The Silent Ones: An absolutely gripping psychological thriller(22)

Tom swallowed, taken aback at his unfriendly manner.

‘Yes, actually. That’s exactly where I’ve been.’ He glanced around him, realising that the low hum of voices had ceased. All eyes were on him.

The whooshing sound of the coach’s hydraulic brakes broke the silence and people shuffled a little.

Damn. Why hadn’t he anticipated this? He’d been too busy thinking about how, in between talking about the forest survival training and catching up with the footie scores, he could best explain to Josh what was happening to his sister.

‘Did they do it then?’ a woman’s voice called from the back of the group. ‘Has Maddy admitted murdering Bessie Wilford?’

Murder? Tom bristled at the word.

‘Course they did it!’ another mocking voice called. ‘Old women don’t just batter themselves to death. You should be ashamed, showing your face around here.’

The hum of voices started up again and the obvious disapproval and anger wasn’t lost on Tom. Maybe these people didn’t understand Bessie had been assaulted, not murdered. His phone was in his back pocket but he hadn’t checked it while driving. There was no way he’d take it out here in front of everyone, to check any news. This lot would be watching every facial twitch.

‘They should lock them both up and throw away the key for what they’ve done!’

Tom spun around and faced the crowd, trying to identify who’d spoken, but all the faces looked equally hostile.

There was movement to his side as Nick stepped away from him, leaving Tom standing isolated on his own little patch of car park asphalt.

His heart felt like a battering ram against his chest. He wanted to explode at them all, ask them how they’d feel if their own kids had been accused. The situation was bad enough without them exaggerating it to a possible murder charge. But he imagined Juliet’s horror if he did. She’d ask him what on earth had possessed him to lose it in front of the very people they had to see every day.

Maintaining a dignified silence took every ounce of his resolve, but somehow he managed it and held his tongue.

The stand-off was broken when the coach doors opened and a stream of pupils poured out. Soon the waiting parents were caught up in a sea of excited children clutching rucksacks and artwork with twigs and plants attached, all competing to be heard.

Tom caught sight of one of the teachers watching him from the back of the crowd.

The stream of kids thinned out and he walked closer to the bus, looking for his son. Finally a lonely figure came slowly down the steps. Josh.

Tom rushed forward and held out his hand to help him down. He didn’t have to ask how Josh was; his face told him everything.

The last person off the coach was Mrs Carrington, Josh’s class teacher. She paused on the bottom step to regard Tom.

‘Let me know if we can support Josh in any way,’ she said sympathetically. ‘Perhaps a couple of days away from school might do him good, help him adjust to what’s happening.’

She was right, he realised. He had to protect Josh from the animosity he himself had just experienced.

Behind him, he heard comments starting up again from the parents, and now kids’ voices were joining in too.

‘Better get back to the cop shop!’

‘Find another school to go to!’

Josh allowed him to slip the rucksack from his back, and they walked quickly through the car park and out onto the main road.

‘You missed a good footie game while you were away, champ. I’ve recorded the highlights.’ Tom’s voice sounded ridiculously jolly even to himself, but Josh remained silent. ‘I want to hear all about the trip. We can go to Annesley Woods and you can show me some survival stuff. How about that?’

Once they were inside the car, Josh looked at Tom, his face pale and fearful.

‘Is it true what they’re all saying?’ he asked in a small voice. ‘Is it true that Maddy’s a murderer?’





Fourteen





The police station





Driving to the police station, Dana purposely chose the long route around the village that would take her past Conmore Road.

Hordes of people were gathered at the end of it, clustered within inches of the blue and white police tape. Villagers, out-of-town rubberneckers, press… they were all represented there. They spilled off the pavement and into the road, causing the passing traffic to take a wide berth around them.

Predictably, the reporters and photographers had staked their positions closest to the tape. Dana spotted one or two local hard-nosed journalists she’d had the misfortune to meet in other high-profile cases she’d worked on with Neary over the years. Both women were the type who’d willingly destroy their own mother’s reputation if it meant getting ahead in their career.

Other reporters fiddled with their microphones, and photographers stood around tinkering with their cameras to ensure they were ready should an opportune moment present itself for a snapshot.

Dana’s chest tightened as she spotted faces from the village she recognised. Ordinary people with scowls and clenched jaws, huddled together over illuminated phone screens, waiting like coiled springs for updates.

She could sense the unrest even from inside her car, and it bothered her that their vitriol was reserved for two ten-year-olds who at this point in time had not even been charged.