s the Chief Constable.’

  This just kept on getting weirder and weirder.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  Poppy shrugged. ‘The name’s familiar.’

  Just then, Poppy’s phone started buzzing. As she reached in her pocket to turn it off, the detective leaned forward. Her gaze caught Poppy’s and held it.

  ‘I’m just doing my job, Poppy. The best way for you to help your dad is to tell me everything you know.’

  ‘What?’ Her stomach clenched. Dalca made it sound like Dad was in real trouble. Serious trouble. Poppy frowned, breaking eye contact, and grabbed her phone out of her pocket. It was Michael.

  Something had happened. She knew it. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Poppy, where are you?’ Michael asked. The line was crackly as if he was facing into a storm.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘They – the police – they just arrested your dad.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Poppy cut the call and jumped to her feet. Her hands were shaking. It wasn’t fear, though, it was anger. Her attempt to stay calm lasted a split second.

  ‘What kind of game do you think you’re playing?’ she shouted at the detective. ‘There is no way my dad has anything to do with Danny’s murder. You know what I think? You let Lucy get hurt and you feel bad about that and now you’re getting desperate.’

  ‘A witness saw your dad arguing with Lucy yesterday.’

  For a moment she was stunned. It was true. Lucy was the girl who’d been with Conal when he and Dad had that spat yesterday afternoon.

  ‘That doesn’t mean he’d hurt her!’

  ‘If he’s innocent, he and you have nothing to worry about, Poppy. We just want to ask him some more questions.’

  ‘You didn’t have to arrest him to ask questions. Everything you have is circumstantial. What is it you’re not telling me? And hold on a minute…you said Messenger is the Chief Constable?’

  The detective frowned. ‘I don’t see what that has—’

  ‘—He went to Cambridge?’

  ‘I believe he did.’

  ‘Trinity, by any chance?’

  ‘St John’s College, I think. What are you getting at?’

  ‘Maybe you should take a look in your own backyard, Detective. I think you might find your boss is up to his neck in this.’

  Poppy felt a tiny pang of satisfaction as she watched the woman’s face go blank with confusion. She raised her chin and gave Dalca one last blazing look before whirling around and barging out of the café.

  As soon as she got outside, the cold air stole her breath away. She stared around as people passed her by: students laughing and joking about, shoppers hunting for bargains. The snow had all but melted on the streets, leaving patches of black slush between the dirty brown cobbles. For a moment, none of it seemed real, as if she’d stepped back into that strange waking dream state of the night before. She felt dislocated, lost. She had to find Michael, but she couldn’t remember where he’d said he was.

  ‘Poppy,’ a voice said, as a hand grabbed her arm. It was Dalca.

  ‘Go away!’ Poppy tried to shake the woman off.

  The detective’s brow was furrowed. ‘Come with me,’ she said, gently.

  ‘Are you arresting me too?’

  Detective Inspector Dalca let out an exasperated sigh, as if she was being awkward. ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Then get your hands off me!’ Poppy shouted, drawing the attention of the passing shoppers.

  Detective Inspector Dalca glanced around at the staring faces. She let go of Poppy and stepped back, a frown of frustration on her face.

  Poppy turned and marched down the street.

  ‘Where are you going?’ the detective shouted after her. ‘Poppy, you need to be somewhere safe.’

  Poppy ignored her and ran.

  Michael watched as the two coppers put Jim in the squad car. They had the lights flashing and everything. He felt utterly useless. He’d called Poppy just as soon as he’d realised what was happening, but now he didn’t have a clue what he should do. He thought about calling his dad. Jim clearly needed a solicitor and his dad could probably help with that. Not that his dad liked Jim all that much – he’d heard him call Jim a hippy layabout waster before he’d gone and got himself a job at a Cambridge college. Soon as his dad heard that, he’d magically changed his mind about Jim. Nice bloke. Always liked him.

  Michael’s phone buzzed in his hand. He hit answer and pressed it to his ear.

  ‘Where are you?’ Poppy’s voice was panicky.

  ‘In front of the entrance to King’s.’

  ‘I’ll be right there.’

  He looked up and almost at once spotted Poppy running down the street towards him. She had seen the police leading Jim to their car and was sprinting like an Olympian.

  ‘No! Stop!’ she shouted.

  Michael grabbed her before she could do something stupid like drape herself over the police car.

  ‘There’s nothing you can do,’ he said, tightening his hold as she struggled to break free. ‘For fuck’s sake, Poppy, calm down. This isn’t going to help.’

  Swearing seemed to have the desired effect. As the police car moved away, dodging cyclists and pedestrians, Poppy stopped struggling and instead rested her head on his chest. He hugged her.

  ‘It’ll be OK. He didn’t do anything wrong, Poppy. He’ll be fine.’

  ‘They’ve got stuff tying him to the victims,’ she said.

  ‘What?’

  She lifted her face to his and although her eyes were glazed with tears, they had that determined look that scared the shit out of him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ‘We should probably find the Dean,’ Michael said as they passed the three uniformed police guarding the main entrance to Trinity. Poppy nodded. She was so pale – it was as if she was fading away right in front of him.

  Spotting them through the crowd, an old guy with a weatherworn face and white hair sticking out from under a bowler hat stopped them and ushered them into the porter’s lodg
e.

  ‘We’ve not met. My name’s Mr Seddon, I’m the head porter.’ The old guy shook hands with him and then Poppy. ‘The Dean asked me to keep an eye out for you, so if you don’t mind waiting here, I’ll give her a call.’ The porter went around the desk and picked up the phone.

  ‘Poppy, what’s going on? Where’s your dad?’ a voice asked.

  It was Chrissie, the girl who’d been talking to Poppy before.

  Poppy shrugged and glanced up at him. ‘Umm…he…’

  ‘I heard he’d been arrested. Is it true?’

  Poppy nodded.

  The girl snorted. She shook her head. ‘Oh God. That’s ridiculous! Jim couldn’t hurt a fly, let alone kill people!’

  ‘Chrissie, I think it best if you keep your voice down,’ Mr Seddon said, as he put the phone down. ‘There’s enough gossip flying around college without us adding to it.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re right, Charlie,’ the girl said, her face crumpling. ‘I just can’t believe it.’ She turned to Poppy. ‘He has got a solicitor, hasn’t he?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Poppy’s voice suddenly sounded wobbly. It was hitting her.

  Michael grabbed Poppy’s hand and squeezed it. Her eyes sought his and he made himself smile reassuringly. ‘We’re just about to sort that out.’

  ‘Do you need some help finding one?’

  ‘We’re waiting for the Dean. I’m guessing she’ll know what to do.’ Michael tried to give Poppy an encouraging look, but she was obviously deep in thought and not really listening to a word either of them was saying.

  Chrissie was frowning. ‘The Dean? But she hates Jim. He’s always going on about her stymying anything he tries that’s new or different.’

  A figure appeared in the doorway, tall enough to almost block out the light.

  ‘Master, is there something I can do for you?’ the head porter asked.

  The man standing in the doorway had steel-grey hair. His eyes were alert and his shoulders filled out his suit jacket like he was twenty years younger and spent half of his life running laps around Great Court. The way the guy looked them over, like they were some lesser beings, made Michael stiffen. He’d met this type before, usually among his dad’s business friends. The man’s gaze stalled on Poppy. He twiddled the ring on the little finger of his left hand and smiled.

  ‘You must be Poppy.’

  Poppy nodded.

  ‘I’ve spoken to the police,’ the man announced, ‘and I’m confident that we can get this horrible mess cleared up very soon. My solicitor is on his way to the station.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Poppy murmured.

  ‘Now what are you going to do until we can get this matter sorted out?’

  ‘Ummm…’

  ‘I can look after them,’ Chrissie said. ‘They can come to my room.’

  ‘Actually,’ the porter said, ‘I believe the Dean is on her way over here.’

  As if on cue, Bea squeezed past the Master into the already full lodge.

  ‘Sir John,’ she said, nodding respectfully to the Master.

  ‘If you have no objections, Dean, I’d like to give Poppy and Michael afternoon tea.’ It wasn’t a question so much as a statement.

  ‘Oh, umm, of course, Master. I’m sure there’s nothing they’d enjoy more.’ Michael thought he heard more than a hint of sarcasm in her voice. ‘I just didn’t want them to be left floundering.’

  ‘How thoughtful of you, Beatrice. Come along,’ he said, catching Michael’s eye. ‘It’s too cold a day to be standing around in here gossiping.’ He gave the Dean and Chrissie a steely glare before turning and walking out of the door.

  The Dean let out a noisy breath. ‘That bloody man. You’d better run along,’ she said, squeezing Poppy’s arm. ‘But just as soon as he lets you out, you come and find me.’

  ‘OK,’ Poppy said.

  ‘What’s a master?’ Poppy whispered, with an incredulous look on her face, as they hurried to catch the guy up.

  Michael imagined the monologue she was bound to come out with about old white men and their love of titles that make them feel like they are master of all they survey.

  ‘He’s the head of the college. Kind of like the principal.’

  ‘Did Bea just call him Sir John?’

  Michael nodded. ‘Trinity’s a royal foundation. The Master is appointed by the Queen. He was probably already a knight.’

  ‘How do you know all this?’

  ‘It’s in the prospectus.’

  Poppy shook her head. ‘I’m just going to call you geek for the rest of the day.’

  ‘Works for me.’ He shot her a smile. At least she was making jokes again.

  But her attempt to recapture something like normal didn’t last. As they walked past the chapel he noticed Poppy staring at the door. She had that weird look in her eye again, the same one she’d had last night when she’d woken from her supposed nightmare.

  The Master carried on straight past the chapel, around the corner, and stopped in an archway set back into the opposite wall. He reached into his pocket and then opened the door, turned and waited for them.

  He didn’t smile as they approached, merely waved them in.

  ‘Come in, come in,’ he said, smartly.

  They squeezed past him, through a hallway and into a huge study that made the Dean’s look like the servants’ quarters. Michael glanced at Poppy. She was staring at the ceiling, her head crooked back and red-blonde curls spilling down her back. The sight made his throat tighten. He wanted to help her…to make her safe. And he felt so helpless. If anything happened to Jim…

  He glanced up too. The white plaster ceiling was emblazoned with gold swirls and even a coat of arms. The room was like something from a royal palace.

  ‘Don’t feel like you have to stand on ceremony,’ the Master said, following them in. ‘Take a seat and let’s see if we can get some food in here.’

  Michael felt a tug on his hand and Poppy led him towards a red sofa. They sat down and watched while the Master went to a desk in the corner of the room and used the phone.

  ‘Hello, yes, I know it’s a bit late, but could you sort out afternoon tea? For three. Thank you so much.’

  He put the phone down and wandered over to them. He slouched down into an armchair, crossed one leg over the other and looked at them, a slight smile on his tanned, lean face.

  ‘Really, don’t worry about this business with your dad. We’ll have him home in a jiffy.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Poppy replied.

  ‘Actually, I’m glad to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from Jim. I know he misses you an awful lot. Took quite a bit of persuasion to get him to take this job. He wanted to go to some terrible parish in Cumbria so he’d be nearer you. But he’d have been terribly unhappy – wasting away up there.’

  Beside him, Poppy stiffened. Michael felt like ripping into the guy, even if he was the bloody Master of this place. Could he not hear himself?

  ‘Why did you want Dad to come here?’ Poppy asked, lightly, but Michael could hear the held-back emotion.

  ‘I’ve known your father since he was a boy. Your grandfather is a great chum of mine, we were at school together.’

  ‘The old boys’ network.’ Poppy chewed on her bottom lip, as if trying to hold back all the things she wanted to say.

  The Master laughed. ‘Just like your father. He could never stand the thought of getting anything he hadn’t worked for. I always rather respected him for that.’

  ‘He took this job.’

  ‘He took a fair amount of persuasion – and there was some objection raised by one of the fellows. He was what we needed, though. I’m just so sorry that he’s having to go through all of this. The police are being idiots, of course. Most of them really don’t understand how an institution like this one works. I imagine it’s all a bit of a mystery to you too.’

  ‘Actually, Michael’s a bit of a Cambridge geek – he’s going to King’s.’

  Michael almost groaned. ‘
Actually, I’ve only applied, I haven’t got in yet.’

  ‘King’s, eh? And what is wrong with Trinity?’

  This, again? ‘Nothing. I’m applying for History, so…’

  ‘I see. And Trinity is only interesting to Maths and Science bods? That’s a misconception we’re trying to get away from. We’re not all mathematicians.’

  The Master talked for a little while about the college until he finally let slip that he’d been Jim’s tutor.

  ‘You taught my dad?’ Poppy asked.

  ‘Yes. He was an incredibly bright young man, something of a polymath. Could turn his hand to any subject that caught his eye.’

  ‘Was he an Apostle?’ Poppy asked, as simply as if she’d asked if her dad had played rugby.

  A slow smile spread across the Master’s face. ‘Now then, what would make you ask a thing like that?’

  Here we go, Michael thought. The Master really didn’t know what was about to happen. He could almost enjoy this.

  Next to him, Poppy shuffled and crossed her legs – settling in for a spot of questioning.

  ‘Was he?’ she persisted.

  The Master stared steadily back at her. ‘The membership of the Apostles is a closely guarded secret.’

  ‘Doesn’t seem to be. Seems to me that most people know that Danny was a member. And if Danny was a member I’m guessing Lucy is too, and Ria, and Conal, and Devon.’

  The Master was doing a good job of remaining expressionless but surprise registered in his steel-grey eyes. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘I worked it out, just the same as the police have worked it out.’

  ‘Clever girl. You’ve inherited your father’s analytical brain, I see.’

  ‘Actually, I get that from Mum!’

  Michael half winced, half grinned. Poppy’s voice was acid. She was barely keeping her temper in check. He hoped the Master had a storm shelter handy.

  The Master smiled and nodded, as if humouring her. Michael caught his breath. The man would regret that.

  ‘I can’t speak for the Apostles—’

  ‘—Is that because you were one too?’ Poppy interrupted. ‘So that would make you an Angel, right?’