Where the Silence Calls

by M J Lee

  ‘Good, I’ve just received a text from the mayor. He’s confirmed our meeting at two p.m.’

  ‘Lucky you.’

  As Ridpath spoke, the door at the rear of the court opened again and Mrs Challinor entered, walked quickly to sit behind her desk, and waited for everyone to settle down, before saying, ‘Let us continue with the inquest. Please call Detective Constable Ronald Pleasance to the stand.’

  Chapter Eighty-Five

  ‘You were called to a fire on the evening of April 24?’ the coroner asked Ron Pleasance.

  ‘Well, yes and no, ma’am.’

  Ridpath saw Mrs Challinor’s eyes roll towards the ceiling. ‘What do you mean, Detective Constable?’

  ‘I had been working the late shift at Cheadle nick, I mean station, when a call came in from Foxtrot Alpha…’

  ‘Could you speak English, Detective?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, that’s what I’m doing.’

  A roll of the eyes again. ‘Please avoid police acronyms if you can.’

  ‘OK, will do. A call came in from a squad car that a body had been found in a burnt-out flat just off Stockfield Road. I arrived at the address at 00:05, so technically it was April 25, ma’am.’

  ‘Yes, Detective, please get on with it.’

  ‘I will, ma’am,’ he said, clearing his throat.

  ‘And what did you see?’

  ‘There was a dead body in the living room, so I cleared the area and asked the duty pathologist to come out, plus I asked for forensic support.’

  ‘Why did you do that?’

  The detective looked surprised by the question.

  ‘Let me rephrase it to help you. You saw a dead body and you felt it should be investigated.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, exactly. I talked with the incident commander, Dave Greene, and he thought an accelerant had been used to start the fire. The pathologist arrived, pronounced death, and the body was removed by the morgue attendants at four a.m. In the morning, I contacted my boss, Inspector Wharton, and he informed your department. DI Ridpath arrived around noon and we examined the scene of the crime together with Dave Greene, the crime scene manager Helen Charles, and the fire investigator Terry Dolan.’

  ‘Thank you, we will be hearing Mr Dolan’s evidence shortly. Your initial report states you were unable to ascertain the reason for death. Why is that?’

  ‘After a discussion with all the participants, we decided there was no possibility of the fire being an accident, but a strong possibility of either suicide or murder.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of the presence of a fire accelerant at the scene.’

  ‘Yes, we will be asking the fire investigator about this later. What else did you do?’

  ‘I questioned the neighbours, who had hardly seen Mr Brennan for the last three years. I also visited his doctor, who had prescribed antidepressants for him since losing his job, and I checked out the local B&Q. Mr Brennan went there on the morning of the fire.’

  Ridpath noticed his own involvement in the investigation had been completely omitted by Pleasance. The young lad was learning fast how to get ahead in GMP.

  ‘What happened next?’

  ‘I was inclined to think it was suicide, but then the pathologist reported back he believed it was murder. And when it was linked to another death, the file was handed over to MIT.’

  ‘That’s the Major Incident Team, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is, ma’am.’

  ‘Thank you, Detective Constable. Any questions, Mr Stead?’

  ‘None, ma’am.’

  ‘Jenny, please call Mr Terry Dolan to the stand.’

  The fire investigator stood and ambled over to the witness stand. He sat down confidently, adjusted the microphone and then swore his oath without looking at the card offered by Jenny Oldfield.

  ‘Mr Dolan, you are an accredited fire investigator?’

  ‘I am, ma’am. I’ve been working in this field for my whole career since leaving university, firstly as a lab technician and later working as an investigator. I have been working for Adelphi Consultants, one of the accredited fire investigators to Greater Manchester Police, for the last three years.’

  Ridpath stared out of the window as Terry Dolan gave his evidence. Outside, the rain had become heavier. Manchester looked like it was drowning.

  ‘Were you called to investigate a fire occurring in the home of Joseph Brennan on April 24?’

  ‘I was. I received the call at six a.m. and went to the scene immediately to make a preliminary investigation, returning at noon to explain my findings to the police and your officer, DI Ridpath.’

  At the sound of his name, Ridpath turned his head. What had he just heard? Three years. Had Terry Dolan only worked for Adelphi for three years? Where was he before then?

  As the rain beat against the glass of the windows outside the court and Mrs Challinor continued with her questioning inside, a series of images flashed through Ridpath’s mind.

  The neighbour, Mrs Finnegan: ‘He was some sort of lab technician.’

  Helen, the crime scene manager: ‘Hello, Terry, you’re out again, must be nice to get some air.’

  He thought about it more, raking through his memories. Wasn’t it Terry Dolan who suggested they look for the dentist and ID the body through dental records? Almost as if he knew the DNA wasn’t on file and there were no fingerprints. How did he know about the condition of the hands if the body was moved at four a.m. but he didn’t arrive until six a.m.?

  Ridpath took a step forward, staring at Terry Dolan as he gave evidence.

  More memories flashed through his mind. At Bruton Place, it was Terry Dolan who spotted the tiny holes in the skirting board. It wasn’t great eyesight, he already knew what he was looking for. He wanted people to know about the booby trap.

  But why? If he was the killer, what link did he have with the children in the picture? They were all dead, weren’t they?

  And then the answer hit with a clarity he had never known before, like looking at a painted miniature through a magnifying glass and seeing each tiny brushstroke, each minute dot of colour.

  The whole crime revealed in one flash of insight. It was the only answer that worked.

  But how to prove it?

  He needed time.

  He took out his notebook from his inside pocket and hastily scribbled a message for Mrs Challinor.

  He strode up to her desk, feeling as if all eyes in the court were watching him. She stopped questioning Terry Dolan for a moment and stared at Ridpath.

  He approached her desk and reached up to pass her the note.

  She took it, put her reading glasses on and scanned the message. ‘Are you sure, Ridpath?’

  He nodded.

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘OK. Ladies and gentlemen, let us adjourn for another break of ten minutes. We will reconvene at eleven forty-five exactly.’

  A buzz went around the courtroom.

  Mrs Challinor leant across the table and whispered to Ridpath, ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’

  ‘Trust me, Mrs Challinor. I’ll see you in your room. I won’t be long…’ the last words were shouted over his shoulder as he rushed out of the doors of the court, down the steps and up into his own office.

  Chapter Eighty-Six

  Sophia Rahman was sitting at her desk, collating the work in progress for the meeting at the end of the week. Carol Oates was standing in front of her, talking.

  ‘Sophia, can you—’

  ‘Excuse me, Ridpath, I am briefing Sophia on an urgent job. Please wait your turn.’

  ‘Sorry, Carol, this is critical. Sophia, did we check Terry Dolan’s credentials and work history before we asked him to attend the inquest?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, why would we? He’s just a witness…’

  Carol Oates stared at Ridpath before tossing her head and stomping off.

  ‘Can you check them now?’

  Recognising the urgency in his voice, Sophia dropped what sh
e was doing and opened Google on her computer. ‘What was the name of his company?’

  Ridpath racked his brain for the answer and then it came to him. The name of a theatre in London. ‘Adelphi, Adelphi Consultants?’

  Sophia’s fingers moved across the keyboard rapidly. ‘Here it is.’

  Ridpath moved round to look at her screen.

  ‘Adelphi Consultants, specialists in fire investigations for insurance, valuations, civil and criminal cases. They are one of GMP’s registered agencies.’

  ‘Can you find their personnel?’

  ‘Seems to be a small company; three investigators. The founder, an ex-fire chief of Manchester called Ronnie Whelan, and two others, Terry Dolan and George Lincoln.’

  ‘Where did Dolan work before?’

  She clicked on Dolan’s page. ‘It doesn’t say. Just deals with his career since he joined Adelphi three years ago.’

  ‘Nothing earlier?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘There must be something. Google him.’

  Her fingers rattled the keyboard. ‘Nothing, just his Adelphi profile and links to reports he has written.’

  ‘Any written before he worked for Adelphi?’

  She checked the list of reports, shaking her head. ‘All written in the last three years.’

  Ridpath let out a long sigh. Had he been wrong about Terry Dolan? But why were there no reports from before 2016? He scratched his head. He had to get back to the court; Mrs Challinor would be waiting. He sighed once again and began to walk towards the door.

  Then he stopped.

  What had Dr Schofield said? The dental bridge was found by the forensic team and then tested, finding a match to Joseph Brennan.

  Ridpath scrolled through the contacts on his mobile and dialled a number. He crossed his fingers – she had to pick up.

  The phone rang on and on and on.

  No answer.

  Ridpath was about to give up when there was a click as the call was forwarded.

  A tinny-sounding voice from an answering machine came on. ‘This is Helen Charles, I’m probably working a job at the moment, but if you leave a message, I’ll get back to you just as soon as I can.’

  ‘Helen,’ Ridpath shouted, ‘this is urgent. If you can hear this, please answer your phone… please.’

  Silence.

  Ridpath waited.

  Then, ‘I’m on a job, Ridpath, can’t it wait?’

  ‘Sorry, Helen, it’s urgent. Remember the Brennan case? The fire in Wythenshawe? Who discovered the dental bridge of the victim? Can you remember?’

  ‘Yeah, I remember it well. We were really lucky. The bridge must have fallen out of the mouth when the morticians moved the body. My lot missed it, but the fire investigator, Terry, saw it beside the chair and called us over before he touched it.’

  ‘Bingo.’

  ‘Sorry, what was that, Ridpath?’

  ‘Nothing. You’ve been a great help, Helen. One more thing. Do you know Terry?’

  ‘Course I do, he’s worked a couple of fire investigations for us. The team call him Scarman, after the judge.’

  The hackles on the back of Ridpath’s neck rose. ‘Why’s that?’ he asked tentatively.

  ‘He’s got scars on his arms and body. He said they were from a fire when he was young.’

  ‘Thanks, Helen, you’ve been really helpful.’

  ‘Can I go back to the job?’

  ‘Of course, and I owe you a drink.’

  He switched off the phone. Sophia was on her landline. She held her hand over the speaker and said. ‘It’s Mrs Challinor, she wants to know where the hell you are.’

  ‘Tell her I’ll be there in two minutes, just one more thing to do.’

  Sophia relayed the message and put down the phone.

  Ridpath crossed his fingers once more. It had worked last time, why not now? ‘Sophia, the medical report on Joseph Brennan. His doctor said he had an accident when he was young. Do we have the report?’

  Sophia reached across her desk to grab a file. She leafed though a dozen pages before finding Brennan’s medical history from Dr Marshall. Her finger followed the dates and times of illnesses, vaccinations and routine check-ups. ‘Here it is,’ she finally said. ‘He suffered third-degree burns all down the left side of his torso and arm from an accident in a fire when he was fourteen years old…’ She looked up. ‘In 1994. The burns left extensive scarring and involved grafting of skin from his thigh to his torso.’

  ‘Got you.’

  Chapter Eighty-Seven

  By the time Ridpath had finished explaining everything to Mrs Challinor it was already 12:05 p.m. The people in the court were becoming restless, the news reporters anxious to get away to file their reports and Claire Trent pointing to her watch.

  Terry Dolan was the calmest person in the room, still sitting in the witness chair as if nothing had happened.

  Trent strode over to see Ridpath as soon as he re-entered the courtroom. ‘What the hell is going on? I’m going to be late for my meeting with the mayor.’

  ‘You’ll see now, guv’nor. Can you ask Lorraine and Dave Greene to be ready?’

  ‘Tell me what’s bloody going on, that’s an order.’

  As she spoke, Mrs Challinor entered and sat back down at her desk.

  Ridpath moved away to stand in front of the entrance to the court.

  The coroner began speaking. ‘My apologies to everybody; I was unavoidably detained by an urgent matter. We will continue with Mr Dolan’s testimony. Now, Mr Dolan, you were saying how you knew an accelerant had been used.’

  Terry Dolan adjusted the microphone in front of him once more. ‘Actually, its presence had already been indicated to me by the incident commander, Dave Greene. He reported the smell of an accelerant, what we now know was methylated spirits, when he first entered the living room of the flat. But the signs were obvious to see.’

  ‘And what were those signs?’

  Dolan was speaking confidently, obviously a speech he had rehearsed often. ‘There were scorch marks above the chair suggesting a source of intense heat. Plus the chair itself had suffered fierce and extreme burning, destroying most of the fabric and the foam stuffing inside. Not an effect one would see from a cigarette or a dropped match.’ He smiled and looked around the court.

  ‘And who found the dental bridge later used to identify the victim?’

  The smile suddenly vanished from the man’s face. ‘I… I did. It was me,’ he stammered.

  ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘At the side of the chair, beneath the metal leg.’ He was recovering his assurance a little.

  ‘How do you think it got there?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know. The crime scene manager, Helen Charles, thought perhaps it had fallen out of the victim’s mouth when he was moved to the morgue. Apparently the body was extensively burnt during the blaze.’ He smiled once more.

  ‘Yes, we will be calling Ms Charles as a witness later,’ pronounced the coroner, looking over the top of her glasses. ‘Now, Mr Dolan, have you ever been in an accident?’

  The smile vanished again. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I think the question is pretty straightforward. Have you ever been in an accident?’

  ‘Not that I can recall.’

  ‘Never been in a fire?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Never experienced the pain of burning?’

  ‘I’m a fire investigator, Mrs Challinor, I don’t have to experience it to understand what is happening.’

  ‘You misunderstand me, Mr Dolan. I wasn’t calling into question your competence. I was calling into question your identity.’

  ‘I… I… I don’t understand.’

  ‘Could you take your jacket and shirt off, Mr Dolan?’

  A buzz went through the courtroom. The reporters were all sitting on the edge of their seats, scribbling furiously. Even Trent was staring at Dolan.

  ‘This is outrageous,’ he blustered. ‘You have no righ
t to ask me.’

  Mrs Challinor smiled for the first time. ‘This is my court, Mr Dolan. I have every right to ask anything I wish. Detective Inspector Ridpath, in your role as the coroner’s officer, could you help Mr Dolan off with his jacket and shirt?’

  Dolan had been slumped forward staring at his folded hands resting on the witness stand.

  Ridpath took two steps forward before the man jumped up. ‘That won’t be necessary, I am quite capable of undressing myself.’

  Ridpath stood still. To his left, he saw Trent, Caruso and Dave Greene had already moved round behind the witness stand. He held his breath. In the next five seconds, he would find out if he was a good copper or the biggest fool on earth.

  He reckoned the odds were 50–50.

  Dolan removed his jacket, laying it carefully against the back of the seat. He pulled out the tails of his purple shirt and slowly began to unfasten the buttons.

  Ridpath watched as his fingers deftly undid each one, starting at the top.

  Then he removed the shirt and stood upright in the dock.

  ‘Please remove your undershirt, Mr Dolan,’ ordered Mrs Challinor.

  A hush had descended on the court. The stenographer had stopped tapping away at her machine to record the proceedings. The reporters had stopped writing in their notebooks. Ridpath had even stopped breathing.

  Dolan smiled ruefully and pulled the T-shirt over his head.

  He stood there with his arms open wide. ‘See, see what they did,’ he shouted.

  Ridpath stared at the puckered and scarred skin stretching from just beneath where the shoulder met the arm, extending down to the belt of the trousers and round to the back. The skin was distorted and discoloured as if writhing in pain.

  Chapter Eighty-Eight

  Terry Dolan slumped down in the witness chair. His eyes flickered from side to side, before his shoulders finally relaxed and he began to speak in a quiet whisper. ‘This is what they did to me.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Mrs Challinor gently.

  There was a long pause before he answered. ‘Mulkeen and the rest of them.’