The Death Messenger Read online

  So, he was right.

  Ryan crossed his arms defensively over his chest, his focus on the winding road ahead. Ordinarily she took her time while driving, progressive but steady. Not this trip. Hell-bent on reaching their destination, she was pushing on – and some. She could handle a fast ride too. In spite of his comment a moment ago, he didn’t feel the least bit anxious.

  ‘Don’t sulk,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t suit you.’

  ‘I’m not. That’s not my style.’

  ‘Nor mine to pull rank,’ she said. ‘We all need to face our demons at some time or another. You faced yours last night. Now it’s my turn.’

  Bullshit!

  Ryan knew she wasn’t playing with a straight bat. Whatever she was hiding, whatever she had in mind to do, she wanted him out of her way while she did it.

  15

  The Perth teashop was tucked away in a side street off the beaten track. A doorbell signalled O’Neil’s arrival as she entered. Grace Ellis and a male companion were waiting, the only customers on one side of the room. The man stood up as she approached.

  Old school.

  O’Neil liked that.

  Used coffee mugs were on the table in front of them. O’Neil offered them a top-up. They declined, so she ordered tea for herself, pulled up a chair and sat down. There was a moment when no one spoke, a moment of uncertainty. The Detective Superintendent wasn’t altogether sure she was doing the right thing. Now she was there, it was shit or bust.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ she said. ‘Retirement suits you, Grace.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Grace said. ‘You look rough, Eloise. You’re working too hard.’

  O’Neil grinned. Grace had always been a straight talker.

  But much as she liked the woman, O’Neil had good reason to be cautious around Grace Ellis. When his old boss went missing, Ryan had defied O’Neil’s warning to leave the investigation to Professional Standards. Despite being suspended from duty, he had managed to infiltrate her enquiry. Even now, she had no idea how he had pulled it off, only that he had. And she had a hunch that Grace, with her wealth of experience from a career in the Serious Incident Squad, had been heavily involved, if not the linchpin of the unofficial investigation. Not that she could prove anything, with Ryan refusing to rat on his co-conspirators.

  ‘I was expecting to meet you alone,’ O’Neil said. Grace had recently married an old flame Ryan referred to simply as Newman. O’Neil assumed this must be the bloke now sitting by her side. She shifted her gaze in his direction. ‘We’ve not been formally introduced.’ She stuck out a hand. ‘Eloise O’Neil.’

  ‘Frank Newman.’ The handshake was solid. Dependable.

  The tea arrived and they stopped talking.

  O’Neil held Grace’s gaze across the table. She was an amazing detective but belligerent at times, confrontational. And so it proved. At Jack’s funeral, having had a bit too much to drink, she’d said some hurtful things about O’Neil’s failure to listen to Ryan, suspending him when he could have assisted her investigation legitimately. Ryan had intervened, telling Grace in no uncertain terms to back off.

  She was right though.

  In her heart, O’Neil knew it. She should have listened to him, except she hadn’t know him well enough to trust him. Only once he was exonerated had she been willing to pool intelligence, and the dynamics between them had gone from open hostility to a degree of trust that was rare in her experience.

  That didn’t mean he’d told her everything.

  The waitress left them.

  O’Neil fixed on the male. ‘Mr Newman, no offence, but I’d like some privacy. Would you mind?’

  Grace cracked up. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

  ‘No, I’m deadly serious. I need help and you fit the bill.’

  ‘So talk,’ Grace said. ‘Frank and I come as a pair these days.’

  ‘Then we have nothing to say to one another.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s non-negotiable.’ Grace placed her hand over her husband’s, giving him hard eyes as he pulled it away. She sighed, her focus on O’Neil. ‘See what you’ve done now? Have a heart, will you? We’re on honeymoon.’ A dark cloud passed between the two women. Grace’s radiance and sarcastic attitude fell away. ‘Eloise, I’m so sorry. That was tactless.’

  Newman had no clue what was going on, only that his wife had, metaphorically speaking, ripped a plaster from a raw wound leaving her ex-colleague in pain and was mortified by it. O’Neil could hardly breathe. She’d tried so hard to put the past behind her. Not normally vindictive, right now she wanted to leap over the table and rip off Grace’s head. Instead, she threw in a verbal grenade.

  ‘I know you were helping Ryan by monitoring HOLMES when Jack Fenwick went missing, Grace. In case you’re in any doubt, that’s enough to send you away for a very long time.’

  The retired detective never flinched.

  The best defence was always attack.

  ‘Are you on something?’ Grace pointed at O’Neil’s now empty cup. ‘That herbal tea must be hallucinogenic.’

  The bravado didn’t wash. O’Neil had charged enough coppers, retired and serving, to know when one was floundering. ‘Just so you know, Ryan never said a word. I’m a detective too, Grace – a bloody good one – I worked it out all by myself. And you . . .’ She switched her attention to Newman. ‘Mysteriously, I can’t seem to find any information at all about you, Mr Newman. I wonder why that is.’

  Not a flicker.

  ‘I know you’ve been digging,’ he said.

  ‘Of course you do.’ O’Neil crossed her arms, leaned into her chair, a bell tinkling as the only other customers got up and left the premises. ‘I’m curious by nature. I dug and I dug, and yet I couldn’t penetrate your backstory. I’m guessing I got a little too close.’

  Newman remained silent. Whoever he was, he was well connected. Grace was expressionless, resisting the temptation to jump in – a first for her. Sensing her frustration, O’Neil stroked her bottom lip with her forefinger, buying herself time, eyes on Newman.

  ‘Did your handler tip you off?’

  He gave no answer.

  No matter how hard she pushed his buttons, he was too experienced to admit or deny that he was part of any governmental undercover organization, be that MI5 (British Security Service) or MI6 (Military Intelligence). There was no doubt in her mind that he was a spook, if not now then in the recent past.

  ‘Well, guess what?’ She eyeballed him across the table. ‘I had a knock at the door from your spook friends early one morning and suddenly the focus is on me. Unlike you, I am a real person with a real background. I’m sure you know everything there is to know about me, Mr Newman.’

  ‘Not everything,’ Grace said hurriedly.

  O’Neil took that as a declaration that Grace hadn’t told Newman about her private life. If that were true, it was something. She carried on, impatient to tackle the spook while she had the chance. ‘Mr Newman, I don’t know how, or even if, you got involved with Ryan’s extracurricular activity during Jack-gate. I don’t want to know, but I won’t tolerate interference if Grace ever comes to work for me, now or in the future, is that clear?’

  He said nothing.

  O’Neil shifted her attention to his wife. ‘Don’t worry, Grace. I don’t intend to pursue your husband any further. I know when I’m wasting my time. You’re different. I’m not coming after you either, as it happens, not officially, because yours is the kind of deviousness I need on my team. It’s a shame that I can’t use Frank, but I’m sure you can appreciate why.’

  Grace was noncommittal.

  O’Neil could see that she was wavering, trying not to show it.

  Time to push her buttons.

  ‘If you’re not remotely interested, feel free to walk away,’ she said. ‘Ryan will be none the wiser. He doesn’t even know I’m here. I thought I’d give you first shout on an exciting opportunity to boost that pension of yours. A two-way transaction: taxpayers’ cash in return fo
r your expertise. I heard you were bored with retirement.’

  Newman chanced his arm. ‘Maybe if you told us what the case is about?’

  ‘No can do,’ O’Neil said.

  Moving in closer, she linked hands, elbows on the table. It was like a game of blink first. Unfortunately, Newman was winning. She looked away, deliberating over whether she could trust him, wondering how much Ryan did, whose side he might take if he were there. O’Neil didn’t doubt Newman’s credentials, but he was an unknown quantity and that was enough to make her nervous. There was a fine line between the good and bad guys.

  ‘And if I was prepared to work without Frank?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Then my door is open.’

  ‘You know I’m discreet, Eloise. Tell me what you have in mind.’ She shot a glance at Newman. ‘Frank, cover your ears. You’re making her nervous.’

  ‘Nice try.’ O’Neil laughed. ‘I’m not questioning your discretion, but I’m not that green. You know how these negotiations work.’

  Grace sent a silent message, one woman to another: I didn’t tell him. Frustrated by the stalemate, she sighed loudly. ‘When lives are at stake, I generally like to know what I’m getting into.’

  O’Neil raised an eyebrow. ‘Who said anything about lives at stake?’

  ‘If they weren’t,’ Grace said, ‘you wouldn’t be knocking at my door. If they are, then I think you should reconsider inviting Frank along. Believe me when I say, he’s no slouch. And just so we’re clear, he’s no flash in the pan or weekend shag either. We’ve known each other twenty-odd years. There’s no one in the world, including Ryan, I trust more.’

  ‘Not going to happen. You’re either in or you’re out, Grace. Take a few days – there’s no hurry. Ryan and I have a lot of work to do. Think on it. You know how to get in touch.’ O’Neil turned her attention to Newman. ‘A pleasure meeting you, Mr Newman.’

  Scooping up her phone, she threw a twenty-pound note on the table and walked out.

  16

  O’Neil was about to start the car when the passenger door opened and Newman climbed in. Grace got in the back. As the doors slammed shut, O’Neil met her gaze in the rear-view mirror. Grace had that hunger in her eyes that all coppers get when a case intrigues them to the point of obsession. If O’Neil was reading her right, she couldn’t wait to get started.

  Her relief was profound.

  It hadn’t taken long to work out that she needed a detective of Grace’s calibre on board. As soon as she’d received Official-Sensitive documents from Ford, O’Neil had known she had a case on her hands. She’d scoured the personnel database for someone suitable, preferably a serving officer. On each run-through, she’d drawn a blank. The job was simply not as attractive as it once was. Detectives had been bailing in their droves, seeking employment in the private sector or taking their money to spend in retirement.

  And who could blame them?

  Still, as good a player as Newman might prove to be, he was surplus to her requirements for the time being. If that changed going forward, a phone call to Grace would locate him in an instant.

  O’Neil turned her head towards him. ‘You have something to say to me, Mr Newman?’

  ‘You should be careful, Superintendent. Poking around in my background won’t buy you any friends. And I think you’re going to need some, if you don’t mind me saying. I’m a very private person. Cautious, too. If someone asks about me, I tend to want to know why.’

  ‘Fair’s fair,’ O’Neil said. ‘And what did you find out?’

  ‘You’re working on classified material. Something to do with a certain judge?’

  Eloise didn’t respond.

  ‘Does the name Leonard Maxwell ring any bells?’ he continued. ‘No? How about Lord Trevathan? Same guy. Different title. They fished him out of the Tay on Monday. It appears the poor man got out of his depth.’ He paused. ‘Still not convinced?’

  He was very well informed.

  O’Neil examined him closely. He was mid fifties with the physique of someone much younger: handsome, casually dressed, with ice-blue eyes capable of piercing metal.

  ‘I’m listening,’ she said.

  ‘You have several linked incidents, a big cheese from the Home Office peering over your shoulder, and serious finances for a wide-ranging investigation with a modest crew. How am I doing?’

  O’Neil held her nerve. If the situation hadn’t been serious, she’d have broken into a round of applause. Intuition was a wonderful thing. Hers hadn’t let her down yet. Newman was the genuine article. Knowledge like his was a gift for a unit like hers. The man sitting beside her had all the skills she needed to uncover the mystery surrounding Lord Trevathan.

  ‘Oh, one thing I forgot,’ he said. ‘You have the clout to pick your own team, to engage people with talent and diplomacy. Whether or not you’re prepared to admit it, to yourself or to Ryan, in my modest opinion you’re going to need to do that sooner rather than later.’

  ‘Sounds like me and him,’ Grace chipped in.

  O’Neil ignored the attempt at humour. This wasn’t a game and well Grace knew it. The unit was a career-changing opportunity and O’Neil couldn’t afford to put a foot wrong. ‘If I need your advice, Mr Newman, I’ll ask for it.’ She pointed at the door. ‘I’m busy now, so if you don’t mind.’

  Grace was visibly disappointed. ‘You’re making a mistake, Eloise.’

  O’Neil’s eyes flew to the rear-view. ‘Don’t you mean another one?’ She still felt guilty about Jack Fenwick.

  ‘You have a chance to redeem yourself,’ Grace said. ‘In fact, you’ve already made a start. Isn’t that why you took Ryan on, to clear your conscience?’

  O’Neil swivelled in her seat to face her. ‘How dare you!’

  Grace did right to back off.

  O’Neil was livid.

  Newman wasn’t happy either.

  ‘I’m sorry, Eloise.’ Grace backpedalled quickly. ‘I didn’t put that very well. Your instincts are spot on. Ryan has moral integrity. He used the back stairs to find Jack because the suspension left him with no other choice. For what it’s worth, he hated doing it. Most of all, he hated deceiving you.’

  ‘Yes, and in doing so he put his career on the line.’

  Grace’s attitude softened. ‘You could have pulled the plug – you had the chance. But you didn’t. You’ve protected him because he’s a good cop. He’ll do the hard yards and then some. He’s loyal and trustworthy, like Frank and me. If you let us in, we’ll be behind you every step of the way.’ She looked at Newman. ‘Frank, tell her.’

  Newman said nothing.

  There were times when silence spoke the loudest.

  This was one of them.

  ‘OK, I’ll tell her.’ Grace eyeballed O’Neil. ‘He knows stuff, Eloise. He has access we don’t. Without him, I reckon you’re screwed.’

  ‘That was quite a speech.’ O’Neil turned to face her. ‘Now get out of my car, Grace. You too, Mr Newman.’

  Neither of them moved.

  ‘I said, get out!’ O’Neil blew out a breath as the doors slammed shut. That encounter was worse than any postmortem.

  17

  O’Neil was spitting bullets as she drove to the morgue. Her overreaction to the news that Grace and Newman knew as much about her enquiry as she did left her with few staffing alternatives. Initially, she’d called Grace to check out her availability and willingness to get involved because she was the best there was. She hadn’t bargained on her being so clued up about the case. As for Newman, his access to classified information made him an asset she’d dearly love to have on her team.

  And now she’d blown it.

  The post-mortem was almost over when she arrived. There were two forensic pathologists finishing up, a senior examiner and a female assisting who appeared to be dissecting human tissue. Other samples: blood, hair, nails, gastric contents and liver had been already attended to, saving O’Neil’s delicate disposition the horror of viewing the worst of it.
/>   Perfect timing.

  The body would have rapidly decomposed had it not been submerged in cold water. The medical examiners gave O’Neil no more or less than she expected. As usual in cases where an interval had occurred between fatality and discovery, they were only able to give an estimated time of death. The judge’s demise had occurred some time ago.

  What was left of his fingernails had long since turned black. He had knife wounds to his chest, a deep gash to his neck that explained the severed artery, as well as slippage of skin and other post-mortem injuries associated with having been in the water for a prolonged period. Barring a handkerchief, there was nothing in his pockets, according to the lab technician who’d stripped the body and bagged the clothing.

  The body was being examined with such care and respect by the pathologist and yet, in O’Neil’s head, the remains on the table had ceased to be a person, let alone the brilliant advocate she knew they represented in life. Only Trevathan’s spirit remained. Not in a biblical sense. She didn’t believe in the afterlife. It was something intangible that tugged at her subconscious. Maybe just that he was in her thoughts. Respect for the siblings he’d left behind was enough to drive her on. Through her efforts, justice would prevail.

  Another glance at the corpse.

  Hideous disfigurement. The feeling of suffocation was strong now. She should have left it a little longer or, better still, sent Ryan in her place. Arguably, he may have succeeded where she’d failed to get Grace Ellis on board. Eloise was kicking herself. Why in hell’s name did she always take the rocky road? As if her job wasn’t hard enough.

  The walls were closing in. She was struggling now, slating herself for a physical reaction she had no control over, clawing at the neck of her shirt, trying to get some air. Fortunately, her distress went unnoticed and didn’t last long. Once over the nausea, she left the morgue. The pathology report would follow in due course. These things took time.

  Having sat outside in the car for half an hour recovering, O’Neil realized she’d had nothing to eat all day. She considered and then immediately discounted the hospital canteen, regretting her decision to keep driving earlier in the day, passing up the opportunity for lunch with Ryan. The fact that she’d sent him to Edinburgh sat heavily with her now, as did her decision to leave him out of her negotiations, if she could call them that. She missed his company, his camaraderie. Worse than facing your demons was facing them alone.