The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(21)

‘I can’t see it, given the time lapse. There’s no real urgency, but I’d like to get there before dark or we’ll be kicking our heels until morning. Let’s hope the post-mortem is quick.’

‘Now we have Trevathan’s body, do we get to find out what case he was about to try?’

‘In a word, no.’

‘Why not?’

‘Delicate material. Price referred me on and I can’t seem to get through to the Lord President—’

‘He must have a clerk—’

‘I meant emotionally, not physically. Transparency is crucial to our investigation but not if it undermines a case of greater magnitude. It’s their default position, Ryan. You know how this works. As ridiculous as it sounds, they’re not sharing. I tried telling them we’re not the enemy. It made no difference. Don’t concern yourself. I’m not about to let their lack of openness defeat us.’

They lapsed into funereal silence, caught up in thoughts of terrorism and a well-established tradition of secrecy from above. Working for Special Branch, Ryan was used to the Home Office putting the shutters up, remaining tight-lipped on matters to do with national security. This governmental conspiracy to keep them in the dark was ludicrous and unnecessary when they were on the same side.

Although he loved working with O’Neil, he wished his retired ex-colleague Grace Ellis was along for the ride. He’d like her take on the case; Newman’s too, for that matter. Frank Newman was her husband, formerly MI5. If anyone could find out what the judge’s trial was about, it would be him. They would both be green with envy if they knew what Ryan was working on.

O’Neil’s hand covered a wide yawn. As she changed pedals to apply the brake she appeared to wince a little. Ryan suspected that her leg was playing her up. She’d been caught up in an explosion at the end of their last case and been lucky to get away with nothing worse than a broken ankle.

‘You want me to drive?’ he offered.

‘Please. I’ll pull over.’

‘You missing Svendsen?’

She roared with laughter.

Their last outing had taken them to Norway, where they’d been chauffeured around by a detective called Knut Svendsen. He’d taken a shine to O’Neil, acting like a lovesick teenager whenever he was around her. Ryan had ribbed him mercilessly over it. Svendsen wasn’t put off – quite the opposite – the more Ryan made fun of him, the more O’Neil refused to play ball, the better he liked it. After the morning they’d put in, it was great to see her laugh.

‘Do you ever hear from him?’

She glanced sideways. ‘No! Why would I? I’m not in the habit of giving out my number to strange men.’

‘Lack of information has never stopped any detective I’ve ever known . . . except maybe Maguire. That waste of space couldn’t find a hooker in a brothel.’ He was referring to her former bagman. ‘Not that I should, y’know, mention you in the same sentence as a hooker.’

O’Neil chuckled. ‘Stop digging that hole, Ryan. Now I’ve got you, Maguire doesn’t seem so bad.’

Ryan put a hand over his heart. ‘I’m crushed, guv.’ And he was.





11


A couple of miles past Berwick-upon-Tweed, O’Neil indicated left and pulled into a lay-by. They got out to stretch their legs, the North Sea shimmering in the distance, the sun drawing a sparkly line across the surface. Ryan leaned against the car, feet and arms crossed, staring out to sea. Living within sight of water along the north Northumberland coast, he did his best thinking by the shoreline.

O’Neil turned to face him. ‘I can see your mind working overtime,’ she said. ‘What’s up?’

‘I was wondering about victim association.’

‘Between Trevathan and Fraser?’

‘If there is any, it’s passed me by. You?’

‘Same. We’d better hope there is. If these are random killings, we’re in trouble.’

‘There are no obvious connections I can see—’

‘Yeah, well I’m a firm believer in three degrees of separation, Ryan. You never know what we’ll turn up when we cross-reference their backgrounds. Or, better still, when we find another victim.’ With that depressing state of affairs occupying their thoughts, they got in the car and drove on.

As they crossed the Forth Road Bridge, Ryan glanced at his watch. ‘Mind if I check in with Caroline? She has a big case on today: Teesside-based drugs ring – some heavy players too, not some Mickey Mouse firm. They’re international and sophisticated, ten of them in the dock.’

O’Neil was impressed. ‘Sounds like they’re going down.’

‘If my twin has anything to do with it, they definitely are. Open and shut, she said. Caught in possession of cocaine and amphetamine with a street value of three million. Drugs squad have been carrying out surveillance for the best part of a year. Impossible to assess the true value of the drugs sold. At a rough estimate, they’re responsible for smuggling in the region of thirty-eight million pounds’ worth into the UK over the past few years.’

‘You must be so proud of her.’

‘To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t keen on her going into criminal law – any more than she wanted me to join the police.’