The Moor (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #11)(58)

“Marco,” Leonie whispered.

“They need to know what kind of mood he was in,” her husband said. “Isn’t that right?”

Ryan nodded.

“It’s admirable to want to respect the memory of the dead but, in our business, we’d rather have the truth, warts and all.”

She paused, seeming to wage some kind of internal battle.

“Is there something else?” Ryan prompted her.

Leonie looked at Marco with a guilty expression.

“I knew something bad was going to happen,” she said, earnestly. “I went to have my cards read, with Sabina, and—”

“Dio Mio! Leonie, I’ve told you a million times before, you only upset yourself when Sabina fills your head with that nonsense.”

“Not this time,” she said. “One of the cards was the ‘Death’ card, Chief Inspector. It’s like a premonition, isn’t it?”

“Ah—” Ryan said.

“The police aren’t interested in silly card games, and nor should you be,” Marco muttered. “The last thing you need is more stress, at a time like this.”

“I feel terrible,” she said. “I keep thinking, I should have known something bad was going to happen. I just thought it was going to happen to us.”

She began to cry, cradling the baby bump as she wept, and Ryan exchanged a glance with Phillips.

Time to leave.





CHAPTER 31


Duke O’Neill was a broken man.

He was seated inside his small caravan with his head in his hands, mumbling to himself, and occasionally rocking back and forth. A police constable looked up in relief as Ryan and Phillips entered, clearly unsure how to deal with such rampant grief.

“Do you need me for anything, sir?”

Ryan shook his head, and as soon as the door clicked shut, he took a seat beside Duke on an uncomfortable, pine wood cabin bench.

“We’re very sorry for your loss,” Phillips said, taking the lead this time. “Can we get you anything? A drink, maybe? Can we call one of your friends?”

“I don’t have anyone, now,” he said, between sobs that racked his gangly body. “I can’t b-believe he’s dead.”

Duke lifted his head for the first time, swiping the back of his hand beneath his nose.

It was quite a sight, Ryan thought, to see a clown who had been crying. He happened to find clowns mildly creepy at the best of times; a fact he’d been willing to overlook for the duration of their investigation. But after an hour spent weeping into his stage make-up, this one looked more like a melted waxwork from a horror movie and it was hard not to make the comparison.

“Have a tissue,” he urged, reaching for the small packet he kept in his back pocket.

“Thanks.” Duke blew his nose loudly.

“We know it’s hard, son, but we need to ask you a couple of questions,” Phillips said. “For instance, when did you last see Charlie?”

“I saw him as he was heading out of the main doors, just after nine,” Duke said. “He didn’t see me, of course.”

“Of course?” Ryan queried.

Duke let out a nasal laugh.

“He was preoccupied—you could see that from a distance. Besides, people tend to forget I’m there, even when I’m wearing a giant yellow suit.”

Ryan couldn’t argue with the truth of that.

“And, when you saw your brother in the caravan, how did you feel?”

“I-I think I just flipped out,” he said, seeming to come out of a daze. “I just saw him lying there and I couldn’t handle it. I can’t believe he killed himself. I can’t believe he would do that.”

“No?” Ryan enquired. “Did he give any indication that was how he was feeling, or what he planned to do? Do you know if he’d made any other attempts?”

Duke shook his head.

“Never. Charlie was so strong, completely unshakeable. He could handle anything. I never knew that was how he was feeling, all along.”

“Do you have any idea why he might have done it?” Phillips asked, and Duke looked away, unable to meet his eyes.

“He—well, he’s always worried about cash flow, f-for the circus,” he managed. “Bills to pay.”

“Is that all?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Ryan noticed the man was sweating again, and thought privately that he should never consider taking up poker.

“It’s important that you tell us, if there’s something that might have affected his state of mind, Duke.”

“There’s nothing,” he said, sounding unsure. “There was Esme, of course. He never said as much, but it was playing on his mind. He wanted to find out what happened, like we all did, maybe more so.”

“Do you believe it’s possible your brother…knew something about what really happened to Esme?” Ryan asked, and watched closely for any further perspiration.

But Duke had himself fully in control again, and the moment was lost.

“No,” he said firmly. “He knew as much as the rest of us, which is nothing.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow at the tone, which was curiously authoritative coming from this mild-mannered man.

“Things will change now, won’t they, Duke?”