The Silent Man, page 28
‘You’re smiling,’ says Archer.
‘Am I?’ He shrugs. ‘It’s a happy memory.’
‘Do you feel guilty about your father’s murder?’
‘He was a monster.’
‘Did you see any of your father’s traits in your victims?’
‘I did it all to protect the children. I didn’t want them to suffer what I had suffered.’
‘OK, Brynn. I think we’ll leave it there for the time being. The custody officer will escort you back to your cell. Get some rest, we can talk later.’
Hughes watches her with doleful eyes as she stands. ‘I only wanted to protect the kids. I’m not a bad person. Truly, I’m not.’
Chapter 60
A
RCHER HAD RACED FROM THE office after the interview with Hughes and driven to St Thomas’s to pick up Grandad. Signing him out had gone smoothly and getting him to the car was, mercifully, easy.
Now, on the journey back in the unmarked Volvo, she glances at him through the rear-view mirror. He has a faint trace of a smile on his face as he watches the world go by.
‘It’s all changed so much,’ he says, still with the slightest of slurs.
Archer smiles. ‘You sound like you’ve been in hospital for twenty years rather than two weeks.’
The lights go red at the junction with the Old Vic Theatre.
‘It felt that way sometimes,’ he replies.
She stares at him and squeezes the steering wheel. ‘I’m sure it did.’
‘How long now?’ he asks. In the past ten minutes he has asked this same question twice.
‘We’ll be home in five minutes.’
He nods his head.
‘I’ll make you something to eat when we get home. It’s gone lunchtime,’ says Archer.
Grandad continues to stare out the window. He seems not to have heard.
The car horn behind them blasts. The lights are green. Archer waves an apology, eases off the brakes and continues up Waterloo Road, turning right into Alaska Street and onto Roupell Street.
‘Here we are,’ says Grandad.
‘This place hasn’t changed much, has it?’ Archer says.
‘No. Not ever. You know these cottages were built in the eighteen hundreds.’
‘I do. I live here too, remember.’
Grandad chuckles. ‘Yes, you do.’
Archer is relieved to find a parking spot close to the house. She gets out and helps Grandad out.
‘Thank you.’
‘Hello, Jake. How are you feeling?’ comes a voice. It’s their next-door neighbour, Rita Barry, a widow in her seventies.
‘Hello . . . erm . . . ’ says Grandad, with a puzzled look.
Archer can see he is trying to put a name to the face.
‘Hello, Rita,’ she says.
‘Yes, Rita, I’m doing just fine, thank you,’ says Grandad.
Archer smiles an apology at her. Rita shakes her head and mouths a no problem.
‘Nice to see you home again.’
Archer pulls two bags from the boot. One containing Grandad’s clothes. A second containing boxes of new drugs.
‘Nice to be home,’ says Grandad.
‘I’m just popping out. If you need help with anything, do let me know.’
‘Thanks, Rita,’ says Archer, unlocking the front door and pushing it open.
Inside, Grandad settles into his armchair.
‘Cup of tea?’ Archer asks, crossing to the kitchen.
‘Yes, please.’
She drops the bags on the kitchen table and fills the kettle. She pulls off her coat and hangs it over the back of a kitchen chair. She makes them both a mug of strong hot tea and takes them into the lounge. She sets Grandad’s on the side table by the armchair and sits on the sofa opposite.
‘Thank you,’ he says, lifting the mug. ‘Cheers.’
Archer smiles. ‘Cheers.’
They sit in silence for a moment, Grandad staring blankly across the room at nothing in particular.
‘I can make us something to eat if you’re hungry.’
He blinks and looks at her with a surprised expression as if suddenly realising she is there. ‘What’s that?’
‘I could make us something to eat if you’re hungry.’
‘I’m not hungry,’ he replies.
‘Did you have breakfast?’
He frowns as he considers his answer. ‘I think so.’
‘It’s no problem to make something. The doctor did say you should eat more. He said you’ve lost a lot of weight.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
She regards him for a moment. ‘You will tell me if you’re feeling OK, won’t you?’
It’s as if he hasn’t heard her. He looks beyond her, his eyes scanning the living room. ‘So many memories here . . . so many ghosts.’
Archer bites her lip.
He meets her gaze. ‘Don’t worry about me, dear. I’ll be fine.’ He takes a sip of tea and wraps his hands around the mug.
Archer’s phone rings: Klara. ‘Just going to take this call. It’s work.’
Grandad smiles. Archer takes the call in the kitchen.
‘Hey, Klara.’
‘Hi, Grace. Sorry, I know you’re working from home this afternoon . . . ’
‘That’s OK. What’s up?’
‘I just noticed your laptop is on your desk.’
‘Oh shit! How did I forget that?’
‘Easy. The interview ran over, and you had to rush out and pick up Jake.’
Archer glances through the kitchen at Grandad. She is hesitant to leave him.
‘Harry’s gone home. His head was pounding. I have a bunch of meetings but could bring it over later, after work, if you like,’ says Klara.
‘No, that’s OK. I’ll pop over now. I need to get a head start with reports and all that fun stuff.’
‘No worries. How’s Jake doing?’
‘He seems a little spaced out. Still getting used to being home, I think.’
‘I bet. Give him my love.’
‘I will. Be in the office in fifteen minutes.’
‘See you later.’
Archer grabs her coat, pulls it on and enters the living room. ‘Grandad, I left my laptop at work. I’m going to race over to the office now and pick it up.’
‘OK.’
‘I’ll be back in around thirty minutes. Call me if you need anything.’
He takes out his mobile phone from his trouser pocket. ‘I always keep it close.’
She smiles and arches her brows. ‘Please tell me it’s charged.’
He shows her the screen. Fully charged. She bends down and kisses him on the forehead. ‘I’ll pick up something for dinner.’
‘That’d be nice.’
‘Bye, Grandad.’
‘Bye, darling.’
The drive to Charing Cross Police Station takes twenty minutes, but it would have been quicker to walk, Archer thinks, as she remote locks the car and hurries inside. On the third floor, she sees Klara wave at her from her office.
‘I picked it up from your desk,’ says Klara, handing her the laptop. ‘Can’t be too careful round here.’ She chuckles.
‘Thanks, Klara.’
‘Don’t work too late. You need a break.’
‘We all do. Talk later.’
Archer rushes out of the building and jumps into the car. She considers walking home but decides the drive back might not be as bad as the drive here was. How wrong she is. It takes a frustrating twenty minutes to get from Charing Cross and across a gnarled-up Waterloo Bridge. Add a further ten minutes to Roupell Street and a parking spot.
Laptop in hand, she enters the front door suddenly conscious that she never picked up food. Shit! What is wrong with me?
‘I’m home!’ she calls.
She hears the TV. Sounds like he’s watching a daytime gameshow.
‘Guess what? I forgot to get dinner. How about I order in a Deliveroo?’
Archer walks into the living room. The armchair is vacant. She sets the laptop onto the sofa and switches off the television.
‘Grandad?’ she calls, peering into the kitchen.
She freezes, her heart sinking.
Grandad is lying on the floor, eyes open, staring at the ceiling, arm outstretched, clutching his mobile phone.
‘Grandad,’ she says, quietly.
He does not respond.
She runs to him. ‘Grandad! Grandad! Can you hear me?’ She takes his hand. It’s warm. ‘Oh God!’ Archer takes out her phone and dials 999.
‘What’s your emergency?’ asks the operator.
Archer’s head is swirling. ‘My grandad . . . ’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘My grandad . . . he’s fallen over.’
‘Do you need an ambulance?’
‘Yes . . . Yes.’
‘Can you give me your address, please?’
‘Fifty-two Roupell Street.’
Archer leans close to his mouth. She can’t hear or feel his breath.
‘What’s your name, please?’
‘Grace Archer. He’s not breathing!’
‘My name’s Vicky, Grace. I’m here to help. The ambulance is on the way.’
‘How long . . . How long will it be?’
‘Just checking for you.’
‘Do you know how to check his pulse, Grace?’
Archer’s fingers are already on Grandad’s neck. She tries to calm herself. ‘There’s no pulse.’
‘Does your grandad have any health problems?’
‘He had a stroke . . . two weeks ago. He just got out of hospital, today.’
‘I see . . . Grace, the ambulance will be there in minutes.’
Archer can hear the siren approaching. She rushes to the front door and waves at them. In moments the paramedics, one male, one female, are inside, tending to Grandad.
‘Hello. You must be Grace. My name is Paul. This is Adriana. Can you tell us what happened?’
Archer is wringing her hands, unable to take her eyes from Grandad. ‘I just came home, and he was lying here. He got out of hospital today. He had a stroke . . . two weeks ago.’
The two paramedics exchange a grave look. They tend to him for several moments, but it seems like forever. Eventually, the medic called Paul stands and gives her that look. The I’m-so-sorry look.
‘Please . . . don’t say it.’
‘I’m afraid he’s gone, Grace,’ says Paul. ‘It looks like he might have had another stroke.’
Archer chokes back a sob. ‘The doctor said he was fine! He can’t have had another stroke. They wouldn’t have let him out of hospital.’
‘Grace . . . ’
‘No!’ Archer feels her pulse quicken. She tries to gather her thoughts, her blood pounding in her ears. ‘Someone came here when I left. They came here to our house and got to him. Frankie White’s people. Oh God!’ She looks to the kitchen table and scans the worktops, searching for a Death Card, Frankie White’s signature and final act of revenge. There’s nothing. Taking out her phone, she calls Quinn as she searches the living room.
‘Hi,’ says Quinn.
‘Harry, they got him. Grandad. He’s gone, Harry. He’s dead. Oh God! They got to him.’
‘What? Grace, slow down. What’s happened?’
‘I went out and came back. I found him lying on the kitchen floor. He’s dead, Harry. They killed him. White . . . his people.’
‘But they’re all dead or inside, Grace.’
‘We don’t know that for sure!’
He sighs. ‘Who’s with you now?’
‘The paramedics.’
‘I’m on my way. Let me speak to the paramedics, Grace.’
‘Why?’
‘Grace, just let me talk to them.’
Archer has never felt so uncertain, so confused in her life. She hands the phone to Paul. He talks to Quinn. Archer looks at Grandad lying peacefully on the floor. She hugs her arms to her chest, her emotions in turmoil, her adrenaline pumping. Paul hands the phone back to her. ‘He’s on his way.’
Archer nods.
‘He said he’s calling the police. They will arrange for the funeral directors to come and see to your grandfather. I’m so very sorry, Grace.’
It takes a moment for Archer to reply, ‘Thank you.’
‘We can stay with you until Mr Quinn gets here.’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
‘Maybe we should.’
‘Go. Please.’
‘OK. We’re so sorry.’
The paramedics leave. Archer is alone with Grandad. There’s an unsettling ethereal feel to the silence. She shudders and leaves the kitchen, exiting onto the street. She knocks on their neighbour Mrs Barry’s door.
‘Grace. Hello again. I saw the ambulance . . . ’
‘Mrs Barry . . . Rita . . . I need to know if today or any other day you’ve seen anyone you don’t recognise hanging around the street, watching our house.’
‘Oh,’ she replies, eyes wide, hand on her chest. She considers this and says, ‘No, dear, I can’t say that I have.’
‘Are you positive?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
‘Please think. There must have been someone. They’re not that clever.’
‘Who’s not that clever? I’m sorry, I don’t understand. Is everything OK? You seem upset.’
Archer is unable to answer. She walks away and tries another neighbour and gets the same answer. She knocks on house after house, demanding to know what they saw. She does not see the time pass. A police vehicle arrives. A second car pulls into a space at the top of the street. Quinn gets out and looks her way. He is speaking, but she can’t hear. Her head is spinning. The neighbours are gathered around her. What’s happening? Grandad. Quinn is at her side, arm around her guiding her back to the house.
‘Come and sit in the living room,’ he says.
Archer allows him to take her. She sits on the armchair.
‘I’m just going to talk with the police.’
She hears them talking and closes her eyes. Tears well up and stream down her face.
‘Hey,’ says Quinn, crouching in front of her, his voice gentle. He takes her hand. ‘I called Charlie. He said all of White’s people are inside. There’s no one left, Grace.’
Archer takes three calming breaths.
‘The funeral directors are on their way,’ says Quinn.
‘I left him alone. It was forty minutes. I shouldn’t have done it. I shouldn’t have left him. It’s my fault.’
‘It’s not your fault. The paramedic said the stroke . . . well . . . it was more than likely quick is what he said.’
Archer drops her head and sobs, ‘I should have been with him.’
‘I’m sorry, Grace.’ Quinn pulls her to him and hugs her gently. ‘I’m so very sorry.’
Acknowledgements
First up, thank you to my agent and rock David H Headley. This book would not have been possible without you.
Thanks also to the team at Zaffre: my publisher Ben Willis, Isabella Boyne and designers Nick Stearn and Dominic Forbes for the haunting and beautiful cover.
As always, a big shout out to all the readers, bloggers and reviewers who have supported me and continue to do so.
About the Author
David Fennell was born and raised in Belfast. He left for London at the age of eighteen and jobbed as a chef, waiter and bartender for several years before starting a career in writing for the software industry. David has played rugby for Brighton and studied Creative Writing at the University of Sussex. He is married and lives in Brighton.
To find out more, visit his website: www.davidfennell.co.uk
Follow him on Twitter: @davyfennell
Also by David Fennell
The Art of Death
See No Evil
If you enjoyed The Silent Man, why not join the
DAVID FENNELL READERS’ CLUB?
When you sign up you’ll receive an exclusive deleted scene, plus news about upcoming books and exclusive behind the-scenes-material. To join, simply visit:
bit.ly/DavidFennellClub
Keep reading for a letter from the author . . .
Hello!
Thank you so much for picking up The Silent Man.
There’s much to say about this book and the inspirations behind it, yet to talk about them here and now would reveal spoilers that would give too much away. And who wants that? What I would say is there are three important story lines spanning a four-part structure. Each of these stories weave into the denouement, which, in case you’re wondering, is just a fancy name for the finale. As you’ll discover, Grace Archer is going to have a tough time, and once again, there’s a high body count yet out of the three books, I believe this is the most emotional read. I hope you agree.
The Silent Man marks the end of a trilogy that began with The Art of Death and was followed up with See No Evil. To be clear though, this is not the end of Grace Archer. She will return. Who is by her side is another matter.
If you would like to hear more about my books, you can visit www.bit.ly/DavidFennellClub where you can become part of the David Fennell Readers’ Club. It only takes a few moments to sign up, there are no catches or costs.
Bonnier Zaffre will keep your data private and confidential, and it will never be passed on to a third party. We won’t spam you with loads of emails, just get in touch now and again with news about my books, and you can unsubscribe any time you want.
And if you would like to get involved in a wider conversation about my books, please do review The Silent Man on Amazon, on Goodreads, on any other e-store, on your own blog and social media accounts, or talk about it with friends, family or reader groups! Sharing your thoughts helps other readers, and I always enjoy hearing about what people experience from my writing.
Thank you again for reading The Silent Man.
All my best,
David Fennell
