The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(84)

‘I have to agree,’ Ryan said.

‘I do too,’ O’Neil said. ‘But let’s debate the victim-turned-abuser issue on our own time and stick to the facts. All we currently have is confirmation that Tierney once worked at a boarding school he attended as a child. Of itself, it means nothing, but Trevathan and Dean were also schooled away from home. All three men held high-end jobs – all with connections to the capital – which may or may not have put them in touch with one another. Given that they are all now dead, and their killer is telling us they all deserved to be so, we have to be open-minded to the possibility that they were sex offenders with no form.’

‘We’re going round in circles,’ Grace said. ‘You said there were no reports of abuse at the school.’

‘With respect,’ Ryan corrected her, ‘she actually said we can’t find any. Doesn’t mean there are none. Allegations of this nature might not have reached local authorities or the police. They could easily have been suppressed, or worse, destroyed to protect the school’s reputation. You know as well as I do that it’s happened before. If there was abuse and Spielberg knows about it . . .’ He let the implication hang in the air for a second. ‘She’s on a short fuse. We all know how long justice takes in this country. Maybe she and her accomplice aren’t prepared to wait that long—’

‘You’re suggesting she’s twatting them before they ever get to court?’ Grace palmed her brow. ‘Great! All we need is an avenging angel who’s off her trolley.’

‘No,’ Ryan said. ‘The woman I spoke to is perfectly sane. She knows exactly what she’s doing and why she’s doing it.’

Newman had been quiet for ages. ‘I agree with Ryan. She might not be an abuse victim herself. Perhaps she knows people who are. If she sees herself as some kind of protector, she could be doling out vigilante justice without the victims’ knowledge or consent – or even with it.’

‘I would too, if I could get away with it,’ Grace said. ‘Some of the sexual predators on the Yewtree list have the fucking OBE!’ Her eyes found Newman’s. ‘You and I gave the best part of our lives in the service of our country taking shite like that off the street. Our names were never on any New Year’s honours list. These people make me puke. I hope they rot in hell!’

Ryan cut in. ‘Trevathan was the Lord President of the Court of Sessions. His birth name was Leonard Maxwell. He changed it when he was appointed to the post. I wonder if any of the other victims did the same.’

‘No, I already checked,’ Grace said. ‘There are no aliases and no name changes.’

‘What’s bugging you, Ryan?’ O’Neil was the one asking.

‘This hypothesis works only to a point. Where does our missing female with the yellow satchel fit in?’

‘You think women can’t abuse?’ Grace scoffed. ‘Think again.’

‘Of course not. Watson called her a “lass” though, didn’t he? If these are historical abuse cases, our theory doesn’t stack up.’

‘We only have Watson’s word for it,’ Grace said. ‘What? I’m just saying!’

Ryan grinned at O’Neil. ‘My new bestie says he’s a bloody good witness.’

‘He’s talking about Cath Masters,’ O’Neil explained. ‘Cheeky bugger’s already tried to poach him.’

‘I hope you told her “hands off”,’ Grace said.

‘I didn’t, but I’m hoping to convince him to stay.’

Grace looked at Ryan. ‘I wasn’t aware you knew Cath.’

‘I didn’t, until she interviewed Watson for us. If she’s inclined to believe him, then so am I. I don’t see her as a pushover.’ He laughed. ‘No pun intended.’ When Grace got up and walked away with no explanation, his jaw dropped. ‘What the hell did I say?’

Seconds later she re-entered from the hallway with her coat on.

O’Neil was astounded. ‘Grace? Where on earth do you think you’re going? We’re in the middle of a briefing.’

‘Nowhere. And I shouldn’t have to do this to a team so experienced—’

‘Do what?’ Ryan asked.

‘Age is relative to the person giving the description. I don’t deny that the yellow satchel is significant. Of course it is. Designer kit might indicate wealth. It might even point to a woman of prominence or, on the other end of the spectrum, a shoplifter. It certainly doesn’t mean she’s young. In fact, I’ll stick my neck out here and say Watson knows shit! Bear with me . . .’ Slinging her shoulder bag over her head – left shoulder to right thigh – Grace laid face down on the floor. She was wearing jeans, high-heeled boots and a three-quarter-length red coat. She covered her face with her hair. Unit members had already worked out what she was doing. It was quite a demonstration. Caroline’s guide dog laid down beside her, snuggled into her body and licked her face as he’d been trained to do.

Ryan and O’Neil roared with laughter.

Even Newman was amused. ‘Suddenly I’m married to a thirty-year-old,’ he said.

‘Lucky you!’ Ryan’s focus was still on the floor. ‘You’re such a drama queen, Grace. Get up!’