‘Was she?’
‘I believe so. According to our records, you were in the room next to her.’
‘The woman who killed herself?’
‘The woman who died, that’s right. Did you know her? Talk with her at all?’
The man shook his head.
‘Really? The only other Chinese national in the Removal Centre and you two didn’t talk to each other?’
‘I tried but she didn’t want to talk. Too upset.’
‘Why was she upset?’
‘I don’t know, we didn’t talk.’
‘Later on, what happened?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘That evening, after the doors were locked.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What do you mean, you don’t know? Didn’t you hear anything?’
The man shook his head. ‘I was asleep when the alarm went off.’
‘What time was that?’
‘About four o’clock, I think.’
‘You didn’t hear anything before that time?’
The man shook his head again. ‘I was asleep.’
‘And afterwards, what happened?’
‘There was noise in the corridor, but I couldn’t see anything so I went back to bed. I wanted to come out at 8.15 as usual but they kept us locked in.’
‘When did you know there was a death in the room next to yours?’
‘When they came for me at about ten o’clock. Said they were transferring me because my solicitor had appealed the deportation.’
‘And you were taken to another Removal Centre?’
‘Yeah, Halverson. Shit place. Got out pretty quickly though. Now I come here every day at six. Waste of time.’ Liang stared at Ridpath for a long time before finally saying. ‘The girl who died…’
‘Wendy Chen?’
‘I think she…’
Just as Liang was about to say more, there was a heavy rap on the door and it opened. Sergeant Mungovan stood in the entrance. ‘Sorry, Ridpath, his brief is out here, demanding to see his client.’
‘Brief, who called a brief?’
Mungovan shrugged his shoulders. A small, bespectacled man carrying a briefcase and a bundle of papers elbowed past the Sergeant into the room. ‘You’re interviewing my client without my presence, why?’
‘And you are?’
‘Henry Miller, his solicitor. You know better than to conduct an interview, detective, without the presence of a solicitor. I don’t know what the police are coming to these days.’
‘Firstly, Mr Miller, your client wasn’t being interviewed, he agreed to help me with my enquiries. Secondly, he waived his right to a solicitor. And thirdly, I’m not working for the police but I’m a coroner’s officer, investigating a death.’
The solicitor put his hand on his client’s elbow and lifted him up. ‘Good, as this isn’t a police investigation, I am advising my client he should leave this station now.’ He turned to Mungovan. ‘He has adhered to the terms of his release by signing in punctually at 6 p.m., has he not, Sergeant?’
‘He has already signed.’
‘Then we will leave now. My client will return tomorrow evening at 6 p.m. as he is required to do. If you try again to interview him without me being present, Mr…?’
‘It’s Detective Inspector Ridpath.’
‘DI Ridpath, I will report your conduct to the Chief Coroner. Do I make myself clear?’
He strode past Ridpath, pushing his client into the corridor like an errant schoolchild. Just before he left the interview room, he turned back. ‘Do give my regards to Margaret, won’t you? On the other hand, don’t bother, I’ll call her myself this evening. Goodbye, DI Ridpath.’
Chapter 28
After the solicitor left, Ridpath sat alone in the interview room. He stared at the black glass of the two-way mirror, seeing his reflection in it. He didn’t recognise himself. Who was that person?
That man seemed old and tired. The frown line between his eyebrows was deeply fissured and the bags under his eyes could carry a week’s load of groceries from Tesco. Did he want to go back to MIT? The pressure was immense and unrelenting. At least now, he had most weekends off to spend time with Eve and Polly. At MIT, he could never be certain of his hours and he would be back on shifts again, or at least on call 24 hours a day.
But isn’t that what he did? Isn’t that what he lived for? The energy of a team. The tracking down of leads. The painstaking grind of an investigation. The accumulation of evidence leading to the goal of a conviction.
He remembered the highs and lows; there were always more lows than highs. But when those rare convictions and arrests took place, God, weren’t they sweet?
He smiled at the memory. ‘You can come out now.’ He said aloud to his reflection.
A few seconds later the door swept open and Dave Hardy stood in the entrance. ‘How did you know I was there?’
Ridpath stood. ‘There’s always somebody in the listening room, Dave, and knowing how bloody nosey you are, it had to be you.’
‘Yeah, makes sense. You always were too clever for your own good, Ridpath. Fancy a quick pint? There’s a good spit-and-sawdust pub nearby. Does a lovely pint of Robbos.’
Ridpath checked his watch. 7.05. ‘Just a quickie, Polly’s cooking a takeaway tonight.’
‘Same as my missus. These days it’s easier to get on Just Eat than go to the supermarket. Can’t complain though. She’d burn boiling water, my missus.’
They walked out to reception, Ridpath leaving his card with Sergeant Mungovan. ‘Can you let me know when Liang signs on again, Sarge? I might need to ask him a few more questions and call him for the inquest. I thought he was just opening up when you came in.’
‘Sorry about that, Ridpath, but you know the rules. I’ll call you when he comes in again tomorrow.’
‘Yeah, ain’t it always the same. Solicitors turning up like the cavalry when you least want them. Anyway, let’s have that pint, Dave.’
They walked out of the station and across to the car park. ‘I thought you said it was nearby.’
‘Look around you, Ridpath, what do you see?’
Ridpath did as he was told. Around the station was nothing but industrial estates and, off to the right, a disused railway line. Container lorries raced past, belching out exhaust fumes, rushing to make their last delivery for the day.
‘You see, the powers that be, in their infinite wisdom, decided to open police stations in areas like this, because land was cheap and they could build their red brick dream palaces. But what happened was they stuck us out in the middle of nowhere, miles away from the local community. So here we are, on an industrial estate.’
‘Not a lot here.’
‘Community policing, my arse. The only community we’ve got to police is a couple of forklifts.’ Dave Hardy opened the door to his car. ‘Hop in.’
Ridpath didn’t want to be at the mercy of Dave Hardy when he needed to leave the pub. ‘It’s all right, I’ll use my car and follow you.’
‘Suit yourself.’
Five minutes later and they were both sat in the Printer’s Arms with a pint of Robinson’s best bitter in front of them. Dave Hardy picked his up and stared deep into the clear yellow/brown liquid. ‘Still a good pint.’ He drank a third of it in one gulp and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘How’s the coroner these days?’
‘Fine. Busy.’
‘Still got you running round like a blue-arsed fly?’
‘Something like that.’
‘The solicitor was in quick, wasn’t he?’
‘He was, who called him?’
‘I checked outside for you. A man was sitting in a BMW waiting for our signer to come out. I reckon he called the solicitor when chummy didn’t reappear.’
‘Who was he? Do you know?’
Dave Hardy slipped a piece of paper across the table to Ridpath. ‘A Mr Lam Tai Kong. I checked the number plate with DLVR in Swansea. At least, the car is registered to
him.’
‘Thanks mate.’
‘I may be stuck out in some bloody industrial estate but I’m still a good copper, Ridpath, remember?’
‘How much did you hear?’
‘From the observation room?’
Ridpath nodded.
‘Most of it.’
‘What do you think?’
‘Seems like you’re chasing your arse, Ridpath. When’s the inquest start?’
‘Thursday morning.’
Dave Hardy laughed and said, ‘You’re stuffed.’ He drank another long gulp of beer. ‘Fancy another?’
Ridpath shook his head. ‘Not for me, mate.’
‘You are a good boy these days. I remember when you would suck this stuff down like it was Vimto.’
‘Yeah, well, time’s change.’
Dave Hardy stood up. ‘How’s the cancer?’
Shit. Ridpath suddenly remembered he was supposed to go in and check his blood work. ‘Same as ever. Gone but not forgotten.’
‘I’ll drink to that.’ And off he stumbled to the bar.
Ridpath was left alone to work out what to do. First thing tomorrow he’d ring the hospital and arrange an appointment. After that, it was time to follow up on the victim. Perhaps a visit to Madame Wong’s Bakery was on the cards.
Dave Hardy returned. ‘I was just thinking when was the last time I saw you. Wasn’t it Charlie’s funeral? I heard you got his killer. Well done, mate, Charlie would have been proud. Here’s to Charlie.’
The policeman raised his pint and swallowed half of it. Ridpath took a mouthful of his own. Charlie’s face popped into his head, a hand stroking the moustache, and his ex-boss saying, ‘We seek evidence, it’s all that counts. The truth always lies. Only evidence is clear. Pure, unadulterated evidence.’
‘I miss the times at MIT. It was a bloody good team Charlie and John Gorman put together. Do you ever see the gaffer?’
Ridpath shook his head.
‘Off on his bloody allotment, growing weeds. What a bloody waste. Meanwhile, the rest of us are hoovering up overtime, manually entering information on the new computer system.’
‘How is iOPS?’
Hardy stared at him. ‘Put these words in the correct order. Organise. In. A. Brewery. Piss-up. A. Couldn’t.’ He took another swallow of beer. ‘It’s a nightmare, Ridpath. Intelligence is all over the place. The plod are going to addresses not knowing who is there or what they’ll find. Meanwhile, back at the stations, they’re spending half their time doing data entry.’
‘The more things change, the more they stay the same.’
Dave Hardy stared at him.
‘Jean Baptiste Alphonse Karr. A Frenchman.’
Dave Hardy finished his pint. ‘Charlie always said you were too clever to be a copper. You having another?’
Ridpath shook his head, finishing the last dregs in his glass. ‘Nah, need to get off home.’
Hardy shrugged his shoulders. ‘Suit yourself. Good seeing you, Ridpath.’
‘And you.’ Ridpath stood up. ‘Can you do me a favour, Dave?’
‘Ask and it will be granted, my Lord Ridpath.’
‘Can you check those two men on the computer for me?’
‘The two Chinese?’
‘See if they’ve got any form, any priors.’
‘Looking for anything special?’
Ridpath shook his head. ‘Nah, it’s just the solicitor was too quick and too good. He wasn’t your common or garden bottom feeder from the Yellow Pages. This guy was expensive, know what I mean?’
Chapter 29
Yang May Feng wriggled into her tight red cheongsam, daubed her mouth an even brighter red and stepped into her high heels. The Uber was coming in three minutes to take her to the club. She had to go out tonight to work and make money. With luck, there would be some businessmen in town who wanted her company and would leave her a large tip.
She only slept with the customers if she liked them or if she was particularly short of cash.
Like tonight.
Going back to their hotel rooms, their sticky hands pawing her like a piece of fish in the market, disgusted her. But there was no food and no money to buy food. Yesterday at the ATM was OK and anyway, she needed money to give to Liang. She couldn’t have them looking for her as well.
‘Money, always money,’ she said out loud to her reflection in the mirror.
She brushed her hair back and tied it in a ponytail. She was aiming for the Maggie Cheung look in Wong Kao Wai’s picture. A sort of sophisticated elegance with a touch of innocence. It had worked on men in the past and it would work tonight.
She knew leaving the flat again was a risk. What if he was there? What if he asked her about Hong Xi? What if he was the one who wanted to buy her out?
The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She would never leave with him, not after what he had done to Hong Xi.
And now her friend was dead.
It would be better to stay here tonight. At least here she was safe; nobody knew where she was. What if he followed her home?
She threw off her coat and sat down. She wouldn’t go out tonight, she couldn’t risk it.
She checked inside her purse. Just ten pounds and a few coins. Enough for some rice and noodles to keep her going for another couple of days. She would stay at home. At least she would be safe.
A car horn sounded from the road outside her flat.
She forgot she ordered an Uber and would have to pay the man anyway for coming.
She stood again and put on her coat. She would be OK. He never visited the club on a Tuesday, so he definitely wouldn’t be there. She’d find a businessman quickly, ask the mama-san for a favour, tell her she needed the money and she would be picked first.
The car horn blared again.
‘All right, all right, I’m coming.’
She picked up her purse, turned off the light and tottered down the stairs to the waiting Uber.
Once inside the Toyota, she uttered the words ‘Elephant Club’ and the driver nodded. He had taken girls there before.
She didn’t notice the man in the dark car who was still parked across the road from her apartment.
Chapter 30
By the time Ridpath arrived home, Polly and Eve had already eaten. ‘Sorry, had a quick one with Dave Hardy.’
‘No worries, Eve was hungry so we ate. I’m afraid your fish and chips are a bit cold. I can heat them up if you like.’
‘Thanks, I’ll just take a shower. And can you get my suit dry-cleaned?’
‘At a post-mortem again?’
Ridpath nodded.
‘Who this time?’
‘A young Chinese woman.’
‘Really? Who was she?’
Ridpath couldn’t answer. The only information he had on Wendy Chen was from her processing document at Wilmslow Immigrant Removal Centre. Barnes’ police report was singularly lacking in any information about the victim. He didn’t even have a home address for her. ‘That’s what I need to find out.’ he finally answered. ‘All I know is she had something to do with Madame Wong’s Bakery.’
‘The one in Chinatown? Great char siu sou, daan ta, bo luo bao and jian dui.’
Ridpath made a face.
She struck her Chinese waitress pose. ‘For the uneducated gweilo, barbecued pork pies, custards tarts, pineapple buns and fried sesame balls. Even talking about them makes my mouth water.’
Eve walked in the kitchen and gave her dad a kiss on the cheek. ‘Hi dad.’ She screwed up her face. ‘You smell kinda weird.’
Ridpath pointed upstairs. ‘Time for my shower.’
‘I’ll heat up the fish and chips.’
Ridpath had a long and extremely hot shower, but even after he had dried himself off, he could still smell the strange aroma of post-mortem on him. He doused himself with Ralph Lauren and went to eat.
His dinner was on the table, so he sat and, without thinking, forked mouthfuls of soggy fish and rubbery chips into his mouth. Upstairs
, he could hear Eve and Polly calling to each other, as each of them prepared for bed.
After he finished eating, he washed the dishes, leaving them to dry on the drainer. He walked into the living room and poured himself a large glass of Glenmorangie. The subtle hints of burnt orange, grass, seaweed and peat smoke danced across his tongue as he settled in the chair.
He had just one day left to sort this case out or at least make sense of it. His feeling of being lost hadn’t gone away – instead it had intensified.
There were too many strands to the investigation. What had happened in Room 7 between 3 and 4 p.m. on the morning of August 20th? Had Wendy Chen killed herself as the police report said? Or had something else happened? What had Dr Schofield discovered and wasn’t telling him?
Ridpath took another sip of whisky. Upstairs everything had gone quiet. Eve and Polly must have gone to bed. In the old days, Eve would always give him a hug and kiss before she went upstairs. He always used to laugh at how high she pulled her Frozen pyjama bottoms. They were almost up to her armpits. ‘But it’s comfortable, Daddy.’
Apparently, she was too old to kiss him goodnight now. Soon, she would be embarrassed to be seen with him and after that, the dreaded ‘You don’t have to come with me. I’m old enough to look after myself now.’
He raised his glass in a mock toast. ‘Here’s to the day being far away.’ But he knew it was close and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
And then it occurred to him: the dead woman in Wilmslow IRC had been a young girl once. Had her father sat in his room, wishing the day of her independence wouldn’t come too?
Probably.
The image of her body lying on the mortuary table forced its way into his mind, followed by a sharp reminder of the terrible stench as Schofield cut into her stomach.
This woman wasn’t a victim. She was somebody’s daughter.
Mrs Challoner was right. They needed to find out what happened to Wendy Chen, whatever it took.
Where the Innocent Die Page 11
