Sycamore Gap: A DCI Ryan Mystery(113)

In other words, Mark thought, his servant had ignored a direct order from his High Priest.

Interrupting his reverie, a young boy tugged at his sleeve, reminding him that he was due to give a tour to a group of primary school children. His face transformed into a welcoming smile as he led the boy towards the historic treasures dotted around the room in glass cases.

As he spoke of kings and queens, of warfare and Vikings, he thought of the future.



While friends worried for him and colleagues spoke sadly of his absence from the hallways of CID, Ryan flicked off the television screen and reached for the book resting on the cushion beside him.

Paradise Lost.

It had often been remarked that Ryan had eyes like a hawk. In reality, his eyesight was largely dependent on his level of sleep deprivation, but one thing he could lay claim to was having noted the appearance of Milton’s seminal work one too many times for comfort over the past few days.

A copy on the bookcase in Donovan’s office.

A quote from Edwards, in prison.

A pen-and-ink sketch above the mantle in Donovan’s home.

No, Ryan thought, that wasn’t coincidence.

He settled back to read.





EPILOGUE


One week later

Colin thanked the community mental health nurse for stopping by. In fact, her visits were part of a rigorous programme of care in his home environment. Every day, he and Mandy discussed his childhood, how he was feeling and then she administered an injection of a mild anti-psychotic into his rear end.

She had a cup of strong tea, a few biscuits and then left him with the harried air of one who was overworked and undervalued. That day alone, she probably had another ten appointments, not all of which she would be able to keep.

NHS cutbacks, he tutted sympathetically.

The house had been cleaned thoroughly by a specialist company who had gone over the rooms and in particular his mother’s bedroom with a substantial volume of cleaning chemicals. The forensic team of CSIs, led by a methodical man in his late thirties and possessed of sharp eyes behind thick spectacles, had confiscated numerous personal articles from the house including his computer. That was no matter, Colin thought. Computers could be replaced.

Now, Colin felt truly free; even the air smelled sweeter, albeit laced with disinfectant.

He checked the time on his slick new watch. Eleven o’clock. Oops! Running later than usual this morning.

He selected a heavy volume from his bookshelf – The Oxford Handbook of Criminology – and settled himself on the sofa. Opening it, he took out the small pay-as-you-go mobile phone that lay nestled inside a crevice within its folds.

He dialled the number and did not have to wait long before Edwards answered.

“My friend,” came the beloved voice. “I was beginning to think you’d forgotten.”

“Hardly,” Colin replied, crossing his legs as he reclined. He admired the smooth silk-cashmere blend of his trousers as it stretched over his thighs. He had treated himself to a few new things, modelling his style on Edwards’ former days with a few select pieces from Ryan’s outdoor ensemble.

“I see that all has gone as planned,” Edwards prodded.

“Better than expected, from your perspective,” Colin remarked. “Ryan has been suspended from duty, I understand.”

There was a quivering silence at the end of the line, while Edwards savoured the information.

“How very unfortunate,” Edwards cackled. “In some ways, I wish my dear old friend, Doctor Donovan, had been able to see the mighty Ryan dethroned.”

“Do you really think Donovan killed himself?” Colin was intrigued.

“Of course not,” Edwards laughed. “The man was indomitable. I should have thought it would take a nuclear bomb to dispose of him, but apparently a bit of material and a couple of strong pairs of hands will do just as well.”

“Who?”

“Ah, now, all in good time. We all must have our little secrets, mustn’t we?”

Colin’s lips trembled, just once. Keir Edwards was behind bars but still managed to exert power over him. What would he do without his friendship, his inspiration?

“I followed your advice, to the letter,” Colin spoke again, seeking praise for his efforts.

“Well done, Colin, well done indeed. Didn’t I tell you, it would all come right in the end? Don’t you feel better, having ridded yourself of her cloying, hateful presence in your life?”

Colin thought of his mother, with her flabby folds of wrinkled skin, her constant odour and her constant whining. Even thinking of it raised his blood pressure. Yes, he felt better. He felt like a man reborn.

“When the police came to take me in for questioning, I rang Donovan, just as you said. It seems Ryan followed the trail. It led him straight back to the psychiatrist.”