by M J Lee
‘What was the accelerant in West Yorkshire?’ asked Ridpath.
Chrissy checked her notes once more. ‘Also methylated spirits.’
Ridpath glanced at the MO board. The question marks had been removed.
‘It seems the only method of killing that was different was Sam Sykes. I wonder why?’
‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Ridpath. Continue with Charlie Whitworth, Lorraine.’
‘Yes, boss. As I said earlier, we found Mr Whitworth’s car in a nearby car park. In the boot was a large container of meths and some rubber gloves. The car has been dusted for fingerprints and the only set we found belonged to Mr Whitworth.’
Ridpath noticed she no longer called him Charlie. He was now just another picture on a panel.
‘Dr Schofield is performing the post-mortem as we speak. He’s promised to ring through his results ahead of the formal report.’
‘Good. Who’s with him?’
‘I’ve sent Jill Carton, boss.’
Ridpath knew about the post-mortem as Dr Schofield had invited him. He couldn’t face watching his friend and mentor being reduced to a pile of skin, bones and discarded organs. Sophia had volunteered to represent the coroner’s office.
For a second, a memory of Charlie flashed into Ridpath’s mind. His way of licking his moustache with his tongue when he was thinking, as if tasting his thoughts as they dripped from the bristles. Then another image muscled its way to the front of his thoughts. Charlie’s eyes as he sat in the chair, struggling against the handcuffs. Scared, frightened eyes, full of pain and hurt.
‘Do we have a confirmed ID it was him?’ Trent’s voice cut through his memories and he focused back on the meeting.
‘The lab has promised to rush the DNA test, boss. As a serving police officer, we have Charlie’s DNA on the database.’
‘Good, it’s key we get confirmation.’ She nodded her head at the man sitting next to her. Before we go any further, I’ve asked Detective Chief Inspector Lionel Smith, the man in charge of GMP’s investigations into the sexual abuse at football clubs, to brief us this morning.’
A tall, thin, ascetic-looking man stood up. He placed his hands in front of him as if leading a congregation in prayer. ‘The abuse of young players at football clubs in the United Kingdom first came to our notice in mid-November 2016. A few former professional footballers waived their rights to anonymity and talked publicly about being abused by former coaches and scouts in the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s. This led to a surge of further allegations, as well as allegations that some clubs had covered them up.’
He glanced down at a piece of paper he held in his hand. ‘To date, Operation Hydrant – as the nationwide police investigation is known – has received 2,807 incident reports from police forces and the NSPCC and 300 alleged suspects have been identified, with 340 football clubs named. Ninety-five per cent of those identified as victims were males aged between four and twenty.’
A hush enveloped the room, broken by one word from Harry Makepeace. ‘Jesus.’
‘Two thousand, eight hundred referrals? Does that mean nearly three thousand victims?’ asked Ridpath.
‘No. The actual number of victims gathered so far is 849.’ He stopped for a moment and looked down. ‘My feeling is the number of victims is actually far higher. Many of these young men are still too ashamed to come forward.’
‘Jesus,’ repeated Harry.
Trent glared at him. ‘Please continue, Detective Chief Inspector Smith.’
‘Within a month of the initial reports, the Football Association, the Scottish Football Association, several football clubs and over twenty UK police forces had established enquiries into these allegations. GMP initially co-operated with Cheshire Police as the enquiry involved a man called Barry Bennell who had worked at both Crewe and Manchester City. He had previously been charged with sexual abuse offences in the US and the UK. In 2019, he was convicted at Liverpool Crown Court of fifty offences against twelve boys and sentenced to thirty-one years in prison.’
‘Best thing the Scousers ever did,’ whispered Harry.
Lionel Smith ignored him. ‘Since then another ninety-seven offences have come to our attention. The CPS is considering whether to prosecute him as we speak.’
‘Is he the only one charged so far?’ asked Trent.
‘No, thirteen other men have been charged, with twelve convicted. All except one have received custodial sentences. Many of the men involved have already died.’
‘What about the Football Association, what are they doing?’ asked Chrissy.
‘They have set up an independent enquiry which found no evidence of institutional cover-up. The final report has been delayed.’
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ said Harry.
‘Locally, Manchester City opened an investigation regarding Bennell’s association with the club in the 1980s and that is still ongoing. It has also created a compensation fund for victims of historical child sexual abuse at the club, with forty potential claimants and more expected to come forward.’
Ridpath glanced across at Chrissy, still wearing her City scarf and standing next to the picture of the five-a-side football team from 1994.
Lionel Smith continued speaking. ‘Operation Hydrant has now expanded to include other sports: basketball, rugby, gymnastics, martial arts, tennis, wrestling, golf, sailing, athletics, cricket and swimming. The Ministry of Justice has also agreed changes to the law to make it illegal for sport coaches to have sex with sixteen- and seventeen-year-old children in their care.’
Without saying any more, Lionel Smith sat down.
A hush descended again. Finally Trent stood up. ‘I think it’s time for a break, ladies and gentlemen. Five minutes please, and then we need to work out the next steps in the case. Five minutes.’
Chapter Seventy-Four
After everyone had returned and sat down in the same places, Lorraine Caruso went over the evidence one more time, ending her speech by pointing to the picture of the five-a-side team.
‘Up until now, our investigations have been guided by the assumption the killer must be one of the people in this picture. But they are now all dead, including the photographer. Did we go wrong from the beginning? Was the picture just a coincidence and nothing to do with the deaths?’
Trent thought for a moment. ‘It’s a fair question, Lorraine. You’re saying there could be other links we don’t know about?’
‘There could be, boss. Maybe they went to the same school. Or the same cub scout group. We don’t know.’
‘Find out.’
‘Yes, boss.’
A buzz went around the room as the detectives offered other places to look.
‘But the picture must be the key. How can five people in it die in one week? All were murdered and then set alight. It’s too much of a coincidence. We need to know more about the team and about each of the people in the photograph. Did David Mulkeen abuse one or more of them? We all heard DCI Smith, there must be something we’re missing.’ Ridpath raised his voice above the chatter of the other detectives. ‘This has to be the link.’
‘But they are all dead, Ridpath, or hadn’t you noticed,’ said Caruso from the front. ‘And dead men can’t be killers last time I checked the Hendon handbook.’
A support officer knocked on the door and entered, passing a note to Caruso. She opened and read it. ‘This is from the DNA lab. They confirm the body we found in the flat last night was Charles Whitworth.’
A murmur went round the room as the detectives absorbed the information.
Trent stood up with her arms outstretched. ‘Calm down, people. This is now a murder investigation of Charlie Whitworth, who was still a serving police officer at the time of his death.’ She looked around the room before continuing. ‘All efforts must be made to find this killer. No stone left unturned. Somebody must know who he is. Shake every tree, question every informant. This man must be found.’ She pointed to the picture taken from the CCTV of the man who h
ad attacked Ridpath.
Caruso raised her hand. ‘I have a different possible explanation, boss.’
‘Let’s hear it, Lorraine.’
‘It could have been suicide. Mr Whitworth could have killed himself last night.’
‘What?’ shouted Ridpath. ‘The man was handcuffed to the chair.’
‘He could have fastened the cuffs himself to make it look like he was murdered.’
‘Why the hell would he do that?’
‘And he could have placed the booby trap himself. We have him attending an explosives course in 2012. Plus the forensics have only found one set of prints in the apartment and they belonged to Mr Whitworth.’
‘But forensics have found no prints at any of the other scenes. Fire has either destroyed them or our killer is savvy enough not to leave any behind.’
‘What about the accelerant found in Whitworth’s car?’
‘That’s stupid. It could have been placed there by the killer.’
Trent held her arms up again. ‘Enough,’ she shouted, ‘this is not the forum for you two to air your personal differences. And Ridpath, you will not speak to a senior officer in those terms, do you understand?’
Ridpath looked straight ahead.
‘I said, do you understand?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She glared at him for a moment before turning back to Lorraine. ‘Continue, Detective Chief Inspector.’
‘Guv’nor, despite our affection for Mr Whitworth—’
‘It’s Detective Chief Inspector Whitworth.’
‘Ridpath, I won’t tell you again. You are to remain silent.’
Caruso continued. ‘Despite our affection for DCI Whitworth, we must keep all avenues of investigation open until we discover evidence to the contrary. This morning I spoke with his wife. She had recently split up with DCI Whitworth and moved back to her mother’s.’ She glanced over to Ridpath. ‘There was no heart attack as has been reported. Maureen Whitworth told me that since the accident he’d been increasingly difficult to live with, and drinking far more than he should. In addition, we requested DCI Whitworth’s financial records from his bank. Apparently he was undergoing financial difficulties: failed investments and problems with a property he had purchased.’
‘Interesting, Lorraine.’
‘But not proof he murdered five people and then killed himself,’ said Ridpath.
Caruso looked to her boss, who simply stared straight ahead, clenching her jaw.
The DCI shrugged her shoulders and continued with her speech. ‘And given his acquaintance with a known paedophile in David Mulkeen, we are going through his service records to see if there are indications of any reports of unnatural activities towards children.’
Ridpath stood up. ‘You can’t be serious. Charlie Whitworth, a paedophile? Never in a million years—’
‘That’s enough, Ridpath. Please wait for me in my office.’
Ridpath stayed where he was, with all the detectives watching him.
‘That is an order, Detective Inspector Ridpath.’
Reluctantly Ridpath gathered up his files and marched out of the room. As he was closing the door he heard Trent say, ‘These are valid areas of enquiry, Lorraine, we must leave no stone unturned. What else are you doing?’
Chapter Seventy-Five
After he’d waited for half an hour like a naughty schoolboy in the headmaster’s office, Trent finally appeared.
‘You were out of order, Ridpath. Lorraine Caruso was simply pursuing all possible lines of enquiry.’
‘Including Charlie Whitworth was a paedophile?’
‘Yes, including that. Unless we investigate everyone, including our own, we’re never going to discover this killer.’
‘But the whole idea it could be Charlie is crazy. The man could hardly walk, for one thing. Never mind the fact that for twenty-five years he was probably one of the best natural coppers Manchester has ever seen. The idea such a man is both a killer and a paedophile is…’ Ridpath spluttered, looking for the right word, and finally ended up with ‘…ridiculous.’
Trent sat back in her chair and played with a pencil. ‘Ridiculous or not, I’ve asked DCI Caruso to continue her enquiries. If nothing else, they will eliminate Charlie from our investigation.’
‘But Caruso isn’t a copper any more, guv’nor. She’s a bureaucrat. She sees the spilling of blood, the suffering of people as statistical entries in a computer or costs on a balance sheet, not real men and women who used to be alive and have dreams and wants and desires.’
‘Have you finished, Ridpath? DCI Caruso will continue her investigation into DCI Whitworth and anybody else I think is a possible suspect.’
‘But it’s a waste of valuable time and manpower we could be using to chase the real killer.’
‘Manpower? You may have noticed half of MIT is now composed of women, Ridpath. I’ll ask you to use the correct language in the future.’
‘I’m sorry, but you know what I mean. We could use the resources far more effectively elsewhere.’
‘I don’t agree, Ridpath. And last time I looked it was my name on the door to this office, not yours, and it’s my reputation on the line if this goes wrong.’
She suddenly sat forward and the tone of her voice changed. ‘Look, Ridpath, I think you have a gift for police work, you understand what needs to be done intuitively. You’re a natural copper, as you said about Charlie Whitworth. You make connections where others see nothing. It’s one of the reasons we thought you’d be brilliant in the role of liaison between the coroner’s office and GMP. To find those crimes that slip between the cracks in the system, going beyond jurisdictions and police boundaries. It’s down to you we even knew there was a killer out there in the first place. But…’
He was waiting for the ‘but’.
‘But sometimes you can’t see the wood for the trees. You don’t know when to keep your mouth shut and be a team player. You’ve just pissed off your boss in front of the whole team. How do you think she’s going to take it?’
‘So I’m supposed to keep quiet if I see something I think is stupid.’
‘The short answer is yes. We work best together as a team, not as a collection of individuals. Sometimes you have to get your head down, do as you’re told and work the case. You’re been a copper for ten years, you should know this.’
‘It’s twelve years, boss.’
‘Whatever. You’re not a kid, you’re a detective inspector in GMP.’ She sat back. ‘And there’s one other thing…’
Ridpath waited to hear what it was.
‘You’re too emotionally invested in this case. You can’t distance yourself. You’re not taking a step back, looking at the evidence, working out lines of enquiry to satisfy the CPS standards for conviction.’
‘That’s hard to do when the man who was my mentor and friend for all my time in GMP has been murdered.’
She nodded slowly. ‘I understand. That’s why I’m taking you off the case.’
‘But—’
She held up her hands to stop him speaking. ‘It is DCI Caruso’s case now. You are not to get involved, Ridpath. If you do, I will consider it a serious breach of police discipline and will have no hesitation in recommending your dismissal from the force. Do you understand me?’
‘But—’
‘Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
She took a letter from her in tray and began to read it. ‘We’re done,’ she said without looking up.
For the second time that day, Ridpath gathered up his files and marched out of a room.
Chapter Seventy-Six
‘So that’s where we are, Mrs Challinor. All the people in the image from 1994 are now dead. Five murdered in the last week and two who died years ago. One from a drug overdose and the other in a car crash. Not forgetting a psychotherapist who was somehow involved.’
‘What is MIT doing?’
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Lorraine Caruso seems
to be obsessed with the idea Charlie Whitworth was somehow involved—’
‘You don’t agree?’ she interrupted.
‘Charlie Whitworth could never murder five people, nor would he ever kill himself. The idea is unthinkable.’
‘What other lines of enquiry are they following?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. I’ve been thrown off the case and sent back here with a flea in my ear.’
Ridpath finished informing the coroner of the latest developments in the case, including the noon meeting with Trent.
‘Should I postpone the inquest into the death of Joseph Brennan? It’s scheduled for a week on Thursday, May 9. Sophia has found a relative, an aunt, living in Devon. She won’t come to the inquest but would like the body transported down to her so it can be buried in the family plot. Apparently she was close to his mother but hadn’t seen him for years.’
‘I don’t think the police will have finished their enquiries by then, unless they manage to find the killer.’
‘Do you think he will strike again?’
Ridpath thought for a long time. ‘I don’t think so. I might be wrong, but with the death of Charlie, it feels finished. He was the last person left alive in the photo. Plus the message changed at his death. It wasn’t ‘Play the Game’ any more, but ‘Played the Game’. I feel it’s all over. He’s done now.’
She looked at her laptop and pressed a key. ‘We’ll proceed with the inquest. I can always leave it as an open verdict pending further police enquiries. Afterwards, at least we can release the body back to her.’
‘I think it’s the right way to go.’
‘What are you going to do, Ridpath?’
‘About what?’
‘The investigation.’
He frowned. ‘To be honest, I don’t know. Claire Trent is right – I am emotionally invested in this case. Charlie Whitworth was one of my best friends. We may not have always seen eye to eye, but he was a bloody good copper and an even better man.’