Cuthbert's Way (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #17)(41)

She was congratulating herself on the success of all her efforts, even thinking idly about enrolling on one of those artsy retreats somewhere in the forest or by the sea, when a call came through on her desk phone.

“Ma’am? Somebody from King’s Cross Station for you. Says she’s some kind of railway controller…”

“What? Did she say what it was about?”

“She says there’s a couple of your officers demanding she stops a train, but she needs high level authorisation to do that, especially as it’s not local Met Police and the matter’s urgent.”

A couple of my officers, Morrison thought. I might have known…

“Put her on.”

A moment later, the voice of an extremely harassed-sounding railway controller sounded down the line.

“Ah-hah,” Morrison said. “Ah-hah. I see. Can you put the gentleman on the line, please?”

A second later, Ryan came on the phone.

“I wouldn’t have believed it, if I hadn’t heard with my own ears,” she growled. “Especially as I distinctly recall our conversation during which I told you, very clearly, not to travel to London to interview Mathieu Lareuse.”

“Look, you’ve a right to be angry, but can we take a rain check on the lecture? I’ve got an assailant on the run, and he boarded the 16:26 to Newcastle. That was almost ten minutes ago, and I need these jokers to stop the train and turn it around, so we can make the arrest. Will you help?”

“Just a minute,” Morrison snapped. “What you mean ‘an assailant’? There’s local police to deal with local issues, Ryan—”

“This isn’t just any assailant,” he said, growing increasingly impatient. “This one was dressed as a dead man—the monk, who died at Crayke College—and managed to gain access to the British Library, where he knocked a young woman unconscious and stole another priceless artefact. He has St. Cuthbert’s Gospel, and he’s getting away with it. We need to stop him before it’s too late—we need to stop that train before it reaches its next calling point.”

Morrison was silent for long seconds, weighing up the risks on either side, and knew she would regret the decision she was about to make.

“All right, Ryan. I’ll authorise it, but you better be right about this.”

“Thank you,” he said, with relief. “I won’t forget this.”

“Neither will I,” she grumbled, before the line went dead.





CHAPTER 21


Ryan, Phillips and a number of police officers from the local Serious Crime Command were gathered at the head of the platform as the 16:26 rolled back into King’s Cross Station, under the pretence of there being a fault with the mechanics of the train. All passengers were told to remain in their seats, since the doors would not be opening and required repairs, which afforded a degree of cover while Ryan and his makeshift team made their way through each carriage, in turn.

They split into two teams, with Ryan and two officers beginning at the front of the train, while Phillips began at the back. Both were armed with a T-Key to open doors and cupboards on board, and protective clothing, on loan from the Met.

They made their way through the carriages systematically, checking every bathroom door and the face of every person seated or unseated on the train, but none resembled the late Father Jacob, and nobody was conveniently dressed in monk’s garb.

“He’s had time to change,” Ryan muttered. “He probably stuffed the habit out of a bathroom window, during the time it took us to get the train back.”

His face was a mask of anger, and instead of looking for a man who was already dead, he searched for a person who looked uncomfortable or out of place, perhaps perspiring heavily.

Unfortunately, that accounted for almost everybody, since the air conditioning was on the blink and hundreds of people were packed like sardines on a train going nowhere.

After a full forty minutes of painstaking searching, Ryan and Phillips met in the middle of the train.

“Nowt at my end,” Phillips said. “I take it you haven’t found him, either?”

Ryan shook his head and ran angry fingers through his hair, while his mind raced.

“Let’s swap,” he said. “I’ll go over the ground you’ve covered, you go over mine.”

Another half hour later, they stepped off the train and onto the platform, where they were watched through the windows by the angry, staring faces of passengers, who were now becoming irate at the delay to their schedule.

As was the Controller, who stormed towards them.

“Well?” she demanded. “Where’s this dangerous criminal, then?”

“He’s obviously jumped the train, or changed his disguise,” Ryan said. “We acted too slowly.”

“We did nothing slowly, mate,” she threw back. “But it’s us who’ll get it in the neck for the train being held, that’s for sure. You’ve messed up all my slots—there’ll be delays across the network for the rest of the day now!”

Ryan opened his mouth to launch into all the many and varied reasons why disruption to train schedules didn’t compare with violent murder, but Phillips laid a steadying hand on his arm.

“We appreciate that, and we’re grateful for all you’ve done,” he said, and gave her one of his best smiles. “We’re sorry for the inconvenience.”