by M J Lee
The others were waiting for him in the situation room.
‘Right, we’re all here,’ said Dave Connor, rubbing his hands together. ‘Chrissy sent me a message. She’s still at HQ but she’ll join us on Zoom when we’re ready.’
Ridpath opened up his laptop and connected to the Zoom meeting. Emily sat there quietly, a coffee from the canteen in front of her. Oliver Davis was poised in front of the whiteboard, marker pen in hand. Dave Connor tapped the desk nervously while waiting for the link to connect.
‘I’ve had Holloway in my ear all afternoon, Ridpath, he’s hassling for a result,’ he whispered.
‘He made it clear this morning, Dave, but you know what we have to do.’
‘But he doesn’t. His background is traffic.’
Ridpath’s eyes rolled. ‘OK, you want me to handle him?’
‘No, I’ll do it.’
‘Hiya.’
A bright voice and even brighter face appeared on the screen.
‘Hiya, Chrissy, I hope you have some good news for us.’
‘I do, Ridpath, and some bad news.’
‘Go on.’
‘I’ve tracked down the list of people who worked at Daisy House from 1986 until it closed in 2006. There are thirty-two names on it, including ancillary workers, residential social workers, managers and admin and even gardeners. Joseph Rowlands’s name is on the list.’
‘Great, Chrissy, so what’s the problem?’
‘Well, it only includes full-time staff. It doesn’t include any volunteers or part-time staff.’
‘Why is it a problem?’ asked Dave Connor.
‘Well, it doesn’t include names like Jimmy Savile, who we know visited the home in 1996 and 1998.’
‘Because he was only volunteering?’
‘Correct, Ridpath.’
‘Still, it’s a start. Can you look into those names and find out where they are now?’
‘Will do, Ridpath.’
‘And how did you get on with Jane Ryder’s missing documents?’
‘You want me to do that now, or after this meeting?’
‘Now, please. I’ll explain why later.’
‘I still haven’t found them, but I have a good idea of where they might be. I’m heading there later, after I’ve been through the 2013 Operation Pharaoh files. Too much to do and too little time, Ridpath.’
‘Don’t I know it. Emily, how did you get on?’
The detective took out her notes from her new backpack, covered in a skull motif. ‘Bagsy did sell the CLAK backpack. It was part of a limited edition produced in early June 2009. According to their inventory ledger, the shop only received three pieces and all of them sold out in one day. The owner remembers it clearly. She tried to get more stock, but the factory said there wasn’t any.’
‘Who bought them?’
‘I don’t know. I went through her sales records, but the ones for 2009 weren’t there. She thought she threw them out a while ago when she cleared old paper from her office.’
‘A dead end?’
‘Not quite. She remembers selling them all on one day. June 1, 2009, the day they arrived. She seems to think they were all bought with a credit card.’
‘Great, we can check with the company for receipts for the day.’
‘Already on it, Ridpath. They are going to get back to me.’
‘See if you can push them, Emily. Dave, how did you get on?’
‘I tracked Joseph Rowlands’s movements after he came out of prison in 2014. He returned to Manchester, reporting on the Sexual Offenders Register as he was supposed to, but disappeared after the operation to remove the plate in his hand in 2015. We don’t know what happened to him or where he went until he turns up in 2016 in Wolverhampton—’
‘We found him through DVLA. He applied for a HGV licence, working for a haulier in the West Midlands,’ interrupted Oliver Davis.
‘Are we sure it’s the same man?’
‘Positive. I sent a mugshot of him from his 2013 arrest and the haulier confirmed it was Rowlands. He worked there until early 2017—’
‘They remembered him?’
‘Yeah, said he was a good, conscientious worker, always on time, but he didn’t mix much. A bit of a loner. Then he vanishes again until the missing person report on him in 2018. He was living in Moston and working for Oldham Council.’
‘What happened between 2017 and 2018?’
‘We’re still looking at it.’
‘Keep going, but good work, Dave and Oliver.’
‘Anything from Hannah?’
‘Nothing more. I’ll give her a call, but I’m sure she would’ve let us know if they’d pulled more DNA.’
‘Of course. Now, I said I would explain why I want Chrissy to follow up on the coroner’s misper, Jane Ryder.’ He placed the photographs Sophia had found on the desk. ‘Come and look at these. Chrissy, I’ll send you copies later.’
‘Right-oh, Ridpath.’
The others stood up and rushed across to the desk. It was Oliver Davis who spotted it first. ‘The backpack. It’s the same as the one we found in the house.’
‘These photos were taken at the Mad Ferret Festival in 2009. A girl, Jane Ryder, this girl—’ he pointed at one of the images ‘—disappeared there and vanished completely. No contact with her parents, no phone calls to friends, nothing. And there is no documentation on her after 2009. The backpack in the photo matches the one with the hands. Was it hers? We have to prove the link.’
‘I’m on it, Ridpath,’ said Emily.
‘Plus who was this man standing with her?’
‘But—’
‘What is it, Dave?’
‘If this is her backpack, one of the hands we discovered belonged to a teenager. You said this girl—’
‘Jane Ryder.’
‘Was sixteen when she disappeared.’
‘Exactly, Dave. Is our female hand Jane Ryder? If it is, we need to find this man as soon as possible.’ Ridpath prodded the photograph with his index finger. ‘He could be our killer.’
Chapter 51
The drug had finally worn off.
Her head was woozy but at least she could now sit upright with her back against the wooden wall.
Ten feet above her head, a neon strip light was now on, illuminating the stark whiteness of the walls of her cell.
Were they watching her?
She checked the walls and the door for hidden cameras, but there didn’t seem to be any. They were probably watching though.
They always watched. It was what they enjoyed.
She tried to swallow but couldn’t. Her throat was hoarse and sore from screaming. What a waste of time and energy. They were never going to respond.
Not yet.
A raging thirst ravaged her body. She needed to drink, and soon, otherwise she was going to die in this white room.
Perhaps they were listening?
‘I’m extremely thirsty. I need water, I feel like I’m dying,’ she said out loud, hearing a slight echo off the walls. ‘I’m extremely thirsty,’ she repeated.
No response.
Was she going to die here?
Not yet. Not until they were ready.
The door opened and a hand slid a tray into the room with a jug of water and a sandwich. Before she could move, the hand withdrew and the door was slammed shut.
They were listening.
She wasn’t going to die.
Not yet.
Chapter 52
Emily glanced around the situation room. She loved times like this.
Dave Connor and Oliver Davis were arguing over how to enter the IDENT 1 database. Chrissy was working through the Operation Pharaoh files. A pile of pizza boxes lay empty on another table alongside used and battered cups from Costa.
Emily had finished updating the case report, including her own investigations into the backpack.
Ridpath wasn’t there, but Emily knew he was working at home after picking up Eve, going over the files one more t
ime to see if they had missed a possible lead.
The case was moving forward, probably not as fast as Ridpath wanted, but still they were making progress, and quickly.
Emily wondered what she would be like as a mother. The prospect was extremely unlikely at the moment; the job left little time for socialising and she had decided a long time ago that the last place she would look for a potential mate would be the available police gene pool.
The whole idea of dating and marrying somebody from the job appalled her. The usual joke of giving the baby a truncheon rather than a rattle appalled her even more.
She shook her head and grimaced. She was only twenty-eight, there was plenty of time for babies later. For now, she wanted to concentrate on her career.
Perhaps tomorrow she would approach Chief Inspector Holloway. The gossip in the canteen whispered he was desperate to find detectives for his team. Her days at MIT seemed to be numbered; Turnbull had made it pretty obvious her face didn’t fit. If she was going to be promoted, she would have to spend some time working in one of the divisions anyway. At least Stretford wasn’t far from where she lived. Imagine if she was placed somewhere a long way away, like Oldham; the commute would kill her.
Chrissy punched the air. ‘Yes.’
Had Manchester City scored?
‘I think I’ve found the misper files for Jane Ryder. Now I have to traipse down there and trawl through them. They’ve not been digitised. Bugger.’
Chrissy lowered her head close to the laptop once more, unaware she had been talking to herself. Dave Connor and Oliver Davis were still arguing about IDENT 1.
A slice of pizza was staring at Emily, peeping out from beneath the box lid. She checked a thin sliver of tummy hanging over the waistband of her trousers.
Sod it, she’d go to the gym when the case finished.
She loved times like this, working a case. There was no other feeling like it.
Chapter 53
Ridpath went over the missing person reports again, checking to see if he had overlooked anything. On his right, the pictures of Jane Ryder at the music festival were leaning against a glass of Macallan.
What had happened to her?
He picked up the whisky, the golden liquid swirling around like molten honey, and swallowed, feeling the bite on the back of his tongue.
Eve was in bed, the TV was off and silence reigned supreme. He’d picked his daughter up from the neighbours at 7.30 p.m.
‘Hi, Dad, you’re late again.’
‘Sorry.’ He put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders. She was getting taller. ‘Has Eve been any trouble, Mrs Dunwoody?’
‘Please call me Angela. None at all. It’s always a delight to have Eve over.’
‘Hello, I’m standing here. Please talk about me behind my back or not at all.’
They both laughed.
Angela pushed a strand of hair off her face and behind her ear. ‘I’m just sitting down to spag bol and a glass of wine. If you’ve nothing better to do, perhaps you’d like to join me.’
Ridpath shook his head. ‘Sorry, I’d love to, but I have some work to follow up after I put Eve to bed. Another day, maybe.’
‘I’d like that.’
‘If you two are done arranging your date, perhaps I can go home. It was gym today and I need a bath.’
‘Can you pick Eve up again tomorrow?’
‘No problem.’
‘I’ll come for her at the same time. I’ll call if I’m going to be late.’
‘OK, see you.’
‘Bye, Jessica. I think we have maths homework tomorrow.’
‘Great, Eve, can you show me what trinomial equations are?’
‘Don’t worry, they’re easy.’
‘Trinomial equations, piece of cake, Jessica,’ said Ridpath, hoping nobody would ask him to explain.
‘Sure, Dad, last time I looked you had trouble with long division.’
‘I’ll have you know, daughter, I have O-level maths. I don’t know how, but I managed to scrape a pass.’
‘There was probably a question on trinomial equations. Anyway, bye, Jessica, bye, Mrs Dunwoody. Thanks for the spag bol.’
They walked back to the house.
‘You’ve already eaten?’
‘Yeah, but Mum’s spag bol was ten times better than Mrs Dunwoody’s.’
‘Your mum’s was legendary. As was her duck a la banana.’
Eve’s hand snaked into his. He loved it when she did this. It was like she was three all over again and they were walking along a crowded street.
‘Be careful, Dad, I think she’s trying to get into your Y-fronts.’
‘Eve, how can you say that? Mrs Dunwoody is a wonderful person who picks you up from school when your dad is too busy.’
‘Only an observation. Methinks the man doth protest too much.’
‘It was a lady, and it’s from Hamlet.’
Eve went silent for a moment. ‘I wouldn’t mind, you know.’
‘Wouldn’t mind what?’
‘If you hooked up again. I mean, you’re still a catch and you’re still young, well young-ish. Maisie Wells thinks you’re a bit of a hunk.’
He stopped and turned towards her. ‘Look, Eve, promise you won’t talk like this any more. I loved your mum, and the thought of getting involved with somebody else, it’s… impossible.’
‘Ok, Dad, just letting you know.’
He pulled out his key and opened the door. ‘You go run your bath and I’ll make you a nice hot cup of cocoa.’
Replaying the conversation in his head, he couldn’t imagine talking with his mum in the same way after his dad had died. But kids were different these days. More open and more questioning, but still naive in so many ways.
He picked up the Macallan, hearing the ice rattle against the side of the glass, before taking a small sip. Its sweet bitterness nibbled at his throat, dragging him back to the present.
They had finally started to make some progress on the case today, but there were still so many questions that still needed answering. He felt constantly rushed and out of control, like the Titanic steaming across an icy sea, the passengers dancing the night away, not knowing what lay ahead.
He hoped and prayed there wasn’t a bloody enormous iceberg waiting out there for him.
The questions flooded into his brain. How did Jane Ryder’s backpack end up hidden in Daisy House Children’s Home?
Was the female hand hers?
And what linked her to Joseph Rowlands, if there was any link at all?
He wasn’t happy continuing with the inquest, but he could understand Mrs Challinor’s reasons. At least now she would allow him to request a postponement until he had investigated the case properly.
He took another sip of Macallan.
He remembered what Charlie Whitworth had taught him on his first day on the job.
‘All our jobs are about people, Ridpath, their hopes and dreams, their petty jealousies and hidden desires, their love and their hatred. It’s always about people, not victims, perps or suspects. People, like you and me.’
The hands in the backpack weren’t objects. They were three people who had lost their lives, and their killer had removed the hands with a hacksaw.
Was it the man in the photo?
He didn’t know, but he wouldn’t stop until he found out.
FRIDAY
Chapter 54
The detectives gradually stumbled into the situation room at Stretford nick. All had worked late into the night, returning at nine a.m. for this meeting.
Dave Connor had bought coffees for everybody. At least, Dave had paid for them, but it was Oliver Davis who’d had to stop off at Costa to pick them up.
Behind them, Oliver had marked up the boards, adding the latest information on the backpack, pictures of Jane Ryder and the festival.
Ridpath strode to the front. ‘Hannah’s decided to join us for this briefing. I hope you have some good news for us.’
The crime scene man
ager was looking as tired as everybody else. ‘I think so, Ridpath, two pieces of good news.’
‘I also asked Sophia to join. She works with me for the coroner.’
Sophia waved hello to the rest of the team. She was the only one who looked completely rested.
‘Away you go, Hannah.’
‘First off, we have a hit on the other male hand from the fingerprints late last night. It belongs to a Gerald Duffy. That’s spelt D-U-F-F-Y. He’s in the IDENT 1 database for a DUI back in 2006.’
Oliver wrote the name on the board.
‘Dave, can you follow this lead? Find out who this Gerald Duffy was, when he disappeared, where he last lived. You know the drill.’
‘Will do, Ridpath.’
‘What’s the other piece of news, Hannah?’
‘Well, we put the roach we found in the backpack through the VSC and it came up trumps.’ She showed a printout of the unfolded rectangle of paper. The letters, which had been invisible before, were now solid black.
‘And it turned out to be a corner of a ticket for the Mad Ferret Festival of 2009.’
Hannah Palmer laughed. ‘How’d you guess?’
‘Not a guess, Hannah.’ He stood up, walked over to the boards and pointed out Jane Ryder’s pictures from the festival. ‘As you know, we’ve been trying to trace this missing person from 2009 for the coroner. Last night, we had a breakthrough when Sophia found these pictures of her at the festival. Did the photographer get back to you, Sophia?’
‘He thinks he has other photos in his archive somewhere. He has to dig them out.’
‘Call him and put a rocket under his arse. This is important. Send any through as soon as you get them.’
‘Will do.’
Ridpath pointed to one of the pictures. ‘The backpack here is similar to the one found at Daisy House.’
‘You think the female hand could be this girl?’
‘It’s a distinct possibility, Hannah. Dr O’Casey, the forensic anthropologist, gave an age range of sixteen to seventeen. She was sixteen when she went missing. There should have been DNA in the misper file taken when she disappeared, but guess what?’
