Heavenfield: A DCI Ryan Mystery (The DCI Ryan Mysteries Book 3) by LJ Ross

Author:LJ Ross
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Tags: Mystery, Cozy, Romantic Suspense, Mystery & Suspense, Thriller & Suspense, Romance, Suspense
ISBN: 1530652685
Published: 2016-03-04T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 17

“Gregson’s awake.”

Ryan glanced briefly across at Phillips, then back at the road ahead as they drove from Durham to Newcastle.

“We’ll head there first, see if there’s anything he’d like to tell us.”

The road dipped into the valley where Newcastle and Gateshead nestled on the banks of the River Tyne. They passed the Angel of the North, the enormous rust-coloured industrial monument towering over the city with wide, aeroplane wings. It was no faerie, no classical folly, but an impressive structure that was both jarring and compelling in its engineered beauty.

“You think Gregson’s killed her, don’t you?” Phillips asked, watching the sun break through the grey clouds to illuminate the proud city of his birth.

Ryan slowed the car while they edged past some road works and drummed his fingers against the top of the steering wheel.

“Yeah, I think so. Maybe not with his own hands.”

“He hasn’t got the balls for it,” Phillips declared.

“Maybe.” Ryan leaned his arm against the edge of the window as traffic came to a standstill.

“There had to be a third person,” he frowned, imagining what might have happened in his mind’s eye. “Somebody to help him clean up the mess.”

“Aye, but they wouldn’t have cracked his skull in,” Phillips was incredulous.

“Wouldn’t they?” Ryan murmured. “I wonder.”

“Nah,” Phillips made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “We’re reaching too far with that. Might have been the wife, it could really be that simple. She’s still missing and she might have sent those text messages to Gregson, luring him home.”

Ryan released the hand brake as traffic started moving again.

“Give me five minutes in a room with him,” he growled, “and we’ll see if the superintendent feels talkative.”

Phillips sniggered and slid back in his seat as the car picked up speed.

* * *

“Gotcha!”

MacKenzie looked over at Lowerson, whose exclamation interrupted their drive back into the city.

“Jepson’s come back to us with two possibilities for the pistol we’re looking for,” Lowerson elaborated. “Two nineteenth century flintlock pistols. One recently sold at auction to a local buyer, another reported stolen from the inventory at Bamburgh Castle.”

Feeling excitement lick through her veins, MacKenzie edged the speedometer higher.

“Stolen?”

“Aye, an early nineteenth century officer’s pistol, by a manufacturer called ‘Durs Egg.’ That went missing over a month ago, apparently.”

“Could be worth a follow up,” MacKenzie said, but Lowerson’s face held the excited look of one who knew something that she didn’t.

“I think we should look into the other missing pistol first, Mac,” he shuffled in his seat, full of beans, and she huffed out a sigh.

“Go on then. Who was the buyer at auction?”

“You’re going to love this.”

MacKenzie gave him an exasperated look, which told him clearly that she wasn’t in the mood for parlour games.

“Alright, alright. It’s registered to ‘Daniel Mathieson.’ ”

MacKenzie’s fists clamped harder on the steering wheel.

“You’re having me on.”

Lowerson put his hand on his heart.

“I swear! It’s right here, in Jepson’s e-mail. One flintlock holster pistol by Davison’s of Newcastle, circa 1830, sold at Bonhams Auction House on July 3rd.”

“Recent purchase,” MacKenzie murmured.

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