Sycamore Gap: A DCI Ryan Mystery(63)

“We’re the same, you and I,” Edwards whispered. “Deep down, you felt it, I know you did. You felt the incredible rush of power as you watched me, then you felt it again as you had your hands round my throat. How long are you going to deny your true self?”

Ryan could feel his resolve beginning to break, with every word spoken, but at precisely the right time, Phillips stepped into the breach.

“Aye, so if you didn’t kill Amy Llewellyn, someone else beat you to it? Must have made you angry, after all that preparation.”

Edwards said nothing, but the muscle at the side of his eye ticked.

“But then, you didn’t have the balls at that stage, did you? Wasn’t until years later that you plucked up the nerve,” Phillips carried on, conversationally.

“You haven’t got the slightest comprehension of what I’m capable of,” Edwards ground out.

Phillips affected a yawn and looked across at Ryan, whose vision was beginning to clear.

“What time is it?” He looked up at the clock on the wall, not expecting an answer. “OK, so if you didn’t kill her, did you find out who did?”

“If I knew who had taken her from me, he would no longer be alive.”

There was something about the way he uttered the threat that didn’t ring true and it caught Ryan’s attention. It was too smooth; it lacked realism.

“You know,” Ryan said quietly, meeting Edwards’ eyes. “If you’re angry at the coup, why not give him up?”

Edwards sighed a little and leaned forwards. Ryan held off moving backwards.

“There is an order, in all things,” he mused. “Did it never occur to you that it was I who gave her up? Nobody takes something from me that I am not happy to give.”

“Why would you do that, if you wanted her?”

“Respect,” Edwards snapped out.

Phillips snorted a laugh at the thought of a serial murderer claiming to understand the concept of ‘respect’.

“Respect? For whom?” Ryan remained focussed.

Edwards leaned back in his chair and the restraints clanked against the table.

“There’s the million dollar question,” he smiled broadly, enjoying the game.

“Are you aware that somebody has stolen your MO?” Ryan threw the question at him and waited to see the response. A shadow of annoyance spread across Edwards’ face, followed by forbearance.

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” he replied.

Edwards fixed his stare on the Chief Inspector and thought briefly about how he might end him, given the chance.

Then, he spoke again.

“I enjoyed your interview,” he said, eyes racing over the man who, physically at least, could almost have been mistaken for his brother. “How you do enjoy playing the strong policeman.”

Ryan waited for more, and was not disappointed.

“I must say that you wear your heart on your sleeve. If I were you, I might consider talking to someone. I can’t tell you how much lighter I feel, nowadays. The talking therapies here are very good,” he said mockingly.

“Thinking of my welfare?” Ryan bit out. “Don’t bother. You see, the great thing is, if things get a little much, I can take a walk. Go for a run. Feel the fresh air on my face. I can eat whenever I want, take a crap whenever the fuck I feel like it. How does it feel, Edwards, not to be able to do any of those things? To be forced to jump to somebody else’s tune?”

Edwards stared into the grey eyes of his captor and let hate run through him.

“Shall I tell you, Ryan, about all the delicious memories which sustain me? I can promise, you won’t like it.”

Phillips intervened, always right on time. He slapped a picture on the table in front of them and slowly, Edwards looked down.

“Did you give this bracelet to Amy?”

“No, I did not.”

“The shopkeeper remembers you buying the bracelet, Edwards. In fact, she remembers you buying ten of them.”

Edwards’ face remained impassive.

“Then it’s the shopkeeper’s word against mine, isn’t it?”

“No offence, I’m sure, but your credibility isn’t all it could be,” Phillips remarked.

“Ouch,” Edwards sniped and then raised an index finger towards the photograph. “Interesting design, though, don’t you think?”

Ryan took another look at the bracelet and saw nothing new.

“The serpent,” Edwards supplied, with rare indulgence.

One of the symbols of Satan, Ryan thought. It wasn’t Edwards’ style, to dish out symbols to his victims, because to do so would presume a belief system of some kind. Keir Edwards believed in nothing, except himself.