The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(47)

‘Ha! CID training coming up,’ Ryan said. ‘I assume there’s an action out to trace Stevie boy?’

‘What did Gloria do after that?’ O’Neil interrupted. ‘Sorry, Ryan, this is important.’

‘She sat down on the pavement for a smoke.’ Grace shifted her gaze from O’Neil to Ryan. ‘And yes there’s an action out.’

O’Neil wanted more. ‘So no one came out of the lock-up after Stevie?’

‘No, and we all know why, don’t we?’ Ryan said. ‘The killers had more important things to do in Tynemouth. They had already gone to kill Fraser.’

His words hung in the air.

And still he wasn’t done theorizing. ‘They wait outside his mum’s house until he leaves to go home. They kill him, but don’t risk going back to the lock-up to move their first victim in daylight. The place is crawling with folks on a Sunday. People love walking along the Fish Quay, eating chips or calling in for a cuppa at the Old Low Light Café. I do it myself on a regular basis. They’d have to wait for a more appropriate time to get rid of the body. They dump it in the river, make their video and away they go.’

O’Neil cut him off. ‘They wouldn’t risk making the video at night, Ryan. Their lights would be visible from outside.’

‘OK, maybe my timing is out.’ Ryan thought for a moment. ‘The counter on the North Shields DVD was running at 15:45 when I noticed it. What time was sunset on Sunday, fourish?’

Grace brought up the information. ‘Nine minutes to, to be precise.’

‘Guv, even on a good day most people would be away home by then. At this time of year it’s bloody cold down on the Fish Quay when the sun goes down. I reckon they sneaked in unseen, made their video around the time recorded on the DVD, and dumped the victim soon after dark. Do we know if this Stevie character is local?’

Grace grinned. ‘We even know what type of vehicle he drives. The incident team are doing a PNC trawl of that make and model. It won’t take us long to trace this bloke.’ Ryan and Grace high-fived. It was the best news they’d heard all day.





27


For once Grace did as she was asked without a fight and left straight after the briefing to go back to her hotel. It was getting on for eight thirty when Ryan let her out and watched her exit the lift on the ground floor. He felt guilty for having intruded on her first months of married life and suspected that O’Neil did too. She wouldn’t have asked had she not been under pressure to prove her worth. She was desperate to engage the right calibre of help. Grace and Newman happened to fit the bill. The spook still hadn’t surfaced. Ryan took that as a positive sign.

‘She’s good, isn’t she,’ O’Neil said when he walked into the room.

‘The best there is.’

‘You rate her. That’s nice.’

‘Not nice, she earned it. There’s nothing she doesn’t know about running a major incident room. She might be argumentative from time to time, but she’s the salt of the earth. Grace would do anything – and I do mean anything – to protect those she cares about.’ He sat down under O’Neil’s scrutiny. There was a shot of whisky on the arm of his chair and one already half-empty in her hand, a half-bottle on the desk behind her. Lifting his glass, he sniffed the amber liquid. ‘You’ll be a friend for life for taking her on. It’ll give her purpose.’

‘She’s newly married! Isn’t that purpose enough?’

‘You tell me, I’ve never been married.’

‘Me either.’

There it was again, that same flash of sadness Ryan had seen on O’Neil’s face yesterday. There were occasions when she looked like a torn soul. She hid it well, but now and again he caught a glimpse of the edge of an emotion he couldn’t easily identify.

Ford wasn’t the only one keeping secrets.

Ryan suspected that Eloise had been deeply hurt in the not too distant past. He’d been there too. He hadn’t noticed her pain at first but, since he’d got to know her better, he’d recognized the signs. Whatever the story behind it – and there would be one – it was making her very unhappy.

‘Ever considered what you might do after you’ve done your time?’ he asked.

‘You make it sound like a life sentence.’

He chuckled. ‘Feels like it sometimes.’

‘No, I’ve not given it a thought.’

‘Well give it some now,’ he encouraged her. ‘What’ll it be: sun, sea and sangria, or will you stick around in the cold, windy north? Personally, I’d rather stick pins in my eyes than live abroad.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Right now I could handle the Bahamas for a month or two.’ Kicking off her heels, O’Neil lifted her right leg and wiggled her toes, a dreamy expression on her face. ‘I love the feeling of sand beneath my feet, the sun on my back, the sound of crashing waves. Sailing would be good. Grace and Frank appear healthy on it, don’t they? Is small talk now your specialist subject?’

Ryan bridled, taken aback by the question. ‘Just making conversation, guv.’

She apologized, an awkward moment.

He stood up, walked to the window and stood by the Christmas tree. He could never tire of the view from their base: the iconic bridges, the Sage, the River Tyne shimmering in the moonlight, like a rippling silver ribbon snaking its way to the North Sea. More often than not, the sight would calm him. This time, it didn’t help.