Sycamore Gap: A DCI Ryan Mystery(72)
He thought of the police and the visits they had paid, but tried to put that out of his mind. It was nothing he couldn’t handle. He glanced towards the ceiling, with its ornate plasterwork and centrepiece chandelier, and felt his blood boil. Deliberately, he looked away again and tried to clear his mind, to empty it of all the inconsequential things, which usually clogged it. Were it not for the prosaic vicissitudes which filled his days, he would be able to spend more time on the work he really loved. Instead of living the empty, false shell he inhabited each day, he could be the man he really wished to be.
He could flourish.
He looked across at a tall, mahogany cabinet, the key for which he always kept on his person. With a sly smile, he fished around the waistband of his trousers and found the little hidden pocket, which he had sewn there himself. He drew out a small brass key.
Anticipation coursed through his body as he unlocked the cabinet. Before viewing its contents, he closed the door to this room and locked it. He pulled on two pairs of thin gloves. He was a careful, cautious man. He opened the polished doors to reveal several file stackers, filled with different coloured plastic wallets.
His hand hovered over the files, deliberating his choice.
Eventually, he selected a red wallet and retreated to his chair with it clutched to his breast. There, in the quiet room, he re-lived the delicious memory of it all. He re-read the neat, intricate notes he had made before and after, allowing the sensation of killing to flow through his veins. Reverently, he ran his fingertips over the single photograph he had allowed himself to take, which captured beautifully the fear and confusion of his last victim.
Much later, after he had sated himself, he closed the file again and returned it to its rightful place in his cabinet, which was ordered alphabetically. Every now and again, he needed to remember, to relive those magical moments and feel powerful again. Usually, he could survive on those memories for long periods of time before he needed to kill again.
Just lately, though, the memories hadn’t been enough. He had re-opened Pandora’s Box and was unable to close it. Only a few days would pass before he needed to look inside the cabinet again. He recognised that it was time to choose his next project, because if he waited much longer, he would be unable to execute with the finesse for which he was known.
He had standards to uphold.
Besides, there was just one bracelet left to gift to one lucky recipient, whom he had already selected. She was not his usual type; perhaps she was a little older and worldlier than he would have wished, but she was connected to Ryan. It would make his triumph all the sweeter and surely then the Chief Inspector could not deny his supremacy.
CHAPTER 16
Wednesday, June 24th 2015
“He’s done a bunk.”
“What’s that?” Ryan wedged his mobile phone between his ear and his shoulder as he shrugged into a pale blue summer shirt. Phillips’ beleaguered voice boomed out of the headset and Anna raised a finely arched eyebrow from her position on the other side of the bedroom.
“Colin Hart. He’s not at his house.”
“That hardly signals that he’s ‘done a bunk’. He could be at the supermarket, for all we know.”
“Not likely, guv.”
“Frank, we’ve had eyes on him all through the night. If he left his house, somebody would have seen him.”
“Nope.” Phillips shook his head at the other end of the line, in a manner reminiscent of the bulldog used to advertise a popular brand of insurance. “The DCs tailed him all the way home after he left the station last night and they’ve been on shift ever since. They never saw him leave his house, but when they knocked on the door to bring him back in for questioning less than ten minutes ago, there was nobody there.”
“OK, let me see if I’ve grasped this.” Ryan could feel a headache coming on. “Despite being under constant surveillance, our main suspect in the murder of at least one woman has vanished. Are you having me on?”
“Wish I were.”
“Fuck.”
“Shit and bollocks,” Phillips added.
Ryan flipped the last button on his shirt and made a grab for his boots.
“Have the DCs entered the premises?”
“Yes, guv. They had the appropriate warrants, I saw to that.”
“Right. I’ll meet you there.”
The detective constables assigned to the surveillance team for Colin Hart looked sheepish when Ryan and Phillips found them hovering on the driveway of Number 32.
“You,” Ryan waved a hand in the direction of the nearest one. “Report.”
“Sir. Having received the message from DS Phillips that we had a ‘go’, we exited our vehicle and approached the property. The suspect, Colin Hart, entered the house at around eight-fifteen last night, after being dropped off by his solicitor. He stood outside the property for several minutes before entering, but since then we’ve had no sight of him.”