THE SILENT HOUSE
Nell Pattison
Copyright
Published by AVON
A Division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020
Copyright © Nell Pattison 2020
Cover design by whittakerbookdesign.com © HarperCollinsPublishers 2020
Cover photograph © Jasenka Arbanas/Trevillion Images
Nell Pattison asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780008361761
Ebook Edition © March 2020 ISBN: 9780008361778
Version: 2020-01-17
Dedication
For Albert
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
16 hours before the murder
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
15 hours before the murder
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
14 hours before the murder
Chapter 9
14 hours before the murder
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
13 hours before the murder
Chapter 12
12 hours before the murder
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
11 hours before the murder
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
10 hours before the murder
Chapter 18
9 hours before the murder
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
8 hours before the murder
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
7 hours before the murder
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
5 hours before the murder
Chapter 25
4 hours before the murder
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
2 hours before the murder
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
15 years before the murder
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
After the murder
Chapter 33
Acknowledgements
About the Author
About the Publisher
Prologue
There was someone else in the room.
Jaxon rubbed his eyes groggily. Light from the lamppost outside was spilling through the gap in the curtains, and he could see the shape of a grown-up standing by the door. Who was it? He couldn’t tell, his eyes blurred with sleep.
Only half awake, he rolled out of bed and patted his little sister Lexi in the bed next to his. He poked her to see if she was awake, but she didn’t move. His other sister, Kasey, was asleep on the other side of the room, her chest rising and falling.
Go back to sleep, the grown-up signed.
Jaxon looked down at his hands, which glistened with something dark and sticky. He saw the same dark stuff on his sister.
Why won’t Lexi wake up? Jaxon signed, his confusion over Lexi’s lack of response eclipsing his concern about who was in his room.
The grown-up turned to look at the little girl in the bed. They stood over Lexi for a moment, and Jaxon saw their hands moving frantically over her body. They stepped back, one hand raised to their face, then bent over as if they were about to be sick.
Jaxon was too sleepy to resist when the grown-up pulled him out of the room and into the bathroom. They didn’t turn the light on, but used a torch to check none of the red had got on his pyjamas, before carefully washing his hands. The light blinded him, keeping the grown-up in shadow.
Did I do something wrong? he asked.
Back to bed now. Don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret, okay? Their hands shook as they signed to him.
He nodded again, allowed himself to be led back to his bed. Lexi still had stuff all over her, but maybe they would clean her up next. As he drifted off to sleep, wondering who had been in his room, he didn’t notice the adult was still standing by his bed, head bowed and shoulders shaking.
They let out a howl of anguish, but nobody in the house heard.
Chapter 1
Saturday 3rd February
‘I’m the interpreter,’ I said clearly, as I leant over the police tape. My breath fogged in the cold morning air as I spoke. I pulled out my ID badge and waved it at the nearest uniformed officer, a luckless PC who was clearly having a hard time keeping the nosy neighbours back. He only looked about twenty, his eyes bloodshot from tiredness. The card I handed him was my expired ID from the last agency I worked for, the photo an old one. My face had rounded out in the years since it had been taken, but the brown eyes and long dark hair hadn’t changed. I hadn’t got around to having something new made when I went freelance. I’d been putting it off, out of a fear it’d jinx my fledgling business. The main thing was that it still opened the doors I needed it to.
Those three words were usually met with a look of relief on emergency call-outs, and this time was no different. The PC waved me over to the edge of the crowd and lifted the tape for me to slip under. I could feel the eyes of the onlookers on my back, wondering why I’d been allowed passage. I assumed they were neighbours, their attention drawn by the lights of the emergency vehicles; few people would be passing through this area of Scunthorpe on a Saturday morning, and if they saw police here they wouldn’t be inclined to stop.
‘Wait here, please,’ he instructed me, leaving me on the pavement as he approached the house.
There were officers in white paper suits milling around in the doorway. Other uniformed men and women moved amongst the crowd, notebooks in hand. It was seven on a Saturday morning, didn’t these people have better things to do, instead of gawping? A shiver ran through me as a memory surfaced, but I pushed it back down again.
I hovered halfway along the path, unsure if I should go up to the house or stay where I was. The street was typical for that part of Scunthorpe. Rows of identical council houses squashed together, the gardens and exterior walls in varying stages of disrepair. There were neat gardens, clearly loved and tended; there were front yards that were more like the municipal tip in miniature form. How could people cope, living in such disarray?
Past the houses to my left, the road sloped downwards to meet a large patch of waste ground, which stretched away towards the imposing silhouette of the steelworks, jagged against the dark sky. Much of Scunthorpe had been built on the garden city model, but nothing grew amongst the rubble. The street lights enhanced the shadows and for a moment I thought I saw movement. Probably a fox.
In full daylight, the houses on this street looked shabby and rundown, but in the gloom of the winter morning they were bathed in the eerie blue glow of the police car lights. Three cars, lit up but with their sirens off; an ambulance, paramedics moving around inside it but with an air of despondency rather than urgency. It was serious, then.
A phone call first thing in the morning never brings good news. Within an hour of my mobile buzzing me awake, I was pulling up six houses down from the address I’d been directed to. I couldn’t get any closer because of the police cordon holding back the gaggle of inquisitive neighbours, pyjamas and slippers visible under their coats. I glanced at the windows nearest to me and saw signs of more observers – corners of curtains pulled back, silhouettes at dark windows. None of them would have known what was happening. Even I had been given the barest of detail, and I wouldn’t know more until I went inside.
I ran a hand through my bed hair. I had been on call for the emergency services for six months, and in that time I’d learnt that the people who needed me at short notice would prefer me to be quick rather than smart. If I turned up to a regular job in the afternoon looking like that I probably wouldn’t get much repeat business, but when it was an emergency call-out for the police, all bets were off. Still, my professional life was dogged by that little voice in the back of my mind saying that nobody would take me seriously, and my dishevelled state did nothing to quieten it. I grabbed a brush from my bag and tried to sort my hair out while I waited.
The white-suited officers in the entrance to the house had dispersed, leaving a couple with their arms around each other, and I felt a jolt of concern as I recognised them. Alan Hunter, and Elisha … I couldn’t remember her surname. So, if it was their house, what had happened there? As I watched, the pair separated. There was blood on Elisha’s clothes, but she didn’t look hurt and the paramedics weren’t with her. Alan’s eighteen-month-old daughter, Lexi, was my sister’s goddaughter. As I pictured her, a horrible thought struck me. Where were the children?
I’d waited for long enough. I needed to know what had happened in that house, and I looked around for a police officer to ask. At that moment, a dark-haired woman came out of the house and marched straight up to me, her hand outstretched.
‘DI Forest. You’re the British Sign Language interpreter?’ Her suit beneath her white overalls was rumpled, but her eyes were sharp.
I nodded. ‘Paige Northwood.’ At least she gave my job its correct title. Most people called me ‘the signer’, or worse, ‘the signing lady’.
‘Come with me. We need to collect some clothing and the woman isn’t cooperating.’
‘What’s happened here? I need context,’ I told her as she hurried away from me back towards the house.
DI Forest waved a hand dismissively. ‘We don’t have the full information. That’s why you’re here. Right now we need to collect this evidence then get this couple to the station.’
Gritting my teeth in frustration, I followed her. At the door, Forest handed me my own protective paper suit to put over my clothes. After I spent a minute wrestling with it, she ushered me inside. The front door led into the living room, and I could hear voices and footsteps overhead. DI Forest took me straight through a door opposite, into a rear hallway. A door to my right led to the kitchen, and the stairs were to my left. Alan and Elisha were now standing at the foot of the stairs, clinging to each other once again.
The hallway was sparsely decorated – laminate floor, magnolia walls. It reminded me of the house I’d grown up in, another one with the drab decoration of the local housing association. No photographs, no artwork, just a small mirror halfway along the passageway. At the foot of the stairs, by the back door, was a scooter. It looked about the right size for a five- or six-year-old – probably Jaxon’s, Alan’s oldest child. There was a strange smell in the air – a fuggy mixture of cigarette smoke, marijuana and something else, something more organic. At the top of the stairs I could see figures moving around, but the landing was in darkness, hiding their features.
The phone call that morning had been very curt, simply saying that there had been an incident with a deaf family and the police needed a British Sign Language interpreter immediately. They gave me the address, but no information about what had happened or who was involved. I realised I was shaking as the potential seriousness of the situation hit home: from the amount of blood I could see on Elisha’s clothes, someone must have been seriously injured. It was mostly on her sleeves and chest, but I could see smudges on her pyjama bottoms too, probably where she’d wiped her hands.
One of the paper-suited officers was trying to explain something to Elisha, waving a large brown evidence bag in front of her and pointing to her clothes. The woman pleaded with her, but Elisha shrank away; the officer looked at DI Forest and shrugged. I recognised Elisha from the Deaf club, and I spotted a flicker of recognition on her face when she saw me. She was only in her early twenties, as far as I knew, but at that moment she looked much older. There were dark circles under her eyes, which darted back and forth between the two police officers.
‘Please could you explain to Miss Barron that we need to take her clothes for evidence? She is allowed to go and get changed, but we need to take those clothes with us. She and Mr Hunter then need to come with us to the station so we can take their statements and their fingerprints.’
‘Whose blood is it?’ I asked Forest, but she frowned at me and jerked her head in Elisha’s direction, as if to say get on with your job. I gave Elisha what I hoped was a supportive smile, trying to keep the fear from my face, and signed the detective inspector’s request. Alan had his arm around her, protectively, and looked unwilling to let go. Whenever I’d seen Elisha in the past, she’d been well turned out – not overly dressed up, but neat, as if she looked after herself. This Elisha looked like a different woman. Her brown hair was a mess, half of it falling out of her ponytail. She was wearing an old pair of pyjamas with a couple of holes in. She had probably just got out of bed when it happened, but still, I was surprised by her appearance. Whatever had happened must have been traumatic, to have wrought such a change in her.
As I signed, Alan’s knuckles whitened and Elisha grimaced. She shook her head in answer to the request and hugged herself tightly.
‘She’s refusing,’ I told them.
Forest frowned at me again, as if I were the one saying no. ‘That’s not an option. Her clothes are evidence and we need to get them from her, one way or another. I don’t have time for this,’ she added with a hiss.
Elisha was surrounded by hearing people making demands she didn’t understand because they weren’t using her language, not because she wasn’t capable of carrying out their requests. I felt for her, and wasn’t surprised she was shutting down. Looking at the exasperation on the officers’ faces, I decided it would be best to take the firm approach and get this over with quickly.
You need to give those clothes to the police, now. Doesn’t matter that you don’t want to, you have to. Go upstairs, get changed and give those clothes to the police. Now.
I was rewarded with a long stare then finally a shrug. Alan narrowed his eyes at me, but his grip on Elisha’s shoulder loosened and his arm dropped to his side.
‘You come upstairs with me?’ Elisha asked. Her speech was soft, and the detectives looked surprised to hear her reply.
I checked it was okay with the officers, then nodded.
‘Wilson, take her upstairs to get changed, then send the interpreter back down to me,’ Forest snapped as she moved back towards the living room.
When her back was turned, I rolled my eyes, but followed the officer and Elisha upstairs to her bedroom.
There was a flurry of activity on the landing as we climbed the stairs, and a door slammed, so by the time we reached the top there was nobody there. My unease grew.
‘Please could you take your clothes off and put them in this bag,’ the officer asked Elisha, clearly relieved to have me interpreting.
Elisha nodded and pulled a clean t-shirt out of a drawer. I averted my eyes while she changed, but the officer continued to watch her.
‘I need to know – what happened here?’ I muttered to the officer as Elisha changed, but she shook her head.
‘DI Forest will fill you in on anything you need to know. I can’t discuss it.’
I decided not to push it. The officer took photographs of Elisha’s clothing before bagging each item separately. Once I had heard the two paper bags rustle, I turned around, swallowing hard when I realised that Elisha still had a smear of blood across her forehead, going up into her hairline.
‘Thank you,’ the officer said, and nodded to me. ‘DI Forest would like you to return to the living room. Elisha, you can go back and join Alan.’
‘Sure,’ I replied, quickly translating this for Elisha.
We stepped out onto the landing and were descending the stairs when I heard a door open behind me. I leapt in fright as Elisha let out an unearthly wail, and I realised she was saying a name.
‘Lexi! Lexi!’
I turned around on the stairs, expecting to see the little girl. Instead, I saw the open door to the other bedroom and, beyond the officer in the doorway, a toddler bed. My legs went from under me and I fell onto the step. Lexi was lying on the bloodstained mattress, her lifeless eyes open and staring.
I gasped and covered my mouth to stop myself retching, and the officer in the doorway turned, noticing us.
‘Shit, get that door shut,’ I heard someone say, then our view was obscured once more.
The officer who took us upstairs muttered something under her breath, then guided Elisha towards the stairs, but I was in the way. I wasn’t sure if my legs could hold me, so I swivelled around on the step and squashed myself against the wall so they could get past.
I clasped my shaking hands around my knees and swallowed several times to get rid of the bile in my throat. Lexi was dead. Lexi had been killed. How was I going to tell Anna? My sister doted on her little goddaughter.
Elisha ran down the stairs and flung herself at Alan, sobbing as she pressed her face into his chest and clung to him. Alan just stood there, his face blank, not even putting his arms around her. He looked up the stairs and our eyes met, but I looked away quickly. I felt another stab of fear when I thought about his other two children – where were Jaxon and Kasey? Were they dead too?
I needed fresh air, so I forced myself to move. As I stood, someone came out of the smaller bedroom and walked past me on the stairs. It was a different female police officer also dressed in a white paper body suit. She had a large evidence bag in her hand, and she shielded it with her body as she squeezed past me. When she turned, I got a clear view of the bag and its contents: a teddy bear. I remembered taking Anna shopping to buy it when Lexi was born. Its fur was so soft.
I followed her down the stairs, and as she moved into the light in the hallway I saw a dark stain on the bear’s foot. Blood. There was blood on Lexi’s teddy and they were taking it away for evidence. The room lurched and I stumbled towards the open back door in my haste to get outside, where the rush of cold air precipitated a violent reaction and I vomited onto the cracked patio. Shaking, I sank down onto the doorstep, spitting out the last of the bile in my mouth. What the hell happened in that house?
The officer I knew only as Wilson appeared next to me and handed me a bottle of water. I gave her a grateful smile and rinsed my mouth out, then took a big gulp.
‘Sorry, you shouldn’t have seen that.’
I made a strangled noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. ‘This isn’t the sort of job I normally do.’
‘Are you okay? Do you know the family?’
I glanced up and saw a wary look in her eyes. I knew there was a potential conflict of interest, but I nodded anyway. ‘I know them vaguely from the Deaf club. I know Alan’s ex, Laura. Lexi and Jaxon’s mum.’
Laura was good friends with my sister, Anna, and I’d known her since I was eighteen. I’d occasionally spent time with Lexi in the last eighteen months, and another wave of horror hit me as I thought about her.
I swallowed and took a deep breath. ‘My job can involve working with people I know, in sensitive situations. The Deaf community is small, and you won’t find a local interpreter who doesn’t know them. I just hadn’t expected to arrive here to find out a child is dead.’ I swallowed the bile that yet again rushed to the back of my throat, and continued: ‘When I’m on call it’s usually hospital work, telling doctors what happened and where it hurts. Nothing like this.’ I did my best to keep my voice steady, professional, but it cracked a little at the end. I held back the information that Lexi was my sister’s goddaughter. Even in my shocked state, I knew I wanted this job; I had to know what had happened. I didn’t want the officer knowing the full truth of how close I was to this, in case she told the detectives and they called a different interpreter.
Wilson flashed me a brief smile. ‘I understand. Are you okay to continue?’
I nodded. There was no way I’d let them replace me. I needed to be there.
She led me back into the house and through to the living room. As we entered, DI Forest frowned, but the man with her smiled warmly and introduced himself as DC Singh. Alan and Elisha had disappeared, either into the kitchen or outside with another officer, I assumed.
‘We need to get back to the station and take statements,’ Forest said.
‘I’m ready,’ I said.
‘Normally we would have asked you to meet us there, but the communication barrier has slowed things down. Now you’re here, hopefully we can get on with things.’
Forest turned on her heel and walked out of the front door, leaving Singh looking a little awkward. He gestured for me to follow, then directed me to where Alan and Elisha were waiting.
I explained the situation to them, and once I was sure they were going to cooperate, I ducked under the police tape and walked back to my car. There were still some onlookers milling around, and I could feel their eyes on my back as I walked away. As I unlocked my car door, I realised my hands were shaking, and I rested my head on the steering wheel before I set off for the police station, taking deep breaths. What the hell could have happened to that poor little girl? And how was I going to tell my sister?
Chapter 2
On arriving at the police station, Alan and Elisha had their fingerprints taken. I interpreted the detectives’ explanation that it was for elimination purposes, but Alan continued to look wary. The officer taking their prints looked them up and down then spoke slowly, with an unnatural sing-song tone to her voice. When Elisha looked to me for clarification of what she’d said, the officer sighed and went through her exaggerated instructions again while I cringed behind her. Only when Elisha snapped, ‘I’m deaf, not stupid,’ did the officer shut up and let me take over.
It took an hour to get everything sorted, and before they were ready to take statements I found myself sitting in a waiting room, reading the same five posters repeatedly. I considered sending Anna a message, to break the news to her, but I decided against it. Hopefully she wouldn’t find out before I was finished at the police station, then I could call her and tell her face to face. I pressed my lips together to stop my jaw trembling as I imagined my sister’s pain at the death of her goddaughter.
Singh brought me a cup of coffee, which I drank gratefully despite its murky grey colour. I’d been to bed late the previous night, anticipating a weekend lie in, and I was finding it hard to stay awake.
