The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(45)

Grace was getting restless.

O’Neil lifted her head. ‘Did you contact the Family Liaison Officer?’

Ryan nodded. ‘Mrs Fraser said James let himself in with a key.’

‘So why didn’t they kill him at his mother’s place?’

‘Good question.’ Grace didn’t turn around. ‘His killers couldn’t know he didn’t live there.’

‘I asked the very same question of the FLO,’ Ryan said. ‘She questioned Mrs Fraser again. Apparently she was in the kitchen when James arrived. She joined him in the living room for a hug almost immediately. You know what mums are like. There were no blinds or curtains up in that room. People living alone like to see foot traffic, don’t they? In that respect, Mrs Fraser is no different. She didn’t notice anyone hanging around outside but my guess is they saw her and decided to wait it out.’

‘Lucky for her.’

‘I’m fairly sure she’s safe.’

‘Are you, Ryan. Really?’ Grace turned to glare at him. ‘What if it was your mother? Would you be so certain then? There may be no suggestion that she saw the offenders, but they’re not to know that, are they?’

She had a point.

Ryan switched his gaze to O’Neil. ‘Mrs Fraser didn’t go outside when James left the house, but if we’re right, the offenders know where she lives. Because of that and the fact that Grace is giving me such a hard time, I’ll organize a panic alarm immediately. The one thing we have is money. Let’s spend it.’

‘Fine,’ O’Neil said. ‘Give me a reminder in two weeks and we’ll review it. In the meantime, I have high-profile victims in three countries with seemingly no connection whatsoever, a male and a female with film-star looks yet to be identified, and no missing persons reports that match our timeline, such as it is. Oh, I forgot, we have no forensic evidence either. The national database isn’t much good unless you a) know what you’re looking for, b) have a clue when it occurred, or c) you have evidence to compare it with.’ They had zilch. ‘Now can we get this fucking briefing underway?’





26


They had less than five minutes to prepare, by which time Ryan had gone walkabout to take a phone call. Grace had a fresh sparkle in her eye, a notebook flipped open on her knee, a signal that she was ready to feed back to the team. O’Neil’s frustration was at boiling point. Using her hands as winders, she gestured for Ryan to end his conversation as soon as he could.

He hung up, put the phone in his pocket.

‘Finally!’ she asked. ‘What have you got for me, Ryan?’

‘You said we might get a lead from the shoe at North Shields. Well, it seems we’re in luck. There are very few stockists of that particular brand.’

‘Action that please.’ O’Neil was talking to Grace.

‘Shall I shove a brush up my arse and sweep the floor while I’m at it?’

‘Thank your lucky stars you’re an overseer,’ O’Neil said. ‘Or you’d be doing everything yourself.’

Winding her neck in, Grace scribbled a note, adding to the growing list of competing actions she intended to put out to the Northumbria incident room. ‘Seeing as we’re already on feet, let’s stick with that a moment. There’s an update on the bloody footprints from James Fraser’s flat: confirmation that two people were there at the time he was killed, shoe sizes six and ten.’

‘That’s not much help,’ O’Neil said. ‘Those are both pretty standard.’

‘Agreed. The impressions weren’t that great either. They’ve gone off to the UK National Footwear Database. Let’s hope we get a positive result on the tread patterns.’

‘Can we agree not to rule out anyone who isn’t a size six or ten?’ Ryan said. ‘I’ve known enquiries stall when detectives made assumptions they later found to be untrue.’ When he was a rookie, his boss had written a load of possible suspects out because they didn’t wear shoes of a particular size, only to find out the offender was wearing shoes two sizes too big.

O’Neil agreed not to discount anyone because of it.

Grace eyed the next item on her list. ‘The toxicology report on Trevathan is in. It showed Propranolol beta blocker in his system.’

Ryan’s interest plummeted. ‘Is that all?’

‘You were expecting cocaine?’

‘I meant try harder. We’re not impressed so far.’

‘Show some patience,’ Grace bit back. ‘Did I say I was finished?’

‘Get on with it then.’

‘Our lads finally nailed James Fraser’s movements after he left work on Sunday morning.’ She beckoned them across to her computer, where she’d uploaded a local map with the jogging route already picked out. It had approximate start and finish times, pinpointing where he’d been seen by witnesses or captured on CCTV. ‘He left Rake Lane Hospital after his night shift ended at six a.m. He took the A192 Preston Road North, was seen running east into Tynemouth Road here, then south onto Stephenson Street, zigzagging through Saville Street, Bedford Street, eventually dropping down onto Liddell Street, Bell Street and Union Quay.’

‘AKA the Fish Quay,’ Ryan said.

Grace nodded. ‘There are no fewer than six CCTV cameras and two receiver antennae along that stretch.’