When the Evil Waits

by M J Lee

  ‘I’m coming to that, Julie.’ She paused. ‘Yesterday, we had to release Michael Carsley because three new pieces of evidence were discovered.’

  Ridpath noticed the passive voice again. They were obviously not going to be credited. Emily looked around for the first time, noticed him standing against the wall, and turned back quickly without acknowledging his existence.

  Claire Trent switched on her laptop and connected it to the television. A still picture of Daniel Carsley appeared on the screen. She pressed play, adjusting the volume. Daniel and Emily’s voices came over loud and clear as he described inventing the man.

  ‘Because when we talked to Tony Greene, he said you never left the basketball court. You stayed there all the time playing the game. Did you run across to David?’

  Daniel Carsley stared down at his feet and shook his head.

  ‘I’m sorry, Dan, I’ve got to hear your answer.’

  ‘No,’ he said quietly.

  ‘You didn’t run across to talk to a man, did you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you see a man?’

  ‘No.’

  The video stopped and Claire Trent looked across the assembled heads of the detectives of MIT.

  ‘But that means all the work with the photofit, splashing it across newspapers, going door-to-door was a waste of time?’

  Claire Trent glanced at Paul Turnbull. ‘Yes, it was, Harry.’

  ‘There was no man? The boy made it up? Why?’

  ‘I think it was because he felt guilty at letting his father and his brother down. He invented a story which made it appear as if he was less culpable.’ Ridpath spoke for the first time.

  ‘And wasted two weeks of police time,’ grunted Turnbull.

  Claire Trent ignored him. ‘Explanations or justifications for what he did don’t matter any more. It happened, we need to move on. Understand?’

  The detectives nodded.

  Claire Trent returned to her laptop. ‘The second piece of evidence was captured from an ATM at a convenience store.’ She played the footage of David’s abduction, ending the tape by freeze-framing on the white car. ‘This occurred at the same time as David disappeared. We believe this is footage of the abduction.’

  Another question came from Alan Parker. ‘Are we sure this is David Carsley?’

  ‘The ID was confirmed last night by his brother.’

  ‘The same brother who had lied to us previously…’ said Turnbull, ‘…and yet we believe him this time.’

  ‘Having seen the footage, I believe he is telling the truth,’ said Claire Trent. You could cut the tension between the two with a blunt knife. It was Turnbull who looked away first.

  Claire Trent stabbed the screen of her laptop with an elegantly painted nail. ‘We need to find this white car, people. Harry, I want you to work with Phil Reynolds in CCTV. This is priority. It takes precedence over everything else.’

  She played the footage from the tram. ‘This was taken at 6.23 on the morning of 23 July near the tram station at Sale Water Park. David’s body was discovered on the other side of the river in Chorlton Ees. We believe it is the same car as the one on the abduction tape.’

  ‘But we didn’t search across the river.’

  ‘Exactly, Julie, that’s why I want you to expand the search area to include the Mersey, the area around Jackson’s Boat and Sale Water Park.’

  ‘But… but… It’s been two weeks, boss, and that area is immense.’

  ‘It has to be done, Julie. Make it happen.’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘The observant among you will notice that both Sale Water Park and Wythenshawe Park are on the same tram line to the airport in one direction and the City Centre in the other. Does our perp take the tram to work? Or use it regularly? Tomorrow we will question every commuter on the line between seven and nine a.m. asking them if they noticed anything unusual. I’ve also asked Greater Manchester Passenger Transport Executive for help. Alan, you will co-ordinate this work.’

  ‘Yes, boss. Resources?’

  ‘The uniformed branch will provide and there’s no problem with the overtime.’

  An unknown voice from the back said, ‘The plods will be happy.’ This was followed by laughter.

  ‘This is not a matter to joke about,’ snarled Claire Trent. ‘We have a seven-year-old child who has been abducted and murdered and his body dumped in a park. Worse, the criminal profiler is convinced the killer will strike again.’ She paused, taking two deep breaths and regaining control. ‘After more than two weeks’ work, we don’t have a single suspect.’

  She let her message sink in then continued, ‘We are on our last legs, people. The powers that be have given us three more days to sort this out and find our perp. If we don’t, they’re gonna bring in some “specialists” from the Met and the National Crime Agency to “assist” us. We all know what that means. I’m not having some wankers from London coming here telling me how to do my job. I’ve promised our bosses I’ll have this sorted in three days.’ She paused again, standing up straight and staring at each detective individually. ‘You all know me, I don’t make promises easily. Right, you know what to do. Get out and do your jobs. We meet again at six this evening to regroup. Ridpath – in my office. Now.’

  She walked towards the door and then stopped in the entrance. ‘I want this perp caught. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, gaffer,’ came the instant reply from the detectives.

  Chapter 76

  He’d finally worked out what to do. He couldn’t wait for an opportunity to arise any longer, the need was too great inside of him.

  A hunger, a terrible hunger, needing to be sated.

  The visit to the cinema earlier in the week had given him the idea. On Sundays there would be plenty of families there but not too many. The social distancing rules were still in place.

  He had scouted the area yesterday. There was somewhere to park the Corsa within easy walking distance of the cinema. If somebody asked, his son was feeling sick and needed to go home.

  He’d checked for CCTV. There was none in the parking area. Workmen were digging up the street nearby but they weren’t likely to be working on a Sunday. He’d take a quick look around to make sure.

  It meant he wouldn’t have as much control over the victim as he’d like but beggars couldn’t be choosers, as his mother used to say.

  He wouldn’t rush his time with the boy, whoever he was.

  There was no need to rush.

  Not any more.

  Chapter 77

  On his way to Claire Trent’s office, he was accosted by Paul Turnbull, who had obviously been lying in wait to ambush him.

  ‘Don’t you ever cut me off again like that, toerag.’

  ‘I just did my job – you should have done yours.’

  ‘You should have done yours, sir.’

  ‘Of course… sir.’

  Ridpath found himself pushed against the wall, looking down at the bald head of the smaller man. ‘You’re not fit to lick my boots. You should have come to me with your new evidence.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have believed it.’

  ‘Wouldn’t I?’

  Ridpath shrugged him off. ‘You were too convinced that Michael Carsley was guilty.’

  ‘He was guilty. He is guilty, I know it.’

  ‘You’re right, he is guilty. He took the blame for something his wife did in Scotland and he’s guilty of being unable to bring up his family in Manchester. But you know what…’

  ‘I’m sure you’re going to tell me.’

  Ridpath jabbed his finger in Turnbull’s chest. ‘I’d rather have ten of him than one of you. And one more thing, if you ever touch me again, I’ll have you up before Professional Standards quicker than a Manchester bus goes back to the depot.’

  Turnbull stared back at him. ‘I’m going to get you, Ridpath. It won’t be today, it might not be tomorrow, but one day, when you’re least expecting it, I’ll grind you down till there’s nothing left b
ut a couple of hairs on your chin. Everybody feels sorry for you because your wife was murdered, but I don’t care. I don’t like you, I don’t like the way you work and I don’t like your attitude. Now, piss off and see your fancy woman. I know you two have a past, and I’m going to find out what it is sooner or later. When I do, I’m warning you, I’ll take both of you out.’

  He adjusted his tie, smoothed down his non-existent hair and walked away. ‘Remember, one day…’

  Still gritting his teeth, Ridpath knocked on Claire Trent’s door. He’d have to think about Turnbull later. The last thing he needed was a senior officer determined to make his life miserable.

  ‘Come,’ he heard, and entered.

  ‘Sit down.’ She pointed to a chair in front of her. He sat down and she continued.

  ‘As you can guess, Paul Turnbull wasn’t too chuffed when I showed him your evidence last night.’

  ‘I know.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, how?’

  Ridpath wasn’t going to grass on a senior officer even if the man was an arsehole. ‘It doesn’t take a detective to work it out.’

  She frowned. ‘Nothing else?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Right, well I would steer clear of him for a while.’

  ‘I intend to. Listen, boss, I’d like to go to Liverpool today if that’s OK with you?’

  ‘Liverpool?’

  ‘HOLMES flagged up a link to the murder of a young boy there six weeks ago.’

  She frowned again. ‘I remember, Turnbull checked it out. The MO was completely different – the boy in Liverpool was stabbed – plus the Scousers already arrested somebody.’

  ‘I want to check it out. I can’t believe there are two separate child-killers operating less than thirty-five miles apart, at the same time, both dumping their bodies in a park.’

  ‘The Liverpool victim was dumped in a park?’

  Ridpath nodded. ‘The body wasn’t posed like David Carsley, though.’

  ‘Another difference?’

  ‘I know, but I still think it needs to be checked out.’

  ‘I was going to ask you to supervise the Situation Room, co-ordinate any new info that comes in. You have a knack for making links when they are not obvious.’

  ‘Emily or Chrissy could do the job just as well, boss, probably better. I still want to go to Liverpool.’

  ‘Very well, but I want to see you back here before six for this evening’s meeting. I’m sure it’s like Peter Sutcliffe; we have the answer somewhere in our files, we just haven’t made the links yet.’

  Ridpath stood up. ‘I’d better get going.’

  ‘You’re sure you don’t want to tell me anything about Paul Turnbull?’

  ‘Quite sure, boss.’ He placed his middle finger on top of his index finger. ‘Me and Paul, best mates.’

  Claire Trent sighed, returning her gaze to the cost sheets spread out on her table. ‘Let me know if you find out anything in Liverpool, Ridpath. Remember, no surprises, OK?’

  ‘Last thing I’d ever do, boss, is surprise you.’

  ‘Unfortunately, you have form, Ridpath. Heed this warning. No. More. Surprises.’ She enunciated each word slowly and distinctly.

  Claire Trent was the second person who had given him a warning in the last five minutes.

  He wondered if the universe was trying to tell him something.

  Chapter 78

  Ridpath arrived in Liverpool just over an hour after he left Claire Trent, parking in front of a dour brown brick building on the waterfront beside the docks. As ever in Liverpool, despite it being summer, a bracing breeze was racing in from the Irish Sea across the city. Ridpath pulled his jacket around him and ran from the car park to the building.

  After going through the usual Covid-19 formalities he was taken up to the third floor and placed in a meeting room. The furniture was the same MDF specials found in any police station in any district of England. He felt immediately at home.

  ‘I’m DI Fitzgerald, but most people call me Fitz.’ The detective stuck out his hand and immediately retracted it to touch elbows. ‘How the world has changed in only six months, hey.’ He had a broad Liverpool accent, warm and friendly, so different from the Manchester whine, with the ‘th’ becoming a heavy ‘d’.

  ‘What do you mean? Two coppers from Liverpool and Manchester actually meeting and trying to shake hands?’

  ‘Yeah, that as well. You’re DI Ridpath?’

  ‘That’s me,’ he said, handing over his card.

  ‘Major Investigation Team? We have Matrix units here.’ The irony was heavier than the accent.

  ‘Same job, different words.’

  ‘Tell me about it. The job never changes; we collect evidence, arrest the bad guys, and sit back while the courts screw up. Next year, there’ll be new buzzwords to learn.’

  Ridpath liked him, a man after his own heart and one who didn’t waste time on small talk.

  ‘You’re here about the McCarthy murder?’

  ‘A young boy found in…’ Ridpath rechecked his notes, ‘…Festival Gardens. Where is that?’

  ‘Along the river, south of here. The lad, Alan McCarthy, was found on 18 June at four p.m., stabbed twice through the heart. We think he’d been abducted about three hours before.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘His mum sent him out for some sweets from the local shop just before one o’clock. When he didn’t return after an hour, she went out looking for him, checking with the other local kids. Nobody had seen him. They went frantic looking for him and reported his disappearance to us, at the same time as one of our patrols had been alerted there was a body in Festival Gardens.’

  The coincidence of the timing set off alarm bells in Ridpath’s head. Was this an opportunistic abduction or was it more planned? Did the murderer stalk the victims or was he acting on impulse?

  He dismissed the thought for a moment and asked, ‘How old was he?’

  ‘Seven.’

  Ridpath stared out of the window at the dock buildings beside the Mersey. They had once been trading with the world and were now tourist traps and high-end apartments for footballers.

  ‘Why are you so interested in this case? We already found our perp. He’s on remand in Walton.’

  Ridpath tilted his head. ‘The name came up on HOLMES…’

  Fitzgerald laughed. ‘Lots of crap comes up on that.’

  He was an old-school copper. ‘Sometimes, some of it is actually useful.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Anyway, the name came up as we were investigating the abduction and murder of another seven-year-old in Manchester.’

  ‘The David Carsley case?’

  Ridpath’s eyebrows rose. ‘You know about that?’

  Fitzgerald laughed again. ‘We’re not actually backward in Liverpool. Some of us can read, too, joined-up words and even newspapers.’

  ‘Sorry, that came out wrong.’

  ‘Don’t worry, we’re used to it from Manchester coppers.’

  ‘Anyway, there are similarities in the case.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘The abduction and murder of a child, the location of the body in a park. A location close to the River Mersey.’ Ridpath had just thought of the last one.

  ‘True, but there are a lot of differences too. My child was stabbed, yours was strangled. Mine was found almost immediately and yours wasn’t found for over a day. My body was dumped and yours was posed. You want me to go on? The biggest difference is we’ve caught our perp and he’s confessed. Your guy is still on the loose and will probably strike again.’

  Ridpath was impressed. The man had done his homework. But when he thought about it, it was exactly what he would have done in similar circumstances.

  ‘How did you find your man?’

  ‘He was sleeping rough in the park, still had the knife with the child’s blood on it when we picked him up. He had a history of child sex offences. Open and shut case.’

  ‘He confesse
d straight away?’

  The detective shook his head. ‘Said he found the knife at first, but changed his story later and coughed to the killing.’

  ‘How did he move the child from the area around the sweet shop to the park?’

  Fitzgerald smiled. ‘Good question. It’s the one thing we haven’t worked out yet.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘He said they walked.’

  ‘How far is it?’

  ‘Not far, less than a mile.’

  ‘Any CCTV footage?’

  ‘None, we don’t have as many as Manchester.’

  ‘Did anybody see them together?’

  He shook his head again. ‘Nobody has come forward. We even recreated the crime for the Liverpool Echo but still nobody remembered seeing them together.’

  ‘Seems strange.’

  ‘After Jamie Bulger people aren’t so keen to say they saw a child and did nothing.’

  Ridpath remembered the case. A young child abducted by two ten-year-olds and walked around Liverpool for nearly three hours. Thirty-eight people came forward to say they had seen them together but the ten-year-olds lied, telling them they were taking him to a police station, and nobody intervened.

  ‘Could I see where the body was found?’

  ‘Aye, you could. You want me to take you?’

  ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’

  Fitzgerald stood up and began walking towards the door. ‘Sure, why would it be any trouble. I only have three muggings, a stabbing and a security van robbery on my slate.’

  ‘Look, I know what it’s like, I’m a copper too. Somebody from out of town comes in and expects to be driven around. I’ll grab a cab.’

  Fitzgerald stopped. ‘No, honestly, it’s not a problem. If you don’t mind eating lunch in the car, it’s only ten minutes away. It’s toad-in-the-hole day in the canteen and we can grab some Wet Nelly on the way back.’

  ‘Wet Nelly?’

  ‘It’s a dessert, with fruit and nuts and custard. You’ve never had Wet Nelly before?’

  ‘Not in Manchester. We’re the land of Eccles Cakes, Holland’s Pies and Vimto, remember?’

  Fitzgerald took his arm. ‘You’re in for a treat, mate.’