The Final Silence by Stuart Neville Page B

said. ‘Can I hold onto this?’
    Rea nodded. ‘I’m sorry for getting angry. I appreciate you coming. I really do.’
    ‘I know,’ he said, tucking the photograph into his jacket pocket, and left her at the top of the stairs.
    He had to slam the front door three times to get it to close behind him, cursing as he did so. Across the street, a fussy-looking man of late middle age stopped washing the windows on his house and watched him. An estate agent’s sign said it was newly let.
    Lennon stared back, an ugly flare of anger in his chest, daring the man to say something. The man dropped his gaze and went back to his cleaning.
    As Lennon walked back towards the Ormeau Road, he took the phone from his pocket and dialled the direct line to Ladas Drive station. When the duty officer answered, Lennon said, ‘CI Uprichard.’
    ‘I’ll see if he’s available,’ the officer said. Lennon recognised the voice as belonging to Sergeant Bill Gracey. ‘Who’s calling, please?’
    ‘DI Jack Lennon.’ He listened to the duty officer’s breathing for a few seconds, then said, ‘They haven’t sacked me yet, Bill. Put me through.’
    A pause, then, ‘All right. Hold, please.’
    Lennon listened to something that passed for music until he heard the familiar voice.
    ‘Jack? It’s been a while. How are you?’
    ‘I’m fucked, Alan, how’s you?’
    ‘Language, Jack, please. The wife has me on a diet again, but other than that, I’m all right. To what do I owe the pleasure?’
    ‘I need a favour,’ Lennon said.
    Uprichard sighed. ‘Why does that give me a bad feeling?’
    Chief Inspector Alan Uprichard had been the only one to stick by Lennon after his suspension. The closest thing in the world he had to a real friend, but even that was stretching the point. Uprichard was a stout chap, pushing sixty, a devout Christian whose wife fretted constantly over his health. Lennon couldn’t imagine a man further removed from him in character, yet somehow their friendship endured, though perhaps begrudgingly on Uprichard’s part.
    ‘You’ve always got a bad feeling,’ Lennon said.
    ‘True,’ Uprichard said. ‘Go on, then. What is it?’
    Lennon told him. When Uprichard was done listening, he asked, ‘Is this going to get me into trouble, Jack?’
    ‘I hope not,’ Lennon said.
    ‘And you certainly don’t need more bother hanging over you.’
    ‘No, I don’t,’ Lennon said. ‘Will you do it for me?’
    ‘All right,’ Uprichard said, ‘but you owe me.’
    ‘I already owe you plenty,’ Lennon said. ‘One more debt won’t make any odds.’
    ‘True. I’ll get back to you. Take care of yourself.’
    ‘You too.’
    As Lennon hung up, he noticed the time on the phone’s display.
    ‘Shit,’ he said to himself.
     
    ‘Forty-five minutes,’ Susan said.
    ‘I know, I’m sorry.’
    Lennon couldn’t look at her across the table. The girls ate in silence. The food on his and Susan’s plates had barely been touched.
    ‘Have you any idea how embarrassed I am that the school office had to call me?’
    ‘It won’t happen again,’ Lennon said. ‘I promise.’
    ‘Anything could’ve happened to them. Anyone could’ve taken them.’
    Lennon shook his head. ‘They know not to go with strangers.’
    ‘You put my daughter at risk.’ Her voice became a thin hiss, anger and hate driving her tongue. ‘And your own. How could you live with yourself if anything happened to Ellen? How could I live with myself for trusting you with Lucy?’
    He raised his eyes to see the fury in her face. He swallowed his own anger at her words, but couldn’t keep the tremor from his voice. ‘I’d never do anything to hurt our girls. You know that.’
    Lennon knew he should have told her the truth the night before. Had he done so, he could have explained that someone needed his help. That he would never have been so late, that he wouldn’t have forgotten the time, if not for an old friend being in trouble. But he had lied, he