Dark Skies: A DCI Ryan Mystery (The DCI Ryan Mysteries Book 7)

by LJ Ross

  “I want to express our heartfelt sadness and condolences to the families of Duncan Gray and Guy Sullivan.” He sought Angela Gray’s eyes and spoke directly to her. “I want to reassure them that we, the Northumbria Criminal Investigation Department, are doing everything in our power to find the person or persons responsible for such devastation.”

  There was complete silence in the room, punctuated by a few nodding heads. Angela gave him the merest hint of a smile, the kind of smile he recognised as a product of medication, and his heart contracted.

  “As you will have noticed, traffic cordons have been in place for over twenty-four hours monitoring anybody entering or leaving the Kielder Forest area. This is a safety measure and we ask for your continued patience. If you plan to leave the area, we would welcome advance notification whilst the cordons are in place so that your onward journey can be achieved as smoothly as possible.”

  Predictably, there were a few eye-rolls, which he ignored.

  “Aye, but what’s being done to catch the killer? My missus is too scared to leave the house!”

  One of the locals in his late twenties interrupted Ryan’s speech, clearly unfazed by the usual running order of a town meeting.

  Ryan turned to answer him directly.

  “All available evidence is being rigorously tested for forensic leads and we are in the process of checking statements provided by you and your neighbours,” Ryan said. “At present, there is no reason to think the two murders are connected. We advise you to continue life as normal but not to go out walking alone. In addition, we are imposing a curfew until further notice.”

  That brought angry gasps from the local population.

  “A curfew? We’re not kids!”

  “No,” Ryan agreed. “You’re not. Which is why I’m sure you will understand and appreciate the need for safety measures. The curfew will be in place for the next forty-eight hours, following which we will review the situation. Until that time, we ask you to return to your homes by ten-thirty and not to leave the house before five o’clock in the morning unless it is by prior arrangement.”

  “And, if we don’t?”

  Heads swivelled towards Nathan Armstrong and Ryan gave the man a hard, unyielding stare.

  “You will be escorted home,” he said flatly. “No exceptions. If you refuse to comply, you will be arrested on suspicion of obstructing the course of an investigation.”

  Armstrong raised his takeaway cup in the parody of a toast.

  “Any other questions?”

  * * *

  After fielding a barrage of enquiries, Ryan stepped down from the podium and escaped into an adjoining room to catch his breath.

  “Phew,” Phillips exclaimed. “Good work out there, lad. Came across like a steady pair of hands.”

  Ryan lifted his hands and shook them wildly, for the laughs.

  “I’m sorry about my phone going off,” Yates said quietly. “I don’t know how I could have forgotten to mute the sound.”

  Ryan gave her a friendly smile.

  “Don’t let it eat you up, there are worse things to happen in life. Who was it, anyway?”

  She took out her phone and frowned at the caller list.

  “Seven calls from Denise,” she said.

  “Aye, and I’ve got another five missed calls on mine,” Phillips added, all trace of humour vanishing as his mind began to conjure up worst case scenarios.

  Just then, Ryan’s phone began to vibrate in the pocket of his coat.

  “Denise? What—”

  There was absolute silence in the room as they watched the changing emotions on Ryan’s face.

  “His name is Craig Hunter,” Ryan said, and the others exchanged curious glances. “Address is Ivy Cottage, Adderburn.” Another pause. “Do you want to do it tonight? Alright. Get your team together and meet us at the conference centre at Kielder Waterside as soon as you can.”

  Ryan ended the call and began to shrug back into his coat, already planning the next steps as he updated his team.

  “Craig Hunter’s DNA flagged as a match for two of MacKenzie’s cold cases,” he told them. “With a further five or six possible matches based on similar MO. She’s on her way here now to make the arrest. In the meantime, let’s get this place locked down.”

  Yates looked at Phillips with a mixture of excitement and shock.

  “Told you Hunter was a wrong ‘un,” he muttered, and they hurried to keep up with Ryan’s long strides.

  CHAPTER 21

  The roads were closed quickly and quietly, under cover of darkness.

  Police were stationed at traffic checkpoints and additional numbers were temporarily drafted in from neighbouring police stations to ensure Hunter did not try to escape via one of the smaller country roads. Ryan insisted there be no flashing lights or howling sirens to alert their quarry and, once that was done, the police gathered in their temporary headquarters at Kielder Waterside to plan their approach.

  “Craig Hunter is a major flight risk so the quicker we get this done, the better,” Ryan began. “How do you want to run this, Mac?”

  MacKenzie stepped forward to address the packed room.

  “I agree we should make everything as quick and painless as possible,” she said, and was pleased there was no hint of the nerves she felt jangling in her stomach. Earlier in the year, she had almost died in a forest like Kielder. She’d suffered months of traumatic flashbacks and night terrors and she suspected they would continue to blight her life for years to come.

  But despite all that, she was standing in front of a crowded room of police staff doing the job she loved. It gave her strength to know that her ordeal had not cost her the thing she valued most: her identity.

  “Ryan and I will make the approach with Support Team A in the wings,” she said. “Phillips and Yates, I want you stationed here, ready to liaise with tactical support if that becomes necessary.”

  Phillips nodded his assent. On the one hand, he felt a deep and abiding admiration for the woman who had, miraculously, agreed to become his wife in a few short months. He loved every inch of her, from the top of her shining red hair to the toes of her scuffed boots and would always rather be at her side. But that was only half the story. At home, they were equals, but at work, Detective Inspector Denise MacKenzie was his superior officer.

  “Is that all clear?” MacKenzie asked.

  “Yes ma’am,” Phillips said meekly.

  * * *

  Hunter heard a car engine approaching and fell onto his haunches at the edge of the trees, quietly offloading the string of pheasants he’d poached so that he could listen unencumbered. Their gamey scent rose from the earthen ground as he crouched at the edge of the clearing, poised to run. The dog snuffled beside him and he gave it a warning sound, low in his throat, which had it whimpering softly until its belly hit the floor.

  The sound of the engine grew louder until the car emerged and, this time, he could see the pigs had brought a squad car.

  They knew.

  His eyes glistened in the moonlight as he watched them walk around the car and knock on the door to his cottage, shaking their heads and peering through the windows.

  The dog made a small bark, impossibly loud in the silent evening, and Hunter’s reaction was instant.

  He took it by the neck and twisted until there was a sharp snap.

  The animal didn’t even put up a fight.

  Stupid dog.

  He turned back to see if the police had been alerted to his presence. The pig-man was walking around the side of the house, checking the perimeter to see if anybody was inside, while the pig-woman waited and looked around the clearing. For a moment, it seemed she might have seen him and he reached slowly for the shotgun hanging from a leather strap on his shoulder and trained it directly at her chest. His finger hovered above the trigger as he watched, and he had begun to squeeze it when the woman’s eyes passed over him.

  Hunter let out a shaky breath, lowered the shotgun and tried to think.


  It was better not to kill them here because there would be swarms of police coming after him and he needed time to get away. That would be a problem; he couldn’t take his truck and, even if he could, the roads were blocked. There were basic supplies in his backpack but very little money and no passport or driving licence. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t owned an up-to-date driving licence or passport since he’d changed his name from Bobby Jepson to Craig Hunter, ten years earlier.

  “He’s not here,” he heard Ryan say.

  “Might be at the pub, or visiting someone,” the redhead suggested. “We can put a surveillance detail on the house in case he comes back.”

  Time to go.

  Hunter melted back into the forest, as silently as he had come.

  * * *

  Ryan and MacKenzie lingered beside the empty stone cottage, wishing the law allowed them to force entry without a search warrant. There was a sinister stillness to the trees as night rapidly descended and the sky was no longer a bold reddish-purple but a deep, ink blue speckled with stars.

  Ryan turned to look over his shoulder, his ears detecting some small movement on the far side of the clearing.

  “What is it?” MacKenzie whispered.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “I thought I heard something over there.”

  He reached for his torch and shone it against the trees lining the perimeter of the clearing, trying to peer through the darkness to see if his mind was playing tricks on him.

  “Let’s have a look,” he murmured, then stopped short and turned to look searchingly at her face. “You alright, Mac?”

  She didn’t bother to ask what he meant. It was a reasonable question given recent history, and, if she was being completely honest, the woods were the last place she’d choose to be. But this was a matter of pride.

  “I will be” she said, and let that be enough.

  Ryan understood what she was working through and trusted her to know her own limitations, so he merely nodded and moved forward.

  Together, they walked the perimeter of the clearing, shining their torches as they went.

  “Here,” Ryan said dully, and shone a light on the small graveyard of animals Hunter had left behind.

  “Coward,” she said, looking down at the pitiful remains.

  Ryan took out his police radio and made an urgent order for tactical support, gave the ordnance map coordinates and warned non-tactical members of staff not to approach anyone matching Craig Hunter’s description as he may be armed and dangerous.

  Once that was done, Ryan stormed back across the clearing where he started rifling inside one of the tumbledown sheds to the side of Hunter’s cottage.

  MacKenzie joined him.

  “What are you doing?”

  Ryan found a shovel with a squeaky handle and closed a gloved fist around it.

  “I’m burying the dog,” he snapped, then stormed back across the clearing. MacKenzie watched him with an almost maternal affection, understanding very clearly that the small act of senseless cruelty represented something greater in Ryan’s mind. Killing a dog was the act of someone who was no longer civilised; no longer someone to be reasoned with or answerable to man’s laws. It was a watershed moment in their understanding of Craig Hunter’s psychology and so, despite the urgency, she waited while Ryan finished digging the small grave with swift, capable hands.

  A few minutes later, he returned with a face like thunder.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  * * *

  Four miles west of Adderburn, Kate Robson made her final checks of the stables before turning in for the evening. Thanks to a colicky mare, she’d spent much of the previous evening and most of the day consulting with the local vet and trying to soothe the poor animal. Then, there was the question of whether to loan out the Arabian—

  There was a clattering sound across the yard and she paused with her hand on Dodger’s mane.

  “Shh,” she warned him. “Quiet, now, boy.”

  There it came again.

  Carefully, she opened the stall gate and walked around the edge of the cobblestones, keeping to the side of the farmhouse wall. Over the years, she’d encountered the odd vagrant or young kid trying to lift a few pieces of expensive equipment or even to steal one of the horses and she’d dealt with it. Living alone had its benefits and usually with the horses for company she didn’t feel too isolated.

  But now, she was terrified.

  Her eyes were wide as she felt her way towards the back door of the house and her hand grasped the handle as one of the stall doors swung open. She squinted through the darkness and saw a figure.

  With a gasp, she twisted the handle and rushed inside the house.

  * * *

  When Ryan returned to the Incident Room, the place was a hive of activity. Groups of police officers scrutinized maps of the area and listened to a local Forestry Officer giving them a crash course on the complex network of non-public forestry roads and tracks running through the forest that might afford Craig Hunter another means of escape. Two analysts from the local station manned the telephones and sifted through the inevitable slush pile of nuisance calls that had been coming through in a steady stream following the day’s press coverage.

  Ryan spotted Phillips standing across the room barking down the telephone to some unlucky person or another.

  “I don’t give a monkey’s if it’s inconvenient! If you don’t pull your finger out of your arse, there’ll be hell to pay!”

  With that, he slammed the phone down and caught Ryan watching him with the hint of a smile.

  “Somebody trying to help you reclaim PPI insurance?” he asked sweetly.

  “I’m tellin’ you, that jobsworth couldn’t organise a piss-up in a brewery,” Phillips exploded, pointing an accusatory finger towards the inanimate plastic handset as if it were to blame. “I’ve just been on to some lad in the Border Police and he had the bloody nerve to tell me it was an inconvenient time for there to be a manhunt! I ask you, did you ever hear such a load of old bollocks?”

  Ryan’s lips twitched.

  “Then, he tells me they’re dealing with a lot of drink-related crime this evening and could I call back tomorrow morning,” Phillips continued. “Craig Hunter’ll be gone by the morning!”

  “And you, of course, politely explained to him that he had failed to grasp the urgency of the situation,” Ryan said.

  “I told him he was a bloody moron and, if he didn’t start behaving like a policeman, I’d be straight on to his senior officer and he’d find himself facing a disciplinary for incompetence!”

  On that final note, Phillips took a deep, shuddering breath.

  “Feel better?” Ryan enquired, after a couple of seconds passed.

  “Aye,” Phillips muttered, blinking around the room as if he’d just come out of a fugue state. “Where’s Denise?”

  “She’s gone to find Anna,” Ryan said. “It’s unsafe for her to be alone in the lodge while Hunter is at large. I’ve spoken to the Forestry Commission and they’re going to help put the word out that people should stay inside and lock their doors, too.”

  But as Anna and MacKenzie entered the room, one of the telephone operatives waved him across.

  Ryan took the receiver.

  “This is DCI Ryan. Who am I speaking to?”

  “Chief Inspector, it’s Kate Robson,” she said, trying to keep the wobble from her voice. “You said—you said I should call you if I had anything to report.”

  “And do you?”

  “Y-yes,” she said, telling herself to keep it together. “I think there’s a prowler up here. I saw a figure in the yard outside and I’m scared—”

  “When did this happen?” Ryan cut in, signalling for MacKenzie, who hurried across the room.

  “About five minutes ago,” she said. “I think he’s still around and I’m frightened. Please hurry!”

  “Alright, Kate, stay put and lock your doors. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
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br />   “Yes, alright.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “That was perfect.”

  Roly put the telephone down and put shaking hands to her face.

  “The police are on their way,” she muttered and wrung her hands as she stared down at the receiver. “What are you going to do?”

  “What I always do,” came the reply. “Take care of your mess. You did the right thing, calling me before the police.”

  “How? How does this help us?”

  As she turned, the heavy underside of a copper pan smashed into her jaw with a sickening crack of bone. The force of it sent her crashing back against the kitchen table while blood began to gush from her nose and mouth.

  “It doesn’t really help you,” her friend replied, conversationally, as her body slid from the table and fell to the floor like a rag doll.

  The toe of a boot slid beneath her ribcage and flipped her over so she found herself looking into the face of a childhood friend, as Duncan Gray had done so many years before. But there were no stars to ease her passing, no promise of divine intervention to ease the pain of betrayal.

  There was only the brief flash of metal as the pan raised again and crashed into her skull one final time.

  * * *

  Ryan blithely ignored the speed limit signs as he raced along the single-track lane towards Hot Trots, this time with MacKenzie riding shotgun and Phillips and Yates in the back. While they battled valiantly against motion sickness, a van followed behind with a team of four sniffer-dogs and a bag of clothing taken from Hunter’s truck to help them pick up a scent.

  Lights shone from the windows of the farmhouse up ahead and Ryan stopped the car just outside the yard. They made their way towards the back entrance, expecting to find Kate Robson ready to let them in, but instead they found the door standing wide open.

  Ryan held up an arm to indicate that they should proceed with caution.

  “Ms Robson! This is the police! We are entering the property now!”

  Cautiously, he took a step inside the boot room and then made his way through to the kitchen, following his nose. Outside, the Canine Unit had caught the scent of blood, too, and began to whine and bark.