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

by LJ Ross

  CHAPTER 30

  December 25th

  If she wasn’t so tired, Anna might have found it sentimental that Ryan hadn’t once moved from her side since he had burst back into her life in spectacular fashion.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked her for the fiftieth time as he helped her into the coastguard’s jeep, dressed in the baggy khaki trousers and spare red jumper Alex had lent her.

  “Stop fussing, for God’s sake,” she muttered.

  “What’s that?”

  “I said, I’m feeling much better,” she amended sweetly.

  “You need to take it easy,” Ryan continued to fret, checking her pupils one more time. “The doctor will be along after he’s finished patching up Walker.”

  Anna was silent.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Ryan said.

  “No, you don’t.”

  “You’re wondering whether my aim was off.”

  Damn the man, she thought, for being such a know-it-all.

  “Well?” she said testily. “Was it?”

  His lips twitched.

  “I hit the target I aimed for,” Ryan said quietly. “I want him to spend the rest of his life behind bars, although he’ll probably try to argue diminished responsibility, play up the god complex.”

  His fingers tapped against his knee, the only outward sign that he was irritated by the prospect.

  “Either way, it’s hard on Alex,” she said.

  “Yeah,” Ryan looked out of the window at the coastguard, who stood beside Phillips and watched as they hoisted his father onto a police medical gurney. They would patch him up and transport him to the hospital in Alnwick but Steve Walker would be restrained at the ankles and wrists, as Rob had been. Alex never moved to bid him farewell, or to offer support in any way. He watched and ran a weary hand through his blonde hair. He thought of how he would tell his mother that her beloved husband, the man she shared a bed with every night, was a killer.

  “We’ll re-open the files relating to your mother and father’s death,” Ryan spoke quietly, watching her profile.

  Anna swallowed.

  “Yes. They both deserve the truth to be known. My father may have been a cruel bastard, but perhaps we can acquit him of murdering my mother.”

  “You said that Walker confessed to that?”

  “He boasted about how she had been his first ‘offering’,” Anna said dully.

  Ryan brushed his fingers across hers in a gesture of quiet sympathy.

  “Alison, Bill and the others will be charged as accessories to murder,” he supplied, thinking of all the paperwork.

  Luckily, Phillips was a sucker for paperwork.

  “What about Pete and Alex?”

  “It’s looking like Pete was in the dark, but we’ll check it out. Alex claims he knew there was some sort of Pagan cult developing and that his father was involved, but he didn’t know that their practices had turned violent. I need to drill down into that a bit further.”

  “Doctor Walker said that his son hadn’t been initiated and that he was a disappointment. Maybe Alex knew his father was mixed up in something, but didn’t want any part of it so he turned a blind eye.”

  “I could charge him with obstruction, accessory at a push.”

  “But?”

  Ryan smiled.

  “Without him, I wouldn’t have been able to get up to the fortress in time. Or to get into the harbour at all. He went against the grain, against every natural instinct he held towards his father. In this case, blood wasn’t thicker than water and I’m beholden to him. If it weren’t for Alex Walker, I wouldn’t be sitting here with you in my arms.”

  Justice was often black and white, but there were so many shades of grey in between.

  “I’m grateful to him, too.” Then, she turned to look at him fully. “What do you mean, ‘getting into the harbour’?”

  Ryan shifted in his seat.

  “Oh, just a bit of boat trouble.”

  Anna looked into his bland face and decided that she could find out the details later. Presently, there was a band of kangaroos hopping merrily around the inside of her head.

  “What about Mr and Mrs Ingles?” she asked, sighing deeply when Ryan lifted a hand to knead her shoulders and the base of her neck.

  “There’s an APW out for them, but there’s no word yet. We’ve passed their details to Interpol, so they’ll pop up on the system at any port they try to leave.”

  “Walker said that Jennifer Ingles supplied the drugs to their circle. You think they were responsible for Lowerson?”

  “That was my first thought, but on reflection Ingles doesn’t strike me as the violent type. Snivelling, bigoted, egoistic, but not violent. His wife was the brains behind the drug manufacture; she had previous, under a different name. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times: it’s always the quiet ones you need to watch.”

  Anna flashed a quick smile, which died as she thought of the young man lying in a hospital bed over on the mainland.

  “So who are you looking at for Lowerson?”

  “If Walker doesn’t hold his hands up to it, then we won’t know for sure unless Jack comes round. I rang the hospital and they say he’s in a stable condition, but no change.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Ryan looked down at his hands briefly, then back up again.

  “He was on my watch. I may not have swung the shovel, but I sent him out there.”

  “He’s a grown man, with police training. He took the decision to go in there alone.”

  Ryan heard her, but all he thought of was a young detective with stars in his eyes. He would have Jack Lowerson on his conscience until he was recovered; if he recovered.

  “Come on,” he said suddenly. “Let’s get you home.”

  Anna turned to him as he fired the engine and wondered if he realised that he had called the little white cottage ‘home’.

  * * *

  Phillips oversaw the transfer of Walker along with his circle of accomplices for formal charge. He hadn’t bothered changing out of the riot gear since he was inclined to think it lent him a roguish air. Briefly, he considered a move away from silk ties towards leather accessories, but dismissed it as something he could look forward to during his mid-life crisis.

  Thinking himself alone, he glanced around and then fished underneath the bulletproof vest until he found the cigarette he’d hidden there. He looked at it a moment, ran it under his nose to smell that sweet nicotine smell.

  What was the harm? He thought, standing looking across the sea. He fished out a lighter.

  The cigarette was snatched from his lips by pale, elegant fingers tipped with bright polish. In his peripheral vision, Frank saw the glint of copper hair shining in the morning breeze.

  “Didn’t know you cared so much about my health, MacKenzie,” he began testily, gearing up for the inevitable argument.

  Her fingers framed his face, yanked it towards her in a lightning move.

  “You haven’t got a bloody clue, have you Frank?” she said in her creamy, Irish burr before giving him a smacking kiss.

  “Now,” she said, pleased with herself. “Are you going to ask me out, or not?”

  Phillips grinned like a puppy.

  * * *

  Ryan watched them both from the window and then turned to the woman who lay sleeping on his sofa, covered with a thick tartan blanket. Her chest, scratched and probably still sore, had been tended by the police doctor. He’d given her painkillers for the aftereffects of the LSA and she’d mostly slept it off. They had probably ground down some seeds and spiked her drinks last night, he thought. He would ask her about it, but that could wait.

  He watched her quiet breathing and thought about how he’d come so close to losing her. He was a good policeman, he thought honestly. He would have done his best for any victim, living or dead, but last night had gone beyond that. The threat of harm to this woman had sliced at his heart.

  She had decorated the c
ottage, he thought inanely. A tree stood in the corner of the room, decked in red and gold baubles and a string of white lights which flicked on and off. Sprigs of foliage rested on the mantelpiece alongside pine-scented candles. A small box stood underneath the tree, which he had added himself.

  He needed her in his life, on a permanent basis. The problem was convincing her that it was a good idea to stay with him. His work was unpredictable; he could be unpredictable. She was used to her independence, managing on her own.

  Would it work?

  He was watching her, thoughts and emotions swirling, when her eyes flickered open. When his face came into focus, she smiled.

  “I had the most awful dream,” she said, yawning.

  “So did I, but luckily it’s over.”

  She lifted her arms and drew him in, explored the taste of him, ran her fingers through his thick hair. Neither of them noticed the snow begin to fall outside.

  Eventually, they pulled apart and her eye rested on the package underneath the tree.

  “Ooh…” she gestured to it. “Is that for me? Gimme.”

  He laughed and pushed her back onto the sofa, reached for the box.

  As she looked at the little box, her expression was easy to read. He laughed again, louder this time.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he said, watching her face light up as she pulled out a pair of exquisitely carved silver earrings.

  “They’re beautiful, thank you,” she said, putting them on.

  “I saw them the other day,” he said, slightly embarrassed as he remembered his surreptitious trip to the Gift Shop yesterday. “I thought you might like them.”

  “I love them,” she corrected, then looked shifty. “I got you a present – of sorts.”

  “Where is it?” he raised his eyebrows.

  “Ah- ” She broke off as there was a well-timed knock at the door. “That should be it now.”

  Intrigued, wondering if Anna had arranged a delivery of some kind, he moved to the hallway and opened the door.

  He stood speechless for a moment, throat clogged. His mother and father stood on the doorstep, bundled into winter coats and wielding heavy bags full of food and presents. His father was an older version of himself; tall and well-built with a shock of white-grey hair which had been jet black in his formative years. His mother was a petite woman with a cap of dark hair styled around an elfin face dominated by the intelligent grey eyes she had passed on to him.

  “Well?” Eve Finley-Ryan cocked her head at her son. “Aren’t you going to let some weary travellers in out of the cold?”

  He said nothing, but stepped forward and enfolded her in his arms, took in the scent of her, the feel of her.

  “Mum.”

  “There,” she soothed him, ran gentle hands over his broad back.

  He stepped back eventually, gave his father a dose of the same and then gestured them both inside.

  “There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” he managed.

  Eve rubbed her cold hands together and thought of the telephone call she’d had with Anna the previous day. She was looking forward to meeting the woman responsible for bringing her son back to life.

  EPILOGUE

  Christmassy music played on an invisible stereo hidden somewhere on the packed bookshelves and a fire crackled in the hearth. Outside, the island was white-washed, heralding new beginnings.

  The air smelled appealingly of cigar smoke and musty books.

  “I can’t stay long,” Gregson said, settling into a soft leather armchair. “I just wanted to stop by to give you the good news.”

  “What news would that be?”

  “The island has chosen you as its next High Priest,” Arthur replied, offering the other man a cigar.

  Mark leaned forward slightly, took the offered cigar and felt a thrill rush through his body.

  “It’s too risky,” he said, but his eyes shone.

  Gregson waved a wide hand.

  “It’s a shame about Steve, but he got carried away. There was only supposed to be one offering.”

  “Mathieson was the first failure,” Mark reflected.

  “He was a definite bore,” Gregson barked out a laugh. “Bloody old pervert, it was only a matter of time before he did something stupid. Still, we’ve got nothing to worry about there. He knows what’s best for him.”

  “Three High Priests in as many decades? It’s unheard of.”

  “It happens,” Arthur shrugged, took another puff of his cigar and enjoyed the aroma. “Andy was a bad choice, I can see that now. Too unpredictable. Steve – well, God, we all thought he was a safe bet, but he had his own ideas.”

  Mark smiled to himself as he thought of Walker. There had been no religious sacrifice there; the man was just a pure born killer.

  “He intended Anna as an offering?” he said, already knowing the answer.

  “That was the plan. Never told me he’d had eyes for the mother and that he was shagging the sister. I wouldn’t have brought Anna across if I’d known. Far too risky.”

  “She wasn’t Steve’s to offer. She has always been mine.”

  Gregson didn’t argue. There was a pecking order, in all things.

  “I was surprised at your choice in Ryan,” Mark added with a touch of menace.

  Gregson spread both of his hands.

  “The man was an emotional wreck, the last time I saw him. I thought he would have cracked long before now. Instead, he seems to have stepped up.” There was a hint of admiration in Gregson’s tone that Mark didn’t like.

  “He can be disposed of,” he bit out, leaning forward to emphasize his point.

  “Not necessary,” Arthur said easily, as if they discussed these matters daily. “He’ll be re-assigned somewhere else. Keep him out of the way.”

  Mark sat back again, took a drag of his cigar and thought of when Anna had been sitting in the chair Gregson now occupied. Further across the room stood a glass cabinet where a small onyx amulet had once lain.

  “She will return to Durham and he will probably follow her,” he said.

  He battled with himself. Anna had already made her choice in Ryan. Walker had failed to make her his offering; perhaps it was a sign to let sleeping dogs lie.

  He flicked the remains of his cigar into the fire.

  “What remains now?” he asked.

  “You must make your first offering, as High Priest.”

  “Very well,” Mark agreed.

  “You have someone in mind?”

  Mark thought of a night many years ago, when he had made his first offering of Andy Taylor. He’d made sure the man was blind drunk and Alison Rigby had offered her services that night to make sure their High Priest was sated on women too. Then, he’d led Taylor up to the bluff and hurled him over the edge.

  He had told himself it was justice, necessary action, but really it had been for himself. Simple pleasures.

  “I have two people in mind, actually,” Mark averred with a slight smile. “They require punishment.”

  “Ah, excellent,” Gregson clapped his hands together, already aware of the chosen two. “That will tie up loose ends. You know we will protect you, as always. For now, I best be getting back to the office to keep up appearances.”

  “It was necessary to disable the younger detective,” Mark began.

  “I know that,” Gregson pulled a face. “Shame about that, he’s a decent lad. Still, never fear, if he shows signs of coming round we’ll take care of him.”

  Mark nodded then bade him farewell, raised a hand to his friend and follower. On his wrist, a dull gold watch glinted beneath the cuff of his linen shirt. For a moment he smiled, remembering the times he had spent with Megan, as if remembering a pleasant holiday long ago. Eventually, all holidays must come to an end.

  He enjoyed the crisp wintry air for a moment longer, then walked back inside the house, removed the long ceremonial sword from its position on the wall of his study and felt the weight of it. He paused along the corridor
to don a long, weatherproof jacket which covered him to mid-shin, before he opened the door to his cellar.

  Below, in the darkness, Mike and Jennifer Ingles lay restrained by thick fishing rope, duct tape spread across their mouths. Both started to moan again as he flicked the overhead light on and walked down the stone steps towards them, their wails having died down to whimpers after the first twenty-four hours.

  He used the edge of the sword to tip the vicar’s chin up, saw the signs of terror, dehydration and pleading amongst the fading bruises on his face.

  He consecrated a circle in the dank cellar and turned deaf ears to the increasingly desperate sobbing beside him.

  Afterwards, he stood for a moment surveying his handiwork, took a rag and cleaned off the sword before mounting the stairs.

  The cycle began again.

  THE DCI RYAN SERIES

  The second book in the DCI Ryan series, Sycamore Gap, was released in September 2015. You can get a copy here:

  Sycamore Gap - Amazon UK

  Sycamore Gap - Amazon US

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Born in Newcastle-upon-Tyne, LJ Ross moved to London where she graduated from King’s College London with undergraduate and postgraduate degrees in Law. After working in the City as a regulatory lawyer for a number of years, she realised it was high time for a change. The catalyst was the birth of her son, which forced her to take a break from the legal world and find time for some of the detective stories which had been percolating for a while and finally demanded to be written.

  She lives with her husband and young son in the south of England, but will always be a northern girl at heart.

  If you enjoyed Holy Island, please consider leaving a review:

  Amazon UK

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  Goodreads

  The second book in the DCI Ryan series, Sycamore Gap, was released in September 2015. You can get a copy here:

  Sycamore Gap - Amazon UK

  Sycamore Gap - Amazon US

  The third book in the DCI Ryan series, Heavenfield, is due to be released in early 2016. If you would like to be kept up to date with new releases from LJ Ross, please complete a contact form