The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(65)
‘Will do.’ Vikki turned to go. As she reached the door, she glanced back at O’Neil. ‘Would there be anything else, ma’am?’
‘Any chance of a coffee? I’ve got a splitting head.’
‘You need a painkiller?’
‘So long as it’s laced with caffeine and comes in a cup.’
‘Gotcha.’ The detective pulled a face. ‘Can’t vouch for how good it’ll be. I’ll organize some and have it brought in.’ Vikki left the room.
‘I don’t like the sound of that,’ O’Neil said.
‘The coffee?’
‘The boarding school. Anywhere that houses children worries me.’
Ryan’s joke had been ignored. Ordinarily, O’Neil would’ve laughed. Still in the doghouse, he turned his attention to the case. If, as Vikki suggested, details of the school had been uploaded to HOLMES, Grace would already have begun the process of checking whether Ambassador Dean and Lord Trevathan had attended the same school as Michael Tierney, tracking down any connections between the three.
He half expected the phone to ring.
O’Neil had read his mind. ‘You need to call Grace. Trevathan was sixty, Ambassador Dean fifty-six, Tierney forty-seven. Maybe this boarding school in Yorkshire is something they have in common. Churning out the next generation of highfliers is what public schools do, isn’t it? I want information on any police investigations at that school going back sixty years, involving full-time boarders and day pupils, computerized or hard copy records. If there’s any suggestion of abuse or neglect, I want it found.’
Ryan checked his mobile phone. ‘She’s already on it, guv.’
‘Call her. I want full details on any local authority or church involvement: doctors, social workers and other professional visitors. Tell her to check out social media, online communities for former pupils, reunion websites – any bloody thing that might be relevant.’
‘That’s a hard ask.’
‘Frank can help. He’s good at digging the dirt.’
Before Ryan could respond – he ached for the opportunity to apologize properly for last night – someone knocked on the door.
Seeing his wounded expression, O’Neil backpedalled quickly. ‘Ryan, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. Don’t you worry about Grace, she can delegate most of it to satellite rooms.’
Another knock.
O’Neil raised her voice. ‘Come!’
A civilian entered with coffee on a tray. As he went to set it down, a plate of chocolate digestives slid towards O’Neil, tipped over the edge onto the table in front of her. She didn’t make a fuss, just swept the broken biscuits back onto the plate. Blushing, the lad made himself scarce. He shut the door behind him and they settled down to work.
While O’Neil made some calls, Ryan logged on to HOLMES. The digital file on Tierney was quite thin but being updated by indexers in real time. It was important to understand how the initial information had come in to Sussex Police, who to, and the exact timing. He’d been over this with O’Neil but wanted to reacquaint himself with it in case anything had been missed in the telling.
The DVD had arrived at HQ, addressed to Chief Constable Martin Richards, on Tuesday, 12 October. The time-stamp showed the video as having been recorded in the early hours of Sunday, 10 October. There were statements to be read, reports from the Crime Scene Manager and the Underwater Search Unit to digest. The fact that Tierney’s body had been found in the water off the Brighton coast made life difficult for everyone. Fire and water were the elements that best destroyed evidence, seawater more so than freshwater, as had been the case in Scotland.
Ryan clicked on photographs taken at the scene. No surprise there because he’d viewed the DVD, except the stills afforded him the time to pause a while and concentrate his mind on this offence instead of lumping it together with the rest. Murder scenes tended to merge that way when the circumstances and MO were similar, especially where there was no body to differentiate one from another.
The clock on the wall ticked loudly, competing with the silence.
No contest.
Guilt settled on Ryan like a heavy weight. He hated conflict within the ranks. To him, the enemy should be outside the unit, not within. It ate away at him that O’Neil hadn’t spoken a word since the coffee was delivered. He glanced across the desk. She was scribbling notes on a pad, only the top of her head visible. This time yesterday they were friends. He hoped they would be again.
There were a couple of knocks at the door.
O’Neil allowed Ryan to handle them: a short update from the Family Liaison Officer supporting Tierney’s long-term partner, Robert Parker; more information from Vikki on exactly what Parker had been told: that the victim’s death was not accidental and that a post-mortem would reveal more. Parker told detectives that Tierney had gone out to spend the evening of Saturday, 9 October with friends. Acting on that information, detectives had established that he was last seen walking away from the dinner party at around two in the morning. They were still investigating how he’d got from there to the abandoned coastguard lookout where he’d been stabbed to death – information they had kept from Parker.
Without lifting her head, O’Neil put a hand out. Picking up her mug, she took a sip of coffee, grimacing when she discovered it was stone cold. Ryan glanced at the clock. It had been almost two hours since refreshments had arrived. He was about to offer to fetch more when she looked up. His eyes flew back to the screen, a wide shot of the room in which Tierney had been killed.