Sycamore Gap: A DCI Ryan Mystery(19)

“Edwards dismembered his victims,” Phillips spoke without thinking and wished he could claw back the words. As if his SIO could ever forget how Edwards preferred to kill, having been an unwilling witness to it, first hand. “Ah, that is, I mean to say that Amy Llewellyn died in a different way to his other victims.”

Ryan deliberately blocked the image of Natalie and looked into the bottom of his cup while he did.

When he looked up again, his eyes were a flat, stormy grey.

“Full marks,” he said. “The style is, as you say, completely different. But we’re still left with the simple fact that he had a picture of her in his house. We don’t know enough about what lies in his past. He might have been killing for years before he had his summer spree last year.”

The prospect of that was terrifying.

“We cover every eventuality and we follow all leads. That’s why I’ve asked Freeman to oversee a wider survey of the surrounding area at Sycamore Gap.”

“You reckon there might be more out there?” Phillips asked.

“It’s possible.”

“What do you need?” The quiet words spoken by Faulkner signified to Ryan that he had his full co-operation and that of his team of CSIs. There might be hard times to come, but they would do their jobs. He was stupidly grateful and it made his voice gruff when he answered.

“Professor Freeman’s team of archaeologists will start the geophysical prospecting first thing tomorrow,” Ryan began, holding up a finger to stem the inevitable question from Phillips. “Never mind what that means. As far as we’re concerned, it will answer the question of whether there are any other missing women lying out there in the wall, or around it. I’ve instructed her to cover a radius of half a mile, in both directions, from the excavation site.”

“How long will that take?”

“We’re looking at weeks, with a full team of archaeologists on board, working full pelt.”

“Expensive,” MacKenzie commented.

“Necessary,” he countered.

“Another question,” MacKenzie held up a slender finger topped with bright red polish. “I was under the impression that this professor was the leading lady of all things old and decrepit.”

Ryan stuck his tongue in his cheek to stop the chuckle. Phillips rolled his eyes.

“What’s your question?”

“Well, that being the case, how come nobody noticed that the wall had been tampered with?”

Damn good question, Ryan thought.

“Well, it’s quite a long wall to keep track of,” he said fairly. “But you’re right. Unfortunately, thanks to the efforts of our amateur archaeologist Colin, we aren’t able to see what the stones looked like in situ before he loosened them.”

“In her report, Freeman says that there wasn’t any cement residue on the stones, or anything like that,” Phillips chimed in, leafing through the papers. “She seems to think that some of the inner stones were removed to create space for the body and the outer stones returned to their exact position so that nobody would notice the difference. She’s adamant that they would have noticed any obvious changes on that part of the wall considering its popularity with hikers and tourists.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to admit that somebody cocked up.”

“Now, now, children,” Ryan said lightly. “That’s interesting, because it suggests that whoever we are looking for was organised. He killed her up there and was then able to remove and replace the stones so that they weren’t noticeably different, even to a professional employee of National Heritage. I have to assume that he managed all of this under the cover of darkness, or near darkness, to avoid being seen.”

“Even in the early hours, the place isn’t overrun with visitors.”

“Right. Let’s widen that slightly to darkness, twilight or early hours of the morning.”

“He also has an eye for detail,” Faulkner put in. “To remember the exact placement of the stones. Either that, or he knew that spot really well.”

Ryan nodded. All of the precision and planning reminded him of Edwards.

“So,” he leaned back against the edge of his desk and crossed his ankles “The excavation work will continue. Faulkner, I want you and your team on standby to work on any other sites which crop up.”

He turned to MacKenzie. “Denise, I need you to oversee the archaeological work from tomorrow.”

MacKenzie’s eyes heated.

“I’d rather not –”

“It’s not a question of what you would rather,” Ryan overrode the objection, his voice like granite. “Whatever personal view you take, I need you to get past it and stay professional. Understood?”