The Moor (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #11)(55)

He wondered whether one of the stars was called Esme.

What would she think of the mess he had made? What would she say, if she knew he’d lost their daughter?

None of it mattered, now.

He opened the door to the caravan and stepped inside, shutting it softly behind him.

*

Twenty minutes later, the crowd were growing restless and cold.

“Where’s Charlie? The fireworks display was supposed to start five minutes ago,” Duke said, blowing balloon shapes to keep people entertained.

His brother was responsible for lighting the first firework; it was a little tradition they had, and something he never deviated from. It was unusual for him not to turn up.

“I’ll go,” Sabina offered.

“Or we can,” Marco said. “I’m taking Leonie back to the caravan, anyway. She looks tired.”

“Thanks,” she muttered, good-naturedly.

He leaned down to give her a quick kiss on the nose.

“You’re still beautiful, to me,” he said. “But you’ve done too much, today.”

“Okay, just tell him he needs to get down here otherwise it’ll start without him,” Duke said.

They left to walk around the side of the Big Top, past the main entrance and around the ticket office. As Charlie had done, they looked up as the security light popped on, then let themselves in through the same gate. Charlie’s nearest neighbour, who happened to be one of the lighting technicians, passed the time of day as he made for his own front door.

“His light’s on,” Leonie said, yawning. “He must be home.”

Marco stepped up to give three short knocks on the door, then waited for a response.

“Try again, he might be in the shower,” Leonie suggested.

Marco tried again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

“Maybe he’s not in.”

“That’s odd,” she muttered. “He’s quite a stickler for wasted electricity. Can you see anything through the windows?”

“Let me see—”

Marco leaned across to peer through one of the windows, straining to see all four corners of the living from.

Then gave a shout and stumbled away from the window.

“What? What is it?”

“It’s Charlie,” he said, tremulously. “He’s lying on the floor and there’s blood everywhere.”

Leonie clamped a hand over her mouth, wide-eyed.

“What? What?”

“Look for yourself,” he said, and she stood on tip-toes, peering into the living area beyond the glass.

“Oh, my God,” she said, sickly.

Marco tried the handle on the front door.

“What are you doing? Don’t go inside!”

Somewhere behind their heads, the fireworks display began, and Catherine wheels rose up into the sky in swirls of fiery yellow and red.

“What if he’s still alive?” he argued, raising his voice above the explosions. “You go and get help, while I go inside and see if he’s still breathing.”

“Be careful,” she told him, and then cradled his face in her hands. “Please.”

“I will,” he promised.

As Leonie hurried to find Charlie’s neighbour, trying not to stumble over the grass in her haste, Marco took a deep breath and tried the door. He jiggled the handle, then decided to use brute force.

With a couple of hard kicks, the door flew open.

*

Samantha had just gone to bed, when Phillips took the call from Ryan.

“That’s good timing,” he said, cheerfully. “I’ve got a bit of good news for you; she’s decided to give the hypnosis a go. She’s sceptical, but that’s just good sense, if y’ ask me—”

“Frank.”

“—and it’s worth a go, even if nothing comes of it. At least we might get a bit closer to knowing whether it was her dad, and one step closer to bringing him in.”

“He won’t be putting up any kind of fight, now,” Ryan said. “He’s dead.”

Whatever Phillips had been about to say died on his lips.

“Say that again?”

“He’s dead, Frank. It’s looking like he locked himself inside his caravan, shoved a gun in his mouth, and blew his brains out.”

MacKenzie overheard the change of tone in their telephone conversation, and cast a concerned eye to the ceiling, indicating that Phillips should keep his voice down.

He nodded.

“I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”

“I’m on my way,” Ryan said.

MacKenzie walked straight across the room to take Phillips’ hand.

“What’s happened?”

“The worst, Denise. The bloody worst. Her da’s only gone and killed himself, by the looks of it. The poor kid. It was bad enough he might have been the one to kill her mother but, somehow, this is even worse.”

“Maybe he killed himself because he was the one who killed Esme,” MacKenzie said. “It’s the most obvious explanation.”

Phillips gave her a gentle kiss.

“I wish you were with us,” he said, honestly. “We could use your eye on this, because it’s not proving to be as easy as any of us hoped. But I don’t think that wee lass could be in better hands than yours.”