The Moor (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #11)(36)

“Sabby!” Leonie was upset. “You shouldn’t say that. Charlie loved her.”

“He was infatuated,” Sabina snorted. “That’s different.”

Leonie sighed, the action becoming an effort with the burden she carried.

“How about you, Marco?” Ryan asked. “Did you know Esme?”

Marco looked up from where he’d been playing with the blades of grass at his feet.

“Yes, of course. She was nice enough, if a bit dull, you know? Never had anything interesting to say. I was surprised when I heard she’d run off with another man—frankly, I didn’t think she had it in her.”

“It’s always the quiet ones,” Sabina said, with a touch of malice.

“Well, she was already engaged to Charlie, by the time we joined the circus,” he said. “Back in 2007. I think they got married in 2008, so I guess that’s about right.”

“We all went to the wedding,” Leonie said, with a sad smile. “She looked beautiful.”

Sabina flicked her cigarette away with an angry little gesture.

“When someone dies, everybody always feels like they have to say nice things about them. But Esme was always an attention-seeker,” she said, warming up to the topic. “She got her eye on Charlie as soon as he took over the circus, and once her claws were in…”

She stopped, abruptly.

“Anyway, we weren’t best friends, if that’s what you want to know.”

Ryan gave her a searching look.

“When was the last time you saw her?”

She gave a light shrug.

“I really can’t remember. Probably the day before she left—”

“If she left,” Phillips cut in, and her mouth flattened.

“Whatever. It’s not like we lived in each other’s pockets. She spent most of her time swanning around showing off the baby or looking after her beloved horses. We were totally different people.”

With that, she stood up again and brushed a hand over the floaty skirt she wore. It was a deep jade green embroidered with a pattern of moons and stars. On her wrists, charms and bangles of all sizes clinked together as she moved.

“I have to go and get ready,” she said, turning away.

“We’ll be asking everyone to give us a formal statement of their whereabouts on Friday 3rd June 2011,” Ryan said, his quiet voice stopping her from beating a hasty retreat. “In particular, we’d like to know the last time you saw Esme O’Neill alive.”

She sent him a fulminating glare.

“How the hell can I remember what I was doing eight years ago?” she said. “It’s not like I keep a diary.”

“Try,” he said, evenly. “We’ll be in touch.”

“Don’t mind her,” Marco said, as she moved off in the direction of her own caravan. “She’s been Charlie’s…ah, unofficial girlfriend, for the last few months. Esme is probably the last person she wants to think about, right now.”

“It’s obvious they didn’t get on,” Ryan said.

“Being a part of the circus is like living with your family,” Leonie explained. “You love them, but you hate them sometimes, too.”

Phillips gave her a sideways glance, wondering which of them she hated.





CHAPTER 20


Yates decided her partner had enjoyed enough ‘recovery time’ and made her way around the back of Daniel Hepple’s Victorian semi. She found Lowerson standing beside the back door, drawing on a pair of nitrile gloves.

“Find anything?” she asked.

“Hmm? Yeah, somebody left the door ajar and there’s blood spatter just inside,” he said. “Keep to the edges and put some shoe coverings on, in case the CSIs find anything on the paving.”

“Do you want me to call them?” she offered.

“Already done,” he said. “Faulkner’s sending a team down to go over the house. He’d have come himself, but he’s just been called out to another murder scene, over in Stocksfield.”

Yates thought of the upmarket village in Northumberland, situated to the west of the city of Newcastle and close to the River Tyne, as it wound its way through the valley.

“Oh yeah? Did a fight break out after somebody’s Land Rover went into the back of a Ferrari?”

He laughed at that.

“Nope, not this time. Apparently, it’s another man, this time found near the edge of the railway track. There haven’t been any collisions or accidents reported, so it’s looking like he was dumped there.”

“Who’s the SIO?” Yates asked, out of curiosity.

Lowerson named one of their colleagues, outside of Ryan’s division.

“Is it just me, or have there been quite a few bodies, lately?” she said, as she tucked her feet into a pair of bright blue plastic shoe covers.

In the last few days, there had been three or four deaths, all male.

“I’ll request a copy of the reports, when we get back to HQ,” Lowerson said. “Maybe there’s a connection. Ready?”

At her nod, he stepped inside.

*

After what turned out to be a lengthy pit-stop in the childrenswear department to stock up on essentials, MacKenzie had taken Samantha off to the seaside, as promised. They were fortunate to have several beaches in the area but, as it was growing late in the day, she chose to take the little girl to Tynemouth as it was one of the nearest. It was a quaint seaside village boasting two sandy beaches, a ruined priory, and more ice-cream vendors than Samantha could shake a stick at—all located a couple of miles along the coastline from where Lowerson and Yates picked their way across Hepple’s blood-stained floor in Whitley Bay.