“And you want to know why I didn’t consult you before ordering half of the force to attend the site?”
Ryan’s jaw snapped shut.
“Call it a blessing, call it a curse,” Gregson shrugged his wide shoulders. “Part of my job is to keep the public happy. Last thing any of us needs is this Professor kicking up a fuss, calling in the local media to complain about the department.”
“Empty threats.”
“Of course they were,” Gregson agreed with a flick of his wrist. “Still, you pick your battles.”
Ryan nodded.
“I trust you’ve been able to get a handle on things?”
“I believe so. You’ve seen my summary,” he referred to the e-mail he had sent earlier in the day. “The forensic archaeological team have spent all day excavating the site. The remains were transferred to the pathologist at the RVI, who has been working with an anthropologist to produce a report. I have their preliminary observations already and should know more within the next forty-eight hours. The ground operation was overseen by Faulkner and his team of CSIs.”
“That’s fast work,” Gregson commented mildly.
Ryan paused, glancing away then back again. He knew that there was a question somewhere in that statement.
“Sir, following your lead, I felt it best to expedite the excavation in order to avoid any undue delay or further loss of evidence. Despite the fact that we found no identifying items on or around the victim’s body, we have nonetheless been able to identify her very quickly.”
Gregson’s face broke into what could loosely be described as a smile.
“That’s good, very good indeed. Who is she?”
“Her name is Amy Llewellyn, sir. Next of kin have been informed.”
“That should make life fairly simple,” Gregson said with satisfaction. “Hopefully, Faulkner will uncover some useful evidence from the site and you’ll have your man in no time.”
“We may already have him.”
“Is that so? This is one for the record books.”
“It’s Edwards, sir.”
“Impossible,” Gregson replied without inflection. “You’re looking at a ten-year-old body. This girl died years before Edwards became active.”
“That we know of,” Ryan put in quietly. “Edwards had in his possession nude photographs of Amy Llewellyn. It would be a safe assumption that she is one of his victims.”
There was short silence, punctuated only by the sounds of the world outside, everyday comings and goings. A pigeon cooed on the window ledge.
“What do you propose to do?”
Ryan had already considered this; he had weighed up the pros and cons, thought about the angles.
“I have a team briefing scheduled for six-thirty. Faulkner’s CSIs might have made some progress by then, or within the next forty-eight hours at the latest. In the meantime, Phillips and I will look into the victim’s cold case file from 2005 and start to build up a picture. After then, should the evidence support my theory, I plan to conduct an interview with Edwards.”
Gregson’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline.
“You only have a photograph to support your suspicion, which Edwards denied taking. In contrast to his extremely vocal confessions to the murders of five women, he denies killing this girl. Put bluntly, Ryan, unless you can come up with something forensic to support your theory, it’s going to look like a vendetta.” Gregson didn’t hold his punches. “Look,” he spread his hands, palms up. “The events of last year were traumatic, they affected you on a personal level, understandably so.”
“Yes, sir.” What more could he say?
“It’s one thing to return to the job, to investigate other deaths …” Gregson thought of the events on Holy Island and tried to search for the right words. “It would be healthier, surely, to put the past behind you?”
“If there is another victim, or indeed victims plural, our investigation into Keir Edwards remains unfinished.”
Ryan baulked at the thought of more lives lost, of more waste to be found, more families to ruin.
“Another detective can handle it. Phillips could run this investigation, easily.”
He could, Ryan agreed, thinking of his sergeant with fondness. The man was a terrier, experienced and capable, with a nose for the business.
Still.
“This is my case.”
Gregson sat back in his chair and considered, weighing up his own options.
“I want you to attend regular counselling sessions.”
“Not necessary –”
Gregson overrode the immediate denial.
“You won’t fob me off this time, Ryan. You got away with it once, so don’t push your luck. It is for me to decide what is necessary, if you insist upon remaining the Senior Investigating Officer in this investigation. Now,” he fished around in his drawer for a business card. “Here’s the number for the departmental psychiatrist, in case you’ve managed to mislay it.”