Sycamore Gap: A DCI Ryan Mystery(43)

He smiled, displaying yellowish teeth with a pronounced overbite. She sensed that he had enjoyed something spicy for lunch.

“I see. Do you know a woman called Claire Burns?”

Colin’s facial expression remained neutral but his eyelids flickered. His fingers began to fiddle with the cuff of his shirt, tugging at the tiny threads until one of them began to run.

“Yes, I believe I do. She’s one of my neighbours.”

MacKenzie shifted in her seat so that she angled away from him.

“Not quite a neighbour,” she commented lightly. “She lives a bit further down your street, on the other side of the road.”

“It’s a friendly neighbourhood,” Colin said defensively.

“I understand that you are quite friendly with Claire,” MacKenzie returned, watching his face closely.

“I try to be,” he said carefully, but his fingers stopped picking at his shirt and began tap-tap-tapping against the material of his jeans instead.

“Would you like to have had a relationship with Ms Burns?”

Colin picked up on the nuance immediately.

“What do you mean, ‘had’?”

“I’d be grateful if you would answer the question,” MacKenzie reiterated.

“Claire is a lovely woman. I might have asked her once or twice to dinner, which she politely declined.”

“I see. Can you tell me when you last saw Ms Burns?”

Colin’s colour was up, sweat pearling on his top lip.

“I would like to know why you’re asking me about Claire. I thought you were here to ask about the other morning?”

“Claire Burns was found dead this morning.”

Colin froze, the muscles of his face contorting into something grotesque. MacKenzie took that as her cue to leave. Every fibre of her being was screaming for her to go and now she obeyed.

She rose quickly from her chair and Colin followed her.

“You’re absolutely right, Mr Hart. I’ve taken up enough of your valuable time and I’m expected back at the office,” she glanced at her watch for effect. “Thank you once again for being so helpful.”

She turned quickly and exited without a backward glance. Only when she had returned to her car and locked the doors, did she realise that her hands were shaking.



After MacKenzie’s departure, Colin watched her walk quickly over to her bright red Fiesta parked a little way down the street.

Why had she asked him about Claire?

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. What was more, he knew that his mother wouldn’t like it, either. He must make sure that the police never had any reason to visit him again, he thought quickly, turning towards his computer.

He began to delete the files.

“Colin!” His mother’s whining voice wafted down the stairs and his jaw clenched tightly against the hot fury, which sprang so easily to the surface.

“Colin, where are you? I’m hungry. Did you hear me? I said I’m hungry, Colin!”

His fingers poised above the keyboard, he warred with himself. He could ignore her for a few more minutes, just long enough to finish the job, but years of training had him pushing away from the desk again.

“Coming, Mother.”





CHAPTER 10


The All American Diner occupied a popular slot on Newcastle’s ‘Golden Mile’ of bars and clubs, which ran like an artery through the heart of the city. Rent on that commercial space should have been high, but the Diner had two things going for it: constant clientele and wealthy owners.

When DI MacKenzie and DS Phillips walked through the silver double doors, it was like being assaulted by noise and colour. Young women in pink candy-striper uniforms and men dressed like Danny Zucko served dinner and drinks to people lounging in wide booths decorated in a bright, cherry red. In one corner, there was a full-sized pink Cadillac and a giant jukebox pumping out classic tunes while couples boogied on the flashing dance floor.

“It’s still Monday, isn’t it?” Phillips asked. The place was bustling and it was hard to believe this was just an after-work crowd.

“Last time I checked,” MacKenzie muttered.

Bravely, they stepped across the threshold and made directly for the long aluminium bar on the far side. Sliding onto a couple of red bar stools, Phillips tried to signal one of the Brylcreemed waiters.

After a few minutes passed without any success, MacKenzie stepped in. With a flick of her hair, she craned her neck forward, stuck an arm out and was gratified to find that one of the serving staff hurried over. Apparently, she still had it.

Phillips pursed his lips and decided to say nothing about gender stereotyping.

“What can I get you, pet?”

The waiter flashed a bright white grin, which stood out against his perma-tanned skin.