Deadly Silence

by OMJ Ryan

  Bovalino leant against the wall. ‘It’s as if the killer is determined to rid the world of caring, vulnerable women. You talk to people that knew the victims and he may as well be killing Bambi, over and over again.’

  Phillips stared past the big man. Her eyes widened into a thousand-yard stare.

  ‘Jonesy, she’s got that look again,’ Bovalino warned. ‘What you thinking, Guv?’

  Phillips didn’t answer. It took several seconds before she turned her focus back to the room, ‘You might be on to something, Bov. What if he is deliberately targeting vulnerable women who are on their own? Gillespie was a spinster, McNulty lived like a single woman whilst her husband was out working – or up to no good. And Betty Clarke lived alone. Each one was killed late at night, their bodies not found until the following morning. Assuming the killer is a man, our guy attacks them when they’re alone and at their most vulnerable. He suffocates them when the neighbours are likely to be asleep, allowing himself plenty of time to clean up the crime scene. By the time anyone knows what’s going on, he’s long gone. That could be the pattern, right there.’

  Jones slipped his notepad into his suit-jacket pocket. ‘Add in the nature of the murders, the staging of the bodies, and we’ve got ourselves a very effective killer. He’s put a lot of thought into these attacks to ensure the victims are alone when he makes his move. He has complete control of the scene and how it’s left – without the need to rush his work. He’s methodical and cautious.’

  Bovalino chimed in. ‘Chances are he’s been watching them and knew their routines.’

  ‘That would make sense why no one has seen anything,’ said Phillips. ‘If he knows their routines, it’s quite likely he knows the neighbours’ too, and works around them.’

  Jones nodded. ‘What I don’t get it is the different locations? They’re all at home, but each one is in a different part of the house. The lounge, the bedroom, and now the garage.’

  ‘If he’s as meticulous as he appears, maybe it’s no accident?’ Bovalino mused.

  ‘Maybe not.’ Phillips’s eyes narrowed. ‘But aside from how and when they were killed, what’s the link between the victims?’

  Bovalino shrugged. ‘Dunno, Guv. Like we said, our seventy-two-year-old victim seems to kill off the school connection. No pun intended.’

  Phillips paused before speaking. ‘I was with Chakrabortty yesterday afternoon. She told me Deidre McNulty’s injures were consistent with those suffered by Gillespie. The same sedative was used to knock her out.’

  ‘So, no doubt this must be the same guy?’ asked Jones.

  ‘Not in my mind.’

  At that moment, Entwistle reappeared. In his gloved hand, he held a framed photo of a couple drinking cocktails at a beach bar. He passed it to Phillips. ‘Hold that will you, Guv?’

  ‘What am I looking at, Entwistle?’

  ‘I just spotted it on the kitchen wall. I’m pretty sure it’s a holiday snap of the victim and her husband, Harry. He died a couple of years ago but, judging by her hair and glasses, plus the graininess of the image, I’d say it was taken in the late eighties or early nineties.’

  Jones appeared unimpressed. ‘And?’

  ‘And, when I saw that photo in the kitchen, I recognised the woman.’

  Bovalino scoffed, ‘Well, you’ve been looking at her body for the last half an hour.’

  ‘Yes, Bov, but the body in the garage is seventy-two.’ Entwistle pointed to the image. ‘This woman is twenty to thirty years younger. I recognise her from somewhere…’ He pulled out his iPhone, scrolled through a list of photographs, then opened one. ‘See?’

  All three peered at the digital image Entwistle presented to them.

  Phillips glanced at the frame in her hands, then back at the screen. ‘I’m looking at the same women in both photos.’

  Entwistle smiled triumphantly. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So, where have I seen that image before? I recognise it too.’

  ‘It’s one I’ve already shown you, Guv, from Susan Gillespie’s Facebook account. She posted it the day of Father Donnelly’s funeral, remember?’ He pointed at the phone screen. ‘It’s the trip to Lourdes. That kid there looks like Susan Gillespie, the girl next to her could easily be Deidre McNulty. And that older lady…is Betty Clarke.’

  Jones suddenly got it. ‘Bloody hell; the victims are all connected.’

  Phillips continued glancing between both images. ‘It’s certainly a possibility.’ She grabbed Entwistle’s phone and pointed at the man in the image. ‘So, if we’re assuming this guy here is Father Donnelly, how can we confirm that’s Gillespie and McNulty? And who are these two boys?’ she asked, pointing to the two other figures in the photograph.

  ‘We could ask Noel Gillespie,’ said Bovalino.

  Phillips thought for a moment. ‘I don’t fully trust him, but it’s worth a shot.’

  Jones pointed to himself and Bovalino. ‘We’ll go.’

  ‘Thanks, guys. Entwistle, do me favour and dig into Father Donnelly’s post mortem results. Make sure he died of what they say he did. You never know, he might just have been our first victim.’

  ‘Got it, Guv.’

  22

  When Jones and Bovalino arrived at Noel Gillespie’s house, his wife directed them to the family business located on Cheadle High Street, no more than a five-minute car journey from the house. Gillespie and Son Ltd was nestled between a trendy estate agent on one side and a Boots pharmacy on the other, and looked like any other high street accountancy firm from the outside. Inside was unremarkable too; magnolia walls and grey carpet tiles, with a few professional certificates dotted in frames around the space. A fresh-faced receptionist greeted them, her name badge identifying her as Jodie.

  She smiled broadly, revealing a set of straight, sparkling white teeth. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘We’re here to see Mr Gillespie,’ said Jones.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  Bovalino flashed his ID. ‘No, but we do have these.’

  Jodie’s smile disappeared. ‘One moment please.’ Stepping up from her chair, she disappeared through a door directly behind the reception area.

  A few moments passed before it re-opened and Jodie returned, followed by Noel Gillespie, who held the door open. Despite being clean-shaven and dressed in a suit and tie, he still managed to look dishevelled. ‘Officers, please come through.’

  Jones and Bovalino followed him past a small kitchen area and into a conference room, marked Private, that contained a large walnut table and matching chairs that looked dated by modern standards.

  Gillespie pulled out a chair, and Jones and Bovalino followed his lead. ‘What can I do for you officers?’ Gillespie asked once they had all sat down.

  Up close, Jones noted the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. ‘Back to work so soon?’

  ‘We’re short-handed without Susie, and besides, sitting around the house wasn’t helping. This place helps take my mind off things.’

  ‘I understand.’ Jones pulled out his phone and opened up the screenshot of Susan Gillespie’s Facebook post. ‘Do you recognise this photo, Noel?’

  Gillespie pulled out his glasses from his shirt pocket. Taking the phone, he examined it a moment. ‘Bloody hell, that’s Susie. She looks so young.’

  ‘Have you seen this photo before?’

  ‘I don’t think so. It doesn’t look familiar.’

  ‘Are you sure? It’s taken from your sister’s Facebook feed.’ said Bovalino.

  Gillespie shrugged. ‘Social media is more my daughter’s thing. I still have an ancient handset – doesn’t even have a camera.’ He moved to pass the phone back.

  Jones stopped him. ‘Do you recognise anyone else in the photo?’

  Gillespie took another look.

  ‘It was taken on a trip to Lourdes in Southern France, if that helps,’ Bovalino told him.

  ‘Oh wow, Lourdes. I remember Susie going on that trip. She was so excited in the lead up to it.
She’d never been abroad until then.’ Gillespie’s voice cracked, his eyes fixed on the screen.

  ‘Do you remember when that was?’ asked Jones.

  Gillespie looked up. ‘God, now you’re testing me. I left school that year, so I think it was the summer of 1992.’

  Bovalino made a note of the date in his pad. ‘And do you remember who went on the trip with her?’

  Gillespie placed the phone down on the table in front of him, then swivelled it so Jones could see the screen. ‘This guy here is Father Donnelly – he used to be our parish priest. He died a few weeks back: cancer. Susie spent a lot of time with him at the hospice in his final month. He was a cranky old sod and had no family to speak of. She felt sorry for him and didn’t want him to die alone. We both went to his funeral, actually.’

  Jones raised his eyebrows. ‘You went? Father Maguire said you’re not much of a church-goer these days.’

  ‘True. I wasn’t planning on going, but Susie insisted. She said Mum and Dad would have wanted us to pay our respects. He married them and did both our baptisms. It was local, so it wasn’t much of a hardship, plus I didn’t bother going to the crematorium. Susie did, but I came straight back to the office.’

  Jones pointed to the image again. ‘I see. And do you recognise these two?’

  ‘Sure. The older lady is Betty Clarke. She was a volunteer at the church. Used to chaperone the kids on trips away. And that slip of a thing is Deidre McNulty.’

  ‘Are you aware that both those women were killed in the last week?’

  Gillespie looked at him in shock. ‘Jesus, no. What happened?’

  ‘They were both suffocated, like Susie.’ Jones scrutinised Gillespie’s face.

  ‘My God. Do you think it’s the same guy?’

  Bovalino looked up from his notes. ‘What makes you think the killer was a man?’

  Gillespie stuttered, ‘W-well…er, I just assumed it. You don’t see many female murderers, do you?’

  Jones’s eyes remained fixed on Gillespie. ‘At this stage, we’re keeping an open mind.’ Jones tapped the screen. ‘Do you know these two boys in the photo with Susie?’.

  Gillespie pulled the phone towards him and studied it again. ‘It’s been a long time, but I remember they both used to play at our house in the summer holidays. If my memory serves me right, that skinny kid is Matt Logan and the other one is Thomas Dempsey.’

  ‘Are they still living in the area?’ asked Bovalino.

  ‘Wouldn’t have a clue.’

  Bovalino continued, ‘Do you remember what they were like back then?’

  ‘Like I say, it was a long time ago, but from what I can recall, Logan was highly strung. Happy one minute and running off home crying the next. Dempsey was a quiet kid. Never really said much. Well, not to me, at least.’

  Jones had kept a close eye on every movement of Gillespie’s face as he’d been speaking. There was nothing to indicate he was lying, but something didn’t sit right with this guy. ‘Do you know why anyone would want to kill Susie, Deidre and Betty?’

  Gillespie took a deep breath, then exhaled loudly. ‘No, I don’t. I’ve lost touch with Dee-Dee and Betty—’

  ‘Dee-Dee?’ Jones queried.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Gillespie appeared confused.

  ‘You called her Dee-Dee. That was what her husband and close friends called her.’

  ‘Is it? Well, it’s what she went by as a kid. That’s how I knew her when she played with Susie.’

  Jones quickly changed tack, attempting to catch Gillespie off guard. ‘How’s business?’

  ‘Er, ok, I guess. Could be better, could be worse.’

  He changed tack again. ’Do you know if Susie made a will?’

  ‘Knowing Susie, I’m sure she did.’

  ‘She didn’t talk to you about that sort of thing?’

  ‘No, Sergeant, she didn’t. What’s the old adage – a builder’s house is always the one that needs fixing? Well, it’s the same in finance. When you talk about money all day every day, it’s not something to chat about on the weekend.’

  Jones nodded. ‘We’re just wondering if anyone in particular would benefit financially from her death.’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine.’ Gillespie looked at his watch, appearing flustered. ‘Look, I’m very sorry, but I have an appointment in five minutes. I’m going to have to go.’

  ‘Of course. Don’t let us keep you,’ said Jones.

  Gillespie placed both hands on the table as his stood. They were large and calloused, more like a labourers’ than an accountant’s. ‘If you head back the way you came, just press the green button on the wall to open the door back into the main office. Jodie will see you out.’ He smiled weakly, then left the room and made his way noisily up the staircase just outside the conference room.

  A few minutes later, Jones and Bovalino were back on Cheadle High Street, walking through the freezing rain towards their car.

  ‘What do you think Jonesy?’

  ‘Dodgy as fuck, Bov. I mean, did you see his mood change when we started talking about money?’

  ‘Yeah. Couldn’t get us out of there quick enough.’

  ‘And how does he not know about the McNulty and Clarke murders? Their names have been released to the press already. He may not use social media, but he’s got a huge telly in his lounge. His sister was murdered a week ago; he must be watching the bloody news, surely?’

  ‘It does seem odd. But he has a cast-iron alibi. He was at home with his wife and kids’

  Jones thought for a moment. ‘I know, but money can turn even the most normal people into cheats and liars. I don’t quite know what it is, but I’m sure he’s involved in this case somewhere.’

  They reached the car and climbed inside out of the rain. As usual, Bovalino was driving as they began the journey back to Ashton House. Both men said nothing for a few minutes before Bovalino spoke. ‘Ok, say Gillespie is involved. I can understand why he could be tempted to kill Susan; for the inheritance. But then why kill McNulty and Clarke?’

  ‘To throw us off the scent?’

  ‘One more murder, maybe, and it’s a big maybe – but two? That’s a lot of risk to distract an investigation, Jonesy’.

  ‘I know. It’s just there’s something about him I don’t like. And did you see the size of his hands?’

  ‘Can’t say I did.’

  ‘Bloody enormous things, like a construction worker’s; he’s an accountant, for Christ’s sake.’

  ‘Maybe he does a lot of home improvement?’

  Jones laughed. ‘That house of his hasn’t been touched since the day it was built. Nah, there’s something dodgy about this guy. Let’s have a look and see if Gillespie was financially involved with McNulty and Clarke. If he was managing their assets, their deaths may also benefit him, along with his sister’s will.’

  ‘Time to do some digging.’

  ‘Yeah. And I have a feeling the more we dig, Bov, the more shit we’re going to find.’

  23

  DCI Brown seemed unusually chirpy as he sat opposite Phillips. Having called her into his office as soon as she arrived at the incident room, he had asked how she and the team were doing, almost managing to sound genuine in doing so. Something was afoot.

  ‘So, Jane, how are you getting on with the Cheadle murders?’

  Jane? He never called her Jane.

  ‘We now believe the victims were all connected, sir.’

  ‘Really? How so?’

  Phillips pulled out her iPhone and passed it across the desk. ‘This picture includes all three victims – Susan Gillespie, Deidre McNulty and Betty Clarke. It was taken on a Catholic pilgrimage to Lourdes in 1992 or thereabouts.’

  ‘And who are the others? The two boys and the priest?’

  ‘Father Donnelly – he died about two months ago from pancreatic cancer. Entwistle is looking into his medical records to double-check that’s what killed him.’

  The fact Entwistle was being useful to the team seem
ed to please Brown. ‘You think he may have been murdered too?’

  ‘Impossible to say, sir. Just checking every angle.’

  ‘What about the two kids?’

  ‘According to victim one’s brother, the skinny one is Matt Logan and the other is Thomas Dempsey. He doesn’t know much about them these days, so Entwistle has been looking into their whereabouts. I’m expecting an update this morning.’

  ‘Any suspects yet?’

  ‘Two potentials at the moment, sir.’

  Brown sat forwards attentively. ‘Two? Really? That’s great. Who are you looking at?’

  Phillips could feel herself being drawn down a rabbit hole she would struggle to get out of. Brown was notorious for taking the quick and easy option. If he saw either Noel Gillespie or Kevin McNulty as potential suspects, she knew he’d be upstairs sharing their names with the Chief Super within the hour. Going forward, it would be almost impossible to present any other theories after that. She decided to dial down their importance. ‘Well, I say two suspects – more like two people of interest.’

  Brown’s face betrayed his disappointment. ‘So, who are these people of interest?’ His tone was closer to his usual disdain.

  ‘Noel Gillespie – that’s Susan’s brother – and Deidre McNulty’s husband, Kevin. Kevin initially lied about his whereabouts on the night of his wife’s murder, and Noel could potentially inherit his sister’s estate.’

  ‘That’s all we’ve got on them?’

  ‘Well, McNulty also presented with bruising to his temple, and we found his fingerprints on the bag that was used to suffocate Deirdre as well as on the dog collar.’

  ‘A good lawyer will explain away the fingerprints in no time. It’s a natural reaction of anyone to try and release a loved one from such a situation, and to check if the dog was still alive. The bruising is interesting, but nothing more.’

  ‘As I say, I’m hoping to get more info from the team this morning.’

  Brown’s return to his normal agitated state was complete. ‘Fucking hell, Phillips. The first murder is a week old and this is all we’ve got? A dodgy alibi and some looming inheritance. The Chief Super won’t be happy. In fact, the mood she’s in today, she’s likely to chew me a new arsehole.’