The Death Messenger

by Mari Hannah

  ‘No sweat, man.’ Watson pulled the paper towards him and picked up a pen, visibly relaxing. He was now onside. The detectives had him and they knew it. What’s more, so did he.

  Ryan’s phone vibrated in his pocket: Newman.

  He stood. ‘Sorry, ma’am – I have to take this.’

  ‘Go ahead. I’ll finish up here.’ She announced his departure for the benefit of the tape before he was out of the door.

  Wandering along the corridor, Ryan noticed Grace sitting in the next interview room to the one he’d just come out of. She was drinking a cup of tea, the faint smell of antiseptic hitting his senses as he walked in and sat down next to her. She’d seen the police surgeon – not of her own free will, he presumed – probably at the insistence of O’Neil.

  Good call.

  ‘It’s me,’ Newman’s voice hit Ryan’s ear. ‘Can you speak?’

  ‘Sure.’ Frank, Ryan mimed. ‘Grace is fine, by the way, thanks for asking.’

  Grace rolled her eyes in a way that made him think that the newlyweds had fallen out. He wondered if they had spoken to each other while he was interviewing Watson with the SIO or if they’d had words before Operation Gloria.

  Newman ignored the dig. ‘O’Neil would like you both to return to base ASAP. We’re in business. Sussex Police have been on the blower. We have a recovery in Brighton. It’s all hands on deck.’

  Ryan could read people, even people like Newman. When he asked the spook what else was going on – because sure as hell something was – Newman ended the call abruptly. The detective sergeant sighed. That was a bad sign. If he were any judge, this day would not end well.

  34

  Grace was silent in the car on the short journey to their base. She didn’t offer an explanation and Ryan didn’t pry. He guessed that her uncharacteristic reserve had more to do with the bump on her head than with Newman. The man was a machine. When they arrived at the apartment, O’Neil was nowhere to be seen. Ryan knew instantly that the spook’s call had been a ruse, that he and Grace had been summoned to base under false pretences. What’s more, she didn’t look surprised.

  ‘Do we have a body in Brighton or don’t we?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘We do,’ Newman said. ‘O’Neil nipped out to HQ.’

  Ryan’s focus switched from Frank to Grace. ‘So what’s with the pet lips?’

  Grace’s body language was confrontational. She had her arms crossed, her focus on her husband, her expression a mixture of uncertainty and unrest. Newman, on the other hand, was cool, ice-blue eyes giving nothing away – a man easily able to hide emotion.

  A stand-off then . . .

  ‘Will one of you let me in?’ Ryan asked. ‘We have work to do.’

  ‘That’s what I told him,’ Grace said. ‘Telling tales out of school is not on my agenda. We have more important things to deal with.’

  Newman glared at his bride. ‘Stop pissing about, Grace. The fact that you won’t tell me adds weight to what we already know.’

  ‘It might not.’

  ‘What the hell?’ Ryan had no clue what they were arguing about.

  ‘Grace knows stuff about O’Neil she’s not prepared to divulge,’ Newman said. ‘Apparently, she’s too principled, even though there are things going on that a) we don’t fully understand and b) are being deliberately hidden by your guv’nor—’

  ‘It’s personal,’ was all Grace would say in return.

  ‘How do we know unless you share it?’ Newman said.

  Grace rounded on him. ‘You’ll have to take my word for it.’

  They began arguing; not a silly squabble, really going for it. Ryan tried to interrupt before someone said something they might regret. When Newman wanted information, even from his wife, he was like a man possessed. He went after it with every weapon in his armoury – including putting the bite on the only woman he’d ever loved, knowing it would break her heart to get on the wrong side of him. He never raised his voice. He didn’t have to. For every point she put forward, he had a counter-argument that made her think twice. Grace was losing the fight, if only she could see it.

  ‘Let me be the judge of what you have on O’Neil,’ Newman said. ‘If it’s not relevant, I’ll back off—’

  ‘Not on your life!’ she snapped.

  They were rowing so enthusiastically no one heard O’Neil enter the apartment. ‘Jesus! I could hear you from outside,’ she said. ‘You want to have a domestic, do it on your own time.’

  An awkward silence.

  Three heads turned towards the voice.

  No one spoke.

  O’Neil’s coat was dripping wet, her face flushed and weatherbeaten. The dripping umbrella in her right hand created a puddle on the floor as she stood there gawping at them. A violent storm was moving in off the North Sea. Rain hammered on the windows, streaking down the glass in torrents, the rumbling of thunder a sign of impending doom.

  ‘You all look very sheepish, I must say.’ Her eyes scanned them one by one. ‘Ryan? Are you going to tell me what’s going on?’

  Guilt rendered him speechless. His throat constricted, like a hand was applying firm pressure to his Adam’s apple, cutting off his air supply. He should’ve gone to her from the outset, levelled with her, told her of Newman’s suspicions. He owed her that much.

  ‘Not a domestic then?’ O’Neil addressed them all. ‘Is anyone going to fill me in?’

  The team eyed each other across the room, a deathly hush. O’Neil’s focus was the two men, Grace’s too. Her face was red and blotchy, anger eating her up. Ryan noticed his reflection in the blackened glass behind her. His shoulders were down. He had no bloody idea how he was going to repair the damage of what was to come.

  ‘You bottleless shits!’ Grace exploded. ‘Well, if you won’t come clean, I will. While he was in London, my other half was digging the dirt on you, Eloise.’

  O’Neil shrugged, unconcerned. ‘It’s happened before.’

  ‘I told him personal stuff is off limits.’

  ‘Nothing is off limits,’ Newman said. ‘You all know how I operate.’

  ‘What gems did you come up with this time, Frank?’ O’Neil was looking directly at him.

  ‘Before we discuss that, I want you to know that I was covering my back, nothing more. I like to check out all the players before I dive into a case. It was important to know who was blocking our investigation and why, where the balance of power was, who was really running the show.’

  ‘That would be me, at this level anyway,’ O’Neil said. ‘I report to Ford. That should be enough, even for you, Frank.’

  Newman didn’t try to hide his scepticism.

  O’Neil switched her focus to Ryan, almost a glare. ‘I must say, I expected more support from my wing-man.’

  ‘This is not his doing,’ Newman said. ‘He tried to talk me out of it.’

  ‘Not hard enough.’ There was spite in O’Neil’s words.

  ‘I’m not having that,’ Newman said. ‘Ryan insisted that you were the boss. If you told us to jump, we should ask how high. For what it’s worth, he refused to involve himself and was very vocal on the subject. This is down to me, Eloise. I take full responsibility.’

  ‘Do you now?’ O’Neil was seething, trying not to show it. Her eyes shifted to her DS. ‘So why the guilty expression, Ryan?’

  He held her gaze. ‘When Frank told me what he’d found out, I was angry, I admit it. I thought he’d overstepped his brief—’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘If you want the truth, I can see where he’s coming from. He’s the one in the firing line, guv.’

  ‘Oh really? I thought that was me.’

  ‘You can criticize him all you like. If I were in his shoes, I’d have done the same. He was fact-checking, nothing more.’

  O’Neil was rooted to the spot, a pool of rainwater at her feet. She hadn’t taken her coat off since entering the apartment. Finding herself betrayed by the very people she’d come to trust, the look on her face had gone from indign
ation to deeply offended to . . . wounded.

  She might be down but she certainly wasn’t out.

  ‘Come on then,’ she said. ‘Let’s have it.’

  Newman began and didn’t stop until he was done. He gave no details of how he’d come by the information and O’Neil didn’t question him on it. She was a pro, aware that if she asked him a million times he’d stonewall her on the subject. Nevertheless, she was shaken by the sheer detail he had at his fingertips, not to mention the speed with which he’d obtained it.

  Ryan took a step forward. He was about to offer to take O’Neil’s coat and umbrella, but she moved away, her body rigid, as if he’d raised his hand to slap her. He was struggling to keep faith with either side. Newman’s investigation was fully justified but O’Neil deserved respect and loyalty.

  ‘Guv’ – he couldn’t bring himself to call her Eloise – ‘you must see why Frank had to cover himself. That way he was in control. That’s the rules of the game, otherwise he’d be in jeopardy.’

  ‘This is not a game though, is it?’ O’Neil stared at Grace. ‘And you were happy to go along with this? You surprise me. I thought you had more integrity . . . I thought you all had more integrity.’

  ‘She does,’ Newman said in her defence. ‘That’s why we were arguing. She knew stuff she wasn’t prepared to tell us.’

  O’Neil’s face was flushed. ‘Then I apologize unreservedly.’

  ‘Don’t you dare apologize!’ Grace’s eyes were like saucers. She glanced at Ryan, her husband and then O’Neil, her voice barely a whisper. ‘You’re going to have to tell them, Eloise.’

  ‘Tell us what?’ Ryan asked.

  ‘Do you not talk to Frank, Grace?’ O’Neil clearly didn’t believe that husband and wife hadn’t already shared her secrets.

  ‘About you? No! Why would I? Your personal life is private, same as mine. Frank isn’t interested in gossip unless it involves national security. Never has been. It’s not my place to divulge anything I know about you to him or vice versa.’ She flicked her eyes to Ryan. ‘Or him. Ask him, if you don’t believe me. Ryan knew nothing of Frank until he found him in my house when we were looking for Jack, and yet I’ve known him for a quarter of a century. There are some things you keep to yourself.’

  ‘Well, my hands are up,’ O’Neil said. ‘This is my apartment, but I can assure you that the person who bought it has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with this investigation.’

  Newman took the direct route. ‘Who is she then?’

  O’Neil hesitated. ‘You mean Hilary?’

  ‘It’s a simple enough question,’ he said. ‘You told me Ford was digging, pressurizing you to reveal the names of your additional personnel. If he had to ask, then he’s not in charge. He’s obviously a front man for someone higher up the food chain.’

  ‘I’m not prepared to go into it. If you’re unhappy with that, feel free to ship out at any time. That goes for you too, Ryan. I’ve had about as much as I can take from all of you.’

  Frank wasn’t convinced.

  Grace either.

  The ‘perfectly reasonable explanation’ Ryan had told Newman to expect didn’t materialize. A moment of sorrow as the team waited in absolute deadlock. Ryan sat down, put his head in his hands. They could have handled that better.

  Should have.

  ‘Tell them.’ Grace was almost pleading.

  ‘Go to hell! I have nothing to hide.’ O’Neil walked into her room and slammed the door behind her, leaving them none the wiser.

  35

  Ryan stood up as O’Neil re-entered the living room minus her wet coat. She’d been gone five minutes, no more. He’d come to view her as a mate and hated to think that he was in any way responsible for her pain. He felt tainted by the accusations levelled at her, ashamed for having done so little to preserve their special relationship. It had been a while since they had been on opposing sides. He’d never imagined they would end up there again. It hurt him deeply that the woman who’d handpicked him as her second-in-command – when she had her pick of detectives countrywide – was probably now regretting that decision.

  She was looking directly at him.

  ‘We’re booked on the 07.55 to King’s Cross. You need to pack for a few days away from base.’ She turned away, reaching for the door handle. His hopes rose as she hesitated. She stood for a moment, ramrod straight, with her back to her so-called team. Slowly she turned to face them. ‘Frank, your informants aren’t entirely wrong. Hilary Forsythe is very well connected and known to me, but not as some shadowy figure covertly running the show. That, if you don’t mind me saying so, is bullshit.’

  Newman remained silent.

  ‘Whether you choose to believe it or not, it’s true,’ O’Neil insisted.

  ‘You can see why Frank might think it,’ Grace said.

  Ryan could see O’Neil was wavering, less certain than she had been a moment ago. He wasn’t sure if that made the situation better or worse. What the hell was going on? She’d admitted owning the apartment, so why not come right out and tell them the truth?

  Faced with such opposition, she turned away and walked slowly to the window. Taking her phone from her pocket she punched in a number and lifted the device to her ear. Ryan peered enquiringly at Grace and Frank, then checked his watch: 02:12 – an odd time to make a call. Seconds later, O’Neil began to speak and didn’t waste her breath on a greeting.

  ‘Hilary, I want the truth,’ she said. ‘Are you heading up my new unit?’ She turned to face the team, her back to the window. She’d been humiliated once and it was obvious to everyone present that it was happening again. Her face was flushed, her eyes wild with fury. ‘Thank you for being honest . . . no, that was a bad call, for everyone concerned . . . yes, well you might have told me, I now have a mutiny on my hands . . . Of course they are!’ She raised her voice. ‘What the hell did you expect? That’s as it may be, but I’m not sure I can carry on under those circumstances.’

  Ryan tensed as Eloise turned her eyes on him, still listening to Forsythe.

  ‘There’s nothing to discuss,’ she said. ‘You’ll have my resignation at the conclusion of this case. Goodnight, Hilary.’ She hung up, took a long, deep breath. ‘You’d better sit down.’

  The team did as she asked.

  ‘Well, where to start?’ She rubbed at her temples, her expression a mixture of vulnerability and despair. ‘It seems that my benefactor is in charge. As you just heard, that is news to me. By the way, Hilary is a man, not a woman, an eminent judge, formerly based in the south, recently retired. He purchased this flat as a wedding present.’ She paused. ‘He was to have been my father-in-law. Let’s say, it didn’t quite work out. Nevertheless, he still thinks the world of me. We’ve kept in touch and see each other frequently. Dinner dates. The theatre. He’s a kind, generous man. I’m not screwing him, in case you’re wondering.’

  ‘We weren’t,’ Grace said quickly. ‘And we don’t, do we, guys?’

  ‘The Porsche,’ Ryan mumbled under his breath.

  ‘What Porsche?’ Grace and Newman said simultaneously.

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’ Ryan said it in a way that they wouldn’t ask again, a raft of feelings competing for his attention. He was sickened by the news that Eloise intended to quit.

  ‘He means Hilary’s car,’ O’Neil said. ‘He picked me up here yesterday. He sees it as his responsibility to keep an eye on me.’ She dropped her head, then raised it again, pain etched on her face as she confronted her accusers, on the verge of disclosing her innermost secrets. Her voice was hardly a whisper. ‘His son is Stephen Forsythe QC, the bastard who jilted me at the altar last Christmas Eve.’

  O’Neil looked away, an attempt to deflect any sympathy coming her way. Ryan’s stomach took a dive. No wonder Grace didn’t want to share information this personal. Right now, she didn’t know where to put herself. She was biting down so hard, trying not to lose control, her jaw was like a blade.

  ‘I knew the wedding had been c
alled off,’ she said. ‘Nothing more.’

  ‘I tried to give the apartment back,’ O’Neil added, ‘but Hilary wouldn’t take it. He told me to keep it as an investment if I didn’t want to live in it. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. I never moved in.’

  ‘And who could blame you?’ Grace was visibly upset now.

  Ryan hadn’t seen her so moved since her own wedding day. He didn’t know what to say to O’Neil, what he might do to help her out of this. Her revelation explained everything: her unhappiness, her odd behaviour, the whole damned lot – and he’d done sod all to support her.

  ‘I’m so very sorry, Eloise.’ Grace took O’Neil’s hand in hers. ‘You don’t need to say any more.’

  ‘I think I do.’ O’Neil tried for a smile but it failed to show up. ‘Turns out Stephen screws anything in a skirt, the shorter the better. If he hadn’t moved away from the area, I might have seen him on the Fish Quay earlier this evening. Young Gloria would have been right up his street.’

  Grace laughed and then cried.

  When O’Neil’s bottom lip quivered, Grace squeezed her hand and left the apartment without another word, giving Newman a dirty look as she passed him on the way out. The spook tripped over his apology, then followed his wife, leaving Ryan to clear up in their wake. He stood there for a moment, unable to tell Eloise how very sorry he was that she’d been forced into such an invidious position.

  ‘Guv—’

  ‘Don’t!’ She walked away.

  For a while, he stood there – ineffectual – staring at her bedroom door, willing her to walk back through it so they could talk, all night if necessary, so he could make it right. It remained firmly closed. No sound from within. There was no way back from this.

  36

  There was something delicious about killing on a Sunday, traditionally a day of worship for believers, a day of rest for those with more sense. However people chose to spend it, church, family get-together, pub roast or lazy day in the garden, these were not activities on her agenda. She had more important things in mind. There were scores to settle and she wasn’t done yet.