The Silence (Dc Goodhew 4)

by Alison Bruce

  ‘It’s my brother’s.’

  ‘Your brother’s what? Dildo? Blow-up doll?’

  The two boys looked miserable. Tony had never been sure that they even understood the words but they recognized the mocking tone well enough. Johnnie hung his head. ‘It’s Colin’s Walkman,’ he mumbled.

  Vince chipped in, ‘We’re taking it home before he finds out we had it.’

  An expression that was both nasty and playful grew on Joey’s face. He pretended to let them pass but then stopped them when they were just a few feet on to the bridge. He caught Len’s eye and Len kicked off with a bit of rough-housing.

  Mandy and Sarah had fallen silent, smiles drying on their rain-damp faces.

  Ross Viney made one feeble attempt at protest. ‘They’re only small.’ He got glares back and said nothing else. Tony knew Ross had still done more than he had himself.

  And what Len was doing wouldn’t have been so bad if Vince and Johnnie weren’t so small; they were at least four years younger and this was a world apart from being pelted by chewing gum in a boring geography class.

  Len grabbed the bag and held it through the trellis. It dangled about ten feet above the water and Johnnie started to snivel right there and then.

  ‘Give it back,’ Vince demanded.

  ‘Or what?’ Len replied.

  Joey started to walk away. ‘This is getting boring.’ The girls and Tony had followed; Ross seemed more hesitant. ‘Chuck it in,’ Joey ordered.

  ‘No.’ The boys were in unison but Tony heard the bag hit the water from where he stood. Then little Johnnie’s sobbing grew louder.

  And the whole time it felt like Cambridge had abandoned them. No doubt it wouldn’t have happened if it hadn’t been for the rain emptying the streets all around, and that bloody Walkman that had meant so much to those boys that they’d gone in after it.

  Their gang had fallen apart after that, but there’d been an unspoken understanding that they had to say nothing. And, to his knowledge, that silence had never been broken.

  Of course he’d heard what had happened to Joey. They’d been more than acquaintances, but less than friends. Joey was cocky and pushy, and there were plenty of punters at the Carlton who’d have been happy to give him a good hiding. He’d heard about Len’s kids, too but never thought it might be connected.

  And since Rosie and Nathan had died he wasn’t too sure that he’d thought anything through very much at all. At least not until today, when Goodhew revealed that the Sarah Sumner who’d sobbed in the rain years ago was the Sarah Faulkner whose daughter had just been murdered.

  And, yes – he thought clearly now – Ferry House was around the next corner. Vicky had been almost unconscious with just the name ‘Matt’ on her lips, but he’d known what she’d meant. The only place they both knew which connected Matt to Colin.

  Had Colin taunted Vicky, told her what he had planned for their last surviving child? Had Vicky stayed alive just long enough to be able to pass him that message?

  He parked in a nearby street and slipped in through the side entrance of Ferry House. A few of the windows were still lit. He scouted the grounds, keeping to the grass to stay silent, and followed the line of a gravel track until he caught sight of the night sky reflected in the panes of the greenhouse. The ridge of the roof continued in darkness and he realized that only half its length was glasshouse; the rest extended into a workshop-style building.

  The perfect place to wait.

  He risked a couple of cautious steps across the noisy gravel towards the double door facing the house, and looked back over the grounds. No one switched on lights or cupped their hands to their windows to see better. He reached for the catch and was relieved when it simply unhooked. The door gave a low moan as he opened it but as soon as it was wide enough for him to sneak through, he slid inside and pulled it shut behind him.

  The place looked smaller from the outside; he made out the shape of a ride-on mower to his right and another vehicle to his left. He stepped sideways and his foot clipped a long-handled tool of some kind that toppled to one side then clattered to the ground.

  He needed to chance some light, just long enough to find a place to hide. He pulled his mobile from his pocket; it didn’t have a built-in light but the screen lit up a little whenever he unlocked it. He pointed it towards the middle of the workshop. It hit the lawnmower. He swung it on to the other vehicle and froze. It was Vicky’s Astra.

  He lifted the phone higher and moved its weak beam slowly along the back wall. If Colin and Libby were already here there had to be a door to another room, or maybe through to the greenhouse. There were tools on the opposite wall too, less cumbersome than the long-handled forks and spades on this side. He needed to be armed and moved closer, shining the light in front of him, looking for a blade or cosh of some sort. That was the moment Colin chose to speak. ‘You won’t need a weapon.’

  Tony spun to his left and could just make out Colin’s silhouette framed in a doorway. Tony darted forward, knowing he’d always been fast. He really believed that his anger and strength would be enough to bring Colin to the floor. He burst through the open doorway, straight into the side edge of a spade swinging into his shins. He buckled, and it was immediately followed up with a kick in the ribcage, and the flat side of the same spade descending on his head.

  He was on all fours as Colin flicked the light on. Tony raised his head and found himself staring straight at Libby. She was huddled to the wall, her skin glistening with sweat and her body racked with shivers. She stared back, but her eyes were unfocused and her expression said she’d already gone off somewhere else.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  Libby had found her mum’s car but there was no one in it. She’d looked around and noticed Colin Wren standing about ten feet away, as if he’d appeared from absolutely nowhere.

  Looking back, it was obvious she should have run.

  Then maybe she wouldn’t be here right now. Wherever here was. Actually, in terms of geography she knew exactly where this was: the shed adjoining the greenhouse at Ferry House, Chesterton. She meant wherever in time, or more specifically where in her lifetime; she couldn’t decide if she was still at the start of her adulthood, or within minutes of the end. And she was having trouble keeping herself propped up as she sat against this wall. It was cold for one thing, and the ground felt slightly on the tilt.

  She tried to study Colin’s face, to see if she could read what he was planning.

  She’d been here a couple of times in the past, when Matt had helped out with the potting on a Saturday morning. She’d always thought Colin liked her, and even now she was finding it hard to accept that he actually wanted her dead.

  She knew it was vital to stay awake, so that was when she began replaying everything that had happened since her arrival at her mum’s car.

  She’d been confused for a second. She had worked out that his presence was more than a coincidence, but couldn’t actually understand why he stood there with her mum’s lilac mobile in one hand and her car keys in the other.

  ‘Is Mum okay?’

  ‘Not really,’ he’d said, and handed her Mum’s phone. He’d unlocked the front passenger door and opened it while she unlocked the phone. The screen had filled with a photograph. She’d looked away even though she couldn’t distinguish much in the picture. The phone had almost slipped from her hand so he’d taken it from her.

  ‘Hop in’ he’d said with the kind of easy assertiveness that she’d automatically obeyed. Why, she still didn’t know.

  She’d watched him walk to the driver’s side then get in next to her. Surely this wasn’t the behaviour of a man who . . . ?

  She hadn’t even finished that thought in the car, but she finished it now, a man who had murdered her brother and sister. She finished it now because she knew it was true.

  Her heart started thumping even before he handed her the phone again. He leaned over to flick the screen slowly through the next three photos. She broke the contents
of the photos into four: carpet, skin, hair and blood. She repeated the four words in her head, refusing to let the more obvious four take their place: my mum is dying. No, no, Libby, just say what you see, like that old TV show catchphrase – say what you see.

  ‘Your poor mum,’ he said. ‘I think she’s been through a lot.’

  She held the phone, hoping there’d be a way to use it to call for help.

  ‘I took the SIM out,’ he said, as if he’d read her mind. He reached into the side of his door and waved her mobile in the air. ‘And yours isn’t switched on either.’

  She didn’t even know when in the last five minutes he’d taken that from her.

  She’d reached for the door handle then.

  ‘Don’t do that. You have too much at stake. Whether she lives or not is down to me now. I did it to her to make sure you would behave.’

  He drove quickly, and it wasn’t until they’d arrived at the roundabout joining Elizabeth Way and he’d gone straight across to Chesterton that she’d finally understood that she wasn’t being taken to her mother.

  The anxiety was hitting her so badly that she felt as if she was about to vomit. She found her voice. ‘Did you message me on Facebook?’

  He glanced at her without answering at first but she could tell by his expression that he was pleased to be getting the credit for it.

  ‘How?’ she demanded.

  ‘From your own laptop, Libby. You know me, in and out of Rob’s house just like one of the family. Charlotte and Matt don’t think twice when I pop round to see their dad. Why would they?’

  ‘So you just picked up my laptop and started using it.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘Because.’

  ‘Because?’

  He sighed. ‘Let me show you something.’ He slowed, then pulled over to the side of the road. ‘In the glovebox is a small envelope. Pass it to me, please.’

  She’d leaned forward to look. At first she couldn’t see it but then she realized there was an envelope at the very back of the compartment. She reached further in, then recoiled in shock as she felt a syringe stab into her right buttock. ‘What was that?’

  ‘Insulin. An overdose.’

  Twice she could have run, twice she didn’t. He’d driven right through the gates of Ferry House and straight into the workshop; the doors were open in readiness. Maybe she could have tried it then too, before the insulin kicked in.

  What was wrong with her?

  But then she understood. Discovering the truth about Rosie and Nathan had been all-consuming; it was too much to drop it, even now. She was committed – she just needed to go with this, and hope to survive.

  ‘How did you kill Rosie and Nathan?’

  ‘Same way.’

  ‘No. Rosie went to meet someone, but that wouldn’t have been you.’

  ‘Rosie liked the cinema, she liked the duty manager. Once you know someone’s likes and dislikes, their habits and regular activities, how hard is a chance meeting? I’ll tell you, it’s easy. And when you’ve talked your way into someone’s car, it’s easier still. And Nathan? A couple of drinks inside him and all I needed to say was I have something to tell you about Rosie.’

  Libby heard him repeat the line two or three times. She didn’t try to run, instead she sat next to him and waited until he’d switched off the engine, helped her from the car and led her through the darkness to a small storage room beyond.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I won’t leave you on your own.’

  She just stared at him. Did he really think he was doing her a favour? She knew she needed to walk around, keep moving, but instead she just sank to the floor – and right then she decided she was pathetic.

  It was a few minutes after that when she heard the outer door opening. She tried to call out, but no sound came. Moments later, she heard Colin’s voice. Then the sound of a couple of swift blows and the sight of her dad sprawled on the floor, struggling back on to his knees.

  She should have run when she had the chance. She wished he had.

  She made one last attempt to speak, but the words were slurring even before they left her mouth.

  Oh God, she felt so cold.

  She stared at her dad, and his lips moved too. He was telling her something. But she couldn’t work it out. Then there was Colin again. He was bending over her father and listening.

  It didn’t matter now. She tipped on to her side and her eyes shut.

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  Wren’s allotment and his house had both been checked, and the other police vehicles were headed in his direction. Goodhew had additionally requested a second ambulance then spent the last few minutes of the journey silently trying to tot up the amount of head-start Wren had on him.

  ‘Did Libby drink any alcohol?’ he asked Matt.

  Matt had remained silent too. The adrenaline had now subsided, leaving him white faced and scared looking. He shook his head. ‘Why?’

  ‘Insulin acts faster along with alcohol. You’ll find a bag on the floor.’

  Matt grabbed it up and looked inside. ‘Jaffa Cakes?’

  ‘No, the Lucozade. We’ll need to get sugar into her as quickly as possible. There’s some rubbish down there too, so see if you can find any sugar sachets. Then tip them into it.’

  Goodhew barely slowed through the gates of Ferry House, sweeping along the arc of gravel that led to the greenhouse.

  ‘Stay in the car,’ he ordered Matt, as he scrambled out. And when Matt ignored him: ‘At least stay behind me, then.’

  Goodhew had parked across the front of the double doors. As the two of them approached the workshop. Goodhew knew he should wait for back-up, knew he should send Matt back to the car, and in fact knew Matt shouldn’t have been in the car in the first place. Goodhew also knew he was about to ignore all those things.

  He banged on the greenhouse door with the heel of his hand. ‘This is the police! Open this door.’

  No response.

  He banged again. ‘This is the police! Stand back, I’m coming in.’ He rattled at the door, and it gave way a little; he shone his torch through the opening and the light fell on Vicky Brett’s silver Astra. He looked down to see the chain and padlock that prevented the greenhouse door swinging open any wider.

  ‘I’ll go through a window,’ Matt volunteered.

  Goodhew was already back at the boot of his car, and returned with bolt-cutters. The chain fell away easily and they stepped inside.

  ‘Find a light switch,’ Goodhew instructed. Meanwhile he flashed the beam around the room, stopping when he spotted the door. He reached the threshold as Matt found the lights. ‘Through here!’

  The door opened halfway down the long wall of a narrow storeroom. Tony Brett lay on the same side as the door, his daughter against the opposite wall, within touching distance if they’d been capable of it.

  Goodhew tilted Libby’s head to look into her half-closed eyes. ‘Libby? Can you hear me?’ Her pupils gently contracted. ‘Libby, listen. Matt’s going to give you something to drink. Try to swallow.’

  He patted Matt on the arm as they swapped places, Matt nodding understanding at what he needed to do.

  Goodhew knelt beside Tony Brett. He could hear sirens in the distance now and spoke into his radio, aiming to give them as much pre-arrival information as possible. ‘No sign of Colin Wren. Two further casualties, one female age seventeen, probable insulin shock. Barely conscious.’ He checked Brett’s breathing; it was shallow. He felt for obstructions in his mouth. ‘Second casualty, male, early-forties. Head injury. Shallow breathing.’ Goodhew pulled off his T-shirt and applied pressure to a large gash in Brett’s scalp. He glanced at the floor, trying to pick the bloodstains from the dirt. ‘Heavy blood-loss, appears to be from the head injury. He is not conscious.’ Then to Matt, ‘How’s she doing?’

  Matt sounded scared but in control. ‘She managed to swallow some.’

  ‘Keep going.’

&nb
sp; ‘She mouthed Colin, I told her you already knew.’

  ‘Hang on.’ Goodhew had his T-shirt pressed firmly to Brett’s head, but he could still feel the blood beginning to seep through. ‘He’s stopped breathing now,’ he shouted into his radio. He carefully rolled Brett on to his back and began mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Less than a minute later the paramedics came swarming in – four of them, followed by Marks, Kincaide and PC Kelly Wilkes. It had been a long minute of waiting. He watched as the paramedics worked quickly to stabilize Brett, and Goodhew guessed it would be touch and go for some time yet.

  He turned back to Libby. The other two paramedics were with her; they had already inserted a cannula and a drip was being connected. Matt held her other hand. ‘I asked her about Colin,’ he said. ‘She told me he’d promised to stay until she died.’

  Goodhew knelt next to Matt and managed to get his face into Libby’s field of vision. He thought he saw a flicker of recognition from her. ‘Why did Colin leave?’ he asked.

  She formed the words carefully, making sure he’d worked out one before she moved on to the next. ‘Dad. Told. Him. Something.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘One. More. To. Kill.’

  ‘Can you tell me anything else?’

  ‘No.’

  Marks was standing outside. ‘Wilkes is going along with Matt and Libby to Addenbrookes,’ he said, then he scowled. ‘Get your shirt on, Gary.’

  ‘It’s probably in an evidence bag by now.’

  ‘Michael, find him something to wear.’

  Kincaide pulled a why-me? face then yanked off his jumper and threw it towards Goodhew.

  ‘One of the residents spotted Colin Wren running off on foot.’

  ‘In which direction?’

  ‘Out of the main gate.’

  ‘He can’t get to Matt, Charlotte or Libby. He can’t go home or to the Stone house without being arrested. Any other thoughts?’