The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(10)
House-to-house enquiries were immediately initiated and POLSA search teams scoured the area. Search parameters included parts of the Mains of Taymouth country estate and all areas bordering the river. Lord Trevathan’s Volvo estate was recovered from The Courtyard Brasserie & Bar car park on the A827 road leading into Kenmore, proof that he made it back to Scotland.
His Lordship is well known in the area. I am led to believe that he often parked at The Courtyard for convenience when taking his dog for a walk. This is a busy car park at any time of year, but no one noticed the vehicle tucked away at the rear.
Extensive enquiries have so far failed to locate His Lordship or his dog. According to the clerk at his chambers, the two are inseparable, information that has been corroborated by the Lord President himself.
I will keep you updated as and when there are further developments. Please be assured that our investigations are ongoing.
Yours sincerely,
James Price
Chief Constable
OFFICIAL-SENSITIVE
Attached to the back of the report were stills of the Kenmore crime scene and a comprehensive account of the Police Scotland investigation. From what Ryan could see, they had followed protocol and, on the face on it, done a thorough job.
Ryan asked: ‘Did Ford send the DVD footage?’ O’Neil shook her head, a black look Ryan knew wasn’t meant for him. ‘Take no notice, Eloise. He’s making us sweat.’
‘He’s making me puke.’
‘Either way, he’s picked the wrong fight.’
O’Neil shot him her best smile.
Ryan returned to the crime scene photos. The amount of blood at the scene brought to mind the North Shields lock-up. Lifting his head, he said, ‘I wonder what kind of shoes His Lordship wears.’
5
They spent the rest of the afternoon poring over the Kenmore report, drawing up a list of actions, familiarizing themselves with the first offence chronologically, trying not to dwell on, or even admit, that they had been blindsided by a Whitehall bureaucrat hell-bent on derailing their investigation. O’Neil quizzed Munro. Voice-recognition experts had already confirmed a link between the Kenmore and Brighton DVDs. They bore the same woman’s voice. It was only a matter of time before North Shields was added to that list.
They could bet on it.
They had one body to examine: Lord Trevathan. On top of that, they had three crime scenes and no clue as to the identity of other victims, but now they were in possession of the whole picture, rather than a partial, and as lead investigators for a series of offences, five hundred miles apart, the Northumbria detectives were hoping to make progress. The only downside was not knowing the nature of the trial the Scottish judge was due to hear in Edinburgh – a priority for them now.
Ryan glanced at O’Neil. The increasing gravity of the case appeared to be getting to her. She was nowhere near as cool as the mint green shirt she was wearing. A contrasting sweater lay draped across her lap.
Drawing his eyes away, Ryan scanned the top-floor apartment. It was brand spanking new, a residential conversion, rather than a traditional office. Unusual because, for all intents and purposes, it was someone’s home, not an elite unit’s place of work. The first time they walked in there to try it for size he knew that his career move was a good one. It had been hard to go back to the open-plan office at HQ occupied by Special Branch and work his notice.
‘What’s up?’ Eloise was staring at him intently.
He waved a hand, indicating their surroundings.
‘This don’t come cheap,’ he said.
‘We got lucky.’
‘That’s crap and you know it.’ His eyes were smiling. ‘You got friends in high places I don’t know about?’
‘Hardly!’ She frowned. ‘Were you dozing off when I spoke to Ford?’
He threw down a challenge. ‘I was just wondering . . . why you? Why here?’
‘Why me?’ She bristled. ‘You don’t think I’m up to the job? Join the queue. The grey man obviously agrees with you.’
‘That’s not what I said.’ He eyeballed her. ‘It’s quite a leap from your former role, that’s all.’
‘I was headhunted, Ryan, same as you.’
‘I’m not getting at you, I just like to know where I stand.’
Much as the idea of being her wing-man thrilled him, his bullshit detector was working overtime. O’Neil should be buzzing and yet since their return from HQ, she’d seemed out of sorts. He figured she was holding out on him and he didn’t like it. She demanded transparency. Well, so did he. But he could see that she was in no mood for his questions.
He let it drop.
‘Ignore me, I reckon I could slum it here for a while.’ He was kidding. The apartment was equipped with everything they could possibly need, professionally and personally – apart from alcohol – including a link to HOLMES, the computer system on which all major investigations were run.
He might even get to use it officially this time.
Ryan was peckish, which was unfortunate because neither he nor O’Neil had had the foresight to stock the fridge with even the basic requirements to satisfy his hunger. He suggested they walk along the Quayside to the Pitcher and Piano. Situated on the banks of the Tyne, the pub was three minutes from their smart new base, an ideal spot in which to review the day’s events, decide on a strategy for their case and grab a bite to eat. With any luck it might snap O’Neil out of the mood she was in.