The Moor (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #11)(28)
There, on the breakfast bar, stood the remains of what had once been Phillips’ special shortbread assortment, carefully selected and transported from Fortnum & Mason after a recent trip to London. Thirty individual biscuits with delicate flavouring he’d been looking forward to savouring over the coming weeks, reduced to little more than dust.
Total carnage.
“If I ever find who did this,” he said, shakily.
MacKenzie hushed him, and moved back out into the hallway, following her nose. The living room was mostly untouched, despite there being several items on display that might have attracted the eye of any would-be burglar.
“Call off the cavalry, Frank,” she murmured, and slowly relaxed as she started to climb the stairs.
“We haven’t checked everywhere, yet,” he said. “They might still be lurking somewhere.”
Covered in crumbs.
MacKenzie continued to climb the stairs. At the top, she turned along the landing and made directly for the spare bedroom at the other end of the passage, while Phillips’ heavier tread creaked on the stairs behind her.
Gently, she pushed open the door and felt relief wash over her, strong and heady.
“Careful, love—”
“I think we’ve found the culprit, Frank.”
*
Samantha was curled in the middle of the bed, fast asleep.
Her clothes lay in a bundle on the floor and, without thinking, MacKenzie scooped them up to be washed for the next day.
“The little—”
“Shh, Frank, let her sleep.”
The flashing blue light of a squad car blazed through the curtains from the street outside and they hurried downstairs to forestall their colleagues’ entry.
“False alarm!” Phillips said, in a stage whisper, as Ryan let himself through the front door. He was flanked by a couple of local bobbies who, at his quick instruction, retreated in mild disappointment.
“Everything alright?” Ryan asked, closing the front door behind him.
MacKenzie and Phillips looked between themselves, then led the way through to the kitchen to pour a tall glass of something fruity.
“It’s Samantha,” Phillips said, and Ryan came to attention.
“You’ve heard something?”
“Seen something, more like,” MacKenzie drawled. “Samantha’s sleeping in our spare room, upstairs.”
Ryan looked up at the ceiling, automatically.
“What? How the hell did she get in here?”
“No idea,” Phillips said. “There’s no sign of any broken glass, so she must have palmed a spare key when she was staying with us, yesterday.”
Ryan’s lips quirked. It seemed they had acquired Newcastle’s own version of the Artful Dodger.
“I’m glad she’s alright,” he said, with feeling.
With no leads on her whereabouts, he’d been worried.
“She must feel happy here,” he said. “But Morrison won’t like it, and neither will Social Services. There’s still a question of protocol, regardless of what happened today. They’ll want to put her in another foster home; maybe even the same one.”
They took a collective sip of wine and enjoyed its medicinal qualities as they thought of what could be done.
“What if she stayed here?” MacKenzie suggested, very softly.
Ryan frowned.
“What do you mean?”
She licked her lips and set the glass back on the counter.
“I mean, what if we kept it quiet that Samantha’s staying here with us? It seems she won’t run away, so long as we play our cards right. As the kid said herself, we’re not high profile enough to tip off somebody who might be looking for her.”
Phillips made a sound like a harrumph.
“Go on,” Ryan said, and leaned back against the counter. It had been a very long day and it wasn’t over, yet.
“Morrison will take some convincing but, if we can get her to understand that Samantha might run again, she’ll agree. Failing that, we can paint a very vivid picture of what the press would say if she went missing for a second time.”
Ryan had to admire the sheer audacity of it.
“You’re suggesting a kind of…undercover childcare arrangement?” He nodded slowly. “We’d have to tell her father she’d been found; we owe him that, but we don’t need to tell him her exact location. Of course, somebody would need to be here to look after her, here at the house.”
“I don’t mind—”
“I’ll do it—”
Phillips and MacKenzie spoke in unison, as Ryan looked on in surprise.
“I don’t have a heavy caseload at the moment,” MacKenzie said, silently ticking off the various cases she’d need to hand over to other colleagues. “I can take some time off.”
“It’s settled then,” he nodded. “We’ll square it with the Chief, tomorrow.”
From her crouched position on the stairs, Samantha grinned broadly.
*
By the time Ryan made it home to the picturesque village of Elsdon, it was the early hours of the morning. Anna had left the hallway light on for him, as she always did, so that he would never return to a darkened house. It brought a smile to his face as he dragged his weary body through the door, which widened when he realised that she was still awake and burning her own midnight oil.