The Whisper Man

by Alex North

  Pete wasn’t going to take the bait.

  “Did you see anyone else in your dream?” he said.

  “Anyone else? Like who?”

  “I don’t know. Anyone else there with you? Helping you, maybe.”

  It was too blunt an approach for his purpose, but as always, he watched Carter’s reaction to the question carefully. On the matter of a potential accomplice, Carter had generally played it well, sometimes amused, sometimes bored, but never confirming or denying a second individual having been involved in the murders. This time, he smiled to himself, but the reaction was different from normal. Today, there was an extra edge to it.

  He knows why I’m here.

  “I wondered how long it would take you to come to see me,” Carter said. “With that little boy going missing and all. I’m surprised it’s taken you this long.”

  “I asked before now. You said no.”

  “What? Refuse to see my good friend Peter?” Carter feigned outrage. “As if I’d do that. I’m guessing that maybe the requests didn’t filter through to me. An administrative error. They’re next to useless in here.”

  Pete forced a shrug.

  “That’s okay, Frank. You’re not actually a priority. You’ve been in prison awhile now, so it’s safe to say that you’re not a suspect with this one.”

  The smile returned to the man’s face.

  “Not me, no. But it always comes back to me for you, doesn’t it? It always ends where it starts.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means what it means. So what is it you want to ask me?”

  “Your dream, Frank, like I said. Was there anyone else there?”

  “Maybe. You know what dreams are like, though. They fade quickly. Shame, isn’t it?”

  Pete stared at Carter for a moment, evaluating him. It would have been easy enough for him to have learned about Neil Spencer’s disappearance; it had been all over the news. Did Carter know anything else, though? He was clearly enjoying giving the impression that he did, but that didn’t mean anything in itself. It could easily be just another power play. Another way for him to make himself seem bigger and more important than he really was.

  “Lots of things fade,” Pete said. “Notoriety, for one.”

  “Not in here.”

  “In the outside world, though. People have forgotten all about you.”

  “Oh, I’m certain that’s not true.”

  “You’ve not been in the papers for a while, you know. Yesterday’s man. Barely even that, actually—this little boy went missing a couple of months ago, like you say, and you know how many of the news reports mentioned you?”

  “I don’t know, Peter. Why don’t you tell me?”

  “None of them.”

  “Huh. Maybe I should start granting the interviews all those academics and journalists keep asking for? I might do that.”

  He smirked, and the futility of the situation hit Pete. He was putting himself through this for nothing; Carter didn’t know anything. And it would end the same as it always did. He knew full well how he would be afterward—the way that talking to Carter brought everything back. Later, the pull of the kitchen cabinet would be stronger than ever.

  “Yes, maybe you should.” He stood up, turned his back on Carter, and walked away. “Goodbye, Frank.”

  “They might be interested in the whispers.”

  Pete stopped, one hand on the door. A shiver ran up his back, then spread down his arms.

  The whispers.

  Neil Spencer had told his mother about a monster whispering outside his window, but that aspect of the boy’s disappearance had never been made public or found its way into the news. It could still be fishing, of course. Except that Carter had played it more triumphantly than that, like a trump card.

  Pete turned around slowly.

  Carter was still reclining nonchalantly in his chair, but there was a smug look on his face now. Just enough bait added to the hook to keep his fish from swimming off. And Pete was suddenly sure that the reference to whispers hadn’t been guesswork at all.

  Somehow, the bastard knew.

  But how?

  Right now, more than ever before, he had to remain calm. Carter would feed on any sense of need he detected in the man across from him, and he already had enough of that to play with.

  They might be interested in the whispers.

  “What do you mean by that, Frank?”

  “Well—the little boy saw a monster at his window, didn’t he? One that was talking to him.” Carter leaned forward again. “Talking. Very. Quietly.”

  Pete tried to fight down the frustration, but it was beginning to whirl inside him. Carter knew something, and a little boy was missing. They needed to find him.

  “How do you know about the whispers?” he said.

  “Ah! That would be telling.”

  “So tell me.”

  Carter smiled. The expression of a man who had nothing to lose or gain beyond the pain and frustration of others.

  “I’ll tell you,” he said, “but first you have to give me something I want.”

  “And what would that be?”

  Carter leaned back, the amusement suddenly gone from his face now. For a moment his eyes were blank, but then the hate flared there, as visible as two pinpricks of fire.

  “Bring my family to me,” he said.

  “Your family?”

  “That bitch and that little cunt. Bring them here and give me five minutes alone with them.”

  Pete stared at him. For a second he was overwhelmed by the anger and madness blazing across the table from him. Then Carter threw back his head, rattled the chains at his wrists, and the silence in the room was broken as he laughed and laughed and laughed.

  Sixteen

  “Give him five minutes alone with his old family?” Amanda thought about it. ““Could we conceivably do that?”

  But then she saw the look on Pete’s face.

  “I’m joking, by the way.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  He slumped down in the chair on the other side of her desk and closed his eyes.

  Amanda watched him for a moment. He looked drained and diminished compared to their first meeting after Neil Spencer went missing. She didn’t know him well, of course, and their interactions over the past two months had hardly been extensive, but he’d struck her as … well, what? A man in control of his emotions. Excellent shape for a guy his age, obviously. Calm and capable. He’d barely wasted a word talking her through the old case, and had even been implacable and detached when he was showing her the photographs taken inside Frank Carter’s extension—scenes of horror that he’d witnessed firsthand. It had actually been quite intimidating. It had made her worry about how she was bearing up so far, never mind how she’d cope if it came to the worst.

  It won’t.

  The sensible coppers let it go. DCI Lyons was like that, she was sure, because that was the only way to climb—with as little weight holding you down as possible. Before Neil Spencer went missing, she’d imagined she would be the same, but she was no longer quite so sure. And if she’d initially thought Pete Willis was calm and detached, then looking at him now made her reevaluate that first impression. He was just good at keeping the world at a distance, she thought, and Frank Carter was a man who could get closer to him than most.

  Not so surprising, given the history they shared, and the fact that one of Carter’s victims had never been found—a kid who had effectively gone missing on Pete’s watch. She glanced at her computer screen and saw the familiar photo of Neil Spencer in his football jersey. His absence was an actual physical ache inside her, and no matter how much she tried not to think about it, the feeling of failure worsened every day. She couldn’t imagine how bad it might feel after twenty years. She didn’t want to end up like the man across from her now.

  It won’t come to that.

  “Talk me through the accomplice theory again,” she said.

  “There�
��s very little there, really.” Pete opened his eyes. “There’s a witness report of an older man with gray hair talking to Tony Smith that doesn’t match Carter. And then there are some overlaps on the abduction windows.”

  “Pretty thin stuff.”

  “I know. Sometimes people want things to be more complicated than they really are.”

  “It’s possible for him to have committed these crimes entirely alone. Occam’s razor states that—”

  “I know what Occam’s razor states.” Pete ran his hand through his hair. “Do not multiply entities unnecessarily. The simplest solution that fits all the facts is the one you go with.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And that’s what we do here, isn’t it? We get our guy, and we prove he’s done it, and that’s enough for us. So we tie a bow around the investigation, stick it in the filing cabinet, and move on. Case closed, job done. On to the next.”

  She thought about Lyons again. About climbing.

  “Because that’s what we have to do,” she said.

  “But sometimes it’s not good enough.” Pete shook his head. “Sometimes things that look simple turn out to be much more complicated, and the extra stuff ends up being missed.”

  “And the extra stuff in this case,” she said, “could include someone getting away with murder?”

  “Who knows? I’ve tried not to think about it over the years.”

  “I think that’s wise.”

  “But now we have Neil Spencer. We have the whispers and the monster. And we have Frank fucking Carter sitting there, knowing something about it.”

  She waited.

  “And I don’t know what to do about it,” Pete said. “Carter isn’t going to tell us anything. And we’ve been over his known associates a hundred times. They’re all clear.”

  Amanda thought about it. “Copycat?”

  “Possibly. But Carter wasn’t guessing back in that room. The whispers never made it to the press, and he knew about them. No visitors aside from me. The correspondence he receives is all vetted. So how does he know?”

  His frustration was suddenly so palpable that she was surprised he didn’t hit the table. Instead, he shook his head again and looked away to one side. At least it had brought him back to life a little, Amanda thought. That was a good thing. Fuck calm—she was a keen believer in the idea that rage was a good motivator, and God knew there were times when you needed something to keep you going. At the same time, she could tell that a great deal of Pete’s anger was directed inward: that he blamed himself for not having been able to get to the truth. And that was no good. She was an equally keen believer in the idea that guilt was about as unhelpful as emotions got. Once you let guilt get ahold of you, the bastard never let go.

  “Carter was never going to help us,” she said. “Not willingly.”

  “No.”

  “The dream about Tony Smith—?”

  He waved it away.

  “That’s just business as usual. I’ve heard all that before. I have no doubt he killed Tony, and that he knows exactly where he left him. But he’s never going to say. Not when it’s something to hold over us. Over me.”

  It was clear to her now how much going to see Carter took out of Pete. And yet, as hard as it must be, he went regardless—still put himself through the ordeal, because finding Tony Smith meant that much to him. But Carter had found a new game to play now, and they had to focus on that. While she understood Pete’s turmoil, the fact remained that Tony Smith had been dead for a long time, while Neil Spencer could still be alive.

  Was still alive.

  “Well, he’s got another hold over us now,” Amanda said. “But remember something. You said that you go to see him in case he gives information away by accident.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, he has—he knows something, doesn’t he? That can’t have happened by magic. So we have to work out how.”

  When he didn’t reply, she thought about it herself.

  No visitors. No unvetted correspondence.

  “What about friends inside?” she said.

  “He’s got loads of those.”

  “Which is surprising on one level. Child killer and all.”

  “There was never a sexual element to the murders, which helps him a bit. And physically, he’s still an absolute monster. Plus, there’s the celebrity of it all—all that Whisper Man rubbish. He has his own little kingdom in there.”

  “Okay. So who’s he closest to?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “But we can find out, right?” Amanda leaned forward. “Maybe he’s been passed the information secondhand? Someone visits one of his friends. Friend tells Carter. Carter talks to you.”

  Pete considered that. A moment later, he looked annoyed with himself for not having thought of it himself. She felt a flush of pride—not that she needed to impress him, of course. She just needed him motivated, or at least not walking so obviously wounded.

  “Yes.” He stood up. “That’s a good idea.”

  “So do it.” She hesitated. “Not that it’s my place to give you things to do. But that would be a way forward for us, wouldn’t it? If you’ve got time.”

  “I’ve got the time.”

  But he paused at the door.

  “There’s another thing,” he said. “You said Carter had given something away—that he knows about the whispers somehow.”

  “Right.”

  “But there’s also the timing. For two months now, he’s been refusing to see me. That’s never happened before. And suddenly he changes his mind and wants to see me.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I don’t know for sure. But we might need to prepare ourselves for there being a reason for that.”

  It took a second for her to understand what he was implying, and then she looked back at the photo of Neil Spencer, not wanting to think about the possibility.

  It won’t come to that.

  Except that Pete was right. There had been two months without a single development or break in the case. Perhaps Carter’s decision to talk meant one was about to come.

  Seventeen

  At lunch break, Jake sat by himself on a bench in the playground, watching the other children running around getting all hot and sweaty. It was very noisy and they all seemed oblivious to him. This was a new school year, but his class had all known each other for a long time, and it had become apparent that morning that they weren’t all that interested in knowing anyone else. Which was okay. Jake would have been happier sitting inside drawing, but you weren’t allowed, so he had to sit out here next to some bushes instead, kicking his legs and waiting for the bell to ring.

  You start school tomorrow.

  I’m sure you’ll make lots of new friends.

  Quite often, Daddy didn’t know how wrong he was. Although Jake wondered if perhaps he did, because the way he’d said it had sounded more hopeful than anything else, and maybe deep down they had both known it was never going to turn out that way. Mummy would have told him it didn’t matter, and she would have made him believe it too. But Jake thought that it did matter to Daddy. Jake was aware that he could be very disappointing sometimes.

  The morning had basically gone okay, at least. They had practiced some basic multiplication tables, which were all pretty easy, and that was good. The classroom had a traffic light system on the wall for bad behavior, and everybody’s name was currently on the green area at the bottom. George, the classroom assistant, was nice, but Mrs. Shelley, the class teacher, seemed very stern indeed, and Jake really didn’t want to move up to yellow on his first day. He couldn’t make friends, but he could at least manage that. That was really your job at school—to do what you were told and fill in the answers to the blanks, and not cause any problems by thinking up too many questions of your own.

  Crunch.

  Jake flinched as a soccer ball crashed into the bushes beside him. He had already memorized the names of all the children in his class, and it was Owen who came spr
inting over to retrieve it. He was coming for the ball but glaring at Jake the whole time, which made Jake think the kick might have been deliberate. Unless Owen was just really bad at soccer.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Yeah. I know it’s okay.”

  Owen pulled the ball roughly out of the branches, still glaring at Jake as though it were all his fault, and then stalked away. Which didn’t make sense. Perhaps Owen was just really stupid. Even so, it might be better to move.

  “Hello, Jake.”

  He looked to one side, and saw the little girl kneeling in the bushes. His heart leaped with relief, and he started to get up.

  “Shhh.” She put a finger to her lips. “Don’t.”

  He sat down again. But it was hard. He wanted to bounce on the bench! She looked exactly the same as she always did, wearing the same blue-and-white dress, with that graze on her knee and her hair swept oddly out to one side.

  “Just sit as you were,” she said. “I don’t want the other children to see you talking to me.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Yes, you’re not wearing the right uniform, for one thing.”

  “That is one thing, yes.” She thought about it. “It’s good to see you again, Jake. I’ve missed you. Have you missed me?”

  He nodded vigorously, but then forced himself to calm down. The other children were there, and the ball was still thudding around. He didn’t want to give the little girl away. But it was so good to see her! The truth was that he’d been very lonely in the new house. Daddy had tried to play with him a few times, but you could tell his heart wasn’t really in it. He’d play for ten minutes and then get up and say his legs were hurting from kneeling on the floor, even though it was obvious he really just wanted to do something else instead. Whereas the little girl would always play with him for as long as he wanted her to. He’d been expecting to see her all the time after moving to the new house, but she hadn’t been around at all.

  Until now.

  “Have you made any new friends yet?” she said.

  “Not really. Adam, Josh, and Hasan seem okay. Owen isn’t very nice.”