Deadly Silence

by OMJ Ryan

  ‘How’s your work?’ he asked, seeming genuinely interested, for a change.

  Phillips shrugged. ‘My career is going in the complete opposite direction to yours.’

  ‘Why? What’s going on?’

  ‘Coppers have long memories, Marty, which means I’m still taking flack for helping you.’

  ‘But I thought all was forgotten and everything was back to normal now? It’s been six months, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Yep, it has. Six months of shitty remarks behind my back. People calling me a bent copper. Me? I’m not sure I’ll ever get back to DCI; and to top it all, I’m working for someone with the policing ability of Inspector Clouseau. Plus, an ego that’s even bigger than yours – if you can believe that.’

  Marty said nothing for a moment. Then a smile crept over his face. ‘Wow. Has he really got an ego bigger than mine?’

  Phillips laughed. ‘Sorry Marty, I didn’t mean that.’

  ‘Yes you did, and honestly, I don’t mind. Therapy has taught me to appreciate my ego rather than suppress it. It’s kept me at the top of my game for over twenty years, so it can’t be all that bad, can it?’

  ‘Good point.’

  ‘But seriously, Jane, I’m worried about you. You look like you’re suffering.’

  She took another mouthful of wine. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘“Fine with wine” more like it,’ he quipped.

  On the couch, Phillips pulled her knees close to her chest like an awkward teenager. ‘Oh, please don’t start on my drinking again.’

  Marty moved towards the edge of the armchair. ‘Look Jane, I get it. I really do. I buried myself in whiskey for years after Dad and David died. And when Rebecca left me, well, I virtually lived on the stuff. But it can’t fix you in here.’ He pointed to his heart. ‘Or in here,’ he added tapping his temple.

  Phillips avoided his gaze and stared into her glass. There was a long moment of silence.

  ‘Are you at least seeing the therapist from work?’ Marty asked after a while.

  Phillips buried her head behind her knees so her words were slightly muffled. ‘I’ve been a couple of times, but work is crazy busy at the minute.’

  ‘And what does she think?’

  Phillips lifted her head. ‘She thinks that after what happened, I’ll have issues with PTSD for the rest of my life, but that it’s manageable.’

  ‘And what do you think?’ Marty’s voice was soft and reassuring.

  For a moment, Phillips wondered if he was using one of his well-honed interview techniques.

  ‘What do I think? I think I’m a copper with a very stressful job. Some days I’m fine, while others I’m not. Sometimes I feel like I did on that horrific night in that house, a gun pointing at my head – trapped, terrified and powerless.’ She forced a smile as she fought back the tears.

  ‘The drinking won’t help long term, Jane, I promise you that.’

  ‘No, but it’s helping me now.’ She jumped from the sofa and headed into the kitchen, a moment later returning with a replenished glass in hand.

  Marty let out a sigh then stood up. ‘That looks like my cue to leave.’

  Phillips placed the wine on the coffee table in the middle of the room. ‘Probably best.’

  He leant in and kissed her gently on the cheek. ‘Please take it easy, Jane, that’s all I’m asking. I really do care about you, you know.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She swatted away a tear from her cheek, then forced a smile. ‘Come on, I’ll show you out.’

  When they reached the door, Marty zipped up his anorak and pulled on his leather gloves.

  ‘I meant to ask, how’s things with Becky?’

  Marty scoffed lightly. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. Sean’s agreed to the divorce at least, so that’s something.’

  ‘Which leaves the door open for you again, right?’

  ‘Theoretically. But does she really want to take me back after everything that’s gone on?’

  ‘You don’t know until you ask.’

  Marty flashed a knowing smile. ‘True. But what if she said no? I don’t think I could bear to lose her twice. At least, as things stand, I can live in hope it could happen one day, and hope is a powerful thing. If I knew for certain it couldn’t, it’d break my heart.’

  Phillips patted him gently on the chest. ‘I used to work with a great copper from Newcastle called DCI Campbell. He always used to say: “Shy bairns get nowt.”’

  Marty looked confused. ‘And what the hell does that mean?’

  ‘Quiet children get nothing…and the loud ones get everything. If she doesn’t know you want her back, how can you ever get her back, Marty?’

  ‘Sounds like a smart man, that Campbell.’

  ‘Yeah, he was. You could do a lot worse than follow his advice.’

  Marty smiled. ‘Only if you at least think about following mine.’

  ‘I’ll think about it, Marty. I promise.’

  ‘Well, I can’t ask for any more than that, can I?’ He leaned forwards and hugged her tightly. ‘Look after yourself, Jane,’ he whispered in her ear.

  She held his hug for a long moment. ‘I will,’ she replied before pulling back the door for him. ‘Now bugger off and let me get some sleep, will you?’

  Marty stepped out onto the front step, then pressed the key fob to his car, causing the lights to flash on his enormous SUV parked out on the street. He turned. ‘Sleep well, Jane.’

  She nodded. ‘Goodnight, Marty,’ she said, closing the door and locking it behind him.

  The next moment, the cat appeared at her feet, snaking between her legs. She checked her watch. ‘Look at that, it’s only eleven-thirty, Floss. Fancy a nightcap? One more won’t hurt.’

  42

  Phillips woke with a start as Floss jumped from her lap with a meow. Dé jà vu, she thought to herself, rubbing her eyes.

  Rousing herself, she stood up slowly from the couch to see that the timer light connected to the free-standing lamp in the corner of the room had switched itself off. As had the TV, indicating she’d been asleep for some time. Stepping into the darkened kitchen, she spied the digital clock on the cooker. It read 3.08 a.m.

  ‘Not again,’ she muttered.

  Opening the fridge, the room around her illuminated as she pulled out a carton of fresh orange juice and gulped it down loudly, attempting to quench her raging thirst.

  ‘Floss?’ she called between gulps. ‘Flossy…?’

  Taking one final mouthful of juice, she replaced it on the shelf and closed the fridge door, plunging the room back into darkness. As she flicked on the main kitchen light, she noticed cold air running across her bare feet. Her eyes swivelled to the backdoor to see that it was slightly ajar.

  ‘That’s odd?’ She stepped closer to get a better look. ‘I’m sure that was locked.’

  She reached out and grabbed the door handle. It was wet from the rain that had blown in through the gap, indicating that it had been open for some time.

  A sudden noise from behind startled her, causing her to jump. She spun around to see a meowing Floss. ‘Jesus, don’t creep up on people!’ She bent down to stroke the cat. ‘You almost gave me a bloody heart attack.’

  She locked the back door, then switched on the security lights at the rear of the house and looked out into the garden. She must have opened it for Floss when she returned from the pub and forgotten to close it. ‘Too much wine is making you ditsy, Jane.’ She flicked off the lights again. ‘Not a great combination.’

  Floss had her nose in her bowl again as Phillips walked back into the kitchen, conscious of the two empty wine bottles on the kitchen bench. Marty was right – her drinking was getting out of hand. At that moment, the remorse was almost crippling. ‘Gotta start looking after yourself, Jane. Because if you don’t, it’s a slippery slope.’

  Casting the empties into the recycling bin, she pulled a tumbler from the kitchen cabinet and filled it from the cold tap. ’Come on, Floss, time for bed.’

  She
switched off the kitchen light and walked into the hall. Cold air now came from the front door, which was also ajar. ‘What the hell?’

  She placed her glass of water on the window ledge and flicked on the hall light. Nothing happened. Her heart pounding, she switched on her phone and, using the screen as a torch, shone it up at the light fitting to see that the bulb had been removed.

  Panic clawed at every fibre of her being. She needed to take action but was frozen to the spot, fear paralysing her. A cold sweat trickled down her back as she fumbled with her phone and opened up the contacts page. ‘Please be there, Jonesy,’ she whispered into the darkness.

  ‘There’s no need for that, Jane,’ said a deep male voice from behind her.

  Phillips spun round. A large man stood in the darkness of the kitchen, his sweater hood up and some kind of mask across his face. His right hand gripped something by his side.

  She froze for a moment and stared at him. Her heart was now pounding so fast she thought it might explode. Then her instincts kicked in. Breaking free from her paralysis, she threw herself towards the only possible exit, the unlocked front door. Her attacker must have guessed her plan, for he was on her in an instant. He rammed his fist into the back of her head, She stumbled forwards, hit her face on the heavy wooden door and fell to the floor. Blood poured from her nose as he knelt and grabbed her from behind, expertly hooking his left bicep around her throat and squeezing tightly.

  His right hand holding a spray dispenser came into view. She knew immediately what it was and used every ounce of her strength to punch it from his grasp. It landed on the floor and rolled down the hall.

  He loosened his grip momentarily, allowing her room to move her head, and she attempted to catch sight of the man standing above her. But in the darkness of the hallway, she couldn’t make him out. Strangely, she was acutely aware of the scent he was wearing, Gucci Guilty. It was Marty’s favourite.

  Her attacker decided against retrieving the dispenser. Instead, he rolled onto his back like a cage fighter and pulled Phillips on top of him, his legs wrapped tightly around her middle. The more she fought, the tighter his grip became until finally she couldn’t move an inch.

  ‘Let it happen,’ he whispered softly in her ear as his arm pressed hard against her neck. She tried to place his voice but the pressure on her temples was overwhelming and spots began to dance across her vision.

  Trapped on the floor of her own hallway, she had never imagined this would be how she would die.

  ‘Let it happen,’ her attacker repeated. ‘Let it happen.’

  Phillips clawed at his thick arm, her feet kicking out in all directions. Opening her mouth, she managed a faint scream.

  ‘Sshhhh.’ He clasped his hand over her mouth and gripped her tighter.

  She writhed underneath him, forcing him to adjust his grip over her mouth. It was all she needed. Opening her jaw wide, she clamped her teeth down on his index finger. He screamed out and loosened his grip, enough for her to ram her elbow into his crotch. Crying out, he let go of her.

  Phillips didn’t hesitate this time. She dragged herself to her feet and ran into kitchen. At the counter, she grabbed the biggest blade from the knife block and turned, ready to face her assailant again.

  From her position, she couldn’t see the front door, only the darkness at the end of the long hallway. She wheezed loudly, trying desperately to get air through her damaged throat. Her blood pounded in her ears.

  A minute passed and she remained glued to her spot in the kitchen, knife in hand, staring at the blackness of the hallway. Where is he?

  Finally, with no sign of him, she inched forwards and peered into the hallway. At the end, the front door was wide open and rain was blowing in from outside. Tentatively she moved down the hallway, knife ready. When she made it to the doorway, she stared out into the night to see her front gate banging in the wind. He was gone.

  Overwhelmed with relief, she leant back against the wall and slid down it, the effects of her injuries causing her to pass out before she hit the floor.

  43

  Jones woke to the sound of his phone vibrating on the bedside cabinet. Next to him, his wife remained fast asleep. He picked up the phone. Bov’s ID flashed up. It was 4.27 a.m., so it had to be urgent.

  ‘What’s up, Bov?’ he whispered as he got out of bed and headed into the en suite bathroom. Switching on the light, he caught sight of his puffy red face in the mirror, his hair pointing in all directions.

  ‘It’s the guv. Someone just tried to kill her.’

  His eyes widened in disbelief. ‘What the fuck? Where?’

  ‘Her house. Two hours ago. Uniform are with her now. She’s in bad shape and can hardly speak. She had to use a silent 999 call to alert the operator.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Jones ran a hand through his hair. ‘How did you hear about it?’

  ‘My mate Hendricks from uniform was first on scene and called me.’

  ‘Right. Look, I’ll meet you at hers ASAP.’

  ‘No point. According to Hendricks, they’re just about to load her into an ambulance. She needs an MRI.’

  ‘It’s that bad?’

  ‘Dunno at this stage, Jonesy. Probably standard procedure. I’m only ten minutes out, so I’ll let you know when I get there.’

  ‘Good man. I’ll be with you in twenty.’

  Jones ended the call. Scooping yesterday’s clothes up in his arms, he tiptoed out the bedroom and downstairs, trying his best not to wake his wife, and hurried to get dressed.

  Thirty minutes later, Jones pulled into the car park of the Manchester Royal Infirmary. Traffic had been light, but still busy for 5 a.m., and the heavy rain hadn’t helped.

  Dumping his car in a parking bay reserved for uniformed police vehicles outside the A&E department, he rushed through reception, following directions from Bovalino’s text message, and headed towards a treatment room at the end of a long corridor.

  Inside, he spotted his partner’s large frame step out through the curtains of one of the cubicles. ‘Bov…’

  Bovalino turned towards him, his huge shoulders sagging. ‘Who would do this to the guv?’ He nodded towards the curtain. ‘Fucking animal, Jonesy.’

  Jones swallowed hard and stepped through, coming face to face with Phillips. She lay on the bed, which was set at a forty-five-degree angle, her eyes closed but already blackening from a broken nose, which was hidden under an oxygen mask. Her neck was a mixture of purple and dark red bruises.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Guv,’ he whispered, stepping in close enough to hold her hand.

  Phillips’s opened her eyes and smiled at him weakly.

  Jones leaned forwards. ‘We’re going to get this bastard, Guv,’ he said as Bovalino joined him.

  Phillips nodded slowly, then closed her eyes again.

  ‘Too fucking right, we are,’ Bovalino said through gritted teeth. ‘And when we do, I’m going to tear his arms off and feed them to him.’

  Phillips didn’t react, her eyes remaining closed.

  Jones watched her a few moments. Then, with a heavy heart, he gestured for Bovalino to follow him out of the cubicle. Stepping out of earshot, he whispered, ‘Do we think this is the same guy as the Cheadle murders?’

  Bovalino shrugged. ‘Not sure. She’s been out of it since I got here. Hendricks said she could hardly speak when they arrived at the house, but he was sure she was trying to say “Guilty Marty”, over and over.’

  ‘Guilty Marty. What the hell does that mean?’

  ‘The only Marty I can think of is Marty Michaels. Could she be talking about him?’

  Jones shook his head. ‘I doubt it. I’m not his biggest fan, but I can’t see Marty doing something like this to the guv. Not after what they went through together. No, it can’t be him. They’re friends. She was just talking about him the other day.’

  At that moment, a wiry, young male doctor arrived and introduced himself as Dr Henry. Jones and Bovalino shared their own credentials.

  �
��How’s she looking, doctor?’ Jones asked.

  Doctor Henry glanced at the chart in his hand before answering. ‘Well, she can breathe on her own, which was our main concern when she was admitted. However, we will need to do more tests to ensure there’s no serious internal damage to her throat and larynx. They took the brunt of the trauma. We’ll also X-ray her skull. She’s suffered a broken nose and we need to make sure there’s no fracture to the skull or serious damage to her cheekbones, which can cause all manner of complications. And, of course, there’s the psychological trauma. She’s been through a horrific ordeal. We’ll be admitting her for the remainder of the tests, and keep her under observation for a couple of days.’

  Jones let out a sigh of relief. ‘Good. I was hoping you were going to say that. Knowing the guv, she’d discharge herself at eight o’clock this morning and head into the office.’

  ‘No chance of that. The pain relief we’ve administered is very strong. She won’t be going anywhere without the use of a trolley and a porter for some time.’

  ‘Because of the nature of the attack, we’ll station a couple of uniformed officers to guard her twenty-four-seven,’ Jones informed the doctor.

  Henry’s expression suggested he wasn’t a fan of the plan. ‘The hospital is quite secure, Sergeant. I’m sure that won’t be necessary.’

  Jones stepped closer, his expression grave. ‘A Detective Inspector in the Greater Manchester Police has been attacked in her own home by someone we suspect could be involved in a series of violent crimes. None of the previous victims have survived, meaning DI Phillips is our only living witness. We intend to protect her. First, from any potential follow-up attack, and second, from the press, who will swarm round your hospital likes flies on shit once this gets out. So, she’ll need a private room, and two officers will stand guard at all times. Are we clear on that, doctor?’

  Dr Henry held Jones’s gaze before glancing at Bovalino, who was standing directly behind his partner. He forced a smile, his bleached white teeth gleaming under the fluorescent lights of the A&E. ‘As you wish. We’ll see to it right away.’ With a curt nod, he left the room.