The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(30)

O’Neil turned her head towards him. ‘You have something to say to me, Mr Newman?’

‘You should be careful, Superintendent. Poking around in my background won’t buy you any friends. And I think you’re going to need some, if you don’t mind me saying. I’m a very private person. Cautious, too. If someone asks about me, I tend to want to know why.’

‘Fair’s fair,’ O’Neil said. ‘And what did you find out?’

‘You’re working on classified material. Something to do with a certain judge?’

Eloise didn’t respond.

‘Does the name Leonard Maxwell ring any bells?’ he continued. ‘No? How about Lord Trevathan? Same guy. Different title. They fished him out of the Tay on Monday. It appears the poor man got out of his depth.’ He paused. ‘Still not convinced?’

He was very well informed.

O’Neil examined him closely. He was mid fifties with the physique of someone much younger: handsome, casually dressed, with ice-blue eyes capable of piercing metal.

‘I’m listening,’ she said.

‘You have several linked incidents, a big cheese from the Home Office peering over your shoulder, and serious finances for a wide-ranging investigation with a modest crew. How am I doing?’

O’Neil held her nerve. If the situation hadn’t been serious, she’d have broken into a round of applause. Intuition was a wonderful thing. Hers hadn’t let her down yet. Newman was the genuine article. Knowledge like his was a gift for a unit like hers. The man sitting beside her had all the skills she needed to uncover the mystery surrounding Lord Trevathan.

‘Oh, one thing I forgot,’ he said. ‘You have the clout to pick your own team, to engage people with talent and diplomacy. Whether or not you’re prepared to admit it, to yourself or to Ryan, in my modest opinion you’re going to need to do that sooner rather than later.’

‘Sounds like me and him,’ Grace chipped in.

O’Neil ignored the attempt at humour. This wasn’t a game and well Grace knew it. The unit was a career-changing opportunity and O’Neil couldn’t afford to put a foot wrong. ‘If I need your advice, Mr Newman, I’ll ask for it.’ She pointed at the door. ‘I’m busy now, so if you don’t mind.’

Grace was visibly disappointed. ‘You’re making a mistake, Eloise.’

O’Neil’s eyes flew to the rear-view. ‘Don’t you mean another one?’ She still felt guilty about Jack Fenwick.

‘You have a chance to redeem yourself,’ Grace said. ‘In fact, you’ve already made a start. Isn’t that why you took Ryan on, to clear your conscience?’

O’Neil swivelled in her seat to face her. ‘How dare you!’

Grace did right to back off.

O’Neil was livid.

Newman wasn’t happy either.

‘I’m sorry, Eloise.’ Grace backpedalled quickly. ‘I didn’t put that very well. Your instincts are spot on. Ryan has moral integrity. He used the back stairs to find Jack because the suspension left him with no other choice. For what it’s worth, he hated doing it. Most of all, he hated deceiving you.’

‘Yes, and in doing so he put his career on the line.’

Grace’s attitude softened. ‘You could have pulled the plug – you had the chance. But you didn’t. You’ve protected him because he’s a good cop. He’ll do the hard yards and then some. He’s loyal and trustworthy, like Frank and me. If you let us in, we’ll be behind you every step of the way.’ She looked at Newman. ‘Frank, tell her.’

Newman said nothing.

There were times when silence spoke the loudest.

This was one of them.

‘OK, I’ll tell her.’ Grace eyeballed O’Neil. ‘He knows stuff, Eloise. He has access we don’t. Without him, I reckon you’re screwed.’

‘That was quite a speech.’ O’Neil turned to face her. ‘Now get out of my car, Grace. You too, Mr Newman.’

Neither of them moved.

‘I said, get out!’ O’Neil blew out a breath as the doors slammed shut. That encounter was worse than any postmortem.





17


O’Neil was spitting bullets as she drove to the morgue. Her overreaction to the news that Grace and Newman knew as much about her enquiry as she did left her with few staffing alternatives. Initially, she’d called Grace to check out her availability and willingness to get involved because she was the best there was. She hadn’t bargained on her being so clued up about the case. As for Newman, his access to classified information made him an asset she’d dearly love to have on her team.

And now she’d blown it.

The post-mortem was almost over when she arrived. There were two forensic pathologists finishing up, a senior examiner and a female assisting who appeared to be dissecting human tissue. Other samples: blood, hair, nails, gastric contents and liver had been already attended to, saving O’Neil’s delicate disposition the horror of viewing the worst of it.

Perfect timing.

The body would have rapidly decomposed had it not been submerged in cold water. The medical examiners gave O’Neil no more or less than she expected. As usual in cases where an interval had occurred between fatality and discovery, they were only able to give an estimated time of death. The judge’s demise had occurred some time ago.