Where the Dead Fall

by Where the Dead Fall (retail) (epub)

  ‘You were called to a body found in Wingate Lake on April 12th, 2018?’

  ‘That is correct, the body was of a young male aged approximately twenty-three years old.’

  ‘And what did you discover, doctor?’

  ‘I initially thought this was a tragic death by drowning, probably due to excess alcohol or drug consumption. But during the post-mortem I found some disturbing evidence.’

  ‘Which was?’

  ‘There were none of the usual signs of fresh water drowning, particularly no water in the lungs.’

  ‘Why is the absence of water in the lungs important?’

  ‘Because it meant that Ronald Wilson was already dead when he entered the water.’

  ‘Are you sure, doctor? This evidence is key to my final submission to the jury.’

  ‘Absolutely positive. My conclusion that he was already dead when the body was placed in the water was confirmed when I found a small hole in the back of his skull behind the right ear. On opening the skull, I found the injury had penetrated into the brain to a depth of five inches, causing death.’

  ‘Let me get this clear, doctor. Ronald George Wilson was stabbed through the head?’

  ‘Yes, coroner, by a sharp, thin instrument such as an awl or a knitting needle.’

  ‘He was already dead when he was placed in the water?’

  ‘Correct, coroner.’

  ‘So, what do you think of the tape we have just heard where a woman rang the police saying she had seen Ronald Wilson take off his clothes and enter the water.’

  ‘I can’t think anything of the tape. But I can tell you that according to my scientific investigation, it would have been impossible for Ronald Wilson to enter the water of his own accord. To put it bluntly, dead men can’t walk into water.’

  ‘Thank you, doctor, that’s all for now.’

  A buzz was going round the court. Both the Connellys and the Marslands were actually listening to the testimony. Graham Connelly was even taking notes, perhaps trying to learn something for his next appearance in court. Claire Trent and her detectives were sitting forward in their seats.

  From where he was standing Ridpath could see it all. He coughed twice to clear his throat and suddenly felt very like he wanted to throw up. But he controlled himself, swallowing down hard on his sore throat. He couldn’t miss what was going to happen next.

  He crossed his fingers as Mrs Challinor spoke in a loud, firm voice to the entire court.

  Chapter Eighty-One

  ‘I now call Carmela Connelly to the witness stand.’

  There was a collective look of surprise on the faces of the Connellys, followed by a loud ‘What?’ from Michael Connelly.

  ‘I call Carmela Connelly,’ Mrs Challinor repeated.

  Carmela pointed to her chest, looking around at her father and brother on either side. ‘You want me?’ she finally asked.

  ‘You are Carmela Connelly?’ said Mrs Challinor.

  Carol Oates had moved silently to stand beside the young woman.

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Then I would like you to take the witness stand.’

  Michael Connelly finally recovered from his shock. ‘Why do you want to question my daughter? She doesn’t even know Ronnie Wilson or whatever his name was?’ The old man stood up and was immediately pulled back into his seat by the policeman sitting next to him. The other copper had his hand on Graham Connelly’s shoulder.

  As Carmela was being led to the witness stand by Carol Oates, she glanced briefly back at her father, mouthing ‘help me’.

  He tried to get up but was immediately restrained by the police. ‘You can’t do this. That’s my daughter. I’m gonna kill youse bastards…’

  ‘Mr Connelly, if you don’t be quiet, I will hold you in contempt. Police officers, please ensure Mr Connelly doesn’t disturb these proceedings.’

  Two more policemen went to sit behind Michael and Graham Connelly.

  Carol Oates held up a bible. ‘Do you want to take the oath, or will you affirm that you will tell the truth and nothing but the truth.’

  Carmela Connelly had recovered her composure by now. ‘I ain’t swearing nothing.’

  ‘It is a legal requirement that you need to swear an oath before giving evidence.’

  ‘I told you, you dozy cow, I ain’t swearing nothing.’

  Carol Oates glanced across at the coroner who nodded her head slightly.

  ‘We will assume the witness has affirmed. Your name is Carmela Connelly, is that correct?’

  ‘Why you asking? You just called my name, why you asking again? You forgot already?’

  Michael Connelly stopped struggling with the policemen and listened to his daughter.

  Mrs Challinor continued. ‘And your birthday is November 15th, 1993?’

  ‘You gonna send me a card, are you?’

  ‘I’ll ask again. Your birthday is November 15th, 1993?’

  ‘Yeah, what of it? A lady doesn’t reveal her age, does she? How old are you?’

  ‘I ask the questions in this court, Ms Connelly.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you get on with it? I’m wasting my time here…’

  Mrs Challinor coughed loudly. ‘I have only one question for you today…’

  ‘Well, ask it will ya, I ain’t got all day.’

  Graham Connelly laughed out loud. His father was beaming from ear to ear. A proud dad.

  ‘As I said, I have just one question,’ repeated Mrs Challinor.

  ‘You said that already.’

  Graham Connelly laughed again, louder this time. ‘You tell ‘em sis. Don’t take no bollocks from this mob.’

  Mrs Challinor stared at the young man before continuing. ‘The question is simple. ‘Why did you kill your brother?’

  Chapter Eighty-Two

  The court erupted.

  The Connellys were shouting and swearing as the police desperately tried to restrain them. Big Terry and his family were on their feet. Claire Trent and her detectives were trying to get everybody to sit down. Mrs Challinor was banging on her desk with a tiny hammer shouting, ‘Order, order!’

  Ridpath felt faint. His forehead was hot and his mouth was dry, yet his shirt was drenched with sweat beneath his jacket. The noise washed over him and he stayed where he was leaning against the door as the police fought to bring the court under control. He felt he should help them but found his feet unable to move.

  Eventually, after two minutes, order was restored and everybody, including the Connellys, were forced back to their seats.

  ‘I will not have such outbursts in my court again. Anybody who disturbs this coroner in the course of her work will be charged with contempt of court and immediately taken to a cell, do I make myself clear? She turned to face Carmela Connelly. ‘I will ask you again. Why did you kill your brother?’

  A smile slowly spread across her face. ‘I don’t know what you mean? My brother Gerard was run over on the M60 by a lorry.’

  ‘In this case, I meant, your real brother, Ronald Wilson.’

  Once again the court erupted in shouting as the Connellys and Big Terry’s family rose, raising their voices. It took all the assembled police plus constant shouts from Mrs Challinor to regain control.

  ‘This is the last time I will put up with such disgraceful behaviour in my court. The next person who raises his voice will be charged under the Contempt of Court Act 1981 and face imprisonment of up to one month. Do I make myself clear?’ Her staring eyes fixed on Michael Connelly and Big Terry Marsland until both looked down at the floor. She turned to the jury. ‘Members of the jury, you will ignore the interruption and focus on the questions and answers of the witnesses. Now, Ms Connelly, I will ask you for a third time. Why did you kill your brother Ronald Wilson?’

  The court was silent now. Only a slight buzz from the speakers in the televisions broke the quiet. Ridpath focused all his attention on the young woman, waiting for her to answer.

  Finally, she spoke in a soft, hesitant voice. ‘I don�
��t know what you mean.’

  Mrs Challinor handed a piece of paper to Carol Oates. ‘You have told us your birth date is November 15th, 1993…’

  ‘Yeah, what of it?’

  ‘On the screen you will see the birth certificate of Christine Wilson, born on the same day in the same year as you.’

  A green and cream sheet of paper appeared on the television screens in the court. The names of the parents, Harry Wilson and Doreen Wilson nee Granger were written in flowing black script as was the name of their daughter, Christine.

  ‘So?’ Carmela Connelly answered. ‘She has the same birth date as I do, so what?’

  Mrs Challinor’s voice softened. ‘This is you, Christine, isn’t it?’

  ‘Why are you calling me Christine? My name is Carmela.’

  The birth certificate was replaced with another two more birth certificates, one above the other.

  Mrs Challinor continued speaking. ‘Two years afterwards, Christine, the twins Ronald and Reginald were born to your parents, Harry and Doreen.’

  ‘I’ve told you my name is Carmela.’

  ‘Unfortunately, your father was murdered in 1996.’ Two more pictures appeared on the screen. A close up of a smiling face taken from a mug shot and a crime scene picture of a man lying on the floor of a pub, blood flowing out of a gaping wound in the back of his head.

  The young woman didn’t say a word, simply staring at the screen above her head.

  Mrs Challinor’s voice continued speaking, soft and reassuring in tone. ‘The next year or so wasn’t a good time for you, Christine, you were placed in St Michael’s Home, an orphanage run by the Sisters of Mercy, even though your mother was still alive.’

  The report on Christine Wilson from the nuns appeared on the screen. The words in bold stood out against the fading paper. Wilful. Stubborn. Punished for disobedience. Refused to eat. Temper tantrums. Spitting. Fighting.

  The young woman stared at her hands gripping the wooden rail. Her voice when it spoke was like that of a child. ‘She didn’t want me. My own mother didn’t want me.’

  ‘Did you see her again? asked Mrs Challinor gently.

  ‘Just the once. She came to see me in the summer when I was in the orphanage. I was so happy to see her again. I tried to kiss her but she wouldn’t let me. I begged and pleaded with her to take me out of there, but she said she was getting married again and she was taking Reggie with her to the south. She left me there all alone with those hateful nuns. Left me…’ her voice trailed off.

  The court was quiet, everybody staring at the young woman in the witness chair.

  A new image appeared on the screen.

  ‘This is your adoption certificate, Christine. Could you read out the names of the adopting couple, please?’

  Nobody in the court moved. Michael Connelly and Big Terry were both staring at the screen.’

  The young woman slowly lifted her head, focusing on the screen. ‘It says… Christine Wilson was adopted by the Michael and Carmen Connelly on October 6th, 1997.’

  ‘We loved you, Carmela,’ said Michael Connelly.

  ‘But I didn’t love you. And neither did Carmen.’ The young woman swivelled her head round to face Michael Connelly, her green eyes filled with anger. ‘She told me everything before she died. ‘About you, about Harry Wilson. She was having an affair with him. But you knew that. didn’t you? That’s why you had him killed. That’s why you had my father killed.’

  ‘I didn’t, I didn’t.’

  ‘Everybody thought it was just business, you wanting to be in control. But it wasn’t, was it? It was jealousy. You were jealous of my father.

  ‘I loved you, Carmela.’

  ‘MY NAME IS CHRISTINE,’ she shouted. ‘Carmen hated you. Hated every ounce and every inch of you. She filled me up with hate, and added just a little more, only for me.

  ‘Don’t say such things, not now.’

  ‘That’s why I kidnapped Gerard, your favourite. I was going to kill him, but he escaped before I could slit his throat. A lorry got him instead. A shame. I so wanted to hear him beg for his life.’

  Graham Connelly sat on his chair in the court with his mouth open wide. Next to him, his father covered his ears with his hands.

  ‘But why kill Ronald Wilson?’ It was Mrs Challinor asking the question.

  The young woman laughed unpleasantly. ‘Because he was weak. That old witch had got in his head with all her Catholic rubbish. He needed to die. He deserved to die.’

  A plaintive, ‘What? What are you saying, Carmela?’ came from Michael Connelly.

  ‘Shut up, you old fool. My name’s Christine, Christine Wilson.’ She pointed directly at him, her face twisted like an angry small child. ‘You murdered my father.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You killed Harry Wilson.’ Her voice coiled like a vicious snake.

  ‘I didn’t…I…I…’ Michael Connelly stammered.

  Mrs Challinor leant forward across her desk. ‘And Philip Marsland?’

  The young woman shrugged her shoulders. ‘It was part of the plan. Once these stupid men had stopped killing each other, I was going to take over with Reggie. Nobody could have stopped us. His death was just business.’

  ‘Bitch.’ Big Terry stood up and lunged at the young woman, only to be held back by the arms of the police surrounding him.

  ‘And you can shut up too, Marsland, otherwise I’ll cut your dick off like I did with your stupid son.’

  Her face was vicious now, like a cornered wildcat lashing out with sharp claws at anything that came close.

  Claire Trent and her detectives were standing beside the witness box. Calmly and deliberately, she said, ‘Christine Wilson, you are under arrest on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  These were the last words Ridpath heard as his legs suddenly gave way and the floor of the court rushed up to meet him.

  His world went black.

  Two Days Later

  Chapter Eighty-Three

  Ridpath had woken up surrounded by bright light.

  His first thought was that this is what death felt like. He had been wrong all these years. God does exist. The atheists are going to be terribly disappointed.

  Then he heard a broad Irish accent, County Cork he would have guessed.

  ‘Welcome to the world of the living, Mr Ridpath. It was touch and go for a while there.’

  He felt somebody adjusting something above his head.

  ‘There you go Another bottle of saline. We have to keep you hydrated.’

  He blinked his eyes three times and a round Irish face slowly swam into focus.

  ‘The doctor will be along in a minute to check you out, but you look better than you did when you arrived, and you’ll need no doctor to tell you that.’

  She walked away and he closed his eyes. Later, he didn’t know how long later, he opened them again to find Dr Morris standing over him.

  ‘Hello there, Mr Ridpath. How do you feel?’

  ‘Like I’ve just gone three rounds with Mike Tyson,’ he managed to croak.

  ‘That’s because you came in with pneumonia and it wasn’t helped by a rather large bump on your head from falling when you fainted. Luckily, the office manager knew enough about your illness to call us immediately and we whisked you straight in. We’ve pumped you full of antibiotics and your case was relatively mild. But you’ve been a very lucky man, Mr Ridpath, a very lucky man indeed.’

  ‘What time is it?’

  The doctor checked his watch. ‘12:30 p.m. on Saturday, April 29th.’

  ‘But… but… it was Thursday…’

  ‘You’ve been under sedation. It’s been the best way to help your body fight the infection and recover your strength. And you’ve been an incredibly stupid man, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

  ‘Has my wife been here?’
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br />   ‘For the last two nights. I think she’s as exhausted as you are.’ He glanced towards the door of the ward. ‘Looks like you have visitors. You’re the last patient on my morning list. With a bit of luck, I’ll make it to the match on time.’

  ‘United or City?’

  ‘Don’t be silly, the best team in the world. Macclesfield Town. Racing up League Two we are.’

  Claire Trent and Margaret Challinor walked into Ridpath’s field of vision. One was carrying a box of chocolates and the other a bottle of wine.

  ‘Don’t stay too long, ladies, he’s still a little weak. I’ll be seeing you on Monday, Mr Ridpath. Till then, stay hydrated and do everything the nurses tell you. The time for stupidity is over. Understand?’

  He walked away leaving the two women standing there.

  ‘Morning, Ridpath, how are you feeling?’

  ‘Like road kill if you must know, Mrs Challinor.’

  She placed the chocolates on the bedside table. ‘You need to look after yourself better, Ridpath.’

  Now she tells me, he thought. Then he remembered the case and his fall from grace. ‘Christine Wilson, she…?’

  ‘She’s in custody. I charged her yesterday.’ Claire Trent presented the wine directly to Ridpath. He didn’t know where to put it, so just cradled it in his arms like a baby. ‘Her DNA was all over the house near Sale Water Park. Plus we found it in Elsie Granger’s house. We think she and her brother killed the old woman.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘According to her, it was to cover their tracks. The old woman was the only person who knew about her and her brother.’

  ‘But…?’

  ‘But there may be more…’

  Margaret Challinor carried on. ‘We think she was getting revenge on Elsie Granger for abandoning her as a child, for not wanting her. The death was too vicious, too personal. There are easier ways to kill a person other than slitting their throat.’

  ‘There was always a personal element in all these deaths.’

  ‘She was evil, Ridpath, and through your work we managed to catch her.’ Margaret Challinor sat on the only chair close to his bed. Claire Trent remained standing.