When the Guilty Cry

by M J Lee

  He imagined Charlie Whittaker sitting opposite him, checking his work.

  ‘What are your assumptions, Ridpath? Assumptions in a case like this are bastards, they always lead you astray. What have you assumed, which may or may not have been true?’

  ‘We assumed—’

  ‘No, no, no, get it right, take responsibility. What have you assumed?’

  Charlie was right. What had he assumed? He checked the list he’d made last night and began writing.

  He’d assumed the case was linked to Daisy House. Was it? Or was there another reason people were being killed? Why had he made that assumption?

  The hands were found there, and the people who were missing were all connected to the children’s home.

  But were they?

  Ridpath thought for a moment, imagining his answer. They were all connected, except Gerald Duffy. We never found a connection to him.

  Right. There might be another reason.

  What else had he assumed?

  The backpack we found containing the hands belonged to Jane Ryder. What if didn’t? What if it was a knock-off? He’d assumed it was the limited edition. But didn’t the father say he had bought it for Jane, and he didn’t he ID it? He checked the notes. He was sure the backpack belonged to Jane Ryder.

  What was his biggest assumption?

  He racked his brain for the answer, and then a tiny idea wheedled its way in like a sharp stiletto piercing thin skin.

  He’d always assumed Jane Ryder was dead.

  Why?

  Because it was his frame of reference, his brief when he started the case. She was presumed to be dead. Nobody had seen or heard from her in over eleven years.

  But what if she was still alive?

  As the ramifications of the question swirled around his mind, his phone beeped. It was a text message from Emily Parkinson.

  Get me out of here.

  He replied:

  That bad?

  Worse. We’re going through every child who ever was a resident at Daisy House.

  He got the records?

  Needed a court order. I’m going to be here until the next millennium. How u?

  OK. Been through the files, checking assumptions. What if Jane Ryder isn’t dead?

  WHAT???!!!???

  How’s the search for Patricia Patterson?

  Found the car dumped in a garden centre in Irlam, of all places. Oliver checking their CCTV. His eyes are going square.

  It’s important to find her. Did you check on Adam Jones?

  No time. Turnbull has me going thru the children’s home residents.

  Check him. Call prison. Did he call anybody after we left? Get the transcripts if he did. They record all outgoing calls.

  Will try. Gotta go. Turnbull staring at me.

  Ring me when you get the answer from the prison, Em. It’s important.

  Ridpath put down the phone and took another long swallow of the Macallan, savouring the taste of bitter honey as it slipped down his throat.

  He picked up the picture of the Mad Ferret Festival in 2009. What had Adam Jones said? ‘If your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. For it is better you lose one of your members than that your whole body go into hell’. Did it all start here?

  The key was Jane Ryder and Adam Jones, he was sure of it now.

  But was it too late?

  Had he been too slow working it all out?

  He ran his fingers through his hair. Patricia Patterson was in serious danger. Perhaps she was the person who knew the truth, and that’s why she had vanished. Or she had been vanished.

  He had to get Turnbull to focus on her. He had to try one more time.

  He dialled the number.

  ‘DCI Turnbull.’

  It was typical of the man to answer with his rank.

  ‘It’s Ridpath.’

  ‘I told you to go home and forget about the case.’

  ‘I am at home, but I can’t forget about the case. I think Patricia Patterson is in serious danger. Somehow she is linked to Adam Jones and Jane Ryder. The case isn’t about the children’s home, it’s about Jones and Ryder.’

  ‘Another one of your bloody hunches, Ridpath. You’re at home nice and cosy, no doubt having a glass of whisky, while the rest of the team is working hard to clean up your mess.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Listen to this.’ Ridpath could hear the sound of voices and printers. ‘That’s your colleagues still working on a Sunday night.’

  ‘But you have to find Patricia Patterson, I think she’s involved somehow.’

  ‘Somehow? I’m supposed to drop everything because you guess she is somehow involved? Go back to your whisky, Ridpath. Patricia Patterson is one of the leads we are following. I have work to do, so goodnight.’

  The phone went dead.

  MONDAY

  THE INQUEST

  Chapter 89

  Ridpath stared out over the Coroner’s Court. The witnesses were assembled and the legal representatives for Greater Manchester Police and the council were behind their desks.

  He hadn’t slept at all last night, tossing and turning through the night, haunted by images from the investigation.

  Had he done everything right?

  Had he missed something important?

  Could he have done more?

  Even worse, he had developed a headache from lack of sleep, the continuous pounding in his head an annoyance. Two aspirin had only seemed to make it worse.

  He’d still heard nothing from Emily. Why didn’t she call him?

  As Jenny banged the gavel on her table, the door at the back of the court opened and Mrs Challinor entered.

  Ridpath moved to take his place standing by the door. Still the feeling of disquiet lingered like a bad smell in a bouquet of fresh flowers. Would he have to take part in this drama after all? He hoped not.

  The buzz around the court ceased and Mrs Challinor began speaking.

  ‘This inquest is now open regarding the disappearance of Jane Ryder in 2009 and the application from the family for a presumption of death certificate by the Coronal Service. The inquest has been called by the terms of the Coroners Act 1988, section fifteen, and the Presumption of Death Act 2013, both of which allow for such a certificate to be issued if there is no possibility the person involved, in this case Jane Ryder, is still alive.’ She paused for a moment, looking around the court. ‘We will hear evidence from witnesses to help us decide if Jane Ryder can indeed be presumed dead.’

  Mr Ryder, sitting in front of her, sighed audibly, his shoulders hunched, and he rocked back and forth.

  ‘Throughout these proceedings, the Covid guidelines established by the chief coroner will apply, including the giving of evidence in person and on camera by witnesses. The family is represented by Mr James Ryder, parent of the missing girl. Greater Manchester Police is represented by Mr Jonathan Spielman, while Mrs Jennifer Harris represents Manchester City Council.’

  On hearing their names, the legal representatives rose slightly and bowed the heads.

  ‘A reminder for everyone. This is an inquest, not a court of law. Our job… my job… is to discover the truth, not to apportion blame or to discover who may, or may not, have abducted or murdered Jane Ryder.’

  Another audible sigh from Mr Ryder.

  Mrs Challinor carried on. ‘We have one focus and one focus only. It is simply to ascertain to the best of our abilities whether this young girl, sixteen as she was in 2009, is still alive.’

  At the back of the court in the public gallery, somebody had risen from their chair. From where he was standing, Ridpath couldn’t see who it was.

  Mrs Challinor raised her head and stared at the person. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

  Ridpath craned his neck forward, looking for the person who had stood up.

  ‘No, but I think I can help you.’

  Ridpath recognised the woman from the inquest last Friday, the raven-haired woman who had been
attacked on the stairs. What was she doing here? And why was she speaking?

  ‘I’m sorry, but this is an inquest, we do not allow interventions from the floor or the public gallery.’

  ‘But I can save you a lot of time. I am Jane Ryder…’

  Chapter 90

  The Coroner’s Court descended into chaos in less than a second.

  In the public gallery, chairs were scraped back as people stood up. The reporters were shouting, ‘What did she say?’ Mrs Challinor was banging her gavel and demanding silence. Jenny Oldfield was waving her arms in the air. The witnesses were asking each other what had happened. Even Mr Ryder had turned around, staring hard at the person who claimed to be his daughter.

  The only person who stood still, quiet and self-possessed, was Jane Ryder, a slight smile perched on her lips.

  Ridpath moved forward quickly. The woman’s hair was a different colour and she was much older, but perhaps there was the same smile he had seen in the photo of Jane Ryder, the same mischievous glint in the eyes.

  Gradually, Mrs Challinor regained control of her court. ‘Jenny, can you please swear this woman in as a witness.’

  ‘Now, Coroner?’

  ‘Immediately, Jenny. Ridpath, please escort the witness.’

  Ridpath gestured for the woman to step forward and take a seat in the witness box. She walked with her head held high, striding elegantly to the chair with her back straight. He stood next to her as Jenny came with the oath cards and a Bible.

  Without any hesitation, the woman laid her hand on the Bible and said, ‘I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. As God is my witness.’

  Mrs Challinor waited for the buzz around the court to subside again before asking, ‘Could you tell the court your name?’

  The answer when it came was clear and confident. ‘My name is Jane Ryder, but for over eleven years, since 2009, I have been living under the assumed name of Barbara Abbott.’

  Ridpath remembered this was the name Adam Jones had given him. Had the man been telling the truth the whole time?

  ‘You are Jane Ryder?’ Mrs Challinor asked, a note of doubt in her voice.

  ‘Correct. The surname was given to me by my adopted parents, James and Maureen Ryder. I believe my birth name was Bennett, but I’m not certain.’

  James Ryder stared at the woman in the dock, his mouth open slightly.

  ‘Why should we believe you are Jane Ryder? Nothing has been heard from her since she disappeared in 2009.’

  ‘What can I tell you to make you believe me? I went to the Mad Ferret Festival and decided on that day, June 12, I was never going back home.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I met somebody I loved and who loved me. I met my God.’ A slight pause, and a glance up to the ceiling before she continued. ‘I’d been unhappy for a long time. Meeting him was the turning point in my life. For the first time, I understood what I needed to do to serve God.’

  ‘I’m sorry, could you explain?’

  ‘I met Him. Adam explained to me that to truly serve God we had to throw off the shackles of the past in whatever way we could. We had to become his handmaidens, serving only Him and His wishes, not bound by earthly attachments to parents, friends, money or possessions.’

  ‘Adam?’

  ‘The leader of our group. Our guardian, our guide.’

  ‘Adam Jones?’ asked Ridpath.

  The woman nodded. ‘Through Adam we could see God, be part of His creation. Follow His path, obey his laws and His commands.’

  ‘You know this man, Ridpath?’

  ‘I do, Coroner. He’s currently serving ten years in Strangeways for the abduction of a young girl.’

  ‘She broke our law, she broke God’s law.’

  ‘Jane?’

  James Ryder’s voice was weak and uncertain.

  For the first time, the woman turned to her adoptive father. ‘I’m truly sorry for not contacting you, James, for not letting you know what I was doing or why I was doing it. But I had to cut off all my contacts, it was the only way I could be free to serve Him.’

  The old man stood up slowly and staggered towards the witness box with his arms held out. ‘Jane,’ he whispered.

  Chapter 91

  As the old man hugged his daughter, the coroner pounded her gavel, announcing, ‘This presumption of death inquest is now adjourned pending the results of the coroner’s investigation into the identity of this young woman. Mr Ridpath, please escort her and Mr Ryder to my office.’

  The coroner stood up and exited through her door at the back. Ridpath made his way to the witness box. As he passed Turnbull, the man sneered, ‘See, I told you she was nothing to do with it. But you wouldn’t listen. You never listen.’

  Ridpath ignored him, approaching the old man. ‘Mr Ryder and Miss…’

  ‘You can call me Barbara, Barbara Abbott, it’s the name I prefer now.’

  ‘If you could both come this way.’

  He checked over this shoulder. A press gang of reporters was jostling around the doorway, waiting for them to come out.

  ‘Let’s go the back way.’

  He led them out past the coroner’s desk and through the door she had previously exited, down the stairs to the administrative area.

  Mrs Challinor was waiting for them with Sophia. ‘Please put Mr Ryder and his daughter in my office, Ridpath, I’m sure you have lots to talk about.’

  ‘We do, Mrs Challinor, and thank you for finding my daughter.’

  ‘I didn’t find her, Mr Ryder. I think my staff did.’

  ‘Actually, I saw the article in the paper yesterday and decided to come this morning. The separation had gone on far too long.’ She put her arm around the old man’s shoulder. ‘Come on, James, we have lots to talk about. I have so much to tell you.’

  ‘I need to interview you, Ms Abbott. There are questions about your disappearance and other matters we need to straighten out.’

  Mrs Challinor stepped forward. ‘I’m sure your questions can wait until tomorrow, Ridpath, a father and his daughter have more important matters to discuss.’

  ‘But, Coroner—’

  ‘I’m sure it can wait one day, can’t it?’

  Ridpath nodded. At least a day would give him time to work it all out in his head. Had he got it totally wrong? Did Jane Ryder have nothing to do with the hands found in the backpack? Perhaps it had been stolen from her? Hadn’t she said she renounced all her possessions? Perhaps she had given it away?

  He needed to find out the truth of what had happened in 2009.

  As the father and daughter walked arm and arm into Mrs Challinor’s office, his phone buzzed with a text message. It was Emily.

  I have something. Can you talk?

  Chapter 92

  He ran down the stairs and out onto the main road, dialling Emily’s number.

  ‘Hi, Em, what do you have?’

  ‘Turnbull hasn’t been here this morning so I was finally able to get on to the governor of Strangeways.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You were right, Adam Jones did make a call immediately after we left the prison. It was to a number in Manchester.’

  ‘Did they send you a transcript of the conversation?’

  ‘Yeah, but I don’t understand it.’

  ‘Read it to me.’

  ‘OK, Here goes:

  Jones: I’ll make this short. We need to get rid of the garbage from the farm. Understand?

  Woman: When, Matthew?

  Jones: As soon as possible. It could produce a bad smell.

  Woman. OK, I’ll do it today.

  Jones: Good, follow the usual procedures. (long pause) And it’s time to go to the new place.

  Woman: What?

  Jones: We must leave, time to hide.

  Woman: But we can’t leave all we have built.

  Jones: Moses did. We will follow his example.

  Woman: But it means leaving everything behind.

  Jones: Things have no mea
ning. Only the word of God matters.

  Woman: But—

  Jones: So be it. You will obey my direction.

  Woman: (sighing) Of course.

  Jones: Also, you need to go to there tomorrow.

  Woman: Do I have to? I don’t want to go. They mean nothing to me.

  Jones: (shouting) Go! You must go! (pause) We need a sacrificial lamb, and you will be it. Understand?

  Woman: I don’t want to.

  Jones: God spoke to me last night. He wants you to go. It is important, and you will follow his rules. It is their time and you will carry out his work.

  Woman: (long silence)

  Jones: Do you understand?

  Woman: I do, and I will obey.

  That’s when the phone call ended. What does it mean?’

  Everything had become clear to Ridpath. ‘Get Chrissy to check the reverse telephone directory. Find out the address he called and message me immediately.’

  ‘Right, what are you going to do?’

  ‘I’m going to call Claire Trent, we have to move quickly.’

  Chapter 93

  He ran back upstairs, breathing heavily as he reached the top. As usual, Sophia was sitting behind her desk.

  He glanced towards the door of the coroner’s office. ‘Are they still in there?’

  Sophia nodded. ‘Mrs Challinor has asked me to organise an Uber to take them to the hospice when they are ready.’

  ‘I need you to check something for me. What was her address when Barbara Abbott appeared at the inquest last Friday?’

  ‘It will be in the files. Jenny is out the moment.’

  ‘Can you find it?’

  ‘Sure.’

  Sophia stood up and went to filing cabinet in the corner of the office marked Helen Moore. She opened it, pulling out a file tied with pink thread. ‘The address should be in the list of witnesses.’ She ran her finger down the page. ‘Here it is. Holdern Farm, Carrington. It’s somewhere near United’s training ground, I think.’