Silencing the Dead by Will Harker (ready to read books .TXT) 📗

player—but this man, Tallis. The thought of collaborating with him made me almost nostalgic for those post-shift pints in The Three Crowns when Garris and I would happily pick apart personalities and motivations and alibis by the hour.

“So who are your suspects, Inspector?” I asked. “You show me yours and I’ll show you mine.”

Tallis shook his head. “You show me yours and we’ll leave it at that, shall we?”

“Now who isn’t playing fair? In that case, can I ask if you’ve interviewed Everwood yet? It’s possible he might know who’s behind all this and is too scared to say. Either that or…”

“Yes?”

“Well, as far as suspects go, I’ll give you this, according to his PA, Darrel is terrified that this Halloween event will be a complete disaster. He’s desperate to get out of it if he can.”

“You’re saying he’d kill two people to give himself an excuse not to go on stage?”

“I’m saying he’s an egomaniac with substance issues who maybe thinks he can genuinely talk to the dead. Don’t forget, Genevieve Bell didn’t start out believing she was a real medium. As Evangeline says, that fantasy only gradually became her sister’s reality. Darrel is currently the subject of vicious online and media persecution. What if his defence mechanism is to fully embrace the identity he’s created? Then he isn’t a liar anymore. He’s a maligned hero. Anything that would threaten that idea of himself would be intolerable. Exposure on national television, for instance. He might go to extreme lengths to avoid that.”

“We’ve tried arranging an interview,” Tallis said. “But Sebastian Thorn, his manager, has put a block on it and called in the lawyers. Doesn’t want the press getting a whiff of Everwood being involved in an active murder case.”

I nodded. “I got the same reaction from his PA.”

Tallis held out his hand. “Give me your phone, Scott.” Frowning, I handed it over and watched as he tapped away at the screen. “My number, in case you get any more bright ideas.”

He handed it back and I saw his full name for the first time. Thomas Tallis. Hadn’t there been an Elizabethan composer with that name? Haz would know.

“Just one more thing,” I called out as DCI Tallis moved away.

“Who are you?” He grinned back at me. “Lieutenant fucking Columbo?”

“Were there many fingerprints at the Bell crime scene?”

“Of the killer’s?”

“No. Of Gennie’s?”

“Hardly any, now you mention it. Why do you ask?”

“I suppose there wouldn’t have been,” I said. “Not if she’d become accustomed to wearing those black lace gloves. Doesn’t matter.”

He headed off and I shoved the phone back into my trenchcoat pocket. The memorial for Tilda appeared to have broken up and most of the showpeople had either gone back to completing odd jobs on their rides or were taking an afternoon nap before the gates opened at seven. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast and so decided to grab a bite at the trailer. I could report my findings to Dad later.

I was already inside the tin box and closing the door when I noticed Haz sitting on the bed. He was running his fingertips across the built-in wardrobe—the spot I had splintered and bloodied with my knuckles last night. Hearing the click of the door, he turned, stood up, and came to me, taking both my hands in his.

“Where have you been?” he asked.

“Where have you been?”

I regretted the coldness in my tone at once. I hadn’t intended it. Didn’t think I’d intended it, anyway. He flinched but didn’t pull away.

“I just needed some time,” he said.

“Same here. I told you that in my text this morning. The difference between us is, I respected your wishes.”

Why are you doing this? a voice inside my head screamed at me. I had no answer.

“I’m sorry,” Haz murmured. “You’re right. It’s just, Sal called me saying that Jodie wanted to do something special for Tilda, and would I come back? We tried getting hold of you but your phone was switched off. She did really well. Jodie, I mean. And I thought, since I was here, maybe we could talk.” He turned his head towards the blood-flecked wardrobe before lifting my bruised hand to the light. “Scott, what’s happening?”

In the end, it was me that pulled away. “You know what’s happening. You’ve seen it before.” I went and stood at the sink, my back to him. “But you never want to talk about what happened in Bradbury End, do you? With Garris and Lenny Kerrigan and Gerald Roebuck and the others. How can you be so incurious, Harry? Don’t you want to know why he blackmailed you into playing that role? Don’t you care about what I’ve sacrificed to keep you safe from him? Don’t you wonder why I wake up screaming every night? No. Because you’re a selfish coward who can never face the reality of what I really am. So don’t pretend you want to know what’s happening right now.”

“Scott, please,” he said softly. “If you ask, I’ll tell you—”

“Tell me what? That you haven’t been going to choir practice? That there is no choir? That you can’t stand being around me? That I frighten you and so you’ve found someone else?” I watched his reflection in the little window, and in his guilt and misery saw my suspicions confirmed. He hadn’t been shaping poppet dolls out of wax and murdering psychics. Of course, he hadn’t. That was laughable. He was Harry Moorhouse. All he’d done was to find a bit of comfort and safety in the arms of someone who didn’t terrify him. I felt my heart sink through the floor. You stupid bastard, Jericho. “Haz… I shouldn’t have said that.” I gripped the countertop. “When this is all over, maybe then we can…?”

I turned to find the door open and Harry gone.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I decided to put Haz out of my mind for good. There was no coming back from what I’d said to him. I even wondered if, subconsciously, I’d done