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

he couldn’t quite believe the reaction himself. “I don’t know. Someone killing her after she was part of the same story that made me what I am. It felt personal.”

An echo of what Tilda had said about the poppet resounded in my head. To her it felt haunted, “But not by spirits. By a living person’s spite and wickedness. It feels… personal.” That intimate thread, perhaps, connecting the life of Genevieve Bell to the fates of those she’d touched.

“Did you ever meet Gennie?” I asked.

“Who?” He shook his head. “Sorry, I’ve never heard her called that. Stupid of me. No, I… I didn’t get the chance. I’d have done anything to, of course. I mean, her powers when she was a kid were off the scale—mediumship, telekinesis, precognition, apportation, automatic writing, telepathy—almost the entire paranormal set.”

“But she didn’t believe in those gifts herself,” I said. “Not in the end.”

Everwood’s expression soured. “That bastard Gillespie wormed his way into her thinking. That man’s like a cancer, you know. He eats away at all that’s pure and good.”

“Great minds,” I said. “He recently described you as a cancer too.” I sat forward on the couch. “Tell me, why were you afraid to come to Purley Rectory?”

He jerked away as if I’d threatened to strike him. “Who told you that?”

“Are you afraid?” I pressed. “Maybe you’ve received some kind of threat you haven’t told Deepal or Nick about? Something personal you wouldn’t want leaking to the press, especially with everything going on with your ex.”

He licked his lips. “Why should I trust you?”

“I’m Tilda Urnshaw’s family,” I said. “I want this killer caught.”

His eyes darted to the trailer door. “You know what they think, don’t you? My manager and the producers. That I can’t stand the pressure anymore and that I’ll say anything to get the event called off.”

“And would you?”

“Maybe I would have. I was frightened that I’d crack up live on-air and that my career would be over. That would have killed me, sure as anything. But then I had my eyes opened to the truth. An incredible truth.”  He looked down at his hands and smiled. “But I’m not going to say anything. Not until the time’s right. Then the world is going to know exactly what’s been going on here, and all the doubters will see just how wrong they’ve been. Trust me, Mr Jericho.” His smile became almost dreadful. “It’s going to be the media event of the century.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

The door burst open and Nick and Deepal stormed inside.

“That’s it,” the PA ordered. “We’re done here.”

I glanced at Everwood and saw immediately that I’d get no help from that quarter. It was as if he’d taken a handful of those sleeping pills that had knocked me out the night before. His eyes had an unfocused, foggy look and he gazed back at me as if I was a complete stranger. During my short interview with him, I’d noticed how his attention would wander, sudden flares of intensity lapsing into virtual incomprehension. Whatever substance issues he might have, he seemed to be in the grip of a genuine persecution disorder. One in which he now believed he was about to turn the tables on his enemies and prove to them, once and for all, that his powers were real. I wondered who’d implanted such an idea in his head and why?

“I’ve just got off the phone with Sebastian Thorn,” Deepal said, more to me than to Everwood. “He says that, unless Mr Jericho leaves immediately, the Ghost Seekers’ legal team will seek full damages against Jericho Fairs for breach of contract. It was stipulated in the deal with EverThorn Media that there should be no direct contact between any employee of Jericho Fairs and Mr Everwood.”

While Deepal had been reading me the riot act, I’d discreetly claimed Darrel’s copy of Hearing the Dead. More necessary for a private detective than keen eyes and brilliant deductions was a coat with capacious pockets. Now I held up innocent hands and moved with Nick to the door.

“No harm done,” I assured her. “Thank you for your time, Mr Everwood, and good luck with the show.”

He blinked and grinned after me. “Be sure you tune in from the start. You wouldn’t want you to miss the big reveal.”

“The media event of the century, so I hear.”

He laughed and clapped his hands, a little like Christoper Cloade had done a few moments before he’d tried to impale my left eye. “That’s right. Who told you?”

Back outside with the door closed behind us, I turned to Nick. “What the hell are they thinking?”

He shrugged, feigning ignorance. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on.” I gestured towards the trailer. “He’s barely holding it together. Look, what Everwood did to the Chambers proves that he’s a self-obsessed piece of garbage, but he’s also very clearly not well. They can’t seriously be thinking of putting him on live television tomorrow night?”

Nick made a hushing gesture, and planting his palm in the small of my back, directed me to the rear of the rectory. Here the hibernating forest bustled up against the house, its naked fingers dreamily caressing the stone and glass of Purley. In the failing light, Nick clasped and unclasped his hands, the burn his father had branded him with appearing and vanishing like a marked card in a conjurer’s deck.

“Darrel’s losing it, I know,” he said in a fretful whisper. “We all know. But what do you think any of us can do about it? When he isn’t throwing espressos down his throat, one after the other, it’s the booze or the uppers or the downers. Our old pal Mark Noonan would’ve made a fortune off him. Anyway, I overheard Deepal talking to Thorn. The plan is to get him shipped off to some kind of detox retreat as soon as the broadcast is over. But they’ve all got too much riding on this to let him pull out now. They’ve