The Death Messenger (Matthew Ryan Book 2)(9)
‘The victim or the content?’
‘Both.’ He tapped the letter. ‘So McEwan requests a special ops unit on the fourteenth of October. Wasn’t that about the time you got the call offering you this job?’
‘It was indeed.’ She looked like she was ready to blow a gasket.
‘So the unit is set up, they take us on, but then someone decides to withhold intelligence from the very people they appoint to investigate? Why? It makes no sense—’
‘Unless there’s another unit like ours operating in Scotland. They’re a separate entity altogether.’
‘Yeah, but they’re exceptionally cooperative. I can’t see them refusing to hand it over. If that were the case, wouldn’t Ford have said so, if only to pass the buck? It doesn’t hold true anyway, not if they’re sharing this with us now. No, the grey man is the sticking point, not them, Eloise.’ Ryan stuck his tongue in his cheek, mentally joining the dots. ‘The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that this has MI5 or even 6 written all over it. With such a high-profile victim they would get the call initially. They go in, get nowhere. Then the Brighton DVD arrives and they still can’t make any headway. By this time the case is getting too hot to handle, so they dump it on you and me. If we succeed where they failed, Ford will be stuck with us. If we screw up because we only have part of the picture, it’s curtains for us and he gets to pick himself a new team. Job done.’
‘That’s not an ending I can live with, Ryan.’
‘Nor me. Let’s show the bastard what for.’
O’Neil got up and walked away. He watched her go into the kitchen and fill the kettle, then turned his attention back to the letter. There was a clatter as a heavy mug dropped out of her hand, smashed off the kitchen bench and onto the floor.
She swore under her breath.
When Ryan looked up she was on all fours picking up the fragments. ‘You OK?’
She nodded, her back to him, shoulders tense. Ryan went back to the letter. She had two mugs of steaming liquid in her hands when she returned. He took one from her, failing to mention that he needed something stronger than a coffee hit. If he was reading her right, so did she.
‘What do we know about the trial Trevathan was working on?’
‘Nothing.’ She sat down. ‘Munro said his hands were tied in that respect.’
‘Let me guess. It’s not relevant to our enquiry.’
‘Right on the money.’
‘So we’re supposed to investigate blindfold?’
‘Drop it, Ryan.’
He couldn’t. ‘Whatever happened to transparency? We’re going to need that information—’
‘And we’ll get it . . . somehow.’
He climbed down, mulling over the problem. This was big – this was very big – and he was beginning to understand why O’Neil was under so much pressure. His silence didn’t last. ‘We need to get hold of that information. I can’t work in the dark, Eloise.’
‘It’s never stopped you before.’
She was right, it hadn’t, and it wouldn’t now. Ryan had pulled a few strokes in the past. Stuff he wasn’t proud of. Things he’d go to his grave without sharing. Accessing the force’s HOLMES database via the back door was one example. It would end his career if it ever got out. O’Neil had discovered his use of an old warrant card to gain unauthorized entry while he was officially suspended. Working in Professional Standards at the time, she could have – should have – busted him. She’d made an exception. That was all the motivation he needed to repay her with a positive result.
One thing was clear. If they put a foot wrong, this investigation could see them both back in uniform. Ryan took a sip of coffee, meeting her gaze over the rim of his cup. She pointed to the papers in his hand, inviting him to read on. He picked up the next sheet: same classification, different author – equally prominent.
OFFICIAL-SENSITIVE
MEMORANDUM FOR: Secretary of State for Scotland FROM: Chief Constable – Police Scotland
DATE: Friday, 18 October 2013
Dear Sir
Acting on information received from the Lord President of the Court of Session, detectives entered the home of his deputy, The Lord Justice Clerk, Leonard Maxwell, Lord Trevathan. The property was locked and secure. There were no signs of a break-in and no evidence to suggest that a struggle had taken place inside.
The Judge’s residence had been made ready for His Lordship’s return by his housekeeper, Mrs Margaret Forbes, who lives on his estate in a cottage in the grounds. She was out when officers arrived, but returned soon after.
Mrs Forbes was away on holiday from 4–11 October. She was therefore unaware that His Lordship had left Cornwall early. She was expecting him to return on the evening of the twelfth and had prepared a light supper for him as instructed. When he failed to materialize she assumed that either he’d decided to break his journey at some point along the way, or that his upcoming trial had been delayed and he’d simply extended his leave for a few days without telling her. This had happened before. She thought nothing of it and didn’t raise the alarm.
Scene of crime officers collected DNA for comparison with blood taken from Maxwell’s Temple. The samples were processed in an expeditious manner and Forensic Services have confirmed that the blood was His Lordship’s.