The Moor (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #11)(67)

“Ryan.”

“Sir, this is the Duty Sergeant on the front desk. There’s a gentleman to see you, here in the foyer, a Doctor Alexander Gregory? He says he’s expected.”

“Thanks, I’ll be down in a minute.”

Phillips slipped his phone out of his pocket.

“I’ll let MacKenzie know he’s here,” was all he said.

The rest would be up to Samantha.





CHAPTER 37


As he made his way downstairs to greet Alexander Gregory, Ryan wasn’t sure how he would feel seeing the man again. Two years ago, he had turned to Gregory for help in finding the notorious serial killer known as ‘The Hacker’ to the press, but to Ryan as the man who had killed his sister, Natalie, and who had almost claimed him, too.

The government’s attempt to set up a think-tank to rival the FBI Behavioural Science Unit in America had been shut down following a series of systemic failures, and Gregory was now the closest remaining thing Britain had to a criminal profiler. Unlike so many of his colleagues, who had peddled unsubstantiated profiles to police forces far and wide, Gregory had preferred a more cautious approach that relied on science and method. For that reason, he remained in high demand from police forces around the world, travelling and working on a freelance basis to help those who sought to draw upon his unique insight. All the same, when he’d first made the call, Ryan had been sceptical.

That is, until he’d helped them to refocus on the most important key to unlocking The Hacker’s personality: his mother.

Facing Gregory was like facing the past all over again; and, if he hadn’t trusted the man’s abilities—both as a clinician and as a human being—he wasn’t sure he would have sought his help a second time.

It was just too painful.

A version of the same line of thought was running through Gregory’s mind, as he awaited Ryan’s arrival in the reception foyer downstairs. It was a difficult thing for someone to overcome their own prejudices, and he admired Ryan for his ability to do so, when the occasion called for it. Two years ago, every ordinary line of police enquiry had dried up and his team was giving up hope, but, rather than lose his own nerve, Ryan pursued another line that ultimately confirmed his own accurate deductions about the man he hunted.

He was not there to replace solid police work, Gregory thought; he was there to supplement it, or provide a useful focus where none existed before.

That was all.

The security door to the executive suite buzzed, and Gregory came to his feet as Ryan strode out into the foyer. There was an awkward moment of recognition, and then Ryan held out a grateful hand.

“Thanks for coming in, at such short notice,” he said. “Long time, no see.”

Gregory smiled, and shook his hand warmly.

“I was glad to hear from you, Ryan, and glad I was able to come.”

“Well, don’t thank me too soon,” he replied, leading the way back towards CID. “We’ve got a tall order for you, this time.”

Gregory had read the brief but preferred to hear it from the man in charge.

“Your message said the girl was a witness to her mother’s murder, but she seems to have blocked most of the detail out?”

“Either that, or she was just too young to remember,” Ryan said, shouldering through the double doors leading to the incident room. “That’s also possible.”

“She was two years old?”

Ryan nodded.

“Factoring in the trauma, and the fact everybody told her the mother had left, she’s spent the last eight years believing an alternate version of the truth. Then, one day, it all came rushing back to her.”

“What was the catalyst?” Gregory wondered.

“Something on the radio,” Ryan said. “A jingle from Tyne Radio.”

Gregory nodded, thinking of all the other cases he’d seen where a particular sound or other sensory trigger held such importance.

“I presume you have some evidence to corroborate her memory?”

Ryan nodded again.

“We had an unidentified DB, just no name. Once Samantha came forward, we were able to match the DNA. Her memory of what her mother was wearing is correct, as is the cause of death by strangulation. But there are details we need to know more about,” he said, and held the door open. “But, before we get into that, I’d like you to meet my sergeant, Frank Phillips.”

Phillips stood up as they entered, and turned to face a pair of assessing green eyes.

“Good to meet you, Frank,” Gregory said, extending a hand.

Phillips tried not to feel unnerved by the sensation that he was being catalogued, and couldn’t help wondering if it was his own paranoia rather than anything else.

“Dr Gregory,” he said.

“Alex,” the other man corrected. “I don’t think we ever got a chance to meet, the last time I was in town.”

“No, but your reputation precedes you,” Phillips replied, thinking that his notion of what Alex Gregory would look like had been way off base. After learning a bit about the man’s background and experience, he’d expected to meet a man in his fifties, like himself, or perhaps even older. Instead, Gregory was of a similar age to Ryan, with a light tan from his travels abroad and the kind of polished manners and transatlantic accent that came from international schooling, or something of that ilk.