The Silence (Dc Goodhew 4) (7 page)

It took less than five minute to drive from the police station to King Street. The road was narrow, lined with townhouses that had been restored or replaced over the past few hundred years. There was only one gap available between the parked cars, so Gully pulled up to the kerb and glanced back at Jamie-Lee, who sat directly behind the front passenger seat.

‘Okay?’ she asked.

Jamie-Lee nodded. Then silently they moved towards number 42A.

It was a pretty but tired-looking cottage with dust-covered rendered walls and windows that looked slightly out of alignment. The front door opened and a figure appeared in the doorway, glancing in their direction then withdrawing quickly. Gully had just enough time to catch sight of a dark jumper and a mop of sandy hair over untamed sideburns. ‘Who was that?’

‘Oslo. He’s gathering everyone together in the main room.’

The hallway was decorated with palm-leaf embossed paper that had been painted over in a shade of dark mulberry. No lights were on, but the furthest door on the left-hand side of the short corridor was ajar and a shaft of bright daylight shone through it. Gully could hear the low murmur of voices and followed Jamie towards them.

As she entered the room, the tiled floor gave way to thin carpet and the walls turned an even gaudier shade of raspberry. She couldn’t escape the thought that the choice of décor had resulted from shopping in the bargain bin. All six of the students now faced her, three male and three female, and, at first glance it was hard to imagine a more mismatched bunch.

Gully introduced herself, then chose a chair on the longer side of the kitchen table, before inviting the others to sit. Instead of just picking any available seat and sitting down, the housemates manoeuvred their chairs until they all faced her directly as a group.

Gully had managed to lodge their first names into her brain, as well as jotting them down in her notebook. She’d even written them on the page in the order that corresponded with where they were now sitting. Meg was sharp featured, with her hair dyed a completely uniform shade of corn-blond. She sat on the far right next to Phil, who already displayed the spreading physique of a middle-aged man, and a receding hairline to go with it. Meg tilted her head closer to his and whispered something, the whole time keeping her black-lined eyes fixed on Gully and, as she spoke, his gaze followed suit.

Jamie and Libby occupied the middle two seats with Matt and Oslo further along. Libby was small framed and small featured, with fair bobbed hair which stopped just below her jawline. Matt was solid and broad shouldered like a rugby player, but Oslo was of average height, though looking taller due to his gangly frame.

Gully studied their impenetrable expressions, and guessed this seating arrangement was nothing more sinister than leftover childhood habits, but they still looked remarkably like a judging panel.

‘Firstly, we must track down the landlord, but it would save time if any of you had a key to Shanie’s room.’

No one spoke, but all glanced at one another and shook their heads. On asking them a couple more questions, she soon realized that they either didn’t like talking to her, or, alternatively, had a collective knowledge of zero.
They’re just a bunch of teenagers
, she reminded herself. Just the same as the drunken ones she could face any evening or weekend: some meek and some confrontational, but often vulnerable or emotional. Teenagers who were rarely experienced enough to recognize the growing unease that broke out at the start of an investigation. Gully could feel it now; something felt awry.

‘Look, I may need to speak to you all individually, but right now it is important that we locate Shanie Faulkner quickly. As soon as we establish that she is safe and well, I won’t need to take up any more of your time. But until then . . .’

Gully paused, irritated by the sight of Meg smirking at her as she whispered something to Phil again. It was clear to her that Meg thought that a policewoman only a few years older than herself deserved absolutely none of her time. Whether it was ageism, sexism or simply a dislike of the police was irrelevant.

‘Megan? Do
you
know where Shanie is?’ Gully’s voice was sharp and the other five turned towards Meg.

‘No, of course I don’t.’

‘Do you reckon she’s safe?’

Meg shrugged. ‘I don’t know, do I?’

‘And you don’t care either, do you?’

Gully had intended only to prod Meg into paying closer attention, but hadn’t actually expected to see the expression of earnest indignation that now painted the girl’s features more boldly than her overdone eye make-up ever could.

‘That’s not true,’ she protested.

Now it was Phil’s turn to smirk. He muttered, ‘Right.’

Focusing her attention on Meg, Gully continued, knowing she now had the others’ full attention. ‘I already have her mobile number, and details of the course she is studying. What I need from all of you now is everything else: names of her friends, her favourite hangouts – anything that could help us find her more quickly.’

No one rushed to answer, but the flicker of something reached her. It reminded her of looking into a river and only spotting a shoal of fish when one turns against the direction of the rest. Then they all turn instantly, and there’s no way to tell which one was the first. These people either
knew
nothing or had made up their minds to
say
nothing. All but one of them. There had been a ripple of movement, but at the time her attention had been fully on Meg, and she only knew that it had come from someone sitting to Meg’s right. Anyone but Meg, in fact.

Gully fell silent, holding their stares. It took just seconds for Libby then to speak. The words came suddenly and simultaneously as her body language transformed her from a meek figure slouching low in her chair to a neat and precise young woman, sitting very upright.

‘Someone does have a key,’ she said firmly, delivered as a plain fact with no room for doubt in her voice.

‘How do you know?’

‘I told everyone I was going out one day, but I was here all the time and I heard someone entering Shanie’s room.’

‘When was this?’

‘Saturday, during the day. It could have been Shanie but, no, I don’t think so. It sounded to me like a man, but I don’t know why. Whoever it was went into all the rooms.’

There was a stir of disquiet amongst the others.

‘Into our bedrooms?’ Meg asked.

Libby nodded.

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’ a male voice muttered. Gully wasn’t sure which of them had said it; Phil and Oslo both glared at Libby, and Matt looked unhappy.

Libby ignored them all, then her expression changed. ‘There was something today, too,’ she said slowly. ‘I walked into town earlier, and when I came back I thought the house was empty. But then, as I started to unlock the front door, I heard a strange clatter. I called out but there was no one. I didn’t relate it to Saturday, I just thought it was one of those odd things that happen.’

She finished the sentence as if she hadn’t planned to say anything further, but almost immediately continued. ‘I’d bought some milk,’ her tone had changed and she sounded puzzled now, incredulous even, ‘and when I took it through to the kitchen, I noticed something else.’

She hesitated, her lips pursed as though they had no intention of letting her speak. Colour drained from her face, then almost as quickly, it rushed back. Gully got up and moved towards her: this wasn’t someone pausing for effect, trying to relish a self-important moment. Libby looked away, focusing now on a far corner of the cheap carpet, as if suddenly unable to meet anyone’s gaze.

‘I thought it was in the fridge but I couldn’t work out where it was.’

Gully lowered herself on to one knee and spoke quietly, just to Libby. ‘Where
what
was?’

‘I couldn’t find it.’

Gully tilted her head, trying to coax Libby into looking at her. ‘Libby, what couldn’t you find?’

‘In the end I opened the window, and then forgot all about it. There was a smell . . .’ Libby turned her head slowly, her limpid blue eyes seeming to beg for this moment to end. ‘I just assumed something in the fridge had turned bad; there’s always something past its sell-by date in there.’ She drew a couple of quick breaths and hurried to get out the rest before the words jammed in her throat. ‘I smelled it as I came through the front door. It was faint, disgusting, but it went once I got a breeze circulating. That’s why I didn’t think . . .’

‘Think what?’

‘That it was in the hall not the kitchen.’

‘And can you describe this smell?’

Libby’s nostrils flared slightly as though a fresh wave of the stench was hitting her. She closed her eyes, as her fingers dug into the fabric of her skirt. ‘Rotting meat.’

Hi, Zoe

I need to explain how weird it was.

I hadn’t planned to say anything. One minute I was sitting there, sandwiched between the others. Inconspicuous, I thought. PC Gully hardly seemed to notice me, because several times her eyes skimmed over me like I was just the comma separating the other members of the group.

Jamie, Oslo, Matt on one side.

Meg, Phil on the other.

Her gaze barely touched me until I spoke. I had no plans to say anything. In fact, I doubted there was much point in me being there at all. All I intended to do was stay in my room, available if I was needed but separate enough to protect myself.

I should have learned by now that refusing to accept that something’s happening doesn’t actually make it go away. My dad has always said how the piper needs to be paid. That’s crap. What has our family ever done that requires so much reparation? But I agree with him enough to know that staying in my room would have been just a temporary fix; because I could have avoided facing the police now only to be forced into a one-to-one meeting later.

That was why I joined them, sat in the middle and kept quiet, because I really did have nothing to add. Or so I thought. Until I heard them talking about the key to Shanie’s room, and everyone agreeing that no one had one. Keeping quiet would have been like telling myself I’d just imagined it. That goes against the grain for me.

I’m studying accountancy, so maybe that’s why I have to keep my own ledger balanced. I like the idea of details being correct, with meticulous accuracy, checking and cross-checking. I’m careful but not a perfectionist, nor do I have any intention of becoming one, but consciously letting something drop is very different from missing it entirely, and I wasn’t about to collude with whoever I’d heard rattling my bedroom door by pretending I could ignore it.

That’s how I’m summing it up now, but at the time it was an instinctual response. ‘Someone has a key,’ I’d blurted out. Everyone stared at me, and then I had to explain that I’d never been to London. My description of crowded trains, tube-train delays, congested shops and everything, right down to the non-existent Danish pastry in Starbucks, had all been a total lie. It had made sense at the time but I couldn’t explain my logic in the face of so many suspicious stares.

I’d hurt Matt.

He tried not to show it but his expression showed it enough for Jamie to comment on it, and briefly everyone’s attention switched towards him. I scratched around for the right thing to say, but empty space filled the gap where I usually kept my ability to think straight.

Then I remembered this morning: the noise of something falling over. Silence as I stood in the hallway. And then that faint but terrible smell. I pressed my hand over my nose and mouth, then gingerly moved it away by an inch or so, and sniffed again.

Something gone off in the fridge maybe? Or a dead mouse rotting under the floorboards?

I checked the fridge. Nothing.

I never mentioned the mouse idea to PC Gully. For, if it had been a decaying animal, surely the smell wouldn’t have faded away like that?

Even now that thought keeps doing circuits around my brain.

I had walked back to the spot where I’d first smelled it.

I still could, but it was noticeably fainter. I opened the window and forgot about it until the moment when I needed to distract attention from Matt, then it snapped back into my head.

It felt a convenient diversion, and I couldn’t shake the sensation that the others thought I was making it up. PC Gully didn’t though, and her manner changed abruptly.

She phoned into the police station, conversing in terse bursts amid the returning bursts of dialogue and crackle that came from the other end.

She then asked Jamie to make drinks, and told everyone but me to stay where they were. I was allowed as far as the doorway of the main room, just to point a few feet down the hall and confirm to her which room was Shanie’s.

‘Why’s her bedroom on the ground floor?’ Gully queried.

Halfway between the front door and the lounge and kitchen; it would have been the room I think one of the boys would have taken if they’d had the choice. ‘It was supposed to be a study room, but when Shanie arrived it was the only place to put her.’

‘Okay.’ I couldn’t tell if PC Gully was listening; she moved close to the door without actually touching it.

‘You think Jamie’s right to be worried, don’t you?’ I asked.

‘Shanie’s behaviour does seem out of character, so I think Jamie was right to call us.’

A stock answer, no doubt.

I wonder if police cadets are handed a book of useful phrases: cleverly worded sentences that manage to prepare people for the worst without extinguishing all hope.

We remain positive . . .

Concerned for her safety . . .

Our investigation is ongoing . . .

I don’t hold that against PC Gully; it’s her job, after all. How was she to know that she was talking to a seventeen year old who had already heard the top hundred phrases from that same bloody book.

‘You don’t believe she’s in there, do you?’ I asked.

‘I will need to see inside her room,’ she replied, as if that were enough of an answer to shut me up.

I persisted: ‘I don’t see how it would be possible.’

‘I’m sure we’ll be able to locate the other holder of the key shortly.’