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

by Bilinda P Sheehan

  “I’m fine,” she said curtly. “I appreciate your warning regarding Dr Connors, but as far as I’m concerned I haven’t told him anything he could use to disrupt any of the cases we have worked together on.”

  “Nothing about Robert Burton, or perhaps Nolan Matthews?” Gregson asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.

  “Nothing he couldn’t have read from a newspaper,” Harriet said. If she was honest with herself, she couldn’t fully remember everything she’d said to Jonathan, but she was certain it wouldn’t have been anything he could use against them. There was a part of her that wanted to refuse to believe Gregson, but she knew better now. Jonathan was capable of anything, and his jealousy was the kind of destructive emotion that would make him want to destroy anybody who he perceived to be more successful than he was. “If that’s all?”

  “Not quite,” Gregson said. “I wanted to make sure we were all on the same page here before I involved you.”

  “Involved me in what?”

  “We’ve got a missing eleven year old. I’ve sent Drew and DI Appleton over to the scene already.”

  “But you wanted to test my loyalty before telling me anything?” She arched an eyebrow at the other man, but if he was bothered by her words he never let it slip.

  “I had to be certain.”

  Harriet nodded. She could understand Gregson’s motivations and on some level she admired him for it. But it left her in no doubt that her position on the team was tenuous at best and that the least little incident would see her kicked to the curb. “I understand.”

  “Good. The team is over in Darkby, I’ll send the exact location to your phone.” Gregson nodded, and Harriet pushed onto her feet. She reached the door before he spoke again.

  “If you get into any kind of difficulty with Dr Connors, I would prefer you come and speak to me about it,” Gregson said.

  “I’m sure I can manage anything Dr Connors might attempt,” she said sternly.

  “That’s the beauty of being on a team, Dr Quinn, you don’t have to do anything on your own. I get the sense it’s something you’re a little unfamiliar with; but it’s important that you understand it because anything that he tries to do to you, will inevitably reflect on the rest of us.” He sighed. “We all make mistakes regarding the people we think are our friends at some time or other. Live long enough, and you might even find yourself married to one or two of them.”

  Harriet didn’t know whether to take his statement as a kindness, or if he’d intended it to sound like a threat. Judging by the lack of censure in his voice, she took it as a kind warning for her to watch her back. Not that she’d needed him to tell her that Jonathan’s behaviour had taken her by surprise, but she’d learned her lesson, and she’d sworn she would never allow herself to be so vulnerable around another person.

  “Thank you,” she said stiffly. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

  “That’s all I ask,” Gregson said, before he nodded for her to leave. Stepping out into the hall, Harriet paused and leaned back against the wall with her eyes closed. She’d only just got here, and already she was making a giant cock up of the whole situation. Of course, if Jonathan knew what she was doing, he would be pleased. She would just have to ensure that he never found himself in a position to have the upper hand against her ever again. She contemplated the letter of concern she’d sent to the directors of the hospital where he worked. She hadn’t heard anything new and the lack of information made her a little nervous. Despite all of that, Harriet couldn’t bring herself to feel bad about her actions. The letter was a damning one, and if she was correct in her thinking then it would as good as destroy his career. But deep down she knew it had been the right choice. But what would his response be? Was this threat to pen a tell-all piece in the paper part of his revenge? He’d already proven himself to be somewhat unpredictable in his behaviour.

  Discomfited, Harriet pulled her bag in against her chest. She wasn’t the frightened little girl he’d once known. Her phone bleeped in her bag and Harriet pulled it from the dark depths and scanned the address. There would be time to contemplate her actions later, but for now she would have to put all thoughts of Dr Connors and the repercussions of her letter aside and focus on the task at hand.

  Chapter Twenty

  They parked up outside the semi-detached house on the edge of the picturesque village of Darkby. Drew climbed out of the car first, painfully aware of the twitching curtains from the neighbouring houses. He caught sight of the marked police car parked haphazardly across the front drive and made a beeline for it.

  One of the uniformed officers stood in the open car door, and Drew caught fragments of the conversation he was having with the control room.

  "DI Drew Haskell, and this is my colleague DI Melissa Appleton," Drew said. He didn't have to look over his shoulder to check that Melissa was with him. They'd worked together enough times in the past that they instinctively knew each other’s moves. And having her at his back made him feel comfortable, like returning home after a hard shift. "Please tell me you've got good news about the boy."

  The PC looked to Drew to be a man in his mid-forties, broad, and stocky. His features were nondescript—no doubt allowing him to blend in seamlessly with his surroundings—his bald head glistened in the mist that fell around them. Drew felt the other man's blue eyes rake over him from head to toe. It was a hazard of the job, and something Drew had been guilty of on more than one occasion.

  "You lot got here fast," the other man said with a broad Yorkshire accent. "Unfortunately, we've got nothing on the boy yet. Control room is going to check CCTV in the area."

  Drew nodded. "Who's inside?"

  "We've asked control for a FLO, and PC Grey is inside with the mother. We've been trying to get in contact with the boy's father, but he's a long-haul trucker and we're having a few difficulties getting a hold of him."

  "We need to get some more uniforms down here. Start going over the boy's last known footsteps," Melissa interjected, her voice heavily laced with authority. "And can we start door to door enquires. I'd rather we didn't wait on something like that. If the boy turns up in the meantime then no harm no foul, but if he doesn't..." She left the last of her sentence unspoken. It wasn't something that needed to be said. They were all painfully aware of the statistics in a situation like this. If he'd just run off, then getting him home safe and sound was a priority, but if he'd been taken. Drew pushed the thought away. It was far too soon to think so negatively.

  "I'm going to head inside," Drew said, addressing Melissa. "Do you want to coordinate with the uniforms?"

  There was an almost imperceptible tightening around her mouth, but Drew knew her well enough to notice it. "That's fine," she said. "I'll see what I can do with getting more uniforms out here."

  Drew said nothing, and instead started up toward the red front door, which stood ajar. From the hall, he could hear the panicked voice of what he assumed was Oliver Poole's mother. He followed the sound into the open plan living room.

  "My name is DI Drew Haskell," he said, as he moved in through the living room door. The woman he assumed was Oliver's mother sat opposite the door, her face buried in her hands. She raised her panic-stricken face as he spoke.

  "Did you find him?"

  Drew shook his head. "I'm sorry. We don't have anything new about your son. If it's all right with you, I'd like to ask you some questions."

  "Why, what good will that do?"

  "We need as much information as we can possibly get. That way we stand the best chance of getting him home, as quickly, and as safely as possible."

  "He wouldn't stay away like this," she said, sounding more distraught as the seconds ticked by. "He knows not to stay out like this."

  "You said he'd been out at the weekend," PC Grey interrupted. "That he'd stayed in the woods with a friend of his where he broke his arm, is that correct?" Drew wasn't keen on the bored tone in the uniformed officer's voice, but he remained quiet. It wouldn't do them any favours to muddy
the water right now.

  "With Darren Makston, yes, that's correct. But I don't see what that has to do with anything?"

  "Is it possible Oliver went over to his friend’s house, and they've lost track of time?" Drew asked.

  "Don't you think I already thought of all that," Mrs Poole said, her voice rising. "Darren was the first person I called, but he hasn't seen Oliver this afternoon. He said they'd agreed to meet after school, but he was late getting to their meeting spot, and there was no sign of Oliver." She groaned and shoved her hands into her hair where she tugged at it violently as though trying to rip it out by the roots. "I should be out there, looking for him." She pushed onto her feet, and made a lurch toward the door, but Drew blocked her escape with his body.

  "I don't think that's a good idea, Mrs Poole." He held his hands out and herded her gently back towards the couch. "Is there anyone else Oliver would go to see? Or has anything particularly upsetting happened lately that might cause Oliver to want to run away from home?"

  "He wouldn't just leave," she said weakly.

  Drew waited patiently for her to pull herself together. "If you'd give me a couple of moments with my colleague here, Mrs Poole, I'll be right back." Drew indicated with his head for the uniformed officer to step out into the hall, leaving Mrs Poole to sob silently into her hands.

  "Did you get a description of the boy?" Drew asked. He kept his voice low so the woman in the other room wouldn't hear everything he said.

  "We've got one," PC Grey said with a kind of confidence that grated on Drew's nerves. "I took down the details of his friend Darren Makston too, we could go around there and have a word with him?"

  Drew nodded. "The mother mentioned he broke his arm over the weekend. Do we know what actually happened there?"

  PC Grey shrugged nonchalantly. "You know what young lads are like, sir. They were probably rough housing in the woods, and he broke his hand."

  It was a possibility, but Drew preferred to deal in certainties. "I'll ask the mother," he said, taking a step back toward the living room.

  "Sir, we're not really thinking anything has happened to him, are we?"

  Drew cocked an eyebrow in the direction of the gangly PC in the hallway. "I hope not, PC Grey. But until we know exactly what has happened here, we have to take this seriously. If the boy has just run off, fine, we'll bring him home safe. But if somebody is stopping him from coming home..."

  PC Grey nodded. "Got it, sir, I'll go and drop by the friend's house."

  Drew said nothing as he pushed open the living room door and found Mrs Poole rummaging through photographs in an album. "I've got some other recent pictures," she said frantically, holding a pile of pictures out to Drew for his perusal.

  "This is very helpful," he said, as he took a seat next to her on the couch. Carefully, he gathered the bundle of pictures she'd given him, and flipped through them. "You said Oliver broke his hand at the weekend. Can you tell me how that happened?"

  Mrs Poole paused, and while Drew didn't think it was possible, her face seemed to whiten. "He fell. Hit his hand on a rock and broke his wrist."

  "And Darren was with him at the time?"

  She nodded. "It was a dare..." The words were whispered, and Drew straightened up, as the tone of her voice set off alarm bells in his head.

  "A dare? Darren dared Oliver to do something, and he broke his wrist?"

  She shook her head. "There was an older boy at school—I think Oliver said his name was AJ—he dared Darren to spend the night in the woods."

  "And Darren brought Oliver along?"

  She nodded and swiped at the side of her eye almost absentmindedly. There was a knock on the door, and Drew glanced up, somewhat irritated by the interruption. Clearly there was something Mrs Poole wasn't telling him about her son. Either he was involved in something he shouldn't be, or Darren was, but Drew knew if he got to the bottom of it, he would be one step closer to finding the missing boy.

  Harriet stepped into the room, her expression sympathetic as she took in the scene. Drew pushed onto his feet and indicated toward Harriet as he spoke. "Mrs Poole, this is my colleague Dr Quinn."

  "I don't need a doctor," Mrs Poole said. "I need my son." There was a strength in her voice that hadn't been there a moment before.

  "I'm not that kind of doctor," Harriet said. "I'm a forensic psychologist. I work with the police on some of their cases."

  The last remaining colour drained from Mrs Poole's face. "Oh God, you think he's dead, don't you?"

  "Right now, we don't have enough information to lead us to that conclusion," Drew said. "We're treating your son as a vulnerable missing person, and we will conduct our enquires based on the assumption that he is alive, and that we will bring him home to you." Making the statement aloud, left Drew with an uncomfortable knot in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't a lie, but it felt a little too close to him, making a promise he wasn't entirely sure he could keep.

  "I'd just like to learn about Oliver," Harriet said gently. "Can I sit with you?"

  Mrs Poole nodded and cleared a space on the sofa for Harriet. Drew watched as Dr Quinn settled in next to the woman. He hadn't realised until she'd walked in the door that he'd felt tense without her, but now that she was here he felt somewhat relieved. As though her presence alone would guarantee a positive outcome. It was ridiculous, of course, and he knew it, but he couldn't shake that feeling.

  "DI Appleton was looking for you when I came in," Harriet said. "Some kind of crossed wires."

  Drew smiled tightly. "I'll come back in a few minutes," he said.

  "Would you like to show me a picture of Oliver?" Harriet asked, all of her attention focused on the woman next to her.

  It seemed to be just what Mrs Poole needed to hear, and Drew left the two women alone in the living room, as he retreated out into the cold air.

  Drew met Melissa in the entryway as he escaped from the living room. "What's going on?"

  "Two coppers have just turned up here," she said. "A DS, and DC who seem to think this case belongs to them." There was no escaping the irritation in Melissa's voice, as she folded her arms over chest.

  "Why would they think that?" He kept moving, forcing her to step out onto the doorstep, or be left behind.

  "How would I know? They didn't get the call on this, we did. What’s that in your hands?”

  Drew glanced down at the pictures he clutched in his fingers. “Mrs Poole thought these might be helpful,” he said raising the images so that the top smiling photograph of the young missing boy caught the porch light.

  “I can get these into circulation,” Melissa said, scooping them up.

  Drew spotted the two detectives the moment he stepped outside, and without waiting for Melissa to say anything, he started toward them. "DI Haskell,” Drew said cordially. “My colleague, DI Appleton, said there was an issue?"

  The male detective was tall, his shoulders so broad Drew was surprised he'd managed to find a suit jacket to fit him. In contrast, the woman next to him was petite, her face gaunt, and as Drew came level with them he noted the dark circles beneath her eyes.

  "DS Ambrose Scofield," the man said, as he thrust his hand out towards Drew. "And this is my partner, DC Martina Nicoll. We've come up from York."

  "What brought you out this far?"

  "There was an incident at the weekend, and we happened to be on call," the DC said, her voice clipped with barely restrained anger.

  "This incident wouldn't by chance have had anything to do with Oliver Poole, would it?"

  Ambrose nodded. "He broke his arm. Was out with his mate Darren Makston and fell into a hollow in Dalby forest. We called by here yesterday afternoon for a quick chat."

  "Why would you do that?" Melissa asked, derision coating her words. "Don't you have anything better for doing? Is that why you've come down here? You've got nothing up there, so you're down here sniffing around our patch?"

  From the corner of his eye, Drew caught the subtle shift in the DS as he stiffened
beneath Melissa's insult. "It's not like that--" Ambrose started to speak, but it was the young DC next to him who beat him to the punch.

  "For your information, we were down here investigating a murder. While you were all off living it up at the weekend, the rest of us were doing real policing." Drew took a step forward and held his hand up before Melissa could get another word out.

  "We don't need to be at each other's throats," he said amicably. "We're all on the same side here."

  "Tell that to her," DC Nicoll said, pointing at Melissa.

  "That's ma'am to you," Melissa said, visibly bristling.

  Blowing out his cheeks, Drew moved so that he was blocking the young DC from Melissa's view. "You said you were investigating a murder." He directed his question to the detective sergeant, who stood with his hands jammed into his pockets. "I'm not sure I understand what that has to do with Oliver Poole. He broke his arm, but he wasn't murdered."

  Ambrose grinned. "Aye, that he wasn't. When he took a spill, he landed on a body. Well, a skeleton really."

  "Excuse me?" Drew couldn't keep the incredulity from his voice. "You're telling me that our missing boy literally tripped over a body at the weekend, and nobody thought to inform us?"

  "We're informing you now, aren't we? Although why we've even bothered, I don't know," DC Nicoll said bitterly. "You lot with your task force will pounce on our case, and sweep it all under the same bloody rug."

  "Do you have an ID on the body yet?" Melissa asked, and all traces of her earlier anger had disappeared. It was her ability to blow hot and cold on him that Drew had forgotten about, but he certainly hadn't missed it. The memories came back to him, and he remembered thinking that her constant mood swings did nothing but give him whiplash.

  "We're waiting on DNA to come back," DC Nicoll said stiffly. "But you know how long that can take."

  Melissa nodded sympathetically. "Maybe we can do something to speed that up."

  "Can we get back to the situation at hand," Drew said impatiently. "We've got a missing eleven-year-old boy out there, and you lot have actually spoken to him. What can you tell us about him that his mother can't or won't?"