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

by LJ Ross

  “Good cop, bad cop?” she offered. “Flattery? Maybe a few veiled threats?”

  “All excellent ideas, but no. You shove a boot up his lying arse and remember that you have more integrity in your little finger than he has in his whole body.”

  “I like your idea better.”

  CHAPTER 29

  Her Majesty’s Prison Frankland rested on the outskirts of Durham, thirteen miles south of Newcastle upon Tyne. It was never going to win any architectural prizes, being an uninspiring collection of boxy, red-bricked buildings housing a mix of standard and high-risk Category A male prisoners inside its fortified walls. A large sign which read, ‘HM PRISON FRANKLAND’ greeted them as Ryan drove Phillips and Yates towards the main entrance along the driveway flanked with high-level cameras.

  “Have you been here before, Yates?” Ryan asked, as he found a parking space.

  “I visited as part of my initial training, then a couple of times after that.”

  “Ever been to the Westgate Unit?”

  It was an area reserved for prisoners requiring more secure detention or segregation, normally consisting of the most dangerous men in the prison population.

  “No,” she replied. “Is that where Gregson is living?”

  “You’d hardly call it living,” Phillips said quietly. “He’s been in permanent segregation for months.”

  “Why?” Yates asked, a bit naively.

  Ryan secured the handbrake and turned to look at her.

  “When he was a free man, Gregson put a lot of his fellow inmates behind bars. Because of his actions, a good chunk of them are now appealing their convictions, claiming the investigations were rife with corruption and open to abuse under his oversight. For the past year, we’ve been fighting fires just trying to keep dangerous men off the streets.” He shook his head. “Frankly, it’s a toss-up over who hates Gregson more; the prisoners or the police.”

  On that note, they headed towards the main entrance and waited to be buzzed inside, where they went through the lengthy rigmarole of completing and signing the necessary paperwork. When they stepped inside the Westgate Unit, Ryan swept a glance over the bright space and consciously emptied his mind of intrusive memories that flooded in and reminded him of all the other times he’d been forced to come here. Most notably, the time he’d been forced to sit opposite the man who had killed his sister and almost killed him not once, but twice. The Hacker had cast a long shadow over their lives and even death was not enough to fully eradicate his influence because it was still here, in these walls, and in the small space at the back of Ryan’s mind wherever he went.

  “This way,” one of the guards said, and guided them to a private conference room. The soles of their shoes squeaked against the linoleum and when they stepped inside they found it had been modelled on a police interview suite with a table in the middle and long mirrored window along one wall.

  “I’ll go and fetch him,” the guard said, leaving them inside the cramped space.

  Ryan turned to Yates.

  “I’m going to wait in the observation room,” he told her. “Phillips will be in here with you, but my presence is more likely to be a hindrance than a help.”

  “Alright,” she said. “I’ll stick to what we agreed.”

  Ryan could hear the lingering traces of self-doubt and he smiled encouragingly.

  “Believe in yourself, Mel—you’re worth ten of Arthur Gregson. And remember, nothing is lost if you fumble your words or forget to say the right thing. He’s already trussed up like a turkey in here and, besides, it’s highly likely he’ll tell us nothing whatsoever regardless of what you say or don’t say.”

  That helped her to relax a bit, but as soon as Ryan left the room, sweat beaded her forehead under the glare of the overhead light.

  “Remember what we talked about,” Phillips told her, as they paced the room. “Gregson is in his late sixties but he thinks he’s still in his prime. He likes to think of himself as a real Ladies Man, so he’ll probably try a bit of flirtation. Dirty old goat,” he added, to make her laugh.

  “What did the prison say about his behaviour while he’s been inside?”

  “Unpredictable,” Phillips replied. “He won’t shy away from a fight but he’s not a natural fighter. Some days he’s got plenty to say for himself, other days he doesn’t say ‘boo’ to a goose. You have to remember that Gregson might have been a Super in his day job but he was only a lieutenant when it came to The Circle’s hierarchy. He was senior, but he was never the Top Dog.”

  “But he was a powerful man.”

  “Aye, he was, for a while. But try to get inside his head,” Phillips advised. “Arthur Gregson’s a man with a chip on his shoulder. His whole life, he resented the fact he’d been born poor; hated anybody who had more than he did. When little Arthur grew up, he wanted to be respected and feared but the problem was—and this is important—he never quite believed his own hype.”

  Before Yates had time to formulate a response, the door opened and two guards escorted Gregson into the room. Phillips and Yates stood on one side of a metal table whose legs had been drilled into the floor for safety and they were dressed in their best suits, not in deference to their former superintendent but to distinguish themselves from him.

  Their eyes followed his progress across the room, trying to assess the man. The Arthur Gregson they knew had been tall and imposing, with a shock of silver-grey hair framing a chiselled face that looked good in greyscale print on the front cover of newspapers. Although he was still tall, there seemed to be a curvature to his spine and a general air of fragility they hadn’t noticed before. Phillips couldn’t say whether it was because Gregson had changed over the past months or whether his former position had lent him such gravitas that they had been blinded to his faults, at least for a while.

  Whatever his physical deterioration, nothing had been lost mentally and he looked between them with a pair of sharp, calculating blue eyes.

  “Take a seat, Arthur,” Yates began, and from his position behind the observation screen, Ryan silently applauded. She had set the tone; not only by speaking first but by choosing to use Gregson’s forename and by pointedly offering him a seat. That way, he knew from the outset she had the upper hand.

  Good for her.

  Unfortunately, Gregson was a master of human behaviour.

  “Very good, sweetheart,” he said, with a hint of condescension. “Keep using my first name, that’ll put me at my ease. Then you could offer to have my handcuffs removed, to show you’re willing to be reasonable in exchange for whatever information I might have.”

  He settled himself on a chair and rattled his handcuffs expectantly, but Yates shook her head as she took a seat opposite and looked him dead in the eye.

  “No, I think we’ll leave the handcuffs where they are,” she said, and went through the preliminaries, stating the date, time and occupants of the room for the video record. “We are here in connection with our investigation into the murders of Duncan Gray, Guy Sullivan and Kate Robson. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”

  Gregson laughed.

  “I was a policeman before you were even born, love. Do you really need to ask?”

  “In light of recent events, the years you spent on the police force have been called into question,” she shot back. “Do you understand the caution?”

  “Yes,” he spat.

  Gregson turned to Phillips, running his gaze over the man he’d known for more than thirty years.

  “You look good, Frank. Must be that little Irish piece you’ve been banging,” he said, hoping to get a rise out of him. “Always did like the look of Denise MacKenzie. Did I ever tell you there’s a peephole in the gents locker room? You can see right into the ladies room next door. Spent many a pleasant afternoon down there, I can tell you.”

  But Phil
lips merely smiled.

  “Oh? Guess you haven’t heard we moved offices a while back. Had to, since we couldn’t quite scrape your stench off the walls,” he added.

  Gregson’s mouth hardened and he looked over their shoulders to the observation glass.

  “Is he in there?”

  They remained silent and he let out a short laugh.

  “You don’t need to say anything. Of course Ryan’s in there. Wouldn’t pass up the opportunity of seeing me, would you, Chief Inspector?” He tried to lift his hands but found them shackled to the steel hooks on top of the table and had to make do with rattling the metal. “How come you haven’t visited me before now, eh, Ryan? Or have you had your hands full with your new boss?”

  Behind the glass, Ryan frowned.

  How did he know about Lucas?

  “You were in charge of the investigation into the disappearance of Duncan Gray, aged sixteen, while you held the rank of detective sergeant on the Missing Persons team in 1981. Is that correct?”

  Yates diverted his attention back to the matters at hand and opened the file on Duncan Gray to give herself a moment to collect her thoughts.

  “That’s what it says on the paperwork, darling.”

  “The management of the case was transferred to your team on 22nd October 1981—”

  “Look, love, I don’t have to answer any of your questions unless you make it worth my while.”

  Yates gave him a curious look.

  “And what did you have in mind, Arthur?”

  “Depends what you’re offering,” he said, and gave her a lewd wink. “They allow conjugal visits here.”

  “But sadly for you, they don’t allow Viagra,” she replied, in the tone of voice she might have used to pacify an elderly relative. “Let’s stick to the facts, Arthur. You’re going to be spending the rest of your life in prison. You can tell yourself that a good lawyer will have you out in a few years but that’s pure fantasy. Now, you can answer a couple of questions and sleep better at night, or you can return to your lonely one-man cell and watch yourself grow older without any hope of redemption. It’s up to you.”

  There was momentary silence in the room and then he parodied a bow and looked over at Phillips.

  “This one’s good,” he said. “Plenty of authority while she delivered her moralising little speech. All in all, I’d give her a six out of ten. I’m deducting four points for inexperience and lack of bargaining position.”

  Yates closed the file again.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, Arthur. First rule of a negotiation? Always be prepared to walk away.”

  A moment later, she was out of her seat and Phillips hurried to keep up as she dealt Gregson a final blow.

  “You’re facing untold charges of murder, attempted murder, conspiracy to defraud, fraud, perjury… the list goes on. A lifetime spent in solitude, with only your own miserable self for company. Do you think you hold any kind of bargaining power with me, Arthur? All I see is a sad old man who wants to feel important. Help us or don’t, you’ll still be going back to your cell as we walk out of here and breathe the fresh air.”

  Yates swept out of the room with Phillips at her heels, scrambling to keep up.

  As soon as the door closed behind them, Yates let out a stream of expletives that would’ve made a sailor blush.

  Phillips gave her an astonished look, since he’d never heard her utter anything close to a profanity.

  “Well,” he said, and tried to think of something encouraging to tell her.

  Ryan didn’t join them in the corridor outside but remained in the observation room watching the man who had been his superior officer for over a decade spent at the Northumbria Police Constabulary. Now, Gregson was a shell of a man grasping at the memory of who he used to be. Yates had gone completely off script and it had been entertaining to watch but now it remained to be seen whether her approach had been successful.

  And it had.

  A moment later, Gregson motioned one of the guards standing sentry beside him to bring the two detectives back into the room.

  Yates was as surprised as Phillips but she didn’t hurry back, instead waiting another two minutes to give the impression they had almost followed through on her threat. When she did re-enter the room, her head was held high.

  “Trainee Detective Constable Melanie Yates and Detective Sergeant Frank Phillips re-entering interview under caution with Arthur Gregson at HM Prison Frankland, Interview Room 1C. Prison officers Phillips Menzies and Fran Foster both present. The time is 19:26. Mr Gregson, do you require a reminder of your rights and obligations?”

  He said nothing.

  “Do you require—”

  “I don’t need any bloody reminder!”

  “Good, then let’s stop wasting time. You called us back in here. Are you ready to talk?”

  “I’ll talk, on one condition.”

  “There are no conditions,” Yates said, flatly, and Phillips swelled with pride. The girl was a natural.

  “Listen to me,” Gregson growled. “If you want to know anything about the Gray case, then you’re going to grant my request. I’m not talking to any bloody trainee. I want Ryan in here, right now.”

  “No. DCI Ryan is a material witness in the ongoing case against you—”

  “You brought in Doctor Watson here,” he said, with a smirk for Phillips. “So, you can bring in the big man himself. I don’t care if he doesn’t say a word, I just want to look the bastard in the eye.”

  “Absolutely out of the question.”

  “Your call,” he shrugged.

  Now, it was Gregson’s turn to leave, and Yates sent Phillips a look of mild panic. Just then, there was a knock on the outer door and one of the guards walked across to let in their visitor.

  Ryan had seen enough to know the direction things were headed and he gave Yates enormous credit for her handling of the situation. However, things had come to a head and if it was a simple matter of letting Gregson see his face one last time in exchange for useful information that could help their investigation, it was a small enough price to pay.

  He stepped into the room and the atmosphere became electric.

  CHAPTER 30

  “Well, well,” Gregson breathed. “The Prodigal’s returned.”

  Ryan gave his name for the record.

  “Detective Chief Inspector Maxwell Finlay-Ryan entering Interview Room 1C to observe,” he said. “The time is 19:42.”

  He moved across to a side wall and leaned against it, arms folded.

  Gregson stared up at Ryan from his shackled position at the table, eyes spitting hatred for the man he held responsible for his current situation. Ryan stared back and thought it was a strange quirk of the criminal mind that it tended always to blame others for a lifetime of bad decision making.

  “I heard you’d married her,” Gregson said, with an eye for the shiny new wedding ring on Ryan’s finger. “Congratulations. I hope she knows what she’s let herself in for.”

  Ryan said nothing, even as memories of Anna drugged and bound rose to his mind. Under Gregson’s orders, she might have been slaughtered alongside all the other men and women who had dared step into the pathway of the cult.

  “Not even a word for your old pal?” Gregson continued, and there was a persuasive quality to his voice that hadn’t been there before. “There were good times over the years, Ryan. Surely, that deserves a word of thanks.”

  Ryan’s eyes turned glacial and Yates decided it was time to cut through the chit-chat before things got out of hand.

  “Your condition has been met,” she told Gregson. “Now, let’s talk about Duncan Gray. Was his death associated in any way with The Circle?”

  Gregson turned sly.

  “I have no first-hand knowledge of any dealings with the cult known as The Circle,” he lied, and Ryan barely held back a laugh.

  “To the best of your belief, was Duncan Gray’s death associated in any way with the cult known as The Circle?” Yates
amended.

  “I still wouldn’t know,” he replied, and looked between Ryan and Phillips as if to say, ‘Is this the best you could do?’

  But Yates wasn’t finished yet.

  “Duncan Gray’s body was discovered near Reedsmere Farm, now demolished beneath Kielder Reservoir,” she continued. “Yet there is no record in the case file of a police search team ever having completed a coordinated search in that part of the valley. Why was that?”

  “We did search,” he said. “It’s a lot of ground to cover. Easy enough to miss a patch of earth somewhere or to forget to make a note.”

  “Did you enlist the services of the Canine Unit?”

  “Of course.”

  “But not in that area?”

  Gregson shrugged.

  “Maybe you can have a word with the dogs and ask them why they didn’t do a better job,” he said, derisively.

  “Maybe,” Yates said, turning the pages of her notebook. “Or, perhaps I’ll just ask Derek Slater why he transferred money into your personal account shortly after the case fell into your lap.”

  Yates was bluffing about any money being transferred into Gregson’s account, but it was not outside the realms of possibility. For years, Gregson had taken bribes from local businessmen to ensure that the wheels of justice would turn in their favour and if Ryan’s hunch was correct, this was just another instance of the same apple with a rotten core.

  “Who?” Gregson asked, too casually. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Derek Slater is the former head of Slater’s Security which was, at that time, responsible for securing the demolition sites throughout the valley earmarked as the new reservoir bed.”

  “So?”

  “Several witnesses state that the fenced boundaries were in poor condition and that children were in the habit of slipping through the fence to play amongst the rubble. Duncan Gray might well have been one of them.”

  “Then it was his own look-out, wasn’t it? He should have read the signs.”

  From his position by the wall, Ryan flinched, realising he was looking at a person who was entirely devoid of human compassion.