The Silent Room Read online

  Ryan head-checked the small car park at the rear of the pub. Roz was long gone. His own vehicle was parked on the top road in Anick. The view from there was stunning, the snaking River Tyne in the distance, nothing but fresh air and countryside. It was a sight that would normally lift his spirits.

  Not today.

  Walking towards his car with a heavy heart, a cold wind stinging his face, he had no wish to return to the claustrophobia of the silent room. He was tempted to keep on walking, spend the day outside now the rain had stopped, to clear his head and focus, before he drowned in his own misery. He missed his home, the big sky, the crashing waves, the peace and tranquillity of a stroll on an empty beach. Most of all, he missed Jack.

  Even from this distance, he noticed that the nearside door of his car wasn’t properly closed. He broke into a run. A blank file was lying on the passenger seat, a set of keys beside it. He scanned the line of cars along the narrow road before getting in.

  No Roz.

  The file contained everything he was after: photocopies of house-to-house forms and witness statements relating to the hijack as well as incidental notes. There weren’t that many – a couple of dozen at most – but they were all there as far as he could tell. At first glance, there was nothing he could identify that was wildly different from the results Grace had gathered during her under-the-radar enquiries at the scene. Attached to the front cover was a brief, handwritten, pink Post-it note.

  For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.

  I hope this helps. Left the keys, seeing as I won’t be needing them.

  Love you. Roz x

  Ryan blew out his cheeks. His ex had come through for him. He thought about calling her. Instead, he reread the note. Love you. No, he couldn’t go there. Not now. Maybe never. He turned the engine over and headed for town.

  He never saw it coming, not until it cleared the brow of a hill, a Traffic car, blue lights strobing across the dual carriageway about a mile behind him, travelling like a bullet in the same direction. His eyes shifted to the file on the passenger seat. As an officer suspended from duty, it was evidence he had no excuse for.

  If caught in possession, his career was over.

  Hiding the file beneath the seat seemed futile. He did it anyway. He couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t turn around. Couldn’t get off the A69. He could do bugger all except wait for the Traffic car to catch up with him. That wouldn’t be difficult. His old Discovery was a lumbering beast. It would run all day but not very fast. It did nothing in a hurry.

  A million thoughts rushed through his head. Maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe the car wasn’t after him at all. Any minute now, it would scream right by en route to an incident he wasn’t aware of. A decisive person by nature, all of a sudden he didn’t trust his own judgement. What was that about? For days he’d felt like he’d had a target on his back. He couldn’t explain why, but he just knew the Traffic car was after him. It would stop him. What a ‘mare.

  But how the hell did they know where he’d be?

  Ryan’s thoughts were all over the place. They swung wildly, this way and that. Roz had played a blinder and betrayed him. He’d been so distracted by Jack’s death, he’d walked into a trap. No, that couldn’t be it. She was devious, yes, but he’d have seen the deceit on her face if that had been the case. Besides, that theory made no sense. By informing on him, she’d be dropping herself in it too.

  Unless …

  He didn’t want to believe it. The only plausible explanation was that she was in cahoots with O’Neil and Maguire. In all probability, they had found out about his request for information. They might have tapped her phone or caught her photocopying stuff for him. Maybe they had questioned her, turned her, and put her to work – ensnaring him her only way of escaping a disciplinary and keeping her job. Or maybe Grace’s opinion that his ex would stoop low to climb the slippery slope to the top was more realistic than his. In which case, Roz might have gone to them, proffering her services in exchange for a promotion – payback for dumping her.

  And still the Traffic car kept coming.

  Ryan palmed his brow. Roz had motive – her position afforded her the means – and Maguire would jump at the chance to shaft him good and proper. What had the slick-talking arse offered her, he wondered – a job on Complaints? Whatever the inducement, he hoped it would make her happy – make them both happy.

  They deserved each other.

  Momentarily, the Traffic car was lost behind a slow-moving lorry that couldn’t change lanes because the inside carriageway was chock-a-block. It bought Ryan a little time. He floored the accelerator, panic rising in his chest. Taking the slip road, he quickly called Grace.

  ‘I’m in trouble,’ he said.

  ‘Kind of trouble?’

  ‘In possession of house-to-house with a Traffic car up my chuff.’

  ‘An accident maybe?’

  Ryan glanced in the rear-view. ‘Yeah, and maybe I’m sixteen.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Positive. If I get locked up, you’ll take care of Caroline?’

  ‘It won’t come to that.’

  A siren reached him. ‘It just has.’

  Lucky for Grace, Ryan hadn’t made it to Newcastle or he might have led them to the silent room. The car slowed, the STOP – STOP – STOP sign illuminated, instructing him to pull over. The Traffic car did likewise. It was triple-crewed. The officer who got out was someone he knew, PC Jimmy Smith – aka Jinky Jim, after a Scottish international/Newcastle United football player from way back, his father’s idea of a joke.

  ‘Jinky! Long time no see.’ Ryan got out of the car for two reasons: to put himself on a level with Smith and to distance himself from the incriminating material beneath his seat. He stuck out a hand. Played it cool. ‘You’re not going to accuse me of speeding in this old thing, are you? I could walk quicker. Need to get myself a new set of wheels.’

  The PC seemed embarrassed as they shook hands. Apologetic even. ‘I don’t quite know how to put this, Ryan. We got a call on the blower to stop and make an arrest.’

  ‘Yeah, pull the other one.’

  ‘I’m not kidding, mate. Wish I was.’

  ‘I’m intrigued. How come you knew where to look? I’m not often out this way.’

  ‘I didn’t.’ The PC thumbed over his shoulder. ‘Clocked you crossing the Styford roundabout minutes after the call came in.’

  ‘Do I look dumb to you?’ Ryan gave him a dirty look. ‘Mind telling me who instigated the stop?’

  ‘Professional Standards. Our orders are to take you to the West End nick.’

  ‘Not until you tell me why, you don’t.’

  ‘You’re not going to like it.’

  ‘Get on with it.’

  ‘It’s in connection with the death of your DI. I’m sorry.’

  The accusation felt like a knife to the heart. ‘You’re having a laugh!’

  The PC’s reddening face said he wasn’t. Administering the full caution, he told Ryan he was under arrest and put him in the rear of the Traffic car, next to another officer he knew. There was a discussion between the three cops, a toss up between waiting for a low-loader to transport the Discovery to the station or for one of them to drive it. The cop in the rear got out and the Traffic car sped off.

  Ryan stared out at the countryside as it rushed by. He was confused. What would Roz have done if he’d told her at the Rat that they were reconciled? In his head, he saw her walk calmly out of the pub, pull out her phone, giving some cock and bull story that he’d had second thoughts, changed his mind, been under a lot of stress lately and had already apologized for asking her to provide information he had no business to. But that hadn’t happened. With his fingerprints all over that file, Ryan could almost see O’Neil or Maguire unearthing it from beneath the seat of his four-by-four, hear a judge passing sentence, a cell door slamming on his life.

  42

  Maguire was behind the arrest. O’Neil was nowhere to be seen. Ryan was processed b
y the custody sergeant and put in a windowless cell to wait and wait – almost two hours in total – surrounded by the constant racket of a busy cellblock. If he stayed there a month, he’d never get used to the foot traffic toing and froing beyond his cell door. There was clanging and crying, some aggro too. A fellow prisoner screamed to be let out the whole time he was there. Ryan didn’t know what bothered him the most: that din, losing face in front of his colleagues or disgracing his father’s memory. Ordinarily, he’d have declined a brief. Not this time. He needed one.

  When she arrived in the interview room at four thirty in the afternoon, Ryan’s twin looked pale but in control. There were no visible signs of distress and – because she couldn’t see Maguire’s ugly face – he was unable to intimidate her with hard eyes or the smirk he was currently sporting. He was having a ball.

  Ryan’s gaze shifted to Caroline.

  The more he looked at her, the more he noticed the transformation. Gone was the fragile young woman he’d cosseted since their mother passed away. If that was what Maguire was expecting, he was in for a nasty surprise. No, Ryan could see that the woman taking the seat was strong and confident, ready to fight tooth and nail for his livelihood. It almost brought tears to his eyes.

  ‘Shall we get started,’ Caroline said.

  Her guide dog became agitated as Maguire switched on the tape, introduced himself and went through the motions, giving the time, date and names of those present, even mentioning Bob. Ryan had spent a lot of time with the animal. Never before had he seen it react negatively to anyone – but it didn’t like Maguire.

  Excellent judge of character.

  Ryan studied his fellow DS across the table, anticipating a fair fight, with Caroline emerging victorious at the end of it. The feeling of euphoria was fleeting. It melted away as the ‘hot’ file in his car pushed its way into his head. Any second now it would be discovered, if it hadn’t already been. Was that why Maguire looked so pleased with himself? Any hope Ryan had of wriggling out of his predicament quickly vanished.

  A woman’s voice reached them through the door.

  O’Neil.

  She sounded less than happy. Maguire had hardly got started when the door opened and his guv’nor walked in. She stood on the threshold, holding open the door. Her voice was calm. Her eyes flashed a warning. She was as mad as hell.

  ‘DS Maguire, may I have a word?’

  ‘Guv, I’m in the middle—’

  ‘Please.’

  When he didn’t move, O’Neil marched forward, identifying herself for the benefit of the tape, checking her watch at the same time. ‘It is 16.42 on Wednesday, October twenty-third 2013. I am Detective Superintendent Eloise O’Neil. This interview is terminated.’ She switched off the tape, her face showing no emotion whatsoever as she walked out.

  Maguire got to his feet, his chair scraping across the floor as he pushed it away from the table without a word to either prisoner or advocate. He followed O’Neil out, slamming the door behind him. In the interview room, Caroline’s hand found Ryan’s.

  Seething, Maguire stood to attention while O’Neil paced up and down the corridor, hands clenched by her sides, trying to keep her temper in check. It wasn’t working. She rounded on him. ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘I arrested him.’

  ‘I can see that. Why?’

  ‘Because the post-mortem results are in.’

  ‘And?’ She’d been out for most of the afternoon.

  ‘Fenwick was beaten to a pulp before he was hit by the car.’

  ‘You think Ryan did that?’

  ‘There’s more. It appears that the car not only hit Fenwick, it reversed over him. Someone wanted to make bloody sure he didn’t get up again. Who better than someone he could identify? The pathologist found extensive leg injuries consistent with impact from a large vehicle, probably a four-by-four. The measurements coincide with that of a Land Rover Discovery 2, which is what Ryan drives.’

  ‘I’m well aware of what he drives.’ O’Neil looked at him pointedly. ‘Only a Discovery 2?’

  ‘Well, no …’ Caught out, Maguire blushed. ‘But I still have grounds for detention and arrest. Accident investigators have conclusive proof that the offending vehicle was fitted with Goodrich All-Terrain tyres—’

  ‘Which you’re going to tell me he uses.’

  Maguire nodded. ‘Yes, guv.’

  ‘Is that right?’ O’Neil almost laughed, even though he had planted a tiny seed of doubt in her mind. ‘Well, while you were arresting Ryan, I was comforting Hilary Fenwick. Her house was burgled by a couple of heavies she saw legging it over her garden fence when she returned home at one o’clock. Broad daylight. Does that ring any bells?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Trashed this time, she tells me. No finesse whatsoever. Two men. Possibly the same two’ – she used her index fingers as inverted commas – ‘detectives who knocked on her door after her husband’s arrest.’

  ‘What detectives?’

  ‘Bogus ones, I should imagine.’ O’Neil paused, allowing time for the information to sink in. ‘No one from CID went anywhere near that house after Fenwick’s arrest. I checked. The search unit had done a thorough sweep, the team leader entirely satisfied that they had everything covered. So, it looks like you may have to reconsider. If Ryan’s vehicle is clean, you’re going to have to bail him.’

  ‘I don’t see why—’

  ‘Are you mad? You think he’s going to use his own vehicle to run over and kill a police colleague that half the force are looking for? You really think he’s that daft?’

  ‘The evidence—’

  ‘Is circumstantial and uncorroborated.’ O’Neil shut her eyes, took a long deep breath, then opened them again. ‘Fenwick and Ryan were a dream team, John. You haven’t the first idea how close they were.’

  ‘Bit like us, eh, guv?’

  ‘Don’t backchat me. Your treatment of Ryan has bordered on persecution. He knows it and so do I. It stops here. Now. He was shattered when Fenwick was found dead and, if I am any judge of character, he wasn’t faking it.’

  O’Neil stopped talking and stepped away.

  Two officers had come down the stairs and were earwigging the confrontation. Waiting for them to disappear into another interview room, a flashback of Ryan came into her head: twitching and writhing on his bed; the smell of whisky permeating every room in his tiny cottage; the Express Quest packaging – the tortured-soul expression on his face when he woke and found her leaning over him. She hoped it was distress, not guilt, she’d witnessed.

  Forensics had done an urgent job on the packaging and found jack shit. No conclusive proof that Ryan had done anything wrong or lied to her. The postage weight confirmed that view. There was nothing Maguire could pin on him, much as he might like to. O’Neil rubbed at her temples, her thoughts all over the place. She couldn’t afford to rule Ryan out totally. Nor would she rule him in without evidence. Had she been seduced by his charisma, the tenderness he’d shown towards women he valued? He cared. That much was obvious. About his sister, Hilary Fenwick, even her.

  You cold? I’ll light the fire.

  ‘Ryan is a reasonable man,’ she said, a niggling doubt, a little less conviction. ‘We’ve never seen eye-to-eye, but is it any wonder? You’ve done your utmost to alienate the guy since day one.’ She paused to take a breath, lowering her voice. ‘You could have talked to him, John. Asked to examine his car without arresting him. For crying out loud, have I taught you nothing?’

  ‘Guv, that’s not fair—’

  ‘No,’ she insisted. ‘What’s not fair is your gung-ho approach to your sodding job. You pull a stunt like that again and I’ll have your warrant card.’

  About to say something, Maguire stopped himself.

  O’Neil dared him to kick off, to give her an excuse to bollock him for insubordination. In every relationship there was a tipping point. This was theirs. Even he must recognize that. He backed off, dropped the attitude. Just whe
n she thought they were done, he hung himself, telling her he stood by his decision, adamant that he was right and that Ryan was guilty.

  ‘Wait in my office,’ O’Neil said. ‘No, better still, get your arse over to Fenwick’s house and investigate that burglary. In future, you steer clear of DS Ryan, you hear me? You and he obviously have history and it’s not helping this enquiry. I’ll deal with him myself. Step out of line again and you’ll live to regret it.’

  O’Neil re-entered the interview room at 16.55, sat down in the seat Maguire had vacated and restarted the tape. Apologizing for the interruption, she introduced herself properly to Caroline, stating her name and rank.

  The two women shook hands.

  Bob wagged his tail.

  Ryan covered his mouth to stop himself from laughing. He didn’t want O’Neil misreading him, thinking he wasn’t taking the interview seriously. Hell, his career was at stake here. The next hour or so would decide his fate.

  It was Caroline who spoke first. ‘Superintendent, I don’t want to make things awkward here but, not to put too fine a point on it, your DS is a bit of an arse. He seems to have a downer on my brother … sorry, my client. We’d like to know precisely why he’s been arrested.’

  ‘We need to examine his car,’ O’Neil said.

  ‘On what grounds?’

  Pushing the accident investigation report across the table, O’Neil explained what she was doing for Caroline’s benefit, asking Ryan to read it out so his twin would be party to what it contained, including details pertaining to the crime scene and the post-mortem.

  Ryan did as she asked, leaving out the more gory details he didn’t want Caroline to hear. ‘It appears that a vehicle very like mine was responsible for Jack’s death. It had similar physical characteristics, distance off the ground, et cetera.’ He pushed the report back towards O’Neil and spoke to her directly. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you. It wasn’t mine.’

  ‘You left out the part about the tyres,’ O’Neil reminded him. ‘For the tape and your legal counsel, please.’