Sycamore Gap: A DCI Ryan Mystery(16)
Gregson smiled triumphantly.
“I expect you to make an appointment by the end of the day, failing which an appointment will be made for you. Non-attendance will signify to me that you no longer wish to be part of this investigation. Do we understand one another?”
Ryan’s jaw ached from the effort of restraining himself.
“Perfectly.”
Recognising dismissal, Ryan rose from his cramped position and prepared to leave.
“Oh, one last thing.”
“Sir?”
“I hear that young Jack Lowerson has finally come out of his coma?”
Ryan managed to work up a weak smile.
“Yes, just yesterday. His family are overjoyed, as are his team.”
“Wonderful news,” Gregson agreed. “Has he been able to remember anything?”
“Unfortunately, not.” So far.
“Ah, that’s a pity,” Gregson was sympathetic, his tone aggrieved.
“One day, that might change.”
“Perhaps he may wish to put the past behind him, even if you would rather not.”
“We’ll see,” was all Ryan said.
Gregson watched the door click shut again and took a moment to contemplate some of the memorabilia on the shelves and the walls of his office, which told of thirty years’ service. There were pictures of him shaking hands with the Police Commissioner and the Mayor of London; snapshots of garden parties spent with minor royalty and local hoi polloi. He had seen his department go through many changes, in policy, management and staffing. The inevitable edicts that a new government handed down every few years did little to change the work force; he saw to that. He knew the best way to run his staff and there would be no political upstarts to tell him otherwise.
Above and beyond, there was an order to his life, a careful balance, which he was unwilling to change.
He thought of Ryan and began to feel uneasy.
It took a confident man to recall several tired and irritable members of CID, depriving them of their well-earned Sunday roast dinner and sofa time with their families.
Ryan was, fortunately, such a man.
After his meeting with Gregson, he headed straight to the large conference room at the other end of the hall and tacked up a sign, which read, ‘OPERATION HADRIAN’. He spent another fifteen minutes pinning salient images to the large board at the front of the room, scrawling a long black line along the length of it to signify Amy Llewellyn’s timeline. He knew that there were computer programs that could do all of this for him and he would use them as well. Still, seeing those images enlarged on the wall and creating a mental picture of the work they had done that day could not be bettered in terms of visual impact. When Phillips finally trudged into the room, heavy-footed and flustered after his latest dealings with a certain detective, he was prepared.
Ryan waited until Phillips had settled himself into one of the faded orange, scoop-back plastic chairs before he asked the pertinent question.
“Everything alright?”
Phillips crossed his arms over his bulky chest.
“Well you might ask,” he muttered. “I knew that woman would be trouble, I told you that woman would be trouble.” He jabbed a finger towards Ryan in accusation.
“You’re going to have to be more specific. Which woman? What trouble? If you need me to speak to Professor Freeman –”
“MacKenzie!” Phillips blurted out. “Who else would I be talking about? Who else could manage to make a man feel guilty, just for doing his job?”
“Ah –”
“I rang to let her know there was a briefing at six-thirty,” Phillips paused briefly to glance behind him before continuing. You could never be too careful. “Next thing I know, she turns up just as I’m dealing with that archaeologist – Freeman – in the foyer downstairs. Then, she tells me I was flirting with her. Me!”
He jerked his thumb into his chest to punctuate the statement.
“You were flirting with Professor Freeman?” Ryan asked mildly.
“Don’t you start,” Phillips huffed. “Can’t even go about my business without someone or other sticking the knife in.”
“Aw,” Ryan cooed.
“Freeman only turned up to drop off her report,” Phillips continued, waving the report in front of him to prove it. “She said she wanted to hand it over and thank me personally for treating the site with respect.”
“You cad.” Ryan grinned widely. “Breaking hearts, left, right and centre.”
“Can I help it, if I have superior people skills?”
“If those skills include superior buffoonery, then …” Ryan trailed off, thinking that Phillips had seen enough mockery for the present.