Splinter the Silence (36 page)

Carol took the sheaf of papers from Karim. She flicked through till she found the one she wanted. She placed it in front of Fisher. ‘Are these your online identities? Twitter, Instagram? And the others?’

He swallowed hard. ‘How did you get that? That’s private.’

‘Everything’s private till you break the law,’ Karim said harshly. ‘Are they your handles?’

Fisher nodded. ‘Yeah.’ His shoulders slumped. He knew what was coming.

‘Did you send these messages to Daisy Morton?’ Carol laid two sheets of paper in front of him. ‘“You’re going to burn, bitch. You’ve dissed men once too often. We’re going to fuck you up.” And what about this one? “I hope your children die slowly from cancer, then you’ll get what you deserve.” These are your handiwork?’

Fisher looked desperately from one to the other. ‘Don’t even think about trying some pathetic excuse about your mates nicking your phone,’ Karim snarled. Carol was liking him more every time he opened his mouth.

Fisher cleared his throat and sat on his hands. ‘Yeah. I wrote them.’

‘How did you feel when Daisy Morton did burn? When her house blew up and she died and her family lost their home? Did that make you happy?’

He shook his head, giving her a pleading look. ‘I never meant it for real, I was just… I don’t know, showing off.’

‘Acting the big man,’ Karim sneered. ‘So where were you the day Daisy Morton died?’

Fisher literally jumped in his seat. ‘What?’

‘You heard.’

‘What’s that got to do with me? She killed herself. I never had nothing to do with it.’

‘You don’t think piling all this crap on Daisy’s head might have had something to do with her decision?’

Fisher pushed his chair back from the table, as if putting physical distance between him and his words would separate them. ‘Sticks and stones, man. Just words, that’s all, just words.’

Carol leaned forward. ‘Where were you that day, Steve? Did you go round to Daisy’s house to tell her to her face what you thought of her?’

‘No,’ he yelped. ‘I never went near her. Look, I wasn’t the only one who sent messages. There were loads of them. All I did was join in what everybody else was doing.’

‘But she wasn’t the only one you attacked like this.’ Carol put more messages on the table. ‘Kate Rawlins. “You need to have some sense raped into you.” “You’re too ugly to rape. Not like your tasty daughter. We’ll make her pay for your dirty mouth.” Kate killed herself as well. Where were you that day? Were you in London, persuading her to gas herself in her garage? And what about Jasmine Burton?’ More paper on the table. ‘What about this? “Someone should stab you then fuck the hole.” What were you thinking, Steve? Where were you the night Jasmine walked into the River Exe and drowned herself?’

Now he was shaking, his whole body trembling, his teeth chattering like a man in the grip of a fever. ‘I never. I never went near them. I never.’

‘You abused them and now they’re dead. It’s a straight line, Steve.’ Carol pushed the paper towards him and leaned back, arms folded across her chest, expression implacable.

He began to cry, fat tears spilling from his eyes and running down his cheeks. ‘I never,’ he gulped.

Carol exchanged a quick look with Karim. They both knew they weren’t dealing with a killer. But their instincts didn’t count as evidence. To discount Fisher, they needed evidence. ‘Get a hold of yourself, Steve,’ Carol said. ‘We need you to prove to us you had nothing to do with these deaths. We need to see your time sheets. We need alibis from you for when these women died. And then maybe, just maybe, this will all go away.’

He gulped and gasped and looked piteously at her. ‘You’re not going to send me to jail?’

‘That’s not my decision. But know this, Steve. If you lie to me in one single tiny detail, you’re going down. And when you come out, you’ll be lucky to get a zero hours contract cleaning toilets. Now let’s make a start, shall we?’

46

D
riving to Sunderland and back gave Kevin plenty of time to consider how he was going to deal with Penny Burgess. There was the small matter of interviewing a potential suspect in between but it was obvious within a minute of meeting Robbie Percy that he probably thought Sylvia Plath was a topless model. He had a menial job on the production line in a car plant and had less sophistication than the machines he worked with. There was no way he had the brains or the personality to drive anyone to suicide unless it was to avoid the prospect of having to spend time with him. Kevin put the fear of God into him, humiliated him in front of his workmates and drove straight back to Bradfield, continuing to fret over where he could meet Penny.

He needed it to be a public place. The last thing he wanted was to risk being alone with her in private. Yes, it had been years since they’d been lovers. He’d only ever seen her since at crime scenes and press conferences where he was protected by his job and the presence of other people, but even so, he’d felt the old drag of attraction to her. She would always be trouble where he was concerned and he couldn’t afford to take the risk of meeting her behind closed doors.

But it couldn’t be the kind of public place where they’d be seen by someone who recognised them. It would be ironic if a colleague spotted him and thought he’d returned to his old ways when he was trying to do the opposite of leaking. So that ruled out bars and coffee shops in the city centre.

Halfway down the A1 on his way home, the answer finally occurred to him. He pulled off at the next services and spent half an hour composing a text.

Hi Penny. I’d like to buy you a coffee. No strings. Meet me in the café at Dobson’s Garden World at 4pm? Kevin M.

She lived in a flat. There was no reason for her to be an habitué of the sprawling garden centre a mile from where she lived. Kevin was an occasional visitor now he’d taken up the allotment, but he and Stella went somewhere else when they were buying stuff for the garden, one that was nearer home. He’d never seen anyone he knew on his visits there, and the café was tucked away from the main concourse. What could be less redolent of adultery than a suburban garden centre?

Kevin arrived first. Nervous, he pottered around the tools section, settling on a new pair of secateurs and a different rose for his watering can. At five to four, he bought himself a Coke and chose a table apart from the handful of other customers. He wasn’t worried that she hadn’t replied to his text. She was the queen of wrong-footing people. Of course she wouldn’t have given him the satisfaction of some anodyne reply.

He took a swig of his drink and instantly felt his stomach revolt. She’d always gone straight to his guts, he remembered that now. He could never eat or drink ahead of their rendezvous.

And then all at once there she was. She’d bypassed the counter and made straight for the table. ‘Well. If it isn’t Kevin Matthews,’ she sighed. She scarcely looked a day older than when they’d first met. Her dark hair was the same cascade of mingled dark brown shades, her skin looked clear and soft, her lips slightly parted in that half-smile that was both knowing and inviting. There were a few more lines around her eyes, but they only made her look more interesting. As always, she wore clothes that were expensively simple, that emphasised all the right curves and disguised any that she wanted to hide. Her job might be provincial but Penny Burgess was anything but.

Kevin stumbled to his feet. ‘Penny. Thanks for coming. You look great.’ He hated himself for the words as soon as they were uttered. So much for playing it cool. ‘Can I get you a coffee?’

She shuddered and sat down. ‘God, no. It’s one of those horrible machines. Press a button, out comes frothy milk substitute and a nasty, bitter brew. You know me, Kevin, I only settle for the best.’ Her voice was not the one she used at press conferences. Then, she was forceful and strong, impossible to ignore. Here she was as impossible to ignore but for very different reasons. This voice was low and warm, intimate and subtle.

He sat too, thankful that she hadn’t offered her face for a kiss. His mouth felt dry and vast. ‘I see your byline all the time. You’ve been doing some interesting work.’

She smiled. ‘I have managed to extend the crime beat to cover all sorts of wickedness.’ She leaned forward and put her hand over Kevin’s. The shock was electric but he forced himself to look at the hand itself. Now he could see the signs of ageing that Penny had banished from her face. ‘I missed you, my little ginger pig.’

‘Yeah, well, sometimes we can’t have what we want. Penny, this isn’t me looking to revive things between us. I want to ask you a favour.’

She raised one eyebrow in a calculated move. ‘And why would I want to do you a favour?’

Kevin drew his hand back. ‘For old times’ sake? Because I know that, in spite of what you want people to think, you’re a decent human being? Because it never hurts to have a favour in the bank? All of the above?’

She gave a wry smile and shook her head. ‘I’m amazed you’d even ask, after what happened to your career last time you got into bed with me, figuratively and literally.’

He forced himself to meet her eyes. ‘Believe me, if there was any other way, I wouldn’t be here. But we meant a lot to each other once. So I thought it was worth asking.’

‘Ah, Kevin, you were always so serious. It was hard sometimes to have fun with you. It always had to mean so much…’

He shook his head. ‘If that’s how you want to play it, fine. But I know it meant something to you too.’

‘Sweet.’ Her expression was anything but.

‘ReMIT. That’s what I want to talk to you about.’

‘Ah yes, the holy grail that brought you out of retirement and gave you your old status back.’

‘It’s a big deal, Penny, and it’s on your patch. There’s going to be a lot of great stories coming out of ReMIT, and because we’re based in Bradfield, you’ll be on the front line.’

‘Well, duh, Kevin. I had worked that one out for myself. But surely you’re not offering yourself up as a source?’

He shook his head with a rueful smile. ‘I’m not that stupid, Penny. I don’t want to throw away a second chance. And that’s where I think we have something in common. We both have self-interest in making sure ReMIT works. Me because of the job. And you because of the stories.’

Penny crossed her elegant legs and sat back in her seat. ‘You’re interesting me now, Kevin. Where is this common interest going to take us?’

‘You saw the story at the weekend? About Carol Jordan?’

She gave a scornful laugh. ‘Oh yes. A mess of unsubstantiated innuendo and information that hadn’t been knitted together properly. They should have taken more time with it and bottomed it properly. There was a good story lurking in there. Probably.’

‘It nearly holed us below the waterline before we got started,’ Kevin said. ‘Obviously, we’ve got enemies. One in particular who took a chance on pulling together a half-arsed tale and leaking it.’

‘And you want to know who that is.’

‘Of course I do. And frankly, so should you. They’re leaking to someone who isn’t you, who doesn’t know how to run a good story. But more than that, they’re trying to bring down something that will keep you supplied with cracking good stories for years to come.’

Penny laughed. ‘That’s better, Kevin. I like it when you stop appealing to my good nature and go for my naked self-interest.’ She gave him a long, considering look. ‘Suppose I did find out what you want to know. You’d remember that down the line?’

‘I won’t leak, Penny. But when we have something we can release, you’ll be the first on the list.’ It was a promise he couldn’t keep, but he didn’t care. There would be no comeback. Because what he’d realised as the conversation had progressed was that although she made his heart race and his palms sweat, he wasn’t helpless any more. He’d somehow grown up in the ways that mattered. Yes, he wanted her. But he knew he wasn’t about to give in to that desire.

She sucked her lips in, then blew them out in a kissing motion. ‘A business arrangement, then. All right, Kevin. I’ll see what I can do.’ She stood up. ‘It’s lovely to see you. Let’s do this again.’

And she was gone as swiftly as she’d arrived. Kevin felt his body relax, his head swim. It was going to be all right. Really, it was going to be all right.

47

P
aula had laid claim to one of the small interview rooms on the new ReMIT floor. It smelled of cut wood and fresh carpet, with a faint note of low emission paint underlying it. It felt slightly alien to her to be in police offices that didn’t have the lingering tang of stale nicotine and male sweat. Décor was always low down on the budget totem pole; she reckoned the main Skenfrith Street incident room had last been decorated some time in the early nineties. And yet, there was something comforting about its familiar scruffiness. Here, there were no flyers and memos on the walls, their curling edges yellow with age, no squad rotas with their crossings-out and scribbled notes. Even the furniture was new, unscuffed and clean. The room had no history; it was a clean slate.

Time to change that. Paula opened a new A4 notebook and took out her phone. She woke her tablet from sleep and called up the briefing Stacey had prepared. The first woman on the list was Maxine Silvers, a successful businesswoman who had been appointed to a seat on the board of a Championship football club and dared to put her head over the parapet on the subject of homophobia in football. Stacey had provided a sample of some of the abuse she’d had on social media. Paula wondered whether the wives and girlfriends and mothers of these men had any idea of the vileness that spewed out on their computer screens. Somehow, she doubted it. No point in calling Maxine’s number; she’d never answer a stranger, given the level of unpleasantness she’d had to deal with. Paula texted her instead, asking her to call via the BMP switchboard to reassure her.

She went through the same process with the next three women before Maxine Silvers rang on the landline. ‘Thanks for getting back to me,’ Paula said.

‘No problem, I’m just glad somebody’s doing something about these morons,’ she said, a strong Welsh lilt to her voice.