The Silent Room

by Mari Hannah

That unsettling thought lingered in his head as he crossed Gosforth High Street. On the other side of the road, he fell in step with half a dozen locals going about their business on a Saturday morning. Everything normal. Not a care in the world. The street used to be teeming with life but it had gone downhill. Now it was drab, all the best shops having moved elsewhere. He and Jack used to drink there when there was a police station around the corner, before it was moved to another part of the city, the building turned into an apartment block for those who could afford it.

  Ryan remembered those days, a bundle of laughs and secrets shared over a pint of Workie Ticket in the Brandling Arms. So why hadn’t Jack shared this particular confidence? A good copper, he’d worked hard to rid the streets of those who maim or kill. Were those shady characters now taking revenge? Wasters he didn’t want to tip off to the fact that he was on to them?

  Weaving his way round dawdling shoppers, Ryan sifted the possibilities, trying to figure out who hated Jack enough to fit him up, slating himself for missing clues Hilary said were there.

  Jack hadn’t been himself for months.

  He’d hidden it well then. Ryan had no real inkling. Or did he? Somewhere deep down, Hilary’s words resonated with him, which only served to make him feel more guilty. How could he have failed to notice the level of Jack’s stress or tackle him about it? Replaying recent conversations, he realized that consideration had been a one-way street, Jack asking how he was, how Caroline was, not the other way round. Pressure of work was Ryan’s only excuse.

  Not good enough …

  If he’d been more attentive, might Jack have told him?

  Ryan didn’t think so.

  Jack was the kind of guy who wouldn’t be pushed, preferring to keep his plans and opinions to himself until he was good and ready to share. If he was so worried, Ryan wondered, might he have confided in a counsellor at Durham prison: probation, chaplain or psychologist?

  As quickly as the idea arrived, Ryan discounted it.

  If Jack hadn’t talked to him, his brief or his wife, he’d hardly blab to a stranger, even if incarceration did strange things to people. Hilary had mentioned remand prisoners giving him a hard time: par for the course if you were a serving copper – even one who had allegedly gone over to the dark side, ending up in prison.

  Criminals had long memories.

  But was Jack really at breaking point? Ryan didn’t buy that either. It would take a damn sight more than a shove in the back from scum or a few weeks inside to unnerve Jack Fenwick. Maybe Hilary was seeing things that weren’t actually there. She was, after all, under tremendous pressure.

  As he rounded the corner, heading for the park, an old MGB drew up alongside. The window went down in jerky movements, a familiar female voice yelling his name from within.

  ‘I wondered if you might surface,’ he said, climbing in. ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘Retired doesn’t mean stupid. I just got off the phone to Godfrey.’

  Grace Ellis only had one speed – and it wasn’t slow. She was as mad as hell, her black mood a reminder to buckle up. Adjusting the strap of his seat belt, Ryan got ready for a bumpy ride – in more ways than one. Without another word to him, Grace pulled hard on the steering wheel, completed a U-turn and sped off the way she’d come.

  On the A1, heading south, she turned right at the Blue House roundabout. Ryan didn’t have to fill her in on what had gone down while she was out of the country. She was following the evidence. In the last few hours she’d spoken to Hilary, watched extensive news coverage, read all the newspapers and spoken to Jack’s brief. Discreet enquiries within the force had found solidarity. Never one to miss a trick, she was clued up and ready to go.

  ‘The CPS wouldn’t know the truth if it ran up and bit them on the arse,’ she said, flooring the accelerator. ‘I don’t give a damn what they think Jack’s done. You and I know different.’ She chanced a glance in his direction. ‘I’m sorry to hear you’re in trouble too. Don’t worry, we’ll soon get you out of it.’

  ‘What they have on me will never stick. It’s Jack I’m worried about.’

  ‘Did Godfrey tell you anything? He and I were never on the same page. He was less than forthcoming with me.’

  ‘Only that Jack was working under the radar on something he omitted to share with me. He was planning on telling me, apparently. Shame he never got the chance. Some partner I turned out to be.’

  ‘Drop the self-pity. It doesn’t suit you.’

  ‘Hilary said he was worried. I should’ve seen the signs.’

  ‘You’re not a mind reader, Ryan. If Jack didn’t tell you, he had a bloody good reason. Did Godfrey give you any inkling?’

  ‘Major corruption case, by the sounds of it. Something he hadn’t quite cracked when his circumstances changed. Godfrey implied a conspiracy with far-reaching consequences. Jack was convinced that people might be at risk if he didn’t handle it correctly.’

  ‘Deep. What the hell does it mean?’

  ‘It means people might get hurt.’

  ‘Well, he was right about that, wasn’t he?’

  ‘His notebooks are missing from home, Grace. We find them, we’ll be halfway to finding him.’

  Ryan held on as she took a bend at high speed, heading to her place in the leafy suburb of Fenham if his internal satnav wasn’t up the creek. She told him she’d drop him at his car when they were done. He was happy with that. They needed a strategy, a plan of action to find their man and return him to his family. Ryan wanted nothing more. Coming under Jack’s command was the best thing that had happened to him since he’d joined the force.

  ‘What can we do, realistically?’ he said. ‘You’re retired. I’m suspended. With no access to the station, we’re out on a limb, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘In every way.’

  ‘You’re not up to the job?’

  Her words stung.

  Ryan swallowed his anger, an emotion he found hard to suppress and one that wasn’t only directed at her. He was pissed at Jack for not trusting him enough to share intelligence. They were professional partners – well, he’d thought they were. Now he wasn’t so sure.

  ‘Get a grip,’ Grace said. ‘We’re not taking the situation lying down. Not if I have anything to do with it.’

  10

  Ryan had dropped the defeatism by the time they reached her house, a detached property on Nuns Moor Road. Grace went off to find coffee, telling him to make himself at home in the living room. As people, they were polar opposites. He was peaceful. Considered. She was combative, argumentative, in a very different place to him – a situation she was well aware of. He had to be careful. As a retiree, her pension was already in the bank. As a serving officer, his was at risk.

  He had a damn sight more to lose than she did.

  The sound of cutlery and crockery being placed on a tray reached him from the kitchen. While he waited for Grace to reappear, Ryan walked to the window and looked out over a pretty garden. The sun had come out, turning autumn leaves gold. His thoughts were on Jack and how best to proceed. The smart answer would be to back off, let O’Neil do what she was paid for. She was an experienced officer. But with the best will in the world, although high on her priority list, Jack’s case was one of many on her desk. The odds were not in his favour and Ryan wasn’t taking chances.

  In his head, he saw Jack’s children lined up at home, their anxious faces turned in his direction, waiting for him to wave a magic wand and conjure up their daddy. He’d pledged to do that, a promise he intended to keep, if it was humanly possible. The responsibility was almost too hard to bear.

  Grace entered, apologizing for the state of the place.

  Ryan turned, her comment prompting him to scan the room for the first time. A suitcase lay dumped in the middle of the floor awaiting attention – a carton of two hundred smokes spilling out the side. Grace set a pot of coffee down, telling him to get stuck in. He was about to help himself when his p
hone rang: Roz. Ignoring the call drew a suspicious glance from his host. Well, tough. Ryan didn’t want another post-mortem with his former girlfriend on how the perfect couple had gone so horribly wrong. Inevitably, any such conversation would warp into a full-blown argument. Roz would play the ‘me’ card all over again, making his relationship with Caroline sound unhealthy, incestuous almost, because they were so very close. And Ryan certainly didn’t want to bare his soul in front of Grace.

  The phone rang three more times – same caller. Only when it became obvious that Roz wasn’t giving up did he take the call. He answered curtly, telling her that he was busy and couldn’t talk, an action that drew a lengthy silence. His words had thrown her.

  She’d already heard.

  ‘Ryan, is it true?’

  ‘Is what true?’ he said.

  ‘It’s all round HQ that you’ve been suspended.’ She spoke softly, as if someone on the other end might overhear. ‘I can’t believe Complaints. John is dishing the dirt, as always. Is he mad?’

  John?

  ‘The answer is in the question,’ he said, and hung up.

  Grace raised her head. ‘You two been fighting again?’

  He looked away, didn’t admit or deny it. She was an astute and intuitive woman who knew him well enough to see through him if he tried to pull the wool. Best to keep shtum.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said. ‘Roz might come in handy.’

  Grace had a point. Potentially Roz was an important ally, a direct line to information. Without her, Ryan would soon run out of options. He’d lost a lot recently: his mother, his girlfriend, and was on the point of losing his job if Maguire got his way. Having his ID confiscated felt like someone had ripped his heart out. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Jack as well. Besides, he couldn’t allow Maguire to get one over on him. What he’d done to Jack was just unforgivable. Ryan couldn’t sit on his hands and do nothing. Uncovering the truth and finding his friend was a mission he couldn’t contemplate turning down. He and Grace would stick together because it was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do. If it involved asking Roz Cornell for help, then he’d bite the bullet and beg if necessary.

  11

  Ryan watched O’Neil drive out of headquarters, heading for the village of Ponteland. He followed, turning left on to the main road towards Newcastle. In stark contrast to Grace Ellis, the Superintendent drove like she worked, precisely and progressively, her aim to get from A to B in one piece. Maguire wasn’t with her today – a stroke of luck – Ryan didn’t need an extra pair of eyes that might spot a tail in a wing mirror.

  As a Special Branch officer, he was highly trained in surveillance. Few were better at it. Most were a lot worse. To do the job properly he’d need at least five vehicles – all of them double-crewed. On his own, the job was more difficult.

  That didn’t mean impossible.

  Despite O’Neil’s conservative approach, he had his work cut out keeping up in his battered set of wheels. A Land Rover Discovery was hardly unobtrusive. Leaving two-car cover, he nearly lost her as she entered the roundabout with four possible exits: Bank Foot, A1 North, Newcastle, A1 South. Traffic lights changed. Fortunately for Ryan, the cars in front sneaked through on amber and he was able to follow suit.

  He drove on, knowing he’d be in trouble if O’Neil caught sight of him. She’d forced his hand. What other choice did he have? He was looking for a fellow officer in danger. She was looking for a wanted fugitive. Same task. Different perspective. With a life at stake, his priority outweighed hers.

  O’Neil had the upper hand, including access to witnesses. Ryan’s guts were telling him that’s where she was going now. Twelve minutes later, his theory was upheld. She indicated, pulled slowly to the kerb outside a private address north of Gosforth. She got out as Ryan drove by, hoping she didn’t notice him. Why should she? As far as he was aware, she’d never seen his car. Turning his head away as he overtook, he parked fifty metres further on, glancing in his rear-view mirror. She hadn’t noticed him. She was knocking on a door. After a while, a middle-aged man answered, a sling on his right arm.

  Ryan smiled. Pound to a penny this was one of the security guards from the prison van.

  O’Neil was holding up ID.

  They hadn’t met before.

  Half an hour later, she left the house. As soon as she’d driven away, Ryan was out of his car, moving like a bullet towards the door she’d just come out of, the prop of an empty manila folder under his arm. He pressed the doorbell then stood back, examining the peeling white paint on the wicket fence, the weeds in the garden.

  No contender for Britain in Bloom.

  Expletives reached his ears from the other side of the glass panel facing him. Kids were being yelled at. A woman’s voice, extremely irate by the sounds of it. Ryan took a deep breath, intending to make up the truth as he went along.

  The door was yanked open suddenly.

  ‘Sorry, sir …’ Ryan spoke before the occupant had time to. ‘Detective Superintendent O’Neil has one or two further questions she’d like me to put to you. It’ll only take a second. Apologies for the inconvenience – won’t keep you long.’

  The man on the threshold was clearly agitated. Three fingers on his left hand were taped together and there were beads of sweat on his forehead. He was quite well built, dressed in chinos, a tight T-shirt. ‘Listen, pal, no offence, but your boss is pushing her luck. I have two weeks off. Two. In five hours I’m catching a flight from Manchester. Know what I’m saying? Why my daft cow of a wife couldn’t find one out of Newcastle is beyond me. But my life won’t be worth living if we’re late and they refuse to let us board. So ask your questions, then be nice and piss off, because she’s driving and I’m not keen.’

  ‘Point taken,’ Ryan said. ‘May I come inside?’

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  Ryan gave a grin.

  ‘Nah, didn’t think so.’

  As the homeowner stepped inside, Ryan entered the house, his eyes everywhere. The place was a tip, the decor drab, in need of updating. The walls were roughly painted and damp had eaten away at the plaster in places. A security guard’s uniform jacket was hanging on a peg in the hallway. The living room was equally grim, but he was in luck. Suitcases littered the floor. A handbag lay open on the coffee table, passports and a travel wallet sitting beside it. The owner’s ID wasn’t going to be a problem.

  Ryan felt his tension drain away. If O’Neil had taken Maguire along, his plan would never have worked. ‘May I take the number on your passport, sir?’

  The man spread his hands. ‘What for?’

  ‘Routine. You’re the star witness in a high-profile case. If you went walkabout we’d look pretty silly, wouldn’t we? You’re lucky I’m only asking to look at it, not keep it. My boss is a stickler for the rules. She likes things tidy.’

  ‘Help yourself,’ the man said.

  Ryan sifted the documents until he found the one he was looking for. He skim-read the man’s passport and put it back, committing his name and date of birth to memory. ‘You’re a lucky man, Mr Irwin. Exactly how long are you away for?’

  ‘Two weeks, if I ever get there.’

  ‘I take it you gave the Super your contact details in case we want to get in touch?’

  ‘Of course … don’t you people talk to each other? I told her everything. Everything.’

  Ryan relaxed.

  A teenager made an appearance and got short shrift from her dad. Then a woman Ryan assumed was Irwin’s wife popped her head round the door looking daggers at her husband. Jabbing her wristwatch with her right forefinger, she told him she was leaving in fifteen minutes, with or without him.

  A mismatched pair – there was a lot of it about.

  ‘Sorry, mate.’ Ryan winced as Irwin’s missus disappeared, slamming the door behind her, chipping another bit of plaster off the wall. ‘You want me to have a word? She doesn’t look too chuffed.’

  Irwin waved away the off
er. ‘She never looks chuffed. You wouldn’t think I was nearly a goner yesterday, would you? All she’s bothered about is humping her own clobber to the car and making my life hell because we’re going to have to spend my hard-earned adding another driver to the insurance in Cyprus. You could fit what I’m taking in a plackie bag. She’s given me earache all morning. Those thugs yesterday didn’t scare me, your boss doesn’t scare me, but my missus does.’

  ‘It must’ve been a tough shift yesterday.’

  ‘You could say that. It nearly finished my co-driver—’

  ‘And you too, I imagine.’

  ‘Not like Storey – the kid was bricking it.’

  Storey? Ryan wanted to hug him.

  ‘Want my honest opinion?’ Either way, Irwin was hell-bent on giving it. ‘That’ll be his last shift as a security guard. It’ll also teach the little shite not to look down his nose at the likes of me. Educated, know what I mean? So far up his own arse he can nearly see his tonsils. I’ll be pleased to be rid of him.’

  ‘My boss all over.’ Ryan thumbed over his shoulder to his imaginary colleague. ‘The Super might seem very nice to you, but mess with her …’ He drew a hand across his throat. Taking a peek in his empty file, grateful that at six three he had several inches’ height advantage over his witness, Ryan posed a question. ‘Actually, do you have a mobile number for Storey? I think she forgot to write it down.’ As Irwin read it out, Ryan scribbled it on the front of the file and then dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Between you and me, my guv’nor has your prisoner pegged for some heavy shit. I know the guy personally. Don’t quote me, whatever you do, it’s just that I happen to believe he’s innocent.’

  ‘I’m with you, pal.’

  ‘Really? You have no idea how happy I am to hear it.’

  ‘Fenwick didn’t have the first idea he was going to be sprung,’ Irwin said. ‘Storey was bad enough, but your man was going ape-shit. He kept pounding on the cab, yelling at me to get the hell out of there. There’s no way he wanted to go with those prigs. No way! And I’ll tell you something else: I think your boss has her doubts too. What did you say your name was?’