Deadly Silence

by OMJ Ryan

  ‘Nothing initially. Like I say, I was terrified, unable to do anything. Eventually I got a hold of myself and turned out the bathroom light and went through to the bedroom. I looked out the window onto the yard and the alley beyond, but there’s a broken streetlight, so I couldn’t see anything to begin with. And then, when my eyes finally adjusted to the dark, I saw him.’

  ‘The same man from earlier?’

  Dempsey took another swig of brandy. ‘I’m almost certain it was him. He was stood in the shadows and seemed to be watching the house downstairs, peering through the metal gate at the back. Thankfully it’s locked with a huge padlock from this side, so he couldn’t get in.’

  ‘He was trying to get through the gate?’

  ‘He held two of the bars in his hands like this…’ Dempsey imitated the action. ‘Pulled it back and forth for a while. I could hear it rattling on its hinges.’

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘I was stood, virtually holding my breath, peering out through the side of the curtain by the window frame, when he looked up and straight at me. Honest to God, my heart almost stopped right there and then. I swear he could hear it beating out there in the alley.’

  ‘Did he see you looking at him?’

  ‘I can’t be certain, but I think so.’

  ‘What about his face. Did you get a look at it?’

  ‘No, like I said, he was wearing a hood and it was silhouetted in the shadows. And then all of a sudden, there was another noise in the alley which caught his attention. I remember he jerked his head towards where it had come from, and rushed off in the direction of the main road.’

  ‘Did something startle him?’

  ‘Maybe. I definitely heard something, but I couldn’t see anything, or anybody else in the alley.’

  ‘Was that the last you saw of him?’

  Dempsey appeared to shudder. ’Yes, thank God.’

  ‘And how long was it before you called DS Jones?’

  ‘Right then, from the back bedroom. Well, as soon as I could speak. I was in shock, petrified he was going to come back.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ Phillips paused a moment. ‘Look Tom, I think it might be best if you take tomorrow off work, just until we can have a look around the back of the house and see if he left anything behind.’

  Dempsey nodded enthusiastically. ‘Whatever you say, Inspector. Until you catch this guy, I’m staying at home with the doors locked and the curtains drawn.’

  ‘Sounds like a sensible plan. Staying inside is the safest option right now. I’ll organise for a patrol unit to keep an eye on the place and arrange for uniform to call in each night to check on you. Just to make sure you’re ok. You good with that?’

  Dempsey looked visibly relieved and smiled for the first time since Phillips had entered the house. ‘God, yeah, that’d be brilliant. When will they come?’

  ‘Probably early evening. If he is hanging around, the presence of a squad car will let him know we’re protecting you and watching the house.’

  ‘That’s amazing. Thank you so much, Inspector.’ He drained the remainder of his glass and poured himself another large measure before holding the bottle up to Phillips. ‘You sure I can’t tempt you, Inspector?’

  A stiff brandy was exactly what she wanted right now, but she steeled herself. She was on duty, she reminded herself. ‘No thank you, but before I head off, is there anything else you can recall that might be of help?’

  Dempsey appeared deep in thought for a long moment before turning his attention back to Phillips. ‘No. I’m sure that’s everything.’

  Phillips pulled out her phone to order her taxi home. Luckily there was a car dropping off just a couple of streets away. She glanced up to see Dempsey staring at her, his mouth open as if trying to find the right words.

  ‘Inspector. maybe I shouldn’t be asking this, but considering what happened tonight, I’d like to know.’

  ‘You’d like to know what?’

  ‘Do you think it was Matt Logan – you know – out in the alley tonight?’

  Phillips paused a moment before answering. ‘Probably best not to speculate at this stage. But whoever was out there, we will get them. It’s just a matter of time. For now, stay inside and keep all the doors locked. In fact, better still, is there anywhere you could go for a few days – any friends who could put you up?’

  A fleeting sadness seemed to cross Dempsey’s face. ‘Not really. I don’t have many friends, to be honest.’

  ‘Well, in that case it’s even more important that you stay in touch with us and let us know immediately if you see or hear anything that worries you, okay?’ She passed him her card. ‘You can contact me day or night.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector.’

  Her phone pinged, signalling that her car was outside. ‘Look after yourself, Tom, and stay safe. I’ll keep in touch.’ She moved towards the front door as Dempsey unlocked it.

  ‘I will. I really appreciate you coming here so quickly.’

  Phillips stepped out under the tiny porch, which was struggling against the torrent of rain. ‘No worries. It’s what we’re here for.’ With a brief smile, she ran out to the waiting car.

  29

  Phillips planned to use the journey to Matt Logan’s parent’s home to bring Jones up to speed on last night’s visit to Dempsey’s. She was about to debrief him when her phone pinged, signalling she’d received a text message. She took a moment to read it before sighing loudly and tapping her response. When she was finished, she turned her attention to Jones, waiting patiently.

  ‘Everything ok, Guv?’

  ‘Fine, Jonesy.’

  ‘Really? You sounded a bit annoyed by that message.’

  She exhaled loudly. ‘It was just Marty.’

  ‘Marty Michaels?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Are you guys still in contact, then?’

  ‘On and off. He sometimes comes round for a drink after he’s finished recording his show.’

  Jones looked at her sideways. ‘Just a drink?’

  Phillips looked aghast. ‘God yes. He’s not my type.’

  ‘What, not a midget with a small willy like Brown?’ teased Jones, making Phillips laugh.

  ‘I knew I shouldn’t have told you about that.’

  ‘Sorry, Guv, I couldn’t resist. So what’s Marty done now?’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s nothing really. He promised to take me to see a play at the Lowry on the weekend, but he’s double-booked himself with Rebecca and can’t go. I was really looking forward to it, that’s all.’

  ‘His ex-wife Rebecca?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, can’t you take someone else?’

  ‘Sure, and if I'm honest it’s not really the fact he can’t go. It just pisses me off that it’s me that gets dumped instead of his precious Rebecca.’

  Jones stared at her. ‘Are you sure you don’t have feelings for him, Guv?’

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m sure. It’s just my ego. No-one likes to be second choice, do they? Look, in the grand scheme of things it’s really not important right now. I’ll get over it. Enough about my rubbish social life. Let me tell you about last night.’

  As they continued to Cheadle, Phillips relayed her conversation with Dempsey and shared her views on whether Logan was, or wasn’t, the man he had seen at the back of his house. If truth be told, she couldn’t be sure either way. Entwistle and Bovalino had been despatched earlier that morning to try and track him down and check his whereabouts the previous night. Easier said than done considering his nomadic lifestyle, and she was waiting to hear back from them.

  A short time later, they arrived at the Logan family home, situated on a leafy street on the edge of the suburb; a detached four-bedroom house with large gardens front and back. Two cars sat in the drive, both Volvos.

  Phillips had called ahead to make an appointment, and Mr Logan let them in. He was a tall imposing man with a heavy brow and an austere appearance. He showed them through to the co
nservatory, where his wife, Denise, sat on a wicker chair reading a copy of the Daily Mail. She looked up as they entered. She looked frail and wiry, and it was obvious Matt had inherited his mother’s genes.

  Mr Logan – Peter – made the introductions and all four sat. Jones took out his notepad in preparation.

  After the usual pleasantries, Phillips brought the conversation round to their son. ‘When was the last time you saw Matt?’

  ‘Matthew,’ Denise corrected her.

  ‘Sorry, Matthew.’

  The Logans glanced at each other before Peter took the lead. ‘It’s been a few years. After his last prison sentence, we decided it would be best to try and let him go.’

  ‘Why did you decide that?’

  Denise let out a sad sigh. ‘Because he’s broken our hearts too many times. We really tried to help him, welcoming him back into the family home whenever he was released, but it was no use. He just kept going back to the drugs; stealing from us, from his grandmother. Sometimes even the neighbours. I felt so ashamed.’

  ‘He was a good boy as a child, but once he hit puberty, he became a different person. Moody, withdrawn, secretive. Always angry about something,’ said Peter.

  ‘Was that around the time of this trip to Lourdes?’ Phillips handed him her phone.

  Peter stared down at the image for a moment. He nodded without saying anything, and handed the phone to his wife. She immediately started to cry. ‘My little Matthew.’ She was barely audible.

  Phillips needed to tread carefully. ‘I know this will be difficult for you, but can you tell us about the accusations of abuse Matthew made against Father Donnelly?’

  The Logans looked at each other, as if each was checking the other’s reaction.

  Peter responded. ‘It was a misunderstanding. Long forgotten.’

  Denise remained silent, her eyes fixed on her husband.

  ‘Matthew doesn’t think so,’ said Jones.

  Denise’s gaze turned to Jones. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘We spoke to him earlier this week. He came in to talk to us.’

  Denise appeared incredulous. ‘About what?’

  ‘He’s helping us with our enquiries.’

  Peter took Phillips’s phone from his wife’s hand and scrutinised the image again. ‘Is that Betty Clarke?’

  ‘Yes’ said Phillips.

  ‘Is that what Matthew has been helping you with, her murder inquiry?’

  ‘Yes’

  Denise put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh my God. You don’t think Matthew had anything to do with it, do you?’

  ‘As DS Jones said, he is helping us with our enquiries at the moment.’

  Peter’s tone was suddenly confrontational. ‘Is he under arrest?’ he asked, staring at Phillips hard.

  ‘No, he merely came into the station a couple of days ago to answer a few questions. He went home the same day,’ said Jones.

  Denise seemed surprised. ‘Home? Is he off the streets?’

  ‘A hostel in Cheetham Hill.’ Phillips attempted to steer the conversation back to Logan’s abuse. ‘Matthew told us he was repeatedly raped by Father Donnelly.’

  Peter’s agitation continued to build. ‘Nonsense. Like I said, it was all a misunderstanding. We spoke to Father Donnelly at the time and he explained everything.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘That he had caught Matthew…well…fondling himself on the trip to France. When he told him he was going to inform us, Mathew made the allegations about Father Donnelly.’

  ‘And you believed him?’

  It was Denise’s turn to get agitated now. ‘Of course we did. He was a man of God.’

  ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but I take it you’re both aware of the sheer volume of historical abuse being levelled at members of the Catholic Church now?’ said Jones.

  Peter remained defiant. ‘Father Donnelly was a good man. A kind, warm and caring priest. He married us and baptised Matthew, as well as oversaw his first communion and confirmation. He was practically part of the family. There is no way he would molest Matthew, or anyone else, for that matter.’

  ‘Then can you explain why, almost thirty years on, Matthew still believes he was raped by him?’ said Phillips.

  Peter’s fists clenched in time with his jaw. ‘Matthew was always a little highly strung. As a teenager he went off the rails, he started hanging around with the wrong crowd and got into drugs. He’s been lying every day since. I have no reason to believe anything has changed, Inspector. There was no abuse, no rape and no injustice. We did everything we could for Matthew. It’s the drugs that changed him. Nothing else.’

  Phillips glanced at Jones, whose expression backed up her own thoughts: this conversation had gone as far it could. She gently nodded, which action her partner mimicked.

  ‘Thank you for your time, Mr and Mrs Logan,’ she said. ‘If Matthew does contact you or you can think of anything else we should know, please do get in touch.’

  Peter Logan said nothing as he showed them to the front door, audibly muttering ‘Good day’ as he closed it behind them.

  Back on the road, they stopped to debrief.

  ‘What do you make of that then, Guv?’

  ‘No wonder Matt Logan is so fucked up. Their own kid was potentially raped by the family priest and they won’t hear a word of it. They’re in no doubt at all it was Matt who was lying, not the priest.’

  ‘Like I said in there, the number of historical claims is climbing by the day, worldwide. How can they still be so sure it didn’t happen in their parish to their son?’

  ‘Denial is a powerful thing. I mean, you saw them. It’s the fear of shame. What will the neighbours say? Can you imagine if it had come out that Logan was raped? Rather than it be about their son, it would’ve been about protecting their own reputation.’

  ‘It’s a fucking disgrace, Guv. A young child looks to his mum and dad to protect him, and what do they do? Call him a liar and then make him face his abuser every Sunday.’

  ‘Yeah, a child who may have been driven to murder.’

  ‘Are you leaning back towards Logan then?’

  Phillips kicked the garden wall in front of her in frustration. ‘I don’t know, Jonesy. I mean, he’s clearly unstable. I could understand him wanting to kill Donnelly, but why the others? It doesn’t make sense. Plus, our guy is methodical. Logan is a meth-head.’

  Jones laughed. ‘He certainly doesn’t look like your usual serial killer, does he?’

  ‘No, but then these days, who does?’

  30

  Ricky Murray stopped for coffee despite running thirty minutes late. However, having worked late last night designing one of his client’s websites for a relaunch, he figured he was owed a couple of minutes.

  Margot, the barista at his favoured coffee shop, smiled as he walked through the door. She began to prepare his usual without asking: a skinny latte with a double shot of espresso.

  ‘Can I get a large Frappuccino as well please, Margot, and a couple of those double chocolate muffins too.’ Ricky’s flamboyant delivery matched the brightly coloured outfit grabbing at his short, plump frame.

  While he waited for his order, he chatted to Margot’s business partner and girlfriend, Christina. ‘Anything planned for tonight, Ricky?’

  He giggled. ‘Do Marks and Spencer do a Valentines meal for one?’

  ‘No one special for you today?’

  ‘Just me, Christina, just me. Truth be told, I don’t think there’s a man that can handle this candy.’ Ricky ran his hand across the side of his head for effect. In truth, despite his crippling loneliness, he had major trust issues and was terrified of intimacy. For Ricky, it was far easier to be alone than risk getting hurt. ‘What about you and Margot?’

  ‘A cosy night in with a bottle of wine and a good movie. After a full day in here, we never have the energy to go out.’

  Margot passed him his order before landing a kiss on Christina’s cheek. ‘And why would we? We have everythi
ng we need right here.’

  ‘Ooh, you make me sick the pair of you.’ He smiled, picking up the two coffees. ‘Have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Which to be fair, doesn’t leave much!’ He winked, then headed out the door.

  As he stepped out of the lift on the twelfth floor of the Blue Tower in Media City, he was greeted by the beaming smile of Charlie, Media Mogul’s receptionist and Ricky’s BFF.

  ‘One fresh Frappuccino from Margot’s, and, because it’s Valentines and neither of us have anyone to spoil, a naughty double chocolate muffin for you, and one for moi!’

  Charlie grabbed the muffin and lifted it to her nose. ‘Mmm, you shouldn’t have – but I’m so glad you did.’ She laughed. ‘Anyway, what’s all this about you not having someone to spoil? If that’s the case, who sent you that beautifully wrapped gift on your desk?’

  Ricky looked momentarily shocked. ‘A gift on my desk? Are you sure it’s for me?’

  ‘Has your name on it.’

  Struggling to contain his excitement, Ricky ran to his desk, placing the coffee and muffin down before picking up the parcel and whisking it back to show Charlie.

  ‘Are you gonna open it, then?’

  Ricky moved the box around in his hands, marvelling at the luxurious red paper, then opened the tiny envelope tucked inside a silver satin bow.

  He read the message aloud. ‘“To my very secret Valentine, with eyes and lips that shine, Can’t wait to see you naked – and know you’re mine, all mine.” Cheeky.’

  ‘Any ideas who it’s from?’

  ‘Not a bloody clue. It’s probably just Gary or Jamie having a laugh at my expense. They know how long I’ve been looking for Mr Right.’

  ‘What’s in the box?’

  Rick stared at it. ‘It’s so beautifully wrapped, it’s a shame to open it.’ A split-second later, he was ripping the paper off like a kid on Christmas morning. ‘Oh wow, four luxury dark chocolate truffles – my absolute favourites. Whoever sent them, they really won’t want to see me naked after eating them.’

  Charlie giggled.

  He offered her the box. ‘D’ya want one?’