Deadly Silence

by OMJ Ryan

  ‘I wanted information, so I asked her a few simple questions. Sadly for her, I didn’t like the answers she gave me. They just weren’t good enough.’ He smiled. ‘I’m sure you can do better, though. You can tell me what I want to know, can’t you, Dee-Dee?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Good. But I must warn you, the same rules apply. I’ll ask you the questions. You give me the answers I want – or you die. Understood?’

  Deidre stared blankly at him, tears rolling down her cheeks.

  ‘Do you understand the rules, Dee-Dee?’

  ‘Yes, yes…I understand.’

  He came over to her and she instinctively recoiled as he readied the bag.

  ‘What’s that for?’

  ‘I’m asking the questions. Besides, you’ll see soon enough.’ His delivery changed now to mimic that of a TV game-show presenter. ‘So, Deidre McNulty, your starter for ten. Do you admit to knowing what was happening to me all those years ago?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Wrong answer.’ In one move, he had deftly pulled the bag tightly over her head.

  Panic instantly filled her eyes as the plastic relentlessly filled her mouth and nostrils. He silently counted to ten before yanking the bag away.

  Deidre gasped for air as saliva poured out of her mouth and nose.

  ‘This is how Susan played the game – pretending she didn’t know what I was talking about. And look what happened to her. Is that what you want too, Dee-Dee?’

  She shook her head as she sobbed. He marvelled at how similar her reactions were to Susan Gillespie’s.

  He held the plastic bag ready once more in his gloved hands. ‘I’ll ask you again. Do you admit to knowing what was happening to me all those years ago?’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I do!’

  ‘Good, now we’re getting somewhere. So, why didn’t you do anything to help me?’

  ‘I was scared. He said I’d be next if I said anything about his special visits.’

  He stared at her silently, his jaw clenched rigid as he digested her words.

  ‘Oh Winnie, I’m so, so sorry.’

  ‘That’s not the answer I’m looking for.’

  He thrust the bag over her head and gripped it tightly. Deirdre’s body started to writhe as she gasped for breath, the restraints pulling noisily on the metal bed posts. He increased his grip as her mouth fought the thick plastic – in and out, in and out. Her eyes widened as she jerked her head to either side, desperately seeking oxygen. It was useless, though, and in less than two minutes she had finally stopped moving.

  He maintained his grip another thirty seconds, her dead eyes staring back at him as he breathed deeply to control the adrenaline rushing through his veins. Finally, he let go and checked her pulse. It was done.

  Stepping away from the bed, he retrieved a long white cable-tie, looped it around her neck and pulled it tightly, enclosing her head inside the bag. Next, he took out the gaffer tape, tore off four strips and carefully placed two Xs over Deidre’s eyes. When he was happy with the way everything looked, he stood and surveyed the scene, processing what Deirdre had said.

  He felt no remorse. She deserved to die, just like Susan Gillespie.

  For the next hour, he painstakingly cleaned the surfaces within the room, the dog’s collar, then the bannister along the stairs, and finally the backdoor handle.

  When he felt confident no-one was watching, he slipped silently through the back door and into the shadows beyond.

  15

  Phillips was getting out of the en suite shower just before 7 a.m. when her phone rang on the nightstand next to her bed. She rushed to answer it, leaving a trail of wet footprints on the carpet. The call was brief; another murder with all the hallmarks of Susan Gillespie’s killer. After Brown hung up, she immediately called Jones and Bovalino, brought them up to speed and instructed Jones to call Entwistle.

  Forty-five minutes later, thanks to her wailing siren and blue lights, she pulled up to the address Brown had barked down the phone. Jones and Bovalino arrived as she got out of the car, and together they headed to the SOCO tent that had been erected outside the 1930s semi-detached house on another quiet suburban street in Cheadle. They quickly pulled on their white overalls and hairnets in the freezing cold enclosure.

  ‘Did you get hold of Entwistle?’ asked Phillips, her breath visible.

  ‘Yep. He may already be inside. He lives in Gatley, so he’s the closest.’

  ‘Is Brown here?’

  ‘His car is parked next to Evans’s down the street, so I’m guessing the dynamic duo are already inside.’

  Jones zipped up his suit. ‘That’s all we need; “Mr Keen” and “Mr Assumptions” trampling all over the crime scene.’

  Pulling on latex gloves, Phillips readied herself. ‘Right. Let’s get in there and see what conclusions Brown’s superior experience has brought him to, shall we?’

  Jones and Bovalino fell in behind Phillips as she headed inside the house.

  Entwistle was waiting at the top of the stairs. ‘Up ’ere, Guv. This one’s in the bedroom.’

  The team moved cautiously, careful not to step on any evidence the killer might have left behind.

  When she reached the landing, Phillips leaned in close to Entwistle, her voice a whisper. ‘Brown?’

  She followed his gaze and walked over to the main bedroom at the front of the house, stepping over a chocolate Labrador lying prostrate in the doorway as the body of Deidre McNulty came into view. On the floor next to the bed, two smiling faces stared at her out of a broken picture frame.

  Brown stood with his back to her, watching as Evans and one of his team photographed the scene from a multitude of angles.

  Hearing her, he turned. ‘Inspector,’ he said, as Jones and Bovalino came in.

  ‘Sir.’

  Brown turned back to the bed. ‘This is Deidre McNulty. Forty-one years old, married, no children. One dog, both deceased.’

  ‘This looks almost a carbon copy of the Gillespie crime scene,’ said Jones, surveying the body. ‘Do we think we’re looking for the same killer?’

  Brown rubbed his chin and nodded. ‘Certainly looks like it. Evans, what can you tell us?’

  The newly appointed senior CSI appeared nervous, and coughed slightly as his words seemed to stick in his throat. ‘Er, well, consistent with the Gillespie murder, the victim was secured to the bed whilst she was still alive – the bruising and small cuts around her ankles and wrists would indicate that. As we can see, the killer used cable-ties linked together to form longer chains. Based on rigor mortis, I would estimate the time of death between 10 p.m. and midnight last night. At this stage, having done a preliminary examination of the body, there is nothing to indicate she was killed by anything other than the plastic bag over her head. Obviously, Dr Chakrabortty will be able tell you more in the post mortem.’

  Phillips pointed to the doorway. ‘What about the dog?’

  ‘I’m no vet, but it looks like a broken neck. Poor thing.’

  ‘Jesus, that’s cold,’ whispered Jones.

  ‘So is suffocating a middle-aged woman in her bed,’ Brown snapped. ‘Can we focus on the priority here.’ Evidently, he wasn’t much of an animal lover.

  Phillips glanced at Jones and gave him a reassuring nod. ‘So it looks like we could be looking at a serial killer, sir? Should I brief the Profiling Team?’

  ‘He’s not a serial killer until he murders three people. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves by wasting budget on profiling. And besides – I can do that myself.’

  ‘Really, sir. You can do profiling?’

  ‘Yes, Phillips. Really.’ Brown eyed each of them. ‘This is a fucking PR disaster. None of this gets out to the press – not a word. Are we clear?’

  The team nodded. ‘Who found her?’ Phillips asked.

  ‘The husband. Came home from his night shift at 6.30 a.m. Found her when he came upstairs to get changed,’ Brown replied.

  ‘And where is he now?’<
br />
  ‘Across the street with Deidre’s best friend and a Family Liaison Officer.’

  Phillips looked at Jones. ‘Shall we take the husband?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Bov, take Entwistle and canvas the neighbours. See if they saw anything last night.’

  Jones and Bovalino began to move out of the room, then stopped in their tracks as she spoke again. ‘Sorry, sir, are you ok with that plan?’ Phillips smiled with forced deference.

  The question and its tone seemed to catch Brown off guard momentarily, ‘Er, yes. That’s fine. Right, well, I can’t stand about here all day.’

  Phillips nodded empathetically. ‘Of course not, sir. I’m sure you’ll want to get back to HQ and brief the Chief Super.’ If there was one thing she didn’t miss about her old job, it was dealing with the bullshit that came with managing upwards, particularly DCS Fox.

  Brown surveyed the room, appearing unsure of his next move. ‘Well, it looks like you have it under control, Inspector. Best I get back to Ashton House and get to work on the media plan. It’s going to need some skilful handling on this one.’ He moved towards the door before turning back to Phillips. ‘I want to be kept across everything, Inspector, no matter how small.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘Very good.’ Brown headed for the stairs.

  The team stood in silence for a moment, then Bov walked over to the bedroom window and looked down on the street. ‘He’s outside,’ he said finally.

  Jones turned to Phillips and laughed. ‘Jesus, did you take a happy pill this morning or what? I think that’s the first time you two have been in the same room and it hasn’t turned into a shit fight. And how many times can you call him sir in one conversation?’

  ‘Just taking your advice, Jonesy. And besides, he’s out of our way now, heading back to a world of shit from the Chief Super. What’s not to like?’

  Bov walked over to Entwistle as he walked into the room. The big man clamped his hand on the rookie’s shoulder. ‘Right, Guv, I’ll take Golden Boy with me and speak to the neighbours.’

  ‘Good man.’ Phillips cast her eye over to Deidre McNulty one last time before turning to leave. ‘Jonesy, let’s go and see what the husband has to say for himself.’

  16

  Claire Speight answered the door to a carbon copy 1930s semi located fifty meters down the street from Deidre McNulty’s house. Inside, however, in stark contrast to her friend’s home, it had been modernised to a high standard. Claire showed them into the tastefully decorated living room, where Kevin McNulty sat on a large leather sofa, cradling a glass of what looked like brandy. Phillips noted a graze and dark bruising above his right eye. Staring into the distance, he appeared not to notice them as they entered. A Family Liaison Officer – FLO – stood behind him.

  ‘Mr McNulty. I’m Detective Inspector Phillips and this is Detective Sergeant Jones. We’d like to ask you a few questions if you’re feeling up to it?’

  McNulty looked up at them. He’d been crying and his eyes were puffy and bloodshot. ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’

  ‘I’m DI Phillips and this is DS Jones. Could we talk to you about Deidre?’

  McNulty placed his glass on the coffee table in front of him next to the box of tissues. He plucked one out and began dabbing his eyes as Claire Speight made her excuses and headed to the kitchen with the FLO.

  ‘I’m sure this is very difficult for you, Kevin, but can you tell us what happened leading up to finding Deidre?’

  Jones pulled out his notepad and pen.

  McNulty blew his nose loudly into the hanky still in his left hand, and took a deep breath to steady himself. He appeared on the verge of tears again. ‘I finished work at 6 a.m. and pretty much headed straight home.’

  ‘And where is work?’ asked Phillips

  ‘The airport. I work in the freight team, driving one of the trucks.’

  ‘How long have you been doing that?’

  ‘About five years, but the last six months I’ve been on nights. Better money. Some of Dee-Dee’s treatment was only available privately.’

  ‘Treatment? Was she ill?’

  ‘Breast cancer. Thankfully in remission after a mastectomy and chemo. We had to borrow money from my parents to pay for some of the medications, and I’ve been paying it back since I went on nights.’

  ‘I see. So you finished at six. What happened after that?’

  ‘I had a natter with a couple of the day-shift lads about the football this weekend, United – City. We had a little bet on who was going to win, and a bit of banter. Then I came straight home.’

  ‘Talk us through what you saw when you entered the house. Anything unusual when you came in?’

  ‘Not really. Everything seemed normal at first. Although Cocoa would usually start barking when she heard my key in the door. Today she was quiet as a mouse. I shouted up to Dee-Dee, who would always say hello back, but again nothing. That’s when I started to panic a little. I thought she might have been sick overnight. Since the cancer, her immune system is shot to pieces. So, I rushed upstairs and into the bedroom. I was in such a rush I tripped over the dog and banged my head on the drawers as I went down.’ He touched his temple. ‘That was when I saw Dee-Dee lying there. I thought I was dreaming at first. It was so surreal. Everything seemed to slow down and I just couldn’t process what I was seeing.’

  ‘We know this must be very difficult. But if you could tell us what happened after that, it could really help.’

  Tears streamed down McNulty’s cheeks. Jones leant forwards and lifted the box of tissues closer to him. McNulty wiped his eyes and took a deep breath, clearly struggling. ‘I got up and went over to her, shouting her name over and over. I was shaking her by the shoulders, trying to wake her up. I couldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t believe she was dead. I mean, who would do that to my Dee-Dee?’

  ‘That’s what we’re going to find out.’

  ‘And you were the one who made the call to the police?’ asked Jones.

  ‘Yes, I’m not sure when. It’s all a bit of blur, but I remember fumbling for the phone, knocking a picture off the cabinet as I did, which smashed on the floor. It was of our wedding day.’ His shoulders began to shake. He was clearly struggling to hold it together.

  Jones scribbled in his pad. ‘And did you touch anything else after you called the police?’

  ‘Just Cocoa. I went to check if she was still breathing but she was cold, just like Deidre.’ McNulty began to weep.

  Phillips decided he was unlikely to give them anything else for now. ‘Kevin, I’m just going to speak to Claire. I’ll leave you with DS Jones for a few minutes.’ Jones glared at her, clearly unhappy with the arrangement.

  In the kitchen, Phillips found Claire Speight, her eyes red and puffy. She stood with her back to the sink, light flooding in from the winter sun. The FLO sat at the kitchen table opposite her while Sky News played on a small wall-mounted TV.

  ‘Claire, could I ask you a couple of questions, please?’

  ‘Of course, Inspector’ Picking up the remote, Claire muted the TV.

  ‘What’s your relationship to Deidre and Kevin?’

  ‘Deidre was my best friend. I was their chief bridesmaid.’

  ‘And when did they get married?’

  ‘I think it was 2001. I remember it was on the August Bank Holiday.’

  ‘So, you’ve known them both a long time?’

  ‘God yes, since college.’ Speight smiled a moment, then her bottom lip began to tremble. ‘Sorry, it’s all come as such a shock.’

  ‘Are you ok to carry on? I can come back later if you’d prefer?’

  ‘No, no, honestly I’m fine. Please, go on.’

  ‘All right. What was the name of college where you met?’

  ‘South Manchester Technical College. Dee-Dee and I did a BTEC in hospitality management and Kevin did the first year of engineering. But he hated it and left. Got a job working for a bakery doing deliveries.’

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sp; Phillips was taking notes now. ‘I see. Do you know Susan Gillespie?’

  Claire looked at her in surprise. ‘You mean, the local girl who was murdered last week?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Yes, but only to say hello, and only through Deidre.’

  ‘They were friends?’

  ‘Not really. They knew each other from school and they both went to the same church. That was about as far as it went, I think.’

  ‘They never spent any time together?’

  ‘Not that I was aware of. Maybe at church functions, but to be honest, since Dee-Dee beat the cancer, she’s not been out much. The mastectomy really dented her confidence. She seemed happiest at home or coming over here for a coffee and a chat.’

  ‘I see.’ Phillips paused a moment. ‘Tell me, how did you hear about what happened to Deidre today?’

  ‘Kevin called me on the mobile.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Sometime before seven, I think.’

  ‘Could you check for me?’

  ‘Is it important?’

  ‘Maybe not. It just helps to have the details.’

  Speight retrieved her mobile from the counter where it was plugged in on charge. She unlocked the screen, then checked her call log. ‘Says here, 6.44 a.m.’

  Phillips noted it on her pad. ‘One more thing, and, well, it’s of a delicate nature. Do you know if Deidre and Kevin were happily married? Any issues we should know about?’

  Speight appeared uncomfortable with the question. ‘Nothing that I was aware of, Inspector. But if they were having problems, she’d have told me. We told each other everything.’

  ‘Of course, I’m sorry. I have to ask.’ Phillips affected her best smile. ‘Well, I think that’s everything we need for the moment. Claire, because of the sensitivity of this case, could I ask that you keep any details Kevin may have shared with you regarding the crime scene confidential?’

  ‘Of course, Inspector.’

  ‘Thank you for your help.’ Phillips moved back into the living room. ‘Jones…’ was all she needed to say to get him off the sofa in a flash. She stopped to speak to McNulty one last time, who remained seated. ‘Kevin, I want you to know we’re doing everything we can to catch Deidre’s killer. If you remember anything else that might help us, no matter how trivial, please let us know. The Family Liaison Officer can get in touch with us anytime, day or night, and she has my details if you want to speak to me directly.’