The Silent Children: A serial-killer thriller with a twist

by Carol Wyer

  ‘I’m sorry for Ella but there are lots of people who manage with disfigurements far worse than hers. I can’t stand by knowing you’ve stolen from somebody and duped others to be part of your plan. I’m sorry, Liam. I have to report it.’

  ‘But I’ll go to jail. What about Ella and Astra?’

  ‘I doubt they’d be found guilty of anything. They’re not party to this. You ought to take responsibility for the entire unfortunate incident. Confess and say no one else other than you knew that ticket was stolen. That way, you won’t be involving the others you hoodwinked.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. I can’t leave Ella alone.’

  His face changes, lines crease his forehead and suddenly he seems so much older than his years. ‘Of course you can,’ he says. ‘She’ll be fine.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. She needs me. She can’t live without me. I look after her.’

  ‘She’ll get help – she has us – and I’m sure she’ll find a job to see her through.’

  ‘I don’t mean look after her in that way,’ I yell. ‘I help her when she has the nightmares and is shaking and crying with fear. It’s me she turns to when she can’t get out of bed for fear he’ll find her.’ Of course, I’m lying. She doesn’t get the nightmares any more. They stopped years ago but I’m not thinking clearly – desperate for Henry to suddenly see sense, tell me it’s okay and he won’t report me – and words tumble without me having any control over them.

  He sighs. ‘A doctor will be able to help her. She needs professional help. With treatment she’ll get over the attack, Liam. She’s stronger than you think. The knife attack was random. That person won’t be looking for her.’

  ‘I’m not talking about the knife attack. I mean Johnny Hounslow. She still has nightmares about killing him. She sees him in her nightmares, coming back for revenge.’ My mouth falls open. What have I said? Henry blinks slowly like a reptile. His face closes.

  Sixty-Six

  DAY TEN – THURSDAY, 23 FEBRUARY, NIGHT

  * * *

  Robyn’s eyes were squeezed shut. Mitz hadn’t spoken since they’d set off together, him behind the wheel, face set tightly. She’d had no need to justify her decision not to tell him about Anna’s disappearance. He’d been a policeman long enough to understand how the system worked. His priority had been to search Liam Carrington’s premises, but with Ella and Liam in custody, both he and Robyn had joined the hunt for Anna.

  It was half past eleven and they ought to have felt exhausted but both were completely fixated on finding Anna. The roads were eerily empty of traffic, the world filled with dark shapes and shadows broken only by the beam from their headlights as it swept along the roads, the constant roar of their car engine the soundtrack to a silent movie.

  Robyn replayed the conversations she’d had with Naomi Povey, searching for a clue as to her whereabouts. The woman hadn’t known about the lottery money. Had she been angry with Jenkinson when he finally showed up or had she forced Anna into accompanying her to wherever he was hiding? Mitz’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘I really care about her, you know?’

  Robyn looked across at his face, worn out from the horrendously long day but still handsome even with a dark five o’clock shadow. ‘I know. She feels the same.’

  Robyn could see the worry etched across his forehead and she cared too much about him to hide that knowledge from him.

  He didn’t reply but his face softened a little. Robyn returned to her musings. Anna had been in her car, possibly on the phone to David, when something caught her eye. She’d opened the car door. At some point, she’d dropped her phone. Anna had skilled reflexes and was trained to protect herself. It was unlikely she’d have been attacked, and if she were, she’d have fought tooth and nail. Besides, Robyn and David had hunted for signs of a struggle, blood splashes and torn clothing, and found nothing outside Naomi’s house. Could Naomi have used a firearm to threaten Anna? A flicker of something made Robyn sit up. The main beam swung to the left, illuminating a verge and startling a rabbit, eyes caught in the spotlight, whiskers twitching in fear. The beam trained back onto the road, the rabbit now behind them.

  Open fields gave way to high hedges and coal-black tree trunks with branches like black coral overhanging the lane. Roger might have raced off to the Peak District to hide out there. He knew the area very well and would be familiar with remote areas where he could remain hidden for days. Naomi, on the other hand, hated the outdoors. She’d have gone somewhere she felt safe. Where might that be? Firearms. Roger Jenkinson and Naomi Povey shared a love of shooting and had both spent many hours at the shooting club at Bramshall. She stabbed at her smartphone, hunting for information on the club, and scrolled through the pages on events, gift vouchers, corporate events and parties, then drew a sharp breath. The club offered cottages for hen and stag parties.

  ‘Mitz. Head towards the shooting club – Bramshall Leisure.’ She put a call in to David to meet them there and closed her eyes again. This time she prayed with all her strength she was right, and they weren’t too late.

  * * *

  The sign to the club was at the start of a single-track road and blocked by a locked, five-bar wooden gate, a code panel to the side.

  ‘We’ll walk it,’ said Robyn. ‘The car will only alert them to our arrival if they’re here. Put in a call to the station, tell them where we are and get them to alert the owners of our presence. Ask them for the entry code though. Give it ten minutes, and then follow me. If you’ve got the code by then, bring the car. I’m going on ahead.’ Placing a foot on the lower bar of the gate, she jumped over with ease and ran light-footed up the track, guided only by the beam from her torch.

  The skies were clear and a half-moon aided her navigation. She could see the roof of a large building – the clubhouse – and raced towards it. The area was vast, some seventy acres, she’d read. She pushed away thoughts of how insurmountable a search it might be.

  She left the track, dropped down a grassy bank and approached the clubhouse from the rear. Pressing her face against a glass window, she made out items for sale in a shop – protective clothing, skeet vests and high-vis jackets were hanging closest to the window. The shop would be alarmed. Little chance Naomi was in there.

  She skimmed the side of the building looking for any signs of entry. There was nothing. The car park in front of the building was empty. She slipped away along a path marked ‘Cottage One’, desperate for more luck. Around her was stillness broken by the occasional sounds of the night – an occasional rustling in the undergrowth, a distant bark of a farm dog or fox – each noise bringing her to a halt. From somewhere behind her came the quiet purring of an engine. Mitz was en route to the clubhouse, creeping along the track, headlights off. She turned, signalled him briefly with the beam of her torch so he would know which direction she’d taken.

  The wide path meandered past shooting ranges bounded by wooden railings and soon opened out to a monochrome world, a patchwork of dark and light fields and thick dark copses of woods. Below her, a body of water glistened in the silvery light of the moon, and set beside it was a stone cottage. Robyn’s eyes, now accustomed to the dark of the night, spotted a sliver of dull orange glow that escaped a crack in drawn curtains. Somebody was inside the cottage. She left the path to take a more direct route. She moved gracefully, her many years of exercise paying dividends as she leapt down the hillside as surefootedly as a mountain goat, her breathing controlled, senses on high alert. She let out a silent breath and crouched down in the damp grass, getting a feel of the place and working out how best to handle the situation.

  A light scrabbling alerted her to Mitz making his way towards her.

  ‘Here,’ she hissed.

  He dropped down on his haunches beside her and handed over a pair of night-vision goggles.

  ‘See, that’s why I love having you on my team,’ she quipped. ‘You think of everything.’

  ‘That’s Anna’s car,’ whispered
Mitz. ‘Over there on the far side.’

  ‘We should wait for backup. We’ll be able to handle it better with more men. Radio in and confirm her location and request assistance. And Mitz, don’t worry. We’ll get her out.’

  Mitz was picking his way back to the squad car when the cottage’s front door suddenly flew open with a clatter that made him turn back, and a figure dashed out of the house, arms pumping as it made its escape.

  Both he and Robyn sprinted from their positions towards the fleeing individual who stumbled in the darkness, fell to their knees, and then pushed back up and ran again. Robyn slipped and slid as she tried to gain footing on the slope, her ability to navigate the ground lost in her anxiety to reach the person. ‘Anna,’ she called.

  The figure paused, turned towards her voice and raised a hand. ‘Help.’

  ‘We’re coming,’ shouted Mitz.

  Both hurtled towards her. Spiteful branches on prickly bushes ripped at Robyn’s skin as she propelled herself down the slope. Anna, a blur of movement, was scrambling up the slope in their direction. She’d only covered a few metres before a roar went up inside the cottage and another figure, this time Roger Jenkinson, filled the doorframe. His head turned left and right and his eyes locked onto Anna’s fleeing form. He raised a gun.

  Robyn yelled, ‘No!’

  There was a flash of the explosion a split second before she heard the gunfire. Anna dropped to her knees, arms thrown up, and fell forward.

  ‘Anna!’ Mitz’s cry filled the sky and a thousand birds from the lake joined him with flapping and screeches that resonated around the hillside; a thousand plaintive cries that ripped through the night air and tore into Robyn’s soul. She pounded down the hill. Mitz made for Anna. Robyn set her sights on Roger Jenkinson as he sprinted for Anna’s car.

  ‘Stop. Police,’ she shouted. ‘It’s over, Jenkinson.’

  Her words were lost, drowned out by the screeching of wildfowl. Never had she run so fast. She stumbled and tripped and rolled a few feet to the bottom of the hillside, then bounced up and hurtled after the man, now climbing into the car. He started the engine and drove off, Robyn in his wake, sprinting for all she was worth. She refused to give in and dug deeper, urging her legs to propel her faster, but the car pulled away from her, up the track to freedom.

  Robyn drew to a halt. Her lungs were ready to explode, her heart shattered. Emotion blinded her eyes and clouded her thoughts, and then, through the fog of tears that had welled, she spotted distant blue flashing lights, picking their way down the track towards Anna’s car.

  There was another route to the cottage. The assistance Mitz had requested had arrived and taken both roads. They’d surely capture Roger Jenkinson. He wouldn’t escape this time. She turned towards the cottage, door still open and light pooling in front of it. Naomi. She might still be in hiding. The thought galvanised her into action and she hastened to the cottage, hoping the woman hadn’t also fled the scene. It was plausible she was biding her time to make good her escape. The door led directly into a sitting room filled with beams and farmhouse charm that held no appeal for Robyn at the moment. Outside, the birds were settling back down on a dark grey lake, unaffected by the tremendous loss on the hillside. Robyn stood in the shadows and waited silently. The noises outside ebbed, and in their place came a soft thud. Naomi was still here.

  Robyn moved stealthily around the perimeter of the wall, eased into the adjacent room and stood back against the wall. She silenced her mind, relaxed her shoulders and listened. There it was again. A muffled sound. It wasn’t coming from this room. It was further away. She sneaked back into the sitting room and again tiptoed to the next door, coaxing it open inch by inch. She found herself in an open-plan kitchen. To the left was another door.

  She crept silently forward, alert and ready for the unexpected and prepared for Naomi to burst from the room, wielding a second gun. The door was latched shut. She thumbed the latch gently, inhaled slowly then pushed hard and threw the door back as hard as she could. It exploded against the wall with a crash and Robyn threw herself onto the floor, anticipating a shot. There was none. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness of this room, she made out the broken shutter hanging loosely on the back window that knocked against the window with the breeze.

  ‘Guv,’ Mitz’s voice came in rasps, ‘I’ve been shouting for you. It’s not Anna up there. It’s Naomi and she’s fine. The bullet missed her altogether.’

  ‘Does she know where Anna is?’ asked Robyn.

  ‘Yes. They left her outside a clinic in Uttoxeter.’

  Sixty-Seven

  THEN

  * * *

  He’s lost in the past, wondering if everything will ever be okay again. He’s made such a mess of it all. The memories flood back now. It’s like he’s eighteen all over again. Liam shuts his eyes and remembers that night long ago…

  * * *

  The young man has chewed his thumbnail down to the quick. Ever since his fruitless trip to Newcastle-under-Lyme, he’s felt edgy. He needs to forget about Johnny and move on with his life.

  He’ll have to deal with it another way, but as yet, he can’t think what that way might be. He puts the television on low volume. It’s 8 p.m. and his sister is already in bed. She’s not been sleeping well lately. It’s partly this course she’s chosen to do – some qualification so she can look after children – which has brought back all the memories of the abortion. She’s lost weight and isn’t eating. Mum’s worried about her too and has threatened to take her to the doctor, but she refuses to go. Mum’s got enough on her plate without hassling her offspring. She’s had a recent job appraisal that hasn’t gone well. She’s anxious about retaining her position and has been in a filthy bad mood for the last few days. It’s a relief she’s working at the pub tonight. At least he hasn’t got to listen to her complaints.

  On television, a doctor is giving a family gathered around a bed some bad news. He flicks through the channels and heaves a sigh. What a crap life this is. He should be doing something more on a Saturday night than watching rubbish on television. The hammering on the front door comes as a surprise. He mutes the television and answers the door without any thought other than to stop the noise that will wake his sister. There’s a rush of air accompanied by an angry roar, and a sharp pain in his hand as the door flies open, smashing him backwards against the wall. His feet scrabble against the floor as he tries to stand before he’s pounced upon. Johnny Hounslow has the advantage and strikes before he can gain leverage. He’s flattened against the floor, a fist raised above him.

  ‘You fucking wanker. Thought you could track me down, did you? I heard some twat was looking for me, an old schoolmate who wanted to see me before he left to go abroad. I knew it was you. He described you perfectly. I warned you to stay away from me. I told you what I’d do to you and your sister.’

  He tries to throw Johnny off but fails.

  Johnny sneers. ‘Fucking tosser,’ he says again. He circles his legs helplessly, kicking out wildly, but his feet don’t connect with his attacker. His arms are pinned onto the floor and he can’t wriggle out from under the weight pushing them back, and then, Johnny hoists him up by the front of his sweatshirt and slams his head against the wall. Splinters of light burst like popping fireworks in his head. He fights the pain. He mustn’t lose consciousness. Johnny drops on top of him, hatred oozing from him, and his thick forearm across his windpipe. He grins malevolently and pushes harder, crushing his neck. He can’t breathe.

  ‘I’m going to fucking murder you,’ Johnny snarls.

  He has to save his sister. Tell her to get out. Johnny is mental. His legs flail, his brain is on fire. Johnny leers at him. ‘Toss-er.’

  The edges of his world darken as he’s starved of air. He thinks he sees his sister – an angel in a nightshirt. She’s holding a shining black wand. He wants to tell her he loves her but he can’t speak. A golden light surrounds her and he feels at peace. He shuts his eyes and allows oblivion to take him.
>
  * * *

  Sitting now, on the floor with Astra, he wishes he could turn back time. If only he’d been stronger and had been the one to murder Johnny, things might have turned out differently. He owes his sister so much and has given her the only things he possesses – his undying love and his silence.

  Sixty-Eight

  DAY TEN – THURSDAY, 23 FEBRUARY, NIGHT

  * * *

  Mitz had been adamant about accompanying Anna to hospital in the ambulance. The paramedics had checked her over and said she was fine, but Robyn had insisted Anna be taken to the hospital for a complete check-up and observation. Mitz held Anna’s hand as she lay on the gurney. Robyn stood on the ambulance step like a proud mother hen.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Anna again.

  ‘If you apologise again, I’ll have you fired,’ said Robyn. ‘You were only doing what I’d have done, and stupid as it was, I can’t blame you for your actions. However, you are not, under any circumstance, to ever put us through this again. I’m going to chain you to the desk and your computer for all future investigations.’ She smiled.

  Robyn moved off the ambulance tailgate. It was time for Anna to leave. She raised a hand.

  ‘No high jinks, you two. Especially you, Anna.’

  ‘Promise,’ said Anna, wearily.

  ‘I’ll make sure she behaves,’ Mitz said. Robyn caught the look that passed between them and nodded goodbye.

  The ambulance moved away. Robyn watched until it disappeared from view then continued standing, hands thrust deep into her pockets. The church clock struck three before falling silent. She let the silence wash over her, allowing the calm of the night to seep into her tired bones, before she slid back into her car. The night wasn’t over for her yet. Roger Jenkinson and Ella Fox still had some explaining to do.