by M J Lee
When the Evil Waits
Cover
Title Page
Thursday, July 23
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Two Weeks Later On the First Day Tuesday, August 4
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
On the Second Day Wednesday, August 5
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
On the Third Day Thursday, August 6
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
On the Fourth Day Friday, August 7
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
On the Fifth Day Saturday, August 9
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
On the Sixth Day Sunday, August 10
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Two Weeks Later Sunday, August 23
Chapter 101
DI Ridpath Crime Thriller
Canelo Crime
About the Author
Also by M J Lee
Copyright
Cover
Table of Contents
Start of Content
Thursday, July 23
Chapter 1
They had first met in the early days of lockdown.
Walking their dogs in Chorlton Ees to get out of the stifling atmosphere in their homes, finding a few moments’ rest in the peace and quiet of the trees and meadows bordering the Mersey.
It was their dogs who encountered each other first, with her male Jack Russell being more than a match for his rather docile Labrador.
She had apologised profusely in a very English way for the behaviour of her dog and he had accepted in an equally English manner; all diffidence and explaining it was actually his dog’s fault.
It wasn’t long before they were timing their visits to meet each other and chat each morning, without their respective spouses’ knowledge, of course. And not long after that, they were discovering the quiet pathways of the Ees, holding hands like a couple, while their dogs explored the surrounding forest.
It was on one of these walks that they found the body of a child.
Or rather, the Labrador discovered it, followed by the Jack Russell; the frenzied barking of the latter forcing the couple to leave the comfort of each other’s arms and discover why their dogs were so excited.
The woman, Shirley Burgess, led the way. ‘What’s the matter? Why such a racket?’ she shouted as she brushed aside a branch blocking her way.
‘Oh my God.’ Her hand went to her mouth and she stood there, transfixed.
The naked boy – he wasn’t more than seven years old – was lying on the ground with his arms stretched out at either side, his sightless eyes open and staring up at the sky, a kiss-curl of blond hair like a comma across his forehead. Around his neck, a snake of rope dug deep into the skin. By his side, his clothes were folded neatly as if coming straight from a laundry, the bright red of a United shirt lying on top.
‘Where are you, Shirl?’
Her lockdown lover, Jon Morgan, was pushing aside the same branch. ‘Jesus Christ.’
‘Is it alive?’ she asked, still not moving.
He took two steps and then leant forward, peering down. ‘I think he’s dead.’
The Labrador was wagging his tail and sniffing the lifeless head. ‘Come away, Major.’
The dog obeyed, returning to his master to be put back on the lead.
The woman called her dog too and, for once, he responded. ‘What are we going to do?’
The man checked over his shoulder. ‘I think I should call the police.’
‘I can’t be found here with you. My husband, he…’
‘Of course, you take your dog back and I’ll ring them. We can’t leave him lying here.’ He stared down at the boy.
‘You sure?’ she asked.
He nodded his head. ‘You go home. I’ll wait here for the police.’
She turned and pushed her way through the undergrowth, dragging the reluctant dog behind her, moving as fast as she could to escape.
She didn’t look back.
Jon Morgan waited until he could no longer hear her before he took out his mobile and rang 999.
‘Emergency Services. How can I help you?’
‘I think… I think I’ve found a dead body. It’s a young boy and he’s naked. You have to get here quickly.’
‘Where are you, sir?’
‘Chorlton Ees, not far from the school.’
‘And are you alone?’
The man looked over his shoulder. ‘Yes.’
‘The police are on their way. Their ETA is seven minutes.’
‘Should I go back to the main road?’
‘Are you sure the boy is dead?’
Jon Morgan looked down at the pale, almost white skin. There was something missing from it. That spark of life, that animation that everybody had. This boy looked more like a mannequin in a store than a human being.
‘He’s dead,’ he finally answered.
‘Please don’t touch anything, sir.’
‘I won’t.’
In the distance, he could hear the faint whine of a police siren.
Closer at hand, there was the screech of a hawk or an owl hunting for prey in the forest. Beside him, Major was gnawing at one of the Jack Russell’s toys, trying to get at the bell inside.
There was no sound from the boy.
Chapter 2
Detective Chief Inspector Paul Turnbull arrived at the
scene of the crime less than thirty minutes after the first call had been made by Jon Morgan.
The local coppers had done a good job; the first tapes were already going up and two plods had been posted on the lane leading to Chorlton Ees.
He quickly found the sergeant in charge, showing him his warrant card. ‘Right, I’m taking charge. Has the medical examiner been called?’
‘He’s on his way, sir.’
‘Who is it?’
‘A Dr Schofield, sir.’
‘Squeaky voice? Couldn’t we get someone else?’
They were both walking down the lane to the Ees, DI Harry Makepeace, DS Emily Parkinson and one of his new hires, DC Sam Arkwright, trailing in their wake.
‘He was the one on duty, sir,’ the sergeant answered.
‘Right, where’s the body?’
The sergeant pointed off to the left, towards a clump of trees. ‘Over there.’
‘Nobody’s touched it?’
‘No, sir.’
Turnbull did a 360-degree turn, taking in the surroundings. ‘Weird, you could almost be out in the country rather than the middle of Manchester. Who discovered the body?’
The sergeant checked his notes. ‘A dog, sir, Major by name.’
‘I’m not going to get much by interviewing a dog, am I, Sergeant?’ said Turnbull with heavy sarcasm and a roll of the eyes. ‘What’s the name of his owner?’
The sergeant checked his notes again. ‘It’s a Mr Morgan, he’s standing over there.’ He pointed off to the right towards a middle-aged man on his own, a docile Labrador on a lead chewing a toy at his feet.
Turnbull grunted once. ‘Sam, get on to the doctor and the CSI team, find out when they will arrive. Sergeant—?’
‘It’s Morrison, Sergeant Bob Morrison.’
‘Sergeant, extend the perimeter out to the top of the lane and start signing new arrivals in. This is a crime scene and you need to implement all the usual protocols.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Harry, you’re with me.’ He strode off towards the body.
‘What do you want me to do?’
Turnbull turned back as if noticing Emily Parkinson for the first time. ‘Check out what’s down there.’ He pointed airily down a path leading through the Ees to the river.
Turnbull ploughed through, pushing aside the branches of the trees in his way, letting them fall back against Harry Makepeace. Within six yards, they could see the outline of a body, lying in a small glade behind the trees.
They forced aside the last few branches and stepped into the edge of the glade.
They could see the body more clearly now. It was naked with two arms stretched out at either side like Jesus on the cross. The eyes were open, staring sightlessly up to the sky, and a rope was still wound around the small boy’s thin neck like a hemp collar.
Walking closer, they saw a neatly folded pile of clothes, the bright red of a United shirt lying on top with its red devil badge standing out clearly.
A horsefly landed on the white stomach for a moment, scratched its feelers and took two steps forward. Turnbull leant closer to the body and the fly took off, buzzing around heavily before being joined by another, both attracted to the dead body by the prospect of a possible feast.
‘How long do you think he’s been dead?’ asked Harry Makepeace.
Turnbull was now standing over the body, staring down at its face with the carefully combed hair draped across the forehead.
Before he could answer, a high-pitched voice shouted, ‘I’ll thank you to move away.’
Chapter 3
A man dressed in a white Tyvek suit with green edging stepped into the glade followed by another person.
‘Please move away, you are contaminating the crime scene.’
Turnbull reached for his warrant card. ‘I am Detective Chief Inspector—’
‘I don’t care if you are Little Lord Fauntleroy, this is my crime scene until I have certified the victim is dead and the crime scene manager, Audrey,’ the woman in the white suit raised her hand, ‘has cleared it. You are improperly dressed and should know better.’
‘I… I…’
Dr Schofield moved out of the way to let the detectives leave using the path they had created through the trees.
‘Come on, Harry, we’ll have a chat with the witness.’
‘You can make yourself useful by making sure there is an inner cordon at least fifty yards away from here. I want to make sure we have no more contamination.’
Turnbull grunted and pushed his way back through the trees, finding the sergeant and ordering him to set up an inner cordon.
The discoverer of the body, Jon Morgan, had moved and was now standing back on the path with his dog. He was frantically smoking, his eyes flickering left and right.
‘Mr Morgan?’
The man looked up.
‘I’m DCI Turnbull, I believe you discovered the body?’
The man nodded once before saying, ‘Actually, the dog discovered it. I heard him scrambling through the trees and making a whining sound. He doesn’t normally do that so I left the path and saw the body lying there. At first, I thought he was asleep so I went to wake him but then I saw the rope around his neck…’ He stopped talking and took a rapid tug at his cigarette.
‘Let’s just step back a moment, please, Mr Morgan. What time did you arrive here?’
‘About 8.15. I always walk the dog at this time. Just a habit we’ve started since lockdown. Means we both get some exercise at the start of the day. Keeps me sane.’ He glanced in the direction of the clump of trees. ‘Or at least it did until today.’
‘You came alone?’
A slight hesitation. ‘Yes, I drove here alone. My wife prefers to sleep in, as do my kids. I take the same route every day, parking on the main road, walking down the lane and onto the path to the river.’
‘And you discovered the body immediately?’
‘Not immediately, I started walking about eight thirty.’
‘Why did it take so long?’ asked Harry Makepeace.
‘Take so long?’
‘Before you started walking. Usually my dog is so excited when he’s in the back of the car and we get to the beginning of our walk.’
Jon Morgan’s eyes darted left and right, before he finally held up his hand with the cigarettes clamped between the index and middle fingers. ‘I had one of these. My wife hates me smoking in the house so I have to do it outside.’
‘I know how you feel,’ sighed Turnbull. ‘So you started walking at about eight thirty and ten minutes later Major started snuffling and whining in the undergrowth over there. You couldn’t see the body?’
‘Not from here. But I wondered why he was making so much noise, it’s not like him. So I went through the trees and saw it lying there.’ Another frantic tug at the end of his cigarette, expelling the smoke almost immediately into the warm air.
‘Did you see anybody else?’
Jon Morgan looked at him quizzically.
‘When you were walking. Did you see any other people?’
The man shook his head.
‘So there were no other dog walkers this morning?’ asked Harry Makepeace.
‘I don’t remember any. Why? Is it important?’
‘It’s just to see if there were any other witnesses, Mr Morgan,’ added Turnbull.
‘I don’t remember seeing anybody else.’
Emily Parkinson arrived back and hovered five yards away.
‘Right, Mr Morgan, if you would go with DI Makepeace, we need to take a statement from you.’
‘Is that necessary? My wife will be getting worried.’
‘I’m afraid it is, Mr Morgan. Perhaps you could call your wife and let her know you’ll be back late.’
‘Come this way, Mr Morgan, we’ll drive you to the station.’ Harry Makepeace ushered him towards the lane.
‘What about my car and the dog?’
‘If you give me the keys, one of our constables will drive it
back for you. As for the dog, bring him with you. We like Labradors at the station.’
Their voices trailed off as they walked away.
‘Where does the path lead, Parkinson?’
‘Down to the River Mersey, sir. It’s a T-junction with another path along the river.’
‘Right, the river will form the edge of our cordon. Can you get the sergeant to put one of his officers there to stop anybody coming from that direction?’
‘Yes, sir. There’s a bridge further along the river upstream.’
‘There usually is.’
Emily Parkinson raised her eyebrows. ‘Sorry, sir?’
‘A bridge. There usually are bridges across rivers. But just block the path. There’s no other way to get to our crime scene other than this path?’
‘I don’t think so, sir.’
‘You don’t think so or you know so?’
Emily Parkinson stayed silent.
‘Check it out. I want to be sure this is the only way to get to our crime scene.’
‘Yes, boss.’
As Emily walked away, Sam Arkwright came running up.
‘What is it?’ snarled Turnbull.
‘A boy was reported missing on Tuesday, boss.’
‘What’s the description?’
Arkwright checked his notebook. ‘David Carsley, aged seven, from Wythenshawe – last seen two days ago, on 21 July. Blond hair, tall for his age, thin build, wearing a United shirt and dark shorts.’
Turnbull glanced back towards the trees. ‘I think we’ve found him.’
Two Weeks Later
On the First Day
Tuesday, August 4
Chapter 4
Ridpath stared in the mirror, noticed a large lump of shaving cream dangling off his earlobe, and wiped it away with a towel.
He splashed on some Bulgari aftershave, the one Polly had given him last Christmas, and walked back to the bedroom.
The suit was hanging behind the door where he had put it last night, freshly dry-cleaned and pressed. It looked strange hanging there, an empty suit.
Isn’t that what they called business executives who were useless at their jobs? Empty suits. He wondered fleetingly if he had become one of those in the last six months.
He took a white shirt from the wardrobe, seeing Polly’s work clothes hanging next to it. Her special clothes, the ones she saved for interviews or for when the Ofsted inspectors visited her school.
