Authors: Mari Hannah
‘Hey, you!’ she yelled. ‘Police!’
As she ran towards the car, the attacker looked up. He smiled when he saw the size of her – five-six, slightly built, no more than eight and a half stones wet through. He carried on manhandling Ryan. Before he reached his own vehicle – lights on, engine running – Roz charged at the big man. He glanced up. Lifting her arm, she squirted him full in the face. Incapacitated, he screamed in pain, dropping Ryan’s limp body as he tried to rub the chemical from his eyes, staggering to the passenger side of his vehicle. As she called the law, the waiting car sped away.
‘Ryan!’ she sobbed, dropping to her knees.
She’d seen enough serious assaults in her years in the force to know that he was in a very bad way. Blood seeped from a head wound, oozing through her fingers as she raised his head, trying to lift him up and get help, but it was useless. He was a dead weight.
‘Ryan, please wake up . . .’
The next thing Ryan knew, he was coming to in the Royal Victoria Infirmary with a banging headache and O’Neil standing over his bed, arms crossed, a puzzled – or was it worried – look on her face. It was odd, seeing her in jeans, a sloppy sweater. The scarf round her neck matched her eye colour exactly.
‘We’ve got to stop meeting like this,’ she said.
‘What?’ he joked. ‘I’m not looking my best?’
She smiled. ‘How you feeling?’
‘Like I’ve been run over by a juggernaut.’ Ryan put his left hand on his head, feeling the thick bandage wrapped around his skull, wincing at the lightest touch. ‘Just don’t play any heavy rock.’
‘What’s going on, Ryan?’ The smile had gone.
‘Maybe you should ask Maguire. I hope he’s got an alibi better than his sister. The guy hates my guts. The feeling is mutual, by the way.’
‘I’d never have guessed.’
A phone beeped.
‘It’s not mine.’ O’Neil’s eyes shifted to the small cabinet beside his bed. ‘Want me to get that?’ She looked on as he hauled himself up on his pillows with great effort. ‘Lie still, you’ve got seventeen stitches in there.’ She made a move for the drawer, took his mobile out and handed it to him. ‘At close to midnight, I’d say that’s probably a girlfriend.’
‘That would be hard. I don’t have one.’
‘Not the way DC Roz Cornell tells it.’
‘She’s having trouble letting go,’ Ryan said.
O’Neil took a seat. ‘She was the one saved your ass, by the way.’
‘I don’t remember a thing.’
‘You never made it to your car, apparently. The blow to the back of your head knocked you out cold. Roz pepper-sprayed the ape trying to bundle you into a four-by-four. Had it not been for her rapid action, I dread to think what might have happened. You be sure to thank her when you get out.’
Ryan couldn’t tell her that was why he was there in the first place. Roz must have watched him leave her flat. Intervened. Then, forced to explain why he was there, she’d made out that they were still an item when they really weren’t. Good ploy to keep Professional Standards from delving any deeper. The text message was from her: Let me know you’re okay.
The voice message was from an unregistered mobile. Newman’s.
It’s me. As soon as Hilary’s place got done, I installed a covert camera at yours. Your cottage has also been screwed. I’m en route to get rid of the evidence. Get the hell out of there! End of message.
45
With no car at his disposal, Ryan called a taxi, asking the driver to take him the short distance to Roz’s place, ringing ahead to let her know he was coming. Although he was taking a risk, he felt fairly sure that the offenders who’d assaulted him would be long gone in case the law was on the lookout for them. He’d been strongly advised by hospital staff not to discharge himself and instructed not to drive under any circumstances. Fortunately, his car keys were still in his jacket pocket. Memory loss was common after a whack on the head. That was his excuse anyhow.
The minute the taxi pulled up, Roz rushed outside and flung her arms around his neck.
‘OMG, look at you. Why aren’t you in hospital?’
‘It may not be safe there—’
‘What?’ Roz looked around her. ‘You think they’ll come back?’
‘They might.’ There was no sign of either police or offender, but he warned her to be on her guard and managed to persuade her to stay with a friend for a few days. ‘There are things you don’t know about the guys who assaulted me. I want to keep it that way. You can’t afford to stay here until they’re caught.’
‘I’m too bloody terrified to go to bed anyhow.’ Her wide eyes locked on to him. ‘I hate living alone. And before you say anything, I’m perfectly well aware that it’s my own doing.’
‘It never crossed my mind,’ he lied.
‘I’ve been such a fool.’
‘We don’t have time for that now, Roz. I’ve got to go.’
‘Go where?’
‘Trust me. It’s better you don’t know.’
‘Can I drive you?’
‘No, you’ve done more than enough. I’m grateful. I owe you one.’
Kissing her on the forehead, he left her on the doorstep, reminding her to pack a bag and bunk in with a mate until it was safe to go home. Similarly spooked by the events of the evening, he decided not to return to Fenham. He couldn’t risk leading anyone there. Instead, he drove to Alnwick, intending to spend what was left of the night at Caroline’s.
Fairly sure that Frank wouldn’t yet be asleep, Ryan called him from the car, thanking him for the tip-off, asking what damage had been done at his cottage. The news was mixed. The closed-circuit device Newman’s text alluded to had registered two men ransacking the place. Then came the bad news. Gloved up and balaclava-clad, there was no way he was able to identify them.
The real deal, these guys didn’t make mistakes.
Depressed by this revelation, but grateful to discover that his home was now secure, Ryan was about to ring off when he heard Caroline’s voice in the background. After the evening’s drama, it seemed that the whole wide world was still awake. He spoke briefly to her, reassuring her that he’d take it easy, then started up the engine and headed off into the night.
It was two in the morning when he finally pulled into the driveway, killed the engine, and stepped out of his four-by-four. Putting his key in the lock, he pushed the front door open, taking a moment to listen for intruders before turning on the light. Nothing unusual; only the letter box rattling behind him and a low howling sound, the result of a downdraught from open chimneys in the three-storey house.
He reached up and dropped the switch, squinting as the light came on. Making his way to the kitchen, he took a bottle of water from the fridge, then went straight upstairs and sat down on his bed. There were fresh blood spots on the outside of his leather jacket to accompany those on the inside, a weird and creepy connection to his father that made him feel like a child.
Be strong, son. Never let the bullies win.
This in response to the black eye he’d received at school from the son of a local thug, arrested several times by
his
old man. In bed that night, a young Ryan had asked his dad why he had to be a policeman. Why not get a proper job like other kids’ dads? His father had laughed, ruffled his hair, and told him that without people like him there would be anarchy. Seeing the puzzled response, his dad explained that coppers were needed to keep the peace.
‘And that’s what I need right now,’ his dad said, tucking him in. ‘It’s high time you were asleep.’
Exhausted, Ryan lay on the bed. Sadly, the world was full of aggressors who’d do anything to get their own way, their violence cloaked in the name of a good cause – religion, often as not.
Terrorists.
Was that what was worrying Jack? The reason for his silence would suggest so. What was it Jack’s solicitor had said?
Scores of innocent people would be affected if he went about it the wrong way . . .
Those words repeated over and over in Ryan’s head, but still he didn’t understand their significance. What people was Jack on about? And who in hell’s name would eliminate witnesses and destroy evidence? This was heavy shit. The most burning question of all: what had he done with his notebooks? If Jack had mailed them, to his wife, to Grace, to
him,
they would have arrived by now. Hilary had no idea where they might be and, according to Grace, there was no mention on HOLMES of their existence.
Ryan was beginning to think he’d never find them.
The weight of his old man’s eyes bore down on him from his photograph. Except, he never would be an old man. He’d remain forever young, strong and genial, a hero to a small boy who needed his wisdom more than ever now. Pulling the duvet over him, Ryan could almost feel him sitting there, willing him to fall sleep. Seconds later, he was gone.
46
He woke almost five hours later, soaked to the skin from having slept in his clothes. Hauling himself upright, he stripped off and walked naked to the bathroom. It was still dark outside. He hadn’t bothered checking his watch and had no conception of time. He just needed to be up and at it. He showered quickly, feeling instantly refreshed, but as he stepped from the shower, the stairs beyond the bathroom door creaked.
Pulling the towel around him, Ryan froze, dripping wet and defenceless, O’Neil’s soft-spoken voice arriving in his head, pleading with him not to leave the hospital. ‘You’re concussed. If you were to fall, get another bang on the head, it could have dire consequences. It may even be fatal. What do I have to do, tie you down?’
The stairs again.
Whoever was there was a third of the way up. As a teenager, sneaking in late at night, those creaky stairs had always caught him out. No matter where he stepped, they always gave him away and woke his mother, lying half-asleep in the room above. Someone unfamiliar with the house was trying to be quiet and failing miserably . . .
Closer now . . .
Clenching his fist, Ryan drew his arm back ready to defend himself against attack. His eyes flew to the window. Even if he’d been stupid enough to climb through in his condition, locks had been fitted limiting the sash travel, a security precaution. There was no way out. More noise on the stairs brought his focus to the door. Slowly, it began to swing open.
‘Jesus! You scared me!’ Caroline’s neighbour, Luke, was fifty-five years old. A keen rugby player, he had a lot more go in him on the field than men half his age, but little bottle off it. For a have-a-go hero, he was sheet-white and looking pretty relieved to find Ryan and not some thug burglar in a balaclava, tooled up, with a baseball bat in his hand. ‘I saw the light on,’ he said. ‘Caroline texted to say you were both away, I—’ With the sentence half-formed, he pointed at Ryan’s head. ‘What happened there?’
Relaxing his fist, Ryan let his arm drop by his side. ‘I wish I knew.’
‘You look like shit, man.’
‘You don’t look too good yourself. Maybe you should call the police next time you suspect a burglary.’
Luke jumped, startled by the sound of a mobile ringing in the bedroom behind him. Chuckling to himself, Ryan tightened his towel and moved past him to answer it, his boyhood neighbour tagging along behind. Caroline seemed delighted to hear the sound of his voice as he answered the phone.
‘I’ve not slept a wink,’ she said. ‘How about you?’
‘Like a log.’ Ryan pointed at the phone, miming
Caroline
to Luke.
‘No symptoms during the night that sent you hotfooting back to A & E?’
‘No.’
‘You sure?’
‘Bit of a headache is all.’ She knew him so well. He was fine, apart from a dose of intermittent nausea she didn’t need to know about. ‘Luke couldn’t sleep either. He’s here looking after me. We’re about to share a pot of coffee and talk about you while you’re not around to interrupt.’ It felt really good to hear her laugh.
Luke mimed a
thank you
for saving his blushes.
Ryan gave a nod, kept his focus on the phone. ‘You need anything while I’m here?’
‘Bob is almost out of dry food.’ Caroline’s guide dog was uppermost in her mind, her first priority, day and night. It was a mutual arrangement.
‘Last time I looked, the bin in the kitchen was running low,’ Ryan said. ‘I’ll pick some up in Alnwick before heading off.’
‘No need,’ she said. ‘There’s plenty in the utility room.’
‘You sure? I haven’t bought any in a long while.’
‘Just bring what’s in the plastic bin. We’ll shop for Bob later. I don’t want you lifting and carrying heavy loads in your condition. Besides, Jack brought twelve kilos last time he came round.’
That final short sentence hit Ryan like a brick.
Jack’s visit had been over a month ago.
‘Was he in the habit of bringing you dog food?’
Caroline was puzzled. ‘What?’
‘Had he ever done it before?’
‘No, it was the first time. Wouldn’t let me pay for it either. Told me to consider it a gift. You know how generous he was . . .’
A gift?
Of dog food?
Unlikely.
‘He said that you were tied up. That you’d asked him to drop it in.’
‘Oh yeah, I forgot.’
It was only a white one.
Caroline didn’t know about the notebooks so, unlike him, she had no reason to be suspicious. She was still talking, but he’d tuned her out. Jack had lied to her and Ryan had an idea why. Aware that he was in imminent danger, had he hidden a note where it would be found? Had he taped a clue to the underside of the storage bin, knowing
she
wouldn’t see it but Ryan would?
Ryan’s mind raced back in time. He’d been so preoccupied with sorting out their mother’s financial affairs and helping Caroline through her grief, it had been weeks since he’d cleaned and refilled it for her.
Pumped up by a sudden rush of adrenalin, he couldn’t wait to get rid of his uninvited guest.
‘Ryan, you still there?’
‘Yeah. Sorry. Anything else you need?’
‘No, that’s it. Say hi to Luke for me.’
‘Will do. I’ll be with you in an hour or so.’