Cuthbert's Way (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #17)(46)

They’d made the mistake of thinking the cross and other trinkets were sufficient, but that was before they’d found out the disgusting, demoralising, deceitful truth that the ‘new’ church—one of Henry’s creation—had flogged to the masses.

The very thought was enough to bring on an attack, and their body began to shake, convulsing and sweating as they rolled around the stone floor.

Through it all, they laughed, and felt no pain.





CHAPTER 23


Wednesday 9th December Ryan awoke the next morning with renewed purpose, thanks in large part to the fact his daughter had slept soundly through the night, not uttering so much as a peep before six-thirty. Naturally, he and Anna took full credit for this wonderful development, as all new parents did on the occasion of their child doing something perfectly normal, no matter how infrequent.

Fuelled by an extra couple of hours’ shut-eye, he strode through the doors of Northumbria Police Headquarters with the air of a man who was ready to face the world again—a state of affairs that was immediately called into question, when the Chief Constable’s personal assistant cornered him as soon as he entered the building.

“Sorry to piss on your bonfire, but Morrison wants to see you, straight away,” she said, with her usual refinement. “And she says to tell you, she can’t be bought by posh coffee, either.”

The woman looked pointedly at the cardboard cups he held in his hands.

“I guess I’ll have to drink them both,” he said, with a bland smile. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

She stalked off, in a manner vaguely reminiscent of Nosferatu.

In the minute it took him to walk from one end of the corridor to the other, Ryan considered all the different excuses he could make for having overridden her orders, as well as all the justifications.

But he discarded them all, in favour of one simple message.

“I’m sorry,” he said, without reservation.

Morrison eyed the coffee he held in his hand, and told herself to stay strong.

“I’ve heard that before, Ryan. Every time you flout my orders, you’re sorry.”

“It’s true, I’m always sorry to have to do it.”

She stared at him. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

“No, ma’am. It’s supposed to be honest.”

“Ryan, do you respect my authority?”

“Always,” he said, without pause. “But, on occasion, I disagree with your application of it.”

“You had the chance to be superintendent.” She reminded him about the position that was still vacant despite an extensive recruitment exercise. “That would give you more clout, if that’s what you’re after—”

Ryan frowned. “Do you think that matters to me, at this point in my career? We’ve known each other a long time.”

She sighed, and shook her head.

“No, I don’t think you’re led by ego—or, at least, no more than the next person—and I don’t think you’d thank me for giving you another promotion,” she said, quite accurately. “You could handle a more senior position with your eyes closed, but the day-to-day wouldn’t suit you because you like working on the front line, don’t you?”

He inclined his head.

“Cards on the table, Ryan,” she said, indicating that he should sit. “I spent most of last night being angry at you, but then I had a kind of revelation, this morning. I realised something, which is that I’ve been away from front line work for too long. It makes it harder for me to make judgment calls on risk, which you’re better placed to be doing, because you’ve got a proven track record. That’s your forte, and it’s an asset to the constabulary.”

Ryan was taken aback by the turn of the conversation.

“Thank you,” he said, cautiously. “I apologise, again, if my actions were insubordinate.”

She laughed. “You’ve always been insubordinate. It’s a defining characteristic—”

“That much is true,” he said. “You can ask my mother.”

“A very tolerant woman, no doubt,” she said, with a smile. “The thing is, I applied for this job because I’m good at juggling police and politics; that’s my strength.”

“You’re an excellent chief constable,” Ryan said, and meant it.

“Thank you,” she replied. “All the same, I feel I’ve been looking at things from the wrong perspective, and that’s because your reporting to me was only ever supposed to be an interim procedure, until a new DCS could be appointed. Not that it hasn’t worked, or that you’re all that difficult to manage—”

“I’m obviously not trying hard enough.”

There was a half-second pause, then she laughed, relaxing back in her chair.

“This is why you’ve got the longevity,” she said. “You’ve never lost your humour, despite all the sadness surrounding the work we do.”

“It’s easy to stay upbeat, when you’re surrounded by a great team of people, and you’ve got someone who loves you.”

Morrison nodded.

“You can say that again. Not one of them cracked, while you were moonlighting in London—that’s a mark of loyalty.”