Hold Your Tongue

by Deborah Masson

  MacLean bent to lift his case, screwing up his face as he felt its weight. ‘Yeah,’ the word sounded strained, ‘and you already know the answer. Same puncture wound to the arm, mouth missing an essential muscle.’

  The pathologist shook his head, disgust twisting his lined features, and started towards the door. He shouted over his shoulder, ‘I’ll be in touch once I’ve seen her down the lab.’

  Eve motioned to Cooper to come over, their own white suits rustling alongside the others already moving about the scene, one of the SOCOs working on carefully removing the piece of paper pinned to the woman’s pink tights. An eerie silence fell over the room, the only sound the rustle of newspaper in the examiner’s gloves. Eve craned her neck to read what was on it.

  ‘US Dancer Hopes to Inspire Others.’

  This thing was getting more complicated by the minute. She herded Cooper off to the side, Eve wanting to talk in private. ‘OK, MacLean’s confirmed the puncture mark in the arm. What’ve we got?’

  Cooper straightened and puffed out his chest, knowing how Eve liked to work – to give opportunity to those on her team, valuing their input. She was comforted to see him fall into the familiarity with ease.

  ‘Same MO. Injection to upper arm, tongue missing, newspaper headline.’ Cooper’s eyes scanned the scene as he spoke. ‘Body position’s been manipulated, staged like the first but different.’ He walked over and bent beneath the barre the body was shackled to. He forced air from his nostrils before looking upward. ‘No injury to the face.’

  Eve frowned. ‘No injury?’

  ‘No.’

  Eve dipped her chin, signalling to Cooper to carry on.

  Cooper straightened, careful not to touch the body or to step in blood. ‘Both bodies found in public places …’ He paused, his mouth moving, no sound coming out. ‘A week apart. That’s all I’ve got.’ Cooper turned his palms to the ceiling.

  Eve took the baton. ‘How’s he targeting them?’ She stopped herself from saying ‘Ryan’, although it was his face she saw as she spoke. ‘What’s their connection? What’s the significance of these headlines?’

  Cooper scratched at his chin. ‘Both Caucasian, brown hair, slim. Could be what he gets off on? Could be nothing.’

  ‘Possible. Both feminine, one a promising model, one a dancer, at least as a hobby. Headlines point towards what they do, or want to do, for a living. Did he know her?’

  ‘Did Melanie?’

  Ryan’s flatmate, Forbes, came into her mind. ‘Are the tongues a sexual thing?’

  Cooper shrugged. ‘Maybe it’s about secrets? Tongue’s obviously key, and whatever he’s trying to achieve with the bodies being placed the way they are.’

  ‘The real question is, where the hell is he hiding? Is Forbes helping him?’

  A swing door swished open at the other side of the studio, Mearns blocking the view to the reception area behind it. Her face fell when she looked at Eve but recovered as she walked over to where they stood, silent, their old camaraderie dissolving around her. Ferguson, trailing behind her, didn’t bother to hide his disdain.

  Eve couldn’t have missed Sanders any more than she did right then. Her visit to her former colleague the previous week only magnified how unfair life could be. They’d brainstormed the case together, like the old days. Not coming up with anything concrete, but the process giving them so much more.

  ‘Ma’am.’ Mearns hissed the word, as if her mouth was fighting against the respect for rank. Eve wondered how hard she’d had to fight to be accepted as part of the team in Sanders’ absence. How well she and Ferguson knew each other and whether Ferguson was responsible for stoking the issues Mearns obviously had with her.

  ‘How’d it go?’ Eve looked over Mearns’ shoulder, saw the owner hunched over the reception desk, howling into a mobile phone, jewellery jangling on his bony wrist, the other hand dabbing a tissue at streaks of smudged eyeliner seeping into the deep creases of his face.

  Mearns cocked her head towards the owner. ‘He barely knew her.’

  ‘What’s the story?’

  ‘Victim’s name is Lexie Jackson. She was renting the studio for dance practice in the evenings. He sometimes saw her if he was working late. He’d left by the time she arrived last night.’ Eve watched as Mearns ran her tongue over the gap in her front teeth.

  ‘Do we know for sure?’

  Mearns didn’t try to disguise the deep sigh. ‘I wouldn’t have said. He left with two others – the boyfriend and an employee. I’ve confirmed it with both. I let him finish the phone call to the boyfriend, as you can see.’

  Eve’s teeth were clenched, temple throbbing at the attitude. Mearns was reminding her of a kid. A kid who had got themselves into some kind of gang and didn’t know how to get out of it. But her defiance didn’t seem as aggressive as it had the first time they’d laid eyes on one another. It was as if Mearns felt she had to keep up the charade for Ferguson. Nevertheless, she glared at Mearns, as it couldn’t be allowed to continue.

  Cooper’s discomfort was obvious as he looked between them. The smug look on Ferguson’s face confirmed her suspicions. She wouldn’t bite. She couldn’t. Not here. She loosened her jaw. ‘She local?’

  Ferguson answered. ‘No. Moved over from New York with her husband three months ago. Oil contract. She wasn’t working here but toured professionally with a dance troupe back home.’

  ‘We got a surname?’

  Mearns this time. ‘Mr Spencer’s boyfriend arranged the rental agreement with the vic, says he’ll know where the paperwork is.’

  ‘I take it he knows not to divulge any details from the scene?’ Eve glanced to the office again, the owner cradling his head in his hand, still crying into the phone.

  Mearns ground her jaw, but it was Ferguson who answered. ‘You can take it that she knows how to do her job.’

  Eve wanted to slap him. Mearns glanced to the floor; even she looked surprised at his brass neck. Eve flexed her fingers by her sides, staring at them both, like kids called to the headmaster’s office. She fought to keep her cool, wanting to get in their faces, to tear a shred off Ferguson. But she knew here wasn’t the place.

  Cooper cleared his throat, louder and longer than necessary, breaking the tension. But it didn’t break Eve’s eye contact. Mearns had the decency to keep her own stare to the floor.

  Eve and Cooper stepped out of the studio on to the concrete hill of Hutcheon Street. The wet grey pavement was pock-marked with chewing gum and lay in the shadow of a decaying red-brick building, once a slaughterhouse. Across the gridlocked road was a mix of new-build tenements and the granite of old.

  Gawking faces looked out from the car and bus windows, while other onlookers gathered on the street; the crime tape and officers a magnet for gossip. Traffic still crawled long after the lights at the junction of George Street changed to green. Eve was well aware that Michael Forbes, Ryan’s flatmate, lived on that stretch.

  ‘DI Hunter?’

  Her chest constricted. Jenkins. She turned, saw the reporter standing to the side of the barriers closing off the studio. Her nose was as red as her scraped-back hair, black-rimmed glasses severe against her pale skin. Eve was sure Jenkins would see the beats drumming against her chest. ‘Jenkins, you don’t give up, do you?’

  Cooper stepped forward. ‘You’ve got some bloody nerve.’ Anger rasped his tone.

  The reporter smiled. ‘Just doing my job.’

  ‘It’s OK.’ Eve laid a hand on Cooper’s forearm. She wanted to smack the smile from Jenkins’ face. The headlines Jenkins would be generating over the next few days would be a hell of a lot more sensational than the two headlines that had been found at the murder scenes. ‘Didn’t take you long.’

  DC Mearns and Ferguson came out of the building. They stopped, looking unsure as to what was about to go down. Jenkins looked them over before answering Eve. ‘Anonymous tip.’

  White air rose from Jenkins’ mouth as she spoke. Dragon breath. ‘And what did this anonymous
tip tell you?’

  ‘Another female. Something tells me it isn’t a coincidence.’

  Eve took a deep breath. ‘You know the drill. You get nothing.’

  ‘But you know I’ll get it. I always do.’

  Eve bristled. ‘Yeah, and as I’ve said, you don’t care what you have to do or who you have to hurt to get it.’

  Jenkins raised a hand and clutched it against her chest in mock horror, her mouth open, a blue flash catching Eve’s eye, the glare of car headlights bouncing off the piercing in her tongue. Eve didn’t need to be made any more conscious of that particular piece of flesh. She wished Jenkins had been the one silenced instead of Melanie and Lexie.

  ‘Jesus, Jenkins, how do you sleep at night?’

  Instead of the reporter, it was Ferguson that mumbled a reply. ‘I could ask you the same question.’

  Eve whirled around to face him, rage propelling her, forgetting about Jenkins for a second until she spoke again.

  ‘Well, well, it seems not everyone is glad to see you back, are they, Eve?’

  Cooper stepped forward but not before glowering at Ferguson. ‘Wrap it up, Jenkins.’

  Eve tugged at his upper arm and shook her head. ‘Leave it.’

  Cooper took a breath, trying to calm himself.

  Eve’s anger bounced between the scum in front of her and Ferguson stood behind her. Her temper caught between them.

  She focused on Jenkins, knew she’d have to deal with Ferguson later. Eve didn’t doubt the sly reporter would manage to get what she wanted. But for now, at least, she had nothing. Nothing about how the bodies were being found. No knowledge of the tongues or the headlines. No hint that they were looking for Melanie’s adoptive brother. If she did, she’d be using it as leverage. Until then, Eve needed to think of a way to keep Jenkins where she wanted her, and it wasn’t going to be by losing her temper. She inhaled through her nose, slow as she could.

  ‘Wait here.’

  Jenkins’ eyes flickered, thrown by her reply, not trusting it.

  Eve herded Cooper and Mearns to the side, making a point of leaving Ferguson standing there. She kept her voice low as she spoke, never moving her eyes off Jenkins. After a couple of minutes, she walked over to her, knowing that what she was about to do would test her friendship with Elliott.

  ‘Ryan Phillips. Go see what you can get from that.’ She turned on her heel. ‘Ferguson, get your ass over here.’

  Eve led Ferguson around the corner of the dance studio into the side alley, out of earshot of Cooper and Mearns.

  ‘What the hell are you playing at?’ The hushed words came fast through Eve’s clenched teeth.

  Ferguson stood rigid, his face flushed. It was rage, matching her own, rather than embarrassment. The clenched fists, arms by his sides told the story.

  ‘Answer me.’

  ‘It’s a bloody disgrace that they let you back.’

  His words didn’t surprise her; she’d been waiting for them.

  ‘Well, they did, and if you want to stay on this team, you better get used to it.’

  Ferguson said nothing.

  She had an overwhelming, immature urge to mess up his perfectly groomed hair. ‘You know something, Ferguson? You’ve always had an attitude, but somehow it made you the officer that you are. Determined, fearless, strong, dedicated. Intuitive.’

  Ferguson looked surprised.

  ‘But none of that means jack-shit if you let the attitude control you. You and I once worked great together.’ She was so close to saying what she thought the real issue was – his guilt that he hadn’t got to her and Sanders in time. That he’d let them down. That he found it easier to blame Eve when there was something to pin on her.

  But she knew if she did that, right here and now, there might be no way back for them. Instead, she opted for safe ground. ‘You want to make this all about me and my failings, but it’s bullshit.’ The fear in Ferguson’s eyes was clear. ‘This goes way back. When I put Cooper forward for promotion to DS over you.’

  Ferguson let go of his breath, relief flooding his features. He half-heartedly shook his head, went to argue.

  Eve raised her hand, silencing him. ‘No, I’ve let this slide for too long. Once you start letting the attitude into the team instead of directing it out there where it can be used positively, we have a problem. And that problem only got worse with what happened with Johnny Junior and then Sanders.’ She stopped short again of saying what she knew was his real problem. ‘It gave you even more reason to target me. And it looks like you’re intent on taking Mearns down that road with you.’

  Ferguson swallowed, not making eye contact with Eve. ‘Sanders is in a wheelchair because of you. You and your rage. Your failure to radio or call in what was happening. I was there that night. I saw what had gone down by the time I got there.’

  Eve’s heart raced, pulse pounding in her throat. He’d actually touched upon it. By the time he got there.

  Ferguson seemed to take her silence as some kind of admission. ‘Same as it doesn’t add up that you acted professionally and had nothing to do with MacNeill’s car ending up on its roof. You always did what you had to do to get the job done, and I’ll admit I used to respect that. At least when you kept it professional on the surface. Who doesn’t want to see the scum put away? But you took it too far that night, and Sanders paid for it later. One of our own. And you get off scot-free? Makes me sick.’

  Eve swallowed her rage at being challenged by him, emotion threatening to bubble to the surface. She wouldn’t tell him that she’d been paying every day since. That she couldn’t imagine a day when she wouldn’t be. Her anger dropped to a whisper, the edge to it still audible. ‘That scum, MacNeill, deserved to go off that road for what he did. I didn’t touch him. He was running from me.’ She knew that wasn’t the full truth, but it was all she was willing to give him.

  Ferguson shook his head. ‘And what’s Sanders’ take on all that?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask her?’

  Ferguson looked to his feet.

  ‘Oh wait, you can’t. Because, unlike me, you’ve never had the balls to sit in that room with her.’

  ‘I don’t need to go and feed some kind of guilt.’

  But Eve knew that’s exactly what he needed to do. Still, she wasn’t ready to let him off the hook when he’d never done the same for her. ‘No, you don’t. You’re right. Because you can feel guilty enough from a distance for never visiting.’

  Ferguson hissed when he answered. ‘Don’t you dare lay that on—’

  ‘No, Scott.’

  Shock was in Ferguson’s eyes as she used his first name. This had gone beyond the job. This was personal. ‘Don’t you dare. I am your boss. Whether you like it or not. And I will not, do you hear me, I will not take your bullshit. If you can’t find a way to work with me and be on this team, and I mean without your pathetic digs, jokes and general insubordination, then go see Hastings.’

  Ferguson jerked his head towards her, his breath warm on her freezing face. ‘Fine. I might do that.’ But the doubt in his voice didn’t match the conviction of his body language.

  Eve jutted her chin forward, stepped even closer, challenging, in his face. ‘Please do. But remember Hastings got me here. You may be taking on something you don’t want to start. You have a choice. You either go get Mearns and track Lexie’s husband to break the news, or you go visit the boss.’

  Eve didn’t wait for an answer before she turned and walked away.

  Chapter 16

  Dr Shetty placed the mug of coffee in front of Eve and made her way round to the other side of the desk with her own.

  An effort from the doc to show how far they’d come – from a stranger in therapy, to friends over a cuppa. Eve wasn’t fooled.

  ‘So, how’s things?’

  Eve worked hard not to show her innards shrivelling at the same old start to these sessions. What could she say when she’d arrived here fresh from finding Lexie bleeding out in a dance studio? The sto
ry she peddled to everyone else – that she was fine – didn’t wash with Dr Shetty. She had to give something during these sessions – the doc’s professional input was still going a long way to keeping Eve in a job. But that didn’t mean she had to give anything easily.

  ‘Fine.’ Same answer as always.

  Dr Shetty sat silent, her owl-like chocolate-brown eyes perched above razor-sharp cheekbones boring into Eve’s. Eve didn’t flinch. She could wait out the best of them. Dr Shetty sighed as she broke eye contact and lifted a sheet of paper from her desk.

  Eve looked around the office while the doctor’s eyes skimmed the paper. Large ornate lampshades glowed around the room, the space otherwise dark without them in the basement of the mid-terraced office. It almost felt like a cloak-and-dagger operation as she skulked down the black wrought-iron stairs from the street level of Albyn Terrace, yet another affluent area of Aberdeen, as if her secrets were only to be shared below ground, away from prying eyes. She jumped now as the doctor spoke.

  ‘DCI Hastings filed his report with me yesterday. Quite a first week you’ve returned to.’

  Eve said nothing.

  ‘How are you coping with it all?’

  Same question, rephrased.

  ‘Glad to be back.’

  The doctor smiled. That smile. The one that, in a single second, was telling Eve she could play all day long too. Eve forced herself to smile back. ‘It’s been a tough week, but it would be for anyone. I feel on top of things.’

  There. Feelings. That’s what the doc wanted. Eve watched her scribble on her notepad, wondered if she was seeing right through everything Eve was saying. Sanders. There was something she could give the doc. She’d leave Ferguson and Mearns out of the picture. Make a real show of doing better.

  ‘I went to tell Sanders I was back.’

  Dr Shetty sat forward, all ears. Eve was on level ground, happy to talk. She gave the details of their meeting, at least the ones she was willing to share, and finished with the flourish of her colleague’s forgiveness. She sat back, hoping that little revelation would keep the doctor happy for today.