The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(14)

‘I’ve been briefing Detective Sergeant Ryan.’ O’Neil rolled her eyes. ‘There’s a lot to do.’

‘There’s even more now!’ he barked. ‘There’s another video at HQ.’

‘We’ve had this conversation already.’

‘There are two. The first is Kenmore, the second is local to you.’

O’Neil and Ryan exchanged a worried look.

‘Do you people never check the force-wide incident log?’

‘Frequently,’ O’Neil said. ‘But it wouldn’t do much good if this is what you’re suggesting: a DVD from our patch we’ve not yet seen, potentially part of Operation Shadow. Whoever received it obviously had the good sense not to share it.’

‘Pick it up, view it and let me know what gives.’ The dialling tone signalled the end of the call.

The grey man was well out of order, although his rudeness hardly registered with O’Neil. She was more relieved than riled, pleased to be rid of him, if the truth were known. In her former job, she’d dealt with dickheads like him every day.

‘Did you get all that?’ she asked.

Ryan nodded. ‘You want to view it at HQ or at our place?’

‘Our place?’ Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight, but not enough to hide her melancholy.

‘You OK?’ He found himself staring.

‘Never better.’ She was lying.

He’d touched a nerve.

They agreed that she’d walk up to Forth Banks, collect the package and rendezvous at ‘their place’ in half an hour. Ryan watched her go, then turned the other way, wondering what on earth had brought about her sadness.

An hour later, he put the phone down as she entered the flat. Nothing appeared to be bothering her now, though she didn’t say why she’d taken so long and he didn’t pry. She was the one with the questions.

‘Any joy with the shoe?’

‘It belongs to someone other than the judge,’ Ryan said. ‘Both housekeepers are in agreement that he only ever wore black.’

‘Anything else?’

‘His Cornish housekeeper, Morwenna Evans, sounded a bit sheepish on the phone. It turns out she gave investigators a description of a coat she thought Trevathan was wearing when he left the area—’

‘She was mistaken?’

He nodded. ‘She found it hanging in the boot room and was frightened to say. Doesn’t matter now he’s been found. I made a note of the discrepancy for future reference.’

Opening her handbag, O’Neil removed a carton of milk and a small evidence bag containing coffee grounds. She held them up, her expression a combination of guilt and playfulness. ‘I rifled someone’s tea fund. Don’t suppose they’ll miss it. I’ll put the kettle on, shall I?’

‘Bit risky for you, isn’t it?’

‘No, I’ve done it before.’

‘I meant nicking their stuff.’

They were both grinning, and then Ryan feigned disapproval. ‘Theft is something I should report to the police, guv. It would be a dereliction of duty not to do so.’

‘I’d much rather you helped me drink the evidence.’

‘My duplicity will cost you.’

‘Will this do?’ She handed over a package containing two individually wrapped DVDs, the ones Ford had been banging on about. She opened her desk drawer and took out the one from Brighton, stacking them one on top of the other. ‘That’s tonight’s entertainment sorted.’ Her eyes fixed on Ryan’s computer screen – frozen on the North Shields crime scene – then shifted to the notepad lying open on his desk. ‘Nice to see you haven’t been wasting your time while I was out. Love the doodles. Very artistic! If that’s supposed to be me, the hair’s all wrong.’

Ryan checked the pad.

Next to a load of scribbled questions relating to the case – Voyeur? Photographer? Lured? Motive? – was a sketch of a devil woman complete with tail and trident. Chuckling under his breath, he turned to speak to her. O’Neil had already moved away.

While she was busy making coffee he marked the DVDs in chronological order and gave the theory she’d put forward in the pub the once-over, even though he was convinced that Spielberg was part of the problem and not someone who’d stumbled upon a crazed killer while stalking him. His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of cupboard doors opening and closing behind him as O’Neil searched for crockery and placed it on the marble counter top.

A few minutes later, she appeared by his side. ‘You’re washing up,’ she said, handing him a mug. ‘Despite a begging request, our controllers haven’t stretched to a dishwasher.’

‘There’s always carry-out, guv.’

‘Fine. You’re buying.’

O’Neil opened the second drawer down, took out a folder and sat down, her boots immediately landing on his desk. Leaning back in her seat, she rested the file on her knee and put her specs on ready for viewing. Ryan suggested they start with Brighton, given that she’d already been there.

She agreed. ‘Take a look at these first.’

She passed over the reports relating to that crime scene. It made sense to begin with one that had already been processed and that she’d had sight of physically. She waited while he skimmed through the various documents: some stills of the scene, information on forensic samples – blood, hair, fibres – it was all there. When he’d seen enough, he switched on the tape and let it run, pausing now and then so she could talk him through it.