The Whisper Man

Come to think of it, the new policeman looked uncomfortable too. When the woman police officer left, carrying the statement Daddy had signed, the door closed, and then the air in the room had felt very strange indeed. It was like there was some kind of glue that was holding everybody in place.

Then the new policeman walked slowly over and looked down at him.

“You must be Jake?” he said.

“Yes.” This was true. “I am Jake.”

The man smiled, but it was an odd one. He had a face that looked like it could be very kind indeed, but the smile right now was troubled. A moment later, he reached out his hand, and so Jake shook it, which was the polite thing to do. The hand was big and warm, and the grip was very gentle.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Jake. You can call me Pete.”

“Hello, Pete,” Jake said. “It’s nice to meet you too. Why can’t we go home? One of the other policemen told my daddy that we couldn’t.”

Pete frowned and knelt down in front of him, then peered into his face as though there might be some kind of secret there. Jake stared back at him to let him know he wasn’t hiding anything. No secrets here, mister.

“It’s very complicated,” Pete said. “We have to do some investigation work at your house.”

“Because of the boy in the floor?”

“Yes.”

But then Pete looked across at Daddy, and Jake remembered that he wasn’t supposed to have mentioned that. But honestly, the atmosphere in the room was so funny that it was easy to forget things like that.

“I told him what I found,” Daddy said.

“How did you know that it’s a boy, though?”

Daddy was just standing there, but he looked caught somehow, as though he wanted to move forward or backward but had forgotten how his body worked. Jake had the uncomfortable feeling that if Daddy did remember how to move properly, it would be forward—and quite aggressively too.

“I didn’t,” Daddy said. “I said body. He must have misheard me.”

“That’s true,” Jake added quickly. He didn’t want Daddy to hit anybody, especially a policeman, because right now it really looked like he might.

Pete stood up slowly.

“Okay. Well, let’s deal with some practicalities. Is it just the two of you?”

“Yes,” Daddy said.

“Jake’s mother…?”

Daddy still looked angry. “My wife died last year.”

“I’m sorry. That must have been very hard for you.”

“We’re fine.”

“I can see that.”

So confusing! Jake wanted to shake his head. Now Pete didn’t seem able to look at Daddy. But Pete was a policeman, and that meant he was in charge, didn’t it?

“We can arrange accommodation for you, but you might not want that. Do you have any family you’d prefer to stay with?”

“No,” Daddy said. “Both of my parents are dead.”

Pete hesitated.

“Right. I’m very sorry to hear that as well.”

“It’s okay.”

And then Daddy took a step forward. Jake held his breath, but now it only seemed like Daddy wanted to hit someone, rather than that he actually would.

“It happened a very long time ago.”

“Right.” Pete took a deep breath but still didn’t look at Daddy. He was just staring at the wall, and Jake thought he suddenly looked a lot older than he had when he’d first come into the room. “In that case, we can arrange somewhere for you to stay in the meantime.”

“That would be good, yes.”

“And I’m sure you’ll need some things. I can come back with you to your house if you like, and you can get some things you both might need. Spare clothes and things.”

“You need to be there?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. It’s a crime scene. I need to make a note of anything that’s removed.”

“Okay. That’s not ideal, is it?”

“I know.” Pete finally looked back at Daddy. “I’m sorry.”

Daddy shrugged, his eyes still glittering.

“It is what it is. So let’s get it over with, shall we? Jake—you’ll need to think about what toys you might want, okay?”

“Okay.”

But Jake looked from one of them to the other—Daddy and Pete—and still nobody was moving, or seeming like they knew what on earth to do next, and Jake decided that if he didn’t do something, then none of them would. So he put the empty juice box down on the table with a loud, decisive thud.

“My drawing things, Daddy,” he said. “That’s all I want.”

Thirty-three

Small triumphs on terrible days. You had to cling to them, Amanda thought, as she sat back down in the interview room across from Norman Collins. After the horrors she had seen last night, and the failure she felt at not finding Neil Spencer in time, she was ready for a little blood. And often the small victories were as much as you ever got.

“Sorry about the interruption, Norman,” she said. “Let’s continue.”

“Indeed. Let’s bring this to a swift conclusion, shall we?”

“Absolutely.” She smiled politely. “Let’s do just that.”

Collins folded his arms, smirking a little. Which didn’t surprise her. She’d understood from the moment she set eyes on him exactly what Pete had meant about there being something off about the man. He was the sort of person you instinctively crossed the street to avoid. The exaggerated formality of his attire struck her as being a kind of disguise—an attempt at respectability that failed to hide the unpleasantness beneath. And it was clear from his manner that he felt removed from other people. Superior to them, even.

Twenty minutes into the interview, with an answer to every question she had offered, he’d probably had every reason to feel superior to her. But then Steph had knocked and leaned into the room, and Amanda had signaled a break. Now she reached over, turned the recording equipment back on, and ran through the preliminaries.

Across from her, Collins sighed theatrically to himself. She looked down now at the sheet of paper she’d brought back in with her. It was going to be a pleasure to wipe the smirk off the creepy fucker’s face.

First things first, though.

“Mr. Collins,” she said. “For clarity, let’s quickly go back over some of the ground we’ve already covered. In July of this year, you visited Victor Tyler in Whitrow prison. What was the purpose of that visit?”

“I have an interest in crime. In certain circles, I am considered an expert. I was interested in talking to Mr. Tyler about his actions. Much the same, I’m sure, as the police have talked to him over the years.”

Probably not quite the same, Amanda thought.

“Did your conversation touch on Frank Carter?”

“It did not.”

“Are you aware that Tyler is friends with Carter?”

“I was not.”

“That seems strange. What with you being such an expert, and all.”

“One can’t be expected to know everything.”

Collins smiled. Amanda was sure he was lying, but the conversation between Collins and Tyler had not been recorded, and she had no way to prove it.