The Infirmary (DCI Ryan Mysteries prequel)(54)

“No, sir. It’ll be some other poor soul’s head we failed to save.”

Gregson raised his cigar in the parody of a toast.

“Alright, Ryan. You’ve made your point. Take the resources you need. As long as you keep your end up, I’ll take care of mine.”

But when the door closed behind him, Gregson stared at the door for long minutes and wondered whether he’d made the right decision.

*

Ryan put an urgent call through to his equivalent at Durham CID requesting all the manpower they could spare. He had expected some haggling over protocols, maybe some debate about who should be heading up what would be a joint task force but, for once, he was pleasantly surprised to find they were in complete agreement.

It seemed The Hacker’s reputation preceded him, and Durham CID jumped at the chance to help—especially with a police detective as one of his victims.

When Ryan replaced the landline receiver at his desk, it was only to find his mobile phone ringing instead.

“Ryan.”

“I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day,” his sister complained. “I thought you were going to try and get back before seven? I cooked something or, at least, I tried,” she laughed. “Maybe we could spend some time catching up? I feel like we haven’t chatted in ages.”

Ryan closed his eyes, exhausted both physically and mentally.

Some part of him knew that Natalie wasn’t to blame; it wasn’t her fault they were facing a threat unlike any they had seen in recent times. She knew very little of the destruction he had witnessed, or of how fractured and impotent he felt as the investigation dragged on. Her world was very different; it was beautiful and innocent and all the things he would wish it to be.

But he couldn’t help the anger that rose up and threatened to overflow.

What time did he have to sit around, chatting? There was no time for frivolity, not while there was a predator in their midst.

“… I don’t even know if you have a girlfriend,” she was saying. “What happened to that girl you were seeing a few months ago? Emma, was it? Or Gemma?”

“Natalie, I can’t talk now.”

“Okay, so when are you heading back?”

“For God’s sake—haven’t you seen the news?” he bit out, and immediately wished he could claw the words back. It wasn’t in his nature to strike out in anger. “Sorry. It’s just that there’s a lot going on. There was another victim today.”

Natalie made a sympathetic noise.

“That’s awful. You still have to eat and sleep though, don’t you?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose to relieve the sudden tension.

“Look, I can’t say when I’ll be home tonight. I may have to work into the early hours.” He would. “Once this is all over, we can have that catch up you’re talking about, I promise.”

“Okay,” she said, dejectedly. “Look after yourself.”

“You too. Remember what I told you about locking up properly.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember. Love you.”

“You too.”

Ryan ended the call and set the phone carefully on the desktop within easy reach. Despite himself, Natalie’s personality was infectious, and a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He remembered the day she had been born, remembered visiting her in the hospital and stroking her soft dark curls.

“Mummy, what are you going to call her?”

“Why don’t you help us choose a name, Max?”

Twenty-five years later and the thought still brought a smile to his face.





CHAPTER 23


He would rather have been sitting in the front row.

It wasn’t his habit to settle for second best and he was unaccustomed to anything other than the orchestra stalls or—depending on the theatre—the dress circle.

Unfortunately, needs must.

The music soared, filling the Theatre Royal with sound as she moved across the stage. He’d seen her before, of course, at the Royal Albert Hall in London. That’s when he’d first discovered her talent and, he had to admit, felt the urge to crush it. However, the opportunity hadn’t presented itself.

Until now.

It had been serendipity that had brought them together and he had a very limited window of opportunity in which to take advantage of it.

He closed his eyes briefly to savour the creamy sound of her voice, felt himself shiver as it touched him somewhere he hadn’t thought existed. Somewhere others might have called his soul.



O mio babbino caro,

Mi piace, e bello, bello,

Vo’andare in Porta Rossa…



Of course, Gianni Schicchi was his least favourite of Puccini’s operas, and that particular aria had been sung to death.

No pun intended.

He chuckled at his own joke, drawing an irritated glare from the woman seated beside him. He turned to look at her in the semi-darkness and something in his eyes must have frightened her because she looked away quickly and reached for her husband’s hand, clutching it for the remainder of the performance.



Mi struggo e mi tormento!

O Dio, vorrei morir!



He turned back to watch his prima donna, noting the line of her arms and the length of her neck. She was so much younger and more vibrant than the usual ageing monstrosities and, to him, she was Christine Daaé, Lolita and Juliet, all rolled into one.