The Quiet Girls: An absolutely addictive mystery thriller

by J. M. Hewitt

  Why did he have to do this tonight, with less than twelve hours’ notice? Why not a Friday or a Saturday when they could crack open all the wine and not have to worry about it being a school night?

  ‘Hi, I don’t think we’ve met, I’m Gabe, this is Liz.’ The man stood up, stuck out a hand.

  Alice appraised him, quite liking what she saw.

  ‘Hi Gabe, Liz,’ she raised her hand in a wave to the quiet, mousy-looking woman and averted her eyes to take in the two youngsters sat between Harry and Liz.

  ‘Kids?’ Gabe prompted gently.

  ‘Hi, thanks for having us over,’ said the girl.

  Melanie leapt up from her chair and took her mother’s briefcase from her. ‘Sit down, Mum, we’re all starving.’

  ‘Thanks, honey,’ Alice said distractedly as she took the empty chair opposite the children.

  Children? Not quite, she thought as she looked them over. They were far older than Melanie, though hadn’t Harry said they were only a couple of years above her in school? Both of them were tall, she could tell by the way their shoulders slumped over in their chairs. And both of them were…

  She frowned as she discreetly looked at them. There was nothing remarkable about them, with their light brown hair, grey eyes and pale, pale skin. But they were mesmerising.

  Yes, Alice decided. That was it, there was something about them that was simply special.

  The boy caught her staring. ‘I’m Lenon,’ he said. ‘Willow,’ he added, nodding towards his sister.

  ‘You’re twins!’ Alice exclaimed.

  ‘I told you that,’ said Harry.

  Lenon and Willow offered her a tight smile. Alice looked down at her place mat, unsure how she had ended up feeling chastised. It was like being in court all over again.

  ‘Harry tells us you’re a lawyer,’ said Gabe as he reached for the bottle of white and poured her a hefty glass.

  Alice smiled, though it felt more like a grimace. White wine wasn’t what she needed tonight; she had to face Maxine and possibly the partners tomorrow, a hangover was the last thing she should be risking.

  ‘Hmm, yes,’ she said. ‘And what do you do?’ It was an effort, this being nice after a shit day, but Harry had obviously gone through a lot of trouble, she noted, as he placed steaming plates and bowls on the table with a hearty ‘Dig in’.

  ‘Carpenter, general handyman,’ replied Gabe. ‘Harry, this looks fantastic!’

  Alice had to admit it certainly did. Indian dishes came out of the kitchen, one after the other, and Alice smiled at Harry fondly. When he put his mind to something, he could really pull it off. And she had to admit, it was so good to see him back on form. A relief. One less thing she had to worry about.

  ‘Ah, a trade for life,’ commented Alice to Gabe. She waved the serving spoon at the youngsters around the table. ‘To learn a trade is one of the wisest decisions you can make. If you have a skill you’ll never be unemployed.’

  ‘Dad hasn’t got a trade,’ remarked Melanie, earning what might have been a snigger from Lenon.

  Alice was momentarily shocked into silence. It wasn’t the sort of comment Melanie would normally make. She looked up and over at Harry, but he seemed blissfully unaware. Surprisingly it was Gabe who came to Harry’s defence.

  ‘Ah, but your father put this delicious meal together, there are some restaurants that couldn’t put on a spread as good as this.’

  Alice smiled gratefully at him. Silence fell upon the table as everyone served up their plates.

  Harry had indeed heard the comment that his daughter made. It stung a little, but he let it go. In fact, it was the perfect opener for his proposal. He cleared his throat.

  ‘Your mother is right,’ he said to Melanie. ‘A trade is important, and it’s kind of why I invited Gabe and his family here tonight.’

  He had their attention now, he saw, as one by one they stopped eating to look inquisitively at him. All except Liz, he noticed, who carried on forking tiny, bird-sized bites of food into her mouth.

  ‘What do you mean, Harry?’ Gabe asked. ‘You need some work doing?’ He glanced around the room as though mentally pricing up such a job.

  ‘Oh, no.’ Harry leaned forward. ‘Alice and I are considering a move to a desert island, somewhere we can build our own community. We’d like you and your family to be a part of it.’

  A stunned silence. Only the sound of Liz’s cutlery scraping against her plate.

  ‘Harry, you’re inviting Gabe and Liz on our holiday?’ Alice’s voice was high-pitched with astonishment.

  He took a deep breath, reached over and patted Alice’s hand. ‘Sweetheart, you misunderstood me, it’s not a holiday we’re going on. I want us to move to a place where there are no other people, no society, no community. Just us, a select few others, and we’ll build our own colony.’

  Alice barked out a laugh. ‘That’s crazy,’ she said.

  ‘Hey, I think the man’s serious,’ said Gabe. He leaned across the table to look Harry dead in the eye. ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Deadly.’ Harry met Gabe’s stare.

  Gabe fell back in his seat. The twins, like their mother, remained motionless, detached. Melanie seemed confused. Harry chanced a look at his wife’s face. She appeared furious. Her lips moved, but nothing was coming out.

  Yet.

  Luckily, Gabe saved him from the explosion. ‘Where are you thinking, mate?’

  Harry studied his expression. He looked mildly interested, mildly amused. Harry decided to press on. ‘Originally I was thinking of the Outer Hebrides, there are lots of little islands just waiting to be inhabited.’

  ‘Over a hundred,’ Melanie piped up.

  ‘But,’ Harry held up one finger, ‘but I thought perhaps somewhere closer to the city, at least to start with.’ He leaned forward, laid his eyes on each of them in turn, lingering on his wife’s livid stare only briefly. ‘Did you know we have an island right here, alongside Manchester?’

  Gabe frowned. ‘We do?’ he asked. ‘Where?’

  Harry reached under his plate, unfolded a piece of A3 paper, gestured to the diagram he had highlighted. ‘Pomona Island, a narrow strip of land wedged in the River Irwell.’

  Gabe took the paper, flicked his eyes over it. ‘For real?’ he asked. ‘What’s on this island?’

  Harry nodded, sat back and folded his arms. ‘Nothing,’ replied Harry. ‘Well, that’s not true. Nobody is on it, but it’s got rather an exciting history. It was once docklands, it was once home to a botanical garden. It had a palace once, too. It’s been industrial, it’s been beautiful.’

  ‘Okay, enough.’ Alice wiped her mouth with her napkin. ‘Let’s not be silly, Harry.’

  He smiled at her. Silly. Was he being silly? Didn’t she know him well enough by now to know he always put his plans into action?

  But she did, and that was why she was nervous, he realised. He narrowed his eyes as he watched her, wondering if she was remembering the times before when he’d gone so far down the road of a plan before she found out, and by then it was too late to back out.

  Their wedding was one. They hadn’t discussed marriage, or even an engagement, but Harry had known that Alice was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. They’d not yet had Melanie, and Alice was far too busy concentrating on her degree to even discuss a wedding. So, Harry had gone ahead and organised it.

  By the time he’d picked her up on the pretext of taking her to breakfast, with a white, silk dress in a carrier bag on the back seat of the car and pulled up outside the registry office, she could hardly say no, could she?

  And that was what Harry had been afraid of, he admitted to himself some time later. That if he asked, if he did it all traditionally down on one knee, that she might say no.

  And there was no response now, from anyone around the table. But Harry had sowed the seed, which was all he had intended for tonight anyway.

  ‘Think about it,’ he said, smiling at his guests. ‘Gabe, you can keep
that. I’ve got another copy.’ He turned to Alice. ‘Sweetheart, can you pass me another samosa, please.’

  11

  ‘I told you about him, his name, where to find him. You did nothing.’

  ‘Please,’ Carrie begged. ‘Let me help you. Tell me now, I’m listening. I want to help you.’

  But the caller fell silent. Carrie cast a desperate look at Paul, who was listening in. He spun his finger in her direction, a silent command. Keep her talking.

  ‘At least tell me your name. I’m Carrie. Have we spoken before?’

  ‘He won’t stop, you know. And neither will I.’

  A click. A dead line. Carrie replaced the receiver softly.

  ‘She wants help, she needs it. She’s asking for help, for God’s sake, Paul.’ She moved over to him. ‘Did you trace it?’

  He shook his head, his jaw tight with tension.

  ‘She’ll call again.’ Carrie nodded, certain of it. ‘I just need to build up a trust with her before she does something stupid.’

  Paul nodded. ‘You’ll get there,’ he said kindly. ‘But right now we have someone else to see.’ He passed her a note, hastily scrawled, from the reception desk. ‘Interview room four.’

  Carrie looked down at the name in front of her, and then back up at the man who sat opposite. She shook her head slightly, her hair flicking against her shoulders, ridding her mind of the young female mystery caller in order to give all her attention to this man.

  ‘Ganju?’ she asked. ‘That’s your name?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am, Ganju Bandari,’ he replied, his voice a murmur, his eyes respectfully lowered.

  ‘Where are you from, Ganju?’ she asked, intrigued, unable to place his soft accent.

  ‘Nepal, ma’am. That’s where I was when all this happened. It wasn’t me, I wasn’t there, no matter what these people are saying.’

  Carrie tilted her head; the words that fell from Ganju’s mouth were far further in the conversation than they were at. She held up a hand.

  ‘Slow down, tell me why you’re here.’

  Ganju folded his hands in his lap and looked at a spot behind Carrie on the wall. ‘I come back from work in Nepal, with my brother, we live together, you see.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Carrie. ‘Can I take your address?’

  ‘Number three, Irwell Road.’

  She motioned for him to continue.

  ‘And on the nights just gone, people come to my door. They shout at me, eggs cracked on my windows. They threaten me. They tell me I…’ he tailed off, lowered his eyes and his voice. ‘They say I touch this child, this girl, that I take her from the street and force her into my home.’ Ganju’s voice broke like the eggshells on his windowpanes. ‘I would never, ma’am, never do such a thing.’

  A memory, sharp as a knife, punctured Carrie’s preoccupation with this fascinating, gentle man. She leaned forward. ‘Do you have a name, any names of the people who threatened you?’

  He shook his head, gazing at her with doleful eyes.

  She looked back down at her pad. ‘Irwell Road, is that in Eccles?’

  Ganju nodded.

  ‘Near Milton Street,’ Carrie clarified. She tapped her pen against her teeth thoughtfully. ‘When did this alleged incident happen, did they say?’

  Ganju shrugged. ‘I’ve been away, my brother and myself, we are guides on Everest. Here, in Manchester, we bought this house together, it was in bad shape, semi-derelict, so we get this man to do it up while we are away so we can move in upon our return. February is the month that is busiest for booking, then we go back in May for the actual climb. We visit in February to confirm our upcoming work and also to visit our mother and celebrate Maha Shivaratri, our holy night.’

  ‘An Everest guide?’ Carrie said. ‘That must be exciting, how many times have you been up there?’

  ‘Nine,’ he said, a smile breaking out on his face now he was speaking about something he was obviously comfortable with. ‘My brother, six.’

  ‘Wow.’ Carrie, happy to have got him talking, continued with the matter at hand. ‘Then you were not even in the country when this was alleged to have happened. Did you tell the people who came to see you that?’

  Ganju shook his head. ‘They would not let me speak. And I have to keep my brother inside.’ Ganju lowered his eyes again. A flush stained his throat. ‘My brother can be hot-headed.’

  ‘I assume you can verify that you were in fact abroad? Visa, passport stamps, documentation?’

  Ganju nodded, his sad brown eyes regarding her warily.

  ‘All right, you write down all your contact details here, and we’ll be in touch with you. Okay, Ganju?’

  He accepted the form she gave him with a grateful smile. Carrie excused herself and went in search of Paul.

  She had a feeling she knew exactly who was behind the threat on Ganju’s home.

  ‘Paul.’

  He looked up as she came in. ‘You spoke to the Sherpa?’

  She was surprised. ‘Yes, how did you… never mind. Paul, you know it’s that Prout woman, don’t you?’

  He nodded. ‘I gathered. She seems like the sort to take matters into her own hands. So, we’ll speak to her and at least now we have an address of where this assault happened.’

  ‘But Ganju was out of the country, the house was empty.’

  Paul leaned back in his chair. ‘A break-in? A house sitter?’

  He watched with concern as the blood drained from her face.

  ‘I… I didn’t ask. Shit, Paul. My mind was… elsewhere. I’ll go back and speak to him.’ But instead she pulled out a chair and flopped into it. ‘It’s that girl, that caller, it got me all—’ she broke off, shook her head. ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  Paul studied her. Carrie knew what he was thinking; her mind was never elsewhere but on the job.

  ‘You mean the anonymous caller, the young girl?’ Paul got up and took a stack of filing to his cabinet. ‘What is it about her that speaks to you?’

  He turned his back to her, busied himself with the files. For a long moment she considered not answering, but then she spoke softly.

  ‘I don’t know. It makes me think of something I can’t quite remember.’

  ‘Another old case?’

  ‘No. Something… I don’t even know. That other girl, Kelly, she said some things when I spoke to her outside that made me feel strange.’

  Paul shoved some files into the drawer. Slamming it closed, he opened the next one down and slipped a single sheet in. ‘Strange, how?’

  But he’d lost her. The clang of the filing cabinet pulled her back from a memory she couldn’t even remember. She stood up, the chair legs shrieking on the tiled floor.

  ‘I need to catch Ganju before he leaves.’

  12

  Alice flicked between the two websites on her screen, studiously ignoring Maxine who hadn’t said two words to her since she’d got in.

  She minimised the sites on her PC so they sat side by side. One of them, side effects of Fluoxetine. The other, Pomona Island. Two seemingly different things that to her, were inextricably linked.

  Harry’s latest plan. She shook her head as she recalled his flights of fancy of the night before, the bewildered expression on the Hadleys’ faces, the almighty row they’d had once their guests had left.

  ‘What the fuck are you thinking?’ she’d shouted. And it wasn’t just the stupid prank he’d pulled about moving to a deserted island, it was all the frustrations of the recent weeks, the courtroom cock up, the work errors, Harry’s depression, Victoria bloody Prout and Melanie’s near miss.

  ‘I just want to raise our daughter somewhere that’s not riddled with drugs and murders and paedophiles.’ Harry had emphasised the last word. ‘Is that so unreasonable?’

  She hadn’t answered him. Instead she had gone to bed. In the spare room.

  But she hadn’t slept. She had gone over and over Harry’s stupid dinner party in her head. And what on earth had possessed him to get Gabe H
adley on board? Was it simply because he was a skilled manual worker? And if so, what the hell did that say about the island Harry had in mind for them to all live on? Were there even houses on it, or did Harry expect them to reside in yurts or tepees?

  Not that it mattered, it was a stupid idea and one that wouldn’t happen. And it wasn’t even the island living plan that was the main issue. It was Harry and the fact that he’d gone behind her back.

  Again.

  Despite herself she scrolled through the details on the Manchester history website. It differed somewhat to the information he had tried to tell them about last night. He had spoken of a fantasy land, utopia, a perfect, residential Eden. The website images showed graffitied concrete walls, wire fences, open, stagnant rivers surrounded by open water.

  Alice shuddered.

  Harry wanted to live here, on this once beautiful but now barren, industrialised land? She went back to the Fluoxetine site, seeking evidence that over-exuberance and crazy plots were a common side effect. There had to be a link. Or did there? Was this just the old Harry coming back to her, the one who excited and frustrated her in equal measure?

  ‘Alice, a word?’

  She looked up to see one of the partners, Simon, in the doorway. Alice glanced at Maxine, but the other woman refused to meet her eye.

  Alice stood up, smoothed down her skirt and strode confidently into his office. Her assurance faded as she saw Adrian, leaning on Simon’s desk, arms folded, his usually friendly face closed off and serious.

  ‘Hey, what’s going on?’ She offered a smile, but the two faces were stone cold serious.

  ‘You’ve had a little trouble, lately, Alice,’ Adrian said. ‘How’s it all going?’

  Alice resisted the urge to turn around and glare at Maxine through the window. Instead she managed to put a puzzled frown on her face as she addressed the two men.

  ‘Trouble?’ she said. ‘I’m not sure I understand. There was a misunderstanding in the court a couple—’

  ‘Frequently late, preparing for a case that wasn’t due and failing to have everything ready for one in court that very day. Leaving early, unable to be productive when you are here.’ Adrian pursed his lips and studied her. ‘It’s unlike you, Alice. Come on, what’s troubling you? Is the workload getting too much for you to handle?’