Sycamore Gap: A DCI Ryan Mystery(5)

“Eighty-four,” Phillips put in.

“Close enough. Eighty-four miles of Roman stonework and this bloke decides to tamper with that bit in particular? What’s his story?”

“Ask him yourself, he’s sitting in the back of that car,” Phillips thrust his square, bulldog face in the direction of one of the police cars. “But he says he went for a walk and decided to stop under that big tree for a break and a Kit-Kat. He was sitting there and saw something silver shining through a gap in the stones. He had a forage and, lo and behold, he found more than he bargained for.

“He’s pretty shaken up,” Phillips added. “Can’t stop apologising about moving the stones. Practically wants to put himself in handcuffs for it.”

Ryan blew out a breath and stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

“Stranger things have happened,” he concluded. “What about the rest? I see Faulkner amongst the crowd.”

“Yeah, Faulkner’s ready to start whenever you are,” Phillips referred to the Senior Crime Scene Investigator. “We’ve got a lot of bored scientists standing around him. There’s a team of archaeologists and a forensic anthropologist is on her way, but she’s driving down from Edinburgh so she’ll be a while yet … there’s Ambrose, the entomologist.” Phillips ticked them off his broad fingers and screwed up his face in concentration. “We’ve got a forensic dentist on hand if we need one and the pathologist is on standby.”

Ryan raised an eyebrow.

“A lot of fuss, don’t you think? I thought we were going to have a quick look at the remains and see if they’re a job for CID. No need to bring the entire department along for that, it’s a total waste of resources. Who gave the OK? ”

Phillips pulled a face.

“There’s a shedload of bureaucracy with this one. Over there,” he made a discreet gesture in the direction of a statuesque woman dressed in sharp clothing. “She’s the National Heritage archaeologist, curator or whatever they call it – the regional bigwig. The minute she got a whiff of something amiss over here she hoofed it straight down to make sure we weren’t going to trample all over the place or knock down the blasted wall.”

“She wants to breathe down our necks.”

Phillips scratched the side of his nose.

“That’s the gist of it. There’s a lawyer, standing next to her. They’re making noises about emergency injunctions, appropriate licences. She’s been onto Gregson already, which is why we’ve got everybody and their maiden aunt down here.”

Ryan thought of his Detective Chief Superintendent, an imposing man who was as comfortable at his desk as he was in the field. There was no denying that the man could handle the politics which came with the responsibility of his job title. Arthur Gregson could be diplomatic when the situation demanded it and this situation was shaping up to be one of those occasions.

“Brilliant. Great.” Ryan shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket and glanced around. Housesteads Fort was one of the larger Roman sites, boasting ruins, a museum and a visitor centre. He lifted a shoulder in their direction. “What time does the site open?”

“It’s open from ten until six, every day,” Phillips had already checked.

“But you can still park your car, if you want to walk around the pathways?”

“Yeah,” Phillips nodded. “The ruins are closed off to the public outside those times, but generally they’re not strict on parking regulations. Walkers just park their cars here and follow the trails along the wall.”

“Too early for any of the staff to be around when Colin drove up here, then?”

“Yep. Colin says he was the only one around for miles when he discovered the bones. Why? You’re thinking he sounds off?”

Ryan shrugged.

“Force of habit,” he said, and then sighed. “I thought a little trip into the country would get me out of some weekend shopping.”

“Aye, well I had high hopes for the afternoon,” Phillips agreed, thinking back to his pleasant dream of earlier. “But that’s the job.”

“Amen to that,” Ryan chugged down the rest of the cold coffee. “Come on. Let’s get this show on the road.”





CHAPTER 2


With Phillips scampering at his heels, Ryan strode across the car park and headed directly for the group of CSIs huddled in the far corner. He made it halfway before he was intercepted.

“Chief Inspector? Professor Jane Freeman.” A tall woman decked out in fine cashmere extended a hand.

Innate manners had him returning the gesture.