The Quiet Ones: A gripping psychological thriller by Betsy Reavley Read Free Book Online Page A

voice sounds distant. ‘Jo?’
    ‘I think my parents are dead.’
     
    The next few hours go by in a flash. At some point, Charlie returns home. Then the police arrive. The next thing I know I’m sitting in the back of a car being driven to Gloucestershire. The traffic is sluggish and the March sky a bleak grey. Charlie holds my hand the whole time, occasionally giving it a squeeze. I don’t respond.
    I notice darkness is starting to fall. Glancing at the clock in the car, I see it’s nearly half past five. The car comes to a halt in front of the large concrete police station. The police officer that drove us turns the keys and the engine dies. None of us make a move to get out. I feel Charlie’s eyes burning into the side of my face but can’t bring myself to look at him. His sympathy is too much to bear.
    Unsure what to expect, I push open the passenger door. The cold wind is the first thing that hits me. Looking down at my feet, I realise I am still in my slippers and feel foolish.
    A young policewoman hurries by, offering a small friendly smile as she passes. Her kindness hits me like a slap in the face and I lean against the car for support. Charlie appears at my side and slips his arm through mine.
    ‘You can do this. I am with you.’ The warmth from his body soothes me.
    The detective who drove us here gestures for us to go inside. But before I am ready to move, I need some answers.
    ‘What is going to happen?’
    ‘I suggest we go and sit down. I have a few more questions. Then…’ He looks at the floor
    ‘You want me to look at the bodies, don’t you?’ I ask meeting his eye.
    ‘I’m afraid so. Yes. But that won’t be until later tomorrow. There needs to be a post mortem first.’
    ‘I want to see now.’ I tell the detective.
    ‘We need time to prepare.’ He leaves the sentence unfinished.
    ‘I am not going to answer any questions until I know it’s them.’ The detective and Charlie share a look, shocked by my determination.
    ‘Come on love, let’s at least go in and have a cup of tea first. Give yourself some time to prepare.’
    ‘How can I ever be prepared for this?’ I swing round to look at him. ‘Either it’s them or there has been some huge misunderstanding. I need to know before we talk anymore.’ The detective steps closer to me and I notice for the first time how lanky he is.
    The darkness is deeper now, looming overhead a charcoal sky and indigo clouds gather and I half expect the four horsemen of the apocalypse to appear galloping through the sky, breaking through the clouds.
    ‘I understand, but I am afraid there is a procedure to follow. We cannot risk contaminating any evidence. The earliest you will be able to view them is tomorrow. I suggest you come in and have that cup of tea.’
     
     

 
    March 17th
     
     
    It’s just after midnight. At the police station, I drink tea from a polystyrene cup. It’s nearly too hot to hold but the uncomfortable heat is soothing somehow. The room is small and brightly lit. A blanket that Charlie requested sits on my shoulders but still I feel shivery. Every time the fabric brushes against my skin, it feels itchy. I wonder how many criminals and victims have been wrapped in it before me.
    My hands tremble as I grip the cup. I suppose I am suffering from shock. Numbness keeps me in a bubble, unable to cry, unable to feel anything.
    We are waiting for the detective to return. He has some questions. He is not the only one. I wonder how I can help. I wasn’t there. I didn’t see anything. This is all so surreal.
    ‘Where the fuck is he?’ Charlie wriggles in his seat. He’s never been very patient.
    I put the cup down and fold my arms on the table in front of me, slumping my head down.
    ‘I’m tired.’ It’s all I can manage.
    ‘Right, that’s it.’ He stands up puffing out his chest.
    ‘Leave it.’
    ‘No, they can’t keep you in here. This is ludicrous.’ He starts pacing around the table. Watching him doing laps