“You’ve said this before.” They thought back to winter on Holy Island, when Ryan’s competency to conduct the investigation into three murders had been in doubt. They thought he would fold then, but instead their former High Priest now slumbered in a maximum security psychiatric ward as penance for his conceit.
“This time, I think it’s inevitable,” Gregson was quick to reassure him. “He will ask to interview Edwards, I’ll make a show of trying to stop him, but he’ll go and be faced again with the man he’s desperate to kill.”
“I suppose that we do have the resources to manage the situation …” the High Priest considered the men and women placed in various guises around the county. “He’ll be running like a hamster on a wheel.”
“The only conclusions he will draw are the ones we want him to draw,” Gregson said with a confidence he didn’t entirely feel.
“Make sure that he does,” came the quiet reply. “I will also take certain measures to ensure that he is distracted.”
The third member of the group listened to the conversation with interest.
“He might make for a useful addition to our circle,” she mused.
The High Priest turned on her.
“Whom we choose to take into our fold is exclusively my decision to make.”
Freeman smiled a wide, cat-like smile. How the man had succumbed to the power of his position, she thought. It wouldn’t be long, now, before she could contest it.
“Of course,” she said meekly. “I merely thought that his personality might be suited to it.”
Gregson snorted derisively.
“I hear that Lowerson is awake,” the High Priest moved onto the next pressing matter. “That gives me sleepless nights, Arthur.”
“He has no memory of what happened.”
“How can you be sure?”
“I’ve had eyes and ears on him, ever since he went into hospital. He hasn’t so much as breathed a word of anything which might give us cause for concern.”
“Yet.”
Gregson sighed. He could sense the direction that the conversation was taking.
“What do you want me to do?”
There was a rustle, from somewhere in the grass and the three fell silent, their ears straining for any further sound to indicate the presence of a fourth person.
“We cannot afford any slip-ups, not so soon after the events on Holy Island,” the High Priest considered the possibilities. “In which case, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”
Gregson felt some measure of sadness when he thought of the young detective constable who lay in a hospital bed miles away. Still, who was he to argue against the wishes of his Master?
“It can only be done when the timing is right,” he said. “Too many accidents or missing persons will draw unwanted attention. Ryan isn’t a fool; he may already suspect something amiss in the department. But, as soon as an opportune moment arises, I’ll see to it.”
Their resolution decided, they bade farewell and turned their minds to the future.
Claire Burns had missed the last sodding bus. Her feet were aching in the four-inch heels, which were a necessary part of her uniform as an American-style waitress at the new All American Diner in Newcastle. Even on a Sunday night, there had been a busy crowd. Maybe because it was summer, she thought. People never realised how late it was getting until they suddenly looked up from their root floats or alcohol-laced milkshakes. The Diner was the latest venture from a group of dubious entrepreneurs who had colonised Newcastle with rebranded and refreshed bars and clubs which could take people seamlessly from day through to night.
She hated it.
Claire wanted to be a nurse. She had planned for it, studied hard at school and spent hours as a volunteer in respite and nursing homes from the age of fifteen, in the hope of securing a place on the Nursing degree course at Newcastle University. You needed a degree, these days, not just a diploma. The diploma might have been affordable, but now that she needed to do the full degree, even with a student loan she just couldn’t manage it. Not when her family needed all the help they could get, after her dad had been made redundant. They had been forced to move away to the Isle of Man to stay with her grandparents, to take whatever work they could find. Still, she was determined not to give up. For the past three years, she had deferred her place on the course to earn money the best way she could, squirreling away as much as possible.
That was how she found herself waitressing six days a week and most nights too. She rented a room in one of the old Victorian terraces in the part of Newcastle known as Jesmond. It was popular with students because of its close proximity to the centre of town and the university, as well as the nightlife. She liked being amongst them; it reminded her of what she was working towards.