Silent Suspect: A completely gripping crime thriller with edge-of-your-seat suspense (Detective Jessica Daniel thriller series Book 13)

by Kerry Wilkinson

  The young woman in the opposite corner who was reading underneath the other lamp clambered to her feet. She was late-thirties with short brown hair, wearing a large sweatshirt with ‘Green Bay’ across the front. She offered a weak smile as she sat next to Fran, resting her head on the younger woman’s shoulder.

  Fran introduced them both by name.

  ‘Hey,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Hi,’ Jessica replied.

  ‘Show her your photo,’ Fran said.

  Jessica unfolded the poster of Bex and passed it across.

  Ruth held it under the light and stared, but shook her head. ‘Never seen her,’ she said, handing it back. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Thanks for looking.’

  Ruth seemed uncomfortable making eye contact. She nuzzled further onto Fran’s shoulder, gaze firmly on the floor. ‘What’s it like out there today?’ she asked.

  ‘Quiet,’ Fran replied.

  ‘Good.’

  There was a moment of silence and then Fran added: ‘Can I tell her?’

  Jessica thought Fran was talking to her, but it was Ruth who answered. ‘Sure.’

  ‘Ruth’s a smart, smart cookie,’ Fran said. A hint of a smile crept around the corner of Ruth’s mouth. ‘She was running a business creating banners, labels, stickers – all sorts like that – when her boyfriend and business partner upped sticks and took the money off to Spain. He left her tens of thousands in debt. There were bailiffs, repossessions…’ She tailed off, flicking her shoulder slightly to make Ruth sit up. ‘But you came through it, dint ya, honey?’

  Ruth’s smile had shrunk and she picked up her paperback again. ‘I think I want to get on with my book.’

  Fran squeezed her arm and then jumped to her feet, indicating for Jessica to do the same. ‘C’mon – I’ll give you the tour.’

  Jessica followed her out of the living room into an unlit hallway. She heard the creak of the stairs before she saw them and then fumbled for the banister, trailing Fran upstairs. Through her socks, it felt like bare wood underfoot, but there was no light to tell for sure. By the time Jessica’s eyes had started to adjust to the gloom, they were on the landing and Fran was knocking on a scratched wooden door off to the side. A muffled ‘come in’ sounded and then Fran led Jessica inside.

  Three single mattresses were resting against one wall, with a fourth against the opposite wall. A steel-frame bed was pushed into an alcove, while, against the final wall, there was a pair of wardrobes. The window was boarded up, like all the others, but a bulb glowed above the centre of the room, leaving curved shadows in the corners. Jessica’s eyes were beginning to hurt from the effort of straining. The whole house was cloaked in the same dim yellowness of ancient thirty-watt bulbs, the type of which Jessica’s dad – probably many dads – used to have in their shed.

  A waif of a girl was sitting cross-legged on the bed reading a tattered Vogue magazine. She had long black hair that was held backwards by a green stripy bandana.

  ‘This is Ellie,’ Fran said. ‘Ellie, meet Jessica.’

  They said ‘hi’ to one another and then Fran sat next to Ellie on the bed.

  ‘Ellie is the real genius of this operation, aren’t you, honey?’ Ellie bit her bottom lip, but it wasn’t enough to disguise the smile. She was younger than Fran, perhaps still a teenager. ‘Ellie’s our in-house electrician. She’s the one who got the lights working again, plus hooked up the power so we can make toast, use the microwave and charge our phones.’ Fran winked at Jessica, answering that particular unspoken question from before.

  ‘It wasn’t that hard,’ Ellie said.

  Fran patted her on the back and then stood up again. ‘Rubbish – without Ell, we’d be in the dark. We’d have to take the boards off the windows and then people would know we were here. She saved us all.’

  Ellie grinned wider, saying nothing.

  ‘Show her your poster,’ Fran told Jessica.

  Ellie gazed at the picture of Bex but soon shook her head, offering a whispered ‘sorry’.

  ‘You’ll keep an eye out, yeah?’ Fran asked.

  ‘Course.’

  ‘Good girl. We’ll leave you be.’

  ‘We need some spare fuses,’ Ellie said as Fran headed towards the bedroom door.

  Fran turned back: ‘No problem, honey. I’ll see what I can do.’

  Back on the landing, with the door closed, Fran lowered her voice, leaning in so that only Jessica could hear. ‘She’s twenty-two. Bit of a daddy’s girl when she was a kid – into DIY and fixing things. Her parents died when she was a teenager, but she’d got herself together and was training as an electrician. That’s when her husband raped her. She went to the police but they botched the tests. She had nowhere left to go and ended up on the streets.’ She stopped to catch Jessica’s eye. ‘Still think we should trust the police?’ Fran paused. ‘Or men?’

  ‘Not all men are like that,’ Jessica whispered back, but Fran had already made her mind up.

  ‘Maybe in your world.’

  She broke into a forced smile and crossed the landing, knocking on a second door and getting a ‘come in’. The second bedroom was much like the first, with two more wardrobes, one double bed, one single and a pair of mattresses on the floor. Someone had painted a series of swirls and swishes on the walls as well as a spiralling pattern of flowers. There was a table in the centre covered with unlit candles and an incense stick. A woman was lying on the double bed. She was the oldest Jessica had seen in the house – probably fifty-something, with a straggle of grey-black hair. She took out a pair of earphones and sat up.

  ‘Oh, hi…’ she said, eyeing Jessica.

  ‘This is Jessica,’ Fran said cheerily. ‘Jessica, this is Melissa – Mel. She’s a massive star of the household. She’s like a mum to everyone. It wouldn’t be the same without her.’

  Melissa smiled weakly. She had large shoulders bulging through a thin long-sleeved top and a tattoo on her neck. She yawned, flapping a hand in front of her mouth. ‘Couldn’t sleep last night.’

  ‘We’ll leave you be,’ Fran replied, brushing Melissa’s arm and then motioning to Jessica for the poster. ‘Can you look at this first?’ she added.

  Melissa eyed the picture of Bex but shook her head. ‘Not seen her,’ she said, lying back onto the bed.

  Fran and Jessica headed into the hallway, clicking the door quietly closed behind them. Fran leaned in, lowering her voice again. ‘Mel was in the army. She had PTS and a breakdown. Ended up on the streets. No one wanted to help, so we brought her here. We’re her only family. You’ve gotta look after each other.’

  She pushed her way into what turned out to be the bathroom. The ceramic bath was crusted with limescale and, because of a missing tap, there was a pair of pliers attached to the spindle sticking out of the top. The tiles had once been white but were now crusted with brown and the sealant was peeling away. Against the wall was a line of shampoo bottles and a small stack of colourful soaps.

  Fran sat on the corner of the bath, nodding for Jessica to close the door. There wasn’t much room, but Jessica went with it, figuring this was one of the few places in the house that people could talk in private.

  ‘You know nobody cares about us, don’t you?’ Fran said.

  Jessica wanted to argue but had no idea what to say. As a group, perhaps that was true; as individuals, Fran certainly believed that.

  ‘The council couldn’t give a shit, the government don’t care as long as we’re not on their unemployment statistics, the police want us off the streets so it all looks nice and tidy. We’re the forgotten.’

  ‘Someone must care.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know, I… there’s that homeless shelter where I met you…’

  Fran shrugged. ‘That’s, what, twenty beds? Do you know how many there are living on the streets?’

  Jessica shook her head.

  ‘Hundreds – and that’s at the moment. In the summer, there are all these fake homeless, begging for money from tou
rists and making a living.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘That’s just… wrong.’

  Fran rolled her eyes. ‘That’s life. You telling me Manchester’s any different?’

  ‘I guess not.’

  Fran held out her arms, not needing to say ‘I told you so’.

  ‘What about you?’ Jessica asked.

  The other woman peered away, folding her arms. ‘Huh?’

  ‘How did you come here?’

  Fran opened her mouth but clucked her tongue into her teeth, weighing Jessica up, then she held out a hand. ‘Look, if you give me some of those posters, then I’ll ask around about your friend, but I’m pretty sure she’s not in ’Pool.’

  ‘Why’d you say that?’

  ‘Because I know a lot of the girls around town – even the ones who don’t live here.’ She took a handful of the posters from Jessica. ‘You know I’ve trusted you big time, don’t you?’

  Jessica nodded. ‘I know. I appreciate it.’

  ‘You’ve got to keep quiet about this place.’

  ‘I don’t even know where we are.’

  ‘Good.’ Fran stood up. ‘You should go.’

  Jessica felt it was time, too. She had a strange sense about the house… the Shanty. It was hard to explain, but it was almost religious, as if there was something special happening here bringing the vulnerable women together. They had a bond that Jessica wasn’t a part of. Fran was the glue keeping them all united. She’d called Ruth a ‘smart cookie’, Ellie a ‘genius’, and Melissa a ‘star’. Everyone would have a nickname and be made to feel special because that’s what they needed.

  ‘Call me if you see that man again,’ Jessica said, patting the phone in her pocket.

  ‘I will, honey,’ Fran replied, taking Jessica’s arm once again. ‘And if you ever need me, you know my number.’

  Sixteen

  Jessica wasn’t sure if Fran deliberately took her on a labyrinth loop away from the Shanty to conceal its location, but, either way, she had no idea where she was. By the time Fran said goodbye and pointed Jessica in the direction of the tower, the dark clouds had flowed over the top of the town and the sun was blocked from view. It was late-afternoon but already getting dark. In the distance, the illuminations glowed; the tower sparkled. Tourists would be cruising up and down, stopping in the arcades and the cafés. That was the overground world, but she had now seen the underground. Two worlds living atop one another.

  She found her way back to the Prince Hotel, where Brandon was standing behind the reception counter, tapping away on his phone. He offered a brief ‘hi’ and then returned to what he was doing as Jessica headed up the stairs.

  As soon as she opened the door to room seven, Jessica felt something was wrong. She stood on the threshold, half in, half out, scanning the space. The curtains were still open; the Best of Blackpoo book was on the counter… but there were little things. Jessica had left a pile of newly bought folded clothes on the chair but they now seemed slightly crumpled. The second pair of shoes, her work ones with the slight heel, were lined up perpendicular to the wall, when she had simply kicked them off. The maid had been in to make the bed – but would she have moved Jessica’s notepad from the bedside table onto the bed itself?

  Jessica edged into the room, looking for other signs that somebody had been through her things – but she had brought so few possessions that it was hard to tell. Anything important had been in her bag with her. There was a noise behind, in the corridor, and Jessica spun to see a short woman in a white cleaner’s uniform heading for the stairs.

  ‘Hi,’ Jessica said, moving out of the room.

  The maid had slightly tanned skin and dark, wiry hair. She was wearing a light purple uniform, the shade of those grim Parma Violet sweets. Jessica had always hated them – she’d never met anyone who liked them – and had an aversion to the colour. The maid stared at her with wide brown eyes. ‘No English,’ she said with an Eastern European accent.

  Jessica pointed towards her room, sweeping up with an invisible broom like someone playing charades. Or like a nutter on the streets. ‘Did you clean in there?’

  ‘No English.’

  Before Jessica could ask anything else, the maid bowed her head and hurried down the stairs. Jessica waited for a couple of minutes and then unclicked the catch on the bedroom door, locking it behind her. She returned to reception, leaning on the counter and getting Brandon’s attention.

  ‘Everything all right?’ he asked.

  ‘Not too bad.’

  ‘The police were in, I thought—’

  ‘It was a misunderstanding. They thought I’d seen something, but there wasn’t much I could tell them. It’s all sorted.’

  ‘Oh… good stuff. I’ve never talked to the police before. It was all a bit, well… exciting.’

  ‘I suppose it can get a bit dull around here… how many guests do you have staying in the hotel at the moment?’

  He put down his phone, humming as he thought about it. ‘Not many – six or seven.’

  ‘And there can’t be many staff around for those numbers?’

  ‘There’s a few maids who do all the hotels on this rank, plus the kitchen lot. There’s Mr Eckhart, too. It’s usually quite quiet by this time of day.’

  Jessica grinned. ‘You’ve got the place to yourself then?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  She turned to go back up the stairs and then stopped, patting her pockets but being careful not to accidentally jangle the room key. ‘Shite, I’ve left my key in the room and locked myself out.’

  Brandon smirked at her. ‘It happens to someone at least once a day. Hang on.’

  Jessica moved quickly once he’d gone into the back room. She shuffled around to the far end of the counter, giving her a clear view through the door. Brandon was standing a couple of metres away next to a safe that was at chest height on a shelf. He made no effort to conceal what he was doing, typing ‘1’, ‘2’, ‘3’ and ‘4’ into the front panel and then levering it open. Jessica quickly sidestepped back to where she was as he turned and moved back to the main desk.

  ‘What are you grinning about?’ Jessica teased.

  ‘Skeleton key,’ he said with a flirty wink. ‘I always get a bit excited at using it.’

  ‘There’s only one actual key per room?’

  ‘There are three – one for the guest, two in the back office, plus two skeleton keys that fit all doors. The maid has to sign the key in and out every morning. She’s just returned it now.’

  Brandon edged around the counter and headed for the stairs, key thrust in front of him like a knight with a lance.

  ‘The maid said she didn’t speak English,’ Jessica said.

  Brandon peered conspiratorially over both shoulders and then leaned in to whisper. ‘I don’t think Mr Eckhart likes foreigners. He’s always going on about them coming over here and all that. Doesn’t stop him hiring ’em, though. Lower wages, probably. I think the cleaners are Polish.’

  When they reached room seven, he unlocked the door and then swung it open for her.

  ‘Your palace awaits,’ he grinned. ‘Keep hold of your key in future, yeah?’

  Jessica almost reached for it in her pocket, but she stopped herself, brushing his hand with hers as if she hadn’t meant to. ‘Will do.’

  Seventeen

  Jessica waited until she’d heard Brandon’s retreating footsteps and then closed and locked the door behind her. She checked under the bed, in the drawers and the wardrobe, looking for anything… different. She wasn’t sure what. When she found nothing, Jessica refolded the clothes on the chair, returned the notepad to the nightstand and then lay on the bed. Aside from the maid, someone else had been in the room. There might not have been many of her possessions to go through, but whoever had entered wouldn’t have known that. Whoever it was had access to the safe behind reception, meaning it was likely either Brandon or the owner, Luke Eckhart. It might have been Brandon –
but she doubted it.

  She crossed to peer out of the bay window towards the phone booth that had started all this. It was still there, unassuming and probably unused. It wasn’t quite evening, but there was a hazy greyness clinging to the edge of the town. The sea was a murky black, the sand a damp brown. The twinkling lights glistened at the other end of the prom, but it was truly dank.

  Jessica sat, watching as a white van in the car park tooted its horn. In unison, five women in matching violet uniforms hurried across the tarmac from the rank of hotels. The van was speckled with a crust of mud along its bottom half, but there were no other markings. One by one, the women helped each other into the back of the van, before the doors clanged shut. There was a screech of tyres and then the vehicle shot off, doughnutting around the car park and then joining the main road without indicating. Jessica wrote the number plate across the top of one of the posters with Bex’s photo. It was probably some sort of agency providing cleaners around town, but there had been so much weirdness in her life over the past couple of days that she figured she never knew when it might come in handy.

  She plugged her new phone into the wall and switched the old one back on. It blinked and beeped its way to life and then flashed through half a dozen missed calls, none of which were from numbers she recognised. There was a voicemail from Darren, saying that he’d shown her posters around, but that was it. Jessica wondered if the missed calls were from people who’d seen her posters, who might have seen Bex. She called the first, but there was a recorded message saying that she’d been called by the bank and, if she could let them know when she’d be available, they’d get back to her. Caller numbers two and three didn’t answer, while number four was a telemarketing company. Typical, really.

  Jessica was about to set the phone to charge when the screen flashed and it started to ring. The number was someone’s mobile but not one she recognised.

  ‘Hello?’ Jessica said.