When the Guilty Cry

by M J Lee

  ‘No hunches.’ He stared into mid-air. ‘But she was a young, pretty sixteen-year-old on her own, as far as we know, maybe at a festival or maybe on the streets, perhaps in a vulnerable state…’

  ‘Perfect prey for any predator.’

  A long silence.

  ‘When I get the misper files from Chrissy, I’ll send you them. We’re going to have to put something together for the coroner well before next week.’

  ‘But that’s only a few days away?’

  ‘I didn’t set the timing, Sophia. You’d better get working.’

  ‘Mrs Challinor said you were working another case for MIT.’

  He nodded. ‘It’s not straightforward either.’

  ‘Let me know if you need any help.’

  He smiled. ‘You have enough to be working on.’

  ‘Anything to stay away from the house at the moment.’

  ‘The mother?’

  ‘She wants to introduce me to a friend of a friend’s son. Problem is, he doesn’t speak much English and my Urdu is probably as good as yours, Ridpath.’

  ‘Love always finds a way.’

  ‘Don’t take the piss, Ridpath, it’s what my mum says.’

  He picked up his briefcase. ‘Call me tonight.’ He made the sign of a mobile phone against his face. As he did so, his real mobile phone rang. It was Dave Connor.

  ‘Hi Ridpath, Hannah rang me. She wants us to go to the lab, she’s found something.’

  Chapter 23

  ‘You not going in?’

  Patricia Patterson was lounging around the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee.

  ‘Nah, thought I’d give it a miss. Can’t handle the idiots any more.’

  Cherie sat down beside her. ‘You know we need the money. What with me furloughed, your job is the only thing keeping our heads above water.’

  Pat leant forward and gently kissed her partner on the lips. ‘Don’t worry, I know I’m the only one keeping you in PG Tips.’

  ‘And sausage rolls, don’t forget them.’

  ‘How can anybody forget sausage rolls?’ She sat back, playing with the handle of her coffee mug. ‘It’s just… sometimes it’s hard to keep going. Keep banging your head against the brick wall, knowing the same shit is going to keep floating to the surface. Nothing ever gets done. I feel like I’m sticking plasters over the wounds rather than ever fixing anything.’

  ‘You’ve only just realised?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ve known it for a long time. But sometimes, the ugly truth rises up and decides to kick my head in.’

  Her partner began washing the breakfast plates. ‘Why don’t you call in sick and I’ll make us some chicken soup? I’ll even nip down to Greggs for a few sausage rolls.’

  Pat smiled as an idea flashed into her mind. ‘Why don’t we move somewhere new, get away from all this?’

  ‘Where would we go?’

  ‘I don’t know. Ireland, or the north of Scotland. Anywhere to get away.’

  ‘And what about the kids? Danny has his exams next year, you know he wants to go on to sixth-form college, and Holly is more settled than she’s ever been. And there’s all the Covid bollocks.’

  ‘I know. Only a thought, a dream.’

  Pat’s mobile phone rang. She sat there for a long while.

  ‘Aren’t you going to answer it? Could be important.’

  Slowly, Pat pressed the answer key.

  A voice on the other end. ‘We need to talk.’

  Pat stood up and strode out of the kitchen, up the stairs to her private office, closing the door behind her.

  ‘You said you would never call me.’

  ‘I lied. Something has come up, we need to meet.’

  ‘I can’t, I have to go to work.’

  ‘Call in sick.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You must, don’t make me tell them.’

  Pat’s shoulders collapsed. She slumped down in the chair in front of her desk.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Somewhere quiet, Davyhulme Millenium car park overlooking the Ship Canal. Do you know it?’

  ‘Yeah. When?’

  ‘Let’s say eleven.’

  ‘This will be the last time?’

  ‘I promise.’

  Pat clicked off the call. She wished she’d never become involved with them. She covered her eyes with her hands and began to sob quietly.

  Chapter 24

  Ridpath waved goodbye to Sophia and slipped behind the wheel. ‘What did she say, Dave?’

  ‘Not a lot. Just said she wanted to show us something at her lab.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘In Manchester Science Park, close to Oxford Road.’

  ‘I know it. I can be there in thirty minutes, I’m in Sale now.’

  ‘Can you pick me up from Stretford nick on the way?’

  ‘So I’m a bloody taxi driver, am I?’

  ‘You’ve been promoted, Ridpath. I’ll wait outside on Talbot Road for you. Holloway is still on the warpath, pissed Claire Trent refuses to release more resource to him.’

  ‘He’s right, Dave. We need more warm bodies. I’m meeting with her at noon to go over the case, I’ll see if we can get some help. Did DC Davis tell you about the post-mortem last night?’

  ‘Mr Goody-two-shoes presented a typed report to myself and Holloway at nine a.m. Holloway was as happy as a Bury black pudding on a bacon roll. That lad will go far if he can keep it up. I’ll give you a copy of his notes when you pick me up. But I have some bad news.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Holloway has taken him off the case temporarily to look into a series of burglaries in Urmston.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘I wish I was. We’ll get him back tomorrow.’

  Ridpath shook his head. No wonder Holloway was desperate for more resource. ‘Anything from the canvas of the local area?’

  ‘Nothing except the usual rumours and gossip. Apparently, it’s haunted by the ghost of a young boy who died there.’

  ‘Is that why the film crew went?’

  ‘Probably. Bloodsuckers, all of them. Anyway, other than a few complaints to the council about druggies using it, nobody saw anything.’

  ‘Shame. And the film crew?’

  ‘They’ve all signed statements. We checked up on them. None of them have records, all clean as whistle, except one is banned from driving for DUI.’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘The presenter, Ian Rodgers, caught pissed as a newt driving on the A6.’

  ‘He’s obviously one for the spirits.’

  ‘Boom, boom. See you in ten minutes.’

  The phone clicked off and Ridpath went through his messages. One from Mrs Challinor.

  How were the family?

  He typed using one index finger.

  In the office this afternoon. Will update you.

  He always envied his daughter, whose texting was a blur of fingers and sometimes toes.

  The next message was from Claire Trent.

  Don’t be late for the noon meeting.

  He was about to text back saying the more time he spent texting the later he would be, but decided it would not be a good idea. Better to be on time.

  The last text was from Eve.

  Love you Dad

  Followed by three emojis: a dancing heart, a smiley face and an ape picking its nose. He checked the time. Seconds after he had dropped her off at school this morning.

  He texted back.

  Love you too, Eve.

  He was hopeless at emojis so he just added a small smiley face as it was the easiest to do. She wouldn’t see the text till after school, but at least it would be waiting for her.

  He checked the time on his phone. Time to pick up Dave Connor.

  He needed twenty more hours in each day.

  Chapter 25

  Patricia Patterson drove along the M60, exiting opposite the Trafford Centre at Junction 10 towards Urmston. She hadn’t come this way for a long time
, at least two years, avoiding the area like the plague.

  She stopped at the lights and remembered to switch off her phone. The council had installed a safety app on it to track her when she was off-site. The last thing she wanted today was stupid questions from those idiots about her whereabouts.

  The lights turned green and she took a right along Davyhulme Road, past Trafford General and the golf course. A long time ago she had spent happy days there, nicking golf balls and selling them back to the members.

  Now she resented the existence of a golf course in the middle of a built-up area when it should have been a public park, open to all.

  Sod ’em.

  Her bottom lip curled over the top. How was she going to handle this meeting?

  Play dumb?

  No, be yourself, be aggressive. The bastards have had enough from you over the years, they can’t give you any more grief. She’d done what they asked, again and again and again.

  No more.

  She had Cherie and the kids to think of now. She hated lying to Cherie, telling her she was going to work and instead coming to this meeting, but she had to sort it out, get it over and done with.

  For the first time in her life she felt vaguely happy with a partner. Not in a Mary Poppins sort of way, but she looked forward to going home in the evening, being with Cherie.

  Home. Now there was a word she didn’t use often.

  She turned right into the Millennium car park.

  Another car was already there. They were waiting for her. The rest of the spaces were empty.

  It was quiet. Too quiet.

  Two people got out and walked towards her car.

  ‘Hiya, Pat, long time no see.’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Don’t be like that.’

  ‘I told you never to call me at home. I don’t want to worry Cherie.’

  ‘Always thinking of others. Let’s go for a walk, shall we?’

  ‘No, just tell me what you want, let’s get it over and done with. I can piss off home and you can piss off to your little rats’ nest.’

  ‘That’s not a pleasant way to talk about the place you lived for five years, is it?’

  ‘You call that living?’

  ‘It’s what we do. At least step out of the car so I don’t have to bend down to speak to you all the time. My back is killing me.’

  Patricia opened the driver-side door and started to climb out of the car.

  She didn’t see the needle as it was jabbed into the top of her arm, but she felt the pain almost immediately.

  A pair of arms encircled her neck, pulling her upright.

  She tried to push away, kicking backwards with her shoes against shins, striking hard and hearing a sharp scream of pain.

  But another pair of arms was pushing her back across the top of the car. She felt a hand thrust into her neck. Her arms were weak; she could hardly lift them up to strike her attacker’s face.

  ‘Shhh, sleep now, Pat, you know you want to sleep. Shhhhhhhh.’

  The warm blackness engulfed her mind, her bones became jelly and she slumped down with her back resting against the car.

  ‘Still got fight left in her,’ said one of the attackers.

  ‘Pat always did. Shame she lost her anger at the world and what it did to her.’

  Chapter 26

  The forensics lab was in a modern office block close to Manchester University. Hannah greeted them both at the door and ushered them through to the secure facility.

  The green striped backpack Ridpath had last seen at the children’s home was sitting on a lightbox table in the middle of the room. Around it, technicians worked, staring through microscopes, adjusting sampling slides, standing over centrifuges spinning loudly.

  ‘Right, we’ve had a look at the backpack and we’ve come up with a few points of interest. Firstly, the pack itself is pretty distinctive – luckily it’s not one of your common or garden ones like Jansport, used by millions of kids.’

  ‘I’ve never seen one like it,’ said Ridpath.

  ‘It’s because only six hundred were produced. As the large logo says, it was manufactured as a limited edition by CLAK in 2009. The factory is in Leicester and they are still operating today.’ She passed the contact details to Ridpath. ‘I’ll leave it to your team to follow up.’

  ‘Team?’ sneered Dave Connor. ‘You’re looking at it.’ He pointed at Ridpath and himself.

  ‘Shall I continue?’

  ‘Please, Hannah, give us some good news.’

  ‘Good news coming up. There was nothing in the main pocket of the bag, but in one of the side pockets, hidden behind the plastic lining, we found this.’ From beneath the table, she produced a picture of a small stub with a frayed end stained brown. The scale next to the object showed it was just less than one centimetre in length.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Dave Connor.

  ‘It’s the end of a joint. A roach.’

  The crime scene manager smiled. ‘Right first time, Ridpath. It’s a rolled-up piece of paper, I’d say 110gsm. We tested it for DNA and then we opened it up.’ She produced another picture, again with a scale. It was a piece of orange paper four centimetres long and less than one centimetre wide. ‘It seems to have been torn from a flyer of some sort.’

  Ridpath could make out the beginnings of printed words at the side, but they were very faded. ‘It looks like an M, then an F, the rest is too faded to see. There seems to be drawing of some kind at the bottom.’

  ‘We have one of our forensic document investigators on it at the moment to see if we can find the source material. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.’

  ‘How are you going to be able to see anything?’ asked Dave Connor.

  ‘We’ll use the VSC.’

  ‘What’s one of those when it’s at home?’

  ‘Using different wavelengths of light, a video spectral comparator can reveal writing or printing which has faded over time. We process and enhance the result to appear far darker and, hopefully, more legible.’

  ‘When will you know?’

  ‘As soon as Mike has finished the work.’

  ‘But when?’

  ‘When he’s finished,’ Hannah emphasised.

  ‘Did you find anything else?’ interrupted Ridpath before the crime scene manager totally lost the plot with Dave Connor.

  ‘Nothing, it was clean as a whistle.’

  ‘Any fingerprints on the backpack?’

  ‘None. Whoever placed it in the larder was wearing gloves, or was careful enough not to leave any trace of themselves.’

  Ridpath thought of a question. ‘Any DNA on the roach?’

  ‘Great minds think alike, Ridpath. We’re trying to process it, but we’re not hopeful of a result.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Dave Connor.

  Hannah sighed loudly, as if she had explained this a thousand times to a thousand different detectives. ‘There are four steps in DNA processing: extraction, quantitation, amplification and capillary electrophoresis. We’ve done this first, which is extraction. The lab technicians are now seeing if the DNA has been contaminated and if enough can be extracted to provide a viable result.’

  ‘Contaminated?’

  ‘It’s sat in the bottom of backpack on the end of a roach for countless years; mould, damp, heat or any of a hundred other environmental factors may have degraded the DNA.’

  ‘Right.’ Dave Connor scratched his head. ‘When will we know?’

  ‘A couple of days.’

  ‘What about the DNA and the fingerprints from the hands?’

  ‘A different set of problems. They were immersed in an embalming liquid with the following chemical composition.’ She checked her notes. ‘Twenty-two per cent formaldehyde, forty-three per cent methanol and eight per cent glutaraldehyde. The rest is water and fragrant oils.’

  ‘And this helps us how?’ asked Dave Connor.

  ‘Different manufacturers use differing quantities of chemicals in their embalming liq
uids. We should be able to find out who made the stuff our hands were swimming in.’

  Dave Connor frowned. ‘Right, all gobbledygook to me.’

  Hannah continued. ‘And because they were immersed in an embalming liquid, we’re having to use a special technique to extract the DNA.’

  ‘Special technique?’

  ‘Formaldehyde causes DNA damage, chemical modifications and degradation, thereby reducing the quantity and quality of DNA available for downstream genetic analyses. However, DNA can be obtained from embalmed nail samples using the QIAamp FFPE, quantified using the QuantiFilerTrio and genotyped using the GlobalFiler®PCR Amplification. Do you really want me to spend the next hour explaining to you the details of these processes?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ Both Ridpath and Connor spoke at the same time.

  ‘Suffice to say, we may be able to get DNA from the nails even though they were embalmed.’

  ‘Great, when can we have the results?’ asked Dave Connor.

  ‘It takes time. We also have the nail scrapings from the post-mortem to handle, plus the fingerprints from the hands. Do you know how difficult it is to identify people when all you have are the hands?’

  ‘I know, but we’re up against the clock too.’

  ‘A couple of days, maybe earlier, I should have something.’

  ‘You’re a star, Hannah.’

  ‘But I’m not promising, Ridpath, so don’t try to butter me up.’

  ‘No, but you’re the best, Hannah. I’m sure you’ll get us the results as soon as you can.’

  ‘You’re such a bullshitter, Ridpath, but I’ll do my best. Now, if you have no other questions, get out of here and let me do my job.’

  Chapter 27

  ‘It’s a bugger, Ridpath.’

  ‘I know, Dave.’

  ‘I mean, how are we supposed to deal with a case when the only clues we have are three embalmed hands and an old backpack?’

  They were walking out of the Science Park building and crossing Lloyd Street to get to Ridpath’s car. ‘It’s going to be difficult, Dave, but I’m meeting Claire Trent in half an hour and I’m going to try to get more resource for us.’