The Silent Room (12 page)

Even her guide dog looked sad.

Ryan felt bad. ‘You had enough on your plate. I never meant to add to your grief. I thought – wrongly as it turned out – that my troubles would all blow over and the suspension would be lifted before you got wind of it.’

‘Well, you were wrong, weren’t you?’ she snapped.

He tried changing the subject. They talked for ages about Grace and, without being specific, another person helping him. They also discussed Hilary and the kids, O’Neil and Maguire, the incompetence of the officers who’d followed and lost him, the fact that he’d come up with nothing worth a damn. He told her everything and didn’t stop until he was done. Eventually, she stopped crying.

‘I’m to blame,’ she said, wiping her eyes.

‘No, you’re not. My looking in on you during work time was sanctioned long before Jack’s arrest. When I find him, he’ll tell Maguire that. My absence was only a minor breach of the rules. It won’t go anywhere, I promise you. It’s not your fault that the moron decided to act on it. He did it for his own reasons—’

‘To get rid of you?’ Caroline asked.

‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘What other way is there?’

Ryan said nothing.

‘Tell me you weren’t rude to him.’

He didn’t answer.

‘Oh, Matt . . .’ Her lips were a hard, thin line. ‘I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me.’

‘I was trying to protect you from more upsetting news. Bad move on my part, I accept that now, but I did it for all the right reasons. C’mon, this is no time to fall out with each—’

‘Yeah, well, you should’ve thought about that before treating me like a child.’

‘I’d never do that!’

‘Wouldn’t you?’

A further attempt to appease her failed. In fact, his words had the opposite effect. He’d never seen her so riled.

Conscious that her yelling was distressing Bob, she crouched down to give him a cuddle. When she looked up, her bottom lip was trembling. Slowly, she began to calm down. Still, her tone of voice had an edge to it that cut him dead. ‘What’s happened to you, Matt? Since when do we hide things from each other? It’s not like you. Why has Jack’s disappearance made you so secretive?’

‘I said I’m sorry.’

‘I’d like to know why you’re giving up on him—’

‘I’m not!’
Anything but.

‘Aren’t you? He’s your best friend. He’s
my
best friend!’

Wrung out from the tongue-lashing, Ryan left her alone and climbed the stairs to the room he’d grown up in, where he stayed over often rather than drive to the coast late at night. He sat on the edge of the bed, images of his late father looking down at him from every wall. PC Ryan, as he was then, in full dress uniform, steely eyes shadowed by the peak of his cap. His cap badge, all shiny and new, shone out like a beacon from the photograph, reminding Ryan that he had one like it and that it might just come in handy.

His eyes flew to the bedside cabinet.

Fishing inside the drawer, he found what he was looking for: his old warrant card, replaced when he was promoted. He flipped it open, took in the issue number embossed in leather on the left-hand side. Running his thumb across the silver badge, a lump formed in his throat as he recalled his time as a detective constable. He was happy then – full of enthusiasm for a job that now seemed to be shafting him from every angle.

A tap on the door pulled him from his daydream.

‘Matt? Can I come in?’ His sister entered.

Ryan got to his feet, apologized again. Putting his arms around her, he held on tight, feeling her body relax into him as her anger faded away, his eyes on the warrant card still in his hand –
his ticket to information
. Caroline was correct. Whatever Newman thought of him personally, he couldn’t abandon Jack. He promised to get his act together and look for him.

22

Ryan took a shower, changed his clothes, packed a bag and left the house immediately, telling Caroline he didn’t know when he’d be back. It could be days. He’d keep in touch by phone. As he reversed off the driveway, he noticed her standing at the Georgian window of the living room. She waved. Instinctively he waved back, even though he knew she couldn’t see him. It almost cracked him up.

The BMW showed up as soon as he met the open road. The surveillance detail was sitting in a lay-by waiting for him. Ryan had memorized the registration on the way up. Number plates were something that stuck in his mind. Years of training had fine-tuned his ability to recall them at will. Lifting his mobile off the passenger seat where he’d thrown it, he accessed the voice memos app and spoke the registration into it for future reference.

Maguire’s goons were such amateurs.

As he drove on, Ryan considered his future in the force, questioning whether or not he wanted to remain a police officer in a culture that allowed the presumption of guilt even when a man was innocent. Jack might not be feeling the love, but then, come to think of it, neither was
he.
Fighting crime had defined his whole life in more ways than one. What else was he good for? He could think of no other job that would supply the same adrenalin rush.

His phone rang:
Grace.

Before she had time to speak, he apologized for walking out in a strop. ‘It was petulant. I’ll make my peace with Newman when I get to town. A difference of opinion doesn’t mean we can’t work together. The important person here is Jack. I’ll just have to prove to Newman that his suspicions are unfounded.’

‘How very grown-up,’ Grace said. ‘It’s a cliché, but actions really do speak louder than words. If it’s any consolation, the situation is getting to me too. You need to understand that stress is not a word in Frank’s vocabulary. He’s used to it. I’m not defending him. I’m trying to make you aware of where he’s coming from. Trusting no one has kept him alive, Ryan. What he said about you, about Jack – it’s not personal. Anyway, believe me when I say that we’ve come to an agreement that you’re one of the good guys. We need each other.’

‘I know.’

‘What’s happening your end?’

‘Caroline just gave me earache.’ Ryan explained about the row with his twin. ‘Other than that, life is hunky-dory.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Grace replied. ‘She’ll calm down soon enough. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s not in her psyche to be mean or resentful.’ That much was true. Caroline was kind and caring, always saw the good in people, never the bad.

Despite the reassuring words, Ryan still felt like he’d let her down.

‘Anything else I need to know?’ Grace asked, an attempt at getting him back on track.

‘Yeah, none of it good. O’Neil is having me followed – although she says she’s not.’

‘You talked to her?’

‘Briefly. She denies it, of course.’

‘Could be Maguire.’

‘That would be my guess.’

Grace swore under her breath as if Newman might be listening. ‘Don’t tell me they have this address?’

Ryan felt her anxiety down the line. That would be the worst possible scenario.

‘No,’ he reassured her. ‘I called in on Hilary after I left you. They tailed me from there. I’m certain I wasn’t followed from your place.’

‘Can you shake them off?’

Smiling, Ryan put his foot down.

23

He needed to get rid of his car. On a Sunday, with less traffic on the roads, there was only one way to do it. Travelling at speed on the A1 south, Ryan took a detour into Newcastle, entering the city centre at five past three. Dropping down on to St James’ Boulevard to Times Square multistorey car park, he drove up to the fourth floor, heading for a bay as close to the exit door as he could get.

Grabbing his bag, he locked the Discovery and legged it to the stairwell. As he pressed for the lift, he ventured a look through the narrow panel in the door in time to see the Beamer drive up the ramp, the men inside scanning in both directions looking for him. He couldn’t believe their incompetence. There was one way out of the car park and there were two of them. Anyone with half a brain would’ve parked up on the street and sent their colleague in on foot.

He continued to watch as the BMW pulled up sharply.

The passenger jumped out and approached his car, a look of disdain on his face when he realized there was no ticket on the windscreen. It was a pay-on-return facility and he had no bloody idea how long Ryan intended to stay.

Time to put some distance between them.

Entering the lift, Ryan pressed for the ground floor.

Once outside, he sprinted up Railway Street, the wind at his back. This was never a busy part of town and he needed the cover of others to blend in and disappear. The lights were on red, so he crossed the road and sped up Marlborough Crescent, passing the Centre for Life on his right. Cutting through Times Square was a good move. In seconds, he was lost in a crowd attending an art exhibition set up in the centre of the pedestrianized area. Only then did he chance a look over his shoulder. There was no one on foot following him.

Now was as good a time as any to make a move.

Mingling with drinkers making their way into the Blonde Barrel for a pint, he edged his way nearer to the Neville Street exit, then peeled off and broke into a run. Keeping an eye out for the BMW, he moved swiftly past a line of taxis waiting in the car park, dodging smokers getting their fix outside the entrance to Newcastle’s recently modernized railway station.

He checked the clock on the portico.

Perfect timing.

One flash of his old warrant card at the barrier and the ticket inspector let him through in time to jump aboard the 15.48 Edinburgh train. So what if he didn’t have a ticket? If challenged, he’d call the British Transport Police and invent some cock-and-bull story about trailing a serious offender. By the time they checked his ID –
if
they checked his ID – he’d be off the train at Alnmouth. In the end, that wasn’t necessary. He was sweating so much, pressing his point that he was hunting someone on the run, the ticket inspector took little notice of his warrant card and let him through.

Thanking him, Ryan jumped aboard Coach M, a first-class carriage. He removed his jacket, took a seat. No point moving down the train if he could get away with a free upgrade. East Coast staff even offered to feed him. Much as he could’ve done with a shot of alcohol, he opted for coffee instead and a packet of shortbread biscuits, his favourite.

He called ahead.

A taxi was waiting for him when he disembarked at Alnmouth station at ten past four. It whisked him away and in no time he was back at his mother’s house, calling out to Caroline as he closed the door behind him.

She appeared from nowhere. ‘Did you forget something?’

‘Sure did.’ Pleased to see that she was up, dressed and looking a lot less agitated, he bent down and kissed her on the forehead. ‘I need to borrow Mum’s car. OK with you?’

‘What if I want to use it?’ she joked. ‘What’s up with yours?’

‘Nothing. I just fancied a try of a Honda Jazz.’

Caroline laughed, even though she’d never seen one.

He made it to Grace’s house surveillance-free at quarter to six, explaining his delay. Newman handed him a beer on the way in. That was all he was getting by way of apology.

They clinked bottles.

Nuff said.

Newman didn’t like the sound of the tail on Ryan, suggesting it might not be the police. Maybe the Security Service was involved somewhere down the line. All options were on the table until they discovered what Jack had been investigating.

Grace threw Ryan a smile. ‘Told you it wasn’t personal.’

Newman’s proposition sounded too far-fetched. Ryan wasn’t buying it, although he had to concede that conspiracies weren’t always theoretical. Maybe Jack had found his Watergate, a scandal so big that government departments were involved at the highest level. The only way to be sure if Newman was pissing in the wind was to go along with it.

The spook offered to drive around and check on police safe houses in case Jack had been taken there and held against his will. And, because Ryan was Special Branch, they had a starter for ten because he knew exactly where they were.

‘For what it’s worth,’ Ryan said. ‘I think we’re wasting our time. The guys following me were useless.’

‘We’ve got sod-all else,’ Grace reminded him.

‘I have the registration of the surveillance vehicle,’ Ryan offered. ‘There’s one way to find out if it’s the police on my tail and that’s to clone a car myself. A mate of mine has the exact same model, arguably in better condition than the one following me, but not noticeably so. I’m sure he’ll let me borrow it if I ask nicely.’

‘Mind if I take care of the rest?’ Grace asked.

The two men looked at her.

‘O’Neil and her team aren’t looking for me,’ she added. The suggestion made sense. Besides, Grace had set her sights on going undercover, her favourite aspect of police work since joining up thirty-odd years ago. Having listened to her outline what she had in mind, the two men grinned. They liked her style. It was a plan that just might work.

24

While Newman went off to check safe houses, Grace went shopping. Not only for food – although she bought that too – along with enough office supplies, alcohol and fags to keep three going for the foreseeable future. The coming days would be frantic. Meals would be simple and easy to prepare, a case of take it or leave it. She’d selected a particular supermarket, one she was familiar with. When she was done, she dumped her purchases in the boot of her car and did a recce of the car park, thinking through her undercover strategy for the following day.

The southwest corner was ideal, assuming Ryan could persuade his pal to part with his beloved BMW. It had been windy the last couple of days. Some overhanging horse-chestnut trees had lost their leaves. Perfect for what she had in mind. She didn’t risk picking any up in case she was seen acting suspiciously, but made a mental note to collect some on her way home.

On the way back to her car, she pulled out her mobile and called Ryan.