The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(59)

Newman ignored the dig. ‘O’Neil would like you both to return to base ASAP. We’re in business. Sussex Police have been on the blower. We have a recovery in Brighton. It’s all hands on deck.’

Ryan could read people, even people like Newman. When he asked the spook what else was going on – because sure as hell something was – Newman ended the call abruptly. The detective sergeant sighed. That was a bad sign. If he were any judge, this day would not end well.





34


Grace was silent in the car on the short journey to their base. She didn’t offer an explanation and Ryan didn’t pry. He guessed that her uncharacteristic reserve had more to do with the bump on her head than with Newman. The man was a machine. When they arrived at the apartment, O’Neil was nowhere to be seen. Ryan knew instantly that the spook’s call had been a ruse, that he and Grace had been summoned to base under false pretences. What’s more, she didn’t look surprised.

‘Do we have a body in Brighton or don’t we?’ Ryan asked.

‘We do,’ Newman said. ‘O’Neil nipped out to HQ.’

Ryan’s focus switched from Frank to Grace. ‘So what’s with the pet lips?’

Grace’s body language was confrontational. She had her arms crossed, her focus on her husband, her expression a mixture of uncertainty and unrest. Newman, on the other hand, was cool, ice-blue eyes giving nothing away – a man easily able to hide emotion.

A stand-off then . . .

‘Will one of you let me in?’ Ryan asked. ‘We have work to do.’

‘That’s what I told him,’ Grace said. ‘Telling tales out of school is not on my agenda. We have more important things to deal with.’

Newman glared at his bride. ‘Stop pissing about, Grace. The fact that you won’t tell me adds weight to what we already know.’

‘It might not.’

‘What the hell?’ Ryan had no clue what they were arguing about.

‘Grace knows stuff about O’Neil she’s not prepared to divulge,’ Newman said. ‘Apparently, she’s too principled, even though there are things going on that a) we don’t fully understand and b) are being deliberately hidden by your guv’nor—’

‘It’s personal,’ was all Grace would say in return.

‘How do we know unless you share it?’ Newman said.

Grace rounded on him. ‘You’ll have to take my word for it.’

They began arguing; not a silly squabble, really going for it. Ryan tried to interrupt before someone said something they might regret. When Newman wanted information, even from his wife, he was like a man possessed. He went after it with every weapon in his armoury – including putting the bite on the only woman he’d ever loved, knowing it would break her heart to get on the wrong side of him. He never raised his voice. He didn’t have to. For every point she put forward, he had a counter-argument that made her think twice. Grace was losing the fight, if only she could see it.

‘Let me be the judge of what you have on O’Neil,’ Newman said. ‘If it’s not relevant, I’ll back off—’

‘Not on your life!’ she snapped.

They were rowing so enthusiastically no one heard O’Neil enter the apartment. ‘Jesus! I could hear you from outside,’ she said. ‘You want to have a domestic, do it on your own time.’

An awkward silence.

Three heads turned towards the voice.

No one spoke.

O’Neil’s coat was dripping wet, her face flushed and weatherbeaten. The dripping umbrella in her right hand created a puddle on the floor as she stood there gawping at them. A violent storm was moving in off the North Sea. Rain hammered on the windows, streaking down the glass in torrents, the rumbling of thunder a sign of impending doom.

‘You all look very sheepish, I must say.’ Her eyes scanned them one by one. ‘Ryan? Are you going to tell me what’s going on?’

Guilt rendered him speechless. His throat constricted, like a hand was applying firm pressure to his Adam’s apple, cutting off his air supply. He should’ve gone to her from the outset, levelled with her, told her of Newman’s suspicions. He owed her that much.

‘Not a domestic then?’ O’Neil addressed them all. ‘Is anyone going to fill me in?’

The team eyed each other across the room, a deathly hush. O’Neil’s focus was the two men, Grace’s too. Her face was red and blotchy, anger eating her up. Ryan noticed his reflection in the blackened glass behind her. His shoulders were down. He had no bloody idea how he was going to repair the damage of what was to come.

‘You bottleless shits!’ Grace exploded. ‘Well, if you won’t come clean, I will. While he was in London, my other half was digging the dirt on you, Eloise.’

O’Neil shrugged, unconcerned. ‘It’s happened before.’

‘I told him personal stuff is off limits.’

‘Nothing is off limits,’ Newman said. ‘You all know how I operate.’

‘What gems did you come up with this time, Frank?’ O’Neil was looking directly at him.

‘Before we discuss that, I want you to know that I was covering my back, nothing more. I like to check out all the players before I dive into a case. It was important to know who was blocking our investigation and why, where the balance of power was, who was really running the show.’