Sycamore Gap: A DCI Ryan Mystery(91)

“If his fantasy women were unattainable, how come they’ve turned up dead?” Phillips slurped Irn-Bru, as he thought aloud.

“It’s possible that the pressure of living an unwanted life eventually became too much to bear. His mother’s behaviour may have become intolerable, combined with the incessant feelings of rejection from women whom he has placed on a pedestal. It may have broken something inside.”

“Aye, well, that’s all fine and dandy,” Phillips muttered, “and I’m sure we all feel very sorry for him. But, we’ve got three dead women on our hands, Doc.”

Donovan raised a hand, in understanding.

“I’ll come to the point. I think that it’s possible Colin Hart experiences fugue states; episodes of time where he is more like his alter-ego, or the most confident side of himself.”

“Like, when he’s pretending to be DoctorKeir79?”

“Exactly,” Donovan agreed. “While experiencing one of these ‘states’, it’s possible that he behaved in a manner entirely inconsistent with his usual timid self. Turning fantasy into reality, if you will.”

“Sounds textbook,” Ryan commented. “Now, if I had multiple personality –”

“We don’t call it that, nowadays,” Donovan started to correct him and then thought better of it. Now wasn’t the time for semantics.

“If I had different alter-egos hopping around inside my head,” Ryan started afresh, and Donovan sighed. “Where would I go?”

Paddy scratched at the fluffy hair at the top of his head.

“This area, Sycamore Gap, seems to have significance for him,” he offered.

“Yes, but we’re leaning towards thinking that Keir Edwards killed Amy Llewellyn, so maybe Colin only adopted the area as his own.”

“If Edwards killed Amy Llewellyn and led Colin to her resting place, that would be consistent with his adoption of DoctorKeir79,” Donovan agreed. “If Edwards sent him up there, he may feel it is incumbent on him to continue the pattern and deposit a body in the same place.”

“You think he might be up there now?”

With incomparable timing, the DC responsible for reader-receiving thrust away from his desk at that very moment.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Yes?”

Both Ryan and Gregson turned, leaving the detective constable in an awkward quandary. Sidestepping it, he spoke to nobody in particular.

“That was one of the uniforms. Three people rang in to report a man acting strangely beside the train station in Bardon Mill. Physical description matches Colin. Apparently, he stole a bike.”

“How the hell did he manage to get up there?” Ryan burst out.

The bus and train stations were heavily manned by police on foot patrol and the local news channels had the story of him absconding on permanent loop, yet the man had made his way to the station closest to Housesteads Fort.

“I want a team up there, right now,” Gregson cut across whatever Ryan had been about to say. “The man is to be considered dangerous, approach with extreme caution.”

“He’s disturbed,” Donovan felt bound to point out. It was a question of the sword and the shield, he supposed. Where he saw illness, others saw evil.

“Whatever,” Gregson snapped. “Ryan, I want you to call in armed support.”

Ryan frowned heavily, both at the tone of command and at the prospect of the firearms unit being deployed.

“Sir, we have no reason to believe he will be armed with anything we would not be able to neutralise with proportionate force. Given the man’s previous crimes – if proven – the methodology does not suggest he will be armed with anything more than a manual tool.”

“Objection noted and overridden,” Gregson retorted. “Ryan, I want you heading a team within thirty minutes. Get it sorted.”

The room was suddenly galvanised. Pinter melted away, back to his friends in cold storage. Donovan returned to his patients and his books, worrying about the man wandering the hills and fells. Gregson remained long enough to ensure that his orders were obeyed, watching and listening while Ryan put together a team to find Colin with minimal fuss and then retreated to his office to handle some other pressing matters. Faulkner returned to his forensic taskforce, co-ordinating the on-going effort there.

“Would it be best for me to go home?” Anna asked Ryan, at the first opportunity.

He did not answer immediately, weighing up the safest options.

“No, it’s best for you to stay here. I’m sorry,” he held her face in his hands, uncaring of the nudges and winks from his team.

“Ryan, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered, “I don’t need babysitting. I’m perfectly happy to go back. We’ve just heard that Colin’s miles away from here, which means he’s not scoping out my little cottage, is he?”