The Silent Room (2 page)

He meant it.

They had been born upstairs in the same bedroom where their mother had died peacefully in her sleep, with Caroline sitting in a chair beside her. After the funeral, Ryan had offered to move back in, but she wouldn’t hear of it, insisting that she was doing fine all by herself.

The massaging stopped.

Caroline sat down under the scrutiny of her twin. Immediately, her guide dog shuffled forward, sinking his nose into the folds of her faded skirt. His sister was slim and very beautiful, with a dress sense most sighted women would die for. It pained Ryan to think that she’d never seen colour. Never seen him. He felt guilty about that.

It could so easily have been him.

Being blind from birth had never stopped her living. Ryan was immensely proud of her many achievements. She had first-class honours in criminal law, was a gifted musician with, it seemed, the ability to do anything she put her mind to. She was looking directly at him, dark curly hair like a shawl around her shoulders, bright eyes so normal an outsider would never guess that she lived in perpetual darkness.

‘I want you to be happy, Matt.’

He smiled. Now they were parentless, she was the only one in the world who called him that. Everyone else called him Ryan.

The lie on the tip of his tongue came easy. ‘I am happy.’

‘You don’t sound it.’ His twin was a walking, talking lie detector.

He apologized. ‘I’ve not been very good company, have I?’

She’d misread him. ‘Roz has a point, doesn’t she? This house is your inheritance too. You love each other. It’s only natural she wants to live with you.’

That was never going to happen.

Ryan allowed the conversation to stay on his ex. Coming on the back of their mother’s death, his twin had been upset by the arrest and detention of his boss, her friend, Jack Fenwick. He didn’t want to add to her distress by telling her that his relationship with DC Roz Cornell was also over. A different type of blindness had hidden differences between them until a couple of weeks ago. He didn’t have it in him to forgive her for what she had in mind for Caroline. Recognizing the value of a Grade II listed property in Alnwick – prime Northumberland real estate in a market town once voted the best in the UK – Roz was prepared to turf her out on her ear in order to release his newfound wealth. He hadn’t spoken to her for weeks and that suited him fine.

It was an amicable parting –
almost.

If his twin had known about the separation – more importantly the reason for it – she’d have felt guilty about holding him back. Ryan couldn’t cope with that. He’d tell her when the time was right.

Suspicious of his silence, she was trying her best to make him see reason and put the house up for sale. ‘It would enable you to buy a place in town,’ she said.

‘I don’t want a place in town. I live by the sea because I love it. It’s good for me—’

‘Then explain what it means to you. I’m sure Roz will understand.’

‘No, she won’t. She detests it up there.’ He listed all the reasons she’d given: too cold, too windy, nothing to do. ‘How she can view the Northumberland coast as boring is beyond me,’ he said. ‘She thinks landscape is a page orientation.’

Caroline laughed.

‘Where is she anyway?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘Working, I suppose. Why anyone would join the police force . . .’ Stalling, she reached out her hand and found his, a pained look on her face. ‘I’m sorry, Matt. You know what I meant. You both work too hard, that’s all. Why don’t you take a break, a long weekend, go somewhere hot? Roz loves the sun, even if you don’t. It would be good for you.’

Ryan didn’t comment. He’d never seen the point of taking a fortnight off to lie on his back and fry when there was so much more out there to explore: the countryside, the coast, the rich heritage of their own country – stuff he’d rather be doing on his days off – a lot of it on his doorstep, none of which Roz appreciated.

‘She’ll come round about the house,’ Caroline was saying. ‘Maybe if you had a bigger one at the coast?’

It was typical of her to play peacemaker. During spats between their parents – even when too young to fully understand what they were about – she’d say something silly or ask a question that would make them collapse with laughter, kiss and make up.

‘Can we talk about this later?’ Ryan saw off his cold tea and stood up before she had time to put forward a fix for his broken love life. He ruffled Bob’s shiny coat, receiving a tail wag in return. ‘I have to go. And don’t give the house another thought. I’ll pop by on my way home.’

‘There’s no need—’

‘I’ll be here.’ He kissed the top of her head.

His mobile rang:
Hilary Fenwick.

Ryan considered leaving it to voicemail and then changed his mind. Hilary had been in court earlier, a specially convened bail hearing choreographed by her husband’s solicitor. Instinctively, he knew the result wasn’t going to be good. If he’d been released, Jack would’ve called the minute he was out. Still, the least Ryan could do was play along.

‘Hilary, hi!’ He tried to sound upbeat. ‘How did it go?’

The woman was hysterical, words tumbling out of her mouth – not fast, not slow, but jumbled and incoherent. On the chair opposite, Caroline had dropped her head on one side, her super-human hearing picking up every word, alarm flashing across her face. She adored Jack, almost as much as he did.

‘Rewind, Hilary.’ Ryan sat down. ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’

‘Jack didn’t get bail. I’ve had Professional Standards here. It sounds crazy, but they say his mates have helped him escape. The prison van never made it to Durham. It was attacked by armed men.’ Her voice broke and she began to cry again. ‘He’s gone, Ryan. Jack’s gone. He hasn’t been sprung . . . he’s been abducted. Oh God . . .’ She choked back her tears. ‘The police are looking for you.’

‘Well, they’re not looking very hard. I’m on the other end of this mobile. You found me, didn’t you?’ Ryan placed the phone in the crook of his neck and picked up a pen. ‘Where did this happen? Was anyone hurt?’

‘I don’t know,’ Hilary sobbed. ‘They wouldn’t tell me.’

‘I’ll be right over.’

‘No! That’s not a good idea. They’ve stationed a car outside.’

‘So? I’m not in hiding—’

‘You’re not at work either. Your office said you were at headquarters. Complaints say they can prove your car hasn’t been there all day. They’re viewing that as suspicious. They think you’re involved. They practically accused me of tipping you off as to the time Jack left court. Be careful. They’re gunning for you.’

As Hilary rang off, Caroline’s head went down. When she looked up, she was sheet-white. This was bad – very bad – they both knew it. For once in his life, Ryan was pleased she couldn’t see his face.

3

Six p.m. In the two and a half hours since the hijack, investigators had pulled together an extensive file. A countdown of events leading up to Jack Fenwick’s flight from custody: witness statements, times, actions, several diagrams of the scene – all necessary for an incident that would dominate the coming weeks. Detective Superintendent Eloise O’Neil had questioned his wife, telling her to make contact if she heard from her husband.
Unlikely. And where the hell was DS Matthew Ryan?
He was to have been her next port of call. All attempts to find him had failed.

Far from happy, O’Neil scanned his picture. Ryan had dark hair, brown eyes and enough grey-flecked designer stubble to hide a small scar on his chin from being thrown over the handlebars of a pushbike when he was a kid. He was a dead ringer for Henry Cavill. Unmarried, she noticed. Probably best. Few relationships survived the rigors of a job that demanded your devotion 24/7. She detected hidden depths, as if he had a story to tell.

She bloody hoped so.

Throwing the photograph on her desk, she pulled out her phone and scanned her emails. As usual, her superiors were screaming for a result, but piecing together an exact sequence of events was proving difficult. One vital witness – the driver of a Renault Clio abandoned at the scene – hadn’t yet been traced. According to prison escorts, corroborated by one other witness, the guy had fled the scene and hadn’t reappeared after the hijacking.

O’Neil’s internal phone rang.

Frustrated, she picked up the handset. ‘I said I wasn’t to be disturbed.’

‘It’s the front desk, guv. DS Ryan is in the building.’

‘Where exactly?’

‘Fenwick’s office.’

‘Tell him to wait there.’

Ryan stood up as they entered. Eloise O’Neil was Northumbria’s most revered Professional Standards officer. With a reputation for impartiality, she’d clocked up years of experience, an impressive track record. Unlike some in her department – namely the male by her side, DS John Maguire – she could punch above her weight. These two were not the same officers who’d interviewed Ryan when the case broke.

These were the big guns.

‘Guv.’ Ryan extended his hand, receiving a firm shake from her, a glare from Maguire. ‘How can I help you?’

‘It’s good to meet you . . . finally.’ It was a dig. O’Neil was looking directly at him. Judging him. In her hand was his personnel file, a white label on the front displaying his name, rank and number. She nodded to her cohort, a man Ryan couldn’t stand. ‘DS Maguire has been trying to find you.’

‘Did he not think to call me on this?’ Ryan held up his phone.

O’Neil glanced at her DS, a question in her eyes. He shrugged, his colour rising. The Detective Super let it go. Cautioning Ryan, she asked if he required representation from a solicitor or a Police Federation official. He declined, telling her he’d done nothing to warrant one. She asked him to think again. When his answer was the same, she got stuck in, levelling her gaze at him, her expression inscrutable. ‘On Saturday the twenty-first of September you were interviewed in connection with firearms found in DI Fenwick’s house. Is that correct?’

‘Yes, guv.’

‘Well, take a seat, I have a few more questions for you.’

Ryan got a whiff of expensive scent as she moved closer. It was hot in Jack’s office. Before sitting down, he loosened his collar and left his desk to open the window. He didn’t care that his action might be misconstrued as nervousness on his part. Still, he was glad she couldn’t see the trickle of sweat running down his spine.

‘Have you heard the news?’ O’Neil took the seat opposite.

‘About the hijack? Yeah, I heard.’

‘Who told you?’

‘My DI’s wife.’

‘Oh?’ Maguire interrupted. ‘Thick as thieves, are you?’

‘We’re friends. She’s frantic with worry and wanted my help. By your presence here, I’d say she has good reason. I told her I was as much in the dark as she was.’

Placing a couple of stills on Ryan’s desk, O’Neil turned them round to face him. The images showed the hijack taking place. He looked at them for a few moments, memorizing the time and date at the bottom of both, information that might come in handy later. The incident had been over in less than two minutes.

‘Now tell us DI Fenwick isn’t guilty,’ O’Neil said pointedly.

Ryan eyeballed her. ‘He’s not.’

The Detective Superintendent shook her head. Clearly, she didn’t share his faith. She pointed at the photographs, her voice calm, measured. ‘He was getting into the car with them – as cool as you like – I have the whole thing on videotape and eyewitnesses to back it up. You need to understand, Ryan. He wasn’t running or being dragged. He was walking of his own free will.’

‘You’ve had the benefit of the footage, guv. I haven’t.’

‘Then you’ll have to take my word for it.’

‘What can I say? No offence, but I think you’re wrong.’

Ryan’s eyes flitted from one officer to the other. They were a perfect fit for the job they were doing. In contrast to O’Neil’s fair-mindedness, Maguire was a nasty piece of work. The good cop/bad cop routine was alive and well in Northumbria force. No one liked bent coppers, least of all Ryan, but Maguire enjoyed his job too much. Often boasted about how many colleagues he’d locked up. It wasn’t as if he had anything to be proud of either. Despite his overinflated ego, his arrest-conviction ratio was crap. He represented everything Ryan hated in a policeman.

All the gear – no idea.

‘Fenwick clearly had assistance,’ Maguire said. ‘A co-conspirator, if you will. We’re here to investigate where it might have come from.’

Ryan locked eyes with him. ‘’Fraid I can’t help you.’

‘Where have you been all afternoon?’ O’Neil asked.

‘I had a personal errand to run—’

‘I
bet
you did.’ Maguire pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘Care to enlighten us?’

‘I was visiting my sister.’

‘The blind one?’

Ignoring the moron like he wasn’t in the room, Ryan directed his answers to the senior officer. ‘I’m sure DS Maguire is well aware that I only have one sister, guv. Our mother died recently. My twin has taken it very badly. I popped up to Alnwick to make sure she was OK.’

O’Neil bristled, not on account of him, if Ryan was any judge. Maguire’s heavy-handedness had angered her. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ she said. ‘But you can appreciate the position I’m in. Because you were not where you should’ve been at the time someone was helping Fenwick escape, you’re on dodgy ground. Whether you like it or not, I have to assume that your twin would say anything to save your skin. It’s a weak alibi. In fact, it’s no alibi.’

‘Fair comment,’ Ryan said. ‘It doesn’t change my answer.’

‘Can anyone verify what you say?’ Maguire again.

‘My sister can.’

Dissatisfied with his answer, his attitude or both, O’Neil attacked. ‘We’re investigating a criminal conspiracy involving illegal firearms, DS Ryan. You may be involved. You may not. Either way, we need your full cooperation.’ She opened his file, telling him how impressed she was with his record. ‘You’ve not put a foot wrong, have you? Apart from a couple of unsubstantiated complaints from members of the public – I’ve picked up one or two myself over the years – you’ve been a force poster boy.’ She looked up. ‘You’re acting DI in your boss’s absence. You stand to lose a lot if you’re lying to me.’