Where the Innocent Die

by Where the Innocent Die (epub)

  She decided to let them get on with their job. Perhaps Ridpath or Claire Trent could achieve more than her.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Carlton. Any questions from the family?’

  The interpreter shook her head.

  ‘And from Mr Stride?’

  The barrister stood. ‘None from us, Coroner.’

  ‘Thank you, we will now take a ten-minute break before we call the Emergency Medical Team that attended the death of Ms Chen.’

  As Mrs Challoner rose to exit the court, she saw Mr Carlton wink towards the New Hampshire table.

  At the back of the court, the police officers were waiting.

  Chapter 62

  Ridpath felt a little dirty after his conversation with Carol Oates. If she hadn’t reported Mrs Challoner to the Chief Coroner, she would know who did. What a waste of time and energy when there was so much work to be done.

  He drove too quickly to HQ, realising she had managed to get under his skin. If Mrs Challoner was sacked, would he survive?

  He thought not. Despite Carol Oates’ concerns for his well-being, he knew she disliked him intensely. The only person she hated more was Sophia. Their mutual antipathy was out in the open and it wasn’t going to be put back in its box. He would have to talk with his assistant again.

  He parked outside Police HQ, realising once again he couldn’t remember driving there. This would have to stop. He must concentrate on the road and not on what was bothering him.

  He ran up the steps, hurried through security flashing his badge and caught the lift to the third floor where the Major Investigation Team was based.

  Claire Trent was waiting to pounce as soon as he stepped into the office. ‘Where have you been, Ridpath? You’re supposed to be running an investigation not running all over town. Brief me in my office, now.’

  ‘Yes, guv’nor.’ As he walked through the office, Chrissy Wright gave him a discrete thumbs up while Emily Parkinson stopped him, saying, ‘Can you sign this, Ridpath?’

  He took the file and was about to sign when he noticed, written in block letters across the top was:

  LAM TAI KONG. SHALL WE BRING IN FOR QUESTIONING?

  He looked at the Detective Sergeant. ‘That’s good, DS Parkinson, please proceed.’

  Claire Trent was waiting for him at the door to her office. ‘Get a move on, Ridpath.’

  He walked in, closing the door behind him. Before he had sat, she was in his face. ‘What the hell’s going on? You held a briefing this morning and disappeared for the rest of the day. Working part-time are we now?’

  Ridpath had forgotten Claire Trent was renowned through GMP as a demanding boss. ‘Not at all, guv’nor, but I thought I’d check in with Mrs Challoner at the inquest. The arrests are happening as we agreed and all the staff who were on duty or at the Removal Centre that night will be here at 4 p.m.’

  He was winging it a little, hoping Chrissy’s thumbs up meant what he thought it did.

  ‘They’ll all be ready to be interviewed at 4.30 but I suggest we let them take a quick look at each other and then leave them to stew in separate rooms. Time to put some pressure on.’

  Claire Trent seemed to be mollified by his answer, so Ridpath carried on.

  ‘We are also looking to bring in an associate of the dead man, Lam Tai Kong, and I’ve just authorised his detention for questioning. It will be interesting to find out if any of the guards know him. Sophia tells me the pathologist’s report is being couriered over, I’m sure Chrissy has a copy. Can I check with her now?’

  Claire Trent pressed a button on the intercom. ‘Chrissy, can you come in?’

  Thirty seconds later, the Manchester City support worker walked through the door. ‘Have we detained the Removal Centre’s guards yet, Chrissy?’

  Behind his back, Ridpath crossed his fingers.

  ‘Two of them are on their way here, boss. We picked up Joe Cummings at home and David Carlton after he finished testifying at the Coroner’s Court. He was not a happy bunny.’

  ‘They never are. What about the last one?’

  ‘The plod are at his house now, with Alan Butcher. There’s no answer at the door but the light’s on so they think somebody is at home. And before you ask, I just called the pathologist and the report on Liang Xiao Wen is on its way. We should have it in ten minutes.’

  ‘Good work, Chrissy.’ Ridpath winked at her.

  ‘I’ve had a heads-up from Sophia; the MO is the same in both murders. But let’s wait until we read the actual report.’

  ‘How does your assistant get information before we do?’

  ‘Beats me, boss.’

  ‘Can you send DS Parkinson in, Chrissy?’

  Two minutes later there was another tap on the door. ‘Hi guv’nor, you asked for me?’

  ‘Ridpath tells me we’ve located Lam Tai Kong.’

  ‘Yes, boss, wasn’t difficult, the local plod said he’s well known in the area. A bit of a lowlife; flashy, but cheap apparently. Anyway, he spends most afternoons at the Toronto Pool Hall and the betting shop next door. A creature of habit is our Mr Lam.’

  ‘Send a car to bring him here. It’s about time we knew more about him and his oppo, Liang Xiao Wen.’

  ‘Already done, boss. Ridpath sent the request in a while ago. The local plod are on their way. Only too happy to oblige.’

  Claire Trent narrowed her eyes and said one word. ‘Good.’

  ‘Is that all, guv’nor? ‘Cos I’m just following up a lead on the activities of Liang Xiao Wen from a mate in City 3. Apparently, our dead man ran some girls out of a Chinatown nightclub.’

  ‘Yeah, go on.’

  She left the office. Claire Trent waited for the door to close. ‘You’re either bloody lucky, Ridpath, or everybody is covering for you. I don’t know which.’

  ‘Neither, guv’nor, the team is working well together.’

  ‘Aye, and pigs might fly. Stay tight on this one, Ridpath, I’ve got the Chief Constable asking for an hourly update, so if I get hassle so will you…’

  A sharp rap at the door.

  Before Claire Trent could say enter, it opened to show Chrissy Wright. ‘We’ve just had a phone call from Alan Butcher. They were sure somebody was inside Tony Osborne’s house, so they busted the door down…’

  ‘And?’ asked the detective superintendent.

  ‘They found him on the floor with his throat cut.’

  Chapter 63

  Ridpath and Claire Trent arrived at the crime scene near the centre of Handforth. They had blue lit all the way from Police HQ down Kingsway and along the A34.

  It was a time Ridpath loved. The screeching modulation of the siren above his head. The roar of acceleration down the outside lane in normally packed roads. The quiet, calm concentration of the driver at the wheel.

  It was heaven, pure heaven.

  By his side, Claire Trent was on her phone to Alan Butcher at the scene. ‘We’ll be there in five minutes. Establish a perimeter, I want nobody going in or out of there.’ She clicked off the phone as if snapping somebody’s neck. ‘Ridpath, has Chrissy contacted the pathologist and a forensics team? I want them there yesterday if not sooner.’

  ‘I’m sure she has, guv’nor.’

  The car lurched to the right as the driver took it round a bollard in the middle of the road into the opposite lane and back onto the right side of the road again.

  ‘Sure ain’t good enough. Check.’

  It was one of those times when adrenalin was flowing. Ridpath called Chrissy to confirm they were on their way.

  ‘Seven minutes, Ridpath.’

  The car screeched to a halt, sliding sideways.

  Claire Trent jumped out, running past a startled copper in her high heels, followed by Ridpath flashing his warrant card. On the left the neighbours were standing around, arms folded, trying to find out what was going on. Next to them, the ambulance car, in bright emergency yellows and blues, was parked, a medic dressed in green leaning on the door.

  Alan Butcher was
standing at the gate to the garden.

  Claire Trent slowed to a brisk walk. ‘What happened?’

  ‘As I told you, guv’nor, we came to take Tony Osborne in for questioning at 3.30. We banged on the door but got no reply. We heard music coming from inside the house. Young Dave here,’ he pointed to the uniformed copper standing next to him, ‘went round the back to check and saw the victim lying in the room on the floor. So we kicked down the front door.’

  Ridpath gazed at the front of the house. The door was half-hanging off its hinges. ‘Any sign of forced entry when you arrived?’

  ‘None, Ridpath. Place was quiet as a grave.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s Tony Osborne inside?’

  The DS shook his head. ‘I only took a quick look before getting on the blower to you lot.’

  ‘Right, you stay here, nobody is to go in, is that clear? Come on, Ridpath, you’re with me.’

  She pulled on a bright blue pair of plastic gloves and opened the gate, walking slowly and carefully up the garden path. Ridpath borrowed a pair of gloves from Alan and followed her.

  The door was open leading to a small hall with a garish Lempicka print hanging on the wall. The Chief Superintendent stepped across the entrance and checked in a small room on the left.

  Empty.

  She walked on, followed by Ridpath. Music was still playing from a room in the rear.

  On the left, stairs led up to the upper floor. In front of them, a door led towards a rear room. Ridpath checked out the white wallpaper. ‘No signs of blood in the hall, guv’nor,’ he whispered.

  Claire Trent checked the walls and nodded. She pushed open the rear door.

  It led into a large room with a built-in kitchen on the left, a bar table with three chairs next to it, and the bloodied body of a man lying in the centre, with his throat slashed from ear to ear.

  Chapter 64

  ‘Is it him?’

  The body lay on the floor, a bloody gash where the neck should have been. The front of his Hawaiian shirt was drenched with red, clotted blood.

  Above his head a long arterial streak of blood traced across the white wall.

  ‘Is it him, Ridpath?’ the detective superintendent repeated.

  Ridpath nodded. ‘It’s Tony Osborne. I saw him giving evidence this morning.’

  Claire Trent turned back to stare at the body. ‘Well, he won’t be giving evidence any more. Check out upstairs, Ridpath, but don’t move anything. Where’s the bloody pathologist and the forensics team?’ she said walking back to the front door.

  As Ridpath climbed the stairs to the landing, he heard her on the phone, shouting for the forensics team to get here yesterday.

  The house was clean and tidy, almost spotless, but lacking in any character. A new grey, hardwearing carpet clung to the stairs. The walls were freshly painted and the whole place had the distinct smell of newness.

  Had Tony Osborne ever lived here?

  On the left was a small bathroom. The shelf below the window had no toiletries, shaving cream, toothbrushes or toothpaste on it. He opened a cabinet door.

  Empty.

  Strange.

  He walked out and pushed open a small bedroom on the left. Nothing but a new single mattress and bedside table, both from IKEA, and a built-in wardrobe.

  He strode over to it, opening the door with his gloved hands.

  Empty again, save for a few cheap metal hangers on the rail.

  He retraced his steps into the hall and stared at a closed door. Tentatively, he pushed it open. A strange smell came from inside.

  Ridpath leant forward and put his head round the edge of the door, seeing a larger room, the master bedroom.

  Next to the door, the source of the smell. A black plastic bin bag full of old, unwashed clothes. Ridpath peered inside and saw the blue trousers and white shirts of Osborne’s uniform lying on top. The clothes smelt like they had never been cleaned.

  On the bed was a suitcase with a used brown envelope resting on top. Ridpath walked over to the bed, checking the rest of the room.

  Unlike the rest of the house, this room had been used. There were toiletries on the dressing table sitting next to a small leather bag. A fresh set of clothes were hanging over the back of a chair. Ridpath saw a new floral Hawaiian shirt and shorts. On the seat of the chair, a black carry-on bag lay open. He looked into it: a UK passport and a wallet were lying inside.

  Ridpath picked up the passport, seeing a new picture of Tony Osborne on the inside page, a broad smile plastered on his face. It had been issued from Liverpool only two weeks ago. He took out the wallet. Inside was over two thousand pounds, more American dollars, travellers cheques and a small blue currency with funny squiggles as well as western numbers on it.

  He checked in the bag again. Beneath the wallet and passport was an airline ticket. Tony Osborne was due to fly business class to Bangkok Airport tomorrow morning on British Airways.

  He put them back in the carry-on bag exactly as he had found them.

  He glanced around the room one more time. His eyes kept coming back to the used brown envelope lying on top of the suitcase.

  He reached over to pick it up.

  Heavy.

  He opened the flap and peered inside. The envelope was full of a mass of new, shiny keys with handwritten labels attached.

  Outside door. WRC.

  Stairs. WRC.

  Corridor 2. WRC.

  WRC? Could that be Wilmslow Removal Centre?

  Chapter 65

  Mrs Challoner sat in her room, staring at the files on the telephone. The afternoon hadn’t gone well at all. The CCTV supplier and maintenance company had confirmed New Hampshire’s story that the six cameras had been reported at 6.30 p.m. on August 19th as being out of order. Apparently, it was as Tony Osborne had stated; one of the first things he had done.

  Even worse, the CCTV company said the cameras were always breaking down because they were continually interfered with by the detainees. Apparently, simply putting a piece of metal across the points at the back tripped an internal fuse. Nothing they could do about it.

  The Emergency Medical Team had also confirmed the testimony of both Joe Cummings and Tony Osborne. They had been let into the facility by Osborne who unlocked doors to let them into the Centre. He had stayed at the end of the corridor while they entered the room and checked on Wendy Chen. When they arrived at exactly 4.25, the young girl had no pulse and they thought she was dead. With the amount of blood in the room, the obvious marks on the throat and the presence of a knife on the floor, they assumed it had been a suicide too and informed Tony Osborne of this belief and David Carlton when he arrived.

  Of the two, the more senior, Lawrence Royston was the most definite.

  ‘Did you have any reason to suspect foul play?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You have heard Dr Schofield’s testimony that Ms Chen was in fact murdered. What do you say to this?’

  ‘We were surprised, given the scene when we entered. I’ve seen a few suicides in this job, not many cut their throat, and most that try, fail. I just thought this one had succeeded.’

  ‘You saw no suicide note?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The door was open when you entered?’

  ‘It was. I closed it after I had finished examining the body.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It wasn’t the sort of scene that anybody should enter. It seemed to be the right thing to do for the young girl.’

  At these words, Mrs Chen sobbed so loudly, she was escorted from the court by the interpreter with her shoulder around the old woman’s. The husband remained, his face as stoic as ever.

  ‘One last question, Mr Royston. What happened when the pathologist, Dr Ahmed, arrived?’

  ‘We briefed him on our observations, told him the girl was dead and gave him our impressions of the scene.’

  ‘And those impressions were it was a suicide?’

  ‘Correct.’

  Mrs Challoner had called
an end to the proceedings for the day after cautioning the jury about discussing the case at home.

  The only witnesses to call tomorrow were the police officers who attended the scene, Detective Sergeant Barnes who had led the investigation and the security officer of the Centre, Mr Collins.

  Unless Ridpath and Claire Trent produced new evidence, there were only a couple of possible determinations available to her: an open verdict where the cause of death was unknown or a verdict of murder. Since 2009, she had more flexibility to voice a narrative verdict, particularly where the death happened in prison custody, and she was certain she was going to do so in this case. New Hampshire’s attitude throughout the inquest was disturbing.

  If the jury came back with the determination Wendy Chen was murdered, the police could still apply to retain her body as evidence in an investigation. The girl’s mother and father might not be able to leave with it on Saturday after all. But that was a risk she would have to take.

  The telephone rang. Finally, the call she had been expecting. ‘Margaret Challoner speaking.’

  A posh southern voice. ‘Rupert Vansittart, here, Mrs Challoner, calling from the Chief Coroner’s Office. I’m sorry to have to inform you we have had two more complaints today regarding your conduct of the inquest into the death in custody of Ms Chen…’

  The hounds had chased her down, were they now going to rip open her throat?

  Chapter 66

  Ridpath stood outside the house in Handforth with Claire Trent. She was on the phone again. From her body language he had the feeling it was somebody even more senior than she was. An Assistant Chief Constable perhaps.

  He had told her of his discoveries in the upstairs bedroom. As soon as the forensics team arrived, she briefed them and asked them to check out the room first.

  The crime scene manager was Helen Charles. ‘No worries, Claire, and we’ll go over the rest of the house with a fine-tooth comb. If our perp has left even a single flake of skin, we’ll find it.’

  Dr Schofield was still in the house, performing his initial examination of the body.