When the Evil Waits

by M J Lee

  ‘OK, Chrissy, I’ll read them both.’

  She passed over the files.

  ‘Great work, Chrissy.’

  ‘I aim to please.’

  A knock on the door, followed by another slightly louder. Sophia was standing in the doorway. ‘That was a friend of yours, Harry Makepeace, on the phone, Ridpath. I told him you were in a meeting, so he said to give you this message as soon as you were free.’

  ‘Thanks, Sophia, what was the message?’

  ‘It’s pretty short.’ She read from a note: ‘“I know you’re up to something so I thought I’d let you know. Turnbull is planning to take Michael Carsley into custody at four o’clock this afternoon. He’ll been taken to Wythenshawe police station to be interviewed prior to charges being laid.”’

  Chapter 40

  Ridpath decided it was more important to continue the investigation than get involved in Turnbull’s stupidities.

  ‘There’s no evidence of his involvement in his son’s abduction. The whole idea is preposterous – Turnbull is fishing, hoping to put pressure on and get a confession.’ Emily was incensed.

  ‘We need to stay focused, continue our investigation, ignore Turnbull.’

  Emily Parkinson shook her head. ‘They are getting desperate. There are no other suspects so they’re going for the ones nearest at hand.’

  ‘Most murders are committed by close relatives or neighbours.’

  ‘But for Michael Carsley to be the killer, it would mean he had sexually assaulted his own son.’

  ‘It’s a good motive for a murder.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Cover up a crime. Perhaps David threatened to report him.’

  ‘No way, Ridpath, I’m not buying it.’

  ‘You don’t have to. It’s CPS and Claire Trent that Turnbull has to convince.’

  They were standing in front of their respective cars. ‘Let’s concentrate on what we’re doing. Sod Turnbull. You leaving your car here?’

  ‘No chance. I’m not getting stuck like yesterday.’

  Ridpath shrugged his shoulders innocently. ‘You’d better follow me then.’

  They split up to go to their separate cars. Emily had just started the engine when she received a call from Ridpath.

  ‘I’m not sharing a car.’

  ‘It’s not that. I entered Chorlton Ees into the satnav.’

  ‘So? You can follow me if you don’t know the way.’

  ‘It’s only giving me two places to park, both south of the river.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Sale Water Park and a pub, Jackson’s Boat.’

  ‘There are no places north of the river. It’s only on-street parking.’

  ‘Follow me, let’s check them out.’

  Five minutes later they were both exiting the M60 onto Rifle Road, leading to the car park at Sale Water Park. The area was almost rural, with trees on either side of the lane and no houses. On the right, the tram line from the airport into the city centre ran parallel to the road. They stopped in front of the entrance and both of them got out of their cars.

  The car park was large, with a camera filming the number plate of every car that entered. Signs pointed in the direction of the man-made lake and a boathouse. A few cars were parked in the bays closest to the lake but, other than that, it was quiet.

  ‘This is too far away, Ridpath.’ Emily pointed towards the north. ‘If he parked here, he would have had to carry the body across the river to Chorlton Ees. It’s a walk of nearly a mile. And he’s not going to take the park-and-ride, is he?’

  ‘I agree. You’d better request the footage anyway, Emily.’

  As they stood there, a tram stopped at the station for a minute before accelerating quickly towards Central Manchester. Inside, a few lonely souls stared out of the windows, looking like mannequins in a shop window.

  ‘The next parking area is down Rifle Road, in a pub beside the Mersey called Jackson’s Boat.’ Ridpath got back inside his car, driving down the road followed by Emily. A minute later they reached the end of a cul-de-sac, fronting on the Mersey. Ridpath turned left and parked beside the pub.

  ‘Chorlton Ees is across that bridge and to the left,’ said Emily, winding down her window. Even though it was summer, there was a bitter wind racing down the river. She shivered.

  ‘How far?’

  ‘I’d guess about half a mile. Still a long way to walk.’

  ‘But if you were only carrying a child’s body? Not too difficult. Plus nobody would be around early in the morning.’

  ‘There’s that, though.’ Emily pointed upwards to a security camera on the wall of the pub, looking directly down into the car park.

  ‘Good. On our way back, we’ll ask the landlord for the footage.’

  ‘Where are we going now?’

  ‘To walk to Chorlton Ees.’

  Ridpath strode towards the pedestrian bridge over the Mersey. It was only wide enough for two people and painted an industrial green. Emily followed, trying to keep up with him, pulling on her coat and feeling the ache in her calves from yesterday’s cycling.

  They reached the other side and came to a concrete path leading in two ways. The signpost had directions but Ridpath preferred to ask Emily, ‘Which way?’

  She pointed left. ‘Chorlton Ees is that way. This path goes towards Didsbury.’

  ‘You know the area well?’

  ‘I used to go running round here. It can be a bit muddy after the rain but as you can see, it’s quiet and never too busy.’

  Ridpath looked around. It was peaceful. The gentle bubbling of water came from the River Mersey on his left, at the bottom of two high, steep banks. A few birds sang in the trees to the right but the whole area was devoid of people even though it was nearly one o’clock. ‘Does it ever get busy?’

  ‘Not really. At weekends, there are more people. Sunday afternoons there might be a crowd at the pub who go for a walk after lunch. But weekdays it’s quiet, with a few occasional dog walkers.’

  Ridpath strode along the path as it wound beside the Mersey until he reached a flight of steps leading down to a path through a water meadow.

  ‘Chorlton Ees Nature Park is over there,’ Emily said.

  ‘Where was the body found?’

  ‘In the trees to the right of the path.’ She pointed down a bare, earthen track about 100 yards away with a large clump of trees off to one side.

  Ridpath started walking with Emily trailing after him. He spotted the police tape easily, the fluorescent red and white clear against the green foliage.

  ‘Not far from the path.’

  ‘Slightly over twenty meters, according to the CSIs.’

  ‘But far enough to remain undiscovered for a long time.’

  ‘If the dogs hadn’t spotted it that morning.’

  Ridpath looked all around him, doing a 360-degree turn. ‘Where did Turnbull set up his operation?’

  ‘Back in Chorlton, on the green.’

  ‘And where did the man who discovered the body park?’

  ‘Near a school, also near the green over there, about 300 meters away.’

  ‘Did Turnbull search south of the river?’

  Emily shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. The search was concentrated in Chorlton. He saw the river as a boundary.’

  ‘A natural assumption, but as we can see, it’s not too far to walk. We did it in six minutes. We’d better check out the footage from the pub.’

  ‘I’ll ask the landlord.’

  ‘Can you also find out when the trams start running?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If I remember from one of my other cases, they have a camera in the cab to film in case there is an accident. You never know, it might have picked up something.’

  ‘OK, I’ll check them out.’

  Ridpath ran his fingers through his thinning hair. ‘Coming here has told me one thing, though. The killer was the same as you, Emily.’

  She frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

>   ‘He’s local, a runner maybe. Somebody who knows this area well. He hadn’t just come from Scotland.’

  Chapter 41

  After they walked back to Jackson’s Boat, Ridpath returned to the Coroner’s Office, while Emily stayed to contact the landlord.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘bloody thing hasn’t worked for two years, never got around to replacing it.’

  ‘Do you have any other cameras?’

  ‘There’s one in the bar.’

  ‘Does that one work?’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Sometimes.’

  She checked it out. It didn’t give any view onto the car park. ‘Thanks a bundle,’ she said sarcastically.

  Getting back in her car, she drove to Wythenshawe to find the places where she had spotted CCTV yesterday.

  The first shop said their camera was only a box with nothing in it. ‘It’s a deterrent, love, nothing actually works.’

  ‘Does it deter thieves?’

  ‘Not really. We were broken into last month.’

  She left him with a suggestion. ‘Perhaps if it was a real camera it would be more of a deterrent?’

  ‘Nothing to do with me, love, I just work here.’

  ‘Give me your name and address anyway.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘In case we need to contact you. I’ll send one of our security consultants to have a chat with you.’

  ‘Don’t bother. Like I said, I just work here.’ He gave her his name anyway.

  The second camera was working but the hard drive on which the images was stored wasn’t. ‘Give it to me anyway. Perhaps our techies can get something from it.’

  ‘But if I give it to you, how do I record anything?’

  ‘You’re not recording anything now, are you? We might be able to get it working for you.’

  ‘For free?’

  ‘Part of GMP’s customer service.’

  ‘Great,’ he said, handing it over.

  The third was an ATM in the side of a convenience store. She went inside and found a man standing behind the counter. She flashed her warrant card and said, ‘I’d like to see the footage from the ATM’s camera.’

  ‘Nowt to do with me. I get the rent for it being in my shop, plus it’s a service for the customers.’

  ‘So you’ve never looked at it?’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Why would I?’

  Why indeed? she thought. ‘Do you own this place?’

  The man shook his head. ‘Rent it. The owner lives in Spain. Went for a couple of weeks and decided never to come back.’

  Emily looked around the pokey shop. ‘Can’t say I blame him. And your name is…?’

  ‘Matthew, Matthew Oram.’

  ‘You live here?’

  ‘Not far away, in Sharston.’

  She took down the address. ‘How do I get hold of the footage?’

  Matthew Oram shrugged his shoulders. ‘I dunno. There’s a customer service number next to the ATM, you could call that.’

  Emily walked outside to the ATM. Above the hole in the wall was a small plaque with a number in case the ATM wasn’t working. She rang it and reached a call centre somewhere in India.

  ‘I’m ringing about an ATM at a convenience store in Wythenshawe.’

  ‘What’s the machine number?’ a bored voice said on the other end of the phone.

  Emily looked everywhere but couldn’t see anything. ‘What machine number?’

  The voice became even more bored. ‘There’s a code number on the top right of the machine.’

  Emily checked and there it was, almost indistinct. ‘It’s 4768930 – 423.’

  ‘OK, it’s one of the older machines. What seems to be the problem?’

  ‘This is DS Emily Parkinson of Greater Manchester Police, I’d like to access the CCTV camera next to the machine.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s possible.’

  ‘You don’t understand, this is a murder enquiry and I need to access the footage on the camera.’

  ‘I’ll talk to my supervisor.’

  Emily waited on the phone for five minutes, listening to some inane voice crooning ‘My Way’.

  Finally, the same person came back on the phone. ‘I’ve spoken to my advisor. Accessing the camera is not possible. It’s sealed.’

  ‘I know it’s sealed – I need to access the hard drive where the images are stored.’

  ‘I’ll have to speak to my supervisor.’

  Again, a wait, shorter this time, but not much.

  ‘Accessing the hard drive is not possible, it’s sealed.’

  ‘Can I speak to your supervisor?’

  ‘Let me talk to my supervisor.’

  Emily mouthed the words before the man had finished saying them. A minute later a woman came on the phone. ‘Hello, how can I help?’

  Emily went through the whole rigmarole again, desperately trying to keep the impatience from her voice. After being reminded that the unit was sealed for the fourth time, she had a brainwave, remembering a piece of advice from her dad. ‘When dealing with jobsworths always ask them what the company policy is.’ She formulated the question in her mind. ‘What is the company policy for accessing ATMs with broken cameras?’

  ‘Let me check the manual.’ Five minutes later: ‘We’re supposed to refer that information to our security department in England.’

  She punched the air. ‘Can I have that telephone number?’

  ‘Certainly, just a minute.’ The supervisor seemed inordinately happy to pass her onto somebody else. She came back ten seconds later. ‘The number is in the UK.’

  Emily wrote it down, dialling as soon as she had rung off from India. She was immediately put through to the head of security, Brian Carter.

  ‘My name is DS Emily Parkinson of Greater Manchester Police, I’d like the footage from one of your security cameras, number 4768930 – 423.’

  ‘Why do you need it?’

  She rolled her eyes. This was becoming annoying. ‘It could provide useful information for an investigation… a murder investigation,’ she added.

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘No problem. What was the number again?’

  ‘The camera is in a convenience store in Wythenshawe, number 4768930 – 423.’

  ‘OK. What do you need?’

  ‘Footage from two weeks ago – 21 July, from one to two p.m. On second thoughts, you’d better give me the whole day, just in case.’

  ‘OK. It’s one of the older machines with a separate camera. I’ll download it from the hard drive and send you a link if you give me your address. It’s going to be a big file, so I’ll compress it and send it in different packets.’

  Emily gave him her work email.

  ‘It’s probably easier if I send it direct to your techies, otherwise it might get stuck in your server.’

  ‘I don’t have their email now as I’m at the convenience store.’

  ‘OK, I’ll send you my email and you can forward me the address later.’

  ‘That sounds too easy.’

  ‘I used to be a copper myself. We get lots of enquiries for CCTV footage from the ATMs, I’m afraid it’s not the best quality and the cameras are fixed.’

  ‘Well, it’s a long shot for us but if you don’t look, you don’t find.’

  ‘You sound like my ex-boss. Good luck with the investigation.’

  The phone clicked off.

  Finally something was going right. Now she had to convince the techies to look at it without letting Turnbull know.

  She crossed her fingers. Easier said than done.

  Chapter 42

  Ridpath met the new assistant coroner, Helen Moore, as he was going into the Coroner’s Office and she was coming out.

  ‘Hi there, I wanted to have a chat since our meeting, but I haven’t seen you around much.’

  ‘I’m on secondment from GMP, and still have to do work there. How are you settling in?’

  ‘Not bad,’ she smile
d and leant in towards him, ‘but between you, me and the lamppost, Mrs Challinor scares me a little, she’s so stern. Does she ever let her hair down?’

  ‘I’m sure she does, but not when she’s at work.’ He pointed up the steps. ‘I need to get in, I’m late again.’

  ‘I’m off for a coffee, do you want to come for one?’

  ‘Perhaps another time, Helen, I really need to go in.’

  ‘OK, no worries – but all work and no play makes Tom an awfully dull boy.’

  Ridpath climbed the steps to the office. Was she flirting with him? Surely somebody must have told her about Polly? He shook his head. The last thing he needed at the moment was an entanglement.

  Sophia was waiting for him. ‘The man of my dreams… actually more like nightmares. We have a shitload of work to get through, Ridpath.’

  ‘Great, set it up, Sophia, I’ll have a quick chat with Mrs Challinor.’

  He knocked on the office door and heard a loud ‘Come.’

  Mrs Challinor was in her usual position; sat at her desk, poring over a case file. ‘Ah, Ridpath, the man I want to see.’

  ‘I seem to be in demand at the moment.’

  ‘I wanted to ask you how the investigation is going? You’re due to report back to Claire Trent tomorrow?’

  ‘That’s why I wanted to update you. Our client, Michael Carsley, is going to be taken into custody for questioning.’

  Her eyebrows rose, touching her grey hair. ‘Really? I was told this morning that the undertaker had already removed the body from the mortuary and taken it back to his funeral home.’

  ‘He’s not been charged with anything yet, but apparently there are anomalies in his statement.’

  ‘You’ve met the man, Ridpath, do you think he murdered his own son?’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. There’s something not right there. The pathologist found bruising on the boy’s arms and the mother is scared of even meeting Michael Carsley, but I don’t think he murdered the boy.’

  ‘Will he be charged?’

  ‘I don’t know. There has to be enough evidence to convince the Crown Prosecution Service. I don’t think Turnbull has the evidence.’