Hold Your Tongue

by Deborah Masson

  ‘Good.’ He turned, facing both of them. ‘I came in to let you know about the CCTV from the hotel, in that there’s nothing to know. Guy that checked in looks down the whole time, aware of the camera. He had a black baseball cap on, plain, no logos, and a black jacket, same. Nothing to even try and get a better look at.’

  She leaned back in her chair. ‘And you’ll have run the image past the Malmaison guy that booked him in?’

  Ferguson winked – something Mearns had noticed he only did to her. A lot. And she knew why. ‘Of course. You know you can count on me.’

  Mearns looked across at Cooper, saw the pursed lips imitating a kiss. ‘Piss off, Cooper.’ She hoped the embarrassment wasn’t visible on her face. Cooper smiled as Ferguson stood there wondering what was going on.

  Unbeknown to Ferguson, Cooper had told her a couple of months ago that he’d been asking whether she was single. She’d surprised herself by feeling flattered, not that she’d told Cooper that. She was glad of the distraction when someone else appeared at the door.

  ‘Eve still here?’ It was Elliott, looking like he’d had a worse day than them.

  ‘Not long left.’ Mearns noted the hint of stubble on Elliott’s chin, the jawline leading upwards to greying temples. Dishevelled. It suited him. Ferguson was staring at her, obviously not happy at the thought of competition.

  Elliott sighed and leaned on the door frame, a muscular arm above his head, smooth fingers rubbing at his forehead. ‘Phones have been non-stop; think we’ve managed to ward them off. Still, the papers are going to be full of it again tomorrow. It’s only going to get worse from here.’

  ‘Nowt new there.’ Mearns sighed in return.

  ‘OK, I’ll catch Eve in the morning.’ Elliott pushed off from the door and disappeared down the corridor.

  Ferguson stepped in front of Mearns, eager to get her attention. ‘Got Phillips’ bank records too.’ He paused for effect. ‘The guy has one seriously healthy bank balance. A lump sum paid direct to his account from a savings-fund company a few weeks ago. Mainly cash withdrawals, but the bank says the Malmaison payment is there.’

  She frowned. ‘Doesn’t seem to fit that he’d leave a trace through the bank. I mean, this guy isn’t stupid, is he? Ready for the CCTV, phone out of service, flatmate the only lead and leading nowhere.’

  ‘But maybe killing Melanie was never the plan.’ Cooper shrugged. ‘He could’ve been cagey checking in because of what they were doing.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe. Nothing’s ever simple, is it?’ Mearns groaned.

  Cooper blew out slowly and scratched his head. ‘Course not. When is this job ever easy?’

  Eve switched off the power sander and laid it down, her ringing ears adjusting to the silence. She pulled the face mask out from her nose, lowered it beneath her chin, leaving it there, nestled against her neck. She lifted her goggles to sit on top of her head. Sawdust and the familiar smell of burnt wood shifted against the winter wind that was blowing its way in through the open windows of the outhouse. The room was freezing, the night black and pressing against the panes, but Eve didn’t feel the cold when hard at work. And she needed to be working hard tonight. As far as feelings went, she was chasing away more than the cold.

  Going back yesterday had been a lot tougher than she’d imagined. And not because of the case she’d walked into. After an initial awkwardness, Cooper had come through for her – Elliott too, and Hastings. Ferguson and Mearns were another story and she wasn’t at all sure how it was going to go. What she had worked out was that Mearns seemed to hold the same opinion of her as Ferguson, and she had a rough idea how influential he’d probably been in that.

  But as long as they did the job they were paid to do, she would get on with it, regardless of their issues with her.

  Eve ran a hand along the top of the dresser, one of her better finds at the weekly Thainstone car-boot sale. It was held every Sunday, a mere thirty-minute drive north-west of Aberdeen, the Thainstone grounds and respected hotel on one side of the dual carriageway, the small town and royal burgh of Inverurie on the other. There was nothing she loved more than browsing the bric-a-brac out there, the rush of finding a bargain that she could take home, restore and make her mark on, breathing new life into something that someone else had abandoned.

  She jumped as her mobile phone rang in her denim pocket. She fished it out, stopping dead when she saw Jenkins’ name lighting the screen. Eve’s finger shook as she cut the call dead. Jesus, the reporter had a brass neck. Was she honestly expecting her to answer? Eve threw the phone on to the workbench. She needed to lose herself out here tonight.

  She crouched, at eye level with the top of the dresser. It was shaping up, would be looking even better once she got in amongst the more awkward bits by hand with good old-fashioned sandpaper. She liked the manual labour, physically tired by the end of it. The work calmed her – gave her a way to deal with the frustration and anger that was all too often in her.

  Eve walked over to the workbench, hoisted herself on to the stool and gulped from the water bottle sitting there, half of it gone by the time her thirst was quenched. She turned to the window, the cold wind welcome on her sweating forehead. She loved it out here. A concrete outhouse her grandfather built so many years ago as a workshop in the garden of the two-bedroom detached cottage that was Eve’s home. Her grandparents and her mother all gone. Not a day that she didn’t wish it could be how it used to be.

  The cottage was her haven, tucked down the quiet tree-lined street of Loanhead Terrace, off Rosemount, a bustling residential and retail area of the city. Where Eve’s cottage was, she could as easily have been in the countryside. She had the best of both worlds – the Queen Vic pub at the Rosemount Place end of the street, along with convenience stores, eateries and small boutiques – and at the other end, Westburn Road, with access to two of the city parks, Victoria and Westburn, both of them lush, green and floral oases in amongst the city chaos. She liked to think of them as her gardens. Both the parks and the house held happy memories of her childhood.

  Eve checked her wristwatch: 10 p.m. She’d been at it for over an hour. And only after she’d done the exercises for her leg that the physiotherapist said she had to do every morning and night if she was to have a fighting chance of the leg returning to normal, the limp going away. Her life seemed to be full of one therapist or another at the moment.

  She looked at the dresser. She could continue on into the night if she wanted to, and often did. The neighbour next door was half deaf and happy that someone was there, especially knowing what Eve did for a living.

  She took another sip of water, her mind being dragged back to the day job. How alone must Melanie have felt in that hotel room? How scared and betrayed? By a man she thought she knew. Beautiful, young, had her whole life ahead of her. Maybe that was why she wanted to go to London: to get away from whatever hold he had over her, to finally do what her parents wanted.

  Was that what the facial disfiguration was all about? Maybe he had been threatened by London, her potential success as a model, her wanting to be somewhere else, with someone else. If he couldn’t have her… What about the tongue? A nod towards the taboo of what they were doing? It was a fair stretch, but Eve had seen all kinds of weird during her time on the force.

  She stretched to the workbench drawer, the thin brown file placed there less than two hours ago. She pulled it out and opened it for the umpteenth time that day. Melanie stared at her, her smile wide and flawless on the photocopy of the 6” × 8” glossy photograph that her father had given them earlier. Eve walked over to the cork board on the wall, took out a green-headed pin and pinned the photo to the board, creating her own personal murder incident room.

  She stared at the photograph. Who took that smile from you, Melanie?

  Her fingers played with the edge of the photocopied headline lying in the folder. The article that went with the headline had yielded nothing: a celebratory story about a local girl done good getting to the finals of
a modelling competition. A competition that still hadn’t seen its conclusion, one that Melanie would never have the chance to reach now. Eve had no idea what the connection was. She pinned the headline next to Melanie’s photograph, wondering what it was trying to tell them.

  The mobile phone sitting on the bench rang and Eve jumped, the folder slipping from her hand to the floor. ‘Shit.’ She scooped it up and straightened, wiping sawdust from it.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hey, boss, how’s things?’

  Cooper. She couldn’t help but smile, a little with relief that it wasn’t Jenkins again but more thankful for the word ‘boss’.

  ‘Same as. Anything happening?’ Eve sat on the stool.

  ‘Ferguson found the CCTV footage of the guy who checked in as Mr Phillips. Can’t see his face, no obvious markers on the clothing. He ran it past reception but nothing. Bank records came through.’

  ‘Let me guess. Nothing to go on. Huge pot of ready cash paid in about four weeks ago, around about the time he disappeared from his last known address?’

  ‘I see Mr Ross already told you. Where do you want this headed next?’

  Eve looked towards the cork board where Melanie stared back at her, the headline taunting her again.

  ‘Has the image been run past Mr and Mrs Ross?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘It would be a good idea to have them take a look at it. They’ll know if it’s him. I’ll get on it tomorrow.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘We need to find him. He can’t hide for ever. Someone must know where he’s at. We’ll hopefully get some more leads from the parents, maybe pay the flatmate, Michael Forbes, another visit, see if we can’t find out the company he’s been keeping, other than Ryan. We’ve got to decide how we’re going to use the press if we can’t uncover him.’

  ‘Maybe something will come through from forensics.’

  ‘Here’s hoping. We should hear from MacLean tomorrow too. I asked him to put a priority on Melanie after Mr Ross ID’d her.’

  She pushed the image of Melanie lying stiff on the steel gurney from her mind.

  ‘OK. See you tomorrow then.’ Cooper went silent. ‘Good to have you back,’ he said in a rush. ‘Hope you get some shut-eye.’

  Eve hung up, stood and pulled the mask up over her mouth and nose, the goggles down over her eyes. She lifted the power sander. Sleep would be hard to come by tonight.

  Chapter 12

  Wednesday, 6 November

  Eve got out of the car and joined Cooper at the kerbside. The sloping garden with thick undisturbed snow reminded her of the ready-to-roll icing her mother used to favour. The houses here were huge, money seemingly oozing from the brickwork. Eve clocked Claire Jenkins skulking further down the street. Elliott had been right. It was only a matter of time before the Rottweiler came running.

  ‘Wait here a sec.’

  Cooper looked in the direction Eve was headed. ‘Eve, leave it …’

  ‘A minute, no more.’ Eve moved towards the car. Jenkins was opening the window before she got there, her red hair even more brash in the daylight.

  ‘DI Hunter, nice to see—’

  ‘Shut it, Jenkins. Listen, I know empathy isn’t a strong point for you, but I’d appreciate it if you’d scarper.’

  Jenkins’ front page that morning had been screaming about Melanie’s murder. Thankfully minus the details that mattered. Still, she’d made her mark with her story, questioning Melanie’s life, those closest to her, only adding to the Rosses’ pain. Eve knew that feeling.

  Jenkins shook her head. ‘And I’d appreciate getting the real story here.’

  ‘You know you’ll get nothing more than what was said.’

  ‘Hence why I’m here – to get what you’re not telling me.’

  ‘Jenkins, for Christ’s sake, a girl has been murdered. Her family are grieving. Can you not knock it off for once?’

  Jenkins tutted. ‘’Fraid not. Everything you’ve said is why I’m here. It makes for essential reading – especially the why.’

  Eve pushed off from the side of the car. ‘The only why is why you’re such a heartless bitch.’ She turned and walked back to Cooper.

  Jenkins shouted from the car. ‘For the story, Eve, and you of all people know I always get it.’

  Eve didn’t turn around but raised her middle finger behind her as she walked.

  ‘Feel better?’ Cooper smiled.

  ‘Nope. I never will when she’s around.’ Eve walked in silence up the short gravel drive to the Rosses’ front door, resisting the temptation to wave at a nosey neighbour.

  The Rosses’ curtains were closed, upstairs and down. She was willing to bet that was unusual for Mrs Ross at this time of day, and that they would remain that way for a long time to come. Eve rang the doorbell and moved off the front step, Cooper by her side, both watching as a large blur of grey and white approached the door from the other side of the bevelled glass.

  James Ross threw back the door. ‘I told you lot to piss—’ He stopped dead, his shoulders slumping as he realized the fight he was spoiling for wasn’t going to happen.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Eve. ‘We should have called ahead. Can we come in?’

  Mr Ross stepped aside to let them enter before leaning out of the door and looking both ways, perhaps for nosey neighbours but most likely for press. Probably best for his temper, and hers, that he wasn’t aware Jenkins was lurking out there. They waited in the hall as Mr Ross closed and locked the door again, Jenkins left outside where she belonged.

  Mr Ross had changed somewhat. His high-coloured cheeks were a sunken grey, a match for the cotton tracksuit he wore, a white T-shirt beneath. His thinning hair hadn’t seen a brush. She doubted there had been many days when Melanie’s father had dressed casually. Mr Ross motioned for them to go through to the sitting room and followed them in.

  ‘What can I do for you, Detective?’ His voice was quiet. ‘Ellie’s asleep upstairs. I had to get the doc out last night to give her something to help calm her. Damned doorbell never stopped yesterday. Disconnected the thing and still they knocked.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. Sarah should be with you again soon.’

  ‘We don’t need any family liaison. We need …’ Mr Ross swallowed whatever he was about to say and made his way over to the sofa. It seemed an age since the Rosses had sat there side by side.

  ‘I appreciate how difficult this is. We won’t keep you.’ Eve signalled to Cooper, who moved over to sit next to Melanie’s father.

  ‘DS Cooper has a photo of the man caught on CCTV checking in to the Malmaison on Sunday night. We’d be grateful if you could take a look.’

  Cooper relaxed his shoulders and passed the A4 sheet to Mr Ross before clasping his hands on his lap. Respectful, giving the man space. Eve noted the professionalism, something she’d always been able to count on with Cooper.

  The paper was shaking in Mr Ross’s large smooth hands, the emotion of losing his daughter raw and there for all to see. The man stared at the photo long and hard. When he spoke, it was with obvious disappointment, but perhaps with a little unrealized relief. ‘It’s blurry. It could be anyone.’

  Cooper rubbed his thumbs together, hands still clasped. ‘Perhaps you recognize the clothing? Maybe his stance rings a bell?’

  The paper shook harder, perhaps due to the force of sheer determination radiating from Mr Ross, willing Ryan Phillips’ features to reveal themselves beneath the baseball cap. For all this to be over, starting a different kind of torment all together.

  Mr Ross passed the paper to Cooper. ‘I’m sorry. I want to say it’s him, but there’s nothing there to tell me that. It’s not what he used to wear, but, as you know, it’s been a long time since I saw my so— since I saw him.’

  Cooper took his time folding the sheet of paper before standing, taking care not to appear abrupt. ‘Thank you for taking a look.’

  ‘What now?’ Mr Ross’s stare bored into Eve.

  Eve upda
ted him on the case, offering what felt next to nothing. Mr Ross sat in silence, waiting to hear something that would provide hope of a breakthrough.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s not more. If you or your wife can think of any other contacts of Ryan’s, we’d appreciate a list.’

  Mr Ross stood, looking smaller than yesterday, resigned. ‘I’ll speak with Ellie and anyone else I think may be able to help.’

  Eve nodded. ‘We’d appreciate that.’ She joined Cooper, already by the door, and made her way out into the hall. There was nothing else to say other than that they’d be in touch. It sounded like nothing because to Mr Ross it probably was.

  Eve stood over Melanie’s body, alert after MacLean’s call, aware it was the first day she had neglected her leg physio exercises.

  The white body in front of her seemed luminous. She looked anywhere but at Melanie’s face. The smell of dead flesh was thinly veiled beneath the chemical stench in the air. Eve tasted the decay. What she wouldn’t give to be behind the glass divide.

  ‘See here?’ MacLean pointed to a dot on Melanie’s milky-smooth upper arm, the pale flesh reminding Eve of a wax dummy. Eve followed his finger. MacLean, hunched over the steel table, turned his head to look at her, his face alive with excitement, grey moustache twitching, those eyes still with a mind of their own. It made her think of her own hazel eyes. She looked to the floor as MacLean spoke. ‘Puncture wound caused by a needle.’

  ‘Which means?’

  ‘Can’t be sure until toxicology results come back, but I’m willing to bet that was how our Melanie was drugged.’

  ‘Any idea what with?’ Eve took a step back from the table, imagining the thick Y-shaped stitching across Melanie’s torso, hidden beneath the sheet, where MacLean would have opened her up and sewn her back together.

  MacLean snapped off his gloves, busying himself moving apparatus as he spoke. ‘The amount of blood loss and the force of it tells us that the tongue was removed while her heart was still pumping.’