DCI Ryan 06 Cragside Read online

  Her knees buckled as she reached the entrance to the long, gracefully arched bridge and she groped for the handrail to prevent a fall, but it was inevitable.

  She hit the ground hard, grazing the palms of her hands and twisting her ankle with a painful crunch.

  Alice cried out and tried to drag herself back up, but the delay cost her precious seconds she couldn’t afford.

  A pair of strong hands hauled her upward and she opened her mouth to scream. The sound echoed around the trees, penetrating the stormy sky until a hard hand clamped over her mouth to silence her.

  “Shut up,” they ground out, wrestling with her as she fought to break free. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  The plastic bag swayed with the movement of their bodies as they grappled on the narrow bridge and Alice kicked out her legs, clawing at the hand blocking her nose and mouth. She tried to bite at the skin but the pressure was so tight she could hardly move her jaw.

  She couldn’t breathe and her nostrils flared as she sucked thin streams of air through her nose.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” they repeated, but a knee drove into Alice’s back so that her spine arched forward and she was pushed toward the edge of the railing. She could hear their harsh breathing in her ear, could feel their spittle against her skin, and her mind began to shut down. In a final surge, she reared up and twisted against the hands which held her like iron rods but her body was exhausted and succumbing to shock.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t have any other choice.”

  Alice’s heart leapt into her throat and then she found she was floating, falling, suspended in mid-air for endless seconds before the ground rose up to meet her in the valley far below.

  Through the darkness, the lone figure on the bridge heard the distant sound of heavy impact and shuddered.

  Pity.

  Looking up at the outline of the house they saw lights glimmering in its uppermost windows and hoped fortune had been on their side. The rain would wash away their footprints. What else was there for the police to find?

  Only then did they realise Alice had taken the plastic bag with her and it lay scattered in the depths of the valley beside the broken shell of what had once been a person.

  * * *

  Ryan ran out into the night and was immediately bathed in a shower of rain.

  “Which way?” Anna joined him, blinking through the heavy fall of water.

  “Let’s take the path,” he called to her above the rainfall and pointed toward their usual walkway through the trees.

  They jogged across the saturated ground, their boots sinking into thick mud as they made their way through the gathering darkness. The trees provided some shelter, allowing them to take stock of their surroundings until they reached the iron bridge connecting the two sides of the valley. The outline of the house could be seen on the other side, glorious in all weather and impervious to the petty follies of mortal man.

  “I can’t see anyone,” Anna said, shivering slightly as the rain turned colder and night descended. “Are you sure you heard something?”

  Ryan’s hair was matted to his head and gleamed black, even in the half-light of the solar-powered lamps lining the bridge at their feet. To either side, there was a sheer drop into the gorge beneath which was, by now, cloaked in darkness.

  He lifted his hands in mute appeal but there was nothing to find and nobody to save.

  “Maybe I was wrong,” he said. “Perhaps it was the thunder, after all.”

  “Let’s check up at the house,” she suggested. Another person might have complained about the conditions and gone home at the earliest opportunity, but not Anna.

  They climbed the stone steps that Alice had run down only minutes before, until they connected with the driveway and the main entrance to the house. They didn’t see the plain black leather bag hidden among the shrubs, nor the tail lights of the car as it rounded the furthermost edge of the driveway and sped out into the night.

  CHAPTER 13

  Monday 15th August

  Sleep eluded Ryan for most of the night.

  Dark dreams filled with faces from the past had chased sleep away until, finally, he gave up altogether and left Anna to slumber peacefully. The storm had died sometime during the early hours, leaving a blank canvas for the new day. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky when Ryan stepped out onto the patio with a mug of steaming coffee and waited for the sun to rise.

  If he had been the sort of person to find celestial meaning in the ordinary world, Ryan might have said it was a spiritual experience to stand quietly and watch Nature in all her illustrious glory. The grass was coated with a layer of fresh dew and the trees were a patchwork of green and brown. The scent of lavender and magnolias filled the morning air and he breathed deeply, finding peace in the solitude.

  Slowly, the sky began to change before his eyes, melting from darkest midnight to cardinal blue, then into a sweeping lilac as the sun’s rays spread over the horizon.

  The birds awakened and their song became a cacophony, their cries shrieking through his quiet repose and reminding him of the voice he had heard the night before, raised in terror. He’d asked himself time and again whether he’d misheard or whether it could have been the storm that had let out that piercing, animalistic cry, but he had a nagging feeling it had been human.

  In fact, he was sure of it.

  The weather conditions had prevented a search last night and it had taken several irate attempts to ring the old-fashioned brass bell before the doors to the main house had opened. They’d been informed by Cragside’s short-tempered mistress that everyone had returned home for the evening and they might think of doing the same themselves. It seemed Cassandra Gilbert had now caught whatever virus her husband had recently suffered and wasn’t best pleased to have been woken up by her cottage tenants, especially when there appeared to be no emergency to warrant it.

  But Ryan felt that itch again, the irrepressible feeling that something was very badly wrong.

  He took a long gulp of coffee and looked up at the sky one last time before resigning himself to whatever the day might bring.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Charlotte Shapiro drove the short distance from her house in Rothbury toward Cragside. She sang along to Smooth Hits at the top of her voice, safe in the knowledge that she could not be overheard from the confines of her snazzy little Fiat. As head gardener, she had access to several more practical vehicles for use around the estate but she much preferred her nippy little Italian car. The north of England might not share the same climate as those balmy Mediterranean clifftops but there was precious little she found more satisfying than pootling around the countryside with the sunroof down and the wind rushing through her short, choppy blonde hair. As Sting began to sing about fields of gold, Charlotte whizzed through one of the service gates to the estate and followed the road until she reached the staff car park, where she selected her usual parking space and stepped out into the early morning sunshine. It was barely six-thirty but she enjoyed this part of the day, puttering around the estate attending to business before the rest of the staff and the family awakened. She could almost pretend she had the place to herself.

  She zipped up a lightweight, forest green gilet emblazoned with ‘CHARLIE’ in gold embroidery on the breast pocket and slid a pair of sunglasses onto her nose. Her eyes fell on the battered little silver Clio parked a few spaces further along and she frowned, remembering she was not alone after all.

  * * *

  Anna opened her eyes to find Ryan buttoning a crisp white shirt. He was wearing smart navy suit trousers and the matching blazer hung on the back of a chair. “What time is it?”

  “Seven o’clock,” he replied, leaning across to plant a kiss on her cheek. “You should try to sleep a bit longer.”

  Anna sat up and watched him knot his tie with efficiency. Ryan never usually bothered to wear a suit to the office, preferring casual dress wherever possible.

  “Where are you going?
You look as if you’re heading to a job interview,” she joked and his fingers paused in their action.

  He met her eyes through the bedroom mirror.

  “I am—in a manner of speaking.”

  “What do you mean? This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

  Ryan reached across for his cufflinks and began looping them through the little holes at his sleeves.

  “It’s the superintendent job,” he explained. “I’ve been thinking, perhaps it might not be such a bad idea, after all.”

  Anna almost laughed.

  “What? You told me categorically that you would rather spend your life watching paint dry.”

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  Anna’s brows drew together at the sharp tone of his voice.

  “What’s brought this about?”

  “Is there anything wrong with taking the next step on the career ladder?”

  He snatched up his suit blazer and tugged it on with more haste than finesse.

  “Well, of course, if you really want the job, then you should go for it,” Anna said, not wishing to hold him back.

  Ryan opened his mouth, wanting so desperately to tell her about Jennifer Lucas. He wanted to tell her all the reasons why he didn’t want that woman’s poison to infect their lives and how he would do anything—even take the job as DCS—to prevent her coming close.

  “I love you,” was all he said.

  * * *

  Forty minutes later, Ryan entered the clinical-looking foyer of the new and improved CID Headquarters in an area of North Tyneside known as Wallsend. Lying three miles east of Newcastle city centre, its name held a literal meaning, being situated at the eastern end of Hadrian’s Wall not far from the North Sea. The area was famous for its long history of shipbuilding, its yards having raised the RMS Mauretania to the water among many others and it had an even longer history of coal mining before that. Nowadays, it was better known for its sprawling retail park.

  Ryan raised a hand to greet the desk sergeant and then headed toward the secure double doors that would lead him to the main office suite. The rows of visitors’ chairs were already filled with people of varying ages, gender and race which served to remind him that crime did not discriminate and nor did it stick to a nine to five schedule, more’s the pity.

  Ryan ignored the lift and took the stairs to the third floor which housed the command suite. He knew that the Chief Constable was often one of the first to arrive and he was counting on today being one of those occasions.

  He made his way down a long corridor covered in ugly grey carpet tiles, which was a small improvement on the mud brown they had enjoyed in their previous building. Posters advertising everything from victim support groups to pub quiz nights had been tacked up on the wall and he wondered how long it would take for them to be defaced.

  Ryan spotted something from the corner of his eye and ground to a halt before turning back to get a better look. He peered at an A4-sized colour photograph and shook his head in amused dismay.

  It was a glossy poster of him, dressed head-to-toe in Victorian fancy dress, taken covertly outside the house at Cragside. Someone with a knack for graphic design had added the text: “HAVE YOU SEEN THIS MAN?”

  “Phillips,” he muttered, with a quirk of his lips.

  Ryan was about to take it down, then thought better of it. Life was too short not to have a sense of humour and, in their line of work, they could do with all the laughs they could get.

  * * *

  Charlotte made her way from the staff car park toward Debdon Burn, the narrow river meandering its way through the fold of the valley. She stopped now and then to test the bark of a tree or to feel the soil between her fingers, assessing its texture and colour. She made a mental note of fallen trees and dangerous fungus or weeds that might damage existing ecosystems until she found herself near the bottom of the valley. Towering above her, the house stood atop its mighty crag. Sunlight bounced off its windows so that it seemed to wink at her like a fellow conspirator, watching her every move. The burn trickled between the rocks and made its journey through the valley as it had done for over a hundred years and, looking at the Arcadian scene, it was hard to believe the picture was almost entirely man-made or that the forest had not existed before one visionary person had decided to revolutionise the drab landscape.

  It took a person of vision to maintain it, too.

  Charlotte reached the burn and hopped across a couple of stepping stones before dropping onto her haunches beside the shallows. She ran her fingers through the tinkling water and raised her face to the sun, dabbing some of the cool water on the back of her neck. She cupped more in her hands to drink.

  She wiped her wet hands on the back of her khaki trousers and, as she stood up, her eye caught something glinting in the water further downstream. Even with sunglasses, it was difficult to see past the glare of the sun that turned the little burn into a river of molten silver.

  Charlotte shielded her eyes with the back of her hand, then hopped onto the next rocky stepping stone and rolled up her sleeve. She reached down into the water and fished out a silver cartridge pen. She felt its weight and rolled it between her fingers for a moment, wondering what to do with it.

  She slipped it into her pocket and stood up again, squinting down at the water to see if there was more to find.

  There was.

  Charlotte was so focused on the water that she smelled the body long before she saw it. The stench of rotting flesh wasn’t new to her; working as head gardener on an estate of that size entailed a degree of familiarity with the natural cycle of life and death, including regular discoveries of woodland animals or sheep from a neighbouring farm.

  But nothing could have prepared her for what she found.

  The mangled body of what had once been a young woman lay half-in, half-out of the burn, its head submerged beneath the rushing water and surrounded by long dark hair, tangled and matted with leaves. The limbs and torso lay like a ragdoll, torn apart by scavengers throughout the night.

  * * *

  Ryan stopped outside a freshly-painted door bearing a brass plaque that informed him he had reached the domain of the Chief Constable. He rapped a knuckle against it and didn’t wait for a response before walking straight in. The speech he’d rehearsed died immediately in his throat.

  “Ryan?”

  Sandra Morrison looked up in surprise, pausing in the act of pouring fresh coffee into the pretty china cups she’d bought to make her new office feel homely.

  “Ma’am. I’m sorry, I didn’t think to make an appointment.”

  “On the contrary, this is very fortuitous,” Morrison beamed at him and waved him inside. “I’m sure I don’t need to introduce you to our new superintendent?”

  Ryan’s stomach plummeted as he flicked his eyes to the woman seated in one of the tub chairs arranged in front of Morrison’s desk.

  “DCI Lucas.”

  His voice was entirely devoid of emotion, his eyes completely shuttered.

  Jennifer Lucas was in her late-forties with dark, carefully highlighted hair styled into a sleek bob around a striking face dominated by a pair of big, baby-blue eyes. It had been nearly ten years since he’d last seen her but he was forced to admit she hadn’t changed much.

  It was not intended as a compliment.

  “Hello, Ryan.” She stood up and extended a manicured hand. “I’m so pleased to see you again.”

  He made no move to take it until he became aware of Morrison watching him with disapproval. Only then did he offer the briefest of handshakes before turning back to his Chief Constable.

  “Ma’am, excuse me, but I understood that no final decision had been made regarding the superintendent position?”

  Morrison gave him a look that told him the question was both unwarranted and rude.

  “The committee discussed it informally over the weekend and DCI Lucas kindly agreed to meet me first thing this morning. After a detailed discussion, I’m very satisfied tha
t she will make an admirable superintendent for the criminal investigation department. But I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of her credentials.”

  “Ryan knows me well enough,” Lucas put in, with a small smile.

  Her voice remained entirely professional but Ryan was aware of the double entendre and refused to be party to it.

  “Ma’am, I feel I should make you aware that DCI Lucas and I once had a personal relationship—”

  But Morrison waved it away with a hint of irritation.

  “DCI Lucas has already discussed the circumstances with me and I understand that your relationship ended nearly ten years ago. Is that correct?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. That much was true.

  “Then, I’m surprised you feel it necessary to raise it in a professional context,” she snapped. “Your private life is no concern of mine and I’m sure DCI Lucas finds this all very embarrassing.”

  “Please, don’t worry on my account,” she murmured, keeping her back to Morrison. “I’m sure Ryan will agree that nothing should be allowed to influence our relationship and the important work we have ahead of us.”

  Morrison nodded her agreement and found herself disappointed by Ryan’s behaviour. As far as she could gather, the two had enjoyed a brief fling that had ended amicably enough, following which Ryan had transferred north. She saw no reason for there to be bad blood between them and, frankly, it was inconvenient. CID had been crying out for a new superintendent ever since the Gregson debacle and she couldn’t continue to oversee CID as well as fulfil her wider duties as Chief Constable. It was past time they had a new leader and Lucas seemed capable and firm, both of which were qualities required of anyone hoping to manage Ryan and his staff.

  “DCI Lucas will be taking up her new position here from the end of next month,” Morrison made a point of saying. “Just after you return from your honeymoon.”

  Something flickered in Lucas’s eyes.