The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(69)

She gave Parker a moment to compose himself before diving in again: ‘We have forensic evidence that Michael was abducted, taken to a place not far from here and stabbed to death, his body disposed of at sea some time afterwards. The person or persons responsible were forensically aware. Nothing we have found matches any information on our database.’

Ryan expected Parker to get upset, but he remained in control in the face of such distressing facts. O’Neil was handling him gently, drip-feeding information, not wanting to rush him, sensitive to the fact that he could crumble at any moment, terminate the interview and ask them to leave.

‘I understand that Robert went out alone the night he disappeared.’

‘Yes. We’d been invited to dinner at a friend’s house, but I didn’t feel up to it. I had a dreadful cold.’

‘What time did he leave here?’

‘Around eight, maybe a few minutes after. When he didn’t return home, I assumed he’d stayed over. We often do if it’s a late night. When I called him next morning, he didn’t pick up. I tried the house and was told he’d left in the early hours.’

‘Would he have walked or taken a taxi?’

‘Walked, it’s not that far.’

‘Could you write down the route?’

‘I have done. Detectives locally are tracking his movements.’

‘Good.’ O’Neil continued with her plan. ‘I’m going to give you a few names. I’d like you to tell me whether you’ve ever heard them before or if, to your knowledge, they meant anything to Michael.’ She began with Lord Trevathan’s given name: ‘Leonard Maxwell . . .’ Parker shook his head. ‘OK, does the name Trevathan mean anything to you?’ Same response. ‘Paul Dean?’

‘Are they all dead?’ He looked horrified.

‘Those are the names of two of the victims.’

‘Three names, two victims?’ Even in his present mental state, Parker had spotted the anomaly. ‘I assume one is an alias?’

‘Of sorts,’ she said. ‘You’ve heard of neither?’

Parker’s jaw tightened as he shook his head. ‘Are they gay men?’

It was an obvious deduction.

O’Neil was unable to give a definitive answer. Grace had checked the incidents of hate crimes on grounds of sexual orientation in the Brighton area. They were on the rise. Sussex Police were proactively encouraging victims to come forward and report such matters. It was the only way to get a clear picture of the problem and formulate an appropriate response.

‘Not to our knowledge,’ Ryan said. ‘You’ve had problems?’

A glare almost from Parker. ‘Not all people who live in Brighton tolerate queers.’

‘Anything specific?’ O’Neil asked.

‘No.’ A tear emerged from Parker’s left eye and ran down his cheek. He brushed it away. ‘It’s the first thing I thought of when Michael went missing. He never mentioned any of those names to me. Believe me, I’d have remembered.’ He hesitated. A guilty look. ‘I used to get insanely jealous if he talked about other men. Stupid I know, given the length of time we’ve been together. I very much regret that now. Michael used to get so angry with me over it.’

Ryan thought about his own twinge of jealousy on Friday night. Seeing O’Neil get into that Porsche had brought on a sudden ache to be the person driving her away. She’d fled the apartment so hastily that he’d assumed – wrongly, as it turned out – that the owner of the car was a lover. The emotion was irrational. He shook it off, his eyes locking on to a computer on a nearby desk.

‘Robert, is that your laptop or Michael’s?’

‘It’s Michael’s.’

‘Do you happen to know the password?’

‘Yes.’ Parker got up, wandered over to the desk to retrieve it. He opened it up and logged on, handing it to Ryan. ‘Keep it,’ he said. ‘I’ll write the password down.’

Ryan waited for him to do that before asking: ‘Did Michael have a mobile on him, do you know?’

‘Of course.’

‘It wasn’t recovered with his body.’

‘He was a busy man,’ Parker said. ‘He never went anywhere without it.’

‘I assumed that would be the case.’ If it was in the sea, Ryan had little hope that it would be found. Shame. It would contain a lot of personal stuff. ‘Was Michael in the habit of backing up his information?’

Parker pointed at the laptop. ‘It’ll all be there.’

O’Neil was relieved to hear it. ‘You may not be aware of everything in Michael’s life,’ she said, ‘but I’d like to talk to you about the school where he taught in Yorkshire. Were you together then?’

‘Yes.’

‘I believe he went there as a child when his father was working overseas.’

‘That’s right.’

‘A happy experience?’

‘I can’t imagine he’d have returned to work there otherwise.’

It was fair comment.

Ryan was in to the contacts on Michael’s laptop, business and personal, and was scanning the names. Unable to find references to any of the victims, he searched for Denmark, Kenmore, Newcastle and Tyneside generally. There were three hits in Copenhagen: a female banker, Agnete M?ller; someone listed only as Rolv Jakobsen; and P?l Friis, whose contact details included landline, mobile and a private address. The latter two were male, the Danish versions of Rolf and Paul.