Sycamore Gap: A DCI Ryan Mystery(111)

“Was there another way of outing Donovan?”

Ryan had thought of the ins and outs, in detail.

“I could have brought Donovan in for questioning, cards on the table, but we had no forensics to support a warrant or even take a DNA swab. He would have eliminated any scrap of incriminating evidence at the house and would likely have dropped back under the radar. He lasted for years between kills,” Ryan reminded her. “Besides which, he had lined Colin up as the fall-guy. He had Gregson gunning for the man, based on the fact he’s a prize turkey.”

“How did Donovan know Colin?”

“That’s another question I would have liked to ask both of them,” Ryan nodded. “I assume that Donovan remains connected to Edwards, who connects to Colin. It’s more than likely Donovan found a means to contact Edwards, who gave him some information on Colin Hart, enabling him to take advantage of his vulnerable character.”

They gave in to the inevitable and settled into a comforting embrace, arms banded tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered against the top of her head, which was tucked under his chin. “I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you like that. I was angry at myself; if it weren’t for your association with me, Donovan would never have set his sights on you.”

He felt her body go still.

“Yes,” he continued. “You were supposed to be the next on his list.”

Anna said nothing for a moment, examining her own feelings.

“I understand that your natural inclination is to protect, and, in this case, I’m grateful for all the measures you took. Your instincts were obviously good. But,” he looked down into her eyes as she stepped away. “I’m more grateful that you choose to trust me now; enough to come to me when you’re hurting, enough to tell me the truth about Donovan. It means more to me.”

Ryan looked away, feeling foolishly happy.

“I want it to be this way between us,” he agreed. “I can’t hide who I am from you, Anna, just as you can’t hide yourself from me. There may be other times that a lunatic delves into our private lives, other times you might be touched by danger. I hate thinking of it,” he swallowed, “I hate imagining you being tainted by it, but –”

“Ryan,” she put her hand into his, gave his fingers a reassuring squeeze. “I knew from the start the kind of work that you do. Besides, I’ve already been ‘tainted’ by murder, if you recall.”

She gave him a small, sardonic smile.

“That aside,” she continued briskly, “what are we going to do about Gregson?”

Ryan grinned broadly for the first time in days.

“Now, you’re talking.”



At precisely three o’clock that afternoon, DCS Arthur Gregson stood atop a makeshift podium outside CID Headquarters. Behind him, young, ambitious men with an eye for promotion stood in a smart row of navy suits. In front of him, the local press were poised and ready to begin.

Phillips, MacKenzie and Lowerson remained a good distance apart from the media throng, which was a statement in itself.

“Turns my stomach,” MacKenzie snarled, fully recovered from the excitement of the day before. “Ryan should be standing up there, telling the press all about how a killer got his comeuppance.”

The other two nodded their heads in unison.

“Far too bloody early to be talking about it,” Phillips snarled. “Haven’t had a chance to go over Pinter’s conclusions, to discuss it all with the CSIs, nothing. How can Gregson stand there and say that Donovan killed himself when we don’t know that for sure?”

MacKenzie’s lip curled.

“He’s covering his arse.”

“His and the department’s,” Phillips corrected. “But there’s nothing to cover! Everything was done by the book, from start to finish.”

MacKenzie gave him a quick squeeze.

“What are we going to do?” Lowerson spoke up, his eager voice laced with indignation on behalf of his SIO, the man he looked up to, modelled himself on and generally hoped to emulate one day. “Ryan shouldn’t have been suspended.”

“Aye, it’s not right,” Phillips agreed. He had tried to contact Ryan several times, but the number rang out. He told himself that Anna would look after him, but also knew that he would drive up to see him at the first opportunity.

“Ssh,” MacKenzie hushed them all. “Let’s hear what this smart aleck has to say for himself.”

“I can confirm that Doctor Patrick Donovan, an eminent clinical psychiatrist, was found dead in his cell early this morning,” Gregson began, in sombre tones. “Although all measures were taken in accordance with the relevant Police and Criminal Evidence Guidance, I am sorry to say that he apparently committed suicide.”