Of course, the log would say that there had been no visitors at all, which was just as it should be.
Anna slept hardly a wink. Nightmarish effigies of men dressed in animal costume had chased sleep away. Eventually, she had given up on the battle, tucked a blanket around herself and watched senseless television through the night and into the early hours of the morning. She remained alert, hoping that Ryan would come to his senses and walk through the door, tired but apologetic. When it became clear that wasn’t going to happen, she had called her old friend Mark, just for somebody to talk to. Mark Bowers lived alone and usually enjoyed a discussion of Northumbrian history however early in the morning but there had been no answer there either. It seemed that the small number of people who mattered in her life were dropping like flies, reminding her of just how isolated she had become.
She moved around the kitchen on autopilot, stirring tea and making toast she had no intention of eating. She was still dressed in the black leggings and oversized t-shirt emblazoned with a faded Bon Jovi slogan that she had worn the previous evening.
The toaster pinged at the same moment she heard the front door opening. Clutching her mug of tea, she moved into the hallway in time to see Ryan pushing the door closed behind him and falling back against the doorframe as if life had simply beaten him.
Snide, unworthy thoughts she had ruminated on throughout the lonely hours of the night simply melted away. He looked even worse than she felt; his eyes were glossy with fatigue and when they raised to meet her searching examination of him, she saw they were filled with melancholy.
“Gregson took my warrant card,” he explained simply, the words slurred as if from drink but he hadn’t touched a drop.
“What? Why?”
They remained a short distance apart, neither of them ready to breach the gap.
“Gregson thinks I was reckless; I went ahead with a sting before getting approval. Then Donovan killed himself.”
Ryan’s eyes closed briefly, as if the lids could no longer manage to support the weight.
“Donovan’s killed himself? I don’t believe it.”
His eyes opened again, a crack of glistening silver.
“Neither do I.”
“Well, then, surely –”
“You don’t understand,” Ryan interrupted her righteous tirade on his behalf, though he was grateful for the sentiment. “They’ll say it was an oversight, that Donovan wasn’t properly supervised. Just, ‘one of those things’. Gregson is angry because he doesn’t believe Donovan killed those women.”
“You’ve got evidence,” Anna waved her free hand mutely.
“Yeah, for all the good it does me. Faulkner’s found some forensics pointing at Donovan and we even have it from the horse’s mouth that he killed Amy Llewellyn. He tried to disable MacKenzie with Lorazepam, just like Claire, and it was pretty obvious he was about to make a move on her, maybe take her to his kill site.”
“Any idea where that is?”
Ryan dragged his fingers through his dark hair.
“Faulkner hasn’t been able to find a site within the immediate proximity of Sycamore Gap. Expanding any wider would take weeks … months, even. I had hoped to ask Donovan outright but now it’s possible we’ll never know.”
“What about Colin?”
“What about him?” Ryan answered with anger but it wasn’t directed towards her. “I’m off the case, Anna. That means I can’t interview him, can’t access the files or investigate. Phillips and the rest of the team will have to handle it.”
There was a short silence where she felt his heartache keenly. This was a man who had for years been defined by the work that he did. It was his business to bring justice to the dead and their families, and now someone had robbed him of that purpose.
“Why would Gregson do it?”
Unconsciously, they had edged closer into the room, each within reach of the other. Anna could feel the warmth emanating from him but it didn’t match his cold demeanour. She stayed where she was.
“There’s a good question,” he muttered. She wished she didn’t feel as much for him; wished she didn’t understand how affected he was by the degradation, the injustice of it all. “He wants me out, on the grounds that my methods put officers at risk, particularly MacKenzie.”
He digested the thought and, always a fair man, turned to Anna for an honest answer.
“Do you think he’s right?”
Anna considered the question, realising that he would not want platitudes or useless prevarication. Unlike Gregson, she understood that Ryan was a man who would rather cut off his own limbs than unnecessarily endanger life.