When the Night Ends, page 11
‘Perhaps he injected the drug in the cell after he was cautioned?’
‘He was strip searched before being placed in the cell, his personal belongings and clothes removed.’
‘Even stranger.’
Ridpath couldn’t think of anything more to ask. It was Dr Schofield who spoke next.
‘In the absence of a body, though, my review of the post-mortem is just speculation based on my experience. Without actually examining the body, which is now impossible, I could not stand up in any court and make a definitive statement on the cause of death.’ He held his arms out wide. ‘Sorry, I will never be able to prove what I have just told you.’
‘Thank you, Doctor. I think that’s my job, not yours.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Eve was already home when Ridpath arrived back. He’d stopped off on the way to do some shopping.
‘Hiya, how was your day?’
‘Same old, same old. Maisie got detention again.’
‘Why?’
‘Being late for a class. There’s one teacher who insists everybody is sitting at their desks with their arms folded in front of them before the class begins. Maisie was in the toilet and arrived late.’
‘She needs to make her timing better.’
‘You can’t time a pee, Dad. Especially if all the cubicles are occupied. For boys, it’s so much easier.’
Ridpath remembered his own days at school. Hanging out in the outside toilets sharing a fag with Ron and Andy. The smell of the place a peculiar mixture of damp mould, sour urine, harsh tobacco and body odour. He smiled.
‘It’s OK for you to smile; girls have it so much tougher.’
‘I wasn’t smiling at… I got you some stuff.’
He held out the shopping bag. ‘Some Panadol – apparently there’s a special type for period pains so I got you a couple of packs of those.’ He passed the boxes over. ‘Now, I didn’t know whether to get Tampax or pads so I got one lot of everything they had in Boots.’ He pulled out eight different boxes. ‘Apparently, this lot have wings like angels.’
Eve hadn’t said a word so he carried on.
‘I also bought a hot water bottle because Google says it can help with the pain.’ He held up a pink, furry bottle in the shape of a flat fish. ‘This is the only one they had, sorry.’
Eve stood up and gave him a big hug. ‘Thank you, Dad, but you shouldn’t have bothered. You know you don’t have to worry. I had a chat with Sophia and one of the teachers. It’s all going to be OK.’
He smiled awkwardly. ‘I know, dads are pretty useless at times like this. But if you ever need someone to go to the shops to buy your stuff and you don’t feel up to it, just let me know.’
‘Thanks, Dad, that’s very sweet. You sure you won’t be embarrassed?’
He shook his head. ‘Not at all… well, a little bit, but I’ll handle it like I did today.’
She kissed him on his cheek and he noticed how tall she was becoming. How had that happened?
‘There is one thing you could do for me?’
‘What is it?’
‘I could do with eating. I’m starving.’
‘What would you like?’
‘Food.’
‘Could you be a bit more specific? Lasagne from the freezer?’
‘Too fatty.’
‘A sandwich?’
‘Too many carbs.’
He opened the fridge door. ‘Three-day old spaghetti?’
‘Ugh…’
‘How about I order McDonald’s?’
She pursed her lips. ‘Sounds good.’
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. ‘You having the Happy Meal?’
‘Dadddd…’
After the delivery man had come and gone, the Big Mac and the chicken salad devoured and the wrappers thrown in the bin, Eve went back to her room to finish her homework, and Ridpath sat alone downstairs.
The case wasn’t going to be easy. Dr Schofield had raised doubts about the validity of Lardner’s post-mortem findings. And, while it didn’t cause any questions regarding police procedures, it did seem remarkable that nobody had noticed how high on drugs Ben Holdsworth was.
Even worse, though, it destroyed the narrative created by Lardner and accepted by Professional Standards, the IOPC and the CPS. Had Ben Holdsworth died from an accidental fall, or from a drug overdose?
It was his job to find the truth.
He thought about opening the file and going through the case documents once again. But tonight he couldn’t face reading witness statements or staring at pictures of a dead man.
Instead, he just wanted to sit and think, work it all out in his head.
Outside, the rain was beating against the windows. Inside the living room, the old lamp in the corner threw a vaguely comforting light behind his head and the clock ticked on, counting out the seconds and minutes of his life.
On the mantlepiece, Polly’s picture stood, a stark reminder of her absence.
‘She’s growing up, Poll,’ he said out loud. ‘Too quickly. I don’t know how I can handle it. It’s like I want to keep her as she always was. As she was when you were alive, but I can’t. I know it’s stupid, Polly, but in here, it hurts.’
The picture just stared back at him.
It didn’t say a word.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
In the ugly confines of the hotel room, he was starting to go stir crazy.
He watched enough telly to give him square eyes. He finished the half-bottle of vodka he’d bought from the convenience store plus three bags of salt and vinegar crisps and a packet of Maltesers.
He now felt sick.
Sick of his life.
Sick of being scared.
Sick of being on the run.
Outside his window, a late tram rattled along the line going to Ashton-under-Lyne. Beside the canal, a man walked his dog, letting it run free, intoxicated by the smells left by other dogs. A cyclist, dressed in the tightest pink, white and green gear, hurried across the road against a red light.
And here he was, stuck in the ugliest hotel in Manchester.
He didn’t have to hit the bloke that night. Now, he wished he hadn’t. But the man had hit on his girlfriend at work and everybody knew. If he didn’t sort out his own business, pretty soon he wouldn’t be able to show his face around Redbury.
He’d given him a good going over, enjoying the look on the man’s face when he walloped him from behind, relishing the feel of his Doc Martens kicking the man’s body and face again and again. He’d thought about taking one of his knives and slashing the man. The pretty boy wouldn’t be so pretty any more, but he’d decided against it. Too much blood.
After he’d done the business, there was no point in running; everybody knew who he was. So he sat there, waiting for the police to arrive, enjoying a pint, making sure he gave them no excuse to give him a kicking.
The problem was the man was one of Delaney’s lieutenants. Of course, if he had known at the time, he would never have touched him. Just held his hands up and walked away. No woman was worth any sort of trouble with Mr Delaney.
The police had come to take him to Redbury nick. He thought he’d spend the night in the cells and get released the following morning when the man didn’t press charges.
But it was the wrong place, wrong time, wrong nick.
Mr Delaney had visited soon after he was released. Told him in no uncertain terms to keep his mouth shut, leave Redbury and don’t ever come back.
He had to move away from the girlfriend, his friends and his manor. He’d planned to work for six months and then go to Thailand. He had a mate there, Gerry Swift, who lived in Chiang Mai. Nobody would find him there and the money he’d saved would mean he could live like a lord. But then the bloody disease had come along and everything was in lockdown. Except his job, of course; abattoir workers carried on even at the height of the troubles, no home-working for him.
Well, everybody still needed meat, didn’t they?
Weirdly, though, he felt safest during this time. Nobody was on the streets and he didn’t have to constantly look over his shoulder to check if anybody was following him.
It was a good time, even a great time.
Now it was all finished. He had to escape again, away from Manchester, away from it all.
If Delaney or his thugs found him, he was dead.
He didn’t know if he could last in this room until Thursday, but he had to. There was no other choice.
November 3, 2021
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The morning opened bright and clear, the recent rain forgotten in the light of a brand new day. Ridpath was up early; not working on the case last night had given him a new energy.
Today was a day to crack on and get to the heart of the investigation. He didn’t have any time to waste. Last night had given him time to think, work out some new angles. He really needed to see the CCTV. Where had Ben Holdsworth struck his head? And how had the custody officers missed that he had injected heroin?
Eve needed to be in school early for some assembly or other. Waking her had been like stirring Rip Van Winkle.
‘Eve, we’re late. You can eat the toast in the car.’
She finally dragged herself down the stairs, hair bedraggled and school uniform thrown on and nearly missing.
‘I’ve seen more life in a zombie. Let’s go.’
‘At least zombies don’t have to go to school at 7.30,’ she grumbled.
‘Perhaps you could make a movie for them. The School of the Living Dead. How’s that sound?’
‘Sounds like a great description of most of the teachers.’
‘How was last night, did you sleep well?’
‘Not really, but the hot water bottle helped. Well, at least it did until it went cold in the middle of the night.’
‘We’ll have to buy a cosy for it.’
‘A what?’
‘One of those things that keeps it warm longer. My mum used to knit them. I could try to knit one for you.’
She walked into the hall to get her coat, shaking her head. ‘Sometimes, Dad, you amaze me. You’ll be taking lessons from Tom Daley next.’
‘Nah, too old to start diving off high boards.’ Ridpath closed the front door behind them.
Eve shuffled zombie-like down the path. She slipped into the front seat of the car and promptly fell asleep, waking just as he pulled to a stop outside the school.
‘Bye, Dad.’ She leant over and kissed him.
‘See you this evening. What do you want for dinner?’
‘Anything… as long as it isn’t human, obvs. I’m on a non-cannibal diet this week.’
With that parting wish, she opened the door, hoisted her school bag over her shoulder and slouched into school.
He watched her walk through the gates. What had happened to his little girl? He put the car in gear and drove to Stockfield.
Ridpath was surprised to find Sophia already in the office when he arrived at 8.15.
‘Morning, Sophia.’
‘Is it? I hadn’t noticed.’
Ridpath wasn’t going to be fazed by the lack of energy of both his daughter and his assistant.
‘Has Angela Dexter sent anything to us?’
Sophia checked her laptop. ‘Nothing so far.’
Time to put a rocket under Ms Dexter. Despite the early hour, Ridpath picked up his phone.
‘Good morning, Angela. Have you sent over everything I asked for yesterday?’
Ridpath could hear the sound of a car radio playing in the background. Was she driving to work?
‘I can send across a list of the people who were in the station.’
‘All visitors, police and those in custody?’
‘Yes, but only those who signed in, not anybody sitting in the lobby.’
‘And the other things I asked for?’
A slightly sheepish voice. ‘Not yet.’
‘When are they coming?’
‘I told you, you’ve asked for a lot of things. It’s taking time for me to put everything together.’
‘Send me what you have. What about the CCTV?’
‘We’re still looking for it.’
‘What?’
‘It seems to have been lost in transit from Professional Standards to us.’
‘You must have copies; you wouldn’t have sent the original files to them.’
‘We’re looking for those.’
‘This is not good, Angela.’
‘I know, I’m sorry, Ridpath, I’m doing the best I can.’
‘What about the interviews?’
‘I’ve arranged for you to meet the custody officer, Terry Rodgers, this afternoon. You’ll have to see him before he starts his shift at the Trafford Centre.’
‘What?’
‘He’s working there now, on nights.’
‘Right, give me the place and time.’
‘Four p.m. in the Great Hall, under the video screen.’
Ridpath wrote the details in his notebook. He normally avoided the huge shopping centre on the outskirts of Manchester. It was a place where the air was heavy with the breath of thousands of demented shoppers.
‘The other custody officer, Lucas Harvey, died in a car accident in Derbyshire a year ago.’
‘So I found out yesterday. Why did nobody tell me before?’
‘Did you ask?’
‘No, but we have sent out a subpoena to his address requesting he attend the inquest.’
Sophia was holding the letter up in front of him.
‘Sorry, I’ve just found out myself. You still have his statement, don’t you?’
There was no point in blaming Angela Dexter. He would talk to the coroner and see if Harvey’s statement could be read out if necessary. ‘Nothing on Tony Saunders yet?’
‘We’re trying to find a time.’
‘Don’t bullshit me, Angela. The ACC said full cooperation, remember?’
He heard her take a deep breath. ‘Between you and me, he’s proving difficult.’
‘Right, we’ll handle it differently.’ Ridpath opened his diary. ‘Please inform him he is to attend a formal hearing with his union rep or authorised legal representative at the coroner’s office in Stockfield tomorrow at noon. Failure to attend will result in a warrant being issued for his arrest. Understood?’
‘Ridpath, I…’
‘Understood?’
‘I’ll let him know. But I think…’
Ridpath put the phone down before she could finish her sentence. He’d had enough of being jerked around by these people. There was too little time to waste. The clock was ticking and he had to move this investigation forward.
‘You were harsh.’
‘Was I? Time for them to do their job.’
Fifteen minutes later, he glanced at his computer. ‘It seems to have worked.’
An email had arrived from Ms Dexter with three attachments: a list of people who had been in Redbury station, the name of the company who had sold and maintained the CCTV equipment for the police station and a folder full of additional arrest reports and documents from Redbury station for that day.
Sometimes playing bad cop worked.
There was also a note attached. ‘Still looking for the original CCTV footage. Apparently we did not keep a copy of it. Will appraise you when we find out where it is. Regards, Angela Dexter.’
Ridpath sighed. The loss of the CCTV was far too convenient. He didn’t think Ms Dexter was lying, though. The ACC instructions had been clear: to give any and all help to Ridpath’s inquiries. But without the footage there wasn’t a lot they could do. They would have to rely on interviews.
‘Sophia, can you contact Ben Holdsworth’s wife? Make sure she knows the dates and times of the inquest. Also can you arrange a time for us to see this CCTV company today?’
‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘If you want.’
‘Please, I need a break from numbers and stats.’
‘Deaths are rising again?’
She nodded. ‘Trafford, where you live, now has the highest rate of Covid transmission in England.’
Ridpath frowned. ‘How? It has some of the richest areas in Manchester.’
‘And some of the poorest. The transmission seems to be in schools.’
Ridpath thought immediately of Eve. Was she at risk of catching it? But at least she was fit and healthy; it shouldn’t affect her too much, should it?
‘Ridpath… Ridpath…’
He realised Sophia was talking to him.
‘I’d catch the coroner soon. She has a local council meeting at 10.30. Initial discussions on funding arrangements for next year.’
‘Do you know everything that goes on here, Sophia?’
‘Not really. But the stuff I don’t know isn’t worth knowing anyway.’
Chapter Thirty
Sergeant Tony Saunders had just settled behind his desk and switched on his desktop computer when the phone call came.
‘Good morning, Sergeant Saunders, it’s Angela Dexter.’
What did she want?
‘I’d just thought I’d call this morning to let you know… er…’
He could hear the nervousness, the hesitation in her voice, but he wasn’t going to help her out. Best to stay silent, listen to her struggling.
‘…that Detective Inspector Ridpath, the coroner’s officer for East Manchester, has been on the… er… phone, this morning… er…’
He remained silent, enjoying her discomfiture.
‘…er… he has requested you attend an interview at the Coroner’s Court in Stockfield at noon tomorrow.’
‘I ain’t going.’
‘Sergeant Saunders, I don’t think you realise the seriousness of this situation…’
‘And I don’t think you realise I ain’t going. Doesn’t he have to give me notice with a formal letter to my solicitor and my union rep?’
‘Actually, he doesn’t. As a coroner’s officer, he can interview any potential witnesses at an inquest…’
‘I’m still not going.’
‘I think you need to let me finish. If you do not attend, he is able to issue a warrant for your arrest.’
