The Infirmary: A DCI Ryan Mystery (The DCI Ryan Mysteries Book 11)

by LJ Ross

  “The fact is, we need fresh eyes on this,” he said. “We need to go back over everything, right back to the start. It’s impossible for some of you to do that without being influenced by what has gone before. That being the case, Hitchins, Jessop, Clayton, Adowu, Umber and Lee will be re-assigned. Thank you for all your work so far, please go home and get some rest.”

  He reached down for a stack of papers, preparing himself for the backlash.

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  “Are you kidding me?” Jessop burst out, his voice clattering around the room like old tin. “If you think I’m going to let you swan in here like King Dick and tell me where to get off—”

  “Lower your voice and moderate your language,” Ryan’s voice cracked like a whip. “If you have any objections to raise about how I choose to manage this investigation, you can use the appropriate channels.”

  “You’re not fobbing me off! I deserve to stay on the team, and I want my name on the charge sheet when we bring him in.”

  And that, Ryan thought, was the man’s biggest mistake. It wasn’t a question of who got the collar, it was a question of teamwork.

  “You want to do this here, in front of all these people?” Ryan inclined his head. “Alright, we’ll have this out now in front of a roomful of witnesses. Let the record show I advised PC Jessop to follow HR procedures, which he declined.”

  “Duly noted,” Phillips said.

  Ryan moved around to the front of his desk and spoke directly to the gym-hardened man who stood a few feet away with aggression etched into every line of his body.

  “You say you deserve to be on this team,” Ryan growled. “I say that’s bollocks. I’ve heard reports that you failed time and again to follow orders from your superiors and encouraged Dobbs to take his own life, thereby failing in your first duty to protect and serve the public.”

  Jessop’s face lost some colour.

  “That’s rubbish! Tell him, Hitchins!”

  His partner’s silence spoke volumes. She looked away, remembering the words he had used on the bridge, how he’d told Dobbs there was nothing to live for.

  Just as Ryan had suspected.

  “Furthermore, ever since I took over the investigation, your behaviour has been obstructive. You have sought to undermine my position as SIO and created division in the team you seem so keen to be a part of. Why?”

  Jessop’s lip curled.

  “You’re nothing,” he spat. “You went to a fancy school and have a fancy name. That’s why you’re a DCI while I’m still a pissin’ constable. I’m twice the man you are!”

  “I’m your superior officer,” Ryan shot back. “And you are relieved of active duties pending a full investigation, effective immediately. Now, get out.”

  Ryan watched the man’s face and saw it coming, even before Jessop’s fist swung out. He dodged and had Jessop’s arms pinned behind his back in one smooth motion.

  “Get off us!” Jessop shouted.

  “You’ve just added attempted assault to your list of misdemeanours,” Ryan said.

  Phillips and MacKenzie jumped to their feet to give him a hand but Ryan shook his head. The others in the room watched without batting an eyelid as he strong-armed Jessop out of the room and thrust him down the corridor, only just restraining himself from planting his boot in the man’s backside.

  “Go home and cool off,” he ordered. “If I don’t have a written apology on my desk by nine a.m. tomorrow, I’ll be straight down to the Super’s office. Think about it.”

  When he returned to the Incident Room, twenty-three faces looked up at Ryan in a kind of wonder.

  “It’s always the quiet ones,” Phillips told Lowerson, sagely.

  Ryan appeared completely unruffled as he stalked back to the front of the room.

  “Where were we?”

  “Fresh eyes,” Phillips supplied, folding his hands comfortably across his paunch. “You were saying we need to look at things afresh.”

  Ryan blinked a couple of times and thought that he could use some eye drops to clear his own hazy vision, thanks to a spate of sleepless nights.

  “Right. I want us to re-examine everything we have on Isobel Harris. She’s the key to working out what drives him.”

  “We managed to decipher the card he left on Cooper’s body,” Faulkner spoke up. “It said, ‘CATCH ME IF YOU CAN’ and was written in ordinary black biro on thick cream card stock, available from any stationery retailer in the land.”

  “Any prints?” Ryan asked.

  Faulkner shook his head.

  “No such luck, I’m afraid. Anything that might have been on there has been obscured by Sharon’s own bodily fluids. It was a hard enough job recovering the message, let alone anything else.”

  “Alright,” Ryan said. “It’s still useful because it confirms what we already know: the man’s a peacock. He wants our attention, our praise, and he likes the thrill of the chase. Why else leave such a juvenile message?”

  “It’s all a game to him,” MacKenzie said, looking at her friend’s face hanging on the wall. “If nothing and nobody matters to him, he needs to create his own sport, doesn’t he?”

  There was a short silence as her words rang true.

  “Thanks, Tom,” Ryan said eventually. “We appreciate you working around the clock on this and I need you to keep at it, for as long as possible. We need the answers.”

  “Happy to.”

  Ryan turned to the others.

  “Phillips, Lowerson? Go back over the statements with a fine-toothed comb and re-interview anyone you need to. Look again at the CCTV. I want you to flag anything that strikes a chord with the Cooper investigation, anything that might connect the victims and give us a new line of enquiry. MacKenzie? You’re with me.”

  Phillips watched them walk out of the room with an odd, sinking feeling in his belly. Ryan and MacKenzie were just a couple of colleagues working together, he told himself. Nothing to get riled up about. But the small, petty part of his brain whispered that they were the ‘beautiful ones’. She, with her mane of red hair that shone beneath the shabby industrial lighting, and Ryan, who looked like he’d just stepped off the front cover of GQ magazine.

  He’d hate him for it, if he didn’t happen to like the bloke so much.

  And what was he? An over-the-hill detective sergeant with a penchant for bacon stotties. What did he have to offer a vibrant woman like Denise MacKenzie? For starters, she was in her early-forties and he was ten years older. These things mattered to some people. He smoked, always had done, and it was common knowledge she couldn’t stand the filthy habit.

  They were obviously incompatible.

  “—Frank?”

  He jerked in his chair and was surprised to find Lowerson looking at him expectantly.

  “Shall we get started?”

  “Aye, lad. Sorry, I was miles away.”

  Lowerson stuck his tongue in his cheek.

  “MacKenzie’s a nice woman, isn’t she?”

  “You noticed, eh?”

  “So did you, by the looks of it.”

  “Watch it, bonny lad. My interest in DI MacKenzie is purely professional.”

  “I believe you. Millions wouldn’t.”

  “Oh,” Phillips blustered. “Haddaway and shite.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Fenwick department store was a local institution housed in a grand, stately-looking building in the centre of Newcastle’s shopping district. The perfume department where Isobel Harris had worked was located on the ground floor, accessible via a set of elegant brass doors leading directly into a gleaming hall. Bright spotlights illuminated acres of white marble and glossy display stands containing rows of colourful potions and powders in every conceivable shade. As they stepped over the threshold, Ryan surveyed it all with a hint of panic.

  “Minx Red,” he said, picking up one of the lipsticks at random. “Do people really wear all this gunk? There must be thirty or forty different brands in here and they all sell r
ed lipstick. What’s the difference between them? How d’ you know which one will really make you a minx?”

  MacKenzie chuckled as he turned to her with an expression of dazed confusion.

  “Depends on the person you’re wearing it for,” she replied, and was irritated to find herself wondering whether Phillips preferred a woman who wore lipstick. What did she care?

  Maybe his wife had worn red.

  Oh, stop it.

  “Personally, I save the Minx Red for special occasions,” she said.

  “Me too,” Ryan replied, deadpan.

  MacKenzie grinned.

  “Where’s the Lola counter?” He turned a full circle, searching for Isobel’s former workplace. “I can’t see the wood for the trees in this place. They should put an epilepsy warning outside the main doors—this lighting is enough to give anyone a migraine.”

  “Come on,” MacKenzie said, ushering him in the direction of a counter in the far corner of the beauty hall with sleek black countertops. It was manned by two reed-thin women dressed entirely in black, sporting flawlessly made-up faces and beaming white smiles.

  “Can I help you today?” One of them stepped forward as they approached, assessing their faces with a practised eye. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

  “We’d like to speak to Amaya, if she’s around?”

  The girl’s eyes turned cool and she gestured her colleague over, imagining she’d lost a commission.

  “Amaya? This lady and gentleman would like you to serve them,” she said.

  A woman of around twenty greeted them, eyes widening as she took in the tall, dark-haired man with arresting grey eyes.

  “Yes? How can I help?”

  Ryan studiously ignored her reaction and retrieved his warrant card, holding it up for her to inspect.

  “DCI Ryan and DI MacKenzie, from Northumbria CID. Do you have time for a quick chat?”

  Her face fell into immediate lines of concern.

  “I—yes, hang on a minute. Lydia! I’m just taking a quick break.”

  She led them away from the counter and made for the upmarket food hall next door, where Ryan’s superior nose detected the sweet smell of freshly brewed coffee emanating from an artisan coffee stall.

  “Is it okay to talk here?” Amaya twisted her hands nervously and MacKenzie stepped into the breach.

  “Of course.” She placed a gentle hand on the woman’s back and nudged her towards a table. “You’re not in trouble, Amaya. Would you like a drink?”

  “Um, okay. Can I have a flat white, please?”

  Ryan ordered three coffees and they settled down to talk while they warmed themselves from the inside out.

  “I guess you’re here about Isobel,” she said, wrapping her fingers around the coffee cup. “I told the other detectives everything I could remember, I swear.”

  “We appreciate it,” Ryan assured her, trying not to feel irritated as she stared at him over the rim of her coffee cup.

  This was becoming awkward.

  As though she had read his thoughts, MacKenzie stepped in once again and spoke in a motherly tone she reserved for skittish witnesses and those under the influence of excess hormones.

  “We’re grateful for all your help so far,” she reiterated. “And we understand it can be frustrating to have to repeat yourself over and over, but it’s really vital that you try. All we want to do is make sure we have everything very clear in our minds, so we can try to find the person who hurt your friend.”

  Amaya’s big, kohl-rimmed eyes filled with tears, but she held herself together.

  “I don’t mind telling you again,” she said softly. “I just don’t know whether it’ll help. I don’t really know anything.”

  “Even the tiniest details can be important,” Ryan put in, and she flushed.

  “Why don’t you start by telling us how long you’d known Isobel?” MacKenzie interjected swiftly.

  Amaya sipped her coffee and nodded.

  “Okay, yeah. It was just over a year. I remember, because Isobel started working on the Lola counter in May last year. We hit it off straight away because she was just so—so nice.” Her voice wobbled, and she took another gulp of coffee.

  “You’re doing really well,” Ryan told her. “Try remembering some of the good things about Isobel. Did you go out together, after work?”

  Amaya cast her mind back to happier times and smiled.

  “Yeah, we went out on Thursday nights, usually. We were both knackered on Fridays, so we went out mid-week instead. They have 2-for-1 cocktails on Thursday nights, too,” she explained.

  They murmured their understanding.

  “Anyway,” she shrugged a slim shoulder. “Isobel was kind of quiet, but she loved music. I guess she didn’t have much money because she was always worrying about it, but she’d treat herself every now and then.”

  “What about when you would go out,” Ryan prodded. “Did Isobel get a lot of attention?”

  Amaya nodded.

  “Oh, yeah. I mean, she was beautiful, wasn’t she?”

  They both nodded. Isobel Harris had been a stunner, and her killer a connoisseur.

  “Was there anyone in particular? Anyone who upset or worried her?”

  Amaya made a face.

  “Not really. She went on a few dates, but she wasn’t into anything casual. She was old-fashioned that way. I think she wanted to meet someone special and have a proper family. She never really had that growing up.”

  Ryan and MacKenzie thought of the background information they had about the late Isobel Harris and mourned the loss of a life that had barely begun. She’d grown up in care, moving through a series of foster homes until she’d turned sixteen and moved into her own supervised housing. By the time she’d celebrated her twenty-fourth birthday, Isobel had worked her way up to being a team leader and had bought her own little house in Jarrow. She’d set up a cottage business as a wedding make-up artist on the side and life was on the up.

  That was before somebody decided to cut it short.

  “Is that why Isobel joined LoveLife?” MacKenzie asked. “She was looking for someone special?”

  “Yeah, she said she could vet them before she agreed to go out with them,” Amaya said. “Not that they always told the truth. That’s what happened with the bloke who killed himself the other day—John Dobbs, or whatever his name was. He was the only one who wouldn’t leave her alone. He really pestered her.”

  “Tell us about it,” Ryan asked, leaning back in his chair.

  Her eyes watched the action and he sighed inwardly.

  “Ah, yeah, well, she said she’d met this really fit guy online. He was thirty-five, really good-looking, and he worked as a consultant something-or-other in A&E. She was so excited to meet him. She made a real effort and everything. I did her eye-shadow,” she muttered, glumly.

  “And this was John Dobbs?”

  “Yeah, that was him, but when she turned up at the restaurant, he was totally different to his profile online. He looked nothing like his picture, and it turned out he’d lied about everything. Isobel felt a bit sorry for him, so she stayed a little while and then made an excuse to leave. She must have told him where she worked because he turned up the next day, and the day after that. The second time, she told him to piss off and we had to call security to get rid of him.”

  Ryan thought of the CCTV footage they’d already seen.

  “It’s funny,” Amaya murmured. “She’d only been in A&E a couple of weeks earlier and she said there’d been this really hot doctor. I think she hoped it would be him.”

  Their ears pricked up immediately.

  “Isobel was in hospital? What for?” MacKenzie asked, leaning forward urgently.

  Amaya looked between them.

  “Ah, it was nothing really. She came over a bit dizzy one day and it’s company policy to send us straight to A&E if one of us gets dizzy, just in case it’s something serious. Turns out she was fine; it was probably just anaemia or
something.”

  “Do you remember the date this happened?” Ryan asked, working hard to keep the excitement from his voice.

  “Sure,” she nodded, feeling around the pocket of her tunic for her phone so she could check the calendar. “It was the same day I went to see Mamma Mia! at the theatre, so I should be able to find the date.”

  Amaya scrolled back a few weeks.

  “Yeah, it was Saturday 7th June,” she told them, then looked up with hopeful eyes. “Did I help?”

  Ryan smiled warmly.

  “You definitely did. You helped your friend today, Amaya. She was lucky to have you.”

  The girl beamed, then her eyes clouded with worry again.

  “I thought—when I watched the news on Sunday, I thought it was all over. I thought he’d been the one who killed her but then I heard about what happened to DCI Cooper. She was so lovely when she came around to ask questions…” The girl stopped, blinking furiously. “Do you think it’s the same person who killed Isobel?”

  Ryan and MacKenzie exchanged a look. It was on the tip of his tongue to fob the girl off with a stock answer, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

  “We think so, but we can’t be sure, yet,” Ryan said, truthfully.

  Amaya took a final sip of her coffee and pushed it away, seeming to draw herself up before she asked the final question that had, to her shame, been occupying her mind even more than the loss of her friend.

  “Do you think he’ll come back? I mean, do you think he’d come after me too?”

  Another tricky question, Ryan thought.

  “It’s unlikely,” he said. “But it makes sense to be careful. Try not to go anywhere alone, if you can help it. We have no reason to believe he’d target you, Amaya, but don’t take any unnecessary risks.”

  She took a deep breath and nodded.

  “I’m so lucky to be alive,” she whispered. “When Isobel is—”

  “It’s not your fault,” Ryan assured her. “It’s nobody’s fault, except the person who killed her. Try to remember that.”

  * * *

  Dusk had fallen when they emerged from the garish, artificial light of the beauty hall and stepped outside. Ahead of them, a tall monument to Earl Grey rose up over a hundred feet into the pearl-grey sky. It stood as an island amid the pedestrianised zone around Grainger Town, the historic heart of the city which boasted classical Georgian architecture and wide avenues leading down to the river. Ryan looked up at the column and wondered what its figurehead had seen over the past two hundred years. How many people had passed beneath Grey’s unmoving eyes, never to return?