Silent Winter, page 23
CHAPTER 58
Drew awoke the following morning with a cotton-wool mouth and a pneumatic drill pounding in his head. Along with anger. His brother had slept with his wife. Oh, they’d denied it, but he didn’t believe them. He refused to be that gullible. While he’d been losing his mind, they’d been thumbing their noses at him and Nessa.
A tear trickled down his cheek, and he brushed it away, his fingers angry. He was a grown man, for God’s sake. No way would he cry on account of a wife who couldn’t keep her legs together. Or his shit of a brother.
If only he had someone who’d understand his pain. Normally, he’d turn to Todd. As things stood, Drew was alone with his hurt.
Maybe not. An idea occurred to him.
‘Gonna talk to Rory,’ he muttered. Hadn’t the guy also been cursed with a cheating wife? He’d text Rory once his hangover eased, ask if he could visit. They’d chat, share their sorrows, offer mutual support. Guys together and all that. Yeah. He had a plan.
Drew curled into a ball, willing the world to leave him to wallow in his misery. He closed his eyes and allowed sleep to overcome him.
He awoke to the phone beside his bed shooting knives into his skull. A reminder that check-out was in half an hour, or the hotel would charge him for another night. He threw back the duvet with a curse. Fifteen minutes later he’d showered, dressed, and taken the lift to the lobby, where he bought a packet of paracetamols and dry-swallowed a couple. After he’d settled his bill, he headed to the restaurant.
Drew toyed with his mobile while he ate his full English breakfast. Another two texts from Holly, neither of which he read. The idea he’d hatched earlier, of discussing his marital problems with Rory, returned. The man had gone running every week with Todd while Drew was missing. Perhaps his brother had let something slip about Holly, meaning Drew could gauge how long they’d been sleeping together. Whether the baby might be Todd’s, not his. Yeah, he should do this.
He sent Rory a quick text. The guy was off work that week, so should be around. In less than a minute, Drew had a reply. Along with Rory’s address.
Once he’d finished his breakfast, Drew walked outside to the line of taxis. Shortly afterwards he stood in front of a large Victorian house in Horfield, staring at the four doorbells. Rory had told him weeks ago he’d moved into a rented flat after discovering his wife’s infidelity, and Drew empathised with the guy. Chances were Rory needed a friendly ear too.
He pressed the bell marked ‘Three’.
Within a minute, he heard footsteps descending the stairs, then Rory opened the door. ‘Hey, man. Come on in,’ he said, with a grin. Drew followed him to the third floor of the four-storey building. A whiff of old cooking lingered in the stairwells, along with the smell of damp.
Once inside Rory’s bedsit, Drew glanced around, and his empathy for Rory multiplied. The place was clean and tidy, but cramped. Under the window was Rory’s bed; squashed to one side was a tiny table with a chair at each end. Opposite the bed was a fridge, a small sink, and a counter on which sat a two-ring gas burner, a kettle and a toaster oven. No cupboard space existed; tins of food stood stacked several high under the counter. Piles of books and papers covered the table. Drew pulled out one of the chairs and sat down.
‘It’s great to see you. Coffee?’ Rory enquired.
‘Make it black. And strong.’
Rory busied himself with mugs and the kettle, while Drew seated himself at the table. The other man didn’t attempt to make small talk, to Drew’s relief. His head still throbbed, but the pain was bearable.
Minutes later, Rory plonked a mug in front of Drew, then sat opposite him. ‘You okay, man? You don’t look so good.’
Drew’s misery poured forth. How his wife and his brother had been conducting an affair. His doubts the baby was his. Whether he should leave Holly.
‘I’d bet money on it being over between them,’ he finished. ‘Even so, how the hell am I supposed to move on?’
Rory blew out a long breath. ‘You say they both deny anything happened?’
‘Yes. But they would, wouldn’t they?’
‘Do you have any proof?’
‘Nothing concrete. Holly thinks I’m being paranoid, but that’s bullshit.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘Nessa also thinks they had an affair.’
‘I don’t agree.’
The other man’s words surprised Drew. ‘Why not?’
Rory took a sip of coffee. ‘After you disappeared, Todd was a mess. Me, Mike and Adam, we’d go for a pint with him after our run. He started drinking heavily. Said stuff once the beer got him talking.’
‘Like what?’
‘How he’d always wanted Holly, but had settled for Nessa. But that your wife loved you, not him.’
Drew was silent. This cast a different light on things.
‘Nothing he said gave me the impression they’d been having sex,’ Rory continued. ‘Quite the opposite.’
Drew yearned to believe him. Doubt still clawed at him, though. ‘So why are they so weird around each other? Why all the tension?’
Rory shrugged. ‘No idea, man. But you going missing was hard on Todd. Sometimes he was mad as hell, other times he seemed like he was about to cry. Must have been rough on Holly too, don’t forget. I reckon they took comfort in each other, but not the way you suspect.’
Was Rory right? Both Holly and Todd had denied an affair, and Nessa had no proof. ‘I don’t know what to think,’ he admitted.
‘Talk to her. Listen to your gut instinct.’
Drew remained silent, pondering Rory’s words.
‘If Holly’s cheated, I’d be the first to condemn her, given the crap Louise has put me through. Living in this dump, only seeing my kids at weekends—it’s been hell. Don’t end up like me, man, not if you can avoid it. You’ve got a baby on the way, a lovely home, a wife who’s nuts about you. Are you going to throw all that away on a mere suspicion?’
Put like that, Rory had a point. People deal with stuff in different ways. Perhaps whatever had soured Todd and Holly’s relationship, and spiked Nessa’s anger, wasn’t anything to do with sex.
‘I want to believe her.’ Drew’s voice sounded hoarse.
‘Well, that’s a start. Take my advice. You and Nessa might be jumping to conclusions.’
Drew’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Another text from Holly. ‘I love you. Nothing happened with Todd. Please come home.’ Followed by three emoji hearts.
Matthew Thomas had warned him PTSD symptoms could manifest in paranoia. The hug in the kitchen, Nessa’s suspicions—they didn’t, as his Uncle Hal would have said, amount to a hill of beans.
His heart squeezed in his chest. Rory was right, damn him. Hadn’t he vowed two weeks ago to mend his marriage? Shame crept into his brain. He’d behaved like a child throwing a tantrum. Well, no longer.
He reached out a hand, clapped Rory on the shoulder. ‘You’re a good mate. I’ll talk to her the second I get home.’
‘You do that.’ Rory’s voice sounded strained. He cleared his throat. ‘You deserve to be happy, after the hell you’ve suffered.’
An awkward silence fell. Then Rory stood up. ‘Back in a minute. I need to piss, and the bathroom’s on the next floor.’ He walked across the tiny space and through the door.
Drew sucked in a breath, aware he should text Holly. Better still, talk face to face with her. He’d take a cab home, apologise for his behaviour, then try to mend their marriage.
He stood up, ready to leave once Rory returned, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. As he did so, he knocked a pile of stuff off the table: a battered paperback, a wallet, a bunch of keys. They clattered to the floor, the book and the wallet both landing face down and open. Drew picked up the book and placed it back on the table. His fingers retrieved the wallet, which was a simple folding one with no catch. Something snagged his eye. A credit card, slotted behind a clear plastic section.
The name on the card read Kyle Davenport.
Drew’s breath caught in his chest with shock. He rifled through the other cards. They all bore the same name.
What the hell? How come Rory possessed the wallet of a man who’d gone missing?
His gaze fell on the bed, on which lay a mobile phone, along with a second wallet. Drew opened it, checked the name on the cards inside. Rory Bruce on every one.
His brain flew into overdrive. A third man—Rory—must have been involved in his abduction. Had manipulated Kyle Davenport into keeping Drew captive. Now Kyle couldn’t be found. And Ethan Parker had been murdered. Rory Bruce was eliminating his co-conspirators, it seemed.
But that scenario was impossible, surely? Until recently, the guy had been happily married with two kids. A house in Redland, a job as a civil engineer. And Barry Blackmore couldn’t have murdered Rory’s mother; Rory had mentioned his parents, both still alive, several times. Drew struggled to understand Rory’s connection to Ethan, Kyle and the abducted women. There didn’t appear to be one.
This didn’t bode well for Kyle Davenport. Would his body, like Ethan Parker’s, also be discovered in a shallow grave in the near future?
More to the point, why had the bastard who’d held Drew captive tried to save his marriage?
For that, he had no answer. None of this made sense.
Drew’s mind spiralled back to the Black Hole. His breath grew ragged, a panic attack waiting to strike. That couldn’t, wouldn’t, happen. He needed to get out the hell out of here. Let the police deal with Rory Bruce.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Drew slid the bunch of keys into his jacket pocket. His eyes fell on the wooden sash window, which had been painted shut. He remembered they were on the third floor, which was good. Very good. He schooled his features back to normality.
The door opened. Rory walked towards Drew, a smile on his face. ‘You should get on home. Make things right with your missus.’
Drew side-stepped him, positioning himself closer to the exit. Then he punched his fist against the other man’s nose. The crack of shattering bone sounded out. Rory staggered backwards, blood spurting from his nostrils. His eyes were wide with shock. Drew seized his chance, running through the open door, pulling Rory’s keys from his pocket. He slammed the door shut, noting the two locks: one Yale, the other Chubb. He inserted the Chubb key in the bottom lock, twisting it closed. Followed by the Yale one. Tortured moans issued from inside Rory Bruce’s bedsit.
Drew ran down the stairs and out onto the street. He hailed a passing cab. ‘Bridewell Police Station,’ he told the driver.
CHAPTER 59
Rory Bruce stuffed a handful of sleeping pills into his mouth, then washed them down with a slug of whiskey. His busted nose hurt like hell, but Rory was past caring. Death offered a way out, and he’d take it and say a heart-felt thank you. Drew had seen too much. If he hadn’t pieced the puzzle together yet, he, along with the police, soon would.
So this was how his story ended. His eyes flitted over Kyle Davenport’s wallet—the mistake he’d made that had given the game away. Not that it mattered anymore. Nobody would care about his death, whether he lived or died. Irrelevance summed up his miserable existence.
He lay back on his narrow bed and closed his eyes, waiting for oblivion. Seconds later a reason to stay alive flashed into his brain.
CHAPTER 60
Drew burst through the doors of Bridewell police station. He’d called DS Tucker from the taxi, barely able to string a sentence together, so great was his agitation. What if Rory had a spare set of keys? Or escaped through the window somehow? Perhaps, even now, he wasn’t safe.
Tucker and Tobin managed to calm him down. They plied Drew with endless questions while he spilled his story. Tucker assured him she’d dispatch a squad car to Rory Bruce’s bedsit. That the police would question Rory as to the whereabouts of Kyle Davenport.
He’d taken advantage of a coffee break in the proceedings to text Holly. ‘Will be home soon. So sorry. Can we talk?’
A minute later her reply pinged through. ‘I’d never cheat on you. I love you, always will.’ Followed by: ‘Even though you’re an idiot at times.’ Three smiley faces.
Well, he couldn’t argue with that. Thank God his wife possessed more sense than him.
‘We’ll be in touch once we’ve spoken to Mr Bruce,’ Tucker told Drew before he left Bridewell.
Another taxi, this time to home. He sucked in a deep breath as he walked up the front path. He’d not mentioned Rory Bruce in his text; that could come later. His marriage took priority. Time to salvage it.
He slotted his key in the lock and pushed open the door. The scent of his wife’s perfume met him, and he breathed her in deeply, his eyes closed. Holly was his everything. He couldn’t lose her.
‘Drew?’
She stood in the doorway to the living room. Her eyes were red with weeping.
Drew melted, remorse pounding through him. He ran towards his wife, pulling her into his arms. Her hair tickled his nose, as did the scent of her shampoo. The child in her belly pressed against him.
‘I didn’t have sex with Todd.’ Her words, ragged with hurt, filled Drew with guilt. Of course she hadn’t; he’d been a fool to think otherwise.
‘I know that now.’ He took Holly by the hand and led her to the sofa. He noticed her pale skin, the exhaustion smudged under her eyes, and shame hammered inside his head. His gaze flitted to her stomach; the enormity of his impending fatherhood struck Drew. Not with fear, but with joy. He was about to embark on parenthood with this woman, who’d stuck by him during his darkest times. First, though, he needed her forgiveness.
Drew smiled at his wife, attempting to pour the love he felt into his expression, then pulled her into his arms again, her head against his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, Prickle. I’ve been a fool.’
She wiped a tear from her cheek. ‘It’s so good to hear you call me that. Like the old Drew is back.’
‘Matthew Thomas was right. About the paranoia, I mean. I put two and two together and made five.’
‘Yes. You did. A DNA test will prove this baby is yours.’
‘No need. I believe you.’
‘It was wrong of me to seek comfort from Todd. I’m sorry, sweetheart.’
‘It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.’
‘Can you forgive me?’
‘Yes. If you’ll do the same for me.’
Her response was instant. ‘Deal.’
Later, much later, he told Holly about Rory Bruce. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘that the nightmare might just be over. Now we can move forward. Together.’
ANTICIPATION SEIZED Drew, wouldn’t let go. Rory Bruce, the fucker who’d wrecked his life, had been arrested, from what Jessica Smith had said when she’d phoned. Well, thank God for that. It was now the day after, and DS Tucker had arrived at Drew’s house along with Jessica and DC Tobin, saying she had things they needed to discuss. The four of them—Holly was upstairs, putting on her make-up—sat in the living room, swapping the usual chitchat. Then Tucker got down to business. ‘How well do you know Rory Bruce?’
The question surprised Drew. It seemed a strange place to start. ‘He became a mate of mine after he joined the running club. I’ve never met his wife or family, though.’
He saw Tobin and Tucker exchange glances. ‘He isn’t married,’ Tobin said.
Confusion hit Drew. ‘Yes, he is. Her name’s Louise. He’s got a couple of kids too, Amy and Sophie. They all used to live in a big house in Redland. He filed for divorce recently. The reason he’s living in that bedsit.’
Tucker shook her head. ‘Whatever he’s told you, it’s likely to be lies. Rory Bruce’s real name is Kyle Davenport.’
‘That can’t be right.’ Drew’s voice rose high, denial running through his body. ‘You’ve made a mistake.’
‘No mistake. He’s admitted it, told us Rory Bruce was an alias. We found a birth certificate in the name of Kyle Davenport. He’s Kyle, all right.’
Drew couldn’t respond. He’d assumed Rory had killed Kyle. Now Tucker was saying they were the same guy?
‘We discovered other stuff,’ Tucker continued. ‘Your wallet, phone and keys, from when you went missing. A log of the visits he made to you while you were his prisoner.’ She grimaced. ‘He does labouring jobs for cash, pays his rent the same way. Uses different names, changes his appearance. Hence why we couldn’t find him.’
Drew heard Holly’s footsteps on the stairs. Seconds later she appeared in the doorway. ‘What’s the latest on Rory Bruce?’
Before Tucker or Tobin could respond, Drew cut them off. ‘He’s Kyle Davenport. They’re the same person.’
Holly’s face turned grey with shock. ‘What? How can that be?’ She slumped into the remaining armchair. Tucker recapped the gist of the conversation for her.
‘He always seemed such a nice guy,’ Holly said, once Tucker had finished. ‘Hard to believe he’s a kidnapper. That he murdered Ethan Parker.’
‘I guess he’s denying everything?’ Drew’s tone turned sour.
‘No,’ Tucker said. ‘Far from it.’
‘What’s he saying?’
‘Not much.’ Tucker leaned forward. ‘This is where you come in, Drew. He’s told us he’ll give us a full statement and confess to kidnapping and imprisoning you. Along with his reasons. He also says he has information pertinent to the Rosalie Parker case that he’ll share. But he’ll only do all that after—’ She drew in a breath. ‘After he’s talked with you.’
‘No way.’ Holly spoke before Drew got the chance. ‘That bastard put my husband through hell. Now he wants a cosy chat with him? About what, for God’s sake?’
Drew remained silent. His brain refused to entertain the idea.
‘We don’t know,’ Tucker conceded. ‘But I admit we’re keen to hear whatever he might say about Rosalie Parker.’
We realise this is asking a lot, Drew,’ Jessica said. ‘But please think before you say no. Depending on what Kyle tells you, we might gain vital facts for our investigation into Rosalie’s murder.’
