The Silent Room (11 page)

Newman remained silent, his expression unreadable.

Leaving them to cogitate, Ryan went off to use the bathroom. He was parched from inhaling their smoke, in dire need of a drink and some clean air. A run on the beach was on the menu later if he could possibly manage it. Halfway to the door, he paused. ‘I’m going to grab a coffee. Anyone want one?’

Newman waved him away like an irritating fly.

Ryan couldn’t get a handle on him. He was a man of many secrets and few words. That part he could understand. Being in Special Branch, he too had operated in a world of shadows and whispers, but the former spook’s uncommunicative approach bugged him. It felt personal. Every time Ryan tried initiating conversation, the irritating shit either cut him off, or else made light of it.

On the way back down the stairs, Ryan decided to wait for his coffee. Instead, he went into the kitchen and got himself a glass of water before rejoining the others. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop but the sound of Newman’s voice prompted him to stop short of the living room door, curious to know what words of wisdom the quiet man was about to impart on the other side of a partition wall while he was out of the room.

‘What makes you so sure you can trust Fenwick?’ he was asking.

‘Gut instinct,’ Grace said. ‘I’ve known him years. I trust him.’

‘Would you think the same about me?’

She didn’t answer.

‘Would you?’ he pushed. ‘You never know anyone a hundred per cent.’

‘That’s true . . . I thought I knew you once.’

Ryan was about to cough, to flag up his re-entry into the lounge, to avoid a potential and embarrassing ‘elephant in the room’ moment. But as he reached for the door, Newman suggested that Jack had gone dark, that selling firearms seized by the police and due for destruction was a lucrative business. That was very true, Ryan had to concede. They could be resold for anything between fifty quid for a handgun to three hundred for a double-barrelled shotgun, to scum stupid enough to buy one.

In the living room, Newman was getting short shrift from Grace. She was pointing out that there had never been any suggestion that the guns recovered from Jack’s home were ever in the possession of the police.

Newman again: ‘You don’t know that any more than Ryan does. O’Neil may be keeping that one up her sleeve. Clever move, if you ask me.’

‘I’m not asking you,’ Grace snapped. ‘I know Jack. Take my word for it, he’s as straight as they come.’

‘What about Ryan?’

‘What about him?’

‘Is he as straight as they come too?’

There was a long pause.

In the hallway, Ryan imagined the black look that might have passed between them. Grace was degree standard in that respect. She was confrontational at the best of times and fiercely loyal to her friends. He imagined her glowering at her former lover, the man she’d kept secret all the years he’d known her.

‘Are you questioning my judgement?’ she asked.

Yup. She was pissed.

‘An observation is all.’ Newman’s tone was flat. ‘O’Neil had nothing on Ryan first time he was interviewed. Ever ask yourself why she suspended him second time around?’

‘A minor breach,’ Ryan said as he walked through the door. ‘They want me out of the way while they find Jack.’

‘Unless
they
took him,’ Newman said.

Ryan mocked him. ‘This is not Russia, my friend.’

His comment drew a snigger from Newman. ‘Oh, you don’t think that’s possible? Think again, pal.’ He glanced at Grace. ‘You sure you trust this guy?’

A knot formed in Ryan’s stomach as his anger grew. At the same time, he was trying to be grown-up about Newman’s scepticism. As ex-MI5, by definition he was trained to be suspicious of everything and everyone. Hell, they all were. That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Yesterday, he’d seemed like a team player. Today, he was anything but. What had passed through his mind during the night was anyone’s guess. Whatever is was, it had cast doubt on
his
credentials.

There was only one way to go. Ryan walked out.

19

Pulling away from the house, Ryan took a left towards the city with Newman’s accusations ringing in his ears. This early on a Sunday morning there were few cars on the road and fewer people; one or two locals walking their dogs, some heading to the local newsagent, no doubt waiting for the next instalment of the Jack Fenwick saga.

Leaving Fenham behind, he drove over the busy central motorway and on through a set of traffic lights. On his right, cows grazed lazily on the Town Moor, a thousand acres of common land – the green heart of the city – and in the distance, St James’ Park football stadium dominated the skyline. The sight of Newcastle United’s hallowed ground was usually uplifting. Today it reminded him that his boss had missed the last two home games on the trot. Unheard of. Ryan was losing faith that he’d get see another.

The thought of Jack’s empty seat unsettled him, transporting him to the stadium, a game against Cardiff City. Everyone was yelling, supporting the team, no clue that the absent fan, his friend, was languishing in jail on a trumped-up firearms charge, stripped of all he held dear, separated from his wife, his kids and close colleagues. Surrounded by over forty thousand screaming fans, Ryan had never felt so lonely. Unable to bear the anguish any longer, even though his team were winning, he’d left the stadium before the game ended.

Another first.

Slowing for a cyclist crossing the road ahead, he turned left through Kenton, eventually joining Ponteland Road, where he picked up speed. As he approached the slip road near Black Callerton, a sign alerted him to lay-by parking. Had there been room, he’d have pulled off the road for a few moments of peace and quiet, to get his head straight before facing Hilary. As it turned out, the lay-by was full of cars, their owners unhappy about exorbitant parking charges at the city’s airport half a mile further on. Ryan knew the score. One by one, mobile phones would ring as planes touched down, then drivers would move off in convoy to pick up loved ones.

Hilary was in her garden when he arrived, the kids still fast asleep in bed. She wished she could rest too, she told him, but he could see she’d done little of that in the last few hours. Torment oozed from every pore.

‘I’d rather keep busy . . .’ She put down her secateurs, swept a rogue hair from her pale face. ‘It’s the only way I can cope with this bloody nightmare.’

They sat down on a bench under a Japanese acer that overlooked an ornamental pond. Ryan and Jack had dug it out one hot weekend a couple of years back, a summer BBQ afterwards, a few beers, a lot of laughs following a hard day’s graft. Fringed with reeds and well established, it looked like it had always been there. It was a welcome addition to a tranquil outside space, a good place to sit and contemplate.

Not today . . .

Jack’s birthday.

Ryan didn’t know whether to mention the occasion or leave it be. ‘How are the children handling things?’ he asked.

‘As you’d expect.’ Irritation crept into Hilary’s voice. She looked him straight in the eye. ‘I didn’t ask you here for small talk, Ryan. When were you going to tell me?’

So that was why she’d texted him to come over so early.

‘Who told you?’

‘Steve’s wife. She rang last night. It was bound to come out eventually. I’d much rather it had come from you.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to worry you.’

‘Worry me?’ she huffed. ‘In the whole scheme of things, your suspension is low on my list of priorities. I don’t mean to sound callous, but you and I both know it’ll be temporary. No one will make such a puny allegation stick in a million years. Eventually, O’Neil will realize she’s made a mistake. In the meantime, your unemployment might work to our advantage – or Jack’s.’

‘Hilary, without a warrant card I’m stuffed.’

‘Don’t you see? This is good news. You’re now available to work full-time on finding him. I know you can do it, Ryan. I told Robbie as much last night. No wonder the poor bugger is still asleep. He’s exhausted, and so relieved to hear that his father is finally coming home. Knowing that you’re on the case has given him such a boost.’

Jesus!
Ryan dropped his head.

What worried him most was her certainty that his availability would trigger a new impetus in the case. She was talking with confidence, as if the outcome was a foregone conclusion, one he didn’t share. When he glanced up, her expression was strange. It didn’t fit with the seriousness of the situation. He reached for her hand, managed a weak smile, and fought to keep his eyes from giving away his true feelings.

He looked down at the cloudy sky reflected in the water, her false high playing on his mind. She was almost euphoric, clearly not herself. Ryan was no doctor but even he could tell that she was on some heavy medication that was only now kicking in. He didn’t have the heart to tell her that things were moving slowly. He couldn’t mention that Grace had brought a spook in, let alone that there was some infighting going on, that Newman was suspicious, that
he’d
walked out.

He didn’t tell her much . . .

An hour later, when the kids got up, he left.

20

Ryan decided to face the music at his sister’s house in Alnwick. If Hilary knew of his suspension, then it stood to reason Caroline would too. Presently he had something more serious to worry about, a sudden and overwhelming feeling that he was being watched. It began as a prickle at the base of his neck, a feeling so strong he wanted to look over his shoulder to check if he was alone in the car.

His eyes found the rear-view mirror instead.

Nothing untoward.

Telling himself not to give in to paranoia worked for a short while only. A few miles further on, he felt the same physical sensation that he was under surveillance. This time he made the tail. At least he thought it was a tail. He couldn’t yet be sure. Yes, there it was again: a dark car, edging out from behind a trailing lorry, then pulling in again – an old BMW.

Approaching a major roundabout, he considered going round twice and then decided against. It would only serve to tip them off that he was wise to them; far better that they didn’t know. Instead, he turned left on to the A1, heading north, driving in such a way as not to raise suspicion, continually checking behind. To be absolutely sure he wasn’t imagining things, he doubled back, a detour. The village of Stannington was perfect for his needs.

One road in . . .

One out.

Bringing his car to a stop, he parked in the front row of the Ridley Arms car park, nearest the road. In his peripheral vision he saw the Beamer drive slowly by as he got out of the car. Pointing his key fob at his vehicle, he locked the door and went into the pub. A few minutes later, he left again, a bag of crisps and a bottle of water in his hand.

When he pulled away, the BMW appeared almost immediately. Parked a good way down the street, its occupants were doing their best to pretend they were waiting for someone. Ryan knew different. He also knew they were a lone surveillance team. Had they been anything else, a second car would have taken the eyeball.

O’Neil’s men.

Immediately, he called her office. Considering the fact that he no longer had rank, he didn’t bother giving it when the phone was answered. ‘This is Matthew Ryan. Put me through to Professional Standards.’

The line clicked and he was put through. He requested O’Neil and was placed on hold. A few seconds later, she came on the line, that velvet voice, as cool as you like. She probably figured he’d had enough time off and was ready to cooperate with her investigation.

She was a mile wrong.

‘Call your dogs off,’ is all he said.

‘Dogs? If you’re suggesting you’re under surveillance, I can assure you you’re not.’

Ryan didn’t expect her to admit it. There was no hesitation in her voice, though. Nothing that might indicate she was lying. If she was, she was good.
She was very good.
Fair enough. As a police officer, he too had been consistently economical with the truth in the course of his job. There was no point reacting with outrage. She was perfectly within her rights to follow him as she saw fit. So why was she so infuriated by the accusation?

‘Ryan, if you’re being followed, it isn’t us—’

‘Oh yeah?’ He didn’t let her finish. ‘Maybe you forgot. Slate-grey BMW 3 Series. Double-crewed. Both male. Remember it now?’

‘No, listen! I’m being straight with you. If you are being followed, you need to watch your back. You could be in danger. I swear it’s not an official tail. If it was and we were rumbled, I’d tell you. Despite what you may think, I don’t lie to fellow officers. I have enough grief without inviting more.’

It irked him that she thought him stupid; even more that she was entertaining the idea that he was also dishonest. Despite the fact that they were on opposite sides, he respected the way she handled herself. Always had. It took a special kind of person to do her job and keep their friends when it came to investigating her own kind.

The day he was suspended from duty wasn’t the only time Ryan had seen her. The first time had been at a fundraiser held at HQ. They’d not been formally introduced. He’d merely observed her from across the room, talking to a visiting chief constable who obviously didn’t have the nous to realize who was interrogating who.

A wry smile crossed his face.

He admired O’Neil’s strength and intellect. Unlike Roz, she appeared to be a woman of integrity. Everyone said so. Instinct told him she was on the level. So, if she wasn’t responsible for the surveillance operation, who was?
Maguire.
He could have organized it without her knowledge or say-so. He’d made his feelings clear. There was bad blood between them. The moron would like nothing better than to hang a Special Branch colleague out to dry, another high-profile collar, another tick in the target box.

‘Ryan, are you there?’

He cut the connection.

21

Ryan lost Maguire’s surveillance team just to piss him off, arriving at Caroline’s house shortly before midday. His concerns over the jungle telegraph were not unfounded. She knew of his suspension and was terribly upset, her face puffy and tear-stained. For her to be in her dressing gown so late in the day was unheard of. Sitting in her kitchen, nursing a mug of black coffee, she looked like she’d been up half the night.