by M J Lee
Chapter 75
When Chrissy and Tom Gorman returned from the canteen, the machine was still connected to the Police National Database.
‘It’s still going?’
‘What do you expect? I press a button and, hey presto, a perp pops out of the computer with his hands up saying “It’s a fair cop, guvnor, you got me bang to rights”?’
‘Nah, but I didn’t think it would take so long.’
‘It wouldn’t if your shot followed the corporate data model standards.’
‘What the hell are they?’
‘Basically the same as your passport photo. The old days of some poor sergeant taking a mugshot with whatever he had handy have gone. Because of the PND, all shots have to conform to the CorDM standards, or else.’
‘But perps don’t always sit still against a white background.’
‘That’s why your search is taking a bit longer. It’s checking facial characteristics, scars, tattoos and all the other stuff, looking for match. Your shot was taken on an analogue camera in the middle of a music festival. Granted, the pixel count is good, but there’s still a lot of noise in the picture.’
‘When’s it going to be finished?’
A message appeared on the screen.
‘You’re in luck, about now.’ His hands danced across the keyboard. ‘You have a hit.’
A mugshot slowly appeared on the screen. ‘According to the PND, this man has an eighty-nine per cent chance of being the same as the one in the shot. It won’t stand up in court, though.’
‘We have to go and interview him, don’t we? What’s his last known address?’
Tom Gorman leant forward. ‘He’s in Strangeways. Has been since 2016. Adam Jones was charged with two counts of kidnap, two of attempted kidnap, four counts of assault, possession of an offensive weapon, namely a hammer, dangerous driving and drink driving.’
‘They threw everything at him.’
‘And the kitchen sink. Sentenced to a minimum of ten years with little chance of early release.’
‘Are you sure it’s him, Tom?’
‘Well, the machine says eighty-nine per cent and machines, unlike humans, don’t lie… yet.’
‘Right, thanks for your help, I owe you big time.’
‘That’s what they all say.’
But Chrissy was already walking out the door, talking on her phone.
Chapter 76
Ridpath answered his mobile straight away. He was sitting in the car with Sophia near the Brooks’ house, about to go back to the coroner’s office.
‘I have a lead to the man in the photo. His name is Adam Jones.’
‘Great news, Chrissy, hang on a minute while I patch Emily and Dave in on the call.’ He passed the phone to Sophia. ‘Can I get other people to listen to Chrissy?’
‘Of course, just make it a conference call.’
‘How do I do that?’
‘Simples.’ She spoke to Chrissy. ‘Hang on, I’m putting you on hold while I patch in the others.’ She showed the phone to Ridpath. ‘Put Chrissy on hold, tap “add call” to make another call and then merge calls to bring everybody together.’
Ridpath’s eyes glazed over. ‘Could you do it for me?’
She shook her head, tapping the keys of his mobile. ‘You’re gonna have to get used to technology one day.’
‘I’d rather it got used to me.’
‘In your dreams.’ A few more taps on the keys. ‘There, done. Dave and Emily added.’
‘Hi, guys, can everybody hear me?’
‘What’s up?’ said Dave.
‘Loud and clear,’ answered Emily.
‘Chrissy, can you go ahead.’
‘Hi there, Tom Gorman has had a hit on the PND for the man in the photo. It’s an Adam Jones. He’s in Strangeways charged with, get this, kidnap and assault. But there’s a problem – he’s been inside since 2016.’
‘So he couldn’t have kidnapped Gerald Duffy in 2017 or Joseph Rowlands in 2018. Dave, did you find out anything more on Duffy?’
‘Nothing so far. He doesn’t seem to have any links I can find to Daisy House. Oliver is still checking ANPR for Patricia Patterson’s car.’
‘Em, can you call Strangeways and arrange for both of us to visit Adam Jones tomorrow?’ He stopped for a moment, realising he was supposed to be taking Eve to visit her mum’s grave. He’d already floated the possibility he couldn’t go and it had gone down like a cup of cold sick.
‘What time, Ridpath?’
‘What time, what?’
‘What time shall I arrange the visit to Adam Jones?’
‘Any time you can, but after ten a.m. We should meet up to review progress at nine again. Everybody OK with the time?’
There was a chorus of OKs from the other people on the conference call.
Emily continued speaking. ‘Apparently, Patricia Patterson took her mobile and laptop with her when she left for work. I’m going to go back to HQ and see if we can track her phone. I have the number so we should be able to track her movements on the day she disappeared.’
‘Great work, Em. Chrissy, can you do one more task for me?’
‘No problem, Ridpath.’
‘It’s another missing person. Andrea Briggs, possibly using the name Andrea Brooks, disappeared in 2012.’
‘Was it reported, Ridpath?’
‘Not to the police, but to her social worker, who just happened to be Patricia Patterson.’
‘Shit,’ whispered Emily.
‘I’ll follow up, Ridpath, there must be a record somewhere.’
‘Right, good work, everyone. See you tomorrow at nine. If anything comes up, call me straightaway. Clear?’
‘Clear,’ echoed three voices.
Ridpath ended the call.
‘Where to now, Ridpath?’
‘I’m going to take you back to the Coroner’s Court, and afterwards I have to break the bad news to my daughter.’
‘Bad news?’
‘We won’t be going to my wife’s grave tomorrow. Instead, I’ll be going to Strangeways Prison.’
‘I’m sorry, Ridpath. I’m sure she’ll understand.’
‘You don’t know, Eve.’
‘I think you underestimate us girls. We have far more strength and backbone than you think. It’s in our genes.’
Ridpath stared at her. ‘What did you say?’
‘She has far more strength and backbone—’
He opened the car door and jumped out.
‘Where are you going?’
‘There’s something I forgot to ask Mr Brooks,’ he said over his shoulder, running down the street.
Chapter 77
He dropped Sophia off at the Coroner’s Court. He’d offered to take her home but she had refused.
‘I still have to finished the coroner’s notes for Mrs Challinor, plus I’d rather avoid home at the moment.’
‘The mum?’
‘Nah, it’s the sister, she’s visiting with her new baby, born during lockdown. I can’t stand the little asides. “When’s it going to be your turn, Sophia?” or, “She has Sophia’s eyes. It would be lovely to have another baby in the family”.’
‘I didn’t know I was working with Auntie Sophia.’
‘If you want to get home alive, don’t go there, Ridpath.’
He took the not-so-subtle hint.
Afterwards, he stopped off to see Hannah, checking if there had been any more progress.
There hadn’t.
‘I’ve virtually given up on the fingerprints, Ridpath. We can’t get a good enough impression from the female hand to offer any sort of image for IDENT 1.’
‘Did you check the hairbrush from the Ryders against the female hand’s DNA?’
‘We did. Definitely not a match.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Ninety-nine point nine nine per cent sure. DNA doesn’t leave much to chance.’
Ridpath’s heart sank. He’d been certain the female hand belonged to Jane Ryder, but
he couldn’t argue with science. There was one last throw of the dice.
‘I took this from another family.’ He showed Hannah a picture of Andrea Briggs, taken when she was fourteen. Inside was a lock of her hair.
Hannah examined it closely. ‘It looks good, we should be able to get DNA, but I won’t know until I try.’
‘Great, please rush it, Hannah.’
‘Will do. I presume you want a comparison to the female hand.’
Ridpath nodded. ‘And if she came up on any database, that would be a bonus.’
‘OK, leave it with me.’
He went back to the car and sat behind the wheel. This case had been one long rush to catch up with what was happening. Had he been so busy running around, he’d missed something important?
He hoped not.
He put the car in gear. The final stop of the day was Stretford nick. He wanted to have a chat with Dave and Oliver, chivvy them along. Both seemed to be taking years over simple tasks.
Neither was around when he arrived at the station. According to the duty sergeant, Dave Connor was out chasing some old perv while Oliver Davis was with Traffic working on an ANPR search.
He could have called them, but instead went into the situation room. All the investigation was still on the whiteboards: the pictures of the CLAK backpack; the shots of Jane Ryder at the Mad Ferrets Festival; the hands lying on a sterile table at the morgue; mugshots of Joseph Rowlands and two new shots of Gerald Duffy and Patricia Patterson.
Duffy was bleary-eyed and his hair bedraggled after a night in the cells. The shot must have been taken as he was charged for his DUI. Patricia Patterson was completely the opposite; neat and tidy, wearing a corporate power suit, short hair carefully cut and shaped.
What tied them all together?
Was it just Daisy House Children’s Home, or was there something else, something they had all missed?
He checked his watch.
Shit. 5.40. He needed to go home to check on Eve.
He hated having to leave her alone, but there were some times when he had to work. He was just another single parent, trying to manage work and life and his child on his own. How did the others do it? There must have been so many in the same boat. Luckily, Eve was old enough to be left alone for short periods, and she was mature for her age, Polly had seen to that.
Now he had to make it up to her for the disappointment of not going to the cemetery tomorrow.
It wasn’t going to be so easy, she didn’t forgive mistakes so quickly.
Exactly like her mum.
So like her mum.
Chapter 78
Patricia tugged and tugged at the handle of the door but it was bolted top and bottom as well as being locked. She knew the exercise was futile, but she had to try, hoping against hope one of them had made a mistake.
After all, hadn’t Sian Carter escaped?
But they had tightened security since then. She knew somebody would be sitting outside the door, always silent, forbidden to speak to detainees, but there nonetheless.
Patricia collapsed in a heap on the floor and curled up into a foetal ball.
What could she do?
Images of Cherie flashed though her mind. On the promenade at Blackpool, a kiss-me-quick hat on her head and a stick of rock clamped between her teeth. Bent over a hot stove stirring away, drinking a gallon of white wine. Getting ready for bed in the middle of winter, wearing knee-high purple socks and clutching a plastic hot water bottle across her chest.
Would she ever see her again?
‘Let me out!’ she screamed. ‘LET ME OUT!!’
There was no response.
She began to sob, her chest heaving.
She would never see Cherie again, she knew that now.
Chapter 79
He opened the door and stepped across the threshold. ‘Hi, Eve, I’m home.’
No answer.
Was she still sulking? Still not ready to speak to him?
He hung his jacket on the bannister. ‘Hi, Eve, I’m back. What would you like for tea?’
Still no answer.
He walked into the living room. The place had a stillness, an emptiness. The television was off and the fire was cold.
Perhaps she was in the kitchen, or upstairs?
The kitchen was empty too, the table still showing the detritus of their breakfast that morning; a coffee mug for him and poached eggs on toast for Eve.
He found himself thinking it would take ages for him to scrub the egg yolk off her breakfast plate. He should have put it in water before he left, it’s what Polly would have done.
She was always so organised, in a disorganised way.
Perhaps Eve was upstairs in her bedroom, or in the bathroom? Like many teenage girls, she had started to spend hours in there, combing and re-combing her hair and checking for zits. Not that she had any, of course. Her skin was like alabaster.
He went back into the hall and shouted up the stairs. ‘Eve, I’m home, what do you want for tea?’
Still nothing.
He charged up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The bathroom door was closed. He knocked on it gently. ‘Hi, Eve, can we talk?’
Nothing.
He knocked again.
No answer.
He tried the doorknob and it turned easily in his hand. He slowly pushed the door open, expecting to hear her voice, ‘Don’t come in, Dad.’ But he didn’t hear anything, the bathroom was empty.
He ran to her bedroom. It was as untidy as ever; clothes on the floor, school books scattered on the dressing table, posters of Korean boy bands dancing on the walls.
But no Eve.
Where was she?
A wave of fear rose in him like a tsunami. Had she been taken? Kidnapped?
He ran back downstairs, hunting in his jacket for his mobile and calling her number.
It rang and rang and rang.
Ridpath could hear it coming from the kitchen. Her mobile phone was sitting beneath the morning newspaper on the table next to his coffee mug.
In his ear, he heard her voice. ‘Hi, this is Eve, you’ve reached my message. You know the drill, so chill, take a pill and don’t leave nil.’ A giggle, followed by, ‘I can’t believe I said that.’
He walked back into the living room and slumped down on the couch. Where had she gone? To her grandparents? He wouldn’t ring them yet, any call would just scare them. Where else would she go?
He glanced up at the mantlepiece, half-expecting to see a note propped up against the clock. Not so long ago, Polly had left one there, telling him she was leaving. It had taken a lot of time and hard work to get her to come back.
But there was no note.
Where could she have gone?
Mrs Dunwoody’s? Perhaps she had become bored of doing her homework on her own and wanted to spend time with Jessica.
He scrolled down his contacts, looking for Mrs Dunwoody’s name. Had he saved it under Angela?
As he was about to call, he heard a key turn in the lock.
He rushed into the hallway; Eve was closing the door. ‘Oh, you’re back,’ she said.
‘Where did you go? Why did you go out?’
She frowned and held up a paper bag. ‘I just wanted some crisps, chocolate and a Vimto.’ Like all Mancunians, she pronounced the last word with a ‘p’ in the middle. ‘Something for my tea.’
‘But I thought I told you to stay home, not to go out.’
‘I’m not a prisoner, Dad, and we’re not in lockdown any more. Next you’ll be wanting me to wear a tag around my leg.’
‘But you should have let me know you were going out.’
‘I didn’t know what time you were coming back, and you didn’t ring or text me.’
She had him, and he knew it. He should have messaged her sometime during the day, but it had totally slipped his mind. He had become so involved with the case, he had forgotten to let her know when he was coming back. ‘Sorry, I should have let you know.’
; ‘It’s OK, I’m used to it.’
From the tone in her voice, it wasn’t OK and she wasn’t used to it.
She brushed past him to go to the kitchen.
‘Look, I’m sorry.’
‘I said it’s OK. You have a case and I know it comes first. It always came first, Dad, even when Mum was alive.’
That was unfair. ‘I have a job to do, Eve, I’m a detective with GMP and there is a case I need to work until Monday. Afterwards, things should return to normal.’
‘There’s always a case, Dad, isn’t there? And tell me, what’s normal? What does that look and feel like, because I sure as hell don’t know.’
With those last words, she turned her back and walked into the kitchen.
She was so like Polly.
Chapter 80
After Eve had gone to bed, Ridpath was left alone with his thoughts.
He’d cooked her dinner, which they had eaten in silence. Or rather, he had spoken and she had refused to answer with all the obstinacy of the teenager she was.
‘Did you chat with Jessica?’
No answer.
‘Did you finish your homework?’
No answer.
‘Did you play Roblox?’
No answer.
He’d tried every interview technique he’d ever learnt but still the same lack of response.
Eventually, he’d given up. It would have been easier to get answers from a Moss Side gangster than Eve. At least they had the courtesy to say ‘No comment’ once in a while.
She’d eventually gone upstairs without saying a word, leaving him alone in a silent kitchen.
Inevitably, he turned back to the case in an attempt to avoid thinking about his problem with Eve. How did other single fathers cope with doing a job and bringing up a daughter?
In the case, there was always evidence, something to work with to help solve the puzzle. This case had almost too much evidence. So much, it was clouding the truth.
Turnbull was right. There were so many things he didn’t know.
Why had so many people disappeared over the last eleven years?
Was Jane Ryder the first, or were there others before her?
What had happened to the bodies?
