Deadly Silence

by OMJ Ryan

  Spotting a black rucksack on the floor of the wardrobe, she bent down and opened it. Inside, was a packet of latex gloves, several clear plastic bags, black gaffer tape, a surgeon’s mask – and a hand-sized spray dispenser.

  Phillips’s heart beat fast as adrenaline coursed through her veins. Holy Fuck!

  She had to get out of here fast. Replacing everything carefully, she zipped up the bag and put it back where she’d found it. Desperately trying to control her breathing, she stood back and closed the wardrobe door. As it shut, she came face to face with Dempsey’s reflection in the mirror. He stood in the doorway behind, watching her.

  Their eyes met and a malevolent grin spread across his face. ‘Oh dear, Jane. It looks like you’ve discovered my little secret.’

  He stepped into the room. ‘I suppose it’s time to finish what I started.’

  Phillips’s survival instincts kicked in. She charged at him. The unexpected nature of her attack catching him off guard. Pushing him in the chest, she managed to squeeze past him.

  He reached out and grabbed her by the hair, but her momentum continued to drive her forwards. She cried out as he ripped a chunk of hair from her head. Racing to the top of the stairs, she threw herself down them and, reaching the ground floor, rushed to the front door.

  She turned the knob, but the door was deadlocked. Turning around, she saw Dempsey casually making his way down the stairs, as if wandering down for breakfast.

  ‘It’s no use, Jane. You can’t escape this time.’ His voice was measured and calm.

  Phillips ran into the kitchen and raced towards the back door. Again, it was deadlocked.

  Strolling in behind her, Dempsey stood, watching, in the doorway.

  ‘Jones and Bovalino will be here any minute,’ she said panting.

  ‘No they won’t, Jane.’

  'I’m telling you, they’re on their way. I asked them to meet me here at ten o’clock.’

  Dempsey checked his watch and smiled wickedly, ‘That doesn’t give us much time, does it? We better get cracking.’

  ‘Give yourself up, Dempsey. It’s the only way out of this mess.’

  Dempsey shook his head. ‘Actually, Inspector, my plan is still very much alive, and neither you nor your fellow officers can stop the grand finale. As far as I’m concerned, that is the only way out for me.’

  He took a few steps closer.

  Phillips grabbed a saucepan from the drying rack, causing Dempsey to chuckle.

  ‘Oh come on, Jane. Don’t be silly.’

  She swung the pan over her shoulder, ready to strike. ‘Get back,’ she warned him, but he kept coming closer until he was only a few feet away.

  He lifted an outstretched arm. ‘Give me it, Jane.’

  Phillips swung the pan, aiming for his head. Dempsey ducked like a pro boxer. Then, springing upwards, he rammed the top of his head into her already broken nose. The pain was agonising. Head spinning, she knew she was no match for him. In an instant he had her on the ground, landing hard on top of her. Before she could catch her breath, his arms and legs were wrapped around her and her throat once more locked inside the vice-like grip of his bicep. He squeezed hard and she could feel her neck being crushed. Slowly, Dempsey moved onto his knees with Phillips still locked in his grip. Soon he was up onto his feet, dragging her by the neck into the hallway and towards the lounge room.

  Just then, the doorbell rang. If it was Jones and Bovalino, they were early.

  Dempsey clasped his hand over Phillips’s mouth. ‘Quiet,’ he whispered.

  After a long pause, the bell rang again, followed by a loud banging on the door. Then Phillips’s phone began to ring loudly in her pocket. A second later, the letterbox shoved open and Jones’s South London drawl rang out.

  ‘Guv? Are you in there?’ For a moment, nothing happened, then she heard Jones order Bovalino to kick the door in.

  When Bov’s boot hit the door, Dempsey released Phillips and pushed her towards the front door. She turned to follow him, but a heavy kick to her stomach dropped her to knees. Winded, she rolled on the floor, gasping for air, as the sound of the front door being repeatedly kicked echoed down the hallway.

  Dempsey ran through to the kitchen. He fumbled with his keys and eventually unlocked the back door and rushed into the yard. Phillips lifted her head to see him burst through the gate and into the alley behind.

  The front door finally caved and Bovalino rushed in, followed by Jones.

  ‘Dempsey’s the killer!’ she managed to say, pointing towards the back gate.

  Jones and Bovalino didn’t hesitate. Rushing past her, they sprinted down the hallway, through the kitchen and into the yard. A moment later, they had disappeared down the alleyway.

  51

  By the time Jones and Bovalino returned, Phillips was finishing up a call with Brown.

  ‘Yes sir. We’ll wait for you here.’

  Bovalino was out of breath, his dark hair thick with sweat. ‘We lost him, Guv. It’s a maze of alleys and lanes back there.’

  ‘He probably had an escape route planned,’ Phillips replied.

  ‘What did Brown say?’ asked Jones.

  ‘He reckons Logan is on the verge of confessing to all four murders, so this is a bit of a curveball for him.’

  Jones looked incredulous. ‘A curveball? Surely even he wants the right man, not just any man?’

  ‘He will once he figures out how to spin it to his advantage. From the way he was talking on the call, I think he’s already told Fox that Logan’s ready to confess. You know what she’s like; she’s probably already fed that up the chain to the Chief Constable.’

  A knowing smile appeared on Jones’s face. ‘Which could make them both look bad to the top brass if Dempsey is our guy.’

  Bovalino winked. ‘That won’t help his chances of promotion.’

  ‘And that’s not good for any of us.’ Phillips sighed. ‘At least promotion gets him out of the squad.’

  Jones chuckled. ‘Maybe we should just let Matt Logan confess then, Guv?’

  Phillips laughed. ‘Tempting, I grant you.’

  ‘What happens now?’ said Bovalino.

  ‘Brown has suspended the interview with Logan. He and Entwistle are heading over here now. He wants to see the evidence for himself.’

  ‘And to ensure he’s at the centre of catching Dempsey.’

  ‘Exactly, Jonesy. Right, let’s see if we can figure out what Dempsey plans to do next.’

  ‘Surely he’ll try and run, Guv,’ said Bovalino.

  ‘I don’t think so, Bov. He was adamant his grand finale was still to come.’

  Jones appeared confused. ‘What the hell did he mean by that?’

  ‘I don’t know, but we better find out, and fast.’

  Jones handed out latex gloves as Phillips pulled out her phone. ‘Time to call Entwistle and sort out a search warrant for this place.’

  While they waited for clearance, Phillips brought the guys up to speed on Dempsey’s claim that Maguire was the seventh person on the Lourdes trip, and involved in helping Donnelly molest Logan.

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  Phillips shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to believe. I have to admit, I never suspected meek and mild Thomas Dempsey could be the killer. He was very convincing.’

  Bovalino scratched his head. ‘I don’t get it. Uniform have been checking on him every night.’

  ‘True, but they were only checking to see if he was safe. They weren’t checking to see if he actually stayed in the house when they weren’t around.’

  Jones nodded. ‘They checked him the same time every night between 8 and 9 p.m. After we put the detail on him, both attacks happened either side of that. Ricky at 4 p.m., and you in the early hours of the morning. Clever bugger. He faked his own attack to create the perfect alibi for himself – the police.’

  Phillips’s phone rang. It was Entwistle, telling her the warrant had been approved, and that he and Brown were en route to the house.
r />   She gathered the team in Dempsey’s bedroom. ‘Right, let’s get started in here.’

  Pulling the black bag out of the wardrobe, she passed it to Jones, who carefully emptied the contents onto Dempsey’s bed and started bagging them. Seeing the surgeon’s mask, cable ties and the rest of his paraphernalia laid out in front her sent a shiver down her spine. She had come very close to being victim number five.

  Meanwhile, Bovalino was attempting to log on to Dempsey’s laptop, but struggled to get beyond the password.

  Phillips wandered over to help the huge man, hunched over the desk. ‘You locked out?’ she asked.

  He turned to face her with a scowl. ‘I bloody hate technology, Guv.’

  ‘Yeah, but Entwistle loves it. Give him a call and see what he can do to help.’

  Over the phone, Entwistle walked Bovalino through how to connect his mobile to the laptop in a way that had allowed him to download Special Branch technology and gain remote access. Keying in a code that appeared on his phone, he bypassed the password and logged straight in to Dempsey’s laptop. As the home screen opened in front of him, Bovalino grinned like a Cheshire Cat. ‘I bloody love technology.’

  Phillips tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Take a look and see if there’s any digital forensics that can prove he’s our guy. The murder kit is one thing, but without his DNA at the crime scenes, a decent lawyer will rip that to shreds. Especially considering I found it without a warrant.’

  With Phillips standing behind him, Bovalino opened the hard drive and began scrolling through various folders within the system whilst Jones continued examining the wardrobe and bagging any evidence.

  Phillips spotted something. ‘Go back to the last screen,’ she said.

  Bovalino obliged.

  ‘There, that folder marked “SP Photos”. Open that.’

  Clicking on the folder, myriad thumbnail images of residential houses appeared. Bovalino began clicking through the photos. ‘Jesus, that’s outside the front of Susan Gillespie’s. That one is McNulty’s and that’s Clarke’s.’

  Each was timestamped approximately two weeks prior to the date of each murder. Bovalino continued scrolling until an image popped up that made Phillips’s blood run cold; the back of her own home, dated within the last week.

  ‘The bastard was in my garden taking pictures and I never saw him. How the hell did he get over the wall without triggering the security lights?’

  ‘This guy is something special, that’s for sure,’ said Bovalino.

  At that moment, Jones walked over and presented Phillips with a Cheetham Hill Hostel name badge. ‘Check this out, Guv.’

  Phillips examined the badge. On it, she read the name: Trevor. ‘Logan said the guy who gave him the cigarettes was either called Kevin, Nigel or Trevor. I guess it was Trevor.’

  ‘All Dempsey needed was access to Logan’s ashtray to pull out the butt we found in your garden,’ said Jones.

  Phillips passed the badge back. ‘He didn’t stand a chance against this guy, did he?’

  ‘Jackpot!’ said Bovalino loudly.

  Phillips turned back to the laptop. ‘What it is, Bov?’

  ‘This is Dempsey’s browser history from the two weeks leading up to the first murder, Entwistle told me how to access it. If I use this filter, it brings up the most frequently searched words…’ Bovalino pressed the return key. ‘Well, look at that.’

  Phillips read from the screen. ‘Catholic Church abuse, historical Catholic abuse, surveillance techniques, special forces methods, police protocols, chemical compounds, human sedation, animal sedation, airborne sedatives, DNA testing, trace DNA, forensics, amateur forensics, how to beat forensics, surgical equipment…bloody hell.’

  ‘This guy’s crazy, Guv,’ said Bovalino.

  ‘And look what else I’ve just found in the wardrobe.’ Jones passed Phillips the original list of parishioner names stolen from St Patrick’s, complete with full addresses, phone numbers and, in some cases, emails. ‘Look: Gillespie, McNulty, Clarke and Murray have all been circled. This is his murder list, Guv.’

  Phillips looked down at the names and once again zoned out, allowing her thoughts to crystallise.

  Jones smiled. ‘She’s got the look, Bov.’

  Bovalino turned away from the laptop and watched, waiting for her to come back to them. A moment later, oblivious to their comments, she began summarising what they had.

  ‘Here’s what we know: Dempsey is smart, meticulous and determined. He’s managed to create and deliver a chemical compound capable of incapacitating his victims, and to all intents and purposes, he’s self-taught. He’s mastered surveillance and understands forensic techniques well enough to commit his crimes undetected. He’s killed four people that we know of and attempted a fifth. Aside from me, the victims are all connected to the trip to Lourdes and, in his own words, he has a grand finale planned. Based on the crime scenes and victims so far, he’s big on rituals and symbolism. Each killing was drama personified, each body staged, so the grand finale would need to be suitably extravagant to live up to its billing. So, what is it, guys? How’s Dempsey going to finish it all?’

  Jones picked up the list of parishioners and began scanning the names for anything they might have missed. Phillips turned back to Bovalino and asked him to open up the oldest image in the stack. She tapped the screen with her gloved finger, ‘What do you reckon that is, then?’

  Bovalino scrutinised the photo a few moments. ‘It’s taken from pretty far away, but if I had to put money on it, I’d say it looks like a church service.’

  Phillips pointed at the remaining thumbnails on the screen. ‘Keep going. There’s a bunch of them.’

  The big man flicked through the photos one at a time, stopping at one taken from a nearer position. ‘It’s a funeral service. Look, you can see the hearse in the background.’

  ‘When was St Patrick’s broken into?’ asked Phillips

  Jones pulled out his notepad and flipped through the pages. ‘Sunday the 13th of January.’

  ‘These photos were taken the week before that. You can see from the timestamp on the screen.’

  ‘So?’ said Jones.

  ‘So, Father Donnelly’s funeral was around that time. And if you look at the sequence of pictures, look who attended this particular funeral.’

  Jones stared at the screen. ‘Gillespie, McNulty, Clarke, Murray – and it looks like Maguire, all dressed up.’

  ‘He must have conducted the mass,’ mused Phillips.

  ‘Could Donnelly’s funeral be the link?’ asked Bovalino.

  Phillips stared at the screen, trying to piece it all together. ‘Noel Gillespie told us he was at that same funeral, but there’s no shots of him or anyone else, for that matter, in Dempsey’s photos. Just those five people.’

  Jones glanced back at the parishioners list. ‘It’s the church, Guv. Look here.’ He turned the list to Phillips. ‘Each one of the victim’s names is circled on here. The only other name circled is St Patrick’s at the top.’ He frowned. ‘Is he’s going to do something to the church? Set it on fire, perhaps? That would be a pretty grand finale.’

  Phillips wasn’t convinced. All of the murders had been up close and personal so far. The church was inanimate, bricks and mortar. No; it had to be something else, someone else. Then it came to her. She focused back on the images on the laptop. ‘Who is the only person in all these photos who’s still alive and we believe was on the Lourdes trip, besides Dempsey?’

  Jones peered at the screen. ‘Father Maguire.’ He turned and stared at Phillips. ‘Shit, Guv, Maguire is his grand finale. He’s the final kill.’

  Phillips was already on her way out of the room. ‘And we’ve got to get to him before Dempsey does.’

  Bovalino reached for his phone. ‘Jonesy, you go with the guv. I’ll call uniform and get them to secure the house. I’ll follow on once they arrive.’

  As Phillips and Jones rushed out, they were greeted by an unhappy DCI Brown walking briskly up t
he path.

  ‘This had better be good, Inspector?’ he said in a clipped tone.

  Phillips strode towards the little man. ‘Can’t stop now, sir. We think we know who Dempsey’s last victim will be.’

  Brown looked incredulous. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I’ll explain later,’ Phillips shouted, running towards her car with Jones alongside her.

  Brown spun around and followed her. ‘You’ll explain now,’ he demanded.

  Phillips reached her car and turned to face him. ‘Sir, we’re running out of time. If you want to know what’s going on, come with us. I can brief you in the car.’

  ‘I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you, Inspector. That’s an order.’

  Phillips held the driver’s door open, one foot already in the car. ‘A man’s life is at stake. If Dempsey gets there before us, his death will be on us. Sorry, but with respect, sir – fuck your orders.’

  She jumped in the car, followed by Jones, and gunned the engine. A moment later, tyres screeching, they sped away towards St Patricks Church.

  52

  It had been an unusually busy morning for Father Maguire, with a continuous flow of parishioners filing through for confessions since 10 a.m. He was feeling the weight of unburdening so many sins in such a short space of time and was looking forward to a sandwich at lunchtime. He’d forgotten to put on his watch but was sure it was almost midday and the end of confession. It had been five minutes since anyone had entered the confessional, and it looked like he had no more sins to hear.

  He stepped out and checked the clock at the back of the church. It was 11.53 a.m. Excellent. The vast space was empty and blissfully quiet, with just one solitary soul kneeling in prayer a couple of pews away. Maguire watched a moment, then, walking over to him, placed his hand gently on the man’s shoulder.

  ‘Are you here for confession?’

  The man looked up with sad, dark eyes, and nodded.

  Maguire produced a warm smile. ‘You’re my last of the day. Join me when you’re ready.’ He turned around and took his place in the confessional once more. A minute passed, then the door opened on the other side of the screen and the man knelt down, the silhouette of his large frame visible through the mesh.