by M J Lee
‘Finally, the calendar for this week.’ Jenny opened her laptop while Ridpath looked at his printout. ‘There is an inquest into the death of Mrs Ivy Siddall. We’ve pencilled in two days for this, on Wednesday and Thursday.’
Mrs Challinor took over from the office manager. ‘Mrs Siddall was a woman living alone with a history of addiction to prescription drugs and alcohol. The police and ambulance services were called after a neighbour knocked on the door, getting no answer. She was inside, lying on the floor, and had been dead for four days. The pathologist has ascribed death to a myocardial infarction, a heart attack, in layman’s terms.’
‘Why are you holding an inquest, Coroner?’ asked Helen Moore.
‘Because, as ever, our job is to be an advocate for the dead to safeguard the living. Let us not forget that as we go about our work. We only deal with five questions in an inquest. Who the deceased was. How, when and where they died. And finally, how such deaths may be prevented from recurring. This woman had spent time in hospital and in rehab to deal with her alcoholism. She was well known to social workers and the hospital follow-up team, but she seems to have slipped through the cracks in the system. Her last social worker visit was…’ Mrs Challinor checked her notes ‘…four months before her death. There won’t be a jury involved, but I would like to see if her death was in any way preventable. Were there any systemic issues leading to this woman being left alone for four months, despite having numerous health, drug and alcohol issues?’
‘I presume you’ve already written to the relevant NHS trust and local authority?’ asked David Smail.
‘Of course. Are they going to be represented, Jenny?’
‘A Mrs Ivory Sennett QC for the NHS trust and a Jennifer Quigley for the local authority, Mrs Challinor.’
‘Good. Anything else, Jenny?’
‘On Friday, Helen will hold an inquest into the death of Mr Jordan Harrison, who died while cleaning out a septic tank on Holdern Farm in Carrington.’
The area coroner coughed. ‘There are serious health and safety breeches in this case. Mr Harrison was ordered to clean out the tank without the use of any safety gear or breathing equipment.’
‘Are you ready to proceed with the inquest, Helen?’
‘I am, Coroner.’
‘Good, we’re done. Have a good week, people. Ridpath, could you stay behind, I’d like a chat.’
Chapter 10
After everybody left and the door was shut, Ridpath was expecting the usual small talk from Mrs Challinor. Instead, she said, ‘You have let me down, Ridpath.’
What? What had he done now? ‘I don’t understand, Coroner, we’re up to date with all the paperwork and everything is running smoothly.’
‘Not the job. You had a check-up appointment at Christies last week, which you missed. Apparently, this is the second one you haven’t attended.’
‘I didn’t know they informed you.’
‘After Polly died, you put me down as your next of kin, remember? The hospital rang me this morning to advise me you haven’t attended.’
Ridpath had been diagnosed with myeloma in 2017 in the middle of a major investigation for MIT. Chemo, isolation, a whole pharmacy of pills, the sterile coldness of hospital and nine months off work until he was finally pronounced cancer-free. It was one of the reasons he had been temporarily transferred to the coroner’s office, a supposedly less stressful assignment than being a member of the Major Investigation Team. Three years later, he was still here and loving the freedom of being a detective without the bureaucracy of the police.
‘They shouldn’t have contacted you,’ he finally answered.
‘Let’s not focus on what they did, but on what you didn’t do. Why haven’t you been to the clinic?’ As ever, Mrs Challinor went straight to the heart of the matter. ‘And don’t say you were too busy. Or you couldn’t go. Or the dog ate your homework.’
‘It’s been three years since I was declared in remission. It seems a waste of time. Plus, in the middle of a pandemic, it didn’t seem fair to bother the doctors, they have so many other patients to deal with.’
She turned over a page and Ridpath could see she was reading his personnel file.
She shook her head. ‘No, it’s not here.’
‘What’s not there?’
She stabbed her finger on the page. ‘Your medical degree. I’ve looked and looked but I can’t see it. And you don’t seem to have done any postgraduate work in oncology, nor delivered any papers at international medical conferences.’
Ridpath smiled. ‘Point taken, Mrs Challinor.’
She closed his file. ‘I hope I don’t have to do this again, Ridpath. You are responsible for your health, nobody else. If the specialists didn’t want to see you, I’m sure they would have made it very clear.’ She ran her fingers through her nest of grey curls. ‘Now, can we return to work, there’s something I’d like you to look into for me. But first, how was Northenden?’
‘Three human hands in a backpack hidden in a secret compartment at the back of an old children’s home.’
‘Have they been there long?’
Ridpath shrugged his shoulder. ‘I don’t know at the moment. The post-mortem is later this afternoon. I’m sure Dr Schofield will tell me more.’
‘I’ve asked Jenny to open a file and we’ll schedule a preliminary inquest, postponing it until the police have completed their investigation. Who’s the SIO?’
‘Local CID, Dave Connor.’
Mrs Challinor picked up a note off her desk. ‘Do you know why Claire Trent is calling me?’
‘Haven’t a clue, Coroner. I can ask her at the MIT meeting, if you want.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll call her back. There’s one more concern.’ She placed the note back on her desk and formed a steeple with her fingers as if she was praying. ‘As you know, I was approached two months ago by an elderly couple, Mr and Mrs Ryder, who wanted me to grant a presumption of death certificate for their daughter.’
‘Sorry, I know nothing about this, Coroner.’
‘No matter. The Secretary of State for Justice has granted me permission to hold an inquest on Jane Ryder, who went missing over eleven years ago on the weekend of June 12, 2009. The information we have is in the file.’ She pushed a pink file across the desk.
‘And nobody has seen her since?’
‘Correct.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘It should be a fairly straightforward procedure. Look into the case. Have there been any sightings of the woman, or any evidence she may be still alive? If there’s nothing, discover who the policemen involved in the missing person report were and ensure they attend the inquest to give evidence. If they are of the opinion Jane is missing and probably dead, I will be able to grant the certificate.’
‘They may have already retired.’
‘You’ll need to find them. Plus any witnesses who last saw her.’
‘The information will be in the police files. I’ll have to meet the Ryders to get as much background as I can on Jane.’
‘Get Sophia to arrange a time.’ The coroner looked down at the desk, running her fingers through her tight grey curls once more. ‘There is one issue you should be aware of.’
Ridpath looked at her dubiously, waiting for the sting in the tail.
‘The inquest has to be as soon as possible. It could be as early as next week.’
‘What?’
The coroner held her hands up. ‘I know it’s short notice, but there is a reason.’
Ridpath stayed silent.
‘Mrs Ryder has inoperable cancer. Leukaemia. We don’t know how long she has left and the family would like closure before she dies. Jane was an only daughter.’
The mention of cancer threw Ridpath back to his own dark days. At least he was in remission now, unlike Mrs Ryder. He’d never heard the doctor pronounce the dreaded words, ‘You only have a few months left to live.’ He’d imagined them many times during his treatment, but he’d never
heard them.
‘I don’t know if I can do it in such a short time, Coroner. Establishing there is no evidence of her still being alive and going back through the old files takes time. The case is over eleven years old.’
‘Unfortunately, it needs to be done as soon as possible, Ridpath. A woman is dying and we do not know how long she has left to live. The sooner we complete the inquest the better.’
‘It’s just—’
‘Just what?’
‘It might take longer than a week.’
‘Do the best you can.’ She tapped her fingers on her desk impatiently. ‘Listen, Ridpath, I understand I share your time with MIT, but it’s a matter of priorities. The Ryder case is important to the coroner’s office; you need to give it your full attention.’
‘Of course, Mrs Challinor, I’ll work it out. I have the post-mortem on the hands to go to this afternoon. I’ll let you know Dr Schofield’s report.’
‘Our job in the coroner’s office is to support those impacted by the death of a loved one. Can you imagine the hurt and grief of not knowing what happened to your only daughter for over eleven years? They need closure, and we need to give it to them. Understood?’
‘Understood, Coroner.’ Ridpath stood up. ‘Is that all?’
‘I think so. How’s Eve?’
‘Good. Twelve going on twenty-seven. They seem to grow up so quickly these days.’
The coroner glanced at a picture on her desk of her daughter and grandchild. ‘Hang on to them for as long as you can, Ridpath.’
‘I’ll remember, Mrs Challinor.’ He turned to go.
‘And Ridpath…’
He turned back.
‘Remember to re-book your appointment at the hospital, won’t you?’
Chapter 11
‘Hi, Ridpath, I bought you another latte, thought you might need one.’ Sophia pointed to the drink next to his laptop.
‘Perfect, I’ll drink it in the car on my way to Police HQ. A couple of things before I go. Can you ring the Ryders and arrange an interview for tomorrow morning at their home, around nine thirty?’
‘The family involved in the presumption of death inquest next week?’
‘An inquest has already been scheduled?’
‘Nothing confirmed on the timetable, but Jenny gave me a heads-up. I’ll ring them now. Do you want me to be there?’
Ridpath thought for a moment. ‘It would be good idea, there might be follow-up.’
‘No problem.’
‘Can you also check the usual areas for Jane Ryder. She went missing in 2009. The basic information from the parents is in this file.’
Sophia glanced through it. ‘Not much here.’
‘That’s why we’re meeting the Ryders tomorrow, but you may as well get started this afternoon. Check electoral rolls, driving licences at the DVLA, and the registrar of births, marriages and deaths.’
‘She may have changed her name.’
‘Do the preliminary search on her original name. We’re looking for any documentary evidence she may be still alive. I’ll ask Chrissy at Police HQ to check HOLMES 2 and police reports. You won’t be able to get access to those.’
‘No problem. We’re up to date on our work so I can do it this afternoon. I’ll send you anything I have this evening.’
‘Great.’ He checked his watch. Still ten minutes before he had to leave for Police HQ and afterwards for the morgue. Luckily, Eve was at her friend’s today so he didn’t have to pick her up. But he still wanted to be home before 6.30 when she returned. He would hate for her to arrive home to an empty house.
He sipped his latte, feeling the milk with a hint of bitter coffee warm his throat. ‘How’s things?’
‘You mean how’s my mother?’
He smiled.
‘Same as ever. Still trying to marry me off. Actually, she introduced me to somebody interesting for a change, an A&E doctor. According to her, right faith, right job, right income, GSOH and all that bullshit.’
‘Sounds like a lonely-hearts ad.’
‘My mum’s been reading them. But I liked him. Committed to his work and has no time to meet anyone.’
‘Bit like you.’
‘Says the man who has just given me more work.’
‘Yeah, sorry.’
‘No worries, it keeps me out of trouble. The mother may even have come round to accepting I work here. Apparently one of her friends was impressed I worked in the coroner’s office.’
‘At least somebody knows what we do.’
‘So, I’m feeling pretty good at the moment. You? How’s Eve?’
‘Twelve years old and twice as opinionated.’
‘She’s a teenage girl, what do you expect? All mouth and legs.’
‘Speaking from experience?’
‘Yeah. Katy Perry, Lorde and Ariana were my saviours.’
‘Who?’
‘You’re showing your age, Ridpath.’
‘There was no good music after Northern Soul and Bowie.’
Sophia shook her head. ‘You’ll be wearing flares and glitter in your hair next.’
‘The new uniform for coppers, don’t you know. Add a rubber truncheon and fluffy handcuffs and we’re ready for work.’
Sophia glanced at the clock. ‘You’d better leave now if you want to get to Police HQ by three.’
‘Shit, where does the time go to?’
‘Soon it will be 2525—’
‘That’s Zager and Evans.’
‘Not Bowie?’
‘No, he was Major Tom. Commencing countdown, engines on.’
Her eyes rolled. ‘Back to the drawing board.’
‘I’m off.’
‘Say hello to Eve for me.’
He waved goodbye, and then stopped at the door. ‘It’s good to have you here, Sophia.’
‘It’s good to be here, Ridpath. Now go, otherwise you’ll be late.’
Chapter 12
Ridpath grabbed a sausage sandwich from the canteen and went up to the MIT floor. He tried to avoid the place these days, except for the weekly meetings. Each time he went, there were fewer and fewer people he knew. Turnbull was gradually replacing all the detectives with his new hires. And the DCI had made it pretty obvious Ridpath was persona non grata, one of the old mob, not one of the new blue-eyed boys.
Emily Parkinson was still there, though. She was far too valuable to Turnbull to get the chop or be re-assigned.
‘Hi, Em, how’s it going?’
She looked up from her computer. ‘Hiya, Ridpath. Same shit, different day.’
‘That good?’
‘Claire Trent has me collating statistics to show how cost effective the department’s recent investigations have been. It’s all part of the PMA programme.’
‘PMA?’
‘Protect my arse. They are all jockeying for position while waiting for the new chief to come aboard. I don’t catch criminals any more, I catch numbers.’
‘While the cat’s away, the mice will play.’
‘Why are you here?’
‘The weekly meeting was moved forward to this afternoon.’
‘Nobody told me.’
‘Are you on Turnbull’s shit list again?’
‘When was I ever on his good list? Speak of the devil.’
DCI Paul Turnbull was staring across at them as he walked from his office to the meeting room.
‘You’d better go, Ridpath, leave me in the happy embrace of my numbers.’
‘See you later, Em.’ He stopped, looking across at another empty desk. ‘Where’s Chrissy?’
‘She was here earlier, probably waiting for you in the meeting room.’
Ridpath nodded and strode over to the open door. The other detectives were already seated behind the desks, with Turnbull and Claire Trent vying for position at the head of the table. He sat down in the nearest empty chair, placing his sandwich in front of him and taking out his notebook.
‘Right, let’s get started. We’re going to have a short br
iefing today because Claire has another meeting with the acting chief this afternoon. Where are we on the South Yorkshire drugs case, Peter?’
Peter Swift, one of Turnbull’s new hires, opened his notebook. ‘In a good position, boss, we’ve had surveillance on Mrs Docherty since the beginning of the month. On Friday, she met Marcus Holden in a motorway services on the M62.’
‘The Moss Side supplier?’ asked one of the detectives, Ridpath didn’t know his name.
‘The one and same. We think they are arranging to work together.’
‘Manchester supplying South Yorkshire with heroin and crack?’ asked Claire Trent.
‘And in return we get free bags of coal and a set of knives and forks,’ joked Turnbull.
Claire Trent didn’t smile. ‘What are the next steps, Peter?’
‘We’re still keeping them both under surveillance and we’re up on their phones. Both South Yorkshire and ourselves want to catch them when they make the deal.’
‘What? We think they are going to be stupid enough to pass cash and drugs to each other at a meet?’ asked Claire Trent.
‘That’s about it,’ said Peter. ‘And, yes, we think it will be soon.’
‘Anything from the National Crime Agency?’
‘Nothing, boss.’
‘Watch the hours on this, Peter. Your overtime is going through the roof.’
‘We’ve got them on twenty-four-hour surveillance, boss. Nothing I can do about the overtime.’
‘I said watch you hours, am I clear? Use South Yorks resources as much as you can.’ The detective superintendent spoke sharply, making certain all the detectives understood her priorities.
The rest of the meeting continued on in the same way. It was obvious to Ridpath the team was stretched, with too few people chasing too many jobs in too short a time.
‘Ridpath. Earth to Ridpath…’
He zoned back into the meeting. Had Turnbull been taking lessons from his daughter?
‘Yes, sir.’
