The Infirmary (DCI Ryan Mysteries prequel)(25)

And what was he? An over-the-hill detective sergeant with a penchant for bacon stotties. What did he have to offer a vibrant woman like Denise MacKenzie? For starters, she was in her early-forties and he was ten years older. These things mattered to some people. He smoked, always had done, and it was common knowledge she couldn’t stand the filthy habit.

They were obviously incompatible.

“—Frank?”

He jerked in his chair and was surprised to find Lowerson looking at him expectantly.

“Shall we get started?”

“Aye, lad. Sorry, I was miles away.”

Lowerson stuck his tongue in his cheek.

“MacKenzie’s a nice woman, isn’t she?”

“You noticed, eh?”

“So did you, by the looks of it.”

“Watch it, bonny lad. My interest in DI MacKenzie is purely professional.”

“I believe you. Millions wouldn’t.”

“Oh,” Phillips blustered. “Haddaway and shite.”





CHAPTER 10


Fenwick department store was a local institution housed in a grand, stately-looking building in the centre of Newcastle’s shopping district. The perfume department where Isobel Harris had worked was located on the ground floor, accessible via a set of elegant brass doors leading directly into a gleaming hall. Bright spotlights illuminated acres of white marble and glossy display stands containing rows of colourful potions and powders in every conceivable shade. As they stepped over the threshold, Ryan surveyed it all with a hint of panic.

“Minx Red,” he said, picking up one of the lipsticks at random. “Do people really wear all this gunk? There must be thirty or forty different brands in here and they all sell red lipstick. What’s the difference between them? How d’ you know which one will really make you a minx?”

MacKenzie chuckled as he turned to her with an expression of dazed confusion.

“Depends on the person you’re wearing it for,” she replied, and was irritated to find herself wondering whether Phillips preferred a woman who wore lipstick. What did she care?

Maybe his wife had worn red.

Oh, stop it.

“Personally, I save the Minx Red for special occasions,” she said.

“Me too,” Ryan replied, deadpan.

MacKenzie grinned.

“Where’s the Lola counter?” He turned a full circle, searching for Isobel’s former workplace. “I can’t see the wood for the trees in this place. They should put an epilepsy warning outside the main doors—this lighting is enough to give anyone a migraine.”

“Come on,” MacKenzie said, ushering him in the direction of a counter in the far corner of the beauty hall with sleek black countertops. It was manned by two reed-thin women dressed entirely in black, sporting flawlessly made-up faces and beaming white smiles.

“Can I help you today?” One of them stepped forward as they approached, assessing their faces with a practised eye. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“We’d like to speak to Amaya, if she’s around?”

The girl’s eyes turned cool and she gestured her colleague over, imagining she’d lost a commission.

“Amaya? This lady and gentleman would like you to serve them,” she said.

A woman of around twenty greeted them, eyes widening as she took in the tall, dark-haired man with arresting grey eyes.

“Yes? How can I help?”

Ryan studiously ignored her reaction and retrieved his warrant card, holding it up for her to inspect.

“DCI Ryan and DI MacKenzie, from Northumbria CID. Do you have time for a quick chat?”

Her face fell into immediate lines of concern.

“I—yes, hang on a minute. Lydia! I’m just taking a quick break.”

She led them away from the counter and made for the upmarket food hall next door, where Ryan’s superior nose detected the sweet smell of freshly brewed coffee emanating from an artisan coffee stall.

“Is it okay to talk here?” Amaya twisted her hands nervously and MacKenzie stepped into the breach.

“Of course.” She placed a gentle hand on the woman’s back and nudged her towards a table. “You’re not in trouble, Amaya. Would you like a drink?”

“Um, okay. Can I have a flat white, please?”

Ryan ordered three coffees and they settled down to talk while they warmed themselves from the inside out.

“I guess you’re here about Isobel,” she said, wrapping her fingers around the coffee cup. “I told the other detectives everything I could remember, I swear.”

“We appreciate it,” Ryan assured her, trying not to feel irritated as she stared at him over the rim of her coffee cup.

This was becoming awkward.

As though she had read his thoughts, MacKenzie stepped in once again and spoke in a motherly tone she reserved for skittish witnesses and those under the influence of excess hormones.

“We’re grateful for all your help so far,” she reiterated. “And we understand it can be frustrating to have to repeat yourself over and over, but it’s really vital that you try. All we want to do is make sure we have everything very clear in our minds, so we can try to find the person who hurt your friend.”

Amaya’s big, kohl-rimmed eyes filled with tears, but she held herself together.