The Silence (Dc Goodhew 4)

by Alison Bruce

  Gully nodded. ‘Yes, it would be justice if Caitlin Finch really did get pregnant one day and suffer the worst case of morning sickness on record.’ They walked through to the downstairs lobby together, and then Gully headed for the stairs, pleased to note that Goodhew was following the same route. ‘I get so wound up sometimes,’ she confessed. ‘I’ve worked so hard making sure that I’ve been thorough with every item of paperwork, but I can’t stop feeling that it will all go wrong at the last minute. What if I’ve missed something?’

  Goodhew halted in his tracks, waiting until she stopped too. ‘Did you stub out your imaginary cigarette? And did you do anything with the imaginary butt?’

  Gully shrugged, then admitted, ‘I imagined putting it in the bin. Is that what you mean?’

  ‘Exactly. So you do have an eye for detail, you finish the job, you’re thorough . . .’

  ‘That’s bollocks.’

  ‘. . . and slightly unhinged. Would you feel better if I go through the stuff with you and prepare you for any questions you might get asked?’

  Gully wondered whether saying, ‘Yes,’ would be like asking for help. She hated the idea because, whatever needed doing, she wanted to be the one to work it out. She didn’t even like reading an instruction manual, which was about the most anonymous help she could possibly receive. Even so she heard herself ask, ‘When?’

  ‘Now? There’s an hour till the end of our shift, and I can work on a bit longer if that suits you.’

  She knew the offer arose out of Goodhew’s diligence rather than any sudden desire to spend his off-duty time in her company, but still Gully felt the familiar warmth of her cheeks suddenly reddening. Luckily that happened frequently enough to go unnoticed.

  Once back at her desk, she retrieved Caitlin Finch’s file and placed the contents in a stack between them. Goodhew read through the papers, occasionally stopping to ask her questions.

  By the time he reached the last page Gully was close to believing that she would be able to deliver a statement and be comfortable with any cross-questioning that followed. ‘Thanks, Gary, I really appreciate it.’

  Perhaps she should buy him a drink just to say thanks properly, but she hesitated. She didn’t want him to read anything into it, but then again, she wouldn’t read anything into it if a male friend made the same offer to her. Unless she suspected that he really liked her. Damn, damn, damn, why did she always make things more complicated than they needed to be? Do you fancy a drink? No, she needed to steer away from the word ‘fancy’ and probably also the expression ‘quick one’. She decided that Have you got time for a half? probably indicated the right ratio of colleague/friend and was about to try it out loud when the phone began to ring.

  It was Sergeant Norris, on the front desk. ‘Who’s up there at the moment?’

  ‘Just me and Goodhew.’

  ‘You’ll do, Sue. Pop down, if you don’t mind. There’s a Jamie-Lee Wallace here, concerned about a missing housemate.’

  ‘I’ll be right there.’ She put down the phone.

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘Yes. Someone’s lost his lodger – probably run off with the rent money.’

  Goodhew re-stacked her papers, then pushed his chair back from the desk. Gully quickly left the room before she could start debating with herself whether to wait for him to walk with her down the stairs.

  All the way to reception her thoughts stayed on Goodhew. It was a crush undoubtedly, one that had hung on for too long now, and had more to do with her lack of boyfriend than the reawakening of teenage hormones which managed to hit almost every time they were alone together. And the main result was that she felt very angry with herself.

  Gully banged at the reception door with the heel of her hand. It swung open in a wide arc that gave her a full view of the waiting area, and simultaneously reminded her of the dangers of making assumptions; Jamie-Lee Wallace was no irate male landlord on the hunt for a missing tenant, but a young woman aged about twenty, whose long dark hair was tied up in a neat braid. She wore jeans and a burgundy hoodie, and although her clothes looked newly laundered there was still something unkempt about her appearance.

  The girl stood uneasily in the waiting area, surrounded by empty seats, and as soon as she spotted Gully she hurried towards her. ‘Thank you for seeing me.’ She spoke calmly and clearly, her voice at odds with her worried expression.

  Plenty of people remained restrained in the face of fear or pain, and Gully fully expected her next words to begin: It’s probably nothing but . . .

  She was wrong.

  Jamie-Lee grabbed her hand like she was about to shake it, but instead held on to it, as if she was determined to keep Gully close. ‘One of the girls in our house-share is called Shanie. I think she might be dead.’

  TEN

  Sergeant Norris had initially used the word ‘missing’ and, between Gully leaving her desk and arriving at reception, it seemed that Jamie-Lee Wallace had upgraded the girl’s status to ‘dead’.

  ‘Missing or dead?’ Gully asked sharply. ‘Which is it?’

  ‘Missing. She’s missing – but I’m scared she’s dead.’

  Gully guided Wallace into an interview room and directed her towards the nearest chair.

  Jamie-Lee began to speak before either of them was seated. ‘I live in a house in King Street, where I’m a student and so are the others. There are seven of us in the house; six of us moved in together at the start of October, and Shanie arrived at the start of this term—’

  ‘Hold on.’ Gully dumped her notebook on the table, sat on the chair beside it and didn’t speak again until she had her pen poised ready to write. ‘I need to start with some basic details.’

  Jamie-Lee nodded.

  ‘Your full name?’

  ‘Mine?’ The girl looked surprised for a moment. ‘Jamie Leonora Wallace.’

  ‘Date of birth?’

  ‘First of November, 1992.’

  It was Gully’s turn to look surprised, for up to that moment she had assumed Jamie-Lee was closer to her own age, and a half-decade adjustment suddenly made a big difference to the way she viewed this young woman. True, there was nothing overly mature in her features; the maturity was all in her manner. When Gully spoke again, she let her voice soften a little. ‘And your friend Shanie’s full name?’

  ‘Shanie Faulkner – that’s all I know. I guess it’s short for something.’

  ‘What’s her date of birth?’

  ‘I don’t know that either. But she’s twenty-two, and her birthday fell just before Christmas.’

  ‘Do you have a home address for her?’

  Jamie-Lee shook her head. ‘She’s from Merrillville, Indiana. Due to go back there next month, I think. Look, you can check all of this with her college, can’t you?’

  ‘Tell me when you last saw her.’

  ‘I already told you, on Friday night, the sixteenth – about midnight, I think. We were in the kitchen playing poker and she got annoyed . . . nothing really, just bickering, but she stormed out of the house. None of the others have seen her since.’

  ‘The other people in your house-share, you mean?’ Gully wrote the word ‘occupants’ on a new line and double-underlined it. ‘Aside from you and Miss Faulkner, who else is currently living at that address?’

  ‘Meg DeLacy, Marcus Phillips, Libby Brett, Matt Stone . . . and Oslo. He’s Norwegian, his first name’s Gunvald. I think his second name’s spelt G-J-E-R-T-S-E-N because I’ve seen that on his post, but he’s happy with “Oslo”.’

  ‘And all these people were present when she left?’

  ‘Yes, except Libby. She was upstairs, but everyone else was together in the house.’

  ‘Did Shanie give you any indication of her plans for the weekend?’

  ‘No, I doubt she really had any. She has a degree in software design, graduated last year but she’s continuing to study. She’s still attending her old university in the States, but she was given the chance to come here for thirteen weeks, and want
ed to make the most of the opportunity. Shanie doesn’t go out much – in fact, she seems to have made a point of avoiding anything in the way of a social life. I like her but she’s a bit of a boff. I reckon she doesn’t really know how to just let her hair down and have a laugh, so I don’t think it would have happened accidentally either.’

  ‘No boyfriend, then?’

  Jamie-Lee snorted, “‘Proud to be a virgin”, apparently.’

  ‘Apparently? You don’t think she was, then?’

  ‘Sorry, that was my personal comment on that philosophy. The rest of us don’t walk round wearing T-shirts that say either Glad I lost it or Ashamed to be a slapper. She wouldn’t have morphed into some kind of reckless party person overnight. She likes rules and structure and nothing much that’s frivolous.’

  ‘I see,’ Gully said slowly. ‘So if there had been a sudden change of plan . . .’

  Jamie-Lee nodded vigorously. ‘Yes, she would have told us, and definitely contacted her course tutors, since it would need to be something pretty catastrophic for her to miss any of her classes.’

  ‘Catastrophic?’

  ‘Dead was an exaggeration, I know, but it would still have to be something serious. I mean, something out of her control, which is preventing her from getting in touch with us.’

  Gully kept the rest of her questions brief. Jamie-Lee Wallace didn’t strike her as someone who was readily prone to panic; instead she came across as pragmatic, the kind who provided an ear for other people’s problems. From Gully’s experience, people like that only sought help when they genuinely felt there was trouble.

  ‘What happens now?’ Jamie asked.

  ‘I’ll go back to the house with you, find out whether any of the other housemates can provide any more information.’

  ‘They can’t.’

  ‘I still need to ask, and I’ll need access to her room. Who has a key?’

  ‘The landlord, I suppose.’

  ‘No one else?’

  ‘I don’t know – maybe Rob. He’s Matt’s dad, and he sorted out the lease, so he has all the details.’ Jamie suddenly looked defeated. ‘I should know these things myself, as I’m the one who always organizes any repairs. But I just ask Rob, as I don’t even know the landlord’s name.’

  It took less than five minute to drive from the police station to King Street. The road was narrow, lined with townhouses that had been restored or replaced over the past few hundred years. There was only one gap available between the parked cars, so Gully pulled up to the kerb and glanced back at Jamie-Lee, who sat directly behind the front passenger seat.

  ‘Okay?’ she asked.

  Jamie-Lee nodded. Then silently they moved towards number 42A.

  It was a pretty but tired-looking cottage with dust-covered rendered walls and windows that looked slightly out of alignment. The front door opened and a figure appeared in the doorway, glancing in their direction then withdrawing quickly. Gully had just enough time to catch sight of a dark jumper and a mop of sandy hair over untamed sideburns. ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Oslo. He’s gathering everyone together in the main room.’

  The hallway was decorated with palm-leaf embossed paper that had been painted over in a shade of dark mulberry. No lights were on, but the furthest door on the left-hand side of the short corridor was ajar and a shaft of bright daylight shone through it. Gully could hear the low murmur of voices and followed Jamie towards them.

  As she entered the room, the tiled floor gave way to thin carpet and the walls turned an even gaudier shade of raspberry. She couldn’t escape the thought that the choice of décor had resulted from shopping in the bargain bin. All six of the students now faced her, three male and three female, and, at first glance it was hard to imagine a more mismatched bunch.

  Gully introduced herself, then chose a chair on the longer side of the kitchen table, before inviting the others to sit. Instead of just picking any available seat and sitting down, the housemates manoeuvred their chairs until they all faced her directly as a group.

  Gully had managed to lodge their first names into her brain, as well as jotting them down in her notebook. She’d even written them on the page in the order that corresponded with where they were now sitting. Meg was sharp featured, with her hair dyed a completely uniform shade of corn-blond. She sat on the far right next to Phil, who already displayed the spreading physique of a middle-aged man, and a receding hairline to go with it. Meg tilted her head closer to his and whispered something, the whole time keeping her black-lined eyes fixed on Gully and, as she spoke, his gaze followed suit.

  Jamie and Libby occupied the middle two seats with Matt and Oslo further along. Libby was small framed and small featured, with fair bobbed hair which stopped just below her jawline. Matt was solid and broad shouldered like a rugby player, but Oslo was of average height, though looking taller due to his gangly frame.

  Gully studied their impenetrable expressions, and guessed this seating arrangement was nothing more sinister than leftover childhood habits, but they still looked remarkably like a judging panel.

  ‘Firstly, we must track down the landlord, but it would save time if any of you had a key to Shanie’s room.’

  No one spoke, but all glanced at one another and shook their heads. On asking them a couple more questions, she soon realized that they either didn’t like talking to her, or, alternatively, had a collective knowledge of zero. They’re just a bunch of teenagers, she reminded herself. Just the same as the drunken ones she could face any evening or weekend: some meek and some confrontational, but often vulnerable or emotional. Teenagers who were rarely experienced enough to recognize the growing unease that broke out at the start of an investigation. Gully could feel it now; something felt awry.

  ‘Look, I may need to speak to you all individually, but right now it is important that we locate Shanie Faulkner quickly. As soon as we establish that she is safe and well, I won’t need to take up any more of your time. But until then . . .’

  Gully paused, irritated by the sight of Meg smirking at her as she whispered something to Phil again. It was clear to her that Meg thought that a policewoman only a few years older than herself deserved absolutely none of her time. Whether it was ageism, sexism or simply a dislike of the police was irrelevant.

  ‘Megan? Do you know where Shanie is?’ Gully’s voice was sharp and the other five turned towards Meg.

  ‘No, of course I don’t.’

  ‘Do you reckon she’s safe?’

  Meg shrugged. ‘I don’t know, do I?’

  ‘And you don’t care either, do you?’

  Gully had intended only to prod Meg into paying closer attention, but hadn’t actually expected to see the expression of earnest indignation that now painted the girl’s features more boldly than her overdone eye make-up ever could.

  ‘That’s not true,’ she protested.

  Now it was Phil’s turn to smirk. He muttered, ‘Right.’

  Focusing her attention on Meg, Gully continued, knowing she now had the others’ full attention. ‘I already have her mobile number, and details of the course she is studying. What I need from all of you now is everything else: names of her friends, her favourite hangouts – anything that could help us find her more quickly.’

  No one rushed to answer, but the flicker of something reached her. It reminded her of looking into a river and only spotting a shoal of fish when one turns against the direction of the rest. Then they all turn instantly, and there’s no way to tell which one was the first. These people either knew nothing or had made up their minds to say nothing. All but one of them. There had been a ripple of movement, but at the time her attention had been fully on Meg, and she only knew that it had come from someone sitting to Meg’s right. Anyone but Meg, in fact.

  Gully fell silent, holding their stares. It took just seconds for Libby then to speak. The words came suddenly and simultaneously as her body language transformed her from a meek figure slouching low in her chair to a neat and precise you
ng woman, sitting very upright.

  ‘Someone does have a key,’ she said firmly, delivered as a plain fact with no room for doubt in her voice.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I told everyone I was going out one day, but I was here all the time and I heard someone entering Shanie’s room.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Saturday, during the day. It could have been Shanie but, no, I don’t think so. It sounded to me like a man, but I don’t know why. Whoever it was went into all the rooms.’

  There was a stir of disquiet amongst the others.

  ‘Into our bedrooms?’ Meg asked.

  Libby nodded.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ a male voice muttered. Gully wasn’t sure which of them had said it; Phil and Oslo both glared at Libby, and Matt looked unhappy.

  Libby ignored them all, then her expression changed. ‘There was something today, too,’ she said slowly. ‘I walked into town earlier, and when I came back I thought the house was empty. But then, as I started to unlock the front door, I heard a strange clatter. I called out but there was no one. I didn’t relate it to Saturday, I just thought it was one of those odd things that happen.’

  She finished the sentence as if she hadn’t planned to say anything further, but almost immediately continued. ‘I’d bought some milk,’ her tone had changed and she sounded puzzled now, incredulous even, ‘and when I took it through to the kitchen, I noticed something else.’

  She hesitated, her lips pursed as though they had no intention of letting her speak. Colour drained from her face, then almost as quickly, it rushed back. Gully got up and moved towards her: this wasn’t someone pausing for effect, trying to relish a self-important moment. Libby looked away, focusing now on a far corner of the cheap carpet, as if suddenly unable to meet anyone’s gaze.

  ‘I thought it was in the fridge but I couldn’t work out where it was.’