Hold Your Tongue

by Deborah Masson

  Eve devoured the space between them, dodging the patches of water leading to the window, her limp forgotten. She lunged for Dempster, her hands grasping either arm, the momentum pushing them both over the windowsill and on to the balcony.

  Eve tried to hold him fast against the wrought-iron barrier, Dempster’s eyes wild, rage fuelling his strength as he pushed against Eve, pulling her round so that she was against the railings. The scalpel was still in his hand as he attempted to slash at Eve’s arms, hands, anywhere it could make contact with flesh through fabric. Eve held his arms tight, not wanting to let Dempster have any real force behind the blade.

  She saw movement behind him. Mearns was trying to pull herself up, using the glass of the window as leverage. Her legs were shaking, her feet unsteady. The strain of trying to move was clear on her face but she was up. She was standing. Eve watched Mearns swaying like a drunk as she took a step on to the balcony. Eve wanted to shout at her to stand clear but didn’t want to alert Dempster to the fact she was there. Mearns’ hands broke free of the cord at her wrists and her fingers gripped at Dempster from behind. Dempster’s hands let go of Eve to fight Mearns off as she tried to pull him backwards, her strength still not fully restored. Eve ducked, moving out from against the balcony, and stepped around Dempster and Mearns, attempting to help Mearns pull Dempster into the room.

  There was a scream, the sound piercing. Eve wondered where it was coming from, realized it was Dempster, the rage changing his features, giving him a strength that Eve could feel him unleashing, even as she tried to pull with Mearns.

  And then Mearns was moving towards Dempster, being dragged on to the balcony, screaming as she went. Dempster was bent backwards over the balcony, trying to take Mearns with him. The rotten iron rails groaned under the strain, starting to move in their foundations.

  Eve could see what was happening and lunged towards Mearns, flinging her on to the ground by her side in order to deal with Dempster, who was coming towards her. Before she could think, Eve lifted her bad leg, balancing on her good one, before kicking Dempster square in the stomach, winding him, sending him backwards, full force, against the railings. Dempster was crouched, clutching at his stomach. Dazed.

  A noise behind her made Eve turn. Ferguson was striding towards her, stumbling as he passed Cooper, who lay on the floor, his mouth hanging open in shock at what he was seeing out on the balcony.

  She turned to Dempster, who was still stunned, slumped against the railing, only seconds having passed. He didn’t hear what Eve could: bolts starting to spring, one by one, from the wall. The balcony being ripped free. By the time Dempster realized what was happening, it was too late. Eve reached for Mearns and grabbed her, feeling Ferguson behind her, pulling them into the room, clear of the balcony as they watched Dempster flailing, suspended in mid-air before falling backwards, screaming through a rush of snow-filled air as he fell, hurtling, towards the ground. A last shout for Susie as he hit the concrete.

  Chapter 54

  Friday, 3 January

  Beads of rainwater glistened upon the waxy black material stretching across the broad shoulders of the man in front of Eve at Aberdeen Crematorium’s West Chapel. She stared at the perfectly formed transparent drops as they trembled but stayed put, as the man shifted from one foot to another, limbs restless after standing for the entire funeral service.

  Sanders’ funeral. Five weeks since her death. Eve heard the delay was down to key family members from overseas travelling and attending around the festive period.

  Whatever the reason, well-wishers had arrived in droves – familiar faces, eager to crowd the chapel. Eve hadn’t got any further than the entrance foyer. Outside. Where she felt she should be, regardless of Cooper and Mearns trying to convince her otherwise, and where she effectively had been since the day MacNeill had dealt the blow to Sanders’ back.

  She looked to the floor, concrete flagstones blurring in her vision, hands clasped tight in front of her, hearing the final song being played, picturing the blue-velvet curtains as they were drawn around the coffin. The final goodbye.

  She pictured Sanders, everything she had been, before saying her own silent goodbye and turning to walk to her car. She wanted to disappear before she was seen, like the outsider she was. To keep on hiding like she had been since Dempster. Off work in the guise of a festive break. Shut off from the world, only the thoughts that she was to blame again keeping her company.

  ‘Eve?’

  She stopped outside the chapel, turned, already knowing who was behind her. Mearns looked different. Still dressed in black as always, but softer, a little make-up, loose hair. Longer and blonder than Eve had thought. Eve hadn’t seen her since that day with Dempster. The same day that DC Ferguson had taken Eve’s official statement, later letting her read Mearns’.

  Eve had been congratulated on a job well done. Except it hadn’t been – not with Sanders gone and so many others dead.

  ‘Some turnout.’ Mearns looked uncomfortable, as if unsure what else to say.

  Mearns’ account of her time alone in that flat with Dempster had been harrowing reading for Eve, exposing the mind of a madman she’d thought of as a friend, a mind more damaged than Eve could ever have imagined, than any of them could have – a miracle that Elliott had functioned as he did. They’d found all five tongues in the bag he’d brought to the flat – only Jenkins’ missing, and Mearns’, of course.

  Eve looked at her, unable to hide the relief in her eyes, grateful that Mearns was still here, even though Sanders wasn’t. ‘Yeah. She was a great woman.’ Eve saw the congregation starting to spill out from the chapel and wanted to go.

  Mearns stepped forward, stuttered as she spoke. ‘I … I’m sure Cooper would like to see you.’

  Eve glanced at the crowds and, as if planned, Cooper was there, one of the first out, Hastings and Ferguson right behind him. Eve acknowledged Hastings’ nod with her own before he walked off in the direction of his car. Eve’s mouth went dry as Cooper and Ferguson headed in her direction.

  ‘Hey, you.’ The emotion clear in Cooper’s voice.

  She felt bad for ignoring his calls, ashamed she’d hidden all the times he’d come to her door. But she hadn’t been ready to deal with the real world. Still wasn’t.

  ‘Hey, Cooper.’

  He looked like he wanted to give her a hug but was aware she wouldn’t thank him for it. She looked at Ferguson, standing there with his hands in his pockets, and braced herself for the attitude. Instead, he looked to the gravel at his feet.

  The atmosphere between them was heavy, far too dangerous for Eve. She stepped forward, clapped Cooper on the shoulder. ‘The bold hero.’ She watched her friend’s face redden.

  Cooper smiled. ‘Yeah. I’m never going to live that one down, am I? Out cold on the floor.’

  ‘Nope.’ She was glad to see a smile on Mearns’ face. Even Ferguson raised a smile.

  She turned, the four of them walking towards the car park in silence. Eve stopped as she reached her car and looked at Mearns, her heart thumping. ‘How are you?’

  Mearns cleared her throat. ‘Fine. Struggling.’

  Eve wanted to offer comfort. She opted for words, easier than physical contact. ‘Hey, don’t beat yourself up. None of us knew.’

  Cooper stepped forward. ‘Eve, you should take the same advice.’

  They all knew that Cooper was talking about Sanders as well as Dempster. The four of them stood in silence for a moment, black suits and skirts bustling past them, returning to cars and life.

  ‘I should’ve known.’ Mearns’ voice was hoarse. ‘I got the closest to him.’

  ‘No. No, you didn’t. You got the closest to Elliott. They weren’t the same person.’

  Mearns was shaking her head. ‘All those women. Dead. How can I be a copper and not know something like that?’

  Eve laid her hand on Mearns’ upper arm, the other two members of her team watching. ‘Hey, if it’s any consolation, I thought you were seeing Fergu
son.’ Eve watched Mearns’ small smile appear at the feigned look of disgust on her face; Ferguson groaned.

  Eve dropped her hand, changed the subject. ‘I spoke to Ronnie. Thought it was only fair that he heard from me what happened. Even when I told him that we knew about Shaun being the one who killed his mother, he stayed silent.’

  ‘Protecting his son. Loyal to the end.’ Mearns breathed heavy.

  Cooper spoke up. ‘Keeping the lie alive, I think Dempster would’ve said.’

  ‘Will anything happen to him?’ The soft spot for Ronnie was still evident in Mearns’ voice.

  Eve shook her head. ‘I think he’ll give in to it. Let himself go, hoping to be with his family.’

  ‘And you?’

  Eve frowned, not sure what Mearns meant.

  ‘I mean, how are you? After Sanders, after stopping Dempster? No one but Hastings has heard from you, and he’s told us bugger all. Are you coming back?’

  Eve looked towards her car. ‘Haven’t had time to think about it. All I can think about is Sanders. How I couldn’t save her. Again.’ Eve’s voice cracked.

  ‘But you saved me.’

  ‘You can hold your own, Mearns.’

  Mearns tried again. ‘You know you saved me, Eve. If you hadn’t got there when you did …’

  Eve couldn’t look at her.

  Mearns sighed. ‘Anyway, I’m not sure that you’re right.’

  Eve didn’t like where this was going. Ferguson and Cooper’s expressions matched her own. ‘Why?’

  ‘Maybe I’m not cut out for this. I was blind to Dempster.’

  ‘Mearns—’

  ‘I know what you’re going to say, but I don’t know whether I can trust my judgement after this.’

  ‘Christ. Your judgement? I thought Elliott was my friend. I shared so many things with him. I thought he was trying to help me all this time. After what happened to Sanders that night at MacNeill’s, I returned to work six months later not knowing who I was, plenty of people waiting for me to muck up again.’

  ‘Yeah, and I was one of them.’ Mearns looked to the ground.

  ‘Me too.’

  Eve hadn’t thought Ferguson was capable of surprising her. She fought to keep her mouth from hanging open.

  ‘Look, I’m not great at all this apology shit, but I was wrong.’

  Mearns stared at him. ‘Jesus, Ferguson, you could’ve given us some warning. I would’ve got my phone out, started filming for posterity.’ She smiled.

  Ferguson’s face reddened. Cooper was kicking at the ground, obviously feeling like a spare part.

  Eve felt the lump in her throat, wondering what the hell was wrong with her. ‘Yeah, you were one of them. But you weren’t wrong. I did muck up. Ryan, Hardy, MacNeill. I was hell-bent on all of them when Dempster was right there in front of me. A friend. Playing me.’

  Ferguson shook his head. ‘We all thought the same. Anyone else would’ve thought so too. We were being led all the way along. Jesus, I took the shit he fed me about the Hardy connection and pretended I’d found it. I didn’t see what he was doing – too intent on taking the glory.’

  ‘But—’

  Ferguson shook his head again. ‘No, let me say this. That bastard even had a hand in what happened to Sanders at MacNeill’s. I doubted you. He spiked your drink, Eve.’

  Eve said nothing.

  ‘Jesus, I was a shit to you. And look what I did the night I should’ve been watching Hardy. It’s irrelevant whether it turned out to be him or not. And the thing is, I hated myself for not getting to MacNeill’s quicker that night. Minutes too late to stop Sanders being injured. You being injured.’

  The lump in Eve’s throat was growing. She swallowed, coughed. ‘You did everything you could that night at MacNeill’s and you pulled me and Mearns to safety on that balcony. Yeah, outside Hardy’s was a mistake, and I should’ve dealt with that better.’

  ‘But you still covered my ass in front of Hastings the next day, after what a prick I’d been.’

  Eve shrugged. ‘We’re all capable of being a prick.’

  ‘You excel at it, Ferguson.’ Mearns made them all smile. No mean feat.

  Eve stared off into the distance, towards a black funeral car pulling away from the curb. She watched it crawl in their direction, motioning for the other three to step aside and let it pass. It passed silently, wheels slicing thorough air, the passenger unmistakeable.

  Archie. Sanders’ husband.

  His head was lowered, his frame looking a decade older. Shrunken. At the last moment, and as if sensing Eve, Archie raised red-rimmed eyes, their glare as strong as ever. Eve stepped back. It was a look that didn’t need any words.

  She watched the car go. There was no forgiveness in those eyes; the pretence had been for Sanders. Yet she’d had no expectation of forgiveness from either of them.

  It was whether in time she’d be able to forgive herself. But as she looked at Cooper, Ferguson and Mearns – her colleagues, the closest thing she had to friends – and thought of what they’d said, she dared to believe that she might.

  Acknowledgements

  When I first sat down to write this, I was so excited and grateful that I was in danger of thanking everyone and their dog. So, this is the pared back version (believe it or not!), but I hope those dogs know they are loved.

  Firstly, I would like to thank my wonderful agent, Oli Munson, at AM Heath for taking a chance on me and my book. You’ve made this process such a joy and always been on hand to guide me, no matter how dense my questions – and, my God, some of them have been questionable! I couldn’t ask for a nicer, more down-to-earth champion fighting my corner than you.

  Thanks to my fabulous editor, Tash Barsby, at Transworld for the phone call that made my dream come true. I can’t thank you enough for all your help and support to date in realizing that dream. You rock.

  Of course, I can’t thank Oli or Tash without thanking the fantastic team of people behind them. Florence, Alexandra and Vickie at AM Heath, and Ailsa, Katie, Beci and Josh at Transworld. I’m in awe of all you’ve done for me and continue to do.

  Now to go back in time. Thank you to the members of Writing Magazine’s online Talkback Forum for the monthly flash-fiction One Word Challenge, and the seed of an idea that eventually led to Hold Your Tongue.

  To Julian Gough and Susie Maguire for your input, guidance and support at that early short-story course at magical Moniack Mhor – and for seeing something there that made me want to keep going.

  To the Professional Writing Academy, especially to organizer extraordinaire of the Introduction to Crime Writing course, Susannah Marriott, and my wonderful tutor, Tom Bromley. Tom also provided first-class guidance and professional insight during two online Faber courses – Write Your Novel and Work in Progress – which helped me to shape early drafts of Hold Your Tongue.

  Thanks also to Sarah Hilary and Doug Johnstone for their invaluable critiques of early versions.

  Thank you to my fellow students who joined me throughout, allowing me to read their work and very kindly providing thoughtful and constructive feedback on mine. Special thanks to Katherine Slee for being there through it all, and for still being there now. I’ve never met you in the real world (yet!), but you are my friend.

  And, speaking of friends, I am lucky to have the best ones. Love and hugs to my bestie and childhood chum, Nicola, and to the ‘Cheers Bitches’ crew – Dalgarno, Jobbers, Pam and Fiona. You guys have always had my back – throughout the good and the bad. There is no way to thank you enough for being my buddies and for making life that bit sweeter.

  I also have to thank the school mums who are in my life every day and are as excited about this book as I am. You brighten my mornings and I love you all.

  Then there’s the love for my kids, Holly and Ellis. Thanks to them for showing me that siblings really can fight 24/7. Seriously though, I couldn’t love you two mini-monkeys any more than I do. I hope that Mummy’s book being out in the world shows you that a
nything is possible.

  To my wider family, thanks for making my childhood as happy as it was and for supporting me into adulthood. But thanks especially to my bro, Chris (who has promised me he’ll read this even though he doesn’t do books), my sister-in-law Carrie, and my adorable nephews, Aiden and Aaron. You are the best.

  And, of course, I can’t sign off without bigging up everyone on Twitter for sharing the book and writing love; you have made me feel so welcome. A million thank yous to all those fabulous online bloggers who champion books day in and day out.

  And finally, to you. The reader. Thank you for giving this book a go. I owe you one.

  TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS

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  Transworld is part of the Penguin Random House group of companies whose addresses can be found at global.penguinrandomhouse.com.

  First published in Great Britain in 2020 by Corgi Books

  an imprint of Transworld Publishers

  Copyright © Deborah Masson 2020

  Cover design Beci Kelly/TW

  Images by Shutterstock

  Deborah Masson has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologize for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 9781473567887

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