by M J Lee
Ridpath checked his watch: 1:40 p.m. He’d promised Polly he’d pick up the bloody dry-cleaning this evening and then there was the parents’ evening at Eve’s school.
‘Look, this is what you do. Ring Wharton and let him know exactly what you’ve seen here. Tell him I’m here too and then explain your next steps.’
‘OK, got it, but what are my next steps?’
‘Find out more about Joe Brennan. Interview the neighbours. Check out who he was and what he was doing. Find out where he worked. Also ask them if they’d seen anybody acting suspiciously in the neighbourhood.’
‘Why?’
‘If it was a murder, somebody must have done it, right? In these flats, people can hear you coming and going.’
Pleasance was writing all this down in his notebook.
‘And I noticed it’s card entry to the stairs. Get onto the council and ask them to send somebody down to check when Brennan last entered the building and if anybody unauthorised gained access. There’s no CCTV on this old block, so you can’t use that. But at least the card system will tell you about Brennan’s recent movements.’
‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah, contact his GP, find out if he was under any medication or had mental health issues.’
‘How do I find out who his GP was?’
‘Helen,’ Ridpath shouted.
The crime scene manager entered the living room.
‘You bellowed, Ridpath?’
‘Have you done the bathroom yet?’
‘Just doing it now.’
‘Any pill bottles or packets in the cabinet?’
‘Quite a few, but the usuals. Valium. Sleeping tablets. Heartburn tablets.’
‘Can you give DC Pleasance here the name of the pharmacy?’
‘No problem.’
He swung back to talk to Pleasance. ‘Give the pharmacy a call and find out who was the prescribing doctor.’
Pleasance made a note in his book. ‘Got it.’
‘You might want to find out who his dentist was too? Cases like this, the burns are so extensive dental records are the only way to make an ID,’ Dolan added.
‘Good idea, Terry. Another job for you, Detective Constable. Do all this and then go back to Wharton and tell him you need someone more senior to take charge. With a bit of luck, he’ll see what you’ve done and keep you on the case.’
Pleasance put his notebook back in his pocket. ‘Thanks, Ridpath, you’ve been a big help.’
‘So what are you waiting for? Get on the blower to your gaffer and then we’ll go and interview the neighbours.’
Ridpath smiled. He loved this job. And he still had time to get home and pick up Eve for parents’ night.
Chapter Eleven
They knocked on the door of the neighbouring flat. It was opened by a six-year-old kid with a dribbling nose and a bag of crisps in his hands. Salt and vinegar crisps.
‘Is your mum at home, son?’ asked Ridpath.
‘Mam,’ the kid shouted over his shoulder, ‘there’s two coppers here to see you.’ He then walked away, leaving them standing at the door.
‘How did he know we were coppers?’ Pleasance whispered.
‘It’s genetic round here. Kids can spot us from half a mile away. Think of it as the perfect example of the survival of the fittest.’
A middle-aged woman appeared at the door, wearing a faded, flowered wrap-around dress that barely covered her bosom. ‘What do ye wan? I’m just getting the kids’ tea. The little buggers are eating me out of house and home.’ The Dublin accent was strong.
Ridpath showed her his warrant card. ‘We’d just like to ask you a few questions about your neighbour Joseph Brennan, if we can. It won’t take long.’
She glanced over her shoulder as the television sound increased with the noise of a kids’ cartoon. ‘Will ye be turning dat ting down or do I have to come in an’ clip yer ears?’
The sound diminished slightly.
She turned back to the detectives. ‘I don’t know nuthin’ about him. He was only me neighbour.’
‘It doesn’t matter, anything you know will help,’ answered Ridpath, putting his foot across the threshold before she could close the door.
As he was already in the hall, she shrugged her shoulders and said, ‘Whatever. Youse can talk to me in the kitchen while I does the chips. We don’t wan’ another bloody fire, do we?’
They both followed her into the kitchen. A small table with three chairs sat in one corner. A baby eating a banana in his high chair sat in the other. The woman walked over to the old Parkinson Cowan cooker and riddled the basket of chips in their saucepan. ‘Don’t be minding the babby, she’s just after having her tea too.’ The word ‘tea’ was pronounced like the river in Scotland.
Ridpath sat at the table and pulled out his notebook. Pleasance remained standing.
‘Your name is…?’
‘Mrs Finnegan. Myra Finnegan.’
‘And how long have you known Joseph Brennan, Mrs Finnegan?’
She rattled the chips again. ‘Well, I didn’t really know him, he was just me neighbour like.’
Ridpath decided to start again. ‘How long have you lived here?’
She calculated on her fingers. ‘Four years now, just after I split up with my husband. The council moved us here.’
Ridpath glanced across at the baby, who couldn’t have been more than a year old.
Mrs Finnegan saw where he was looking. ‘She was an accident. Myself and me husband tried to get back together.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘But once a philanderer, always a philanderer. A leopard’s not going to change his spots now, is he?’ She took a soldier of toast with jam on it and gave it to the baby, for which she was rewarded with a banana-encrusted smile. ‘Ah, but hasn’t she the sweetest nature, this one. My own pride and joy, she is!’ The baby was rewarded for the smile with a quick pinch of its round, reddened cheeks.
‘So was Mr Brennan already living in the flat opposite?’
‘He was. He moved in about fifteen years ago, bought the flat off the council soon after. Must be worth a pretty penny now.’
‘How do you know he owns the flat?’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘You know, people talk. Not a lot else to do around here. And besides, the door was different. Can’t be changing the door unless you own the flat, now can you?’
‘Do you know where he worked?’
‘Where he used to work, you mean?’
‘He was unemployed?’
She nodded, folding her arms under her ample bosom. On the stove, the chips sizzled away. ‘Lost his job three years ago, maybe more.’
‘Where was that?’
‘I dunno. Some sort of lab technician, he was. Always prancing off to work he was, in his white coat, with his long hair trailing in the breeze like an ol’ girl.’
‘What did he do?’
‘I dunno, never asked. Used to wear a white coat all the time. Lots of stains on it.’
‘How long had he worked there?’
‘You’ll have to ask him.’ She then crossed herself, realising what she had said. ‘God rest his soul.’ She turned back to riddle the chips once more.
‘You didn’t see him much?’
‘Before, we’d see him going to work in the morning and coming home at night. Like clockwork he was. Eight thirty leaving and five thirty arriving home.’
‘He didn’t go out?’ asked Pleasance.
She shook her head. ‘Stayed in all the time. We could sometimes hear his TV through the walls.’
‘And after he lost his job?’
‘We wouldn’t see him for days on end. Don’t know if he were inside or out somewhere. Only time we ever caught sight of him was Saturday mornings. He used to go to the supermarket to get his groceries every Saturday at nine o’clock, regular as clockwork.’
‘Did he have any family? Any relations?’
‘Not that I know of. Never saw any family visiting. Like I said, he was a bit of a lone
r.’
‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘Yesterday morning. I heard him going up the stairs to his flat. Drunk he was. Never seen him that way before, and so early too. Swaying he was, and cursing.’
‘What was he saying?’
‘I dunno. Something about a message. When he saw me, he just shook his big head of hair and shouted, “Keep your bloody nose out, you old bag.” Well, I just shut me door. There’s nothing to be gained from arguing with a drunken man. Don’t I know the truth of it from me own life.’
‘What time was this?’
‘Around eleven o’clock. I’d just be getting myself ready to go out.’
‘Big head of hair?’
‘Well, he had a mop on him. Like one of those ol’ hippy fellas he was. Didn’t used to be so bad, but I guess he let himself go after losing his job. A lot of them do, you know…’
She was just about to say more when Ridpath interrupted. ‘Was he carrying anything?’
‘A plastic bag from B&Q. Maybe he decided to do some DIY and that’s what caused the fire?’
Ridpath didn’t answer her.
She riddled the chips one last time and lifted the basket out of the saucepan, tipping the golden chips onto three separate plates.
‘OK, Mrs Finnegan, I think we’re finished. Any questions, DC Pleasance?’
The detective shook his head.
Mrs Finnegan ladled baked beans over the top of the chips.
‘One last question. Did you see anybody hanging around here yesterday?’
She shook her head. ‘No, not that I remember. But then I was out at lunchtime. Went to the bingo. I always go to the bingo on a Tuesday, it’s the lucky dip, but I never have no luck, me.’ She looked towards the kitchen door and bellowed, ‘Kids, your tea is up!’ She turned back to Ridpath. ‘Jaysus, they’d eat me out of house and home.’
On the way down the stairs Ridpath said, ‘At least you know what to do now.’
‘What’s that?’
Ridpath sighed. ‘Get onto the local B&Q and ask their cashiers. See if a man answering Brennan’s description bought something yesterday morning. Check their CCTV while you’re at it. With a bit of luck, he may even have paid for it with a credit card.’
The penny finally dropped for Pleasance. ‘And if he bought an accelerant, we’d know he probably committed suicide.’
‘Well done, Sherlock. I’d still contact the doctor, though. Find out if he prescribed more than just Valium to Mr Brennan.’
‘Thanks, Ridpath.’
‘Don’t forget to call your gaffer first, though. Remember the first rule of policing.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Cover your arse.’
They reached the bottom of the stairs. Pleasance stuck out his hand. ‘Thanks for all the help. Shall I let my boss know you did most of the work?’
‘What do you think?’
A smile crossed Pleasance’s face. ‘The second rule of policing?’
‘Right first time. Take the credit when you can, because there’ll be another hundred coppers trying it take it before you.’ Ridpath checked his watch. ‘I need to get off home. I would visit the B&Q tonight if I were you. Call me tomorrow and let me know what you discover. It will affect how the coroner treats this death.’
‘OK, will do. But first I have to do something.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Go down the local chippy. I could murder a bag of chips.’
Chapter Twelve
Ridpath’s daughter was getting changed when he arrived home.
Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘You’re here, Dad.’
‘Mum’s already gone?’
‘Thirty minutes ago.’
He checked his watch. The school night began at seven. If they didn’t want to wait in a long line to meet the teachers, then it would be best to arrive early. ‘Ok, when will you be ready to go?’
‘Mum was expecting a phone call from you, so she arranged Auntie Doreen from next door to take me.’
‘But I told your mum I would come back.’
Eve rolled her eyes. ‘She knew that, duh, but every time there’s a school night, something comes up at work for you. Last time it was a witness you had to meet, the time before that was case papers…’
‘OK, OK, I get the message. But I’m here now.’
‘I’ll call Auntie Doreen and let her know.’
He watched as she went out into the hall to use the phone. When had his daughter become so grown-up? The years since she was a baby – gurgling away happily as she sat on his knee, clutching her rabbit while he fed her some pureed carrot, or sleeping on his chest as he watched television – those days had vanished like a flame doused in water. Where had his young daughter gone?
He already knew the answer.
A lot of it had been taken up by the daily grind of life. Visits to the supermarket. Cooking dinners. Getting dressed for school. At work, the all-consuming beast of never-ending investigations had taken him away from her. The drudgery of gathering evidence, making the case and convincing the CPS had all taken its toll in time.
And Ridpath knew his own personality. It didn’t matter whether the case was a minor shoplifter or a major murder, he committed everything to it, without holding back.
Something had to give eventually and it turned out to be his health. Myeloma. Nine months of worry, pain and fear, a pharmacy of drugs and far too much time spent in isolation in hospital.
In his mind, he made the sign of the cross, the last vestiges of the Catholic education demanded by his mother. But he was in remission now, and hoped that would continue. The threat of its return was like the grim reaper with his scythe raised, frozen in mid-sweep.
Eve came back, pushing her long black hair behind one ear. ‘Auntie Doreen’s cool with it.’
‘We need to spend more time together, Eve, to make up for lost time,’ Ridpath announced.
His daughter pouted. ‘OK, Dad, whatever you say.’
‘I think Sugar is very cool by the way, but why does he wear make-up?’
Her eyes rolled upwards again. ‘It’s Suga, Dad, not Sugar. And he wears BB cream. All the boys use it, it makes your skin smoother and more even.’
He could imagine the conversation in the locker room at GMP. ‘Have you discovered the latest BB cream, Sergeant Mungovan? It doesn’t smear when you handcuff a suspect.’ ‘Not yet, Detective Inspector Ridpath, but I always use kohl eyeliner. It gives my eyes a certain je ne sais quoi. Puts the fear of God into criminals.’
‘Dad… Dad…’
‘Sorry, Eve, I was miles away.’
‘But if we’re going to spend time together, you are going to have to learn more about BTS.’
BTS were her favourite K-Pop band. He held out his thumb and little finger. ‘Pinky promise?’
‘OK.’ She touched his hand with hers. ‘But I’m going to test you on their albums.’
‘Like Dark and Wild and Youth?’
‘You’ve been swotting up.’
‘You can never kid a kidder, kiddo. I’ll be ready.’ He would have to ask Polly for more stuff on BTS. Failing that, the internet would do. ‘Let me take a quick shower and we’ll go.’
The school night went swimmingly. Eve was doing well in all her classes and the teachers held high hopes for her in her exams. Trafford, where they lived, was one of the few school areas still operating the eleven-plus system. Eve had decided she wanted to go to Altrincham Grammar School for Girls, because that’s where her friends were going. It just happened to be one of the best schools in the country, with a high pass mark and stringent entrance requirements.
Luckily the exam wasn’t until September for entrance in 2020. All her teachers seemed to think she would pass with flying colours, but it seemed so unfair to him to place such pressure on a ten-year-old girl. An exam of less than two hours which would decide her future education for the next seven years, and perhaps for the rest of her life.
God, i
t had been so much easier in his day.
Go to school, come home, play football outside on the street for a while, eat supper and then watch TV before going to bed. His mum pushed him to study but he wasn’t that interested. The absence of a father didn’t help himself or his sister, perhaps that’s why she had gone off the rails so badly.
Later that evening he lay in bed as Polly sat at the dressing table applying her creams and potions. Ridpath loved watching her at this moment, the precision with which she applied the eye and face cream, massaging it in with the tips of her fingers. A routine that never changed, however tired she was.
‘What are we going to do about school?’ he asked.
‘She’s enjoying it and doing well according to my colleagues. The only problem seems to be having a mum who’s a teacher.’
‘No, I meant about the eleven-plus.’
Polly stopped what she was doing. ‘She’s set her heart on Altrincham Grammar.’
‘Because her friends go there.’
‘Not a bad idea. At least she’ll have someone she knows.’
‘But it’s a long way to travel…’
‘Just a tram ride.’ He caught her watching him in the mirror. ‘Look, you know I don’t agree with this whole selection business at eleven, but as long as we live in Trafford…’ She shrugged her shoulders.
‘Yeah, a hundred yards away is Manchester and no selection.’
She shrugged again. ‘It’s the stupid system. Short of moving, I don’t know what we can do.’
Ridpath was quiet for a moment. ‘You know, Eve is growing up so quickly…’
Polly turned towards him, her face streaked with white cream. ‘And you want to spend more time with her.’
‘How did you know?’
‘The Dad’s Dilemma. The sudden realisation that their daughter is growing up, and unless they bond now, they will lose them forever.’
‘Are men so predictable?’
Polly nodded. ‘But there’s one thing you could do, if you wanted to be a real hero to your daughter. Actually, two things.’
‘They are?’
‘Take her to see the latest Avengers movie when it comes out…’