The Shrine: A DCI Ryan Mystery (The DCI Ryan Mysteries Book 16)

by LJ Ross

  It was an unsettling thought.

  “Major Crimes in Durham are stretched to breaking point,” Morrison continued. “Watchman cleaned out half of their senior staff, and they haven’t had time to recruit anybody to replace them. Tebbutt would have been the natural choice to lead on the terror incident at the cathedral.”

  “Who’s stepped in?”

  “Temporarily, her sergeant—Ben Carter. A safe pair of hands, so I’m told.”

  Ryan nodded, understanding the task which lay ahead. Only a detective of sufficient rank and independence could be entrusted to investigate Tebbutt’s death, which ruled out Sergeant Carter or anybody else in Durham CID.

  “You need me to take over,” he surmised.

  Morrison nodded.

  “This couldn’t have come at a worse moment,” she said. “Tebbutt was the linchpin holding things together in the Durham office.”

  “Joan was one of our own,” Ryan said quietly. “She deserves the best.”

  Morrison smiled for the first time.

  “That’s why you’re sitting here now,” she said. “Fact is, Ryan, you’re just about the only person around these parts who’s had the misfortune to have seen it all before.”

  “Not quite the only person.”

  Ryan thought of his team of detectives, who’d seen plenty in their time and could be trusted in any emergency.

  “Take whoever you need,” she said. “Leave us with a skeleton staff here—we can manage, in the meantime.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  No more words were necessary and Ryan rose to his feet, preparing to leave.

  “Tebbutt was a good detective,” Morrison said, softly. “She didn’t deserve to die that way.”

  “Nobody does,” he replied. “When I find whoever did this, there’ll be a reckoning.”

  There was ice in his voice but there was also conviction, and Morrison released the long breath she’d been holding since her telephone had rung twenty minutes before. If anyone could clean up this almighty mess, he could.

  “Be careful,” she said.

  He gave a brief nod, and then was gone.

  * * *

  The moment Ryan stepped back into the wide, functional corridor outside Morrison’s office, he retrieved the mobile phone from his pocket. Ordering himself to remain calm, he fumbled with the speed dial until Anna’s number began to ring.

  No answer.

  He pressed redial, uncaring of who was forced to step around him as he lingered in the passageway.

  “Come on,” he muttered. “Pick up.”

  But there was still no answer.

  CHAPTER 3

  In an open-plan office on the floor below, Detective Sergeant Frank Phillips leaned back in his chair, sank his teeth into a fresh ham-and-pease-pudding stottie, and let out a purring sound of satisfaction. A man of his years and experience could boast of having tried most things, but few could compare with the untold joy of a freshly baked roll on a sunny afternoon.

  “That’s better than sex,” he mumbled.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Detective Inspector Denise MacKenzie—his wife and, incidentally, his senior in the police hierarchy—cocked her head around the side of her computer monitor and gave him the Death Stare, causing him to choke on the remaining crumbs.

  “I didn’t mean…” He coughed loudly, and rapped a fist against his chest. “It was just a figure of speech—”

  “If I thought for one minute that our love life was being compared with a ham sandwich, so help me, Frank Phillips—”

  He considered the merits of entering into a debate about why a stottie was far superior to the average ham sandwich, then thought better of it.

  “Nothing in the world can compare with you, my love,” he said, with a toothy smile.

  MacKenzie let out a disbelieving snort, but any further comment was forestalled by the persistent ringing of Ryan’s desk phone.

  Phillips leaned over to snatch it up.

  “Major Crimes,” he said, breezily. “No, sorry, he’s not at his desk at the moment. This is DS Phillips, if you want to leave a message—”

  Within seconds, his tone changed.

  “You’re sure? Right…yes, alright, I’ll let him know. We’ll get there as quickly as we can.”

  Phillips replaced the receiver.

  “Frank? What’s the matter?”

  But there was no time to answer before Ryan entered the room, long legs eating up the floor as he made directly for his coat and car keys. Phillips swallowed the tight ball of emotion lodged in his throat, and came to his feet.

  “Ryan—” he began.

  “Not now,” his friend muttered. “I need to get hold of Anna—there’s been a terror attack in Durham, and she’s not answering her phone—”

  Phillips closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again.

  “Aye, lad, I know.”

  Ryan turned slowly to look at him.

  “How…how do you know, Frank?”

  Phillips glanced around the room at their colleagues, who were doing an admirable job of staring at their computer screens in an attempt to give them some privacy.

  “Howay, let’s step outside—”

  “What is it, Frank? What’s happened?”

  Ryan’s voice trembled, but he preferred to hear the truth, no matter how ugly, nor how hard.

  Phillips gave it to him.

  “It’s Anna,” he said. “They found her inside the cathedral…she’s badly hurt, son.”

  All colour drained from Ryan’s face. He felt numb, weightless, and black spots began to dance in front of his eyes.

  “Is she still alive?” he whispered.

  Phillips nodded.

  “She was taken to Durham University Hospital, but they’re transferring her to the Intensive Care Unit at the RVI,” he said, referring to the larger hospital in Newcastle.

  “The baby,” Ryan said, almost inaudibly. “Is it…Frank—?”

  His eyes were no longer a clear grey, but dark, swirling pools of misery in his ashen face.

  “I don’t know,” Phillips said, honestly.

  There was a stillness in the room, as though time had been suspended. The men and women of the Major Crimes Unit watched with compassion as their leader drew himself up to his full height, and tried to arrange his features into a professional mask.

  “Yates, Lowerson? Report to the Chief Constable,” Ryan said, tremulously. “There’s been a major incident, and you’re needed on duty. Morrison will bring you up to speed.”

  They looked between themselves, then nodded dumbly.

  “The rest of you—” he began, and then trailed off, not quite able to find the words.

  MacKenzie stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on Ryan’s back, feeling the muscles jump beneath her touch.

  “We’ll be with you,” she said. “Whatever happens, we’ll be right there beside you.”

  * * *

  MacKenzie drove the short distance from Police Headquarters to the Royal Victoria Infirmary. Her hands were capable and confident on the wheel and, when they encountered light traffic on the main road leading into the city centre, she didn’t hesitate to activate the siren on her car, knowing there wouldn’t be a police officer in the constabulary who’d dare to argue that theirs wasn’t an emergency.

  Ryan said not a word throughout the journey, turning his face away to stare unseeingly out of the passenger window. But, as they entered the hospital car park, he spoke again.

  “What will I do, if I lose her?”

  MacKenzie turned off the engine, wishing she knew what to say and how to say it. Though she had spoken to the victims of crime and their families many times before, there was no manual she could turn to when the pain was so close to home. Ryan and Anna were her closest friends and the possibility of losing one, or both of them, was unimaginable.

  “Don’t think like that,” she said, firmly. “Anna is still alive and that’s all that matters. Isn’t tha
t right, Frank?”

  “Aye, that’s right,” Phillips said, leaning forward to put a steadying hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “Keep the faith, lad.”

  Ryan almost laughed at the choice of words. He’d never believed in a higher power; not when his sister was murdered, nor any time he’d looked upon the wasted bodies of the dead.

  But now…

  Now, he’d worship the moon and the stars, if only they’d let Anna stay with him a little longer.

  * * *

  Ryan’s footsteps echoed around the long corridors of the Royal Victoria Infirmary like a death knell. He knew the way to the Critical Care Unit on Ward 18—he’d walked this road many times before, but never as a husband or an expectant father. He was flanked on either side by Phillips and MacKenzie and, though his mind did not recognise it at the time, he would later know that their silent presence was part of the reason he was able to put one foot in front of the other.

  They were buzzed inside by one of the Ward Managers, who directed them into a private consulting room. It was a small, windowless space painted in a drab shade of off-white, but somebody had obviously tried to cheer it up with the addition of some generic art prints on the walls and a large, artificial plant. Four sagging chairs had been arranged around a central coffee table, in the middle of which was an empty box of tissues and several stacks of leaflets and business cards ranging from grief counselling to physiotherapy.

  To their eyes, it looked exactly like the family room back at Police Headquarters, a space only ever used to convey bad news. Ryan felt a surge of irrational anger, and his hands curled into fists by his sides.

  “Why have they brought me in here?” he snarled, at nobody in particular. “I want to see Anna—”

  “Mr Ryan?”

  The door opened to admit one of the consultant neurologists, who wore a neutral, unreadable expression and a badge which read, ‘MR RICHARD BARKER’.

  Ryan stepped forward.

  “Yes. Yes, I’m here for my wife, Anna—”

  “I’m Mr Barker,” the consultant said. “Please, take a seat.”

  He gestured to one of the tired looking chairs, which Ryan ignored.

  “How is she?”

  There were two types of person, Barker thought. Those who needed a soft approach, and those who preferred unvarnished facts, delivered without preamble. He considered the man standing before him, and gave a brief nod.

  “Your wife was admitted around ten minutes ago,” he said. “I’m sorry to tell you she’s suffered a serious head trauma, which has resulted in bleeding on her brain that requires stemming. We’re prepping her for surgery at the moment, so I’m afraid I don’t have very long.”

  MacKenzie reached out a hand to Phillips, who held it tightly in his own.

  “How bad is it?” Ryan asked.

  “We won’t know the true extent until we operate, but I must tell you her situation is complicated by several factors. The most important is that your wife was unconscious when she was discovered, and hasn’t yet regained consciousness. That makes it very difficult when performing neurosurgery because, as far as possible, we prefer patients to remain awake so we can be sure their other functions aren’t being impaired. However, we have no choice in this case.”

  Ryan bore down hard, and nodded.

  “What about the baby?”

  “The baby is still alive,” the consultant said, and checked the time on the wall. “We’re continuing to monitor her status.”

  Ryan let out a harsh sob of relief and rubbed a shaking hand over his face, holding back tears by strength of character alone.

  Then, slowly, his hand fell away and he raised shining eyes the colour of the sea.

  “Her?”

  Barker looked surprised, then embarrassed.

  “What’s that?”

  “You said, ‘her’ status.”

  “Ah, I’m sorry, I may have ruined the surprise—”

  “No, don’t be sorry,” Ryan murmured. “Please, look after them…look after my girls.”

  The consultant nodded, but his tone remained sombre.

  “In addition to the head trauma, your wife has several broken bones in her right arm and ankle. She’s also suffering from moderately severe smoke inhalation. Mr Ryan, following her surgery, we may need to induce your wife into a temporary coma, to give her body the time it needs to recover. That means you won’t be able to talk to her, so you should prepare yourself for that.”

  Ryan looked him squarely in the eye.

  “What’s your prognosis?”

  The surgeon didn’t answer directly.

  “The bleed is a major one, and I need to prep myself for theatre now. The quicker we act, the better her chances. I’ll have more information for you after we’ve operated.”

  Ryan signed the necessary forms and watched the man leave, before turning back to his friends. Though they tried to conceal it, he saw his own fear reflected in their eyes and he looked away, unable to stand it.

  Across the room, his eye fell on a collection of children’s books and toys stacked in a small canvas box.

  “A little girl,” he said, softly. “I’ll have to look out my shotgun, won’t I, Frank?”

  Without a word, Phillips crossed the room to envelop his friend in a hard hug. A moment later, MacKenzie joined them and wrapped her arms tightly around them both.

  Only then did the tears come.

  CHAPTER 4

  Outside, the world continued to turn and the sun continued to shine, while Joan Tebbutt’s body grew stiff beneath its glare. Acutely conscious of that fact, Lowerson and Yates made their way to Seaham with all speed.

  “It seems wrong for it to be such a beautiful day,” Melanie said, as they motored south. “It should be overcast or raining.”

  The afternoon temperature had peaked in the mid-twenties, which was unseasonably warm for springtime in the north of England and incongruous given their present mood.

  “I know what you mean,” Lowerson said, turning the air con up another notch. “I can’t imagine what Ryan’s going through. To lose his sister that way, and now this…”

  They fell silent, both imagining the worst, and what that could mean for a man they both admired.

  A man they both loved.

  “The best thing we can do is our jobs,” Yates decided. “Ryan’s trusting us to take care of the crime scene, so that’s what we’ll do.”

  Lowerson nodded.

  “It’s all we can do.”

  They made their way through Sunderland and then followed a picturesque B-road running parallel to the coast, until they reached Seaham. To the east, the sea stretched out into the far horizon, where oil tankers moved like snails against a pale blue sky.

  “I don’t know this area very well,” Yates said, as they drove along the promenade. “How about you?”

  “My grandparents lived not far from here, so we used to visit sometimes—good fish and chips, around here.”

  She flashed a smile.

  “It used to be very different,” he continued. “The harbour used to transport tonnes of coal until things changed for good in the 1980s. Mine closures hit the area pretty hard.”

  Yates saw an upmarket seaside town with pretty cottages, coffee shops and boutiques, and could see there had been major reinvestment in recent times.

  “It’s lovely…I bet we couldn’t afford to live here.”

  “We couldn’t—I already checked.”

  Her head whipped around. “You did?”

  Lowerson smiled to himself. “Well, you know, I’ve been thinking—”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “I’ve been thinking, it seems silly, the pair of us spending almost every night together but paying for two separate flats.”

  He paused to judge her reaction.

  “Go on.”

  “Right. Well, I was wondering…maybe, we could think about…”

  “Yes?”

  “I’d like to live with you, Mel. All the time,” he added,
for the avoidance of doubt.

  She opened her mouth, but he rushed on.

  “I know you’ve only recently bought your flat,” he said. “And, I wouldn’t want you to lose your independence—”

  “So, what do you suggest?”

  “Well, I could sell my flat and use the money to buy somewhere a bit bigger for both of us,” he said. “You could rent your place out? Or, if that’s no good, I could move in with you and sell or rent out my place. Whatever you prefer.”

  She understood why he hadn’t suggested they use his flat as their base. Though it had been a labour of love for him to renovate, too much had happened there in the last few years for it to remain a happy home.

  “Maybe—” she began.

  Lowerson told himself not to be downcast. It was too soon, and he was rushing things.

  “It’s okay,” he said, injecting a false note of cheer into his voice. “It was just a daft idea.”

  Melanie shook her head, wondering if she’d ever be allowed to get a word in edgeways.

  “I was going to say, maybe there’s another option,” she told him. “We could pool our resources and buy somewhere together, so it would be yours and mine.”

  He looked across at her in surprise and delight.

  “You’d trust me that much?” he said. “I know our first year together was hard, and I wouldn’t blame you, if you wanted to take things slowly. I don’t want you to feel pressured into making a quick decision. I just know that I’m happy with you, and I don’t want to be with anybody else.”

  His simple words were all the reassurance she needed. All of life involved some risk, and loving someone was the greatest risk of all, but she didn’t want to regret not grasping the opportunity for happiness when it came along.

  “So long as you leave most of the decorating decisions to me, I think we’ll get along just fine.”

  The smile he gave her was blinding.

  “Can I have an X-Box?”

  “Not if you ever want to see me naked.”

  “Fair enough. What about a cat?”

  She knew how much he missed the little cat he used to have.

  “Yes,” she said tenderly. “We can have a cat.”