Holy Island: A DCI Ryan Mystery (The DCI Ryan Mysteries Book 1)

by LJ Ross

  * * *

  In the square outside, Ryan found himself engaged in the second awkward conversation with his superintendent of the day. He suspected it wouldn’t be the last.

  “I’m not asking your permission, Ryan.”

  “Sir, I believe the appointment of a civilian consultant is premature at this time.”

  Ryan’s teeth set with an audible snap.

  Privately, Gregson agreed with him, but he wasn’t willing to take any chances. The press would be all over this case like vultures as soon as they got a sniff. He could almost see the headline now: ‘RITUAL KILLING DESPOILS HOLY ISLAND’. For his part, he wanted the investigation wrapped up quickly and quietly.

  “Dr Taylor is heading up to Lindisfarne today,” was all he said.

  Ryan knew the tone well enough to understand that further argument would be futile, so he said nothing. It burned, though. A few hours into the investigation and the boss had already decided he was incapable of hunting down some island crackpot who probably fancied himself as the Sun God.

  Not only that, he raged inwardly. Gregson had gone over his head to appoint this Doctor Taylor – some university big wig he imagined with frizzed grey hair and buck teeth. He smiled grimly and shook his head. If the DCS wanted to waste a chunk of his budget then that was his lookout. All he needed to do was shake hands, nod politely and give the professor some sort of useless research task. He would probably eat it up while Ryan got on with the real business of policing.

  “Understood,” he managed.

  “Good. Now, about the road block you set up without requesting prior permission,” Gregson said mildly.

  Ryan could feel a headache developing at the base of his skull.

  “Sir, as SIO and first attending officer, my main priority was to secure the crime scene,” he began.

  “The crime scene is at the Priory,” Gregson interjected.

  Ryan tried again. “With respect, the island has an eight-mile radius and a limited population, all of whom are currently being treated as suspects. The victim was killed during the five-hour period when the island was cut off from the mainland last night and early this morning. The implications of that are clear.”

  If Gregson were still working the beat he might agree, but the desk he occupied wouldn’t allow him to be sympathetic when there were politics, media and budgeting to think about.

  “It is not within our remit to close off access to an entire island, Ryan.”

  “Without the road block, the population would have increased exponentially this morning -” Ryan argued.

  “I realise that,” Gregson cut him off. “If it makes your job harder, then that’s tough shit. Get it sorted.”

  After the call ended, Ryan swore loudly and to no-one in particular. He was under orders to lift the road block and what had he been thinking of, setting it up in the first place? Well, sir, he’d been thinking of investigating a little something he liked to call murder, but hey, sure, let the whole world come on down and trample on his crime scene. Why not let suspects and civilians mingle? That wouldn’t make his job any harder, not at all.

  “Chumps,” he muttered, causing an elderly woman to pause on the pavement beside him, regard him with disapproval before wandering off again.

  At least Gregson had agreed that the Incident Room should be at his cottage. Last thing Ryan needed was a bunch of well-meaning Sunday School grandmas barging into the Church Hall serving tea and cakes. Violent murder tended to kill your appetite for sugar.

  Ryan paused to tick off his mental checklist. He’d planned the first briefing with his team at three, which gave him a couple of hours to set up the murder board and collate existing information, which he would do as soon as he got back to the cottage. Ideally, he would have wanted the briefing earlier in the day, but time and circumstance hadn’t allowed it.

  Lucy’s body had already been transported off the island for post mortem after formal identification by her parents. The family liaison officer had been prompt arriving from the mainland and had held their hands through the ordeal. Elsewhere, the forensic team had nearly completed their work up at the Priory and Phillips was overseeing a small team of staff who would comb the area in expanding circles on foot.

  Everything had been photographed by the CSI team and the pictures were currently being developed. He had dispatched a two-man team of uniforms who were conducting house-to-house interviews at that very moment. He had the original traffic logs from the morning and he was in the process of obtaining records of all cars registered to the island, alongside a list of permanent residents. He’d ask Phillips to contact the hotels, the inns and the rental cottages to get a list of people who were guests on the island. As for the tourists, they were already flocking in their dozens.

  He scowled at a family who had obviously just arrived and were climbing out of their people carrier, cameras in hand. Well, they would find themselves disappointed if they planned to visit the Priory. That was, very firmly, closed for the foreseeable future. On that, he wouldn’t budge. He had stationed two rookie officers from the mainland to guard the entrance. Happy to be working on a murder investigation, he was pretty sure they would have guarded the Priory standing on their heads, if he’d asked them.

  Ah, youth.

  Frustrated by bureaucracy and a lack of physical evidence, Ryan’s eyes fell on the pub across the square and he thought of Lucy’s last movements. He stalked around Cuthbert’s saintly effigy and made for the front door.

  * * *

  Inside the pub, Anna watched her sister enter the bar via the door to the outside courtyard which, she knew, led to an apartment upstairs. Apparently, Megan was still living above the pub, despite all her plans to leave and become an actress, or open her own beauty salon, or marry some rich banker. Those had been Megan’s main goals in life the last time they had spoken, but that had been years ago.

  Things with Megan could have changed, Anna thought with a flash of optimism. From her vantage point, she studied her sister and tried to gauge the similarities between them. Megan was eighteen months older and would turn thirty next month. Once, their hair had been an almost identical shade of chestnut brown but Megan had darkened hers so that it fell in a dramatic black waterfall down her back. Her skin was always tanned, with a little help from a regular St Tropez spray tan. Like Anna, she was tall, but curvier around the hips and chest, something she had never failed to remind Anna of as they were growing up.

  “Don’t worry, Anna. One day you’ll be able to fill your training bra,” she’d say with a laugh.

  Megan certainly had her assets on display today, Anna thought dispassionately, taking in the snug, low-cut top over skin-tight jeans which left little to the imagination. Under the harsh lighting of the bar, Megan was heavily made up, her eyes lined with thick black kohl, with long lashes and dark eye shadow. Her full mouth was a slash of red gloss. Anna watched her flirt with one of the regulars, leaning over the bar to give him just enough to think about.

  Anna knew then that coming here had been a mistake. She gathered her bag and was about to leave quietly, when Megan spotted her across the room.

  “Well, well,” her tinkling voice rang out loudly, causing several heads to turn. “Look who’s come slumming.”

  Anna took a deep breath and stood as Megan rounded the bar, hips swaying in her direction, high heels clicking on the slate floor.

  “Hello, Megan.”

  “If it isn’t my prodigal little sister,” Megan sneered, sharp brown eyes taking in the quietly expensive coat, the well-fitting jeans and suede boots, the classy haircut. It made her voice even harder as she played up for the meagre audience.

  “Don’t you look bookish,” Megan jeered.

  “You look well,” Anna ventured in return, because she meant it. Underneath the veneer, Megan was a lovely-looking woman.

  “Thank you,” Megan said, running a hand through her mane of hair. She said nothing further, letting her expressive eyes do the talking for her as s
he raked them over Anna’s less glamorous attire.

  “Look, I can see that you’re busy,” Anna hurried on, “I only stopped in to say ‘hello’. I can call back another time.”

  “No need to rush off when you’ve only just arrived. I might not see you again for another eight years,” her laugh didn’t quite mask the bitterness beneath it. Anna ignored the jibe and worked hard to keep her own resentment buried. If she’d stayed away, Megan knew the reason why.

  Megan watched her younger sister’s internal struggle and was frustrated when she chose not to rise to the bait. It would have been fun to have a show down after all this time, but maybe that could wait until there were more people around. If they were going to have it out, Megan thought, she might as well have her roots done.

  At that moment, the door swung open and both women turned in reflex. Megan reacted first, recognising the tall, dark man who entered the pub instantly. In fact, she had been watching out for him whenever she could and had even taken to long walks around the village so that she could wander past his cottage whenever she thought he might be home. The curtains were usually always closed, the lights dim. He rarely came into the village and had only been in the pub once before. So far, she hadn’t been able to pin him down, but it was only a matter of time.

  “Well, hello handsome,” she drawled, angling her body towards him so that he could see her figure to best advantage.

  Ryan turned distractedly towards the sound of a female voice, and met the full force of Megan Taylor. He was man enough to admit that she wasn’t hard on the eyes, with curves in all the right places and good features which she had taken the trouble to highlight. In fact, perhaps to over-cook, he thought belatedly, considering the over-made up face and dramatic fall of black hair which didn’t look like it was the colour Mother Nature had given her. He found his eyes drawn to the woman who stood quietly beside her. This one had an entirely different demeanour but there were definite similarities between the two. Same height, but where the first was all buxom curves, the second had a willowy, bordering on fragile build. Dark, waving hair framed a fine-boned face with pale skin and full lips. Soft, dark eyes met his and held.

  Anna could read nothing in the stranger’s face as he greeted her sister with a polite nod. He was ridiculously good-looking; almost cartoon-like with unruly black hair swept away artlessly from a symmetrical face with slashed cheekbones and striking grey eyes. She didn’t think he would appreciate the description, she decided with a smile. For all its beauty, his face wore a serious expression, an intent watchfulness behind eyes which screamed intelligence. He was tall - very tall - with an athletic build, although judging from the loose fit of his jeans he either liked his clothes to be roomy or he had recently lost weight. He returned her sister’s greeting politely, but cast his gaze around the room while Megan spoke, a fact which she knew would irritate her sister who was used to undivided male attention.

  Anna was so busy in her own quiet observation that it came as a serious shock when he suddenly turned and fixed those eyes on her. She felt an uncomfortable tug, low down in her belly and the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention. His expression didn’t change except for some small shift which caused him to frown at her. Still, he continued his silent assessment.

  Eventually, he turned back and addressed her sister, who had been watching the exchange with interest.

  “Megan, isn’t it?” his voice was clipped and cool.

  Megan preened, happy that he knew her name without having to ask. “That’s right. Who’s asking?” She smiled winningly, flashing pearly white teeth. Of course, she already knew who he was. She knew all about him; at least, everything she’d been able to find out after first seeing him drive up in the snazzy convertible he kept parked outside his cottage.

  “DCI Ryan,” he pulled out his warrant card and watched her eyes widen comically.

  “I see,” Megan whispered dramatically, moving further towards him so that she would have to tip her head up to look at him from under long lashes. “This must be about poor Lucy Mathieson.” She crossed both hands over her chest in a display of concern, with the added benefit that it drew the eye unconsciously to her chest. Unfortunately, he missed the gesture as he took a wide survey of the bar, thinking that gossip was bound to travel like wildfire on an island this size. There were only a couple of hundred inhabitants and this was the only drinking hole. It was barely one in the afternoon but that was plenty of time for word to spread.

  “That’s right. I’m trying to piece together her movements last night. I understand that you work here, Ms…” he paused to fish out his notebook, struggling to remember her surname.

  “Taylor,” she purred.

  Ryan’s eyebrows rose slightly, thinking that was the second ‘Taylor’ he’d heard that day, but then he relaxed. Taylor was a common enough name.

  “Ms Taylor…”

  “Miss Taylor,” she corrected him, eyes all innocence.

  “Right,” he battled frustration and carried on. He may have been hungover but he wasn’t blind. He glanced again at the woman standing serenely to the right with a slight smile curving her lips. Disconcerted, he looked away again. “Perhaps it would be best if we sat down somewhere more private?”

  Megan’s eyes gleamed and he felt the urge to laugh. Funny how he had been more inclined to laugh in the short time he had been investigating a murder than the entire three months prior to it.

  “So that I can ask you some questions pertaining to the investigation?” he supplied helpfully and watched Megan’s pouting mouth turn sulky.

  “That’s fine,” Megan was not a woman easily put off. “Why don’t you follow me?” She started to sashay towards a corner booth at the far end of the bar.

  “One moment,” he held up a finger, turned back to Anna and fixed his gaze on her. “Do you work here as well?” Inquisitive eyes raced over her face again, leaving her feeling exposed. He couldn’t remember seeing her before.

  He was certain he would have remembered.

  “No,” Anna’s voice came out sounding a bit breathless and she felt like an idiot. She cleared her throat and tried again. “No, I’m just visiting. Megan is my sister. In fact, I was going to look for you.”

  Ryan’s eyebrows lifted fractionally. “Look for me?”

  She held out one slender hand, “I’m Doctor Anna Taylor, I believe you’re expecting me.”

  There was a pregnant pause.

  “Pardon?” to his credit, Ryan’s voice remained even.

  She wavered and let her hand fall loosely to her side. “Anna Taylor?” she tried a friendly smile. “Mr –ah - DCS Gregson contacted me early this morning to engage my services as a civilian consultant,” she spoke as if to a slow child.

  “You’re Doctor Taylor?” His face was still unreadable and Anna bristled.

  “Yes.”

  “Bullshit,” he drawled in calm, well-rounded tones and watched her mouth fall open.

  CHAPTER 5

  “Got any coffee?”

  Phillips rummaged around the cupboards in Ryan’s cottage and found them distressingly bare. He abandoned hope that there might be bacon and eggs and settled instead for a soft apple he found sitting lonely on the countertop.

  “Got coffee, can’t promise any milk. Jar’s by the kettle.”

  Phillips wondered how people could stand to drink the stuff without a splash of full fat milk and a spoonful of sugar. Still, it was better than nothing.

  “Need to fill the gaps in her timeline,” Ryan muttered distractedly as he tacked up images on the makeshift murder board which was, in fact, one entire wall of the dining room. He’d taken down the artsy canvas with its seascape study to leave a bare magnolia surface which was already filling fast.

  “Making good progress,” Phillips countered and gingerly sipped at his coffee. It was almost three in the afternoon and the investigation had progressed like lightning, in his view. He’d seen veteran SIO’s take double the time.

 
; “Not good enough,” Ryan said. He turned to pick up a thick black marker pen and Phillips watched him draw a long horizontal line on the clean magnolia wall. He wondered if it was permanent.

  “You know, you don’t have to do all of this manually. There’s a computer program which helps you produce timelines, charts…” Phillips trailed off when Ryan simply looked at him balefully. “Hope you’re on friendly terms with your landlady,” he shook his head, wincing as the coffee slid down his throat like bitter mud.

  Ryan mumbled something unintelligible as he marked up the details of Lucy’s last movements. Five minutes later, he was joined by Faulkner, the Senior CSI, Detective Constable Jack Lowerson and some other uniforms. In other circumstances, he might have invited the coastguard to join the investigation team, but he couldn’t risk it. Only the people in this room were completely unconnected to the island and therefore trustworthy.

  It was imperative that he could trust his team.

  He stood by the window and watched them pull up wooden chairs around the kitchen table facing the murder wall he’d set up. His eyes roamed their faces as he waited for the conversation to die down. When he was sure he had their attention, he opened his mouth to speak.

  And was interrupted for the second time that day by a sharp bang on the front door.

  Anna stood outside the pretty little cottage with ivy running up one side and tried to take deep breaths.

  She was steaming.

  After she had come all the way to Lindisfarne, ignoring her own misgivings in order to perform a public service…her civic duty, she thought primly, she had been met by the rudest, the most arrogant man. He had completely humiliated her at the pub. He had actually laughed in her face.

  Oh, the nerve of the man.

  She had tried to be reasonable, God knows.

  “I’m happy to assist in any way that I can,” she had offered, albeit her voice probably frigid with offence.

  “Look, sweetheart,” he had drawled, “I don’t need a civilian consultant, but if I did, I would need one who looks like she’s at least old enough to drive.”