Sycamore Gap

CHAPTER 1

Sunday, 21st June 2015—The Summer Solstice

It was a perfect day for walking. The morning had broken and washed the sky in technicolour; palest lemon blending into brazen orange and deep, dark ochre. Wispy clouds were scattered here and there but, for the most part, the day was clear and the air was crisp.

Colin Hart had been up well before sunrise, allowing himself time to hike the trail and to enjoy the view from the top of the fells. He had been to this special corner of the world before, but the beauty of it never aged. The landscape undulated all around him, old as time and scarred only by the presence of the long stone wall built by Hadrian.

Alone, he stood a little longer appreciating the scenery and took a sip of water from his flask before tucking it safely back into its specialist holder. He checked the laces on his top-of-the-range hiking boots. Satisfied that all was in order, he turned away from the hypnotic sun and continued to walk along the track, which ran beside Hadrian’s Wall from the Roman fort of Housesteads in a westerly direction all the way into Cumbria. He knew that a lot of visitors probably walked on top of those ancient stones, unable to resist the allure, but he was someone who went by the book. What would happen if everyone flouted the rules? The stones would crumble away to nothing and there wouldn’t be anything left for the next generation to enjoy. That’s what would happen, he thought righteously.

He continued to meander along the worn trail, idly wondering how many centurions had stomped the ground before him. Sprigs of lavender sprouted from the gaps in the stones and clumps of heather bloomed purple, infusing the air with their scent. Tiny white flowers had risen beside the pathway and he wondered how they had found their way to this remote spot. He enjoyed the feel of his lungs labouring as he walked the inclines and felt the momentary fear of falling as he traversed the dips. Eventually, he slowed and came to rest under a large, leafy sycamore tree whose roots had grown thick and strong. He fished out a postcard with an artsy photograph taken of this very place and was content.

Colin shifted his backpack and shuffled down to rest against the wall. Under the shade of the tree, he looked out across the valley and thought about the errands he had yet to do when he returned home, mostly for his mother. He shifted uncomfortably and rubbed at the back of his neck. The stones were sharper than they looked. Unable to find comfort, he half rose, intending to move further away, when his eye caught sight of

something shiny. Intrigued, he pushed his face closer to the wall and wished for more light.

His prayers were answered as the morning came to life at that very moment. Sunlight washed over the wall and he saw it fully then, the glint of silver between the cracks.

Excited now, he began to tug at the stones and then froze guiltily. He shouldn’t be tampering with the wall, like this. It wasn’t right.

But the silver winked at him.

All hesitation forgotten, he put his weight behind the stones until the first one began to shift and give way. Emboldened, he started on another, then another…

His hands covered in dust and chalk, he fell backwards and stared at the hole he had made in the wall and, beyond that, to what lay in its cavity. A silver bracelet, mostly dulled with age, hung loosely from the wrist of what was once a person. Now, all that remained was a pile of desiccated bones, shoved haphazardly inside the hollowed-out space. A skull stared back at him with empty eyes and a gaping jaw.

Colin scrambled away and thought about putting the stones back, pretending he had never found the body. Wouldn’t it be better just to carry on with his life? He didn’t like to become involved in other people’s dramas, other people’s problems. He sat on the dewy grass

and gnawed at the inside of his lip, thinking about what to do for the best. It wasn’t too late to go home, close the doors behind him, and try to forget what he had seen, was it?

No. He shook his head. He should not be a coward.

He fished around one of the inner pockets of his jacket and pulled out his mobile phone.

No signal.

Resigned and with the heavy, sick feeling in his stomach of a man whose life had just changed irrevocably, he headed back towards civilisation.

* * *

While Colin Hart trudged the lonely road back to his car, another man was taking advantage of a rare Sunday morning lie-in. Eyes still closed, Detective Chief Inspector Ryan struggled against the demonic hangover which had made itself very much at home inside his head. The nerves between his eyes throbbed and there was a distant ringing in his ears. Feebly, he grasped at the sheets and pulled himself upward.

He risked opening his eyes and everyday objects became reality. A bed. A wardrobe. Some sort of jingle-jangle wind chime which hung in front of the window that was thrown wide open to the morning breeze. His eye caught a movement and he braced. He

saw a man, wild-eyed and rough around the edges staring back at him from the oval mirror above the dresser.

Why had he let Phillips talk him into the whisky? A “quick pint”—he was sure that was all he had agreed to by way of celebration.

Yesterday, Ryan had received a call from the ecstatic parents of Detective Constable Jack Lowerson to say that their son had finally emerged from his coma. Last Christmas, none of them had held out much hope that Jack would ever regain consciousness, following the attack on Holy Island which had plunged him into darkness and robbed him of six months of his life. There was now the hope that, one day, Jack would remember who had been responsible.

Ryan dragged his legs over the side of the bed and stood up.

Then, sat back down again with a thud.

“Too soon,” he muttered with a heavy dose of self-pity. “Much too soon.”

Before he could move again, the bedroom door swung open and brought with it the dreaded sound that had wakened him.

It was Chaka Khan on the radio this morning.

Looking like she was every woman and more, Doctor Anna Taylor stood in the doorway tapping her foot to the rhythm and regarded him with a mixture of pity and amusement. She set a tall glass of water on the dresser beside two aspirin.

“Good night?”

He let out a heartfelt sigh and stood on legs that felt as wobbly as Bambi’s.

“I’m not sure that’s the word I would use to describe it,” he muttered. “Water. Need water.”

Anna grinned. Watching him prowl around the bed like a bear with a sore head was comedy gold. This was the first time she had seen the illustrious DCI Ryan reduced to a physical wreck and she wasn’t above a bit of baiting.

“I thought we might go for a long walk along the river today, after we stop by the garden centre.”

He winced.

“Or, we could go shopping. I need some new shoes and handbags.”

“I don’t think—”

“Maybe we could offer to babysit the kids next door. It would be good practice,” she continued, layering on the icing.

“Anna,” his voice croaked, and he snatched up the water, gulping it down in three swallows. “The terrifying thing is that I don’t know whether you’re joking.”

He refocused and took stock. The muscle at the side of her mouth was twitching. Dark eyes twinkled.

“Oh, you’re a real comedienne.”

“People tell me that all the time, but it never gets old.”

He slunk towards her smelling faintly like a brewery. Even crumpled and worse for wear, it was remarkable how he managed to look so good. Thick, black hair stuck out at interesting angles and she watched him run a hand through its length. There was a layer of stubble on his jaw, which was rugged rather than unkempt. Then, there were those bright, silver-grey eyes which killed her every time.

All mine.

Smugly, she crossed her arms and tilted her chin up at him. He came to stand in front of her, swaying a bit.

“You smell like something that crawled out of a cave,” she said, deadpan.

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“I could light a fire on your breath.”

“Stop, you’ll make me blush.” He smiled slowly now, with intent.

“You could use a shower,” she sniffed.

“That’s an excellent idea.” He edged her backwards, towards the en-suite bathroom. “One thing you should learn about me is that I have an excellent recovery time.”

“Oh, you’re going to need it.”