Let the Dead Speak

by Jane Casey

  ‘If we asked Chloe, what would she say about her dad?’

  ‘I don’t know. I never asked her.’

  I sighed, frustrated. ‘So what do you want to tell me?’

  ‘Why Chloe came back from her dad’s house early.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Because when she’s there, her shitbag stepbrother comes into her room every night and puts his fingers inside her when he thinks she’s asleep. And her shitbag father is too scared of his evil wife to call the cops on him. It’s all an accident. All a misunderstanding. Fuck’s sake.’

  ‘Which stepbrother?’

  ‘The older one. Nolan.’ Under his injuries, Turner’s face was a mask. ‘I’ve never met him. I wish I had.’

  There was something in the way he said it that made me shiver. ‘That’s what we’re for. So you don’t have to deal with these things on your own.’

  ‘Excuse me if I don’t think the cops are worth bothering with.’

  ‘Is that why you dealt with Ben Christie yourself?’ It was a shot in the dark. If he confessed to harming Christie I was screwed, because I hadn’t cautioned him. I was all too aware that would shut him up. Anyway, a half-decent defence lawyer would get the whole case thrown out, caution or no caution.

  ‘Why bring him up?’

  ‘Because I think you have a history of taking the law into your own hands and I think you’re not afraid to use violence when it suits you.’

  ‘I never touched him.’

  ‘What about Kate?’

  ‘I never touched her either.’

  ‘Did she know about you and Chloe?’

  ‘No. Definitely not.’

  ‘She wouldn’t have approved.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, wary. ‘I presume not.’

  ‘Because you do see where I’m going, don’t you? Kate’s dead. Her body’s probably in the river or dumped somewhere out of the way to rot. Now Chloe and Bethany are in the wind and we have no way of knowing if they’re safe but we do know they’re running from something. And usually, that means one of two things – they’re scared or they’re guilty.’

  ‘I don’t know why they ran away,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Would you do anything for them, William? Would you dump a body for them? Would you let yourself get beaten to a pulp for them? Would you die for them?’ I leaned over. ‘Would you kill for them?’

  ‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’

  ‘We’ll be taking your car for forensic examination, to see if you moved Kate Emery’s body for the girls. And we’ll be finding you on CCTV. We’ll know where you went and what you did. We’ll take your phone and track everywhere you’ve been since Kate Emery died.’ I smiled. ‘Whether you cooperate or not, we’ll find out what happened and what part you played. Your best chance – your only chance – is to talk.’

  ‘I’ve said all I have to say. I’ve told you the truth.’

  ‘Where are they, William?’

  ‘I don’t know. They didn’t ask me to help them. I didn’t move any bodies or drive them anywhere.’

  ‘Let’s get you to hospital.’ I glanced across at him, observing the tremor in his limbs, the pallor of his skin where the blood wasn’t coating his face, the general wretchedness of his demeanour. There was the tiniest glint in his eye, though. He felt in his pocket and pulled out his tobacco tin, to my complete lack of surprise.

  ‘Not in my car.’ I started the engine. ‘And put your seatbelt on.’

  21

  I was in a cubicle with Turner when the curtain rattled back. I looked around, expecting to see a nurse, and found a grim-looking Derwent instead. He pointed at me.

  ‘You. Out here. Now.’

  ‘I don’t want to leave Mr Turner alone,’ I said. He was still hovering on the border between victim and suspect and I wanted to make sure he didn’t disappear.

  ‘That’s why I brought him.’ He moved to one side so I could see Chris Pettifer, who nodded at me. There was a hint of apology in his expression and the tentative way he edged into the cubicle.

  I looked back at William Turner. ‘I won’t be long.’

  He managed a tiny nod. He was looking worse by the second as the blood clotted around his nose and on his forehead. His right eye was still swelling and it looked as taut and shiny as a ripe plum. Someone had informed his mother but he’d asked – begged – for her to be kept in the waiting area, and I’d backed him up. The last thing I needed was her having hysterics over him, at least while I had to listen to it.

  I followed Derwent into the busy area outside the cubicles where the nurses and doctors were hurrying up and down.

  ‘Not here,’ I said, on instinct. From Derwent’s expression, it was going to be a bollocking; it didn’t need to be public.

  ‘This way,’ he said, stalking out through a door marked ‘No Entry’. No one stopped him.

  No one would dare.

  I followed him through the door and found him waiting for me in a darkened, empty corridor.

  ‘Why is this bit shut up?’

  ‘They can’t use the beds in this section of the hospital. Not enough staff. Cutbacks.’ Derwent leaned against the wall, his hands in his pockets, his eyes glittering in the half-light. Oliver Norris had left his mark. The bruise on his cheek was darker now, unmissable. ‘Well?’

  ‘Well what?’

  ‘Well, where would you like to begin?’

  ‘You start. Tell me why you jumped into the middle of that confrontation when you didn’t have your radio or any protective equipment with you,’ I said.

  ‘Because that kid was about to get his head kicked in.’

  A complete answer.

  ‘You could have been killed.’

  ‘You could too.’ His glowering increased a notch. ‘There was no need for it. I had it under control.’

  I laughed. ‘Oh, I see. Sorry. You’re annoyed that I didn’t leave it up to you to deal with a volatile situation single-handed. I should have hung back and let you be a hero.’

  ‘You put yourself in harm’s way for no reason.’

  ‘I was there to help you. To back you up.’ I frowned. ‘Speaking of which, what happened to Georgia?’

  ‘She’s around here somewhere.’

  I wondered if he hadn’t noticed her freezing in terror and completely failing to be of any use. ‘Was she OK?’

  He shrugged. I don’t know and I don’t care. ‘Now tell me the rest.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What took you so long? Why did we get to the hospital before you and Turner did when I had to explain what had happened to a hundred coppers and their dogs? I managed to get out of arresting Norris myself but it still took a good half hour to get out of Valerian Road. So where were you?’

  ‘Turner wanted to talk to me,’ I said.

  ‘Wanted to? Or did you take the opportunity to question him when he was so out of it he couldn’t manage to lie to you?’

  ‘Of course not. I’m not you.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ he said softly.

  ‘You would. In a heartbeat. You wouldn’t think twice about it.’ I sighed, frustrated. ‘Look, he had some information he wanted to share with me. It’s hearsay but it’s interesting. Apparently one of Chloe’s stepbrothers was molesting her and that’s why she came back to London early.’

  Derwent frowned. ‘So no one was expecting her.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Worth a word with the stepbrother.’

  ‘That’s what I thought.’

  He contemplated me for a second. ‘All right. What else?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Telling you that would have taken two minutes. Three, if you were being extra-chatty.’

  ‘Um, he also told me that he was in a relationship with Chloe. He used to hang out with her in Harold Lowe’s house.’

  ‘Is that so? Why did he tell you that?’

  ‘I asked.’

  ‘And he just told you.’

  I looked
at him warily. ‘I didn’t do anything wrong.’

  ‘So what did you do?’ Derwent asked, his voice soft. ‘Did you threaten him?’

  ‘No. Nothing of the sort.’

  ‘Did he talk?’

  ‘A bit. Enough.’

  ‘But it’s unusable, Maeve. You know that, don’t you?’ Another step closer. ‘If he’s charged with anything, you’ve given him a nice angle to exploit. You didn’t caution him.’

  ‘He’s not going to be charged, Josh. He hasn’t done anything wrong, except for pissing off Oliver Norris.’ I stood up very straight, flattening my shoulder blades against the wall. I was getting annoyed now. ‘What I mainly wanted to know was what Chloe told him about her stepbrother, which is not admissible as evidence. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Don’t get smart with me.’

  ‘Don’t take me into a deserted corridor to bully me, then.’ My anger blazed white-hot. I didn’t usually let it out at work, and never at Derwent. For one reason, he gave it straight back.

  ‘I’m not bullying you. I’m looking out for you.’ He leaned forward, jabbing a finger too close to my face. ‘Do you really think Burt isn’t looking for a reason to get rid of you? Do you really think she won’t hang it on you if this case goes bad? Don’t you see that you’re in the firing line now you’re a sergeant? You actually have some responsibilities now, believe it or not, and there are consequences for fucking up. I can’t protect you any more.’

  ‘Stop poking at me,’ I said, knocking his hand away. ‘As if you ever protected me anyway. What I recall is me getting you out of trouble, more than once.’

  He bit his lip, suddenly sheepish, letting me see a rare flash of the charm that could persuade anyone to do just about anything. ‘I remember. Once or twice.’

  ‘Several times,’ I said. ‘And I think you are massively overstating how angry Burt would be. She doesn’t hate me that much. Why would she want to get rid of me?’

  ‘Because she knows if you go, I’ll go.’

  The words hung in the air. Derwent looked as if he wished he could unsay them. I was too surprised to stay angry. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘That wasn’t nothing.’ I closed my eyes for a second. ‘I got Turner to agree to give me a statement. He’ll repeat what he told me in the car. He’s willing to cooperate fully.’

  ‘And if he’s the killer?’

  ‘There isn’t one shred of evidence to suggest that he is.’

  ‘Doesn’t mean he isn’t who we’re looking for.’

  ‘I know.’ I tilted my head to one side, considering him. ‘You know, talking to him like that is exactly what you’d do. Why is it OK for you to do it and not me?’

  ‘You’re not me,’ Derwent said. ‘And you shouldn’t try to be me.’

  He pulled open the door and disappeared through it, leaving me on my own in the empty corridor. A tap dripped somewhere, too loud in the silence he left behind him. Slowly, thoughtfully, I found my way back to William Turner. He had his eyes closed and I nodded at Chris Pettifer to let him know he could go. He stopped beside me.

  ‘You OK?’

  I didn’t want to think about how I looked. ‘Long day.’

  He hesitated as if he wanted to say something else, then went out, pulling the curtain closed behind him.

  ‘It’s you.’ Turner hadn’t opened his eyes, I would have sworn.

  ‘Yeah.’ I sat down in the chair by the bed and sighed, feeling exhaustion settle in my limbs.

  ‘Are you going to go and see Nolan?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you going to arrest him?’

  ‘Not unless Chloe makes a statement about what he did. No Chloe, no case.’

  His knuckles shone white for a second as they tightened on the blanket that was spread over him. ‘Can you scare the shit out of him?’

  ‘Probably.’

  A gleam of amber from Turner’s eye. ‘I’m glad I told you about it.’

  ‘Me too.’

  ‘I would tell you if I knew where Chloe was. I meant what I said. I want her to come home.’

  ‘Me too,’ I said again.

  22

  Brian Emery’s face fell when he saw me standing on his doorstep, and I suppose I couldn’t blame him for not rolling out the welcome mat.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Are Nolan and Nathan here?’

  ‘The boys?’ He swallowed. ‘What do you – what have you heard? Did Chloe—’

  ‘No, Chloe didn’t. She’s still missing, as you probably know.’

  He sagged. ‘I thought there might be news, when I saw the car. I thought – if they’d found her – I thought she might be with you. But then I saw that it was only the two of you and I thought you wouldn’t have come yourselves if there was good news. There would have been a phone call. I was expecting – I was hoping for a phone call.’

  I felt myself soften towards Brian Emery. He was hollow-eyed, his hair seeming thinner than the last time I’d seen him, the cuff of his jumper stained with something that looked like grease.

  ‘I promise you, we’ve got the best people out looking for her and Bethany, and they won’t give up until they find the girls.’

  Beside me, Pettifer shifted his foot on the gravel, a subtle movement with a message for me. Don’t make any promises we can’t keep. I liked having him with me. He was a solid presence, stable enough to trust. Plus, he had driven from London while I curled up on the back seat. I wasn’t a fan of in-car napping usually, unlike Derwent, but I was too tired to carry on.

  It was far better to have Pettifer with me than Georgia, but I still didn’t want to think about the look on her face when, in the corridor of the hospital, Una Burt had told me to take her with me to Lewknor and I’d said no, so firmly that Burt hadn’t so much as tried to argue with me.

  ‘Are the boys here?’ I asked again. ‘I spoke to their school and they said they were at home for the weekend.’

  ‘We wanted to have them here. My wife wanted them here. I think – all of this has left her very upset. It’s worrying for all of us.’ His eyes were wet all of a sudden and he rubbed at them. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No need to apologise. I do need to speak to both of them, I’m afraid.’

  ‘I’ll need to get my solicitor.’

  ‘It’s not a formal interview,’ I said. ‘Any appropriate adult would do.’

  ‘I’m not taking that chance,’ Brian Emery said, and for the first time I recognised the steel in him that had made him a successful businessman. Then he smiled. ‘It won’t take long to get him here. He lives five minutes away.’

  The solicitor arrived exactly eight minutes after Brian phoned him, sweating slightly in cords and a checked shirt with a green sleeveless fleece over the top. He was a big man and he made the sitting room feel small when he appeared in the doorway. ‘Sorry. Gardening. Anything for Brian.’ He stuck out a hand that was still damp from being scrubbed and I pretended not to notice the soil that was lurking under his nails.

  ‘DS Maeve Kerrigan and DS Chris Pettifer.’

  ‘Harry Miles.’ He was fifty-something with curling grey hair that started far back on his head but finished well below his collar, as if to compensate for coming up short at the front. He was still handsome in a florid, well-fed way. I looked into his shrewd blue eyes and I knew better than to underestimate him even if he wasn’t a criminal solicitor.

  ‘What is it you want with the boys?’ he asked.

  ‘We’re investigating the death of their stepsister’s mother.’

  ‘Kate,’ Brian Emery interjected.

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘Their stepsister has disappeared.’

  ‘Very upsetting,’ Miles said. ‘But I don’t see why you want to speak to the boys.’

  I turned to Brian Emery. ‘Does Nolan have a car?’

  His throat worked as he swallowed. ‘At school.’

  ‘Has he used it recently?’

  Miles was
watching me. ‘Brian?’

  ‘He, uh …’ His eyes were pleading with me. ‘You’ve spoken to the school.’

  ‘I have.’

  Emery gathered himself together and turned to his friend. ‘Nolan has been suspended. He left school late last night. The groundsman noticed his car was missing at midnight. He got back at half past two and tried to sneak in unobserved. They were waiting for him.’

  ‘Where had he been?’

  A helpless shrug. ‘We collected him this morning and he didn’t say anything. He’s been in his room ever since. Nathan doesn’t know either.’

  ‘He’s here too?’ Miles checked.

  ‘We brought him home as well, but only for the weekend. Nolan’s suspended but the head told me it’s very unlikely he will be allowed to return to the school.’ From the look on Emery’s face it was the end of the world.

  ‘Let’s speak to them,’ I said. ‘Nolan first, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Belinda Emery, in velour tracksuit bottoms and a mismatched sweatshirt. I didn’t think she’d brushed her hair. Her face was pale, her eyebrows patchy where she hadn’t drawn them in.

  ‘They want to speak with the boys.’

  ‘Well, they can’t.’ Her nostrils flared. ‘Stop them, Harry.’

  ‘I think it would be better to let them interview them here, Belinda. The alternative is the local police station.’

  ‘What?’

  I nodded. ‘He’s right. But I’d rather talk to them here too.’

  ‘This is harassment.’ She looked from Miles to her husband. ‘Can’t you do something?’

  ‘I think we need to let them do their jobs,’ he muttered.

  Her face twisted. ‘You’re pathetic.’

  ‘Belinda …’

  ‘This is all Chloe’s fault. Your daughter is ruining my son’s life,’ she spat.

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ I asked.

  ‘Isn’t it obvious?’ she snapped.

  ‘Not to me. Which son do you mean, for starters? You said life, not lives. So which one?’

  Her face darkened. ‘I don’t want to talk to you any more.’

  ‘Fine.’ I looked at Harry Miles. ‘Nolan first, then Nathan. We’ll wait in the sitting room.’

  It took Harry Miles ten minutes and a lot of swearing to get Nolan downstairs and into the sitting room. He had a fine, deep voice and the house was small enough that we could catch almost every word. I almost felt sorry for Nolan when he shuffled into the room behind Miles. He looked bewildered and paranoid, as if all his worst fears were coming true one after another. I found, though, that I didn’t much mind being the personification of his worst nightmares when I thought about what William Turner had told me. Nolan sat down where Miles told him to and I tried not to dislike him for the sheer amount of money he had spent on his clothes. He wore expensive trainers, designer jeans, a branded sweatshirt, a fat metal-strapped diver’s watch. He was holding his phone and it was, inevitably, the latest iPhone, although the screen was cracked and the casing was battered.