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

by Kerry Wilkinson

  ‘Ask you what?’ Jessica replied.

  ‘You know – you’ve wanted to ask it since we first met.’

  Jessica finished her half of the cookie and brushed the crumbs from her lap, eating those too. ‘How old are you?’ she asked.

  ‘Twenty-two.’

  She was so surprised that Jessica forgot she was in the middle of swallowing, breathing in and sending the flecks of biscuit into her lungs. She coughed and choked, patting herself on the chest until they were free and she could more or less breathe again.

  ‘I didn’t expect that reaction,’ Fran said with a soft smile. For perhaps the first time, she seemed vulnerable, arms holding her knees to her chest.

  ‘Cookie,’ Jessica coughed.

  ‘I gathered that.’

  Jessica continued patting her chest until she could inhale without wheezing. ‘It’s just… twenty-two?! I figured you were younger than you looked but twenty-two? When I was twenty-two, I was still dossing about trying to figure out what to do with my life. I was out on the lash most weekends, eating pizza or curry all the time.’

  ‘I am homeless, y’know. It’s not like I’ve got a grand career plan.’

  Jessica held her hands up, indicating the house. ‘I know, but… all this.’

  ‘It’s not mine. We’re squatting, living under someone else’s roof. It’s nothing special. Your lot could come any day and turf us out. Arrest us, even. Theft of electricity, of water. Technically, taking that leftover food is stealing. Can you believe that? They’d rather have it thrown out and eaten by rats than feed another human?’

  ‘But the girls, the way you keep them safe… how everyone manages to eat and look after one another. How they’re all warm, healthy… happy even. It really is something special. There are people out there with ten times the resources you have – more – who’d get nowhere near achieving this. You should see our lot trying to organise a Christmas party.’

  Fran peered away, gazing towards the stairs. She shrugged modestly. ‘It’s not just me. Look at Ellie. Without her, there’d be no electricity. Tina tipped us off about the food at the supermarket. Everyone chips in.’

  ‘But they wouldn’t be here – wouldn’t be able to chip in – if it wasn’t for you.’

  ‘People would get by.’ Fran scrunched up the bag the cookies had been in and then started to crinkle the beanbag, wanting something to do with her hands.

  ‘What happened to you?’ Jessica asked, realising she might be crossing a line.

  Fran didn’t reply at first, though her hands stopped grinding the bag. A gentle breeze tickled the windows, but the house was impossibly silent otherwise.

  ‘I had a husband,’ Fran said. ‘Have a husband, I suppose. My parents were into religion big time. No sex before marriage and all that. They wouldn’t let me out, wouldn’t ever leave me alone with a boy, that sort of thing. I was home-schooled until I was fourteen and then they let me go to this academy with a syllabus that focused more on the Bible than science. My mum was one of the governors and helped set it up. When I was seventeen, I met this man through a friend of a friend. I was a kid and he was nearly forty. Mum and Dad sort of approved of him because he was related to someone they knew at the church. I thought it was normal. You do, don’t you? Normal is what’s in front of you.’

  She turned to Jessica, wanting confirmation. Jessica nodded – she’d seen it so many times. Kids that spent their childhoods cleaning up after alcoholic and drug-addled parents thinking it was the same for everyone. Others who were pregnant at thirteen because their mother had conceived them at the same age. Nurture was a wonderful blessing but a ferocious curse.

  ‘We had these escorted date things. It must have looked so weird – me, my mum and dad, plus this bloke closer to their age than mine. We’d all be dressed smartly, sitting in this posh restaurant and chatting about, well, nothing. Then, at the end, me and him would be left alone for a couple of minutes. We’d not even kiss or anything because I was too embarrassed.’ She shivered. ‘It’s so fucking creepy.’

  ‘You got married?’

  Fran closed her eyes, wiggling deeper onto the beanbag. ‘I thought I was in love and it was the only way they’d let me spend more time with him. It was all done within about three or four months of us meeting. I was pregnant a few weeks later.’

  Jessica couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice: ‘You have a child?’

  Fran gulped and took a breath. She rolled onto her side so that she was facing away from Jessica, though she continued to speak. ‘He liked kids.’

  ‘He wanted children, not you?’

  ‘No… he liked kids.’

  A pause. It felt like the air had been sucked from the room. ‘Oh…’

  ‘It was one Sunday. I was living in his house and he had some family over for dinner. He’s got a huge family – brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins. They’re all friendly in that mad scary way, where they all pretend to be friends and have big get-togethers once a month. My parents were there, too. It was a big barbecue in the garden: sun out, cloudy lemonade, cups of tea, jam and scones. Really nice in some ways. I’d gone upstairs to get changed and he was there with his twelve-year-old niece on our bed. She was scared shitless. When I opened the door, she squealed and ran for it. She told her mum what had happened, what he’d been trying to do, but he said it was a big misunderstanding. They all turned to me – his parents, my parents, his family – all of them. They asked what I’d seen and, well…’

  There was silence for a long time. Minutes. Jessica said nothing, knowing what was coming.

  Fran eventually pushed herself back into a sitting position, head slumped onto her knees. ‘I told them I wasn’t sure.’

  More silence.

  ‘I was sure, but it was too late. They all wanted to believe him anyway. I went to the police, but they treated it like a domestic, kept asking if he’d hit or abused me. He hadn’t, not really. He didn’t like me going out or wearing tops with short sleeves, or skirts that weren’t down to my ankles. That was normal for me, though. Nothing happened in the end, but I was stuck there with him, pregnant. I was naive, but deep down we all know what’s right and wrong, don’t we? We might not care, but we know. I knew I couldn’t have a kid and let him anywhere near it.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘Ran. One day when he was at work, I packed up what I could and left. No note, no anything. He used to leave a bit of cash for me to buy groceries, so I took that and bought a train ticket. I kept going way past my stop until they kicked me off. I had to put my daughter up for adoption – there was no way I could look after both of us, not then.’ She held up her hands, indicating the house. ‘All of this came about in the last year. You grow up quickly when you have to. I moved around at first, but then made some friends and figured things out. One thing led to another and here we are.’

  She caught Jessica’s eye, but there were no tears, perhaps not even regret. Fran was steely and determined.

  ‘Have you ever been back in contact with your parents?’ Jessica asked.

  ‘No chance.’

  ‘You’re extraordinary.’

  Fran shrugged. ‘If you say so.’

  They were interrupted by a gentle patting on the door: four taps, a pause, and then two more. Fran leapt up, bounding across the room to the back door and unlocking the bolts. Alison pressed underneath Fran’s arm as the icy breeze jetted through behind her. She was windswept, her hair a mess, rosy-cheeked but seemingly unharmed.

  Jessica stood but was unsure what to do. A part of her wanted to hug the younger woman, but they barely knew one another.

  ‘You all right?’ Jessica asked, knowing it sounded pathetic.

  Alison nodded as Fran clicked the door closed behind her and re-bolted it. ‘That bloke is a right nutter,’ she said, wriggling her arms free from her leather jacket and unclipping her hooped earrings. She flopped onto the beanbags, curling her legs under herself, Fran at her side.

  ‘You want
a cup of tea, honey?’ Fran asked.

  Alison shook her head. ‘He drove us around for a bit and was acting like we’re boyfriend-girlfriend. He kept asking what I’d been up to during the day. When I mentioned I’d been on the street, he coughed, like he didn’t want to hear that. I ended up telling him I was a receptionist by day, pole dancer by night. That got him excited. He was asking what I wore in the office and all that. Total creep-o.’

  ‘What did he say his name was?’ Fran asked, glancing towards Jessica.

  ‘He didn’t. When I asked what to call him, he said he liked being known as “Daddy”.’

  ‘Eew.’ Jessica and Fran made the same noise at the same time.

  ‘Yeah, like I said, total creep-o.’

  ‘Did he take you anywhere specific?’ Fran asked.

  ‘We drove around for a bit and then he started going down these dark roads without street lights. He kept saying, “Nearly home, baby,” and then he pulled up next to these really dark trees. He said we were home and I was like, “Where are we?”. He kept saying “home”. He asked if I was going to go inside with him – but there was no way I was doing that. He said he’d pay and took this big wodge of notes out of his jacket. There was hundreds there. He gave me fifty “for being a sweetheart”.’ Alison winced as she took two twenties and a ten-pound note from her jacket, pressing them flat on the floor with her hands. ‘Then he kept asking how much I wanted to go inside. I said I wanted to go back to the town centre and he was getting annoyed. Eventually I told him my friends knew I’d gone in his car, that they had the number plate and description. He got even weirder then, called me the usual – “slut”, “slag”, “whore”, “bitch” – y’know. He screamed at me to get out. I ended up walking. Good job I could see the lights in the distance.’

  Fran rubbed her shoulder protectively. ‘You did really well, honey.’

  ‘Can you remember anything else about where he took you?’ Jessica asked.

  Alison stuck out her bottom lip. ‘Not really. It was sort of… farm-like, down this dirt track in the middle of nowhere. There were these gates that had a red semicircle thing, but that was it.’

  Both Alison and Fran saw the shock in Jessica’s face.

  ‘You know the place?’ Fran asked.

  ‘I think I was there earlier today…’

  She tailed off. It seemed like such a long time ago. So much had happened, but it was true – she’d been at the farm at lunchtime.

  ‘It belongs to this guy named Vince,’ Jessica stumbled. ‘He has this van that picks up and drops off the maids at the hotel where I was staying. I thought one of the maids recognised my photo of Bex.’

  Fran was scratching her head, watching Jessica with puzzled bewilderment. ‘But this guy, Peter, wasn’t there?’

  ‘No, it was Vince and his son, Max.’

  ‘But they know Peter?’

  ‘I… suppose…’

  ‘Does that mean these are the men who tried to set you up?’ Fran asked. Jessica shook her head, though she had no idea. She didn’t know any of them. ‘Sleep on it?’ Fran added.

  Jessica could do little but yawn. Perhaps her subconscious would have more luck in figuring it out.

  Thirty-Two

  Jessica woke to find herself in an empty room. There were four other beds around her, some makeshift on the floor, some more traditional. All had been made perfectly, their inhabitants nowhere in sight. Jessica had a spot on the floor with a comfy air mattress and a warm, bouncy quilt. She had tiptoed in the previous night and curled up under the covers and now she was still here, apparently unmoved after a night from which she remembered none of her dreams. It had been one of the best sleeps she could remember.

  At the bottom of her bed was a folded pile of clothes. They weren’t hers but had clearly been left for her – and were clean. There was a pair of jeans that were a little too big but fitted well enough, plus a long-sleeve top with a fleecy lining. Jessica’s other possessions were still under her pillow. Jessica put on the new clothes and headed downstairs. Alison was on the beanbags near Ruth, but there was nobody else around, other than Fran in the kitchen.

  ‘Sleep well?’ Fran asked as Jessica entered. She was wearing her deerstalker again, hiding her distinctive hair underneath.

  ‘Really well,’ Jessica replied. ‘No snorers.’

  Fran smiled. ‘Mel can be a bit loud when she gets going, but she was in a different room. I’ve got a present for you.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Don’t expect much.’ Fran peered around the kitchen until she found what she was looking for, folded up and wedged behind the toaster. She passed Jessica a copy of that morning’s Gazette. ‘That your girl?’ she asked.

  Jessica scanned the front page – Sophie Johns had been found dead among a copse of rocks on the far North Shore. No cause of death was mentioned, but that was two bodies in a matter of days in a similar area – and panic stations wouldn’t be far off. If business wasn’t bad enough, the last thing the tourism board needed was a serial killer on the loose. The police would be feeling the squeeze to arrest someone – and Jessica was top of their list.

  Details were sketchy, other than what Jessica already knew. Sophie had left the diner where she worked and not arrived home. The police were appealing for witnesses, asking for calm, the usual.

  Mercifully, Jessica’s name was nowhere near the coverage. Her potential involvement wasn’t even alluded to, meaning the Blackpool Police press office either hadn’t been told about her, or had kept it back. Jessica sensed Fordham’s hand, perhaps giving her a little special treatment because he knew what it would mean for her if news were to leak. He wouldn’t be able to keep something like that back for long before they had to put out a public appeal asking for her to come forward.

  ‘This is the girl who phoned me,’ Jessica replied, peering up to Fran. ‘I’ve got to get back to the farm with the red circle on the gates. It’s out Poulton way. I know more or less where.’

  ‘Do you really think there’s something going on there?’

  ‘I don’t know – but that’s all the more reason to have a poke around. It was daytime when I was last there.’

  ‘So you want to go back tonight?’

  ‘I suppose. Last time, I looked around the outside yard, the fields and the barn – but I want to get into the farmhouse itself.’

  ‘How are you going to manage that?’

  Jessica leaned back against the countertop and tugged her hair back into a ponytail. ‘Well… I was hoping for a bit of a hand.’

  As much as Jessica knew she had little time, there wasn’t a lot she could do during the day. For one, the more time she spent outside, the more chance there was of her being discovered by a police officer. She spent the day in the Shanty, making work for herself. The women had done plenty for her and she’d done nothing in return, so Jessica scrubbed the microwave and kitchen, even though everything was far cleaner than her house anyway. Women dropped in and out through the day, but there was never any fuss. Most said ‘hello’, but a few kept to themselves. There was never any trouble, with everyone being respectful of one another. Some returned with food, others picked at what was left in the kitchen. Some read, some used their phones to play games or use the Internet. Jessica had short conversations with both Ruth and Ellie, but there wasn’t that much to say.

  Jessica’s phone rang once during the day with a number she didn’t recognise. If she’d discovered what was going on, it might have been Izzy, who had the new number. Jessica didn’t answer in any case.

  As it began to get dark, Jessica started to feel nervous. It was something she wasn’t used to, an emotion she had largely taught herself not to feel, but it was hard to get past the fact that she was running out of time to exonerate herself.

  From around half past eight that evening, most of the women had already started to settle, either heading out for the night, or taking a book or battered magazine to bed. A couple were still sitting around the living room, but no
ne were talking. Fran had been on her evening food run, retrieving a pair of carrier bags filled with sandwiches and leftover pastries, and then she waited with Jessica in the living room.

  ‘You ready?’ she asked.

  Jessica checked the time on her phone for what felt like – and possibly was – the hundredth time that evening. It was a few minutes after ten o’clock. ‘Let’s go.’

  Fran picked up a backpack, unbolted the door and led the way. They didn’t touch the illuminated areas of the centre and, within minutes, were hurrying through a council estate. The houses and businesses soon stretched further apart, street lights fading, until they were on the outskirts of the town. Fran slowed her pace as the pavement disappeared, leaving them walking along the verge of a dusty, deserted road. The sky was cloudy, dousing everything in a misty grey glow. Jessica could see where she was going, but not more than fifty or so metres ahead. It wasn’t freezing, but she could see her breath and was grateful for the thick coat borrowed from the Shanty.

  On the rare occasion a vehicle passed, Jessica and Fran shrank into the bushes, waiting until the path was clear and then continuing. Fran knew the general direction, with Jessica taking over the further they travelled. She’d already walked the route once in reverse and, with the sparse landscape, it wasn’t too difficult to retrace her steps, even in the dark.

  It was a few minutes before midnight when they arrived at the overhanging trees Jessica had seen the day before. The gate with the red semicircle was bolted across the path and there were tyre tracks in the nearby mud.

  ‘You sure you want to do this?’ Fran asked, resting against the gate.

  Jessica ducked underneath the barrier and narrowly avoided the same puddle she’d stepped in the previous day.

  ‘I’m not sure I have any better ideas. Thanks for coming. I don’t know what I can do to thank you.’