Silencing the Dead by Will Harker (ereader ebook .txt) 📕

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“What the holy fuck is going on, Deepal? I’ve barely been here five minutes and it’s like all the plagues of Egypt have descended on the place. First, the bloody Bentley hits a nail or something, then that Chambers bastard and his sad-sack wife show up, next we’ve got Dr I’m-So-Smart-My-Shit-Don’t-Stink Gillespie badmouthing me to the local news, and now it’s like CSI Hicksville out there. The only bright side is they’ve shut down that noisy-arse fair for the night. But do either of you have a clue what’s happening? No! So what am I paying you for?”

I could hear every word of Everwood’s rant from outside his trailer. However, I had to step virtually up to the window to hear Deepal’s response.

“I’m sorry it’s taken me a while to get any intel on this, Darrel—”

“A while? It’s been hours. What have you been doing, eh? Looking up cheap nose jobs on the internet again?”

“Boss, take it easy.” Nick’s voice, smooth, placating.

“Eeeezayyy, Nicholharse? Is that ’ow ah should take et?” Darrel said, mocking those broad Yorkshire inflections. “Why don’t thee fook off down’t pit and let Deepal speak for her’sen?”

“It’s all right, Nick,” Deepal said. “I do have an answer, though it cost me a bit to get it. I had to bribe one of the officers for the full story.”

“Cost you a bit?” Everwood practically cackled. “I doubt it’ll be coming out your wages, sweetheart. Well, as I’ve paid for it, I better hear it.”

I wondered then if even the most loyal fan of this so-called medium might not have asked, But Darrel, surely you know already. Haven’t the spirits told you yet?

“There appears to have been a murder,” Deepal said. “An elderly woman was attacked on the fairground. The constable I bribed hadn’t seen the body himself, but he told me there were rumours that the corpse had been very badly mutilated. Some kind of maniac, they’re thinking.”

“Who was it?” Darrel asked. “The victim?”

All the snark and bile had gone out of his voice. He suddenly sounded very frightened.

“They didn’t give me a name. I believe she was a fortune teller.”

A long pause. I thought I could hear the creak of footsteps, the chink of glass, running water. Then Everwood again, screaming, “Out! Get out! Leave me alone!”

The door burst open and Deepal and Nick came hurrying down the steps. Before it swung back on its hinges, I caught my first proper glimpse of the celebrity psychic. Gone was the brash swagger of the breakfast studio sofa. Darrel looked like a little boy lost, hunched over in his chair, a glass tumbler cradled in his shaking hands. A sheen of sweat glistened across his brow and his mascara had run, painting uneven bars along his face.

Seeing me, both Nick and Deepal came to a halt. Despite the midnight chill, Nick was again dressed in a thin white T-shirt that strained to accommodate his bulk. Though just a sliver of moon illuminated the clearing, his pupils remained fixed and tiny. I wondered when he’d last taken a dose of those prescription pain meds. Meanwhile, Deepal appeared to be taking her frustration out on her hair, yanking it back and twisting it into a severe bun.

“Scott.” “Mr Jericho.” They said almost in unison.

“What are you doing here?” Nick asked.

I didn’t answer but motioned them away from the trailer and towards the iron railing that ran around the desolate rectory garden. I thought the best tactic was to be direct. I had no official capacity to ask them questions, but perhaps I might shock an answer or two out of them.

“I heard you talking about the old woman murdered tonight,” I said to Deepal. “That was my aunt. I found her body myself and had to wait with it until the police arrived. The constable you mentioned was right, by the way. By the time he was finished, the killer had made her pretty much unrecognisable.”

Deepal covered her mouth with her hand while Nick came forward. “Scott.” He touched the side of my face. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Do you know what happened?”

“That’s why I’m here,” I said. “Your boss seemed quite upset when you told him the news.”

Deepal blinked. For a few seconds there, she had looked very far away. “Oh, that? I wouldn’t take much notice. Epic emotional swings are an hourly event. Half-hourly on a bad day.” I noticed her attention stray to the bulge of the phone in her trouser pocket. “I suppose he might be worried about how this could affect the show.”

“Nothing to do with his reluctance to come here in the first place, then?” I said. Nick retreated a step and shot a glance at the PA. “You told me he thought there was something bad waiting for him in Purley. That he might die here. What was that fear based on?”

“It was just one of his feelings,” Deepal said. “You’ve seen what he’s like. A total drama queen. He has these meltdowns before every major event, like a kind of extreme stage fright. You have to understand, Darrel built his entire career from nothing. He’s come a long way since that council estate in Peckham, achieved incredible things, but that’s also engendered a deep anxiety that it could all be taken away from him. And now, what with the bad press he’s been getting from his ex and the added pressure from the Chambers and Dr Gillespie, that anxiety has kicked into overdrive. He knows this event has to work to get him back on track. At the same time, the burden of that knowledge means he’d do almost anything to get out of it…” She stopped herself mid-flow.

“Anything?”

“I didn’t mean that.” She flushed. “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a complete egomaniac but not even we think he’d go that far.”

“That’s right,” Nick put in. “Anyway, after we got here tonight, I stayed with Darrel in the trailer, going through