The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(106)

Ryan felt sorry for him.

‘You still have them?’

‘Michael ran a thriving business, Detective. His equipment formed part of his company’s tangible assets. He never threw them away in case of an HMRC investigation. I begged him to dispose of them before the ceiling collapsed. Like marriage, we never got round to it. He’s got stacks of equipment in the loft. I’ll hunt it out and get back to you, assuming I can make it work and if I find anything.’

Frank, Grace, Caroline and Eloise were still processing the information when Ryan put down the phone. ‘How’s your maths?’ he asked.

O’Neil was puzzled.

‘Montgomery is thirty-five. If it turns out that she was the person Tierney spoke to in 1993, she was talking when she was fifteen years old. That’s five years after she allegedly went mute.’

No one spoke.





59


Feeling like a kid on Christmas morning, Ryan woke with the realization that it was a day of immense significance – except that this was the eve rather than the big day itself. There were no presents to open. No turkey to baste. It was time to be watchful around O’Neil. He wondered how she’d cope with what would’ve been the anniversary of her marriage to Stephen Forsythe.

She’d been for an early walk, was fresh and alert when he found her at the kitchen bench, buttering a piece of toast. They ate breakfast in silence before the others arrived, a simple meal: toast, fruit and strong black coffee. She kept her head down, scouring the morning newspapers, her inability to make eye contact a hint of her mood.

‘You’re staring again.’ She didn’t lift her head.

‘Was I? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.’

‘Ryan, yesterday was a mare. I want everyone to knock off at midday. I managed to book Grace and Frank dinner at their hotel to sweeten the blow, a thank you present for all their hard work. I can’t release them entirely. Even if I could, travel to Scotland is impossible.’ She tapped the newspaper. ‘Gale force winds and gusts of ninety-five miles per hour aren’t ideal driving conditions. You should take Caroline home when she arrives. There’s nothing doing here. If it all kicks off and I need you, I’ll be in touch.’

‘If it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay.’ Murder Incident Rooms didn’t close down for Christmas and well she knew it. If she intended to work through the holidays, then so did he.

‘I could order you to leave.’

‘That would be harsh.’

‘I was joking.’ Her smile faded. ‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing.’ He lied.

‘Something is.’

He looked away, his turn to avoid an issue that was bothering him. He’d been dreading Christmas for weeks, long before he learned that it had unfortunate associations for her too. The closer it got, the worse he had felt. When a certain invitation arrived, it knocked him sideways.

‘Ryan? Talk to me?’

‘It’s Hilary.’

‘Fenwick?’ The question was rhetorical. She knew he didn’t mean Forsythe. They had talked about Hilary Fenwick only yesterday. Still blaming himself for Jack’s death, Ryan looked out for Hilary and her children, the youngest of whom was his god-daughter. He was struggling with the prospect of seeing the family over Christmas.

‘I can’t face seeing her tonight.’

‘You have to, Ryan. Little Lucy will be heartbroken if you don’t go. Robbie and Jess too.’

‘I will call in. Just not for long. I’ll drop Caroline off and stick around for a bit. She’s staying over and will spend the day with them tomorrow, so there’s no need for me to knock off early. Her Christmas is sorted and I have no other plans. They won’t miss me.’

‘That’s bollocks, Ryan, and you know it. Hilary adores you.’

He met her penetrating gaze. ‘You don’t want me around. I don’t want them around. Cowardly of me, I know, but I can’t and won’t try to fill the gaping hole Jack left behind. It’s not possible, even if I wanted to. Eloise, I’m not Santa Claus. I can’t magic up happiness or bring him back any more than you can.’ She bristled at the reference to the man she’d been engaged to.

Ryan was past caring.

‘You have to let it go, Ryan.’

‘We both do.’ He never took his eyes off her.

The chemistry he was certain they had lost had come flooding back over the past few days. Little by little, he’d felt it return. They weren’t out of the woods yet, but they were heading in the right direction. There was no way he was leaving her to mope, this afternoon or this evening. There wasn’t a hope in hell of that happening.

‘Maybe you could spare the time to come and hold my hand?’ He put on his best begging face. ‘Figuratively speaking, I mean. We could grab a bite to eat later. Nothing special. I’ll stand you a bag of your favourite nuts and a Babycham.’

The magic disappeared from her eyes.

The knock-back stung before she had chance to voice it.

‘I’d love to, but—’

‘You have plans. That’s cool. Some other time?’

She didn’t answer.

‘Is it Forsythe?’ He raised a hand, fending off a response. ‘Sorry, none of my business, I’ll butt out.’