The Silent Ones: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller(11)

Since her suspension from duty, she’d had plenty of time to think. Too much time, if truth be told. She couldn’t seem to galvanise herself to get her act together, to move on.

At the end of her spell of deep thinking, when for days on end she’d often seen no other living creature apart from Heston, her cat, she had decided to get out of family therapy altogether. Retrain and embark on a fresh career.

She just had to decide exactly when to go and what that new path might be.

And then, just a month ago, a series of unexpected events had changed everything.

First, the academy trust internal inquiry had concluded she was not at fault after all. They offered to reinstate her, which, with great effort, she politely refused instead of giving in to the satisfaction of telling them where precisely in their nether regions they might stick their offer. But she did accept a small severance payment they offered as a gesture of goodwill.

Two days later, Conor Neary had telephoned and asked if she’d be willing to partner with Nottinghamshire Police and work on selected juvenile cases on a consultancy basis. This she had readily agreed to, having worked with Conor on many occasions prior to her suspension.

Finally, the local newspaper, the Herald, had featured her in an article about how Nottinghamshire Police were engaging young people in various initiatives throughout the county and building a trusting relationship in the process. They also gave a brief outline of the Strang case and the outcome of the inquiry.

The dirty looks in the street and snide comments behind hands from those villagers who had heard only scant details about Collette’s death seemed to disappear overnight.

But the best thing by far that had happened was that two weeks ago, Dana had met someone at the gym. In Lizzie she felt a real connection and that was where she wanted to focus her energy and build their relationship. For the first time in her life, work was no longer her number one priority.

She had only just finished a consultancy job at the end of last week with Notts Police, running workshops with young people who had been involved with gangs. So far, the jobs had been sporadic, so to get a call so soon afterwards from Conor Neary had surprised her, his western Irish lilt dripping down the line like honey into her ear.

‘I’ve a proposal for you, Dana. Something I think only you can do.’

‘I’m a sucker for your charm, Conor, you know that,’ Dana said sourly but with a smile. She’d known Conor long enough they completely ‘got’ each other.

In the midst of her career troubles, Conor had been one of only a handful of colleagues who’d stood by her. He had spoken out in support of her and rallied to her defence when the media approached him for comment.

In the event, none of it had done any good – Dana was suspended anyway – but she was grateful for his loyalty and wouldn’t forget it.

‘Seriously, I think this case has your name all over it.’ He continued, not joining in with her banter which was unusual. ‘Have you heard about the attack on the elderly lady in the village earlier today?’

‘On Conmore Street,’ Dana confirmed. It would have been hard to miss it. The news was all over Twitter, Facebook and the local BBC television news. Some lowlife had attacked an eighty-one-year-old woman in her own home.

‘That’s the one. It’s a very nasty incident.’

Dana felt a spike of sadness for the elderly victim and her family even as understanding dawned as to why Conor might be desperate for help.

Small, gossipy villages were breeding grounds for vigilante action that could quickly spiral out of control. Angry and upset, local folk who knew the victim and her family personally didn’t usually bother themselves too much with the small detail of solid, proven evidence. They tended to make their minds up about what had taken place and then quickly forge ahead with an act-first, think-later approach, intent on seeing justice done.

Neary would be more than aware of this, as would his boss, Superintendent Cath Fry. Speed was always of the essence in apprehending the culprits in a sensitive crime of this nature and perhaps he was after her insider knowledge of the village.

Conor sighed on the end of the line. ‘I’m not sure how long we can keep a lid on this, but we’ve got two ten-year-old girls who look good for it, Dana.’

She sucked in breath. Her own niece, who lived in Yorkshire with her sister and brother-in-law, was just ten.

‘But there’s something else. Both girls attend Annesley Woodhouse primary school.’

Neary’s line of thinking was now clear, but a prickle of apprehension settled over her skin. Was a high-profile case in her home village the right one to involve herself in just as things had finally settled down?

The trust that employed her as a family therapist had around twenty schools under its control throughout Nottinghamshire. Annesley Woodhouse school was one of them. Until her suspension, Dana had spent roughly half a day a week there, counselling kids and getting involved with local families who needed support.

‘What are the girls’ names?’ She felt her scalp tighten, afraid of his answer. What if she’d counselled one or both of them? So young, with their whole lives ahead of them. Dana couldn’t help but get close to the families she helped and she didn’t think she could bear to see any of them in terrible trouble like this.

‘Maddy Fletcher and Brianna Voce.’

Dana breathed a sigh of relief. They weren’t among the kids she’d already worked with closely, though the names did sound familiar. Last term she’d conducted family and social skills workshops for Year 5 and 6 pupils, and the two girls would almost certainly have been among her groups of ten-and eleven-year-olds.