Sycamore Gap: A DCI Ryan Mystery(13)

Before Amy left them, Rose had been a pharmacist working in Newcastle. After she realised that Amy wasn’t coming home, she’d had her first breakdown and since then hadn’t been able to sustain the kind of office hours that her job demanded.

She told herself that looking after her home and family was just as important, but even thinking of the word ‘family’ would often reduce her to tears.

So, she cleaned. She tidied. She hoped.

Until today.

Ryan would not have thought himself well-equipped to deal with grieving relatives but his natural reserve was perhaps the key to his success, for when Rose looked up at the tall, remote stranger, she saw empathy. Beyond that, she saw tenacity.

Ryan and Phillips waited until she had seated herself before settling themselves in a couple of easy chairs.

“Mrs Llewellyn, would you like one of us to contact your husband?”

“Steven – Steven is just outside in the garden –”

The man in question stepped through the patio doors at the other end of the room and, recognising their visitors instantly, he moved to take his wife’s outstretched hand.

“You’re here about Amy.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes. I regret to inform you that we have identified a body we found early this morning to be that of your daughter, Amy. You both have our deepest sympathies.”

The words might have been hackneyed, but that didn’t make them any less true. Though in her heart she had known, Rose felt the hot tears rising and her breathing hitched in great, shuddering sobs. Steven stood beside her, his face shuttered and oddly expressionless.

Phillips felt a knot rise in his own throat and he looked away to clear his head. Every police officer hated this side of the job; it was the very worst part of it and it never got any easier with practice.

“How – how?” Rose managed.

Ryan’s jaw clenched. They always wanted to know and he never wanted to tell them.

“We believe your daughter was murdered.”

Rose Llewellyn sagged against her husband, whose arm came tighter around her shoulders while he visibly kept himself in firm control. Without a word, Phillips stood to offer her a small packet of tissues from his inner breast pocket.

“What have you got so far? Tell me what has been done.” Steven snatched the tissues up and passed them to his wife.

In their long experience, relatives tended to react to terrible news in one of two ways and it seemed that they were seeing the perfect example of each. Rose had broken down emotionally, the natural reaction of a mother who had finally been told what she had long suspected: that her child had been taken from her. It didn’t matter how old that child was, the anguish was always there. Steven, on the other hand, buried his grief in anger. He looked at them both with green eyes that were bone dry and venomous.

“We’re doing all we can,” Ryan answered evenly. He drew out a small card with the contact details of a Family Liaison Officer and placed it on the coffee table, remaining watchful as they dealt with the worst news of their lives.

“Have you got any suspects?”

“We are at a very early stage in our investigation,” he replied. “Rest assured, we will be doing all we can to bring your daughter’s killer to justice.”

“Fuck that! Fuck that!” Llewellyn burst out, his skin turning red beneath his tan. “You know as well as I do, it was Keir Edwards who killed her! That bastard killed her as sure as the Pope is Catholic. He’s probably laughing himself to sleep about it while my taxes pay for his cushy little cell! Now, do your pissing job and get the evidence to prove it!”

Rose lifted a hand in a mute appeal for him to stop, but he was on a roll.

“That goes especially for you,” he hissed, jabbing a finger towards Ryan. “I thought that after what happened to your sister, you would have understood how it feels.”

Mid-tirade, Llewellyn’s eye fell on the single picture of his daughter, which stood proudly in a silver frame on the coffee table. The fight drained out of him, to be replaced with a dull, numbing pain.

“It’s always the way, isn’t it?” He pinned them with a merciless stare. “You coppers look after your own, but when it comes to anybody else, you don’t give a shit.”

Phillips opened his mouth to deny the accusation, feeling the burn of what was wholly untrue. Ryan gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head to shut down any angry replies that were brewing. For, despite what Steven Llewellyn thought, he did understand. He understood the pain of loss and that first-hand knowledge strengthened his resolve. Right now, Llewellyn needed to let out his rage, his impotent fury at what could not be changed.