Cuthbert's Way (DCI Ryan Mysteries, #17)(55)

MacKenzie took his face in her hands and gave him a long, lingering kiss.

“I’ll remind you of what you’ve just said, in a couple of years,” she said. “Come on, let’s go and see what we can find out from the General Support Group.”

“Aye, we can ask them if they accept fathers tryin’ to cope with their daughters growin’ up too fast,” he mumbled, as they headed across the car park towards the main entrance.

“If they don’t, you can always start up a special support group. Ryan can be your second member.”

“I think we have one of those, already,” he said. “Lifetime membership.”

MacKenzie smiled, and wondered what on earth one would do without the other.

Hopefully, they’d never have to find out.

*

Following their discussion with Derek Pettigrew, Yates and Lowerson made their way back through the nave of the Cathedral and along towards the exhibition galleries, stopping beside an unmarked door, this time with a coded entry box.

“This is the security office,” Lowerson said, and rapped his knuckles on the outside.

They remembered the Head of Security, Mike Nevis, as a skinny, balding man, whose face bore a hollow look, giving the overall impression of one who spent far too much time indoors reading the latest news on how to combat cybercrime. He’d been in his post throughout the renovations to the exhibition galleries and would undoubtedly have been able to gain access to the displays, particularly since he knew how to manipulate a system he was in charge of running.

However, the man who opened the door to the security office was at least ten years younger than Nevis, and easily fifty pounds heavier. He had been seated on a plush-looking ergonomic wing-backed chair at the head of an enormous desk arranged in a zigzag formation, allowing him to view several screens at once.

Judging by the way his mobile phone had been propped upright and its screen paused halfway through an episode of Keeping up with the Kardashians, he’d been otherwise engaged.

“This area’s private,” he said. “If you’re lookin’ for the loos, they’re further along—”

“DC Yates and DC Lowerson, Northumbria Police,” Melanie said. “We were looking for Mike Nevis.”

The man—who turned out to be David “Call me Davey” Huxley—looked between them and then back at his phone.

“Never mind about that,” Lowerson said. “Where’s Mike?”

“He’s on annual leave, this week,” he replied. “Not due back on shift until Monday.”

“Did he say what he’d be doing?” Yates asked.

Huxley just stared, and she tried a different question.

“Was he planning to go abroad, or visit family, perhaps?”

He was sweating profusely, rivulets running down the sides of his temples.

“I don’t know—probably. He didn’t say.”

Lowerson and Yates exchanged a glance.

“How long have you worked here, Davey?”

“About six weeks,” he said. “I’m still in my probation period.”

“I see. Look, we’re not bothered if you’re using the cathedral’s internet connection to watch Kim and Khloe on your phone,” Lowerson said. “What we really want to know is Mike’s home address. Do you have it?”

The man brightened, visibly.

“I know he’s over somewhere in Dalton-le-Dale, but I can’t remember the street. Derek will know.”

“All right, Davey. Thanks for your help,” Yates said, and then pointed towards one of the screens at his back. “You might want to look at Screen 4; somebody just swiped a box of biscuits from the gift shop.”

They left Huxley scrambling about for his radio and made their way back through the cloisters towards the exit.

“What did we find out about Mike Nevis, in terms of personal history?” Lowerson asked, once they stepped back outside.

Yates consulted her notebook.

“Divorced, one kid, aged nineteen; no previous record. Tried to enlist in the army, then the police academy, but rejected both times,” she said. “That’s pretty much all we know.”

“Wonder why he was rejected,” Lowerson said.

“Let’s ask him, later, but first, on to our next stop on the Magical Mystery Tour of Durham.”

“The university?”

“Via the pulled pork stand,” she said.

“Did I ever tell you, you’re a wonderful woman?”

“Actions speak louder than words,” she said, with a glint in her eye. “Why don’t you show me later?”





CHAPTER 28


The University Hospital of North Durham looked much the same as any other modern building of its era; made of concrete and brick, it was blocky, uniform and was intended to serve, rather than inspire.

“Justine came here with Danny every Monday morning,” MacKenzie said. “He had a couple of regular appointments to see his neurologist and neurophysiologist.”

“Poor kid.” Phillips tutted. “And, now, after what’s happened to his sister…how old is he?”

“Eighteen,” MacKenzie replied. “At least Justine had the foresight to make sure he would be looked after. If you remember, she had a comprehensive life insurance policy that wasn’t rendered void by suicide, and he’s the sole beneficiary. I think they managed to find a place for him at a specialist care facility, though I can’t imagine that was an easy task; Danny has MND, and all that goes with that, but he has learning difficulties on top.”