Sycamore Gap: A DCI Ryan Mystery(74)

“We don’t know enough about the ‘whys’ and the ‘wherefores’,” Ryan said simply.

They continued to take in the scene, staying away from the body, as much in self-preservation as not to contaminate any evidence.

“No obvious signs,” Phillips remarked eventually.

“No trauma that I can see,” Ryan agreed.

“I’ll contact Pinter,” Phillips said, but made no move to retrieve his phone.

Ryan waited a beat, considering.

“It looks as though Colin’s our man, doesn’t it?”

“Well, if he hasn’t offed his own mother, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle,” Phillips said roundly.

Ryan’s lips twitched.

“I’ll get onto Pinter,” Phillips turned away to call in the pathologist.

Ryan spent another minute or two with the body of Geraldine Hart, conducting his own version of a private memorial service, which he afforded each of his victims regardless of the way they looked, or how they had behaved in life. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t any deity, to be casting judgement on the lives of others. He certainly wasn’t infallible, which was another good reason not to be pointing the finger. Having said that, he thought as he dipped down to the floor to look under the bed, the manner in which people lived could be relevant to the way they died.

In this case, it would appear from the discarded syringe on the far underside of the bed that Geraldine Hart’s medical condition meant that her body had likely succumbed to massive heart failure after the administration of a strong dose of chemicals. He would leave it to the experts to confirm it.

Ryan stood up again, his body unfolding like a concertina. It was time to see what else was lurking inside the walls of the Hart household.



Pinter arrived promptly, as Ryan and Phillips congregated in the hallway downstairs, preparing to do a walk-through of the scene with the CSIs.

“Morning!” Pinter was, as usual, unrelentingly cheerful.

“Jeff.”

Ryan’s sharp ear detected an odd note to Phillips’ voice. It was remarkable, really, how much could be conveyed in one word.

“I guess there’s no time for idle chit-chat. Our girl’s up here, is she?” Pinter didn’t wait for confirmation and he practically skipped up the stairs before turning right along the landing in the direction of Geraldine Hart’s bedroom.

Phillips’ beady brown eyes watched his progress until he was out of earshot, then he unravelled a stick of nicotine gum and shoved it in his mouth with a little more gusto than was necessary.

“What’s eating you? Apart from nicotine withdrawal,” Ryan added.

“I was just asking myself, ‘Frank, how could that pathologist have known where to find Geraldine Hart’s body?’” Phillips mused. “Considering that I never breathed a word of it on the phone twenty minutes ago.”

Ryan folded his arms across his chest and rocked back onto the balls of his feet.

“You trying to tell me something, Frank? You know how I enjoy our little tête-à-têtes but I’m currently pressed for time.”

“Last night,” Phillips’ voice lowered a fraction. “He was hanging around the cop shop after hours. Said he was looking for you.”

“He hasn’t mentioned anything.”

“Uh huh,” Phillips nodded. “Well, he told MacKenzie that’s why he was lurking around CID after ten o’clock. He scared the bloody life out of her.”

Ryan tried to be reasonable.

“He could have popped in on his way home,” he offered. “Thinking he’d find me there. But, yes, I’ll agree that it’s not usual behaviour from him. He usually prefers that we come to him.”

“It’s not like MacKenzie to be melodramatic,” Phillips continued.

“Agreed. Do you think there’s anything in it?”

Phillips shifted uncomfortably.

“I know that everything points to Colin … maybe a bit of it concerns Edwards, but …” Phillips rolled his shoulders and shifted uncomfortably. “It’s been playing on my mind, what you said yesterday, about it being somebody with inside knowledge.”

“Colin had inside knowledge, if Edwards told him the location,” Ryan supplied.

“I know, that makes sense, but …”

“Spit it out, Frank.”

“Pinter’s been based at the RVI for over fifteen years; he would surely have come across Amy Llewellyn, in one of his teaching groups. He would know how to dissect with the kind of precision we saw on Claire’s body.”

“That’s a big statement, Frank.”

Phillips nodded.

“I don’t even like thinking it,” he confessed. “I’ve got nothing to suggest Pinter is connected in any way, other than the fact he happens to work at the hospital. It’s hard to imagine someone you’ve worked beside for years, turning out to be a killer. Still, I’m thinking about it.”