Cuthbert's Way (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #17)(39)

The foyer was wide and airy, with a floor of criss-crossed marble and white-painted columns which supported a geometric floorplan of reading rooms, storage, conference and exhibition spaces. In the centre of it all was a striking glass column known as the ‘King’s Library’, which contained a collection of books amassed by the eighteenth-century monarch, George III.

“I hope you know where we’re going,” Phillips said. “A person could get lost in a place like this.”

“I can think of worse fates.” Ryan smiled. “But, as it happens, I do know where we’re going. The St. Cuthbert Gospel is normally on display in the Sir John Ritblat Treasures Gallery, and the Head of Conservation has agreed to meet us there.”

They passed through the turnstiles using the visitors’ passes Ryan had already procured for them, and made their way to the Gallery, which was on the ground floor. It was an impressive space, with a permanent display of literary treasures including one of only four remaining copies of the Magna Carta, notes written by Leonardo da Vinci and an original manuscript of Alice in Wonderland. They took their time weaving through the displays, umming and ahhing over each wondrous item like a pair of schoolboys in a sweet shop, until they came to the case which held St. Cuthbert’s Gospel.

Or, should have done.

“Where is it?” Ryan asked, tapping a finger against the glass countertop. “The placard says it’s supposed to be here.”

All that remained was the empty stand.

“This could be the right person to ask,” Phillips said, nodding towards an official-looking woman in a bright red blazer who was heading straight for them.

“You must be the two detectives from the North East,” she said, with a cheery, slightly crooked smile. “I’m Doctor Isabel Malone, Head of Conservation here at the Library.”

Ryan shook the hand that was held out to him.

“Thank you for meeting us, Doctor Malone,” he said. “We were hoping to see the gospel book, but it appears to be missing.”

“Ah, yes, I’m sorry about that,” she said, with a touch of embarrassment. “Unusually, we had a last-minute request to view the book from one of our leading academics in the area, and so we indulged him. I’m afraid his appointment has overrun a little…”

She checked the time on her watch and made a sound of irritation.

“My colleague is with him now, in one of the private reading rooms,” she explained. “I’m sure they won’t be much longer…”

Ryan felt the nerve endings in his body begin to jangle.

“You said this man was a leading academic,” he said slowly. “Anyone we would know?”

“Well, I suppose if you have an interest in the life of St. Cuthbert, yes, you might have heard of Father Jacob.”

Ryan and Phillips stared at her, and Malone’s hand rose to clutch her throat, for it looked as though they’d seen a ghost.

“Is anything the matter?”

“Father Jacob Jamieson?” Phillips repeated. “The monk?”

She nodded, glancing warily between them. “That’s right. Why? Is there a problem?”

“Where is he now?” Ryan demanded, his eyes already scanning the exhibition room for a man resembling the late Father Jacob.

“In one of our private rooms, viewing the book,” she said, shakily.

“Where?” he repeated. “Which one?”

“I—it’s the one just across the hall, directly outside,” she stammered. “Room G12—”

Ryan set off at a run.

*

Ryan was fast, but whoever had been in Room G12 was faster.

He burst into the private reading room to find it empty, but for the unconscious body of a young woman who’d been dealt a series of violent blows around the back of her head.

Phillips and Malone were hot on his heels.

“Siobhan!” the woman cried, when she caught sight of the conservationist.

Then she noticed something which, to her, was much worse.

“Oh, my God! The book! St. Cuthbert’s Gospel is gone!”

“Call an ambulance!” Ryan shouted, and shouldered past them both to run out into the corridor towards the exit turnstiles.

It took only seconds for him to emerge back into the marble foyer, and only a couple more to locate his quarry.

There, passing through the exit turnstiles, was a bald-headed man with a grey beard, dressed entirely in a long black habit.

“Hey!” Ryan shouted. “Police! Stop where you are!”

People passing in and out of the electronic turnstiles froze, and the foyer fell quiet.

The man in black turned to look at him, and it was as though Ryan was looking upon the face of a dead man.

Father Jacob?

The man smiled, and then ran.





CHAPTER 20


Ryan didn’t hesitate.

He gave chase, propelling himself across the foyer to vault over the turnstiles, ignoring the distant cries of the security staff, all the while keeping his eyes firmly on the figure in black who was making rapid progress through the piazza on the other side of the main doors.

Stop!

Stop, police!

He ran outside and into the darkness, heart pounding as he tried to keep up with the figure who raced towards the protective crowds of Euston Road.