When Morrison rang off a couple of minutes later, Ryan slipped the phone into the back pocket of his dark jeans and continued to stare out over the flower beds blooming in the garden below. He watched Anna step onto the patio with a cup of coffee and a newspaper, making herself comfortable at the bistro table. She tipped her face up to the sun that turned her dark hair to burnished mahogany and warmed her long legs as she stretched out in shorts and sandals. When she caught sight of him at the window she raised a hand to wave, crooking a finger for him to join her.
He rested his forehead against the glass pane and thought of how their lives had altered in the space of one short phone call.
CHAPTER 5
Police Constable Melanie Yates grasped the opportunity to work on Ryan’s team with both hands and bundled herself quickly into the blue VW Golf parked on her parents’ driveway. She was saving up a deposit for her own little place closer to the centre of town, where she could be on hand for any urgent cases at the new CID Headquarters. Until then, she was relying on her parents’ goodwill.
As she pulled onto the A1 and headed north from the city toward Cragside, her thoughts strayed back to her first week out of cadet training and the first time she had seen Ryan striding down the corridor. Melanie had been grappling with the vending machine and, with a distracted air, he’d paused to thump the side of the ancient metal frame, giving her a friendly smile when the machine had promptly coughed up a chocolate bar.
“Don’t be afraid to give it a good kick,” he’d said, with a smile.
On that occasion, she had stared at him like a rabbit caught in the headlights and he’d moved off again, already having forgotten she existed. Melanie imagined she wasn’t the only person ever to be affected by him and the fact he was engaged to be married seemed to have no dimming effect on the people who mooned over him in the staff canteen or down at the pub after work.
As she drove toward the Northumberland National Park, the rolling countryside eventually gave way to a dense forest that grew all the way up to the tarmac, its tall emergent trees blotting out the morning sun except for a few beams of white light cutting through the branches. She enjoyed the way the sunshine played through the trees and sent dappled streams of light across the windscreen until, a few minutes later, she slowed for the turn that would lead her along a winding driveway toward Cragside. The driveway curved past a large lake on her left, then over an old stone bridge leading through the trees until the house appeared, its towers and chimneys peeping through the uppermost branches.
Melanie schooled her features into a professional mask. It would be disastrous if Ryan were ever to read her innermost thoughts, the childish desires she harboured only in private. Work was her passion and she had been given an opportunity to shine.
She planned to make the most of it.
*
Ryan stood outside the main entrance to Cragside fielding irate questions from Martin Henderson. The estate manager’s balding head reflected the glare of the summer sun and, as she parked her car in the circular driveway, Yates could see pearls of sweat glistening against his skin. By contrast, Ryan looked very much at ease with his hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans, in a stance that could have signified boredom, or contempt. Catching sight of her, he looked across the driveway and raised a hand in greeting before turning his attention back to Henderson. Yates locked the car and made her way toward them, smoothing a nervous hand over the curly brown hair she’d bundled into a ponytail.
“I’ve told you repeatedly,” Ryan was saying. “We will do all we can not to disrupt the normal running of the estate. The area surrounding where Victor fell has been cordoned off, as has the drawing room and exterior staircase but otherwise people should be able to move freely.”
Henderson shifted his feet.
“I don’t know whether you’re aware, but I have a responsibility—”
“As do I,” Ryan interjected, very quietly. “My first responsibility is to Victor Swann, not to a stack of bricks and mortar, pretty though it is, or to your employers. If the Gilberts have any grievances to raise, I’m sure they know where to find me.”
With that, he gestured for Yates to follow him inside the house, leaving Henderson blustering on the steps outside.
“Thanks for getting up here so quickly,” he said, barely glancing in her direction.
“Not at all, sir, I’m happy to help. Thank you for bringing me on board.”
Ryan jerked his head back over his shoulder.
“That was Martin Henderson, otherwise known as The Big Cheese. He’s the estate manager and seems to spend most of his time being high-handed with the other staff. Giving them all a pain in the arse, no doubt.”
“I understand.”
Ryan’s lips twitched.
“Good. Are you up to speed?”
“Yes, I read your summary. It doesn’t seem to be a priority case,” she said.
Ryan stopped briefly inside the dim, wood-panelled hallway.
“First rule of CID, Yates. They’re all priority.”
She filed that little nugget away and followed him into what appeared to be a staff common room, through a door to the right of the reception area. Formerly the butler’s pantry, it was a mixture of old and new, with corniced ceilings and antique side tables offset by jarring, overstuffed foam easy chairs and plastic coffee tables. A bank of metal lockers, the kind you might see in the changing rooms of a leisure centre, lined one of the walls. It was nearly empty except for a man and a woman who were huddled over one of the tables in hushed conversation.
The man looked across at their arrival and stood up.
“Morning, Ryan.” He stepped toward them and held out a hand.
“Dave.”
“Hell of a business,” the other remarked, with the long-faced expression of one who didn’t know what to say. “We’re all still in shock.”
Ryan angled his body and made the introductions.
“This is PC Melanie Yates,” he said. “She’ll be handling some of the loose ends relating to Victor’s death.”
She held out a hand, which was shaken enthusiastically.
“Dave Quibble, conservation manager,” he gave her an appreciative smile. “I’m responsible for overseeing the general conservation of the site here, thanks to the Gilberts’ generosity. There’s a team of specialists who take care of all the different elements, from the gardens to the artefacts and the electrics. Anything we can do to help you, just say the word.”
“Thank you.” She nodded toward the lockers. “Did Victor have one of those?”
“Yes, indeed. Alice? Do you know which one was Victor’s? Alice is one of our specialist staff members working on painting restoration,” Dave explained.
A pretty, dark-haired young woman in her late twenties looked up from a copy of Cosmopolitan.
“Ah, I think it was the one at the end.”
“Let me see if I can find an access key,” Dave began but Ryan shook his head and they watched as Yates drew on a pair of nitrile gloves and used her index finger to open the locker. It let out a metallic whine as it fell back on its hinges.
“It’s empty,” she said. “And the lock appears to have been forced, sir.”