by M J Lee
Ridpath stood up. ‘It’s time to leave DS Parkinson, we’re wasting our time here.’
‘Don’t go yet, Ridpath, I’m having so much fun, enjoying our chat almost as much as when we met in the hospital, remember?’
Ridpath flashed back to the time he interviewed Lardner when he was still a senior pathologist. The doctor had hidden his double life for years, behind a mask of medical competency.
‘You spent a long time staring at the magazines on my shelves. My pathology papers and journals. You have a certain attraction to death, Ridpath, a fascination maybe. Otherwise why do the job you do? In another life, it would be you sitting here with a chain around your waist not me.’
‘I would never murder young women for pleasure, Lardner.’
‘No, you would do it for pain. Don’t you understand, Ridpath. It’s all about pain. Yours and theirs.’
‘For the last time, Lardner, why did you write the letter to Mrs Challinor?’
A fire came into Lardner’s eyes. ‘You are in no position to give me orders, Ridpath. An emotionally crippled detective whose remission from cancer could end at any moment?’ Then he recovered his composure and smiled. ‘How do you know I wrote the letter? Was there a signature?’
‘You know there wasn’t.’
‘Do I? It would be a grave undertaking to write a letter bypassing the prison authorities in such a way, wouldn’t it?’
‘How do you know the letter bypassed the prison authorities if you didn’t write it?’
Lardner laughed for a long time. ‘You do amuse me, Ridpath. Would you be here asking these questions if the letter had passed through official channels?’
‘Did you or did you not write it and what did you mean?’ The exasperation in Ridpath’s voice was obvious.
Lardner stood up and shuffled towards the door. The guard instantly became more alert. ‘Can you escort me back to my room, Derek?’
The guard banged on the door and the sound of a key being turned in a lock echoed in the room. The door opened to reveal another guard. Lardner turned back to Ridpath. ‘Remember it’s about pain, he takes no pleasure in doing what he does. It’s all about pain. His pain and theirs.’
‘Who is killing, Lardner? Please tell me.’
The former pathologist smiled again. ‘I don’t know what you are talking about, Ridpath. But as a former pathologist, I can tell you one thing…’
‘What’s that?’
‘For someone to kill is always a grave undertaking, both legally and medically, requiring organisational skills of the highest order.’
The prisoner shuffled out of the room, escorted by his guard. ‘Please remain where you are. The deputy medical director will be along to escort you from the facility,’ the guard said to Ridpath before closing the door.
‘What was all that about?’
‘I’m not certain, but I have a feeling Harold Lardner was trying to tell us something.’
Chapter 60
Outside the maximum security hospital, Ridpath stood by as Emily Parkinson smoked a cigarette before the journey home. She had offered him one but, surprising himself, he had refused.
The smell of the prison hospital still lurked in his nostrils; the combination of disinfectant, urine, human beings and fear saturated all places like this.
They had been escorted out of the facility by the deputy medical director, a Dr Halligan.
‘Lardner is a classic narcissistic personality. He likes to control or seem to be in control, of people and of lives.’
‘Is that why he killed all those young women?’
‘Nothing can fully explain why a serial killer becomes the way he does. Look at Harold Shipman, even today we don’t understand why he killed over 200 people. We can rationalise it in the usual way; a troubled childhood, the beginning of experimentation on animals, the escalation into humans, a delight in inflicting pain, in controlling the end of life. But all that is post rationalisation. Many people suffer those abuses without becoming serial killers. However, one thing is remarkable about Lardner.’
‘What’s that?’ Ridpath was listening keenly.
‘Throughout it all, Lardner maintained his professional life. He continued to function perfectly normally as a pathologist.’
‘As did Shipman as a doctor.’
‘That’s correct. Most serial killers don’t have such high profile positions. They are usually lorry drivers or soldiers or even policemen. Successful serial killers have an intelligence despite the job they perform. It’s the ability to live a dual life that is key.’
They passed through a screening area.
‘Successful?’
‘Unfortunately, we measure serial killers in the number of their victims and their ability to remain undetected. It’s not something I’m proud of.’
‘Has Lardner received visitors, Dr Halligan?’ asked Ridpath.
‘He is allowed visitors. You’d be surprised at the number of people, particularly women, who request a meeting. Perhaps we have a morbid fascination for those who break the basic rules of society.’
‘Could we get a list of those who have seen him? Plus we’d like to know who he has been calling.’
‘Of course, I’ll email it across to you, plus his telephone records.’
‘Does he have any friends in the facility?’
They passed through the final security check and stopped in front of the main entrance.
‘Me perhaps. He sees me as a friend who helps him.’
‘Are there any others?’
‘I’ll ask the attendants who are closest to him.’ The doctor waved at the guard in his booth. ‘But people like Lardner do not have friends in the way you describe. Their narcissism prevents them from ever allowing others to come close. They have people they use or are useful to them. For example, with me he talks about the latest medical developments. I’m sure he sees it as useful to him because it means I allow the Lancet, Scientific American and other journals to be delivered. I am being used. Funnily enough, he knows I know but once again the narcissism convinces him he has me exactly where he wants me. A controlling personality never admits to being controlled even in a maximum security hospital. He thinks he controls me to get what he wants.’
‘Thank you, doctor.’ They shook hands.
‘I hope your visit was useful.’
‘I don’t know if it was, but I’m convinced Lardner is involved in our case. Otherwise why send the letter?’
‘Be careful, Inspector, is he really involved or is he simply diverting your attention to him? The narcissist who wants everybody to look at him.’
‘But he knew a murder was about to take place.’
‘Did he? There are always murders taking place somewhere, Inspector. Did he provide you with anything showing he knew more about your case?’
‘The answer is – I don’t know. I just feel he’s involved.’
‘Ah, feelings. Not something we’re adept at understanding with science.’
‘Thank you once again for your time, doctor.’ Ridpath started to walk through the gate before stopping and looking back. ‘One last question. Does he?’
‘Does he what?’
‘Does he control you to get what he wants. In the outside world, he was extremely effective at controlling and using people to help him kill.’
‘I do not help him kill people, Inspector Ridpath, I simply facilitate his ability to stay up to date with the latest medical developments. One physician helping another.’
‘But he does get special treatment here. Treatment that allows him to do things that an ordinary inmate would not be allowed to do. Like sending letters to a coroner that don’t go through the normal channels?’
Dr Halligan pointed outside. ‘I think it’s time for you to go now, don’t you, Inspector Ridpath. For security reasons we can’t keep this gate open, I’m sure you understand.’
Outside in the car park, the smoke from Emily’s cigarette drifted across to Ridpath. He inhaled, enjoying al
l the scent of secondary smoke.
‘Lardner was playing with us,’ he announced. ‘He was having fun at our expense.’
‘You think he knows more?’
‘I’m sure he does. Despite what the doctor said.’
‘How?’
‘If I knew the answer, Emily, I would have solved this case.’
She crushed the cigarette under her heel. ‘Let’s be getting back, I should check in at MIT.’
‘And I should see the coroner. Find out what’s been happening to her. When you get back to MIT, do me a favour and check up on the good doctor, will you? Something about him worries me. Did he know Lardner before he was locked up in Ashworth?’
‘What do you mean? Through the medical network?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You think he’s not being straight with us?’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Maybe I’m becoming a bit paranoid in my old age.’ He glanced back at the looming red brick buildings of Ashworth Maximum Security Hospital. ‘Perhaps, it’s catching…’
Chapter 61
‘How was Lardner?’
The coroner was seated behind her desk, an open file in front of her. She hadn’t gone home after the events of the morning, preferring to bury herself in work.
‘As usual. Manipulative, controlling and arrogant.’
‘Did he tell you what he meant in the letter he sent to me?’
‘No, but I’m convinced he’s involved. He knows far more than he is telling us.’ Ridpath moved from the door and sat down in front of the coroner. ‘And you, how are you holding up?’
She held up the file. ‘I’ve had better days but I still have my work, it keeps the terrors away.’ She stared into mid-air. ‘I can’t stop seeing Brian Conway’s face. It’s like he was here in this room with me.’
‘That’s what he wants. Probably, why he sent you the video. He wants you to be afraid.’
‘Who is he?’
‘It has to be Dalbey.’
‘Are you so sure?’
Before he could answer, there was a gentle knock on the wood. Sophia stood in the door frame. ‘This email came through to you from Ashworth, I thought you’d want to see it straight away.’ She handed over three sheets of paper to Ridpath.
The first was a covering note from Dr Halligan. It stated they had been through the logs of visitors and telephone records. Ridpath read the final line twice. ‘But these are just the official records. You will appreciate our inmates often find ways around the system; smuggled letters, contraband mobile phones, verbal messages through day visitors or released inmates.’
‘No shit Sherlock,’ Ridpath said out loud.
‘What was that?’
‘The deputy medical director stating the obvious.’
Margaret Challinor looked at them quizzically.
‘I asked the hospital for all their records. They’ve just pointed out they can’t monitor everything.’ He turned to the next sheet. It was a list of phone numbers Lardner had called in the last twelve months from the official telephone. There were over sixty-five records with some numbers appearing more than once. Somebody was going to have to go through each one checking the registered owner of the numbers with a reverse directory. Tedious work but indispensable in this investigation.
Finally, he turned over the final sheet.
‘Bingo,’ he said out loud.
Chapter 62
Back at MIT, Emily Parkinson quickly debriefed Turnbull on her visit to Ashworth. Despite the lateness, everybody was still at their desks; following up leads, typing reports or verifying witness statements.
‘So it was a waste of time?’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘Not really, but we didn’t discover anything of interest. Lardner is obviously a clever man.’
‘So did he tell you why he sent the letter?’
‘No.’
‘Did he tell you who it referred to? Who was going to commit murder?’
‘No.’
‘Did he tell you anything of value?’
‘Not really. He was obviously playing games. He kept hinting he knew more than he was saying. Ridpath wants me to check up on the man running the place, a Dr Halligan.’
‘Why?’
‘Ridpath didn’t say. I got the impression he thought the man was giving Lardner preferential treatment and maybe even more.’
‘A waste of time. Of course, Lardner is going to play games with you. He’s a con. What else would he do? He’s stuck in Ashworth on an indeterminate sentence, probably for the rest of his natural life. He craves the attention, the company.’ He sat down on the edge of the desk, looming over her. ‘And where is our Detective Inspector Ridpath now?’
‘He went back to the Coroner’s Court to brief Mrs Challinor.’
‘Shouldn’t his first job be to brief me?’
‘He asked me to do it.’
Turnbull shook his head. ‘Ridpath will have to be reminded of the chain of command.’
‘I told him I would brief you.’
‘Not good enough.’
From the far corner of the office, there rose a loud whoop of joy, followed by a shout of ‘I got the bastard.’
Everybody looked up from their desks as Chrissy Wright stood up from behind her computer waving a printout.
Both Turnbull and Parkinson rushed over to her. ‘What is it?’
A broad smile creased Chrissy’s face. ‘I couldn’t work out how Dalbey seemed to drop off the planet eighteen months ago. He took out his money from the bank and there was no trace of him afterwards. No passport applications, no telephone contracts in his name, no rental agreements. Nothing.’
‘We know all that, where is he?’
She frowned. ‘I don’t know yet, but at least I know the name he’s living under.’
‘What?’
‘He changed his name. At first, I though he may’ve used the old trick of wandering around a cemetery until he found a child who had died and was roughly the same age as him. Fairly easy to apply for a birth certificate in the child’s name and using that document, get a passport, a bank account and rent an apartment.’
‘Yes, yes, but where is he now?’
‘Patience, Chief Inspector, I’m just explaining how I found him. It’s important to know.’ She sat quietly for a moment, obviously relishing the moment. The MIT room had gone quiet as all the detectives had stopped what they were doing and were listening to Chrissy.
‘Go on,’ Turnbull finally said.
‘Well, if he used that method, it would be almost impossible to trace him. We would have to go through every request for a birth certificate at the Registry Office in the last couple of years. A nightmare. And even then, we might miss it. Too many applications you see. Or he could have gone to Scotland or Ireland.’
‘Yes, yes, get on with it.’
‘But I thought there would be the risk of getting caught. Having just come out of jail, why take the chance of going back in for misrepresentation and false impersonation?’
‘What’s the point, Chrissy?’
‘So it struck me. There was a much easier way…’
Another pregnant pause as Chrissy relished the attention.
Turnbull sighed loudly. ‘What was it, Chrissy?’
She smiled. ‘Change your name by deed poll. Now you can do it yourself simply by making a statement and getting two witnesses to sign it. But this isn’t usually accepted by banks.’
‘The official way is to go through the courts, the Royal Court of Justice.’
‘Exactly, Emily, fill in a couple of forms, pay them thirty-six quid and Bob’s your uncle.’
‘But there’s one other thing you have to do, isn’t there?’
‘What?’ interrupted Turnbull.
Emily Parkinson coughed. ‘You have to place a notice in the London Gazette.’
Chrissy held up her printout. ‘I have his new identity here.’
Chapter 63
Ridpath flicked back an
d forth through the printouts Sophia had given him. ‘Lardner had two visits from Dalbey in the weeks after he was released. One on June 10, 2018 and another three weeks later.’
‘Why? Why would James Dalbey visit the man who had put him inside for ten years? It was Lardner who set him up as the fall guy.’
‘I love it when you use Americanisms, Mrs Challinor.’
‘Too many American TV series. But you still haven’t answered the question, Ridpath.’
Ridpath tapped the papers in front of him. ‘I haven’t answered because I don’t know. Lardner, was, is, a manipulative person. He always controlled one person and let them do his work for him. Lesley Stone even went as far as to kill herself for him.’
‘Are you suggesting Dalbey wasn’t as innocent as he portrayed himself to get released?’
Ridpath shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Coroner. He said he knew nothing about Lardner’s activities even though I caught him in the lock-up with a kidnapped woman.’
‘From what I remember he admitted the crime when first questioned only to recant when he was in jail.’
‘Precisely. Was he more guilty than he let on? Was he Lardner’s accomplice and we let him go?’
‘You mean me and you, Ridpath?’
Ridpath nodded his head.
‘So you think Lardner may be using him to gain revenge on those who put him away?’
‘At the moment, I don’t know what to think, Coroner. But I do know this. Lardner is involved in what’s going on in some way or form.’ He glanced down at the printout. ‘You know the man has had seventeen visitors over the last year.’
‘What?’
‘Despite being convicted of seven murders, locked up in a maximum security prison and being certified as insane, seventeen people still want to meet him.’ He checked the printout of Lardner’s telephone calls. ‘Plus he’s made over sixty-five calls and received eighty-three.’
‘Popular, isn’t he?’
‘Do you want me to check up on his visitors?’ Sophia asked.
Ridpath took one last look at the sheet before handing it back to his assistant. ‘Luckily, their names, addresses and contact details are included before they can see him. Can you send a copy to Chrissy too?’
