DEAD SILENT a gripping detective thriller full of suspense

by Helen H. Durrant

  He couldn’t rationalise it to himself. On the one hand he loved the sound of those American accents, so much like Vida’s. On the other, he hated the recriminations, the name calling; the violent language they all spouted. And, of course, he knew very well that none of them was really Vida, and that always made him angry, because he tried really hard. He fixed their hair and makeup, provided the right clothing, and of course, the perfect teeth to match Vida’s lovely smile. But he never quite pulled it off. When he grew angry he assuaged it by treating them cruelly. He preferred the mouths to be silent. They were far easier to deal with — particularly afterwards, when he could use their bodies for his sexual pleasure.

  He closed his eyes. Yes, he was wicked, truly wicked, and he needed saving from himself. Vida could save him. If she’d agree to be his, then all this would end and he’d be happy. But the bitch would have nothing to do with him. That made him angry. It made him want to do those dreadful things to the girls. It was all her fault.

  They’d agreed to meet in Manchester again. She wanted to go to a restaurant in Chinatown for lunch. He dressed a little more casually this time: smart pants and a good shirt. He topped it all off with his leather jacket, and set out to catch the train.

  She was waiting for him in St. Peter’s Square. She ran to his side and kissed his cheek. A little keen for so soon in the relationship, but who was he to complain? He liked it.

  She talked non-stop; a load of rubbish. She complained about the course she was on, her tutors, and the crappy accommodation she had to live in. Jack tried to be sympathetic. He made all the right noises, but sympathy just wasn’t his style. In an effort to shut her up, he held her hand and pointed to the restaurant he was taking her to. It would be easy to silence her once he got her to his place.

  The restaurant was an upmarket, rather expensive eatery that was sure to impress. He knew her weakness now. It was obvious because she made no secret of it. She was a gold digger. So — Jack would promise her the jackpot.

  “Jack, you’re so good to me!” She took his arm and pulled him along the road towards the entrance. “I’m so hungry. Can we have like one of those banquet things? You don’t know what it’s like being a poor ol’ student.” She batted long dark lashes at him. “My Mom says I’ve got to manage. She says if I can’t, then I’ll just have to come back home.” She pouted. “You don’t want me to have to do that — do you, Jack?”

  No, he damn well didn’t. He’d done all the planning and preparation for her. This one wasn’t going anywhere.

  “If I had a man who really liked me, who’d look after me, then I’m sure I’d stay.”

  “In that case I’ll just have to take good care of you.” He put his arm around her waist as they walked. She was an open book; shallow and grasping — well, she’d pay the price for that soon enough. “You can come to mine. Have a bit of a break — tomorrow night.” He bent down to kiss her cheek. “I’ll pick you up. Pack a few things. I’ve got plenty of room. I’ll send out for some food. We can eat and drink and have a good time getting to know each other.”

  Chapter 10

  “Here.” With a flourish, Julian Batho handed Imogen a piece of paper. “The firm that manufactured the orthopaedic plate is called ‘Partridges of Birmingham’.”

  Imogen Goode was sat at her desk poring over some paperwork. “You looked it up?” She hardly dared to believe her luck. “And you actually found it? How did you do it?”

  The forensic scientist played nervously with his glasses and gave her a dismissive shrug. He wouldn’t admit it, but he’d really slogged to find the information for her. He liked her; he liked her a lot. All he needed now was the courage to tell her and then ask her out. And that was the problem. Forensic science was one thing, but asking an attractive woman for a night out was beyond him. She was so perfect, so pretty, so completely the opposite of him. Tall and clever he might be, but he was no looker. It leeched at his confidence.

  “It was a little easier for me. I know who the main manufacturers are in this country so I tried them first. The number you’re looking for is in that batch there.” He pointed to the paper. “If you ring them they should be able to tell you which hospital they went to.”

  “I owe you, Julian. DI Calladine will be pleased too. We need this, we really do. We’ve got another one this morning. The DI and Ruth are with Doc Hoyle now.”

  “I know. I was there earlier, helping the doctor. I’ve got a whole lot of samples to work on, so I’d better get back to the lab. I’ve got to go to the undertakers. The hearse she was found in needs going over with a fine toothcomb. I’ll be in touch if I get anything else.” He smiled at her.

  “When this is sorted I’ll take you out for a slap-up dinner,” she promised. “Don’t let me forget!”

  No he wouldn’t. It was a start. When the time came he’d make sure he had a raft of suggestions ready so she didn’t try to wheedle out of keeping her side of the bargain.

  * * *

  Imogen rang the manufacturer right away, and found out that the plate had gone to a local hospital.

  “I’ve found it, sir!” She practically shouted down the phone to Calladine. “Well, I had a little help from Julian, but we’ve got the info on the orthopaedic plate.”

  That was the best piece of news Calladine had heard all week — apart from finding Cassie Rigby.

  “You’ll never believe it but she was treated locally too — at the Infirmary in Central Manchester. I’ve rung them, and the records people are digging out the details as we speak.”

  “Great work, Imogen. Thank Julian for me too. Did the records people say how long?”

  “They are going to courier them across to us — should be anytime soon. I’ll bell you when we get them.”

  “Ruth and I are still at the mortuary. When you get a name let me know and we’ll go into town and talk to whoever treated her.”

  Ruth was sipping tea — hot, sweet tea — trying to get her head back together after the nightmare of the PM room.

  “I wish I wasn’t such a wimp. But it gets to me, Tom. That poor girl — what she must have suffered! Her, and the other one too. What is this nutter doing? What are his reasons — if he has any, that is?”

  “People who do these things have their own rationale for their behaviour. Inside his twisted mind it’ll make perfect sense. It’s just the rest of us that are left guessing.”

  “There are more out there, aren’t there? It’s the numbers. We’ve got number five and now three, so there’s bound to be more. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  Calladine nodded. Somewhere out there were numbers one, two and four. Knowing that made him edgy. He had questions he couldn’t answer, such as had this bastard taken anyone after Vida 5? Did he, even now, have his latest victim imprisoned somewhere? Was he torturing some other girl to death? Where did he find them? And how come they were all so anonymous? These questions and more swirled around in his head. He needed to make sense of everything they’d got up to now. He needed to get back to the nick.

  “The good news is we’ve got a lead on the plate. Imogen is going to ring back, and with a bit of luck we’ll get a name. Then we really will have something to go on.”

  * * *

  The something was a student called Madison Benneti. The hospital confirmed that they’d fitted the orthopaedic plate just over three years ago, and that she’d been a student at the university in Manchester. She’d given her address at that time as the halls of residence, so the university was their next call.

  “The person you need to see is a Mrs Johnson,” a receptionist told them. “She was Madison’s course tutor and she’ll know what happened to her.”

  Wishful thinking. Joanna Johnson had no idea what had become of Madison Benneti, nor did she seem to care.

  “One day she’s here, doing fine, the next she’s gone. Students can be like that sometimes. They get a place here, then they find they don’t like the course. Studying wasn’t really Madison’s thing; that was pretty
obvious from her grades. I’m afraid she had an agenda of her own. Madison made no secret of the fact that she’d come to the UK specifically to look for a husband — a rich one. Rumour had it that she’d finally met him. Who he was, I couldn’t tell you, but that was always her plan from the off.”

  “Came to the UK from where?” Ruth asked.

  “From the USA. New York, I believe.”

  So definitely not local, then.

  “We’re going to need a proper address. We need to contact her family urgently,” Calladine told her.

  “From what I remember, Madison didn’t get on with her parents. Look — I don’t know why you’re here, but take my word for it, Madison Benneti is probably married to her Mr Perfect by now, and living in the lap of luxury.”

  “Madison is dead, Mrs Johnson. She was murdered. So I think you should give us that address, because they need to be told, don’t you think?”

  Calladine couldn’t believe the woman’s attitude. Wasn’t she supposed to look out for the students under her watch? So then how come one of them had been allowed to simply disappear?

  “I didn’t realise. You should have said straight away. You have to understand, I look after dozens of students, and I can’t be on top of them all. Come with me and I’ll get you the information.”

  She led the way down a flight of stairs and into a small office. “I’ll get her details from the system — just give me a minute.”

  She tapped away at the keyboard and sent a document to the printer. “Madison left in such a hurry — of course I asked around, but no one could volunteer anything useful. With her ambitions in the husband department, what was I supposed to do?”

  “Didn’t you think to contact the authorities — the American Embassy or the immigration people?”

  “Well no. Madison wasn’t an isolated case. Each year we lose a small number of foreign students. It’s just the way it is, I’m afraid. Resources dictate what can be done about it, Inspector, not me.”

  Calladine couldn’t help but wonder why Madison’s family hadn’t asked about her. She was young, alone in a strange country — surely someone must be curious about what had become of her?

  “Is there anyone else we can speak to — a friend perhaps? We don’t mind waiting.”

  “Yes, there is actually. You could talk to Alice Bolshaw. She was Madison’s closest friend and she’s still here — doing a degree in criminology as it happens.”

  An amateur sleuth — just what they needed.

  “Where do we find her?”

  “If you follow the corridor as far as the stairs, you’ll find the refectory on your right. Go and have some coffee. I’ll find Alice and send her to you.”

  That wasn’t a bad idea. Calladine checked his watch — it had gone lunchtime, but a place like this always had food on the go. As it turned out the refectory was newly refurbished, warm and comfortable. There were a number of students sitting around, chatting and eating, with piped music providing background noise. The food on offer was quite good and relatively cheap. Ruth didn’t want anything, but Calladine ordered a bacon sandwich and they both had coffee.

  “She must have had somewhere to go, sir — someone to go to. It doesn’t make sense to leave here otherwise.”

  “Nothing about any of this makes much sense yet, Ruth.” Calladine squeezed ketchup all over the bacon.

  “I don’t know how you can. Not after . . . well, after what we’ve just seen.”

  “I’m starving, simple as, and this will fill a gap quite nicely.”

  “Are you the police?” A young woman approached their table.

  “Yes. I’m Inspector Calladine and this is Sergeant Bayliss.” Calladine smiled.

  “Is it true?” Her face was a picture of misery. “Mrs Johnson told me that Maddy is dead.”

  “I’m afraid Mrs Johnson is right. Are you Alice?” Ruth spoke gently.

  The young woman nodded her head, folded her arms and stuck her chin in the air, obviously annoyed about something.

  “This is exactly what I warned Maddy about. I knew it, you know. I knew something awful would happen to her. I had a bad feeling when she left. I came to see your lot about her a good few weeks back, but you took no notice. If you had, Madison might still be alive.” She stood over them, accusingly. Then she pulled some papers from her bag. “They had the cheek to treat me like a fool. Well, who’s looking foolish now? They said I was over reacting, and that she’d turn up. They didn’t even ask me to fill out a form or anything.”

  “Do you know what happened; where Madison went?”

  The girl nodded. “Well not exactly, but I know she went off with him — the man she met online. I did try to warn her. I told her she was stupid to get involved with him so soon. I mean he could have been anybody. In a way she only has herself to blame.”

  “That’s a little harsh, Alice.” Alice Bolshaw was something of an oddity, Calladine decided. She didn’t look much like the other students, who were mostly dressed in jeans, clutching cans of soft drink and generally having a good time hanging out. Alice’s clothing was slightly old-fashioned, as well as being immaculate. She was dressed in a pleated skirt and buttoned-up cardigan. She wore no make-up, and her long hair was scraped back, tied in a single thick plait at the back. She looked as if she was something of a cold fish. She obviously didn’t suffer fools, and was probably far too serious to relax and enjoy herself. “Involved with whom, Alice? Do you know his name?”

  “I just told you. The bloke she met online. Jack, she said his name was. I told your people all this ages ago, but no one listened.”

  “We’re not local police. We’re from Leesworth — so we wouldn’t necessarily have known about your friend being missing. Do you remember when you went to the police?”

  “‘Yes, I do. It was a few weeks ago; the tenth of October to be precise — before the half-term break. But she wasn’t missing then, not in the real sense. I was trying to prevent that. I knew she’d gone, but I still believed she was okay. It was only when she suddenly stopped texting me that I got really worried. Then I knew something was definitely wrong. All along I thought this man she’d taken up with was a bad lot. He was a fast worker — too fast for comfort if you ask me. Goodness knows what he promised Maddy, but it did the trick. I could see the whole thing for what it was, but Maddy couldn’t — she just thought I was jealous.”

  “So where did you think she was?”

  “With him: Jack. The precious Jack who was going to solve all her problems and provide her with a life of luxury. Well that’s how he must have sold it to her. The silly girl was completely taken in. I tried to talk some sense into her, but in the end she got all shirty and left. Here’s her last number.” She handed Ruth the papers she’d taken from her bag. Those are the last text messages we exchanged. I printed them out with the dates.”

  Calladine was impressed. It would have been so easy to delete the texts and forget all about it. “Do you know where this Jack lives, or what he looks like?”

  “No. I never actually met him, and Maddy would never answer my questions. She just said he lived somewhere posh and wonderful and had a lot of money. One day she got dressed up and went to meet him for lunch — and I never saw her again. I got the texts telling me what a great time she was having — then nothing.”

  “This is good work.” Ruth scanned through the papers. “Well done.”

  The young woman sat down beside them. “There is more. Since Maddy’s disappearance I’ve been digging around. I don’t want you to think I’m obsessed or anything, but I don’t think what happened to Maddy was an isolated case. I suspect that there have been others. I’ve made a list.”

  “A list?”

  “Yes, Inspector. A list of female students who’ve simply disappeared for no good reason during the last twelve months.” Her tone suggested she wasn’t impressed by the amused look on his face. “And don’t think I’ve not asked about them, because I have, and got nowhere. I just don’t have the resource
s or access to them. But I don’t harbour these suspicions lightly, and nor should you.”

  “You’re doing a criminology degree. Do you want to be a detective?”

  “No, I want to be a profiler. And before you ask, this is not down to my imagination. Just because I spend my time studying criminals doesn’t mean I see evil all around me. This is real, Inspector, take my word for it.”

  “So there have been a few disappearances? But isn’t that the way with students at university? They start a course and soon realise it’s too much like hard work, not to mention the cost.”

  “Not these students. Most of them were from the USA, and being sponsored. Maddy had a scholarship from a large corporation in New York. Not a fortune, but enough to get by on. Once she’d qualified they would have employed her, and it was the same with the others. I compiled the list because no one would listen to me. And now Maddy’s dead, and I don’t think she was the first.” She bit her lip thoughtfully.

  “What do you think is wrong, Alice? You’ve obviously put work into this and developed a theory.”

  “I know what you’re thinking; you’ve hinted as much. You think I’m a criminology student with an overactive imagination. But you’re wrong.” She spoke with passion. “I think Maddy was taken by a killer — a serial killer.” This was said with more than a pinch of bravado. “I think female students here — particularly the ones from the USA — are being targeted. Look. I’ve highlighted the American students. All were female, and all left without going through any of the formalities or saying goodbye to their friends. Now why would they do that?”

  Could she be right? Calladine hoped not. His eyes moved down the list. He was half hoping the name Vida might be there — but it wasn’t.

  “All these highlighted are American, and no longer here?”