Sycamore Gap: A DCI Ryan Mystery(104)

He stood up and she felt her heart stutter in her chest, her chest rising and falling too rapidly. She made a conscious effort to slow its rhythm, back to the slow, inconspicuous rise and falls of earlier.

As it happened, she was not his objective.

He moved back to the small mahogany cabinet and, this time, he brought out a silver bangle. It was the last one in his possession.

Moving back towards Denise, he lifted her slim wrist and clasped it around the limp bone, taking a moment to check her pulse. Slow and steady, he approved. That was good.

“Just a little present, my dear,” he admired the way the silver serpent glinted against the pale skin and then let her arm fall back into place.

“The serpent is, of course, very symbolic. Originally, I bought ten of those bracelets, for another purpose entirely.” He sniggered, like a naughty schoolboy having disobeyed his headmaster. “Instead, I gave one to Amy and decided to keep the other nine, just in case. Well …”

His eyes snaked away, to rest on the unseen photographs hidden inside his mahogany cabinet. Briefly, their images flashed in his mind, replaying the sensations, the power and the pleasure of it all. Desire made his voice thicker, when he spoke again.

“The one on your wrist is the only one I have left. You should feel very special, Denise. I don’t hand them out to just anybody, you know.”

MacKenzie thought of eight other young women, probably dark-haired, who were missing presumed dead. She wondered where he had killed them, where he had hidden them.

“I think it’s perhaps best if we continue our little discussion on the road,” he said, almost sadly. “Much as I’m enjoying myself, I can see that you’re looking a lot more wide-eyed than you were a few minutes ago. Quite apart from that, I’m not in the habit of shitting in my own back yard,” he boomed out his laugh.

MacKenzie watched him check and double check the contents of his bag, then roll his shoulders as he moved around the coffee table.



“Get out of my way!” Phillips was squared up to Ryan, his short, muscled physique tensed for battle. It took every ounce of strength and training to hold him off.

“Listen to me, Frank. Listen!” The pummelling stalled, briefly, and the small collection of firearms officers and detective constables in position around the house raised their eyebrows in collective amazement. “The minute he admits to anything, we’ll be in there like a shot, but he’s prattling on about his childhood. We need him to talk about Amy or Claire or even one of the others he might have done. Hopefully, he’ll squeal about Geraldine Hart, too.”

Phillips battled against his instincts, which were strongly urging him to ram his SIO to one side and barge through the front door.

But he was a policeman first and foremost.

“The minute – the minute, he breathes anything useful, I’m going in.”

Ryan nodded and let go his vice-like grip.

In his ear, MacKenzie’s breathing rose and fell in comforting waves.



The car engine slowed and Gregson held his breath when the engine stopped altogether. Ahead, light streamed onto the driveway from a powerful spotlight and a large dog bounded from the direction of the front door. Slowly, Gregson stepped out of the car and allowed himself to be sniffed.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

The dog was called off, eventually.

“I didn’t know where else to come,” Gregson stammered.

“Your present troubles have nothing to do with me.”

“It’s Circle business!” Gregson shouted, no longer calm, nor reasonable.

“Let me take an educated guess and say that the reason you’ve arrived on my doorstep, sweating like a pig and stinking of desperation, is that you’ve failed to silence Lowerson. Correct?”

Gregson looked on with hatred. It was true, he had failed, but some small part of him rejoiced in the knowledge that, when his back was against the wall, he wasn’t a pure born killer. But now he needed help. If word got around that he’d bottled it, he would be the one found with a knife in his belly.

“Look, I said I would support you, that I would give you my loyalty if you run against him.”

“And?”

“I need something in return!”

A pause, followed by a long-suffering sigh.

“This is a one-time deal, Arthur. I don’t want you darkening my door again, understand? When the time is right, I want you backing me.”

“You have my word.” Gratitude made his voice wobble.

Jane Freeman led the way back into the sprawling stone barn she had converted into a luxurious home over the years. One of the many perks of loyalty, she thought, but nothing could beat writing your own ticket.