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

by LJ Ross

  Ryan’s eyes flew open.

  “No, Frank. I can’t rest while Edwards is somewhere out there. We’ve got a manhunt on our hands. People are depending on us to bring him in.”

  “You’re dead on your feet,” Phillips argued.

  “That won’t stop him.”

  Phillips couldn’t argue with that.

  “Have we got a team stationed at Edwards house, in case he tries to go back?’

  “Aye, MacKenzie took care of that. Faulkner’s going through the place and they’ve seized boxes of stuff, already. They found photographs,” Phillips added.

  Ryan fell silent, thinking of the gruesome images a man like Edwards might choose to capture and keep for posterity.

  “He needs the photographs to keep him going, between kills,” he said, in a voice devoid of emotion. “There may be other trophies. Other women.”

  “He has a type,” Phillips said. “With the exception of Sharon Cooper, they’ve all been young brunettes. That’ll be for a reason.”

  “We may never know the reason why,” Ryan said. “He as good as told me that, himself.”

  Phillips gave him a considering look and wondered what passed between Ryan and Edwards in the tunnel. Perhaps that was another thing he would never know.

  * * *

  There was a rapturous welcome awaiting Ryan as he stepped back inside the Incident Room. The staff of Operation Summer broke into spontaneous applause and there was plenty of the kind of back-slapping that Ryan normally detested.

  “Thanks,” he said, after the noise died down. “As you can see, I’m still in one piece. We have a name, we have a face. Let’s find him.”

  The room was re-energised now that its leader had returned, and police staff scattered back to their desks dealing with a constant stream of information that was trickling through. Every media source was reporting the manhunt and the country was gripped in a state of fear and limbo, afraid once again to leave their homes or answer their door to strangers.

  “Mac, tell me what we’ve got,” Ryan said, pouring himself a generous cup of what he assumed was coffee from an urn sitting on the side.

  “We’ve issued an All Ports Warning,” she said, running a sharp eye over his face. “The stations, ferry ports and airports are on red alert. Gregson’s managing the press and they’ve plastered his face all over the news.”

  “Good,” Ryan said. “People need to know what to look for.”

  “That’s what we thought. Durham CID have drafted in extra patrol officers, so we’ve got a bigger presence on the streets.”

  Ryan nodded.

  “What about his credit card company? His bank? Has there been any activity?”

  “Already spoken to them,” Lowerson said. “There’s been no activity on any of his bank cards since early this morning, when he bought a coffee on his way to work.”

  “He’s smart,” Ryan said. “He won’t make it easy for us. He didn’t keep his bag of tools on site at the hospital and he didn’t leave them at home—or did he?”

  MacKenzie shook her head.

  “We found photographs hidden in his study but nothing that looks like a murder weapon. Best guess is, he keeps a storage box or locker somewhere and stores everything there.”

  Ryan thought for a moment.

  “Does his house have a garage?”

  “No, it’s a terrace in Jesmond,” MacKenzie replied, referring to one of the city’s most expensive areas. “Most people park on the road.”

  “Or buy garage space, somewhere,” Ryan suggested. “Jack?”

  “On it, boss.” He bustled away to start searching.

  “Let’s assume he keeps a ready-bag in a separate, secure location,” Ryan said. “It’d be the first place he goes after leaving the tunnel.”

  “He might still be in there,” Phillips said. “Every exit is covered and there’s been no sign of him.”

  “Even the one at St. Thomas’s? He could have found a way through,” Ryan said. “And we didn’t account for the sewage pipe that runs as an offshoot. One of the drain covers was ajar.”

  “How could you tell?”

  “It was the only light source in the entire place,” Ryan said shortly. There would come a time when he’d have to think about the time he’d spent inside that tunnel, but it would not be now. He could not allow the remembered fear to hinder the work they needed to do.

  Phillips understood.

  “We’ve already got a team doing a search of the area around that drain cover. I’ll get in touch with the team on the ground and tell them to check the other manhole covers for any sign of tampering. It’ll give us a starting point and we can look at the surrounding CCTV once we know his exit point.”

  Ryan took a long drink of the lukewarm coffee in his hand.

  “What we really need to understand is what he hopes to achieve. Does he believe he’ll get away, or does he have some other goal in mind?”

  “We’ll find out, soon enough.”

  CHAPTER 39

  The city entered a state of lockdown.

  The Lord Mayor conducted a televised conference alongside DCS Gregson and a number of local officials with the notable absence of DCI Ryan, who was of the view that his time was better spent searching for Edwards than merely talking about it. The people of Newcastle and the surrounding areas were warned to remain indoors and not to venture outside unless it was an emergency, and to report anyone acting suspiciously or matching Edwards’ description.

  But, in their experience, there was nothing worse than well-meaning ‘do-goodery’, as Phillips called it. Armed with a very small amount of information, suddenly every man and woman in the city fancied themselves as Columbo and weren’t shy about it, either.

  The telephones in the Incident Room rang off their hooks as people reported near-constant sightings of The Hacker, with conflicting reports of people claiming to see him at a pub in Gateshead whilst simultaneously claiming to see him stealing a car on the opposite side of town. It was a gruelling task to sift through all the reports and try to make sense of them, but that was only the tip of the iceberg.

  Moments of panic and disorder were the perfect breeding ground for career criminals and there had been a spate of thefts reported in the last couple of hours as they took advantage of the city’s weakness. Police resources were already at breaking point and they could spare very few personnel to go through the motions of taking down statements and providing crime reference numbers.

  Armed police guarded the railway station and the airport, and army reservists had come down from their barracks in the Otterburn Ranges in Northumberland to assist.

  Throughout it all, Ryan couldn’t help but think of Stephanie Bernard, whose death had not yet been reported and had, in any event, been superseded by the manhunt.

  How Edwards must be enjoying himself.

  * * *

  Natalie Finlay-Ryan watched the news from the comfort of Ryan’s large, corner sofa. Every now and then, she dipped her hand into a bag of crisps and munched while she listened to reports of a foot chase that had taken her brother down beneath the city. Photographers had captured images of him arriving back at CID, and he’d looked exhausted.

  As if she had conjured him up, her phone began to ring.

  “Nat?”

  “Hey,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I’ve just been hearing about it on the news. Are you hurt?”

  Ryan thought of the bandage on his arm covering the small chunk Edwards had ripped from his skin, but it was minor in comparison to what could have been.

  “I’m fine. Just a few scrapes.”

  Natalie would believe that when she saw it.

  “It’s going to be another long night here,” he said, and she heard him stifle a yawn. “I just wanted to check everything was alright with you. Did you remember to lock the doors and windows?”

  She looked across at the enormous floor-to-ceiling windows and wondered how anybody would manage to scale a wall that high.

>   “The front door’s locked, the windows are secure,” she said. “Mum was on the phone, earlier. She’s worried about you.”

  “She’s always worried about me. It’s part of the job.”

  “This seems different,” she said, refusing to be fobbed off. “Look after yourself out there. I don’t know what any of us would do without you.”

  Ryan was taken aback by the strength of her emotion.

  “I love you, kid.”

  “I love you, too.”

  * * *

  They searched every nook and every cranny while Ryan contacted everybody at the hospital who had worked with Edwards and sent officers around to their houses to double-check they were not harbouring him. Keir Edwards had been universally liked and respected, to such a degree that some of his colleagues refused to believe it could be true that he had murdered four women, maybe more.

  It was startling, the extent to which he had cultivated his ‘nice guy’ persona. Nobody could believe that lovely Doctor Edwards could be a cold-blooded killer. They would not accept that they had been duped, conned into believing that he’d been anything other than what he was.

  A raider. A killer. A man without any compassion for his fellow human beings.

  Ryan had already observed that people were predisposed to apply positive attributes to people they found attractive, and Edwards fell squarely into that category. It was all too easy to see how he could have charmed the women he later murdered, using his eyes and his smile against their better nature. He chose carefully, too. Aside from Sharon Cooper, his victims had all been young brunettes in their twenties; not children, but not yet sufficiently seasoned by life experience to see the danger until it was too late.

  The search continued.

  CHAPTER 40

  It was nearly two o’clock in the morning by the time Faulkner’s team called it a night at Edwards’ home and MacKenzie told the surplus patrol staff to stand down for the night. They maintained an army presence, but the city was like a ghost town, its streets empty and glistening from the rain that had fallen on-and-off throughout the day.

  “It’s time you got some rest, lad. I’m surprised you’re still upright,” Phillips said.

  Ryan admitted he was only barely standing, and his eyes were so blurred he could barely see his computer screen.

  “Come on, I’m driving you home.”

  Ryan had already sent half of the team home for the evening to catch up on some rest, but a skeleton staff remained.

  “I’ll watch over things here and let you know if there’s any word,” Phillips promised. “You know it makes sense.’

  “I can drive myself,” Ryan protested, nearly falling over as he stood up.

  “I bet you haven’t eaten, either,” Phillips said sternly. “Howay, the Pie Van’s still open.”

  “At this hour?”

  “Why, aye,” Phillips said. “He’s canny, the bloke who runs it. He knows we’ve all been stuck in here and none of us can face the pasta bake in the staff canteen. He’s been doing a roaring trade all day.”

  After they’d made an obligatory stop for a steak and ale pie and washed it down with something equally nutritious, they made their way across town.

  Within minutes, Ryan’s eyelids drooped, and he fell asleep against the passenger window. Phillips glanced across at him and allowed his face to soften as he looked at the man who was his closest friend. Neither of them had said as much because they didn’t need to, but he would never forget how Ryan had been there for him when Laura had passed away. Ryan had put up with his anger and grief all those months with quiet sympathy. He’d bought him a pint when he’d needed it and given him work when he’d needed the distraction. They could not have come from two more different worlds and, yet, they had forged a friendship.

  Hell, it was more than that.

  They were like family.

  * * *

  Ryan could feel the shirt clinging to his back as he slammed out of Phillips’ car. The day had dragged on, hour after painful hour, and there was still no end in sight. Edwards was still out there, somewhere in the night.

  The river shimmered to his right like a black snake, rippling its way towards the sea. His eyes were like pinpricks after endless hours without rest and the burden of stress he’d carried for days. His heart was weary with failure, knowing there could be another one tonight.

  “Try to get some sleep, son,” Phillips said, from the driver’s seat.

  Ryan mumbled something unintelligible and headed towards the entrance of his apartment building. The streets were empty and only a handful of lights flickered in the other apartments. He looked up at the top floor and realised that one of them was his.

  Natalie must have waited up for him.

  He thought of his sister: bright and beautiful with a mane of long dark hair and eyes the same shade of grey as his own, inherited from their mother. He didn’t expect her to come and look after him and, in some ways, he would rather she wasn’t there to witness the aftermath of the day he’d put in.

  All he wanted was bed and oblivion.

  He waved Phillips off, making sure the door was shut behind him, then dragged himself over to the lift. Normally, he took the stairs, but he couldn’t find the energy to manage them tonight.

  As the doors swished open and he stepped onto the top floor landing, the first thing he noticed was that his front door was ajar.

  * * *

  Had Natalie left the door unlocked?

  Ryan frowned, black brows drawing together in an angry line. At a time when women were living in fear of attack, and knowing there was a man out there killing women just like her, she had no right to be so reckless.

  He pushed the door open, preparing to deliver a few choice words about home safety, and froze in the doorway. Fear hit him like a wall.

  Blood rushed in his ears as he moved slowly forward to see what rested on a small white tray on a table in the hallway. Three greying human fingers had been arranged into a teepee, propping up a card bearing the message, ‘CATCH ME IF YOU CAN’.

  His stomach performed a series of somersaults and his teeth began to chatter, but he reverted to training. His eyes scanned every corner of the room, searching every crevice for signs of Edwards but there was nothing. Nobody.

  His hands fumbled to find his phone and he pressed speed-dial for Phillips’ number.

  “Pick up. For God’s sake, pick up.”

  But the man was driving.

  Ryan put a call through to the Control Room, requesting immediate assistance, and slid the phone back into his pocket. He moved carefully from room to room towards his bedroom and the authorised firearm he kept in a locked box on the top shelf of his wardrobe.

  He never made it that far.

  He pushed open the door to his spare bedroom and saw that his sister was seated on a chair in the centre of the room, so he would see her as soon as he came in. The central lights blazed overhead, illuminating the sickly colour of her skin. Her head slumped forward, and her body was unmoving, tied into place by long strands of surgical tape.

  He didn’t know if she was still alive.

  Exhaustion and training forgotten, Ryan surged forward to check her pulse and release her from the ties. Panic and love swamped him in equal measure, overtaking self-preservation.

  The man who watched him judged it the perfect moment to strike.

  Edwards lunged from behind and Ryan turned too late, seeing a flash of movement as a pressure syringe plunged into the side of his neck. He tried to fight, to pull it from his skin, but his body was already shutting down as he fell to his knees and into the oblivion he had wished for.

  CHAPTER 41

  Ryan opened his eyes to a blistering headache.

  He was in the living area of his apartment and, remarkably, his arms and legs had not been tied. They didn’t need to be, he realised.

  They would not move.

  Across the room, he saw the monster hovering beside his sister and he tried to leap u
p from his chair, but the drugs prevented his body from responding to the frantic order.

  Edwards glanced behind him to where Ryan now lay in a heap on the floor, struggling to drag himself up.

  “Sedative,” he offered. “It’s obviously working well.”

  The bastard was right, Ryan thought. He couldn’t feel a thing in his legs as he lay beached on the floor, but there was movement in his arms. With silent, subtle movements he reached behind to the pocket of his jeans, feeling around for his mobile phone.

  It wasn’t there.

  He looked across to the dining table and spotted the contents of his pockets sitting on the top.

  “What do you want?” he managed, not recognising the sound of his own voice.

  “For one thing, I’d like this ridiculous game of cat and mouse to end,” Edwards replied. “It’s been fun. Don’t think I haven’t enjoyed knowing you were always a few steps behind me, plodding along in your interminable way, but I’d like to regain my freedom.”

  “Get out!”

  “Tut, tut. After all the time you’ve spent trying to find me, I’d have thought you’d be a bit more welcoming. If I hadn’t invited myself over, who knows when you might have found me, if at all?”

  Ryan used his hands to grip the carpet and drag himself along, inch by painstaking inch. Unperturbed, Edwards strolled across to one of the dining chairs and dragged it across to where he had placed Natalie, in the centre of the room like a showpiece. He seated himself beside her, crossing one elegant, suit-clad leg over the other. Ryan thought he recognised the suit as one of his own.

  “Get away from her!”

  He tried to heave himself upwards, crying out in frustration when his body would not cooperate.

  Edwards trailed a finger over Natalie’s unconscious cheek.

  “She should be coming around any time now. We’ll have a nice little chat, the three of us.”

  “Not her,” Ryan begged. “Please, not her.”

  Edwards raised an eyebrow.

  “I bet that hurt your pride, just a little. The mighty DCI Ryan reduced to begging. On his knees, no less.”