The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(64)

O’Neil dropped her gaze, a mixture of sorrow and joy almost moving her to tears. The rest of them waited with bated breath. It had shocked Ryan when she’d told Forsythe that she planned to quit. He guessed she’d lain awake all night, tossing and turning, maybe even having a quiet weep. He’d not heard her, just sensed tension through the walls. She wasn’t the only one unable to sleep.

‘For now, you’re stuck with me,’ she said, glancing at her watch. ‘Grace, Frank, do what you do best. Ryan, you and I need to get going.’ She stood, pulled on her coat, collected a small suitcase from beside her bedroom door and made for the exit.

Sunday trains were notoriously unreliable. Fortunately, theirs was on time. Overnight, Ryan had prayed that there would be no delays. There was only so much small talk a person could stomach after a cards-on-the-table type conversation, more so if it was personal. O’Neil had hardly said a word as they walked to the railway station and he’d decided to let her be.

She bought three newspapers and read them for the majority of the journey south. Unless shutting her eyes was an avoidance tactic, she’d slept the rest of the way.

Sussex Murder Investigation Team gave Ryan and O’Neil every assistance from the minute they arrived at their HQ in Lewes: organizing a car, a room in which to work, complete with a HOLMES computer so they could access information as and when it arrived. The victim had been formally identified as Michael Tierney, the gay man who’d gone missing the day before the DVD arrived.

‘DS Vikki Carter, ma’am. I’ve been appointed as your liaison officer.’

‘Nice to see you again, Vikki.’ O’Neil flashed her best smile. ‘Recently promoted?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Thought so. Well done.’ O’Neil thumbed left. ‘This is DS Matthew Ryan.’

Smiling, her wing-man stuck out a hand out. ‘Ryan.’

Vikki gave a firm handshake. ‘Good to meet you, Ryan.’ She was beaming because a big cheese from another force had remembered her name and the fact that she was a DC when last they met.

‘OK to use your locker room?’ O’Neil asked. ‘I need to freshen up.’

‘Of course. It’s that way . . .’ Vikki pointed over O’Neil’s shoulder. ‘First door on your left.’

‘I remember. Are we in the same office as before?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Get Ryan settled. I’ll check in with your SIO and catch up with you.’

Vikki walked Ryan to his temporary Sussex base. She was covering for someone on maternity leave, hoping to prove herself and earn a permanent position on the Murder Investigation Team. She confided all this to Ryan on the way down the corridor, joking that the last time she’d spoken to anyone of O’Neil’s rank it had been a technical superintendent who worked for a shipping company in London.

O’Neil glanced at the clock on the wall as she entered five minutes later. It was getting on for 2.30 p.m. No pub lunch for her, or anyone else. ‘Thanks for staying on to talk to us, Vikki. Your guv’nor has been called out to another incident, unrelated thankfully, so you’re in the chair. What do we know about Michael Tierney?’

‘He’s a hotshot stockbroker. Forty-seven. Works in the capital from an office in Canary Wharf. Commutes daily. Shares a frontline penthouse here in Brighton with his civil partner, Robert Parker, a cosmetic dentist. Tierney’s not local, ma’am. He hails from Norwich, went to school all over the place – his father was in the military. The victim ended up in Cambridge where he gained a first-class honours in maths.’

Ryan smiled at O’Neil. She’d asked for and been fed updates by her opposite number since Tierney was reported missing, putting him in the frame as the Brighton victim. Much of this information she knew already. Still, she allowed Vikki to trot it out. Encouraging junior staff, rather than stamping all over their big moment, was testament to her leadership.

Vikki stopped talking.

‘You’ve done your homework,’ O’Neil said. ‘And before Tierney shot up in the world?’

‘He taught at a posh boarding school.’

‘This school . . .’ O’Neil sat up straight. ‘It’s not in Yorkshire by any chance?’

Vikki’s right eyebrow arched as she gave a nod. ‘He taught mathematics there. Actually, he was a pupil there too. Sent there as a kid when his father was posted overseas. How did you know, ma’am, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘It wasn’t a guess.’

Attagirl!

Ryan was delighted to see O’Neil in control, last night’s conversation consigned to the back of her mind for now – but not his. He’d decided on the train to carry on working as if nothing had happened. What else could he do? Problem was, a gulf had opened up between them, a gap he found impossible to bridge. Off the agenda for now, O’Neil’s exposé would return, if not today, then next week, next month when – if – she decided to take him into her confidence.

‘I emailed Gold Command to let them know that everything has been uploaded to HOLMES,’ Vikki said.

‘Excellent. Anything else?’

‘No, I think that’s it.’

‘OK, find out exactly how much Robert Parker has been told about his partner’s death and report back before you go off duty.’