Sycamore Gap: A DCI Ryan Mystery(56)

“I know it,” Ryan said, edging the car forward.

“Anyhow, when I spoke to him on the phone, he remembered her straight away. He saw the original television appeal for Amy back in 2005 and rang the Crimestoppers helpline. He says he remembered her because it was the evening, around ten, and she was walking alone. He was clocking off for the night, but he put his light back on just in case she needed a lift anywhere. He called out to her, which is how he got a good look at her face.”

“How did he describe her?”

“Young, early-twenties, dark, petite, good-looking.”

“Drunk, disorientated?” Ryan flicked the indicator to turn left.

“No, none of that. He says she looked smartly dressed –”

“In what?”

“Beige mac, jeans, some sort of flowery scarf.”

“OK,” Ryan nodded. It helped to build a picture.

“He thought she looked like a smart young woman and he was a bit concerned about her walking alone at that time of night, in that part of town.”

Ryan understood the man’s concern. It wasn’t a dangerous area, but it was quiet and any individual walking alone would need to be on their guard. It was a matter of good sense, especially in the dark, where street lighting was intermittent.

“Any CCTV footage to corroborate his sighting?”

“None,” Phillips shook his head. “There was a camera, but it was broken. A lot of them were at the time. Council making cuts,” he added.

Or perhaps the camera had been sabotaged? There was no point getting angry about it, Ryan reasoned to himself. These were the facts of life.

“Right, so if we trust this sighting, we have her on the edge of the Town Moor at around ten, heading in the direction of Jesmond. She was sighted at a bus stop near her house after nine – what did she do in between times?”

“No idea,” Phillips said succinctly. “But at least we know that she headed west, from her house towards Jesmond.”

Ryan’s mouth flattened.

“And we all know who used to live in Jesmond – before he came down in the world, that is.”

“Aye, we do.”

Keir Edwards’ former home stood on one of those upmarket, tree-lined streets.

“Although, we also know somebody else who resides in the same part of town,” Ryan added after a pause. “Colin Hart.”

Phillips tugged at his lower lip.

“Those other missing women – at least three of them were reported missing or last seen on that corner of the Moor, n’all,” he said glumly.

Circles, Ryan thought. Things always came round in circles.



The owner of Goldfingers was, unsurprisingly, a fan of the James Bond franchise. The shop interior was decked out like a Christmas tree, with trays of diamonds sparkling under well-placed spotlights and autographed portraits of Sean Connery and Roger Moore gracing the wall space. To cap it all off, Shirley Bassey’s voice boomed out from hidden speakers.

Remarkably, the shop managed to avoid being gaudy and was instead enjoying the patronage of several upscale customers who seemed to appreciate the kitsch style of the place.

Ryan’s eye fell on a young couple poring over a tray of diamond solitaire rings and he felt a ripple somewhere in his belly. He imagined, just for a moment, standing in the same position with Anna and then immediately retreated from the thought, more out of habit than fear. He gave it a full minute, re-assessed himself, and concluded that the thought of marriage had not terrified him half as much as it should have.

Interesting.

Phillips, with a brilliant lack of complication, headed directly for the ring selection and bent over the glass case.

“I’d peg Denise as a fan of emeralds,” he began conversationally, “they would match her eyes. But, you can’t beat a diamond …”

Ryan shifted his feet, amazed to find himself overheated in the air-conditioned room.

“You, ah, you’re thinking along those lines, then?”

Phillips didn’t bother to look up, but smiled to himself. Times like these, he remembered he had fifteen years on his SIO.

“Why not? I’d have to be a bloody fool not to realise that I’m punching well above my weight with MacKenzie,” Phillips replied, unguardedly, then cleared his throat. “Not to say that I couldn’t punch a fair weight, you understand.”

“Naturally.”

“Aye, well. Had a fair few rounds in my time …”

“Of boxing?” Ryan asked sweetly.

Phillips looked up from the sparkles to bestow a withering look.

“Less of the cheek. Point is, why wait? Life’s too short.”

“What about … making sure they’re … you know, the right person?”