by M J Lee
It was time to pay them back for all the hurt they had caused.
Chapter 39
He tried not to drift too much, but his mind was like a shipwrecked sailor at the mercy of the ocean currents; it went wherever the thoughts took it.
Memories flooded in.
Underneath a table playing with a next door neighbour during the funeral wake of his father. At least, he believed it was the wake. His mother said it was, but her memory could be trusted less than his. A tin police car whose lights flashed as you rubbed the wheels against the lino of the floor. All around him a forest of legs and skirts. There didn’t seem to be men in trousers. Just long, flowing skirts he crawled under and hid, smelling the rich, earthy scent of unwashed underwear and unshaven legs.
Another memory elbowed its way into his dreams. The first day of school, the first day of many. A cold day in an old building, surrounded by baying hordes of monsters all calling his name and prodding and pushing him like a cow in the market, their country voices rough to his city ears.
And the nun, the warmth of her skin as she took his hand and led him to a seat in church. He always remembered her touch. As if he was branded that day by her.
Branded in a nice way, marked for life as hers.
And the day he found out she was gone. A dark black dog of despair, a sadness like a tight hard ball in the pit of his stomach, threatening to grow bigger and overwhelm him at any second.
Close by, a few whispered words.
He strained to listen to their meaning but couldn’t quite understand. Were they talking about him?
Probably.
People had been talking for years.
One day they would stop.
Not yet though.
There was still work to be done.
Chapter 40
The next morning, Ridpath was up bright and early. Surprisingly, Polly joined him in the kitchen as he made coffee.
‘Have you thought about what I said last night?’ she asked immediately.
He put his arms around her. ‘Don’t worry, yesterday was a one-off. It won’t happen again.’
‘I wish it were true, Ridpath.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Myself and Eve care about you so much, we couldn’t bear if you weren’t—’
He placed his finger across her lips. ‘Don’t worry, it won’t happen again. I’ll be extra careful from now on, I promise. And see, I’m as fit as a butcher’s dog this morning.’
‘The plaster above your eye does give you a rakish charm.’ She touched his forehead and he pulled back. ‘Does it still hurt?’
‘A little bit sore but nothing to worry about.’
‘I’ll book you a time at Christie’s. They can look at it there. You’re due your monthly cancer check-up anyway.’
‘Time to give another armful of blood.’
‘I wish you weren’t so flippant, Ridpath. I’m worried about you and so is Eve.’
For a moment, he considered telling her about the return of James Dalbey and the possibility he could be a target. But he didn’t. There was no point in alarming her unnecessarily. With a bit of luck, MIT had already found him. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said finally, ‘it’s just a job. I’ll take care of myself.’
‘Says the man who has a track record for doing exactly the opposite.’
‘Look, today I’m going to the Coroner’s Office, and on to MIT for a meeting and afterwards back to work with the coroner. That’s my schedule, I’ll be home by six at the latest. Promise.’
‘I’ll hold you to it, Ridpath. Perhaps I can cook something for this evening.’
The prospect of Polly’s spaghetti fish balls didn’t appeal. ‘Or we can get a pizza delivered and make a movie night of it.’
‘Eve’s been wanting to watch Zombies 2 for ages.’
‘Pizza, popcorn, zombies and a bottle of wine for the adults. Perfect.’
‘It’s a date, Mr Ridpath.’
‘See you tonight, Mrs Ridpath.’
He left the house five minutes later, driving to meet the coroner at Stockfield. She was already waiting for him when he got there, her face buried in a file as usual.
‘Morning, Ridpath, what have you done to your eye?’
‘It’s nothing, the blast yesterday.’
‘It gives you a certain je ne sais quoi. You could be starting a new fashion trend.’
He sat down opposite her.
‘I read the news. Gas explosion?’
‘That’s the story at the moment. But it wasn’t. We’re pretty certain it was James Dalbey. Remember the mortuary attendant in the inquest on Alice Seagram?’
‘The one who switched the bodies for Harold Lardner?’
‘That’s him. We’re pretty certain he was killed and stuffed in a freezer by Dalbey.’
‘But why?’
‘He was also behind the attacks on John Gorman’s dogs and the desecration of Charlie Whitworth’s grave.’
‘All people involved in his case twelve years ago.’
‘I’ve been thinking about it all night. It seems he’s looking for revenge on those who put him away.’
‘Weren’t you involved?’
Ridpath nodded. ‘Emily Parkinson told me this morning that they’re drawing up a list of possible new targets. You could be on it too.’
‘Why me? I ran the inquest that unveiled Lardner as the killer, so Dalbey could be freed from jail. It proved his innocence.’ She stopped speaking for a second as a thought struck her. ‘The letter from Lardner, he talked about “somebody starting to kill.”’
‘Exactly.’
‘How did Lardner know Dalbey wanted to take revenge?’
‘We don’t know.’
‘Are they working together?’
‘We don’t know that either. Why would Dalbey and the man who framed him for murder be working together? It doesn’t make sense. And before you ask anything else. The answer is—’
‘We don’t know.’ She finished his sentence for him. ‘Sounds like there are too many unknowns at the moment.’
‘I have a meeting at MIT at 10 a.m., with a bit of luck, they’ve already found him.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll just get a bit of work done with Sophia before I leave.’
‘Ridpath.’ He stopped as she called to him on his way out of her office. ‘Take care with this one, I don’t have a good feeling about it.’
‘Neither do I, Mrs Challinor, neither do I.’
Chapter 41
‘Very dashing, Ridpath, the beaten-up look suits you.’
Sophia Rahman was already behind her desk when he entered their office.
‘You’re in early.’
‘It’s my mother, she’s driving me crazy. Every day it’s “when are you going to get married” or “we can introduce you to a nice boy from Karachi, he’s a doctor” or “the matchmaker is waiting for you both to meet.” My mother doesn’t know she’ll be waiting till hell freezes over.’
‘Sounds like fun.’
‘Not. This place is my refuge away from her. And she’s now decided she doesn’t want me to work any more.’
Ridpath’s ears pricked up. Since her arrival, Sophia had become indispensable to him, conquering the bureaucracy of the job in a manner which had defeated him. Paperwork, even in the police, had never been his strong point.
‘Sorry, I’m rambling about myself, what happened to you?’
‘Nothing, the explosion last night.’
‘You were involved? I saw it on the news. Biggest thing that’s happened in Glossop since the Romans.’
‘It was – different. I need to get back to MIT at ten, so can we go through the outstanding cases?’
‘Sure.’ She pulled up a file on her laptop. ‘There are only two cases which need your involvement; a death by drowning in the canal near the Gay Village. It looks like an accident but Mrs Challinor wants you to check up the details. John, I mean Dr Schofield, has finished the post mortem. There was a wound on the head but he’s uncertain whether it came from an attack or th
e fall.’
‘Witnesses?’
‘The police haven’t found any so far. The case isn’t urgent but the family are asking for the body to be released.’
‘Give me the file and I’ll get to it today. Anything else?’
‘The death of a pensioner, Mrs Andrews. The pathologist, a Dr Shah, pronounced it a heart attack but now the son has come forward admitting he killed her. Placed a pillow over her head.’
‘Mrs Challinor is reopening the inquest?’
‘Exactly, she wants you to check the case and the police investigation.’
‘Great, pass me the file and—’
‘You’ll get onto it today. Nothing else is urgent. All the files are up to date and the families have been informed of the upcoming inquests—’
As Sophia was finishing her sentence, a scream came from the coroner’s office.
Chapter 42
The scene had been set; the furniture moved to one side, clearing an open area. A single chair had been placed in the centre and a rope with a noose looped over one of the old beams.
The coroner had been difficult to rouse. Perhaps he had misjudged the strength of the sleeping pill. But eventually the man had come round and, after a coffee laced with a mild stimulant, was awake enough to stand on his own two feet.
He checked the hands were still securely tied and removed the gag from the man’s mouth.
‘What do you want with me?’
A nervous little cough to clear the throat. ‘Do as I say and you will be ok.’
‘What have I done wrong? Why are you doing this?’
He shoved the gun under the man’s nose, enjoying the fear in his eyes as he flinched away from it. ‘Do as I say or I will shoot. Do you understand?’
The coroner nodded quickly.
‘We’re going to give people a little show.’ He pointed at the camera. ‘The script is on the board over there. If you say the words exactly as I have written them, you will be released unharmed. If you don’t, you die. Understand?’
All the time, the man listened with fear starkly apparent in his eyes. It was a lie but the coroner wasn’t to know. He nodded quickly.
At gunpoint, he forced the man to climb onto the chair and placed the noose around his neck.
The camera was already set up, framing the image perfectly. Through the viewfinder, he made his final check, sharpening the focus. The coroner stood on a chair, the noose around his neck attached to a wooden beam.
He donned his costume, adjusting the mask over his face. He didn’t want them to see who he was, not yet anyway.
The clock was approaching nine a.m. Just thirty seconds to go before it was time for the show to begin. He opened his laptop and sent the message. A green light would go on as soon as Mrs Challinor clicked the link and connected to the streaming site.
The man sat back and waited. All the time, the coroner was watching him, his eyes following every move. The fear apparent in the jerky movements and the flare of the nostrils. The hands tied behind his back fluttered ineffectually against the rope around his wrist.
He reframed the picture slightly. Not too close, a three-quarters shot would do. He still wanted them to see the man’s legs kicking as he was slowly strangled. He had decided not to make the drop too long. He didn’t want to break the man’s neck.
Instead, he wanted to drag the man’s death out, hang him properly and let them all see the nature of his justice.
They used to sell tickets to hangings in the past. Meat pies were sold. Lucky charms made from the hair of previous victims displayed. The best seats changing hands for vast amounts. It was seen as one of the liveliest entertainments, a bit like Big Brother except there was always a death at the end, rather than a release from a house.
For this man, he was going to revive the spectacle for a special audience.
He waited.
The man waited.
The world waited.
The tiny green light went on.
Chapter 43
Her computer pinged loudly.
Mrs Challinor put down the file she was reading and tapped a key. The screen lit up. There was a message from her daughter, Immy. Strange they had only spoken last night.
The coroner clicked the message and the short email revealed itself.
Take a look at this, Mum, it’s funny.
Attached was a link. Another light-hearted video her daughter had found on the internet. They always made her laugh.
She clicked on it and the screen changed to show the inside of somebody’s house. It seemed vaguely familiar as if she had visited it before. At the far end of the room, a man was standing on a chair.
She leant in closer realising she knew that man. Brian Conway, the former coroner. What was he doing in one of Immy’s links?
Brian lifted his head. There was something around his neck. Was it a rope? Did Brian have a rope around his neck?
Another man stepped in front of the camera, blocking the view with his back.
What was going on?
The man turned around slowly to reveal himself. He had the face of a wolf.
Mrs Challinor screamed.
Chapter 44
Within seconds, Ridpath burst into the room without knocking.
‘He’s going to kill him.’ The coroner pointed at the screen, her hand covering her mouth.
She stared at the screen. On the top left-hand corner, a timer ticked over remorselessly.
9:01:53.
9:01:54.
Suddenly, Ridpath was standing beside her.
The man with the wolf mask was reading from a sheet of paper.
‘You have been charged and found guilty of the crime of negligence in public office. How do you plead?’
The old man on the chair slowly lifted his head. His eyes were glazed as if he didn’t know where he was.
‘It’s Brian…’ said Mrs Challinor.
‘Brian?’
‘The former coroner.’
Mrs Challinor noticed Jenny and Sophia had come into the room too. ‘What’s going on?’ the office manager asked.
Mrs Challinor shook her head, unable to speak.
Staring at the screen, Jenny whispered, ‘What’s Brian doing?’
As if answering her, Brian’s lips moved.
‘Speak up please, for the court.’ The man with his back to the camera ordered.
Brian spoke slightly louder. ‘What do you want?’ The voice was slurred and slow.
‘That is not the correct answer. Guilty or not guilty?’
‘What do you want?’ Brian repeated.
‘What the hell’s going on?’ Jenny asked looking across to the coroner.
‘I don’t know,’ she answered without taking her eyes off the screen. ‘I received an email and clicked on the link and this came up on my computer.’
9:02:12.
9:02:13.
9:02:14.
‘Brian Conway, you have been accused of negligence in the execution of your duties as coroner. Are you sure you don’t want to plead?’
The former coroner mumbled something and shook his head. The noose around his head writhed like a snake.
‘In the absence of a plea, the sentence will be carried out.’
Without waiting any longer, the man stepped forward and kicked the chair on which Brian Conway was standing. For a second, the old coroner was frozen in mid-air, before gravity took hold and his body plummeted down, bouncing twice as it reached the end of the rope, then stopped, the toes of his shoes almost touching the carpet.
Brian Conway’s eyes were bulging from his head as he kicked his feet and struggled to free his hands.
Mrs Challinor looked away. ‘Do something, Ridpath!’
The man was still kicking his feet. The rope had pulled tight and twisted his neck to one side without breaking it. The tip of his tongue appeared between his teeth and his face grew larger, taking on a blue tone.
9:02:34.
9:02:35.
The co
roner slowly looked back at the screen. ‘It’s his home. I recognise the painting on the wall.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Saddleworth somewhere, up on the moors… Do something, Ridpath!’ the coroner screamed.
‘Jenny, do you have his number and address?’
‘I think so…’
‘Get it!’
The officer manager ran out of the room.
Ridpath picked up his mobile and dialled 999. The phone rang and rang.
On the screen, Mrs Challinor could see Brian Conway was struggling less now. His movements becoming slower and smaller, his face turning a bright blue. After a minute, all movement stopped and he hung there, the rope swaying slightly under the weight of his body.
9:03:35.
9:03:36.
9:03:37.
Ridpath began speaking as the operator finally answered. ‘Police and ambulance. This is Detective Inspector Thomas Ridpath. I’m looking at a crime being committed at—’
Jenny ran back into the room, a filing card in her hand.
Ridpath snatched it from her. ‘—At 10 Penfold Lane, Saddleworth.’
A slight pause as Ridpath listened and then he said sharply. ‘It’s murder, code red.’
On the screen, Brian Conway was still, his body hanging loosely from the end of the rope, a dark patch staining the crotch of his trousers, the upended chair lying a few feet away.
The man who had kicked the chair was standing, watching, doing nothing.
9:03:55.
9:03:56.
Mrs Challinor dragged her eyes away from the screen. ‘Tell them to hurry, he’s dying.’
‘I’m not there,’ Ridpath said into his mobile. ‘I’m watching the murder on a computer screen. You need to get there quickly, a man is dying.’
Ridpath listened to the operator, staring at the screen all the time. ‘What the…?’ he shouted.
On screen, the man, still with his back to the camera, picked up the chair, placing it against the far wall, folded up the charge sheet and placed it in his pocket, then walked towards the door. Before he left the room, he turned back to camera, staring directly at it.
