Hold Your Tongue Read online

‘Take Mearns with you; she’s good at that sort of thing. I’ll make sure Elliott has all the bases covered on the PR front; can’t have the media scumbags accusing us of being uncaring and incompetent.’

  Eve hadn’t forgotten the earlier encounter with Mearns. ‘Sir, I—’

  ‘And get Cooper back here. He can start by getting the incident room set up and the team ready.’

  Melanie Ross’s mother was as small as a child herself, but the short grey hair and deep wrinkles lining her face betrayed her age. She was perched on the edge of an oversized two-seater floral sofa, and it was doubtful whether her feet would’ve reached the floor otherwise. She sat wringing a damp handkerchief between liver-spotted hands that lay on her pleated skirt. Her neck was covered in red blotches. She raised a trembling hand to her thick glasses and nudged them to dab at her eyes.

  The tick of the grandfather clock in the corner dominated the space, the only other sounds a far-off kettle boiling and the occasional clink of china as DC Mearns moved about the kitchen. Eve sat on the armchair opposite, grateful Mearns was somewhere else, giving Mrs Ross time to take in everything that was pointing towards the fact her child was gone. There was a quiet pop as the woman’s lips opened, her mouth struggling to move against the dryness.

  ‘Are you sure there’s no mistake?’

  Eve wanted to relieve Mrs Ross’s pain but didn’t want to give her false hope. ‘Nothing’s definite yet. We believe it to be Melanie due to the reasons I explained, but she’ll need to be formally identified.’

  Mrs Ross tilted back and forth. ‘I know it’s her. I mean, her work uniform, her bag, her phone … the fact she didn’t come home. I … I can’t take it in.’

  The words were broken by sobs. She looked fragile, as if the sofa’s plump cushions could swallow her whole at any minute. Eve didn’t know what to say to her, how to comfort her. Emotions had never been her strong point. Mrs Ross rocked faster, staring at the floor, lost in her own thoughts.

  The walls were covered with framed pictures. Family pictures. Mrs Ross and her husband. Mrs Ross and Melanie. The couple and their daughter. Melanie as an adult. She was, had been, stunning. Some of the shots hanging above an old piano looked professionally done. Eve couldn’t see a trace of the Rosses in their daughter’s features. How had this rather plain-looking couple produced someone so beautiful?

  Melanie, as she’d found her, flashed into her mind. She swallowed the lump in her throat and gazed at a rectangular hatch which separated the living room from the kitchen. In a street where the latest model 4x4s dominated the driveways, the decor of the large semi-detached granite house was old fashioned but homely. Mrs Ross reminded her of her grandmother. Softly spoken with a kind face, but Eve’s grandmother had possessed a personality big enough for two.

  Mearns was visible through the hatch, going about the kitchen, methodical, opening and closing cupboards and drawers as if she knew where things would be. Ordered, like her appearance, trousers looking as if they’d been collected from the dry-cleaners that morning, her long mousey-brown hair fastened tightly in a bun at the nape of her neck, blonde highlights catching the overhead kitchen light.

  Eve didn’t know what to make of her. She sure as hell wasn’t short of self-confidence or attitude. They hadn’t a chance to exchange more than a few clipped comments on the drive over, barely more than five minutes from the hotel. But Eve had been surprised to hear Mearns’ broad Bolton accent. She’d apparently transferred from the force down south. Mearns must’ve hit the ground running, Scottish law differing from English. Eve got the sense Mearns thought she had something to prove – and that she definitely had a problem with Eve.

  Mrs Ross continued to stare at the floor as Mearns came into the room and slid a saucer and cup across the glass tabletop towards her, a finger of shortbread balanced beside the teaspoon.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

  ‘I thought something hot and sweet might help with the shock.’ Mearns sat next to her on the couch and placed a hand on the woman’s arm.

  She sounded like Peter Kay and Paddy McGuinness. It seemed inappropriate to be thinking about comedians considering the situation they were in, but the Bolton accent was alien to Aberdeen, and Eve’s only real experience of it was off the telly. Somehow that connection made Mearns’ accent seem familiar, soothing and homely. What was needed to comfort Mrs Ross. Good to see a soft side to her new colleague, but she doubted she would be experiencing it herself any time soon.

  Mearns patted Mrs Ross’s arm. ‘Our family-liaison officer, Sarah, is on her way to sit with you, to help out, and your husband shouldn’t be too long.’

  Melanie’s mother lifted the cup with shaking hands. The tea slopped over the edges, dripping light brown liquid on to the immaculate cream carpet. She didn’t seem to notice.

  Perhaps that was how Sanders’ husband had looked when he was first told what had happened that night, the shock probably worse than the dirty looks that he gave when Eve found the courage to visit. She stood, needing to shake the thoughts from her head.

  ‘Do you mind if I help myself to a glass of water, Mrs Ross?’

  The woman shook her head, sniffling.

  In the kitchen, Eve filled a glass at the sink and took the bottle from her suit jacket pocket. She shook a couple of pills into the palm of her hand, knocked them back and bent over to rub her thigh now that she was standing and alone. A door opened. Eve jumped as it slammed shut.

  ‘Ellie? Ellie?’

  Eve turned round to see Mr Ross arriving home, his voice loud, panic at its edges. He was overweight and breathless, an open camel coat, snow lying on its expensive shoulders, shirt buttons straining at his gut. His wet white hair was thinning; a bulbous nose and puffed cheeks shone red below it. The man visibly froze when he spotted Eve.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’

  ‘I’m DI Hunter, Mr Ross. Why don’t you come through and sit?’

  ‘I don’t bloody want to sit. I got a message from my PA saying I had to head home urgently. Where’s my wife? What the hell is this all about?’

  If only family liaison had arrived. Her first day back, and what a day it was turning out to be. ‘I called your work, Mr Ross. Please, your wife is in the lounge.’ Eve raised her arm towards the door. Mr Ross inched forward, searching Eve’s face for answers, looking at the door, wondering if what lay beyond it was about to change his life for ever. When he saw his wife, his face drained to the same colour as his hair.

  ‘James. Oh, James.’ Mrs Ross jumped up and flew across the room, collapsing into her husband’s arms as if she’d used any energy she had left to get to him. He held her by her upper arms, pushed her from his chest and looked into her eyes, catching his breath as he did.

  ‘No … not Melanie. Please no. Not Melanie. Not my baby girl.’ He sank to the floor, rocking, his sobs mixing with those of his wife.

  The tea tray came out for the second time that afternoon, carried by Sarah, who had finally arrived. Traffic was horrendous, she said. First sign of bad weather in Aberdeen and things came to a standstill. For a city that didn’t often enjoy good weather, Eve could never understand why they weren’t better prepared. Mr and Mrs Ross sat side by side on the sofa, Mr Ross fitting the furniture better than his wife.

  ‘Why has this happened to our daughter?’ The man’s voice was weary, devoid of any authority.

  Eve answered. ‘We still have to be sure it’s her. I know this is hard, Mr Ross, but, due to her injuries, it may be best to do it through fingerprints rather than having you or your wife identify her.’

  Mr Ross shook his head. ‘No. I need to see her.’

  If Mrs Ross was to see her daughter, it would be the end of her.

  ‘If that’s what you want, then I can’t stop you. We would only need you to come with us, unless your wife wanted to join you.’

  The relief on Mrs Ross’s face was evident. Part of her would be wrestling with the guilt of not being there for her daughter one last time, hoping tha
t her husband would in time tell her that she made the right decision, to stop the inevitable doubts from gnawing away at her.

  ‘Mr Ross? Are you sure you want to see her?’

  The man nodded, tears dripping off his jawbone. ‘Yes. I’m sure.’

  Mearns spoke from where she stood at the window. ‘Mr Ross, I promise you we are doing everything we can to find who did this.’

  Hastings was right: she was good at this stuff. She made Sarah look surplus to requirements with the tea and the comfort. A small voice in Eve’s head had her worried Mearns might make her look the same if she didn’t stay on top of the game, if it turned out she wasn’t ready. But she was glad to see Mearns’ professionalism here, even if it hadn’t been evident at the hotel. She was taking the back seat, letting Eve take charge, no matter how grudgingly it was being done below the surface.

  Eve leaned forward. ‘You’ve no idea what she might’ve been doing there?’

  ‘I told you, she left early for work and told us she’d be late home.’ Mr Ross sighed. ‘We realized this morning that she hadn’t come home, but we didn’t think anything of it.’ His hand reached for his wife’s. ‘Melanie had a habit of staying out once in a while, usually at a friend’s. We argued over her not calling or texting to let us know, but she was eighteen – no longer a kid.’ His voice trembled, and he took a moment to gather himself. ‘Usually she headed straight to work.’

  Eve nodded. ‘Did work call to check where she was?’

  Mrs Ross’s eyes flickered to the sideboard where the phone was. ‘They might’ve. I was at my flower-arranging class at the local church this morning. I wasn’t long home when you arrived.’ There was hope in her eyes, thinking maybe they didn’t call, maybe this was all a terrible misunderstanding.

  ‘OK. Can I ask, did Melanie do some modelling on the side?’

  Mrs Ross stood and shuffled to the dresser. She opened a drawer and lifted a thin A4 notebook from it. She passed it to Eve. It was a scrapbook. Filled with pictures and small newspaper cuttings throughout, the last filled page containing the headline that had been found on Melanie’s body, along with the article. Blank pages still remained that would never be filled.

  Eve spoke. ‘Could we borrow this, please?’

  Melanie’s mother looked over at her husband, who nodded a silent agreement.

  ‘Thank you. We’ll make sure it’s looked after and returned.’

  Mrs Ross nodded once. ‘How did you know Melanie modelled?’

  Eve hesitated, not sure how Melanie’s folks would take the next bit of information. ‘There was a headline left at the scene.’ She flicked the scrapbook open and pointed: ‘This one.’

  Confusion clouded Mrs Ross’s face.

  ‘We don’t know the significance yet, but we wondered if you might be able to tell us anything?’

  Mrs Ross said nothing, dabbed at her face, her husband not moving.

  Eve kept on with the questions. ‘Did Melanie have a boyfriend?’

  Neither Mr nor Mrs Ross answered straight away, a look passing between them. Mr Ross coughed, fidgeting on the sofa. ‘No.’

  Eve wasn’t sure how Mr and Mrs Ross were going to handle what she was about to say. ‘I’m sorry, but it appears that she went to the hotel to meet someone.’

  ‘How the hell do you know that?’ Mr Ross boomed. ‘She could’ve been taken against her will. Maybe she thought she was going to meet a girl friend.’

  Eve answered. ‘I doubt it, Mr Ross. The bag had items in it to suggest she knew about the meet.’ She didn’t expand on that. Neither parent argued the point, and the look that had passed between them before preyed on Eve’s mind. She continued.

  ‘We have a name. We don’t know if it’s connected yet, but it would help if you could tell us if it means anything to either of you.’

  Eve could have sworn she saw a flicker of panic on both their faces. Mrs Ross’s hand gripped her husband’s tighter. Mr Ross rubbed a hand across his forehead, dragged it over his eyes.

  ‘What’s the name?’

  ‘Mr Phillips.’

  ‘The bastard!’ The venom in Mr Ross’s soft whisper made more sense when the man jumped to his feet and shouted it the second time, as if it had hit home – dragging his wife with him, knocking the tray from the table. His wife made a choking sound, a scream catching in her throat, any hope in her eyes gone.

  Eve was by the man’s side in a second. ‘Easy, Mr Ross. Tell us what you know about him.’

  Melanie’s father looked at Eve and sank to the sofa, head in hands. ‘Mr Phillips,’ he spat, ‘Ryan, is Melanie’s brother.’

  Chapter 4

  Eve stared at the curtains, standing shoulder to shoulder with Melanie’s father. The chemical smell was overpowering even through the sheet of glass behind the divide. James Ross’s breathing was laboured. In through the nose, out through the mouth. An attempt to steady himself, waiting for the two thick lengths of material to be drawn, trying to be ready for what they were about to reveal.

  Mr Ross had brought his brother, as two people were required to confirm identification. Eve knew the men next to her would never be ready. If only Mr Ross had listened, hadn’t felt the need to be here … but she wasn’t a parent. And she’d never had a father who cared about her.

  She put a hand out to offer some kind of comfort but quickly withdrew it, the gesture as unwelcome to her as it probably would be to him. His brother stood rigid on the other side of him. The pulley squeaked. Eve braced herself. The curtains inched back, a chink of light at their centre, the space becoming wider, revealing the white expanse of a sheet pulled taut, a lump beneath. The starched material was bright in contrast to the gun-grey metal sides of the gurney, a colour that dominated Aberdeen Divisional HQ’s mortuary, hidden in the basement, away from the living. Mr Ross had stopped breathing, holding tight to the air in his lungs, waiting for the curtain to open far enough.

  Her head was the only visible part of her. That was enough. Eve waited, ready, catching Mr Ross as he stumbled, his brother still standing frozen. Eve gripped to stop him falling over, letting him scream, sob and to finally vomit all over her shoes.

  Eve shifted forward, ignoring the throbbing in her leg, and poured a glass of water from the jug on the low round table at the centre of the worn armchairs in the family room. She passed the glass to Melanie’s father and watched him take it with trembling hands. His brother had gone home.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I can’t believe it.’ Mr Ross shook his head and stared into the glass.

  ‘I know. I apologize for the timing of this, but now that we have a formal identification, I have a few questions that I need to ask.’

  Melanie’s father raised his head and looked at Eve for the first time since arriving at the mortuary. He nodded.

  ‘You said that Ryan Phillips was Melanie’s brother?’ Eve didn’t question Ryan’s different surname or venture towards where her mind had already gone, thinking of the contents of Melanie’s bag.

  Mr Ross’s eyes darted away. Eve let the silence stretch, giving him time to figure out how to tell his story. Mr Ross knocked back the water, probably wishing it would give him the courage of something stronger, and fixed Eve with his stare.

  ‘You’ve got the room booking and the other stuff. I think you’ve worked out that Melanie and Ryan were together in another way.’

  Eve didn’t react. Of course that’s where the evidence had taken her. She wasn’t shocked. There wasn’t a lot she hadn’t come across during her years on the job. Compared to other things, this was nothing. But not to the man sitting in front of her. It was as if he’d shrunk in front of her eyes, the words finally spoken out loud taking away a piece of him.

  Mr Ross pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘There’s no point in me concocting a version of the truth, is there? I mean, would it avoid tarnishing my daughter’s memory? Would it see justice done?’

  Eve swallowed. ‘No, it wouldn’t and, as difficult as it is, I know justice
is what you’ll want to see happen.’

  Mr Ross’s flat palms rubbed at either side of the glass, painstakingly slow, turning it this way and that. His voice cracked when he spoke again.

  ‘Melanie and Ryan were always close. Even when they were little. The real inappropriate behaviour between them started in their early teens. Uncomfortable, the looks between them, their exchanges. Ellie and I didn’t want to believe what was happening in front of our eyes.’

  He ran his finger around the lip of the glass, staring at it as he did, needing something to distract him from what his mouth was doing.

  ‘Our attempts to stop what was going on only made them more determined. Ryan especially. He was always a confident, cocky kind of kid. Gave us a lot of trouble over the years.

  ‘Melanie was completely different, always eager to please. Or at least she was until all the stuff with Ryan. But even then, I think it was him. He could be frightening.’ Mr Ross paused.

  ‘He had a way about him that made others do what he wanted. Melanie didn’t stand a chance. She was timid then, awkward, didn’t realize how beautiful she already was. He played on that, fed into her insecurities.’

  Mr Ross shifted in his seat.

  ‘I threw him out six months ago. We were terrified Melanie would follow him, but he had nothing to offer her, at least not in the financial sense. He was working in a bar, moved in with a pal renting a poky flat, the last we heard. We were estranged from him after that. Ellie was heartbroken.’

  Mr Ross fell silent, his face showing memories that haunted him. Eve filled the gap. ‘Would you have an address for the flat?’

  ‘Ellie does. She felt better knowing where he was.’

  ‘I understand. We’ll need a photo of Ryan too.’

  Mr Ross nodded and reached for the overcoat that he’d slung over the arm of the chair. His hand disappeared into the inner pocket, pulling out a leather wallet when it came back into view. He flipped open the wallet and picked at something beneath one of the transparent folds, his shaking fingers struggling before he was able to pull it free. He held out his hand.