Where the Innocent Die

by Where the Innocent Die (epub)

  ‘Effective or cost-effective, Mr Collins?’

  ‘Effective, Coroner.’

  ‘And I will ask the question again, do you think two guards is enough to look after 34 detainees?’

  ‘I do, Coroner.’

  The coroner spent a long time writing in her notebook, to let the jury know she considered this an important point, before she finally returned back to the witness. ‘One final question, Mr Collins. As the head of security for New Hampshire Detention Services, how is it possible a detainee was murdered in your Centre?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Doesn’t it worry you? The Centre is one of the most secure places in Manchester and yet somebody was murdered there?’

  ‘Of course it worries me as Head of Security, but I have examined our standard operating procedures and can see no reason for them to be changed.’

  ‘A woman is murdered and you are not responsible?’

  ‘No Coroner, we are not. The only person responsible is the man, or woman, who was the murderer.’

  Chapter 81

  Ridpath burst into the interview room.

  Emily Parkinson calmly announced, ‘For the record, DI Ridpath has just returned to the room.’

  He strode over to the table and laid the pictures he had taken from the situation room onto it one by one.

  ‘What’s this? Who are these people?’ asked Lam.

  ‘I want you to take a look at these pictures. Have any of these men been to the club and are any of them the man you saw with Wendy Chen?’

  Lam focused on the pictures and smiled. ‘About my witness protection…’

  ‘It is available if you co-operate, but the decision rests with the Crown Prosecution Service and officers far more senior than me.’

  ‘That’s not good enough.’

  ‘Listen, Mr Lam, you are currently facing three counts of murder, not to mention a whole raft of charges regarding the illegal importation of people into the UK. The only way you clear yourself of suspicion of murder is for us to catch the real killer. You understand? I’ll ask you again. Which one of these people do you recognise?’

  Lam’s eyes moved rapidly from left to right as he weighed his options. ‘The witness protection programme? The Albanians will kill me in prison if I talk.’

  The door to the interview room opened again.

  Emily Parkinson said, ‘Detective Superintendent Claire Trent has just entered the room.’

  ‘Mr Lam, if you answer Ridpath’s questions, I personally will request witness protection for you.’

  ‘This is my boss, the head of the Major Investigation Team,’ said Ridpath.

  ‘You will have helped us apprehend a murderer and stopped a major people-trafficking group from continuing their work. I believe the relevant authorities will support me.’

  Lam stared at Claire Trent. ‘What proof do I have you will keep your word?’

  The detective superintendent pointed to the tape. ‘It’s still running. What I just said is now on the record. I will keep my promise, but I must emphasise there is no guarantee the authorities will accept my recommendation.’

  The suspect thought for a long time. Finally, he reached forward and tapped one of the photographs. ‘This man used to come to the club a lot. He liked the girls.’

  It was Tony Osborne’s picture. ‘Was he in the club the night before last?’

  ‘Yeah, he came in about eleven and sat at the bar. He met with the man I knew was Wendy’s boyfriend.’ He leant forward and tapped another photograph on the table. ‘This man.’

  Ridpath and Claire Trent stared at each other. The Detective Inspector grabbed the photograph off the table. ‘He’s at the inquest.’

  Chapter 82

  ‘Thank you for your evidence, Mr Collins. Are there any questions from the family?’

  The interpreter talked to the mother and father of Wendy Chen and shook her head.

  ‘And Mr Stride?’

  The barrister was about to get up but seemed to change his mind and shook his head too.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Collins, you are excused but please remain in the court until the inquest ends. The jury may have questions for you.’ Mrs Challoner glanced over at Anthony Scott. He was scribbling furiously in his legal notepad and not looking at her. ‘We will now call Detective Sergeant Ronald Barnes.’

  The policeman stood and walked slowly to the dock. After he had been sworn in by Jenny Oldfield, he adjusted the microphone and settled in comfortably into the chair.

  ‘You led the police investigation into the death of Wendy Chen in Wilmslow Immigration Removal Centre on the morning of August 20th, is that correct?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘What time did you arrive at the scene, Detective Sergeant?’

  Ron Barnes pulled his notebook out of his inside pocket and flipped it open. ‘At 6.25 a.m., ma’am.’

  ‘But the crime was reported by other police at 4.06. Why did it take so long for a detective to come to investigate?’

  ‘As you are aware, Coroner, there have been severe cuts to the police budget in the last few years. All my colleagues were busy investigating a stabbing which had occurred in a pub in the early hours. Nobody was available. The death was reported to our call centre as a suicide and confirmed as such by the responding officers. I came on duty at six a.m. and was immediately dispatched to the scene.’

  ‘Arriving two hours after the first report.’

  ‘Correct, ma’am, for the reasons stated.’

  The coroner sniffed once and pulled out a folder from the pile in front of her.

  ‘This is your initial report on the death of Ms Chen, Detective Sergeant.’ The report appeared on the screen. ‘The only witness statements you took were from the officers of the Removal Centre. You didn’t question any other witnesses. Why?’

  ‘I was told the detainees in the rooms close to the death were being deported. It would have been impossible to get interpreters to the centre before the deportations happened.’

  ‘But couldn’t you have requested the deportations be halted as these were possible witnesses to a crime?’

  ‘You have to understand, ma’am, at that moment I was supervising the forensics team and the pathologist who were also on the scene. I received no indications from them this was anything other than a suicide. This conclusion was later supported by Dr Ahmed in his forensic report to me.’

  ‘But you are aware Dr Ahmed and Dr Schofield have now changed their view. They now believe Ms Chen was murdered.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, and I must accept the new pathologist’s report. However, I will reiterate, at the time, this was considered a suicide.’

  ‘Considered by whom, Detective Sergeant Barnes?’

  ‘By the Centre’s staff and management, by the pathologist and the crime scene manager and by my own examination of the scene. The victim was found with a knife on the floor next to her body.’

  ‘Detective Barnes, I put it to you that your investigation was shoddy, bordering on incompetent. You didn’t question any witnesses, you didn’t investigate the background of the victim, you didn’t even check on the witness, Liang Xiao Wen, who was still in the centre and not transferred until later that day.’

  The government’s solicitor rose wearily to his feet. ‘I must object, Coroner. You are badgering this witness. I must remind you this is not a court of law. You are here to seek the truth, not to apportion blame.’

  ‘It’s OK, Mr Sutton, I’m happy to answer the question,’ said Ronald Barnes softly. His folded his arms in front of him and he said, ‘The coroner is correct. The investigation was not as thorough as it should have been. I made the assumption this was a suicide when I should have examined the evidence and interviewed more witnesses.’ There was a long pause. ‘I have been doing this job for nearly thirty years and it saddens me I didn’t perform to the best of my abilities in this case. I apologise unreservedly to the family.’

  Mr Sutton was on his feet again. ‘I thank the detective f
or his apology, but I must say he speaks from a personal capacity rather than as a member of Greater Manchester Police. The force does not accept in any way the investigation was anything other than definitive and robust.’

  ‘Thank you, Detective Barnes, for your honesty. I have no more questions. Would the family like to say anything?’

  The interpreter shook her head.

  ‘Mr Stride and Mr Sutton?’

  Both barristers didn’t want to ask anything.

  ‘In that case, members of the jury, the witness portion of this inquest has finished. We will take a short break and then I will sum up and offer you the possible determinations you can consider for this case. We will return in ten minutes at 11.15 a.m.’

  Chapter 83

  Yang May Feng shifted position again. Her arms were numb now, the bruised and battered wrists beginning to swell up against the cold metal of the handcuffs.

  Last night, he had taken off the gag and slowly, gently fed her the cold fried rice and let her drink from the bottle of water. It was almost as if he enjoyed looking after her, enjoyed feeding her.

  She had treated him just like another client. If he wanted to her to play the pliant Oriental wallflower, well, she would oblige. Anything to find a chance to escape before he tired of this game.

  Before he left, though, he had put the gag back around her mouth, tightening it even more than before. She struggled against his hands but he was too strong.

  She had to stay calm now, plan her escape. Next time he came, she would ask him to release her from the handcuffs. Perhaps she could grab something in the house and hit him with it.

  She imagined a club striking into his skull, smashing it to pulp.

  Why had Wendy been his girlfriend? She was a strong woman, an independent woman. One who wouldn’t take shit from nobody. And yet she had been with this man. This animal.

  She moved her body again and stared at the ceiling. A fly was buzzing around the light, its solid frame banging against the paper of the shade.

  Was she ever going to get out of here?

  Chapter 84

  The police car raced along Oldham Road, crossing over into the opposing lane, swerving around bollards in the middle of the street, crashing through red lights, the siren wailing and headlights flashing.

  In the back, Ridpath was on the phone to Sophia, who wasn’t picking up. ‘Come on, answer, for God’s sake.’

  Next to him, Claire Trent was also working the phones. ‘Dispatch, I want an armed Police Tactical Unit at East Manchester Coroner’s Court immediately.’

  Ridpath listened with one ear to the conversation, and the other to the ringing of Sophia’s phone.

  ‘ETA in twenty minutes? Not good enough, dispatch. I need them there now. This is a code red emergency, I repeat code red.’

  ‘Hello, Ridpath, where are you? The coroner…’

  ‘Sophia, thank God you answered. I need you to pass a note to Mrs Challoner.’

  ‘But she’s in court at the moment. They’ve just gone back in. She’s summing up the inquest…’

  Ridpath’s body lurched against the car door as Alan Butcher took the corner at speed. Behind him, the tires of the following police car screeched in pain.

  ‘Doesn’t matter. Go in and pass her the following note. “Keep everyone there for ten more minutes.” Got it?’

  Ridpath could hear the sound of pen on paper.

  ‘Got it. I’ll go now, but she won’t be happy.’

  ‘Just do it.’

  ‘When are you getting here?’

  Ridpath peered out of the window. The houses on either side of Queensway were flashing past. ‘About eight minutes. Go now, Sophia.’

  Before she could answer, Ridpath had switched off the phone.

  ‘PTU will be there in seven minutes. What’s our timing, Alan?’

  ‘Less,’ was the one word answer.

  Ahead, an old Morris Minor was hogging the outside lane. Alan swerved round it onto the opposite side of the road, forcing a minivan to slam on its brakes.

  ‘I would like to arrive in one piece, Alan.’

  ‘Yes, guv’nor.’

  They raced through a roundabout without stopping, heading into Stockford Town Centre. A few pedestrians, mainly older women, stopped to look as the two police cars, lights flashing and sirens blaring, sped along the road.

  Alan took a hard right against a red light and accelerated to a stop outside the Coroner’s Court.

  Coming from the opposite direction, three minivans of the Police Tactical Unit screeched to a stop, blocking the middle of the road. Armed officers poured out in a black clad line, rifles at the ready.

  Claire Trent and Ridpath jumped out of the car. The commander of the PTU raced over to them.

  ‘What are your orders, ma’am?’

  ‘Surround the court, nobody to go in or out.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘You and two officers with me. We’re going in.’

  Chapter 85

  Mrs Challoner placed her notes on the desk and took her seat at the front of the court.

  The family and the barristers were already seated. Anthony Scott returned late, accompanied by Carol Oates. He hurried to take his seat while she remained near the entrance.

  In front of her, Mrs Challoner could see the officials from New Hampshire Detention Services, Lucy Bagnall and David Carlton. Both had broad smiles on their faces as if a long ordeal was finally over.

  Next to them, Stuart Collins was sullen, his arms folded across his chest and on his left, Detective Sergeant Ronald Barnes looked down, staring at his hands.

  The clock ticked over to 11.17.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I thank you for your patience and attentiveness during this inquest into the tragic death of Ms Wendy Chen. As I stated at the beginning of this process, this inquest is not about finding somebody guilty or innocent, it’s not even about discovering who murdered Ms Chen in the early morning of August 20th 2019…’

  At the mention of her daughter’s death, Wendy Chen’s mother sobbed quietly. Mrs Challoner gazed at the walls as the translator put her arms around the woman’s shoulders. Her husband stared into mid-air stoically, not looking at his wife.

  ‘…we must leave that job to the police. Instead our sole concern in this inquest is to find out how this woman died, where she died, when she died and, if possible, to gather any learnings which would prevent such deaths happening again.’

  The double doors at the back of the court banged open and, in the entrance, stood Sophia Rahman. All eyes turned as one to see where the noise was coming from.

  She strode to Mrs Challoner’s desk, her high heels clicking on the wooden boards of the floor. She reached up to the coroner’s desk and placed a folded piece of paper on it, whispering loudly, ‘It’s from Ridpath.’

  Mrs Challoner opened the note. On it was printed in big, bold, black capital letters:

  KEEP EVERYONE THERE FOR TEN MORE MINUTES

  The coroner closed the note and said, ‘Thank you, Sophia.’

  She gazed at Anthony Scott. He was furiously whispering in Sutton’s ear.

  At the back of the court, Carol Oates was smiling.

  Mrs Challoner checked the clock.

  11.20.

  She coughed once and began again. ‘As I was saying, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, your job is not to consider guilt or innocence, nor is it give a verdict in this inquest. On the contrary, it is to make a determination as to the cause of death…’

  She paused for a moment, glancing at her summary notes. At this point, she was going to give the jury the possible determinations for their consideration when they retired. She thought they wouldn’t be long in their deliberations, perhaps returning as early as this afternoon.

  She checked the clock.

  11.21.

  Why ten more minutes, Ridpath, what were you hoping to achieve?

  The clerk to the Chief Coroner was checking his watch. Everybody was staring at he
r. Carol Oates was smiling.

  She decided to continue. They were probably going to sack her for this summing up, but she had to give Ridpath more time.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the facts of the case are not in dispute. The Detainee Custody Officer, Joseph Cummings, found Ms Chen dead in her room at 4.06 a.m. in the early hours of August 20th. According to him, he believed she committed suicide by cutting her throat as there was blood everywhere and a knife on the floor. This view was supported by a pathologist who missed a key injury in the post-mortem and a detective who, in his own words, did not “perform to the best of his abilities”. She glanced over to Barnes and Ahmed sitting next to each other, pausing dramatically. ‘However, the determination of suicide was undermined when a second post-mortem revealed the presence of Taser marks on the victim’s chest and the impossibility of this being a self-inflicted wound.’

  She peered at the clock on the wall.

  11.23.

  ‘It is not for this inquest to determine, or appear to determine, criminal or civil liability, to apportion guilt or attribute blame.’

  She took a deep breath.

  ‘However, in cases such as these, the inquest should set out as many of the facts as the public interest requires. Under the terms of Article 2 of the European Convention of Human Rights, governments are required to “establish a framework of laws, precautions, procedures and means of enforcement which will, to the greatest extent reasonably practicable, protect life”. The European Court of Human Rights has interpreted this as mandating independent official investigation of any death where public servants may be implicated. Since the Human Rights Act 1998 came into force, in those cases alone, the inquest is now able to consider the broader question “by what means and in what circumstances” did the death occur.’

  11.25.

  She had to keep going for at least five more minutes. She gazed across at the seven stolid faces of the jury. They were watching her placidly, listening to every word she said.

  She took a deep breath and talked slowly, enunciating her words, the voice of the interpreter in Mandarin a whisper in the background.