Don't Make a Sound Read online

  Praise for

  ‘A mind-blowing, head-rattling, whirlwind of a thriller. David Jackson is the king of ‘just-one-more-chapter’. I bloody loved it’

  JOANNA CANNON

  ‘Incredibly chilling. Surely a contender for Thriller of the Year’

  FIONA CUMMINS

  ‘. . . what a brilliant read! Hardly breathed the whole way through!’

  SAMANTHA HAYES

  ‘From it’s incredibly chilling opening chapter, to the spectacular ending, I can’t recommend this book highly enough. Crime writing at its best’

  LUCA VESTE

  ‘One of the most disturbing, frightening crime novels I’ve read in a long time’

  MARTYN WAITES

  ‘OMG this book! Don’t Make a Sound started off creepy then became so tense that I barely breathed from the middle to the end’

  SUSI HOLLIDAY

  ‘Bloody creepy and absolutely gripping’

  DAVID MARK

  ‘Don’t Make a Sound redefines gripping. And that twist at the end! Bravo!’

  CHRIS WHITAKER

  ‘Excellent – possibly the best in the series so far. Such a page-turner’

  G. J. MINETT

  ‘Dark and disturbing’

  MEL SHERRATT

  ‘A beautifully wrought thriller that had the kid in me cowering beneath the bed covers. One of the best thrillers of my year’

  CJ CARVER

  ‘Disturbing subject matter, expertly handled & well executed. If you like your tension drip-fed, this one’s for you’

  MARI HANNAH

  Contents

  Part One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Part Two

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Part Three

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  Letter from Author

  Copyright

  For Lisa, Bethany and Eden

  PART ONE

  1

  ‘What are you up to?’

  The words startle him. But then Malcolm Benson finds the mental echo of the chuckle he failed to contain. He turns from his place at the sink, the amusement still written on his face.

  Harriet is at the table, mug of tea cradled in her small hands. It’s her favourite mug – the one with Snoopy on it. He made certain to give her that one on this special morning. She has her eyebrows arched in that endearing way of hers. One of the features that first attracted him to her thirty years ago.

  He flicks soap foam from his Marigolds, then touches a finger to the side of his nose.

  ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ he says.

  Her suspicions confirmed, Harriet lowers her mug to the raffia coaster.

  ‘You’re planning something.’

  ‘I’m always planning,’ he says. ‘You know that. Planning and plotting.’

  Her eyes shine at him. ‘What is it?’

  ‘You’ll have to wait.’ He faces the sink again. Dips his gloved hands into the suds. He knows she will be staring at the back of his head, trying to read his mind.

  ‘It’s not my birthday for another month,’ she says casually.

  He remains silent.

  ‘Is that it? Something to do with my birthday?’

  He looks at her over his shoulder. In her fifties, and yet still full of such child-like innocence and wonderment.

  ‘It is a present. But not for your birthday. It couldn’t wait that long.’

  ‘Malcolm, you’re teasing me now. Tell me. Please!’

  He had been hoping to draw things out a little longer, but it wouldn’t be fair on her. Besides, he’s as excited as she is to bring it into the open. He has kept it to himself for far too long.

  ‘All right,’ he says. ‘Wait there.’

  He peels off his gloves and removes his apron. As he heads towards the kitchen door, he sees how Harriet claps her hands in anticipation.

  He smiles as he walks all the way up to the tiny box room that is his study, and all the way back down again. This is a huge moment for both of them. The culmination of an immense amount of effort and patience.

  He pauses before re-entering the kitchen. ‘Close your eyes. No sneaky-peekies.’

  ‘Okay,’ she answers. ‘I’m not looking. Promise.’

  He walks through the door, his gift held out before him. Harriet has her hands tightly clasped over her eyes. There is a discernible tremor in her fingers.

  ‘Right,’ he says. ‘You can look now.’

  She parts her fingers. Slides them slowly down her cheeks. Her face registers puzzlement and then disbelief at the sight of the large, leather-bound book.

  ‘It’s . . . it’s the album.’

  He nods. He knows she’s about to blub, and already a tear is forming in his own eye.

  She lifts her gaze to lock with his. ‘You haven’t?’

  ‘I have.’

  ‘You’ve found one?’

  He smiles.

  ‘Oh my Lord,’ she says. ‘Oh my Lord. Show me, show me, show me!’

  She leans across to drag one of the chairs around so that it’s right next to hers. Malcolm sits down and places the album on the table between them.

  ‘Are you ready for this?’ he asks.

  ‘Malcolm, you know how much I’ve wanted it. Open the book.’

  He locates the silk tab inserted into the centre of the album. Opens the book at that position.

  The reflected glow from the page lights up Harriet’s face. Her hand jumps to her mouth. Tears spring from her eyes and run down the back of her hand.

  ‘I hope those are tears of joy,’ Malcolm says.

  It’s all she can do to nod her head as she continues to marvel at the contents of this tr
easure chest. This is better than any birthday.

  She reaches out and turns the page. Emits a gasp. Malcolm studies her as she gets caught up in the dream. Watches her cry and smile and laugh as she turns page after page. He wishes he could do this for her every day.

  The questions start to come then. Harriet wants as much information as she can get, down to the last detail. Malcolm is sometimes stretched to answer, but he does his best.

  When Harriet reaches the last page, she goes back to the first. Gently touches a finger to the photograph affixed there. Malcolm knew she would love that one best of all.

  And then a cloud of doubt seems to cross her features.

  ‘This isn’t just more teasing, is it, Malcolm? I mean, this is definite?’

  ‘Oh, yes. You can see how busy I’ve been. Look at the photographs. It’s all set.’

  ‘All set? When? Soon?’

  Malcolm strokes his chin. ‘Well, that’s the difficult part. These things take time. It’s a question of logistics, you see.’

  Her face drops. ‘Oh.’

  ‘So I thought . . . I thought tonight. Would that be soon enough for you?’

  Huge eyes now. Eyes brimming with ecstatic incredulity.

  ‘Malcolm!’ She throws her arms around him, pulls him into her warmth. ‘Malcolm, you are an amazing man. I love you.’

  She releases him finally. ‘It won’t be dangerous, will it? I mean, you’re sure you can do it?’

  He takes her hands in his. ‘It won’t be easy. I’m not as young as I used to be. But yes, I can do it.’

  She hugs him again. Returns her gaze to the album. And then something occurs to her, and she glances up at the ceiling.

  ‘Can we tell her? Can we tell Daisy?’

  ‘I don’t see why not, do you?’

  *

  Daisy hears them coming upstairs, so she puts down her pencil and sits up straight. She knows how much they like it when she sits to attention.

  She has been writing a story about a mouse. She has never been good at writing stories, and doesn’t know much about mice, so it has been quite a challenge. She hopes they like what she has done. Later, she will do some more fractions, and then some reading. She has a very busy day ahead.

  The door eventually opens, and as the adults enter she stiffens her posture even more.

  She notices how much they are smiling this morning. In fact, this is probably the happiest she has ever seen them. She wonders what that might mean.

  ‘Hello, Daisy,’ says Malcolm.

  ‘Hello, Daddy,’ she replies.

  Malcolm and Harriet sit opposite her at the small worktable. They are still smiling.

  ‘We’ve got some news for you,’ says Malcolm. ‘Something we’re very excited about.’

  Daisy doesn’t reply. She’s not sure how she is meant to answer. She sits and waits patiently.

  ‘Don’t you want to know what it is?’ asks Harriet.

  Daisy nods, although she’s not sure she does want to know.

  Harriet looks at Malcolm and nods for him to break the news. Malcolm leans forward across the table. Gets so close that Daisy can see the blackheads on his nose.

  ‘You’re going to get . . .’ he breaks off, leaving a huge gap of expectation, then – ‘a little sister!’

  Harriet flutters in her chair. Gives a little clap of delight.

  Daisy, though, is still not sure how to react. She expects they want her to be as euphoric as they are, but somehow she cannot find it within her. Seeing their eyes on her, she opens her mouth, but no words emerge.

  ‘What do you think about that?’ says Malcolm. ‘Isn’t it wonderful? Just think of all the things you can share together.’

  ‘You can show her your toys,’ Harriet says. ‘And you can read to her, and explain how everything works. Best of all, you won’t be on your own anymore. You’ll never be lonely again. How fantastic is that?’

  Not wanting to cause an upset, Daisy frantically searches her mind for something meaningful to utter.

  ‘What’s her name?’ she blurts out.

  Malcolm looks at Harriet. Harriet looks at Malcolm. ‘Good question,’ they say to each other.

  ‘Her name’s Poppy,’ says Harriet. ‘A flower name, like yours. And she’s blonde like you, too. And only six years old. She’s adorable, and I’m sure you’re going to love her.’ She turns to Malcolm again. ‘Isn’t she, Daddy?’

  They get lost in each other’s eyes again, giving Daisy a chance to formulate her next query.

  ‘When? When is she coming?’

  ‘Another excellent question,’ says Malcolm. ‘Hang on to your hat, Daisy – it’s pretty fast! How does tonight sound to you?’

  Something lurches inside Daisy, and she has to fight not to show it. ‘Tonight?’

  She realises too late that there is a tone of negativity in her voice. She sees how Malcolm’s lips quiver slightly as they struggle to hold on to their smile.

  ‘Yes, Daisy. Tonight. That’s all right with you, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Daddy,’ she answers quickly. ‘I mean . . . I was just wondering where she’s going to sleep.’

  Malcolm looks across at the bed. He frowns, as though the problem had not occurred to him until now.

  ‘Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to share that bed for a short while. We’ll sort something out.’

  ‘Details, details,’ says Harriet. ‘We don’t worry about things like that in this house. It’ll all be fine. It’ll be more than fine. It will be the best thing ever!’

  It seems to Daisy that Harriet could explode with joy. She could suddenly burst apart at the seams and splash onto the walls and ceiling.

  She closes off the thought. Stares down at her story in an effort to distract herself.

  ‘So,’ says Malcolm. ‘That’s our amazing news. I knew you’d be pleased, Daisy.’

  Daisy doesn’t know the word ‘sarcasm’, but the tenor of Malcolm’s voice tells her she is not reacting the way he wants her to.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she tells them. ‘I’m a big girl. I’ll look after Poppy.’

  It’s the most positive she can be, and the most truthful. It seems to do the trick.

  ‘Well, we’ll leave you to do your schoolwork now,’ says Harriet. ‘I’ll pop up later to see how you’re getting on.’ She wags a finger. ‘Don’t expect me to be much help today, though. I don’t know whether I’m coming or going, I really don’t.’

  They leave her then, almost floating out of the room on the cloud they have created. She watches them go. Waits for the door to close. For the familiar noise that always comes next. The grating sound that seems to reverberate in the centre of her chest.

  The sound of the bolts being drawn.

  She is alone again. She spends so much of her time alone. Because of that, a part of her really does think that it will be wonderful to have another child here.

  But she wouldn’t wish that fate on anyone.

  She looks around her bedroom. Sometimes she wonders how long it would take a visitor to work out the true purpose of this room were it not for the external locks. They would see the bed in the alcove across from the doorway. To the left of the door they would see the shelving unit containing books, toys and a flat-screen television. Next to that, the chest of drawers, on top of which sits a doll’s house and more toys. In the middle of the room, the foldaway table and stackable plastic chairs.

  Nothing particularly unusual.

  But then they might question the absence of bulky wardrobes. They might wonder why, instead of storage, there is a small washbasin in one corner and what looks like a shower curtain in another. And when they peered behind that curtain they would probably be surprised to find that it hides not a shower but a manky old commode.

  And, in an effort to shed some natural light on the puzzling features of this gloomy room, they might wish to draw back the window curtains, only to discover the wooden boards screwed in place behind them.

  At th
at point they might finally realise that this is not merely a bedroom, a room in which to sleep. It is a room for everything.

  It is a prison cell.

  Daisy has learnt not to complain to the adults about her situation. To the people she calls Mummy and Daddy, but who are not her real parents.

  This is not the place to bring another child, she thinks.

  It wasn’t the place to bring this child.

  She is not sure precisely how long she has been here, but she has a rough idea. She was forced to celebrate her tenth birthday recently. And she knows she was seven when she was snatched.

  That makes it about three years that she has been trapped inside this room.

  2

  ‘Is this him?’

  Detective Sergeant Nathan Cody follows Detective Constable Megan Webley’s pointing finger to its target. Through the grimy windscreen he sees a figure coming towards them along the pavement, hands deep in his pockets, collar up against the cold.

  ‘Nope. Nothing like him.’

  Ed Sheeran is playing on the radio. Cody taps his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat. He looks into the shop window next to the car. It’s full of skimpy lingerie. He wishes he’d parked a bit further back.

  ‘What about this guy?’ says Webley.

  Cody sighs. ‘No. Look, are you going to ask about every bloke who walks past?’

  ‘If I do, it’ll be your fault.’

  ‘Why is it my fault?’

  ‘Your idea, wasn’t it? Plus, you said he’d show up at five o’clock on the dot, and it’s already three minutes past.’

  ‘He’ll be here. Have patience.’

  Webley indicates how much patience she has remaining with an emphatic folding of her arms.

  ‘I’m cold and I’m tired and I’m hungry. I had no lunch today.’

  ‘You’re not the only one. Bit of a mad dash to court, wasn’t it?’

  ‘You were very good, by the way. In court.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Yeah. That barrister met his match there. I could see the sweat running down from his wig, the arrogant git.’ She gestures towards him, raising her eyebrows. ‘I noticed you wore a new tie for the occasion.’

  Smiling, Cody sits up and straightens it. ‘Yeah. Like it?’

  ‘No.’