Seven Bridges

by LJ Ross

  “He was very agitated and looked unwell. As though a gust of wind could have blown him over,” she said. “I was worried about him.”

  “Mm,” Tebbutt made a note. “Did he tell you what had caused him to be upset?”

  “I heard him say, ‘Jen’s dead.’ I presumed he meant DCS Lucas.”

  Tebbutt cocked her head.

  “What led you to make that automatic assumption?”

  Anna swore, inwardly.

  “Common sense,” she said quickly. “I don’t know anybody else called ‘Jennifer’, and Jack had been working with her for months.”

  Tebbutt set her pen on top of her notebook and sat back, folding her hands.

  “Could it be, you thought of DCS Lucas because her name is very recognisable to you? She was, after all, your husband’s former girlfriend.”

  Anna’s face paled.

  “That has absolutely nothing to do with what happened yesterday,” she muttered. “Now, if there’s nothing else, I’d like to go home.”

  Later, when the door clicked softly shut behind her, Tebbutt sat there in the quiet room and thought back over the cases she’d dealt with over the years. The circumstances varied but the motives rarely differed.

  What might a woman do, to protect the man she loved?

  In her experience, an awful lot.

  She put a call through to her sergeant and instructed him to check the Automatic Number Plate Recognition cameras on the main roads leading into the city, to see whether Anna Taylor-Ryan was telling the complete truth.

  * * *

  Anna sat behind the wheel of her car, staring off into the distance. Across the car park, the infamous Pie Van was doing a decent morning trade in breakfast butties and all manner of baked goods, but she hardly noticed.

  When she’d first met Ryan, her past had been a matter of public record. The sad, sorry story of the Taylor family had been an open secret on the tiny island where she’d grown up, with tales of domestic abuse and suspicious deaths accounting for part of the shame she’d carried for years. Ryan had stood by her side as she’d mourned her sister’s murder at the hands of a madman and held her hand as she’d battled the grief that followed.

  But then, Ryan was uniquely qualified. His past was a matter of public record, too, having also lost his sister in the worst possible circumstances. It had helped to forge an understanding between them, a connection that could not be broken. They were both independent, free-thinking people who loved their friends and their work. Add in a generous portion of good, old-fashioned lust and they had it made.

  But there had been many years of living before they met; a whole lifetime of events that moulded and shaped a person.

  Jennifer Lucas represented one such event for Ryan.

  When they’d first learned of her transfer to the Northumbria Police Constabulary, Anna had lived in a state of constant dread. What possible reason could she have to move north, except to torment him?

  And when Lucas swept through Ryan’s team, breaking things apart bit by bit, removing the stability he’d worked for ten years to build, Anna knew she had been right to be suspicious. For a long time, she’d worried that the woman would try to attack their marriage; to stretch them to breaking point as a kind of private revenge.

  But Lucas had inflicted her punishment in a different way.

  She’d targeted another man instead; a younger man who was lonely and eager to please. Jack was also kind and honourable, the kind of person they were grateful to have in their lives. Systematically, the woman had broken him apart, until Jack Lowerson was nothing but a shell of his former self.

  Worst of all, he had been complicit in his own downfall.

  Minutes passed while she watched dust motes dance on the quiet air, then she reached for her sunglasses to offset the glare of the morning sun.

  Yes, Anna thought. It was a good thing Lucas was gone, and gone for good.

  She caught herself in the rear-view mirror and saw a young woman with tired eyes, a product of restless nights. There were shadows beneath that would fade, just as Lucas would.

  She turned the key in the ignition and looked forward to sleeping like a baby, when all was said and done.

  CHAPTER 9

  “There are seven bridges connecting Newcastle and Gateshead.”

  Ryan addressed his task force, which had by now set up permanent operations in the Incident Room and would remain there for the duration of the investigation. Against one wall, a bank of telephones was manned by support staff who fielded reports of supposedly suspicious behaviour and sifted through eyewitness accounts ranging from sightings of the late Michael Jackson to the Yorkshire Ripper.

  Time wasters, every one of them.

  “Aye, but who’s to say it’s just that stretch of the river?” Phillips said. “The Tyne is seventy-odd miles long and splits into the North Tyne and South Tyne. It could be any one of the bridges from Tynemouth to Deadwater Fell.”

  Ryan had considered the possibility.

  “You’re right, Frank. There are over forty bridges, if you consider the entire length of the river. In theory, the next attack could target any one of them.”

  “But he won’t,” MacKenzie said, and moved across to study a large map of the city tacked to the wall. “The likelihood is, he’ll go for one that has more impact.”

  “The Alchemist wants two million pounds’ worth of bitcoins to be transferred via a purpose-built website before noon,” Ryan said. “To extort that kind of money from the city, I agree with MacKenzie. We have to assume he’s bargaining with one of the major bridges.”

  “That narrows it down a bit,” Sergeant Bannerman remarked, then looked to her colleagues Captain Nobel and Corporal Wilson. “Three hours isn’t long, but it could be long enough for us to find and disable a bomb, if we have the whole EOD Unit working on it.”

  Nobel opened his mouth to agree, but Ryan shook his head.

  “This time, our bomber was more specific with his conditions,” he told them, and reached for a printed copy of the e-mail received by the news desk at The Enquirer.

  “The message reads: ‘Unless bitcoins to the value of two million pounds are paid via www.savethebridges.org by NOON today, another bridge across the Tyne will burn. Do not attempt to find or disable the explosives, or I will detonate. Do not attempt to evacuate the bridges, or I will detonate. Do not attempt to remove the website, or I will detonate. This is the second. You have been warned.’”

  Ryan slapped a hand against the paper.

  “He wants money and he’s prepared to send another bridge up if there’s any suggestion of police interference,” he said. “D’you know what that tells me—aside from the obvious fact that he couldn’t give a fig about the safety of others? It tells me he’s just another commonplace criminal with an eye on the bottom line.”

  “A criminal with some special skills, surely?” Wilson argued.

  In answer, Ryan crumpled the sheet in his hand and lobbed it across the room, where it fell neatly into the wastepaper basket.

  “That’s how special I think this lowlife is, Kevin.”

  Phillips barked out a laugh.

  “So, what’re we gonna do, guv?”

  Ryan considered the timescales and the threat to public safety.

  “There’s a strong suggestion that the bridges are being watched. We know this isn’t an idle threat; last night was enough warning to show us he’s not afraid to press the big red button,” Ryan replied. “We can’t be seen to evacuate the bridges, which means he’s expecting to see people walking around as usual—or, at least, in vastly reduced numbers, after last night’s scare.”

  The light dawned on all of them.

  “We could go in plain clothes,” Nobel said, jabbing a meaty finger in the general direction of his teammates. “Sue and Kev can take the High Level and the King Edward VII Bridge, and I’ll take the Millennium and the Swing Bridge. I’ll get Paul and Stevie to do the Metro and the Redheugh,” he said. “We can wander a
cross and keep our eyes open.”

  “And what if he sees us?” Bannerman asked, a bit worriedly.

  “Howay man, grow a pair of balls, will yer?” He smirked. “If you’re scared, one of us can take your place.”

  Bannerman bristled.

  “I wasn’t suggesting that,” she muttered. “I was thinking of risk assessment.”

  “Just leave that to me, sweetheart,” he replied.

  Ryan watched the exchange with distaste and made a note to have a word with Nobel at the first opportunity. Bannerman might not be a part of CID but, for as long as she was attached to his task force, he was responsible for her working conditions.

  And that included dealing with her misogynist boss.

  “Do your risk assessment,” he told Nobel. “If it’s safe to do a visual assessment, then try. In the meantime, we have less than three hours in which to create a city-wide panic.”

  “Eh?” Phillips said, with his usual eloquence. “What d’you want to do that for?”

  The light of battle shone in Ryan’s eyes.

  “Because, Frank, if we can’t evacuate the bridges by fair means, we need to do it by foul. As soon as EOD have had a chance to scope out the bridges in their civvies, we’ll lift the media ban. The press will push the word out much faster than we can. It’s the best way I can think of to shut down pedestrian and vehicular traffic in both directions without setting up a police blockade.”

  Phillips grinned.

  “Aye, you’d have to be bonkers to use the bridges, especially after last night.”

  “Let’s just hope we can get the word out in time,” Ryan replied.

  * * *

  David and Wendy Lowerson were blissfully ignorant of the new threat laying siege to their city. They waited anxiously in the foyer of CID Headquarters for any sign of their youngest son who, they had been told, was being released that morning without charge. Beside them was seated a tired-looking woman sporting a purplish-black bruise on her left eye and a vacant expression. On their other side, an elderly man was seated beside a boy who might have been his grandson, silently sharing a bag of cheese and onion crisps.

  David glanced across at his wife and laid a hand over hers.

  “It’ll be over soon, just wait and see,” he whispered, giving her fingers a quick squeeze. “You know that our Jack would never hurt anybody.”

  Wendy’s hand shook as she thought of her son.

  “I know, Dave. I’ve known he was a gentle soul ever since he was born,” she said, and her other hand touched her belly, ever so briefly, in remembrance.

  “Makes you wonder what happened to the woman,” Dave continued, in weary tones. “Maybe she fell, after all.”

  Wendy nodded blankly, not wanting to think of it.

  “I just—Jack’s always been on the other side of the fence, on the side of what’s right. I never imagined he’d end up—”

  “Ah, now,” he said, rubbing her cold fingers. “Jack’s a tough nut. Remember when he was in that coma? Six months, six long months we visited him in hospital. Didn’t you worry that he wouldn’t be strong enough to pull through? We both worried,” he corrected himself. “But, in the end, Jack was stronger than we thought.”

  Wendy’s breathing hitched as she battled against tears.

  “I thought we’d lost him,” she managed, then turned to look at her husband. “But, in some ways, this is worse. I can’t stand knowing what this might have cost his reputation.”

  “Nay, lass,” he reassured her, although he’d thought of it too. “The solicitor told us Jack’s of good standing, he’s no flight risk and he’s volunteered to hand over his passport which is why they’re letting him go. They would be keeping him longer if they had any doubts about that, now, wouldn’t they?”

  Privately, Wendy wasn’t so sure, but she didn’t have the heart to argue.

  “If you say so.”

  “He’ll come and stay with us for a while—just until he’s feeling stronger—while it all blows over,” David continued, then a thought struck him. “We’ll need to go and pick up his cat. Marbles will need feeding.”

  “She’s gone,” his wife replied, dully.

  He looked at her in surprise.

  “He didn’t mention—”

  “I found out the last time I managed to see him,” she said, and her fingers twisted as she thought of the measly scraps of time she had enjoyed with her son over the past few months.

  Ever since…

  Ever since he’d met that woman.

  “Jack told me Marbles had run away but, I’m telling you, that cat would never run away. She loved him, and he adored her.”

  “D’you think something happened to it?”

  Wendy just shook her head.

  “He was very vague. All I know is, Jack was heartbroken.”

  They both fell silent for a few seconds, then his father said, “I’d give anything to see him smile again.”

  Wendy closed her eyes and a single tear escaped.

  “So would I, love. So would I.”

  CHAPTER 10

  To say that Ryan was angry would be an understatement.

  He was livid.

  The city was under threat of another major incident, one which carried the potential of widespread harm to people and property, and it was his duty to remain on the ground overseeing operations to prevent it. Instead, he had been waylaid by DCI Tebbutt, who demanded that he provide a statement. The timing could not have been worse.

  “Can’t this wait?” he demanded. “I don’t know if you’ve heard, but we’ve had another bomb threat. I’m sure you understand that comes with a certain time pressure.”

  Tebbutt continued shuffling her paperwork.

  “I’m sorry, but I have a similar duty to ensure that the investigation into DCS Lucas’s death is not delayed in any way. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that the first few hours of a murder investigation are crucial.”

  Ryan drummed a finger against his thigh and admitted that was nothing more than the truth.

  “Let’s get it over with, then.”

  “I’ll make it as painless as possible,” she assured him, with a small smile. “Despite what you may think, I do appreciate that you have a job to do.”

  They settled themselves at a table in one of the smaller meeting rooms in CID.

  “Now, let’s get the formalities out of the way,” she said, reading off the standard caution.

  “You’re making this an interview under caution? Does that mean you consider me to be a suspect?” Ryan was incredulous.

  “I just thought it would save time later if we do things by the book from the start. Of course, you’re welcome to consult with a solicitor, if you feel you need to.”

  Ryan raised an eyebrow but shook his head.

  “Do you understand the caution I’ve just given you?” Tebbutt continued.

  Now Ryan did smile, and Tebbutt watched it transform his face.

  “Yes, I think I understand the general gist,” he said, gravely.

  “Good,” she murmured, and felt a momentary pang of regret that she would be responsible for dimming the humour she saw fleetingly in his blue-grey eyes. “How long have you known DC Lowerson?”

  Ryan found himself irritated again.

  “Look, Joan, that’s the kind of information you can see from his employment record. I’m already pressed for time and I hardly need any warm-up questions.”

  Tebbutt scratched her earlobe and held up a pen, patiently.

  Ryan almost swore.

  “Fine. To the best of my knowledge, Jack has been employed by the Constabulary for eight years and I’ve known him throughout that time in a general capacity. Three years ago, I saw his potential and suggested he try for the detective pathway, which he did. He worked for my team in CID for just over three years, following which he accepted a transfer to work directly for the late DCS Lucas, as part of the training pathway to becoming a detective sergeant.”

  Tebbutt frowned at
that.

  “That’s an unusual job spec,” she observed, then shrugged when Ryan said nothing. It was one of the main reasons he and Jack had argued; it had been clear to everybody except Jack that his so-called promotion had been a sham arrangement.

  “How did you feel when DC Lowerson took up the new job?”

  “It’s completely irrelevant how I felt,” Ryan snapped. “Ask me something that relates to the events of last night, or I’m walking out of that door.”

  Tebbutt realised that he meant every word.

  “Alright, Ryan. We’ll turn to last night, for now. Can you tell me, in your own words, what your movements were from around 3pm yesterday afternoon?”

  Ryan raised a single eyebrow.

  “So, she died earlier in the day, I take it?”

  Tebbutt gave him a warning look and he held both hands up.

  “Alright—alright. I was on-shift until around two o’clock, when I headed home. I stopped off to run some errands—”

  “Such as?”

  Ryan pushed an irritable hand through his dark hair and sent her a frustrated glare.

  “Such as stopping off at the petrol station and collecting a couple of suits from the dry cleaners,” he said. “The ordinary, prosaic things that make up the fabric of life.”

  “Which petrol station? Which dry cleaners?” Tebbutt asked, and Ryan stared at her in shock.

  “You’re checking on my alibi?” he threw at her.

  “Wouldn’t you?” she threw back, and honesty compelled him to agree.

  “It was the Esso garage off the West Road and a little dry cleaners called Filigree’s.”

  Her pen stilled.

  “Which is where?”

  He swallowed.

  “It’s on Sandyford Road.”

  “Near Jesmond?”

  His eyes flashed molten silver.

  “You know it’s near Jesmond,” he muttered.

  “I see. A little out of your way, isn’t it?”

  He said nothing.

  “Okay, Ryan. So, what time did you get home?”

  “Ah, I don’t know. Maybe around four, four-thirty?”

  “And was Anna at home?”

  “No, she wasn’t.”