The Whisper Man

“Yes?”

“Hello,” I said. “I don’t know if you remember me, Mrs. Shearing. My name’s Tom Kennedy. I bought your house off you a few weeks ago? We met a couple of times when I came to view it. My son and I.”

“Oh, yes. Of course. Shoo, Morris. Get back.” The latter was to the dog. She brushed down her dress and turned back to me. “I’m sorry, he’s very excitable. What can I do for you?”

“It’s about the house. I was wondering if I could talk to you about one of the previous tenants?”

“I see.”

She looked a little awkward at that, as though she had a good inkling of which one I meant and would rather not. I decided to wait her out. After a few seconds of silence, civility got the better of any reservations she had, and she undid the chain.

“I see,” she said again. “Then you’d better come in.”

Inside, she seemed flustered, fussing at her clothes and hair, and apologizing for the state of the place. For the latter, there was certainly no need; the house was palatial and immaculate, the reception area alone the size of my living room, with a broad wooden staircase winding up to the floor above. I followed Mrs. Shearing into a cozy sitting room, with Morris cantering more enthusiastically around my ankles. Two couches and a chair were arranged around an open fire, the grate empty and spotless, and there were cabinets along one wall, with carefully spaced crystal-ware visible behind the glass panels. Paintings on the walls showed countryside and hunting scenes. The window at the front of the house was covered with plush red curtains, closed against the street.

“You have a lovely house,” I said.

“Thank you. It’s too big for me, really, especially after the children moved out and Derek passed, bless him. But I’m too old to move now. A girl comes in every few days to clean it. An awful luxury, but what else can I do? Please—have a seat.”

“Thank you.”

“Can I get you some tea? Coffee?”

“No, I’m fine.”

I sat down. The couch was rigid and hard.

“How are you settling in?” she asked.

“We’re doing okay.”

“That’s wonderful to know.” She smiled fondly. “I grew up in that house, you know, and I always wanted it to go to someone nice in the end. A decent family. Your son—Jake, if I remember correctly? How is he?”

“He’s just started school.”

“Rose Terrace?”

“Yes.”

That smile again. “It’s a very good school. I went there when I was a child.”

“Are your handprints on the wall?”

“They are.” She nodded proudly. “One red, one blue.”

“That’s nice. You said you grew up on Garholt Street?”

“Yes. After my parents died, Derek and I kept it on as an investment. It was my husband’s idea, but I didn’t take much persuading. I’ve always been fond of it. Such memories there, you see?”

“Of course.” I thought of the man who had called around, attempting to do the math. He had been considerably younger than Mrs. Shearing, but it wasn’t impossible. “Did you have a younger brother, at all?”

“No, I was an only child. Perhaps that’s why I’ve always had such affection for the house. It was mine, you see? All mine. I loved it.” She pulled a face. “When I was growing up, my friends were a little scared by it.”

“Why scared?”

“Oh, it’s just that kind of house, I think. It looks a little strange, doesn’t it?”

“I suppose so.” Karen had said much the same to me yesterday. I repeated what I’d said to her, even though, frankly, it was beginning to sound hollow. “It has character.”

“Exactly!” Mrs. Shearing seemed pleased. “That’s exactly what I always thought too. And that’s why I’m glad it’s in safe hands again now.”

I swallowed that down, because the house didn’t feel remotely safe to me. But, as I’d suspected, whoever the man was who’d come by, he had been lying about growing up there. I was also struck by her phrasing. Safe hands again now. She had wanted it to go to someone nice in the end.

“Was it not in safe hands before?”

She looked uncomfortable again.

“Not especially, no. Let’s just say that I haven’t been blessed with the best of tenants in the past. But then, it’s so hard to tell, isn’t it? People can seem perfectly pleasant when you meet them. And I never had any real reason to complain. They paid their rent on time. They looked after the property well enough…”

She trailed off, as though she didn’t know how to explain what the real problems had been and would rather leave it. While she had that luxury, I didn’t.

“But?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I never had anything concrete I could use against them, or else I wouldn’t have hesitated. Just suspicions. That perhaps there were other people staying there from time to time.”

“That they were renting out rooms?”

“Yes. And that unsavory things might sometimes be going on.” She pulled a face. “The house often smelled funny when I stopped by—but, of course, you’re not allowed to do that these days without an appointment. Can you believe that? An appointment to enter your own property. Advance warning, more like it. The only time I ever turned up unannounced, he wouldn’t let me in.”

“This would be Dominic Barnett?”

She hesitated.

“Yes. Him. Although the one before was no better. I think I’ve just had a run of very bad luck with that house.”

One you’ve passed on to me.

“You do know what happened to Dominic Barnett?” I said.

“Yes, of course.”

She looked down at her hands, resting neatly and delicately in her lap, and was silent for a moment.

“Which was terrible, obviously. Not a fate I would wish on anyone. But from what I heard afterward, he did move in those kinds of circles.”

“Drugs,” I said bluntly.

Another moment of silence. Then she sighed, as though we were talking about aspects of the world that were wholly alien to her.

“There was never any evidence he was selling them from my property. But yes. It was a very sad business. And I suppose I could have searched for another tenant after he died, but I’m old now, and I decided not to. I thought it was time to sell it and draw a line. That way I could give my old house a new chance with someone else. Someone who would make a better go of it than I had recently.”

“Jake and me.”

“Yes!” She brightened at the thought. “You and your lovely little boy! I had better offers, but money doesn’t matter to me these days, and the two of you seemed right. I liked to think of my old house going to a young family, so that there’d be another small child playing there again. I wanted to feel it might end up full of light and love again. Full of color, like it was when I was a little girl. I’m so pleased to hear that both of you are happy there.”

I leaned back.

Jake and I weren’t happy there, of course, and a part of me was very angry with Mrs. Shearing. It felt like the history of the house was something she should really have told me at the time. But she also seemed genuinely pleased, as though she thought she really had done a good thing, and I could understand her motivation for choosing me and Jake to sell the property to, instead of …