Holy Island: A DCI Ryan Mystery (The DCI Ryan Mysteries Book 1)

by LJ Ross

  Ryan didn’t miss the past tense. He hadn’t noticed a Mrs Taylor roaming around.

  “What happened?”

  “He made life hard for himself and he made life hard for others. Took too much of the drink,” he supplied. “Spent too much on the horses and he had a nasty temper. By God, that’s an understatement. More’n once I would see one of the girls with bruises, cuts here and there. Always said there had been an accident but I knew better. Never felt more useless in my life.”

  Old regrets, old fears swept across his round face and Ryan said nothing, waited for him to finish. He knew the value of silence.

  “They found Sara Taylor at the bottom of the stairs there,” he jerked a shoulder towards the narrow flight of stone steps in the little courtyard outside which led up to the apartment Megan now occupied. “The flat was supposed to be empty – by that time I’d moved into my own place down on St Aidan’s Road – but there was talk.” He lowered his voice so that Ryan had to strain to hear him. “The flat was all made up, the bed slept in, candles all around. When Sara was found at the bottom of those stairs with her head smashed and her body broken, there was some who said Andy threw her down those stairs because he found out she’d been with another man.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Depends which part. I think that if she had another fella, I wouldn’t have blamed her. Delicate, she was, devoted to her girls. Anna’s a lot like her, turned into a real beauty.” Bill smiled proudly and Ryan found himself imagining an older version of Anna, a slender woman with striking features and a fall of rich brown hair.

  “As for the other part,” Bill continued with a frown, “much as I’d like to say otherwise, I think there’s nothing Andy Taylor wouldn’t have done back in those days. Like I said, when he was on the drink, he was past caring. Didn’t know his own mind.”

  Ryan nodded. He knew the type, came across them almost daily. He didn’t bother asking why Sara Taylor had stayed, why she hadn’t taken her girls away. She had been too afraid.

  “Anyway,” Bill sighed, “Andy went and hurled himself off the bluff up at the Fort. Found him lying at the bottom a few days later once the tide had bashed him around a bit. More forgiving types might say he was so overwhelmed with grief that he couldn’t manage without her. Me, I say he hurled himself into the sea because he couldn’t live with what he’d done.”

  Anger burned briefly in his friendly face but was quickly snuffed out when another patron called out to him. He snapped the beard back into place.

  “Turned out he’d mortgaged the pub to the hilt. There were massive debts to clear, so they sold the old cottage to Mark Bowers. He rents it out to holiday-makers now. The girls were happy to sell the pub on to me with the proviso that Megan would have a job and use of the flat upstairs for as long as she wanted it.” He shivered, “Don’t know how she could stay there, after what happened, but it never seems to bother her. Always was a free spirit. Hope you’ll keep what I’ve told you under your hat, Ryan,” he said, “no sense in bringing the past back to life.”

  With that, he moved on to chat to the groups of people gathered around the tables, granting Christmas wishes.

  Ryan found a semi-secluded spot at the bar and, since he was technically off-duty, ordered a glass of Lindisfarne Mead, the local fortified wine produced on the island. Ordinarily, he was more comfortable with a glass of smooth red, but sometimes it paid to blend in with the crowd.

  “No Megan, tonight?” he asked the lad currently serving behind the bar. With a sharp double-take, he realised it was Pete.

  “Nah,” Pete spoke without turning from his task. “She called in this afternoon and told Bill she had the flu. She’ll most likely be in tomorrow, though.”

  Ryan took a thoughtful sip of his drink, appreciated the flavour. He could add ‘unreliable’ to the list of Megan Taylor’s traits. Pity; he had wanted to ask her some more questions. He might try knocking on her door, later. He checked his watch.

  Eight-thirty.

  “Didn’t realise you worked here, Pete,” he spoke companionably, thinking that the younger man seemed to have some of his colour back after the drama of the morning.

  “I only volunteer with the coastguards,” he answered with a friendly smile in return. “I share shifts here with Megan when I’m not helping out at home.”

  “You were coast-guarding last night, then, instead of bartending.”

  Pete nodded while he mixed whisky and coke. “I came off shift around eleven, same time as Alex.”

  Ryan already knew Pete’s movements last night. It was his business to know.

  “You didn’t fancy a drink?” Ryan knew that Alex had dropped by the pub after his shift, had flirted with a few of the women. He wanted to know why Pete hadn’t.

  Pete pulled a face. “I see enough of the place, to be honest. Don’t mind a sociable pint every now and then, but mostly I’d rather chill out at home.”

  “Guess you would have been pretty tired after a long shift,” Ryan nudged. “Anything happen on the high seas?”

  Pete flashed that quick smile again as he handed out drinks, clunking ice into the glasses and once again Ryan thought he looked too young to be serving alcohol. However, he happened to know that Pete had graduated from the island’s high school the same year as Lucy but, whereas she had left to study Art History at university, he had stayed to tend bar and be an everyday hero, not including the times when he helped his widowed mother run her bed and breakfast hotel. That put him at a youthful but respectable twenty-one.

  “Nothing much happened yesterday evening, but sometimes that’s worse – you know, the long hours on call without anything to really do.” His face fell again. “Guess I shouldn’t complain about that, considering what happened this morning.”

  Ryan watched shock flit across Pete’s face and felt something like pity stir inside him, reminding him of his younger self.

  “Don’t worry about it, Pete. It won’t change what happened to Lucy.”

  “No, it won’t change that.”

  Ryan paused and then picked up the rhythm again. “It must have been hard on you this morning, since you knew Lucy so well.”

  Pete swallowed. “I’ve known Lucy most of my life, we grew up together. A bunch of us would hang out, you know?”

  “Yeah, I know,” Ryan had a flash memory of his own childhood, of long summer days playing in the fields around his parents’ house.

  “It was hard on Alex, too. They were sort of seeing each other.”

  After a delayed reaction, Ryan considered it a personal success that he didn’t choke on his mouthful of wine.

  “Alex Walker?” How in the hell had he missed that one, Ryan wondered frantically. More importantly, why hadn’t Alex mentioned that little nugget of information when he’d given his statement?

  “Sure,” Pete nodded blandly. “She was a bit younger, but it didn’t seem to bother either of them. I think he took her to the theatre in Newcastle a couple of times when he was over that way.” Ryan thought of the old Theatre Royal in Newcastle, the region’s major city further south. It was where Lucy Mathieson had attended university, an easy ninety minute drive from the island.

  “Did she tell you about this?”

  “Uh huh,” Pete nodded, resting his arms on the bar during a lull. “She told all of us, it wasn’t exactly a secret. Anybody could see they liked each other.”

  “Did Lucy’s parents know?”

  “I reckon,” he pulled a face, “on the other hand, I don’t know how her dad would have felt about it. Alex is a good bloke, but he’s nearly thirty and Lucy only turned twenty-one in September.”

  “I see,” Ryan didn’t see the full picture, but he intended to, and soon. First on his list of questions for Megan would be her observation of Lucy and Alex. For now, he shifted back to an easier gear.

  “So what did you do after your shift? Head home for some shuteye?”

  “Yeah.” Ryan already knew that. The door-to-doors had confir
med Pete’s whereabouts between the hours of eleven-thirty and five-thirty; he’d been sleeping like a baby in his room at the hotel. Still, never hurt to get a fuller picture about a person.

  “Your mother runs the big bed and breakfast near the Heritage Centre, doesn’t she?” The centre which stood near the visitor’s entrance to the Priory, Ryan thought.

  “That’s right,” Pete said cheerfully. “My parents ran it together and then my mum took over when my dad died. All in all, they’ve been running it for thirty years. My grandparents on my father’s side ran it before then.”

  “Real family business, then.”

  “Uh huh,” Pete let pride into his voice. It was a lovely old hotel and he worked hard to help keep it that way.

  “You know,” he turned to Ryan, “if you ever want to come over, have a meal, my mother hired a really good chef. She’s trying to push the restaurant,” he explained. “I bet she’d give you a discount as a new customer.”

  “That’s kind of her,” Ryan answered, thinking that he wouldn’t be taking up any friendly offers. His eyes dropped to Pete’s hands as he pulled a couple of pints. Long, thin fingers but the man himself was slight, almost girlish. He doubted he would have had the physical strength to transport Lucy’s body. On the other hand, it took a fair amount of wiry strength to man a rescue boat.

  He took another drink, measuring the man.

  Pete, sensing the conversation was over, smiled again and moved off to serve a customer. Ryan turned to watch the people of Lindisfarne from his vantage point. In the corner, a group of teenagers started to get rowdy before Bill sent them a mild look from his perch at the other end of the bar. Ryan might have wondered whether their ID met the legal requirement to purchase alcohol, but he had a feeling Bill ran a tight ship.

  He saw Alex and Rob sitting at a table in the centre of the room, red jackets slung over the back of their chairs and radios tucked inside the pockets. He guessed they were off-duty but you never knew in a place like this. Normal rules didn’t apply. Alex seemed to be holding court with three women. His green eyes twinkled as he regaled them with some story, probably of his heroism at sea. He wondered how the man could sit and smile, down drinks and flirt when his girlfriend had been brutally murdered earlier that same day. It was time he found out.

  CHAPTER 7

  Alex took a drink of his pint and, glancing around the room, spotted Ryan standing in the corner. The man was watchful as a hawk, those cop eyes missing nothing. He had to admire that. He raised a hand in greeting, gestured him over.

  “Ryan!”

  Alex watched him weave through the tables with that unhurried, prowling gait of his. He noticed the women at his table eyeing Ryan too and smiled ruefully, toeing out a stool and shifting to make room.

  Ryan didn’t take up the offer of a chair. He turned to the others, “Ladies, Rob” he nodded politely, then rested a heavy hand on Alex’s shoulder, tightened it slightly. “Alex.”

  The coastguard raised his eyebrows. He didn’t have to be a detective to sense something was off. He could admit that being on the receiving end of this man’s wrath was not on his top ten list of priorities.

  “Got a minute?” Ryan’s polite question held just the right amount of menace.

  Alex nodded, “Sure.”

  They went outside and, after a brief check to see that they were alone, Ryan rounded on him.

  “Would you like to tell me why you felt it was a good idea to withhold information during a murder investigation?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” Alex’s voice was calm, but since his eyes had been trained on the other man’s face, Ryan saw it - that momentary flash of understanding. Alex knew exactly what he meant.

  “Let’s start again, shall we?” Ryan’s voice was dangerously low and he took another step closer, boxing him in for good measure.

  A pulse jumped in Alex’s corded neck and he stuck his fingers in his pockets, jingling change.

  “I don’t know what you want from me,” Alex said belligerently.

  “Let’s start with the truth. Want to tell me why you didn’t mention your relationship with Lucy Mathieson?”

  Alex paled.

  “We never really…I wouldn’t have called it a relationship.”

  “Really? That’s interesting, because it seems like she told her friends a different tale, all about her boyfriend, Alex Walker.”

  “OK, look,” Alex pushed his hands through his hair and Ryan watched the action. He was another one with big hands - seemed like the island was full of them.

  “Look,” Alex started again. “Kim and I were separated six months ago.”

  “Kim?”

  “My wife.”

  “Oh, this just gets better and better.”

  “Don’t start on me!” Alex ground out, hands fisting. “Things have been rough with us for a while. She was the one who wanted to end it. She moved back to her parents’ in Newcastle.”

  Ryan made a mental note that this mild-mannered ladies’ man had a couple of violent tendencies, if that simmering temper was anything to go by.

  “That’s when it happened. I was over in Newcastle to see Kim, to try and patch things up. She told me to go to hell.”

  “Tut, tut…” Ryan snapped, not giving an inch. “She catch you in the arms of another woman?”

  Alex said nothing, looked away, back towards the bar.

  Ryan snorted. “You get around, don’t you?”

  “Do you want to hear this or not?” Alex set his teeth.

  “By all means,” Ryan flicked his wrist in a gesture to continue.

  “So I headed out, decided to hit a few bars. That’s when I recognised Lucy. Or sort of recognised her; she looked a lot more grown up than I remembered her, to say the least,” his lips quirked, remembering. “Nearly swallowed my tongue when I saw her in a skirt and heels.” Unexpectedly, tears sheened his eyes and he fought a visible battle against them.

  “What happened?” Ryan asked quietly.

  “We got a little drunk; she told me how she’d had this crush on me for years. I was flattered,” he looked back at Ryan now, met his eyes as he got the words out. “I’d just come from one woman who thought I was the fucking Antichrist, then this young, beautiful girl tells me I’m the man of her dreams. I’m only human,” he shrugged.

  Ryan nodded. He could see where this was going.

  “So, I take it you never met the parents?”

  Alex felt guilt tear at his insides as he shook his head.

  “Well, I mean, I know the Mathiesons. Everybody knows everybody around here…” he caught the look in Ryan’s eye and hastily carried on, “But no, I didn’t meet them specially. She – Lucy - wanted to set that up, make things official. I’ll tell you straight, Ryan, I put her off again and again. I told her to wait, not to tell her parents until we’d spent a little more time together. I would meet her in Newcastle, take her out a few times a month, that sort of thing. It’s not that I didn’t care about her, Ryan, I did, I just -”

  “I get it, Alex. You were just using her.” Ryan’s voice was unforgiving.

  “Right, because you’re such a saint?” Alex turned on him. “You can stand there and tell me you’ve never done anything you’re ashamed of?”

  Ryan was silent for a long moment. No, he couldn’t say that. There were things which haunted him, which kept him from sleeping night after night, but as long as he was fighting to find this girl’s killer he could stop thinking about another girl he’d been too late to save.

  “This isn’t about me. I don’t answer the questions, Alex, I ask them.” His voice was flat.

  Alex just carried on looking at him.

  “So, you had an affair with Lucy,” he began.

  “You make it sound like something dirty,” Alex muttered.

  “Wasn’t it? You weren’t exactly desperate to join her parents for tea and scones, were you?”

  “I didn’t want to make her promises I couldn’t keep. Besides, she knew I
was still married.”

  “I bet you told her you were getting a divorce,” Ryan put in. He knew none of this was admissible and no caution had been given, no statement taken. He just wanted to know what made this man tick.

  “That’s true! Kim filed the papers three months ago.”

  Ryan raised an eyebrow. That was something, but he pushed for more.

  “Did you see Lucy last night at the pub?”

  “You know I did,” Alex answered wearily. He’d given his statement that morning, same as everyone else.

  “What were you wearing?”

  “What was I wearing?” Alex looked completely baffled by the question but Ryan’s gaze was unmoving, so he answered. “Ah, coastguard jacket, khaki cargo trousers, brown boots, white t-shirt and…” he trailed off, looked awkward for a moment.

  “And..?”

  “A green Christmas jumper. Has a reindeer on the front with flashing antlers. Satisfied?” Alex shifted uncomfortably.

  Ryan told himself not to be amused.

  “So, you met Lucy at the pub. Was that planned?”

  “No, it wasn’t. I’d already spoken to her, told her we needed to cool off so that it didn’t look bad for my divorce. I just ran into her at the pub, exchanged a couple of words. She was with her friends, anyway.”

  “You didn’t make plans to meet after the pub, for old times’ sake?”

  “No, we didn’t.”

  “See, from what I hear, Lucy was in pretty good spirits last night. Not consistent with a girl who’d just been dumped.”

  “I didn’t exactly dump her.”

  “Oh, my mistake,” Ryan held up a hand sarcastically. “You told her to cool off for appearances sake but still kept the stable door open in case you fancied riding that pony another time.”

  “There’s no need to be crass.”

  “There’s every need,” Ryan bit out, eyes flashing. “You swan around like the island’s resident Casanova, stringing Lucy along behind the scenes while you tie up loose ends with your wife. Then, less than twenty-four hours’ after Lucy’s found dead, you get your flirt on with the rest of the herd,” he jerked his head towards the pub and the women at the table they had left behind. “What happened, Alex? Lucy got too demanding?”