The Silent Room

by Mari Hannah

  Grace pulled the phone towards her. ‘Did you get that?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Newman said. ‘Sounds serious.’

  ‘It is.’ A number plate flashed up on screen. ‘Hold on a second.’

  Grace scribbled down the registration as the presenter carried on, placing great emphasis on the distress caused to two security guards who were helping police with their enquiries. Not for the first time was she regretting her decision to retire. She’d enjoyed every minute of her job, but then the organization changed beyond all recognition. It became so diluted she couldn’t stomach it any more.

  Until today.

  Now she had a burning desire to take positive action. She’d do anything – anything – to throw her life into reverse and carry on working. ‘The guy that was sprung used to be one of mine,’ she said, back on the phone, heart beating too fast, imagination in overdrive. ‘What you heard just now is crap.’

  ‘Sounds like you rate him.’

  ‘I do. You going to help me out or not?’

  ‘Not. I’m otherwise engaged.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘That’s my business.’

  ‘Sorry I troubled you.’

  Stubbing her fag in the ashtray, sending a chimney of smoke upwards, Grace was kicking herself for having pried. Frank was a man of few words. She’d not seen him for almost four years. He could be doing anything – with anyone – a fact that was as heartbreaking as it was annoying. In other circumstances, things could’ve been so different between them but, for now, their conversation was over. Hanging up, she screamed at the TV in frustration. She could’ve played that better. Should have. She sat back in her armchair, piles of unwashed clothes on the utility room floor forgotten, her French vacation a distant memory. Jack Fenwick desperately needed help. If Newman wouldn’t lend a hand, another of her former devotees, DS Matthew Ryan, would.

  5

  Ryan drove home to Embleton Bay through the arse-end of the rush hour with the intention of calling on Caroline, a plan that quickly faded as he passed the signpost for Alnwick on the way to the coast. If he couldn’t share his split with Roz with his sister, he sure as hell couldn’t face the prospect of telling her he’d been suspended from Special Branch. She’d blame herself for getting him into trouble when it wasn’t her fault.

  Best not go there.

  Since the death of their mother at the end of June, Ryan had worked out an arrangement with his boss; in exchange for working out of hours, without claiming overtime, he could piss off during the day to sort Caroline out. Now he came to think of it, the idea had come from Jack. That was the kind of compassionate guy he was. He didn’t seem to care that it would leave him short-handed.

  Quite the opposite: anyone would think he wanted rid of him.

  Ryan hadn’t bothered mentioning this private pact to O’Neil. What was the point? He didn’t have it in writing and it would merely act as another black mark against his DI. A spirit of cooperation didn’t exist when complaints were on the table.

  The miles flew by and he was home in no time. He drove past his house and round the back to the courtyard parking area. Not another car in sight. Most of the properties in Dunstan Steads were holiday lets. Second homes converted from old farm buildings. The tranquillity of the place was the perfect antidote to a hectic life as a serving police officer. A short stroll across the golf course and he was on the beach.

  Bliss.

  Through force of habit, not need, he locked the car.

  Opening the gate, he crossed the yard and let himself into a hallway that doubled as a dining room, anger over his suspension boiling in his gut, an emotion he had no time to indulge. If he was going to help Jack, he needed to focus. He may be locked out of the station – any police station – but Maguire couldn’t take away his ability to investigate a crime or keep his promise to Hilary. With or without the power his warrant card afforded him, Ryan was determined to find out what was going on.

  But where to start?

  Stripping off, he took a shower, purging himself of O’Neil’s warning that he should stay the hell away from the case or face the consequences. He dressed in jeans, an old sweater and leather jacket – his dad’s; a throwback from his drug squad days. It was falling to bits, but Ryan didn’t care. He’d worn it since he’d grown into it twenty years ago. The image of his old man with it on was the only one he had.

  Leaving the house, he returned to his Land Rover Discovery and got in. The interior of the British four-wheel-drive utility vehicle smelled permanently of Caroline’s dog. The car was old and rusting but it suited his personality and lifestyle perfectly. He was an off-road kind of guy – another thing Roz hated about him.

  South of Stannington village, Ryan took the slip road – signposted Blagdon – then turned right over the bypass on to the Berwick Hill Road. The radio was full of the hijack, the weather doing its utmost to persuade him to put off ‘til morning. He ploughed on regardless. It was too risky to be seen near the crime scene and too late in the day to talk to Jack’s solicitor. Hilary – he’d begin with her.

  The house was in a quiet road in Ponteland, half a mile or so from force headquarters. Ryan arrived at nine. He’d been there so often, he could’ve driven it blindfold. She was washing the dishes when he was shown into the kitchen by her eldest, Robbie. The eighteen-year-old had his father’s good looks, the same rugged features and deep-blue eyes.

  Lifting her hands from the sink, Hilary dried them on a tea towel. As she walked towards him for a hug Ryan couldn’t work out if she looked tired, ill or lost – probably a combination of all three. He remembered the first time they had met – here in this house – a surprise birthday party thrown by Jack. They had danced in the garden, got steaming drunk on tequila and ended up challenging each other to an arm-wrestling match that, bizarrely, she won. While she’d never once embarrassed him by mentioning it, Jack had never let him forget it.

  Good times.

  As she withdrew, Ryan forced a reassuring smile for her three children, who were standing in the doorway waiting for him to say something. Robbie in the middle, his sisters Jess and Lucy holding his hand on either side, dressed in pyjamas and ready for bed. Ryan had held Lucy the day she was born, five years ago. Once an ugly duckling, she’d grown into a gorgeous little girl. As her godfather, he’d accompanied her to reception class on her first day at school a month ago in place of her dad. No substitute – he would never be that – but better than nothing on one of the most important days of her life.

  She ran and buried her face in his lap.

  Ryan cleared his throat. ‘I’ll find your daddy if it’s the last thing I do. I promise you, my lovely girl.’ Getting down to her level, he brushed away her tears with the back of his index finger, catching Robbie’s concerned eye. ‘Can you put the kids to bed while I talk to your mum?’ Then to the girls: ‘I’ll come and tuck you in if you’re good.’

  As the lad led the youngsters from the room, Ryan fetched himself a glass and sat down at the kitchen table, pushing the remains of the children’s supper to one side. He refilled Hilary’s glass with a generous measure of white wine from a half-empty bottle and poured one for himself. He was off duty. Permanently. Besides, he needed a drink after his head-to-head with Maguire. The prick had him bang to rights. There was no wriggle room.

  They both knew that.

  For a while, Hilary sat in silence, her long fringe obscuring puffy eyes. She was trying hard not to lose her composure. Police officers’ partners soon learned to be tough. That didn’t mean she needed less support. On the mantel above the old-fashioned kitchen range there were cards Ryan recognized, a spray of flowers too, the product of an office whip-round, a gesture of consideration for the family until the madness stopped.

  Following his gaze, Hilary managed a smile. ‘Please thank the team for those. Jack would appreciate it too.’ The smile vanished. ‘He was so certain he’d be home today. I’d taken a bag to court with a change of clothes. Godfrey told him it w
as a foregone conclusion. Have you met him?’ She was talking about Jack’s brief.

  ‘Many times. He’s well respected, the best there is.’

  ‘Not today he wasn’t.’

  ‘Did Jack say anything to you during his appearance?’

  She shook her head. ‘They wouldn’t let me in.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘The hearing was held “in camera” at the request of the CPS.’

  ‘Figures. Despite their best efforts, Jack is still a serving officer.’

  ‘Not for much longer, if they get their way.’

  Ryan’s eyes fell on a third glass on the kitchen table. ‘You’ve had company?’

  ‘Grace popped in.’

  ‘She’s back from France?’

  Hilary nodded. ‘Saw the news on TV. She’s in a worse state than I am, although she’s pretending she’s not. You know what they were like. There was a time she saw more of him than I did. You too, come to think of it. She just wanted to make sure me and the kids were OK. That’s why they’re still up …’

  Her voice was drowned out by thoughts Ryan kept to himself. Grace Ellis would want a damned sight more than that. She’d have been fishing for information. Fine. He rated her. Everyone who ever worked with her did. They had kept in close touch since she retired. He knew she’d be ready to kill someone over the day’s events. No wonder it hadn’t taken her long to make an appearance.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Hilary made sure the door was closed. It was. Even so, she dropped her voice to a whisper. ‘You’ve had a lot on your plate, Ryan. You may not have noticed that Jack hadn’t been himself.’ She took in a raised eyebrow. ‘Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not blaming you for not looking out for him and I’m not saying he’s done anything wrong.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’

  ‘Underneath the surface he was a worried man.’

  ‘Worried how? Why?’

  ‘You know as much as I do.’ Her left eye twitched nervously.

  There was more. Ryan sensed it. ‘Is there stuff you’re not telling me?’

  ‘Yes, no … I don’t know. Something has been niggling at the back of my mind. You know what a scribbler he was, a pen and paper man, even when he was at home?’ She caught Ryan’s nod. ‘Then why can’t I find his most recent notebooks?’

  It was a good question.

  ‘Maybe the police took them,’ he suggested.

  ‘No. They didn’t.’

  ‘Tell me again how it went down when he was first arrested.’

  ‘It was like a scene off the TV. Terrifying. For the kids especially. A SWAT team of armed officers stormed the house. No warning. They searched everywhere: house, sheds, garage.’

  ‘You were with them the whole time they were searching?’

  ‘Yes. They found the guns immediately.’

  ‘Not surprising, is it? They knew exactly where to look.’

  ‘That’s what Jack said. You should’ve seen his face when they discovered the weapons.’ Covering her mouth with her hand, she held on to her distress. ‘I know him, Ryan. He wasn’t faking it. He didn’t have a clue they were there. He was gutted.’

  Ryan laid a hand on hers as she took a breather. ‘You OK to go on?’

  She nodded. ‘They led us into the house to continue the search. Jack kept asking what they were looking for. They wouldn’t answer. After turning the place upside down, they marched him out in cuffs, in the clothes he stood up in. He had nothing with him and no time to hide anything. They put the firearms in the boot of a panda and drove off.’

  ‘So where are his notes?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘I don’t know, but I have feeling they were important.’

  ‘Maybe he transcribed them—’

  ‘On to what? Apart from Robbie’s iPad, we don’t own any technology. You know that. He didn’t want it in the house. Said it was bad for kids.’

  ‘Did you ask him about them?’

  ‘No, it only just occurred to me.’ She misted up. ‘Even if I’d thought of it earlier, I’m not sure I’d have asked. His head went down after his remand in custody. He was so depressed in there.’ Hilary paused, staring at him.

  ‘What about after his arrest? Was anyone in touch with you?’

  ‘“In touch” might be stretching it. Two detectives arrived to carry out a second search immediately after the first lot. They weren’t interested in talking, Ryan. They went through the house like a dose of salts, even tipped the kids’ cornflakes out of their box. It was as if they were looking for drugs, not firearms. Jack told me it was routine, that they were probably after ammunition.’

  ‘That makes sense.’

  ‘Does it … really?’ She held his gaze. ‘I could tell he didn’t believe that any more than you do. Be honest, Ryan.’

  Ryan sidestepped the comment with a question. ‘Did the detectives ask if Jack had a lock-up, if he was a member of a gym, a shooting club, anywhere he might stash stuff?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There’s just the golf club, right?’

  Hilary answered with a nod.

  ‘OK, leave it with me.’ Ryan stood up. What he could achieve on his own, he didn’t know. He couldn’t tell Hilary he’d been suspended. Not now. She’d hear about it soon enough from one of the other policemen’s wives. ‘I’ll make some enquiries. Get some rest.’

  As he reached the door she called out to him.

  Her eyes were full when he turned around. ‘I’m scared,’ she said.

  Ryan was too, but didn’t verbalize it. A thought occurred. ‘Do you have Jack’s locker key?’

  ‘From the golf club? No. He’d already volunteered it to the uniforms.’

  Ryan just looked at her. If that was the case, then whatever his DI was hiding, he knew the police wouldn’t find it there. One less place for him to look. ‘Did you tell Professional Standards this?’ He took in her surprise. ‘I know O’Neil and Maguire were here earlier.’

  ‘You’ve seen them? What did they say?’

  ‘That’s not important. Did you?’

  Hilary shook her head. ‘I assumed they knew.’

  Ryan stopped talking. If the search team had found the guns and kept on searching they must have thought there were more. Or there was another explanation. Was Jack trying to tell him, through Hilary, that there was something else he should be looking for? The word ammunition had two connotations: bullets or supporting facts. The notebooks.

  6

  Eloise O’Neil ran a tight ship. She understood the implications of having a rogue Special Branch officer on the run, especially one as clued up as Jack Fenwick appeared to be. There was no telling what intelligence he could pass on. She had to find him – fast. According to the court stenographer, it was two thirty when his bail application ended. Fenwick was held back in the cells for a while, waiting to see his brief, then placed in the security van for transfer to Durham.

  ‘Was Ryan in court?’ Maguire was scanning the crime-scene diagram.

  ‘No, he wasn’t.’ Viewing the same document, O’Neil noted that the prison van had commenced its journey at 15.04, crossing the High Level Bridge two minutes later. Traffic was slow leaving the city on a Friday afternoon. Consequently, they had an ETA of 16.00 at HMP Durham. No incidents had been reported prior to the hijack. She’d requested CCTV along the route. Number plate recognition would tell her if the Audi or Ryan’s car were shadowing the security transport for all or part of the way. She glanced at Maguire. ‘They didn’t deviate?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Any cameras on board?’

  ‘Inside and out.’

  ‘What was Fenwick doing?’

  ‘Just sitting there until the van came to a stop—’

  ‘He didn’t look agitated?’ the Detective Super asked.

  ‘No more than any copper heading to the pokey.’

  O’Neil’s eyes were back on the diagram. The hijack had taken place at 15.44, a fact verified by witnesses. ‘The strike must’ve taken som
e planning,’ she said. ‘There weren’t that many locations en route where they could hit it. The hijackers were thorough and highly organized.’

  Maguire nodded in agreement.

  ‘The driver – Irwin?’ O’Neil asked. ‘Is he on the level?’

  ‘Seems to be. He’s worked for the company for over a decade and never put a foot wrong. He pressed the emergency call button at the first sign of trouble. On the other hand, Storey, the co-driver, is just out of short trousers.’

  O’Neil gave him a questioning look.

  ‘He’s only worked for the company for three weeks.’

  ‘Has he?’ She sat back, placing her hands behind her head. ‘Worth another look?’

  ‘I’d say for sure. Something he said might be worthy of further investigation.’ Maguire flicked through his notes. ‘When all hell broke loose, he lost his bottle completely. According to Irwin, he started yelling at him to open up. To quote Irwin, his exact words were, “Do it … there’s no point losing your life for peanuts – or that piece of shit in the back.” Unquote. Odd that he said your life, not our lives, don’t you think?’

  O’Neil chewed over this for a while. ‘I want a word with them both. Set it up, soon as we’re done here.’

  ‘You’ll have to be quick, guv. Irwin’s booked on a flight to Cyprus tomorrow afternoon. He’s been dreaming of Ayia Napa and said to tell you it’ll take a court order to keep him here.’

  ‘That could be arranged.’ O’Neil wasn’t joking. ‘Hopefully, it won’t be necessary. Make the arrangements, John. But tell him there are no ifs or buts. I don’t give a damn how many statements he’s given already. He sees me tomorrow or he doesn’t travel. This is a serious matter and he’s our star witness. You sure there were only four others?’

  Maguire nodded. ‘A female pedestrian who thought she was witnessing an RTA until the hijackers got out brandishing firearms.’

  ‘She didn’t stick around?’