Hunting the Silence: The Yorkshire Murders (DI Haskell & Quinn Crime Thriller Series Book 4)

by Bilinda P Sheehan

  Chapter Thirteen

  It was dark by the time Drew parked his car outside his house. It felt like a lifetime ago since he’d last been here, but in reality, it was just a couple of weeks. He hadn’t been brave enough to cross the threshold then either. Harriet’s car came to a stop next to his, and Drew sighed. This time he wouldn’t have that same luxury. If there was anyone on this earth who could force him to go inside and face up to the mounting fear he felt over everything that had taken place there, it was Harriet.

  Why she cared was beyond him. There was nothing in it for her, which meant the only reason she was here was because she cared. It felt strange to admit that. The last person who had cared about him like that had been Freya. Not that she’d cared enough to stick around. The thought was loaded with bitterness, and no sooner had it popped into his head, Drew regretted it. Freya had been ill.

  Even now, after all the time that had passed since her death, it was still strange to think of her in the past tense. She wasn’t an ‘is’ anymore. All that remained of everything she had been, every possibility that had come together to form her into the person he had loved, was now nothing more than a memory tinged with sadness and regret.

  Drew sighed and pressed his face into his hands.

  A rap on the window next to his head made him jump, and he glanced up to see Harriet shivering outside the car door. It was now or never.

  Pushing open the car door, he stepped out, acutely aware of the icy wind that slapped him in the face as he tried to suck in a lungful of clean air. Harriet chaffed her gloved hands together, and despite just getting out of her own car; Drew’s gaze was drawn to the rosy tip of her nose.

  “I didn’t think the temperature was supposed to drop,” she said, shivering inside the red coat she wore, which looked as though it was made more for fashion purposes than to provide any actual protection against the elements.

  “Aye,” Drew said, fishing his keys from his pocket; his own fingers stiff and unyielding, the reason for which had nothing at all to do with the inclement weather. “They’re putting bets on whether we’ll have a white Christmas.”

  Harriet rolled her eyes. “They do that every year, but I don’t think we’d ever be that lucky.”

  Surprise caused Drew to halt and glance over at the woman next to him. “I definitely did not have you pegged for someone who liked snow.”

  Harriet shrugged. “You don’t know everything about me.”

  She was right, and if he was honest with himself, there were a lot of things he didn’t know about Dr Quinn. “What do you like about it?”

  Her expression softened, and there was a wistfulness in her eyes as she glanced up at the sky overhead. “I have this memory of a Christmas when it snowed,” she said. “I think I must have been very young, because it’s so hazy. Kyle helped me to build a snowman in the front garden, and I remember thinking it was the happiest I’d ever been in my life.” She sighed, and cleared her throat, glancing down at the ground underfoot, but not before Drew caught sight of the tears that glistened in her eyes.

  “That’s a beautiful memory,” he said gently. Harriet nodded and sniffed loudly before she lifted her gaze.

  “Well, are we going to stand out here, or are we going to bite the bullet and go inside?”

  Drew swallowed past the panic that threatened to crawl up and out of his throat. He’d never thought himself a coward, but now he wasn’t so sure. They paused on the doorstep of his house, and he turned the keys over in his hands. Talking to her had made it easier to get this far, but now it was down to him to take that next step.

  “I can open the door if you’d prefer?” Harriet asked, her voice gentle, but insistent; letting him know that she’d got him this far, and she had no intention of letting him off the hook now.

  “No, I can do this.” He wasn’t sure why it was so important for him to say it aloud, but it felt right. His hands shook as he raised the key and pushed it into the lock. His mouth was dry, as he leaned against the door, and turned the key so fast for a split second he wondered if a higher power would save him from having to go through with it all by causing the key to snap off in the lock. Not that he’d ever been so lucky.

  The door popped open, a musty smell flooded out to greet them as he let the door swing inwards revealing a large stack of mail on the doormat. Drew glanced down at Harriet, half expecting her to shove him through the door, and when she didn’t, he fought down the disappointment. As ridiculous as it would have been, having her physically manhandle him over the threshold would have been easier.

  He lifted his leg, his foot a lead weight on the other end. “Maybe--”

  Harriet shook her head as he glanced down at her. “You can do this, Drew. I know you can.”

  “I realise that,” he said harshly. His heartbeat galloped in his chest, and sweat drifted down his spine. He could do this, couldn’t he? His foot touched down on the carpet inside the door, but to him it didn’t feel like the rough coir fibre he’d stepped onto a million times in the past. His eyes slid shut as the sound of crinkling plastic filled his ears.

  He’d been so stupid to not see the trap Nolan had laid for him. Arrogant, even.

  “Drew!” There was a sharpness to Harriet’s voice that reminded him of that night. Christ, when she’d walked into the middle of it all had been the moment he’d lost hope. And it wasn’t because he didn’t think she wasn’t capable. Just five minutes in Dr Quinn’s presence was enough to inform anyone that she was capable of anything that came her way. No, for him it had been the knowledge that his own failure had brought her there to die, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

  It was that realisation that tipped him over the edge. “I can’t--” he said, half falling, half lunging backwards out the door. Harriet stepped out of his way, shock marring her features as he rushed back towards the car. He didn’t pause his headlong escape until his palms slammed into the still warm bonnet of the car. His mind reeled, and he was only vaguely aware of the ear-splitting sound of the alarm. He fumbled with the car keys, desperate to silence the panic.

  Harriet’s soft hands closed over his, stilling his frantic movements. She pressed a button, and silence swept in around them so insidiously Drew wondered if he’d lost his hearing altogether. Moving around to the driver’s door, he turned and leaned against the solid hulking shape of his vehicle, before his knees gave out and he slipped down into a crouch.

  “Drew, talk to me,” Harriet said, kneeling in front of him. She peered up at him, concern etched into her features as she studied him.

  “I suppose you think I’m a fool?” He couldn’t hide the shame and scorn from his voice.

  “That would be ridiculous,” she admonished. “You’re not a fool. You’ve been through something seriously traumatic. If I thought anything else, then I would be the fool.”

  He laughed, the sound a strangled bark that hurt the back of his throat. “You might not think I’m a fool, but I do. What kind of idiot can’t even bring himself to go into his own fucking house?”

  “The kind of man who almost died there,” she whispered. Drew flinched, as though her words had the power to wound him as easily as Nolan’s craft knife had.

  “I’ve had other close shaves,” he said. “But this...”

  “I know,” Harriet said. “This one was different.”

  “Do you really?”

  “Do I really what?” She leaned forward, the cold pinking up her cheeks.

  “Do you really understand?” He peered up into her blue eyes. It didn’t seem possible that she could understand, not when he could barely wrap his own brain around it.

  She cocked her head to the side, reminding him of a small bird watching a juicy worm in the dirt. “I can’t entirely know how you feel,” she said carefully choosing her words. “But I have been through my own traumas. I understand how painful they can be, how destructive they are.”

  “When Robert Burton tried to kill you, I don’t remember you behaving like a
complete knob the way I am.”

  Harriet’s laughter was bitter, and she dropped her gaze so that her dark curls fell forward, hiding her face from him. He realized then just how much the extra length suited her.

  “Don’t you worry, I was just as much of a ‘knob’ as you think you are,” she said. Harriet kept her gaze fixed on the ground, and Drew longed to ask her exactly what was going through that strange head of hers. “I actually had a meltdown in front a full lecture hall.”

  “I’m not sure I believe that,” Drew said. Some tension he’d been feeling released slowly, like the unfurling of a tight fist in the centre of his chest. “At least, I’m certain nobody noticed.”

  Harriet’s laughter was pure and unfettered; hearing it brought a smile to Drew’s lips. “What’s so funny?”

  “You’re talking about me as though I’ve somehow processed my trauma far more deftly than you. When the reality of it all couldn’t be further from the truth.” Harriet cut off abruptly. Her expression shifted and Drew knew she’d locked him out.

  “I suppose I’ve taken up enough of your time,” he said, stiffly.

  Harriet glanced up at him, her eyes quizzical, which made him think that she struggled to read him at least half as often as he struggled with reading her. “If you’re sure you don’t want to try again,” she said.

  Drew sighed and lifted his gaze to the house before he shook his head firmly. “No. I’ve had my arse kicked enough tonight.” A lump formed in the back of Drew’s throat.

  “Well, if you’re certain?”

  He nodded. “I’m sure. You go on ahead.”

  “I don’t like leaving you here like this.”

  He smiled. “I’m fine. Honestly, Harriet. I’ll probably just head back to the office anyway. The paperwork won’t do itself. You don’t need to wait up for me.”

  “You need to give yourself a break sometime, and rest. You’ll wear yourself out.”

  Drew rolled his neck and grinned up at her. “I get plenty of rest. I’m getting far too old for that kind of macho all nighter-shit that Maz pulls. And anyway, if I’m going to prove myself where this task force is concerned, then I need to at least get a couple of hours’ kip at night.”

  Pushing onto her feet, Harriet extended her hand towards him. When his fingers closed around hers, the warmth he discovered there gratified him. Drew climbed awkwardly to his feet and regretted the moment he had to let her go. He dusted himself down as he noticed the silence that stretched between them.

  “You know where I am if you need my help,” Harriet said, her voice somewhat stilted.

  “Sure.” Clearing his throat, Drew closed his fist around his car keys as he tugged open the car door with his other hand. He studied her as she started back towards her own car and then paused. When she glanced over her shoulder, he could practically see the cogs turning inside her mind, but whatever she was thinking was lost on him. She opened her mouth, and then seemingly, she changed her mind and shook her head.

  “Goodnight.”

  “Night then!” Drew slipped in behind the wheel of his car, as Harriet did the same. Her engine revved to life, and she carefully reversed out of her space. She kept below the speed limit, he noted as she pulled onto the road. Drew waited until the red flare of her rear lights disappeared left at the junction at the end of the road, before he blew out a long breath.

  What the fuck was wrong with him? Had the trauma of everything that had happened between him and Nolan scrambled his brains more than he’d first believed? It was about the only explanation he could think of for his odd behaviour. Or perhaps it had more to do with the fact that he knew Harriet was seeing Matthews now. He squeezed the well-worn leather of his steering wheel, as a variety of images danced through his head. The idea of Dr Quinn spending even a second on that complete waste of oxygen killed him; not that he would ever tell Harriet that. There were some things she shouldn’t be privy to, and that was definitely one of them. She wouldn’t understand his disgust and knowing her, she would only take it personally. Drew couldn’t let that happen.

  Closing his eyes, he pushed the thoughts aside and brought his breathing under control. The tremor was gone from his fingers as he pushed the keys into the ignition. The car rumbled to life beneath him, and the headlights illuminated the front of the house he’d shared with Freya. Even now, despite the time that had passed, he found it difficult to accept that she was truly gone. There would probably always be a part of him who expected her to bounce into a room, her smile enough to thaw the ice that had taken hold in his chest.

  Reversing out of his space, he swung the car around on the road. The squeal of rubber tyres on the tarmac seemed loud in the silence of the still night air. He would go back to work and finish the seemingly never-ending pile of paperwork on his desk. Sighing, Drew pulled away from the house without a backwards glance. The further he drove from the place where Nolan had nearly cost him his life, the easier it was to breathe.

  Perhaps he would never again cross the threshold of that place. The idea was enough to create a bubble of laughter in the centre of his chest.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Pushing the key into the front door lock, Harriet slipped into the dark hallway. She didn't bother flipping on a light; she knew her way around her own house to know the obstacles she needed to avoid. Slipping her coat off her shoulders, she popped her shoes off and set her keys on the small table in the entryway. The image of Drew's pale and drawn face hovered in her mind. How could she have been so stupid? Stupid and selfish, pushing him so hard. Some psychologist she'd turned out to be, especially when she couldn't even accurately read the level of trauma Drew was clearly suffering under.

  Why hadn't he just spoken to her? Would it really be so terrible to share the burden of his pain with her? She'd thought they were finally getting somewhere. Ever since he'd agreed to stay with her, he'd seemed less troubled, lighter even. Had it all been a facade? If that were true, then Drew was a much better actor than she'd ever given him credit for.

  Pressing her hand over her eyes, she leaned back against the wall and sucked in a deep, steadying breath. She couldn't make him talk, not if he didn't want to. It didn't matter that she knew it would help him; he needed to understand it too, and that was something that couldn't be forced.

  "Stupid, Harriet, so stupid." She clenched her hands into fists and opened her eyes. He'd told her not to wait up for him, but despite how late it was getting, she was far too wired to sleep. Making her way through the house into the dark kitchen, Harriet flicked on a light and made a beeline for the fridge; the contents of which were more than pathetic. One of these days she would remember to go to Sainsbury's and pick up some essentials. Her hand hovered over the open bottle of wine, but she changed her mind at the last second and pushed the fridge door shut. She had far too much work to catch up on, and she'd promised herself that she would make some more notes based on the case notes that Drew had copied for her from the Jessica Tamblyn case.

  "Coffee it is," she said, crossing to the kettle. It took her brain a couple of seconds to realise that the faint tapping at the kitchen window wasn't in her imagination. Fear crawled into her throat like a rabid animal that refused to be tamed. Her throat closed as the pressure built in her chest. She scanned the opaque window that overlooked the small patch of scraggly grass that made up her back garden, but it was impossible to penetrate the darkness that shrouded the glass. Sidling towards the door that led into the hall, Harriet's hand slid up the wall as she fumbled for the light switch. The second she flipped it, the room was plunged into darkness. The tapping—which up until that moment had been insistent—ceased instantly, sending Harriet's mind into overdrive.

  Precious seconds ticked by as she stood with her back pressed to the wall and waited for her eyes to grow accustomed to the darkness. Slowly the world beyond the dark glass came into focus, but Harriet couldn't see anything past the swaying of the shadow cloaked trees of her neighbour's yard.

  She hadn't
imagined the noise; she was certain of that. Slowly, peeling herself away from the wall, Harriet crossed to the window and studied the small garden. There was nothing, at least nothing, that could have accounted for the noise she'd heard. There was a part of her that wanted to open the door to the outside and investigate any possible culprits, but good sense told her not to be so stupid. Instead, she checked the door was still locked before she turned on her heel and left the kitchen. Before she made it to the stairs, she checked the locks were still secure on the front door too. Only when she was fully satisfied did she feel some of the tension that had gathered between her shoulders slowly begin to dissipate.

  Perhaps she had imagined it? She'd certainly had a lot on her mind. But the extra mental load wouldn't be enough to make her so jumpy she was imagining things that weren't really there. It wasn't until she was safely ensconced in her bedroom that Harriet truly let her guard down. Slumping onto the end of the bed, she contemplated calling Drew but changed her mind at the last second. She'd been alone for most of her life and had learned to look after herself. She didn't need anyone to ride to her rescue. Not to mention, it would only worry him and he had more than enough on his plate to juggle without her adding to his stress. She would tell him some other time. And anyway, in the cold light of day, things would look very different. Satisfied at last, she felt the last of her concern melt away. Tomorrow would come and it would bring with it some much needed clarity.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Oliver, do you think you could tell us exactly what you were doing out in the woods that night?” DC Martina Nicoll leaned forward, her expression sympathetic as she took in the pitiful-looking boy on the couch. His right arm was in a purple cast, held up on his chest with a white sling. His skin was pale, almost luminous in the lamplight.

  “We were just messing around,” he said sheepishly, letting his gaze fall towards his lap. With his unbroken hand he picked at invisible fluff on his jeans. Martina had seen her fair share of teenage boys when she was growing up, and her instincts said he wasn’t likely to tell her a lot with his mum keeping watch over him.