The silent house arc, p.33

The Silent House (ARC), page 33

 

The Silent House (ARC)
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  I’d worked out what was going on, I couldn’t let anything

  scare me any more.

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  2 hours before the murder

  Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Elisha jumped up from the sofa when she saw the glow through the curtains. The outside light

  had come on.

  What? Rick asked.

  Alan’s home! Quick, you need to go out the back door.

  She shoved him out of the room, past the stairs and

  towards the back door. It was locked, but she grabbed

  the key from a low shelf to the right of the door, and

  fumbled with it for a moment until she got the door open.

  Rick tried to protest but she gave him another shove into

  the back yard and shut the door behind him.

  What’s happening? Alan came through from the living

  room to find her standing with her back to the door.

  Nothing. I was just locking up.

  Alan frowned at her. Is there someone outside?

  Elisha shook her head, but Alan was no longer looking

  at her. He turned round and went back the way he’d

  come, sticking his head back out of the front door. She

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  tried not to let her anxiety show, though she knew her hands were shaking. Would Rick have had the sense to

  get out of there quickly? Or was he hiding somewhere at

  the back or side of the house?

  ‘Hey!’ Alan shouted, and Elisha squeezed her eyes shut

  in fear. She had no idea what Alan would do if he realised

  she’d been with Rick.

  She followed him out of the door to find him dragging

  Rick out of the passage next to the house. Alan was much

  bigger, and he flung the other man on the ground.

  What the fuck are you doing here? Alan asked Rick,

  his foot pinning Rick to the ground. I told you not to

  come to my house.

  It’s not like that, I was just passing!

  Alan aimed a swift kick at Rick’s ribs and Elisha rushed

  forward and grabbed onto his arm.

  Don’t!

  Why not? Why was he here? Alan asked, rounding on

  her.

  He just wanted to talk, that’s all, she replied, trying to pull Alan away from where her lover was scrambling to

  get to his feet.

  Talk? Alan spat on the ground. I know what he wanted.

  If I find out you’ve cheated on me . . .

  He didn’t finish the sentence, but the threat was clear

  in his eyes. Elisha watched him, willing herself to only

  look at Alan, and not at Rick, who was now on his feet

  and backing away.

  Alan stepped towards Rick and swung a punch, which

  landed square on his jaw and floored him again. Elisha

  winced as Alan stepped on one of Rick’s legs, leaning his

  weight onto him as the other man tried to drag himself

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  away. Alan stepped back, then gave him another couple of kicks to the ribs. Curling up on himself, Rick covered

  his head, as if anticipating further blows. Alan grabbed

  Rick’s hands and pulled them away from his face, so the

  two men were looking each other in the eye.

  Fuck off, Alan told him. I don’t want to see you here again.

  Elisha held her breath, expecting more as Rick scram-

  bled to get up and out of reach. Alan wasn’t the sort of

  man to back away from a fight, and she knew he’d love

  this excuse to give Rick the beating of his life. Was he

  storing up his anger for something worse? She trembled

  at the thought.

  Casting a last glance at Elisha, Rick turned and walked

  away, his sense of self-preservation too strong to let him

  stay any longer.

  Once Rick was out of sight, Alan grabbed Elisha by

  the shoulder and steered her back into the house. She

  winced at the strength of his grip but didn’t complain. He

  pushed her towards the stairs and sneered at her.

  Go to bed.

  Alan, it wasn’t anything, he—

  I don’t want to hear your excuses. I’ll sleep down here.

  Don’t, she pleaded. Come up to bed, please.

  He didn’t reply, but walked back into the living room

  and slammed the door behind him. Elisha took a few deep

  breaths to try and stop herself from trembling before

  carefully climbing the stairs. At the top, she paused outside the children’s room, wondering how she had managed to

  get herself into this situation. The first time Alan had

  behaved like that, she didn’t know what to do, but over

  time she’d formulated a plan. Now, she’d had enough.

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  She knew she couldn’t just leave him, that she’d have to find a way of keeping him away from her for good. It

  was time to put that plan into action.

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  Chapter 28

  Saturday 17th Feb

  I got a taxi into town first thing in the morning and picked

  up the hire car I’d reserved online the night before. I

  couldn’t really afford it, but I didn’t want to be waiting

  around for taxis if the hospital called me about Anna.

  From there I drove to the police station to give a statement

  about the van that tried to run me off the road. I didn’t

  think there was much that forensics could get from my

  car, but a team was sent to my flat to take some samples

  anyway. Forest and Singh were both there, despite it being

  a Saturday, and I showed them the most recent message

  I’d received.

  YOU WON’T BE SO LUCKY NEXT TIME.

  Forest chewed her lip while she read through the texts,

  then folded her arms. ‘We think we’re getting close to

  identifying who’s been threatening you.’ She held up her

  hand at the astonished look on my face. ‘This doesn’t

  mean it’s the same person who tried to kill your sister,

  nor does it mean this person is Lexi’s killer, but it looks

  like there is certainly a connection.’

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  ‘Who is it?’

  She and Singh both shook their heads. ‘We can’t discuss

  that with you right now. We’ll be interviewing a suspect

  very soon, but we’ve managed to find another interpreter

  who’s coming over from Sheffield. Given the current devel-

  opments, it’s not appropriate for you to be working with

  us on this case any longer.’

  Annoyed that she was repeating exactly what I’d said

  to her the other day, one detail stood out to me. ‘So, this

  suspect is deaf?’ That didn’t really narrow it down, as

  Alan, Elisha, Rick Lombard and Max would all have

  required an interpreter, but it pointed towards it being

  someone I already knew.

  ‘We can’t give you any more information,’ Forest said,

  her face impassive, although I could tell from Singh’s less

  guarded expression that I’d hit the right note.

  ‘When were you going to tell me this? You might have

  identified my sister’s attacker.’

  ‘Until we question our suspect and finish working

  through the evidence we’ve gathered, there’s nothing

  concrete. It would be irresponsible of us to discuss it with

  you before we know anything definite.’

  Singh reached forward and laid a consoling hand on

  my arm. ‘Remember, you’ve gone from being a professional

  whose services we hired, to the family member of a victim.

  There’s a conflict of interest and you can’t be involved.

  We’re going to put a uniformed officer outside your flat,

  just in case.’

  I was seething, but I knew they were right. That didn’t

  mean I was going to go home and sit in my flat like a

  good little girl.

  Once I’d finished giving my statement, I went back out

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  to the car park, but I didn’t leave. I sat in my hire car and waited. Outside, it began to rain.

  After three hours I was frozen and stiff, but I was finally

  rewarded with the sight of one of my former colleagues

  from the agency pulling up to the building. The presence

  of another BSL interpreter proved that this suspect was

  deaf, and my heart started to pound. I slid down in my

  seat to prevent him seeing me, and carried on waiting.

  My breath kept fogging up the windscreen as the rain

  turned to sleet, and I had to wipe it clean every few

  minutes. Fifteen minutes later, a police car pulled into the

  car park and two uniformed officers got out. They opened

  the back door and helped someone out, but from that

  angle I couldn’t see who it was. I got out of the car, my

  joints protesting after sitting in the cold for so long, and

  I approached the door of the station from the opposite

  side. Before I reached it, I could see who the police were

  escorting.

  It was Laura.

  When she saw me, her eyes widened in panic. It wasn’t

  me, Paige. Please believe me. It wasn’t me. I didn’t hurt Anna. I didn’t do it, any of it.

  I stared at her as she continued to deny it and the

  officers escorted her inside the building. When the door

  closed, I leant on the wall and sank to the ground, ignoring

  the freezing drips running down my neck. I didn’t know

  what to believe any more. Laura? How could Laura be

  involved in any of this? None of it made sense. Of all the

  people it could have been, I’d never truly believed Laura

  was capable of hurting her own daughter, but was it

  possible she was a far more accomplished actress than

  any of us realised?

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  One of the officers escorting Laura must have told Singh that I was still outside, because he came out with a giant

  umbrella and crouched down next to me.

  ‘You need to go home.’

  ‘I know. But I can’t cope with doing nothing.’

  ‘Go back to the hospital then, or spend some time with

  friends. Do anything to take your mind off this place.

  We’re doing our best, and you can’t help any more.’

  I clenched my fists as I tried to control my anger. ‘How

  can Laura be involved in this? I can’t believe I’ve trusted

  her this whole time. I felt sorry for her!’

  He took a deep breath, clearly wondering what he could

  and couldn’t say to me. ‘We traced the phone, the first

  one. It was a pay-as-you-go phone, bought with cash, but

  the credit was topped up using Laura’s bank card.’

  It took a moment to sink in. ‘So Laura sent me those

  messages? But why?’

  Singh shook his head. ‘Nothing is definite. It was her

  bank account, but that doesn’t mean it was her. We haven’t

  yet found any other evidence to link her to these crimes.

  That’s why we’re questioning her today.’ He squeezed my

  hand, feeling how cold my skin was. ‘Paige, go home.

  Before anyone else finds out you’re still here.’

  I knew he meant Forest, and I knew he could be in

  deep trouble over what he’d just told me. He got up and

  helped me to my feet, then gave my hand a final squeeze

  before I walked back to my car and drove away.

  Instead of going home, I drove to the hospital and made

  my way up to the Intensive Care ward. A doctor and a

  couple of nurses were standing by Anna’s bed, so I waited

  until they’d finished. I tried to ask them some questions

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  as they left, but all I got was another promise that they’d let me know if anything changed.

  She looked so small, lying in the hospital bed, surrounded

  by machines and tubes. There was no trace of the Anna

  I knew, no life or animation, and I hunched over as the

  fear of losing her hit me, knocking the breath from my

  body. I sank into the chair by her bed and tried to hold

  back the sobs, but they were too strong for me to resist.

  My little sister might die, all because she chose to come

  and stay with me and get mixed up in this case. She came

  to support a friend, the same friend who was being ques-

  tioned by the police. I should have stopped her from

  getting involved. I should never have allowed my profes-

  sional and personal lives to merge.

  What made it worse was that we’d argued the last time

  I’d seen her before she was hit by the van. I couldn’t

  remember ever having an argument that fierce, one that

  cut so close to the bone. And I knew now that she was

  right: I had never quite got past the role I’d taken on

  when Dad died, as my little sister’s protector and extra

  parent. When Mum wasn’t able to process what had

  happened and could barely look after herself, I stepped

  in, and even ten years later a part of me still thought of

  Anna as a teenager who needed my advice and guidance.

  I made a promise to myself to be a better sister if she got

  through this.

  Wiping my eyes, I took her hand. ‘I’m going to find

  out who did this. You’re going to get better, and we’re

  going to be okay.’ I still couldn’t believe that her best

  friend could have done this to her. Kissing my sister softly

  on the forehead, I left.

  Back in the flat, after a cursory nod to the PC in his

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  car outside, I flopped down on the sofa and stared at the ceiling for a while. Nothing made sense, and I still couldn’t form any coherent ideas as to why Laura would have sent

  me those messages. The only thing I could think was that

  Anna suspected something, something important, but

  hadn’t told me. Then she went to the house looking for

  something – clues, evidence, I didn’t know – and she’d

  somehow surprised whoever ran her down. I pushed aside

  the guilt I felt about not going to the house with her, and

  forced myself off the sofa. I needed to be proactive. There

  was nothing I could do to help Anna get better, so I could

  at least help the police find who was responsible.

  The spare room was a mess. Anna had never been the

  tidiest of people. There were piles of articles and textbooks that she was using for her PhD research, along with a

  novel and some notebooks. I flicked through the note-

  books, but they were all related to her academic work. I

  hunted around for another couple of minutes, then sat

  down on the bed in frustration. I had no idea where to

  look, or if Anna would have written her suspicions down

  in the first place.

  I started to search the room again, being more method-

  ical this time. I began at the door and worked my way

  around the room until I got back to the door again.

  When I’d finished, there was still nothing, and I kicked

  the door in frustration. It swung shut, to reveal a mass

  of post-it notes in different colours, stuck in columns on

  the back of the door. Laughing softly at my sister’s

  methodical approach, I read through Anna’s investigation

  board.

  Perhaps I’d been wrong about Anna being disorgan-

  ised – she had all of the suspects on pink sticky notes,

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  observations about possible motives on yellow ones, and green ones with notes about the investigation. One of

  the green sticky notes had fluttered off and I picked it

  up from the carpet. All that was written there was a

  phone number, and under it a name: Hannah Lachlan.

  The name was familiar, but I couldn’t place it, so I

  scanned the rest of the notes for a reference to a Hannah

  Lachlan, but there was nothing else.

  Going back through to the living room, I sat and stared

  at the sticky note. Could she be someone Anna mentioned

  to me in passing, a friend or colleague? In which case,

  could the note have fallen out of her PhD work when I

  was searching? I wracked my brain for a minute, until it

  came to me: she was Jaxon’s TA. I met her when the

  police interviewed Jaxon, or at least tried to. Why would

  Anna have her number? There was only one way to find

  out, and that was to call her.

  I picked up my mobile and dialled the number, feeling

  anxious as I listened to it ringing. It went on for a while,

 

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