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

by LJ Ross

  “Aye, sounds right,” Phillips agreed. “What about the others?”

  “Megan noted down a ‘D’ in her diary, an older man, possibly married, pillar of the community who was involved in some sort of ritualised ceremonies on the side. CSI’s didn’t find anything to do with ritual when they swept the house, which is weird since Lucy was into it herself. Like father, like daughter?” Ryan mused. “Anyway, he’s just a man, with a man’s needs, isn’t he? Scuttled off to see Megan behind his wife’s back, he made two monetary transfers to Megan’s account, one four months’ ago, the other eight months’ ago. Stupid of him to leave a trail.”

  “’D’ for ‘Daniel’?” Phillips enquired.

  “Looks like it,” Ryan said.

  “Maybe he didn’t expect it to come to this,” Phillips shrugged. “Never expected us to check her bank account.”

  “Maybe. Sounds like Megan pushed him into a corner, gave him an ultimatum or as near as,” Ryan said. “Any word from Lowerson?”

  “Not yet,” Phillips shook his head. “I can chase them up. In his statement, Mathieson said he was with his wife when Megan bought it and Helen confirmed that.”

  “Megan was drugged. Easy enough for him to give his wife something to wipe her out for a few hours while he ran his errands. Could have slipped out of the house while his wife slept off the stress and strain.” Ryan shifted feet. “He got lucky again when he wasn’t seen around the pub,” Ryan said. “Then again, people don’t notice everyday things, everyday people, do they?”

  “Aye,” Phillips pursed his lips. “We need to talk to the vicar, find out where he fits into this. He must’ve supplied the drugs.”

  Ryan nodded, thinking through the processes.

  “What about Fowler?”

  Ryan’s jaw tightened.

  “Can’t see the motive,” he looked out across the lawns of the Inn as he spoke in an undertone. “Had to be something personal – maybe Rob saw something? Still doesn’t explain how he came to be on the beach.”

  He thought of the call logs at the Coastguard Station. There had been nothing untoward.

  “Could be retribution,” Phillips said, wishing for a drag of nicotine. All this was making him edgy.

  “For..?”

  “We’ve got a jealous guy with a whack of unnatural feelings towards his daughter,” Phillips started. “He might have found out about her relationship with Walker, saw red – or green – and decided to pin the murder on him as an afterthought. So, he dumps the clothes in Walker’s fishing hut, thinking that we’ll get around to it eventually and he’ll have a handy scapegoat.”

  “Go on,” Ryan nodded.

  “Problem is, we’re not charging him right away and he starts to panic again. Added to that, he’s still a crazy bastard.”

  “Indubitably,” Ryan said.

  “He might have gotten a taste for killing after the first two,” Phillips shrugged. “A lot of them do. Maybe he knows about Alex and Rob, thinks Walker’s been having his cake and eating it too – with his daughter – which pisses him off.”

  “It would do, since he never – ah – got a slice of the cake.”

  “That joke was borderline.”

  “I know. Carry on,” Ryan flashed a quick grin and took a stick of the gum Phillips offered.

  “So, he decides to hurt Walker some more.”

  “It’s vicious,” Ryan said.

  “All three of them were. Reckon we’ll just have to ask him,” Phillips ducked his hands into his pockets and looked across at Ryan. He didn’t look satisfied. “What you thinking?”

  “Mostly sounds right,” Ryan said slowly. “It fits the evidence and if Faulkner comes up with anything from the mower, we’ll have Mathieson tied up in such a pretty bow he’ll break like a twig in questioning, lawyer or no lawyer.”

  “But..?”

  Ryan shook his head distractedly.

  “Something still feels off.”

  “That’s as maybe,” Phillips said, scratching his balding head, “but I think I’ve just found another missing link.”

  Ryan walked over to where Phillips was bending down between two large crates of restaurant supplies.

  “What have you got?”

  In his hand, Phillips held a single key, with a chain displaying a ‘Newcastle University’ emblem.

  CHAPTER 26

  Daniel Mathieson took his time over his appearance.

  The police would know by now, since they’d found out about the lawnmower, but that was alright. He had been given his instructions. He was comforted by the knowledge that, for those whose opinion mattered to him, he wouldn’t be a murderer. He would be a martyr.

  He brushed his greying hair back carefully, selected a pair of smart slacks and a shirt, added cuff links which had been a gift from Lucy for his fiftieth birthday a couple of years earlier.

  “Dan!” his wife called up the stairs. “Can you come down? The police are here, I think they must be ready for the press statement now!”

  That was what the police had told them, last night. It had been a good idea, Daniel thought, to tell them to prepare to make an on-air appeal to Lucy’s killer. It had put him at ease, safe and secure in the knowledge that they couldn’t suspect her own father. He had been almost giddy with relief, at the thought. For the first time in days, he slept soundly, snuggled against his wife. Perhaps, he had thought, in time, they could put Lucy’s death behind them.

  He knew now that he had been dreaming.

  “Coming, dear,” he called down. He checked his face in the bathroom mirror, straightened the ceramic pots which littered the shelf above the sink. For a second, he considered killing himself, just putting an end to it all without having to suffer the indignity of police incarceration, but was saddened to realise that he was just too much of a coward.

  Besides, he had his orders.

  He walked downstairs and into the sitting room, where Ryan and Phillips waited.

  “Mr Mathieson,” Ryan greeted him evenly, eyes searching.

  “Dan, they say that they might not need us to make an appeal after all, isn’t that right Chief Inspector?” her eyes were hopeful. “That means you must already have an idea of who – who did this terrible thing to Lucy.”

  She reached for Daniel’s hand and as her fingers clasped his, he almost wept.

  “Helen,” he said quietly, “why don’t you let me deal with this?”

  “What? No! If the police have found him, I want to know about it, I want to be here,” she said defiantly.

  Daniel raised his eyes to Ryan’s, sent a silent plea.

  “Mrs Mathieson, there are some things which we need to ask your husband which might be best said in private.”

  Helen shook her head in confusion. “Mr Ryan - I mean, Chief Inspector - if you have something to ask Dan, you can ask me too. We both lost Lucy and we both want to find the person responsible.”

  Ryan glanced at Phillips, who read the look and nodded, stepped outside and found MacKenzie, who was waiting outside the house with some others.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs Mathieson, I think it would be best if we questioned your husband formally. Phillips,” Ryan gestured to Frank, who stepped back into the room.

  “Daniel Mathieson, you are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Lucy Mathieson, Megan Taylor and Robert Fowler. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?”

  “I understand,” Mathieson said laconically, untwining his fingers from his wife, who looked as if she had been punched in the stomach.

  “What – what’s happening here?” Wide blue eyes swept the faces of the three men and tears leaked from the corners. “Dan?”

  Mathieson stared ahead and couldn’t look at her. Ryan watched him carefully.

  “Your husband will accompany us into custody, where he will be questioned formally, Mrs Mathieson.” Ryan
hardened himself against the look in her eye, the pain he knew that he was causing her, the grief piling on top of grief.

  Right on time, MacKenzie came forward.

  “Helen, this is Detective Inspector Denise MacKenzie. She’ll stay with you and make sure that you have all that you need while your husband comes with us.”

  Helen turned fierce.

  “I don’t need anyone! I just need an explanation. You should be ashamed,” her voice hitched pathetically as she swung around again, “instead of finding the person who killed Lucy, you’re picking on Dan, her own father!”

  Mathieson’s eyelids drooped wearily. He couldn’t stand much more.

  “Phillips,” Ryan gave a jerk of his head and watched Frank lead the man from the room without any objections. At least he was pliant. It was his wife who seemed to feel outraged, but then that was blind faith.

  “Helen,” Ryan kept his voice low. “We wouldn’t be questioning Daniel, unless we had reason to do so.” He was quiet a moment, let the words penetrate.

  “Here now,” MacKenzie murmured, easing the woman into a chair.

  “You think he killed her,” Helen said, raising disbelieving eyes to his face. “But you’re wrong. I told you, he was with me all night.”

  “Can you be sure about that?”

  He hated this, Ryan thought, hated himself, but there was no other way.

  “Of course! I went to bed and he came half an hour later. We slept right through until morning. I would have known if he had left, if anything had happened,” she said earnestly.

  “Are you a light sleeper, Helen?”

  She just looked at him. “No, well, I suppose not. I’ve been on some sleeping tablets for the past few months as I was having trouble dropping off, but still –“

  “Helen,” he said gently. “You asked me to find the person responsible for killing your daughter. I promised that I would give you justice, but sometimes, justice comes at a high price.”

  Tears leaked from her eyes again, but he watched in admiration as she drew herself up in the chair, stood to face him.

  “You did promise me that. I still believe that you will. I believe that you’ve made a mistake in arresting my husband, but then I’m sure that will become clear once he answers all your questions.” Her voice wobbled, but she firmed her lips. “Either way, Chief Inspector, I’ll take whatever justice you have to offer me and if there’s a price to pay, I’ll pay it for Lucy.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Mathieson,” he took her hand briefly, felt her squeeze it before letting go.

  Looking down into her face, he saw resolve and the stirrings of anger. He saw a mother who would fight for the rights of her child, even when that child had died. Unconditional love, he thought, and was reminded of his own mother. She had come to him, after Natalie’s death, had tried to draw him to her, to comfort him. He had pushed her away because he couldn’t face her or the condemnation he was sure he would find in her eyes.

  Had he been wrong?

  He turned and left Helen Mathieson in MacKenzie’s capable hands.

  * * *

  It was an exodus, Ryan thought as he walked the beach pathway home. Police officers and detectives quitted Lindisfarne and the tide remained biblically parted to allow their departure. Within earshot of several police detectives including himself and Phillips - and whilst cautioned and aware of his rights - Daniel Mathieson had confessed to the murders of three people. If he was taken aback by the easy, docile manner in which Mathieson allowed himself to be arrested, Ryan said nothing at present. After all, the evidence fit and the man had confessed.

  There was a saying somewhere about never looking a gift horse in the mouth.

  Her duty with Helen Mathieson complete, MacKenzie was accompanying Phillips as they transported Daniel Mathieson off the island to headquarters in Morpeth for formal questioning.

  The CSI team had spent three hours in the garage at the Lindisfarne Inn and a skeleton team still remained long after the initial findings had been logged. Faulkner was working at the lab in Morpeth to get the results pushed through, but it wasn’t looking good for Daniel Mathieson.

  Mathieson had been thorough - splashing bleach around like it was going out of fashion - but just not thorough enough. Trace samples of Lucy Mathieson’s DNA had been found on the inside of the lawnmower carrier, as well as some strands of her hair on the garage floor. It was circumstantial, but it carried weight.

  The pathologist had signed the release order for the bodies of the deceased to be returned to their families for burial.

  Some idiot had informed the press that they had taken a man into custody and that, therefore, the ‘Lindisfarne Ripper’ had been found. He would chase down the loud-mouthed officer responsible and reprimand him, but that could wait.

  Before then, Ryan had some matters to attend to. Opening the door to his cottage, he found the scattered remains of police debris throughout the living space. Bits of tape, crumpled scraps of paper, snack wrappers. Muffled laughter came from the direction of the kitchen and he opened the door to find Anna sitting cosily with his superintendent enjoying a cup of bad coffee and some mini-cakes.

  “Arthur, just let me know when you’d like your grandson to come for a tour,” she was saying. “I’m always happy to show off the university.”

  “That’s kind of you, Anna,” Gregson returned, sipping daintily at his mug of coffee. “I know that Harry will be over the moon.” His eyes shifted to where Ryan stood transfixed in the doorway.

  “Ah, Ryan,” he said smoothly, gesturing for him to come closer. “We were just talking about you.”

  “You were?” he realised that sounded guilty, so he cleared his throat and made a point of never making eye contact with Anna.

  “Mmm,” Gregson watched the discomfort on his DCI’s face and smiled into his coffee. “Just saying how it was a good idea, you bringing Dr Taylor to stay with you here. Under protective custody, that is,” he added after a slight pause and fixed Ryan with a penetrating stare.

  “Ah –“

  “Always better to be safe, than sorry,” Gregson carried on, smiling broadly at Anna. Yes, he thought, he could understand well enough what had happened here.

  “You’ve found your man now, haven’t you?” Anna smiled up at Ryan and he turned to her finally.

  “Well –“

  “Excellent work, there, Ryan,” Gregson cut across him, setting down his mug. “You’ll be heading across to begin the questioning?”

  “Yes, sir,” Ryan confirmed. “I wanted to check in here, first.”

  “Team’s already packed up here. Needed all hands on deck to handle the crowds, the causeway and the on-site work.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s right but –“

  “You’ll be releasing Dr Taylor from protective custody, I imagine?” Gregson added and Ryan admired the man’s slippery skills, not for the first time.

  “Well, since we haven’t charged either suspect formally, I’m reticent to remove the officers currently detailed to guard Dr Taylor,” Ryan said firmly.

  They still didn’t know who sent the amulet.

  “Ryan,” Gregson adopted a firmer tone to his voice and stood up to match his height to Ryan’s. “I understand that you’re feeling protective, given what’s happened. Still, you have to look at the practicalities.” His voice told Ryan to put his personal feelings to one side and think clearly.

  “I can put Lowerson on her,” Ryan said stubbornly, forgetting that Anna was sitting next to him. When I find Lowerson, Ryan added to himself, slightly concerned.

  “I’m sure Lowerson is busy,” Gregson contradicted, “as are all of the officers assigned to this investigation.”

  “I-“ Ryan started, but was cut off again, this time by Dr Taylor herself.

  “I think I should have some say in this,” she said coolly, setting down her cup.

  “Not really,” Ryan said abruptly and earned himself a frigid stare in return.

  Gregson opened his mouth and
then closed it again. He knew when to retreat from the battlefield.

  “Ryan, I agreed to remain under protective custody until you found your man. You’ve found him. Therefore, there’s no need for me to remain under lock and key.”

  “Unless, of course, you feel the arrest was incorrectly made?” Gregson’s brows drew together.

  “No, sir, I don’t think the arrest was made incorrectly, but I have some doubt about whether Mathieson is responsible for all three deaths, or at least whether he was solely responsible.”

  “Then, I suggest that you hurry up and question the man, to find your answers,” Gregson barked, polishing off his drink and preparing to leave. “I’m heading over myself, I’ll give you a lift.”

  “Thank you, sir, but I have one or two things to do here before I drive across,” his eyes narrowed on Anna. “I won’t be far behind you. Phillips will take care of the preliminaries, walk Mathieson through holding beforehand.”

  “Good enough,” Gregson nodded, then leaned over and gave Anna a firm handshake. “Lovely to meet you, Anna and put a face to a name.”

  “Same goes, Arthur.”

  When Gregson took his leave, they remained facing one another in the kitchen. Ryan was the first to break the silence.

  “Anna, please, trust me a bit longer. I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t important.”

  She huffed out a breath and found herself neatly boxed in.

  “That’s quite a clever trick, Ryan,” she said irritably. “You must know that it’s nearly impossible for me to turn down a strong man who humbles himself.”

  He carried on looking at her with appealing eyes.

  “I must be soft in the head,” she complained.

  He waited.

  “Oh, for God’s sake! Fine, fine. I’ll carry on climbing these four walls until you tell me otherwise.” He started to smile and she pointed a finger at him. “Don’t start crowing too soon. My obedience comes with a condition. Bill’s holding a wake this evening, at the pub. It’s for the dead, for their loved ones, for the island people to remember the best in those they’ve lost.”