Cuthbert's Way (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #17)(31)

“Yes, with your work. I can only imagine how stressful that might have been, at times. It must have helped to develop a sense of detachment.”

Charles looked back down at the baby, who had now finished her milk and promptly fallen asleep in a ‘milk coma’. Without having to be told, he raised her to his shoulder and began rubbing slow circles on her back as he thought of the assassination attempts, the security breaches, the fear he’d lived with almost every day that his work for Her Majesty’s government would jeopardise his family’s safety.

It had been a relief to turn his back on it all, and retire; except, now it seemed that the baton of fear had been passed to his son.

“I did what I had to do,” he said, at length. “I was brought up to respect duty, obligation and a chain of command. There were protocols and strict security measures I had to abide by, or else risk catastrophic consequences, but it meant sacrificing moments such as these.”

Would he do it all over again? Charles wondered.

An impossible question to answer.

Almost as difficult as the question now facing his son.





CHAPTER 15


Tuesday 8th December

The following morning, Ryan left Anna and the baby sleeping soundly and made his way downstairs well before dawn, expecting to find that he had the kitchen to himself.

However, on this occasion, he was not alone.

Charles had been up since four, unable to sleep. He didn’t need to be an intelligent man to understand that Ryan’s trip to Yorkshire had been significant. Quite rightly, Ryan hadn’t disclosed any details of the incident he and Phillips had attended, but when Charles had seen the late-evening reporting of a murder at Crayke College and then taken the trouble to do a basic online search, it didn’t take too much of a mental leap to understand the possibility of a connection between the ancient Benedictine monastery that had been founded by St. Cuthbert, many centuries ago, and the problem of Cuthbert’s cross having been falsified in Durham. A murder in each place was an unlikely coincidence and, if there was a connection, it meant that Ryan had been right, all along.

The perpetrator was still at large.

“Dad? You’re up early.”

Ryan entered the kitchen and moved directly to the coffee machine.

“It’s a nice time of day,” Charles said. “When it’s still dark outside and the rest of the world is sleeping, it gives one a chance to think.”

There were few people who used the word ‘one’ as a personal descriptor, nowadays, Ryan thought, but it seemed to suit his father.

“How was your trip, yesterday?”

Ryan took a gulp of coffee before answering, then cast his eyes to the ceiling, where all was quiet. He thought briefly of trying to fob him off, but Charles Ryan was not a man who was easily fooled and, frankly, he respected his father too much to lie to him.

“There was another torture killing,” he said, and relied upon his father’s honour not to repeat the details of what he was about to disclose. If you couldn’t trust a man who’d worked in military intelligence to keep a secret, there were few that you could trust. “A monk by the name of Father Jacob Jamieson. They found him dead at Crayke College, and North Yorkshire CID asked if we’d go and take a look to see if there were any similarities.”

“And were there?”

“Yes,” Ryan answered shortly. “But, most damning of all was the man’s connection with St. Cuthbert. He was a leading authority, you see.”

“Therefore, the question becomes, what was the man’s connection with your case in Durham?” Charles surmised.

“Exactly,” Ryan said, and finished his coffee in two gulps before re-filling his cup. “Would you like one?”

Charles shook his head.

“More worrying than the possibility of a connection is the fact that our perpetrator is active again,” Ryan explained, though he hardly needed to. It was comforting to offload his fears to a man who, he knew, was likely to have lived through and survived much worse.

“And, you still believe this person—or group—has killed before, to protect themselves?”

Ryan gave a jerky nod. “More than once.”

“If it’s the same person, they’ll find out you were in Yorkshire,” Charles said. “There’s a chance they’ll come after you.”

“Yes,” Ryan said, tonelessly, staring out of the kitchen window at the blackened landscape outside.

Charles moved a step closer, his hand itching to rest on his son’s shoulder.

“You know what needs to happen,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back instead. “You need to divide the unit.”

The unit, Ryan thought, with a sad smile. So prosaic a word to describe his family, and reason for being.

“I know,” he said softly. “Anna and Emma should go back down to Devon with you and Mum. It’s the best thing for them, now.”

“Good,” Charles said. “We can leave this afternoon.”

“I need to speak to Anna about it, first. She’ll take some persuading.”

“It isn’t about persuading—”

“You’re right,” Ryan said, a bit sharply. “It’s a matter for discussion. Anna is my wife, and a free agent. I can do my utmost to convince her but, ultimately, the decision must be hers.”