Where the Innocent Die

by Where the Innocent Die (epub)

  Ridpath could feel his face reddening as all the eyes watched him and he heard a polite round of applause.

  ‘Talking of Ridpath, anything from the coroner this week?’

  ‘Nothing much. We’re looking into the death of a young woman at the Wilmslow IRC. Any help with the investigation would be appreciated.’

  It was DS Emily Parkinson who spoke up. ‘I thought the case had already been investigated by Rowley CID and they thought she had committed suicide.’

  How did she know so much about the case?

  ‘The coroner wants to check the decision and that’s why I’ve been asked to investigate. She wants to be able to give a more definitive verdict for the family.’

  ‘It’s my ex-nick and I remember the case coming in…’ DS Parkinson was about to say more before Claire Trent cut her off. ‘If Ridpath requires any assistance in this case, you are to give it to him. Understand?’

  Ridpath couldn’t believe his ears. How had he suddenly become flavour of the month with the guv’nor? His surprise was only compounded by the next thing she said.

  ‘Please come to my office after the meeting, Ridpath. Right you lot, meeting over. Take care out there.’

  She picked up her papers and motioned for Ridpath to follow her. He glanced back at Emily Parkinson. He would have to chat with her later. There was something about what she said. It was almost as if she were being defensive. But it wasn’t her name on the final report.

  Claire Trent was waiting at the door, snapping her fingers.

  Chapter 14

  ‘You want coffee, Ridpath?’

  Claire Trent was holding one of those glass and metal jugs with a large amount of black sludge in the bottom. To Ridpath, the coffee at HQ always tasted like it had been dredged from the bottom of the Mersey.

  He shook his head.

  She poured herself a cup of mud and then sat behind her tidy desk with its pristine white blotter. She took a file from a drawer, put on her glasses and began to read from it. ‘Detective Inspector Thomas Ridpath, joined Greater Manchester Police in 2007, passed out from Edgehill. Ok marks, nothing to shout about. First posting at Greenheys and helped capture Thomas Dalbey, aka The Beast of Manchester. Promoted rapidly despite not being a fast-tracker…’ She paused for a moment and peered out at him over the top of her glasses. ‘Looks like you were one of John Gorman and Charlie’s boys, Ridpath.’ The she returned to reading the folder out loud, picking out snippets. ‘Passed detective exams and joined CID in Stockport before being seconded to MIT in 2014. Solid performance and good reports, smart according to this but developing a reputation as being a bit of a one-man-band. Promoted to Detective Inspector in 2016 and then it all fell apart.’

  She closed the file, took off her glasses and sat back. ‘Cancer, wasn’t it?’

  She knew it was.

  ‘Myeloma. Cancer of the bones. But I’m in remission now, have been since 2018.’

  ‘When you were cleared to return to duty and seconded to work with Margaret Challoner as a coroner’s officer.’

  Ridpath wondered where she was going with all this. None of it was exactly secret.

  ‘Usually it’s the kiss of death for any career. A place to see out your days until retirement, filling out forms and dealing with grieving families. But it wasn’t for you, why?’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I had a point to prove. I wanted to show them I could still do the job. I was a bloody good detective who just happened to get ill.’

  ‘So prove it you did. Great work on finding the real killer in the Beast of Manchester murders, stopping the gang wars from erupting again and recently spotting the links in the Fireman killings. You have been a busy little detective, haven’t you? Enjoyed the freedom, have we? Mrs Challoner gives you a lot of latitude I hear.’

  Ridpath didn’t say anything. Where was she going with this?

  ‘But your career’s blocked. Your promotion to Detective Inspector is still not confirmed, is it? Still probationary after over two years?’

  ‘I’ve been wanting to talk to you…’

  Detective Superintendent Claire Trent held up her hand to stop him speaking. ‘I won’t mess you about any longer. We’d like you back, Ridpath.’

  Was he hearing correctly?

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t be so surprised. We’d like you to return to MIT and your promotion to Detective Inspector will be confirmed.’ She adjusted the files in front of her so they were properly aligned. ‘Frankly, between you, me and the four walls, Lorraine Caruso wasn’t right for MIT. Don’t get me wrong, she’s a fine copper, just wrong for our sort of work. She lacked the right…’ Claire Trent struggled to find the word.

  ‘Imagination,’ suggested Ridpath.

  ‘…application,’ the detective superintendent finally said. ‘To her credit, she realised as much and we’ve found a more suitable post for her undoubted talents in GMP.’

  ‘Force Liaison, where she can’t do any damage?’

  Claire Trent stared at Ridpath. ‘She didn’t like you Ridpath, and I can understand why. You are undisciplined, disrespectful and downright disruptive, but you are a fine copper with a dogged determination to get to the truth. I like that in a detective and I’m willing to put up with the rest of the shit. Let me lay my cards on the table. You’ve seen the group of detectives we have now. Lorraine was right to get rid of many of the boys hired by John Gorman and Charlie Whitworth. They were old, slow and couldn’t keep up with modern policing. But my own view is she went too far with her changes…’

  Changes sanctioned and approved by you, thought Ridpath without voicing the words.

  ‘…We have a group who is young, keen and energetic but lacking in experience of practical police work; the grind of an investigation, the complexities of gathering evidence, the leaps of imagination required to nick the thieves, murderers and con men, otherwise known as the inhabitants of Manchester.’

  ‘So… let me get this right. You want me to come back to work for MIT?’

  ‘Got it in one. You’ll be a Detective Inspector running your own team.’

  A year ago, Ridpath would have snatched her arm off for the opportunity to return to MIT. ‘Who would I report to?’

  ‘Me initially, until I appoint a DCI to run the department operationally. Between you and me, I don’t think anybody in GMP is good enough. I’ll be looking outside the force. Which is another reason I want somebody who knows Manchester backing him, or her, up.’

  ‘What about the coroner, does she know?’

  ‘Not yet, I thought I would ask you first. So what’s your answer?’

  Ridpath thought fast, his eyes moving from left to right. ‘I’m in the middle of an investigation…’

  ‘So are we. You saw the work in progress. The county lines case worries me and I’d like somebody more senior involved. Emily Parkinson is a good detective but she doesn’t have the experience to manage an investigation involving multiple forces and operational units. So what’s your answer?’

  Why was she pushing him so hard? Why was she in such a rush? Ridpath knew Claire Trent well. No decision was ever so straightforward with her. There had to be a political angle he knew nothing about.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I’ll need to talk to my wife…’

  ‘The wonderful Polly, how is she these days?’

  ‘Fine.’ Ridpath forgot she and Claire Trent had met when they finished the Connolly case.

  ‘Do you want me to call and have a chat with her?’

  She was in a hurry. ‘That’s ok, I’ll chat with her.’

  The smile vanished from Claire Trent’s voice. ‘Don’t take too long, Ridpath. I need your answer by next Monday at the latest.’

  ‘You’ll have it, boss, and thanks for thinking of me. I’m flattered.’

  ‘Don’t be, Ridpath. You’re a good copper. I’ll expect your answer by next Monday. That will be all.’

  She switched on her computer and stared at the screen. The inter
view was over and Ridpath left the room quietly.

  What the hell was he going to do?

  Chapter 15

  After the meeting with Claire Trent, Ridpath felt an overwhelming desire for a cigarette. He had stopped smoking over a year ago now, but occasionally the urge to smoke again filled his body and mind.

  This was one of those times.

  How would he tell Polly? She liked the fact he didn’t work overtime or shifts now and was always home at weekends to spend time with her and Eve.

  And what would he say to the coroner? Margaret Challoner had supported him through thick and thin. When everybody else doubted him, she was always there, encouraging him and never questioning his judgement.

  A year ago, he would have given anything to get back into MIT, to prove the cancer was just an illness and nothing more. Now, he didn’t know what to do.

  He forced himself to concentrate. He had a case to work on and it must come first, particularly when the inquest would open two days from now.

  He spotted Emily Parkinson sitting at a desk in the far corner and walked over to her. ‘Hi, I’m DI Ridpath.’

  She looked up from her computer. ‘I gathered. So you’re her blue-eyed boy are you?’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Well, ever since I joined MIT, she’s been singing your praises. Ridpath this, Ridpath that. Ridpath, the detective with the halo round his head. I heard the Pope has you down for sainthood next week.’

  Ridpath recognised another lapsed Catholic when he saw one. He also recognised the pack of cigarettes sitting beneath a lighter next to her computer.

  ‘Look, I need to have a chat. How about we go out for a fag? I need to bum one off you anyway.’

  She picked up her lighter and cigarettes. ‘Come on, I’m dying for a quick fix myself. Those meetings can be hell.’

  He followed her out of the detective’s room and into the lift. They went out of the back entrance and round the corner where two other coppers were gathered round a concrete ashtray filled to the brim with dimps and discarded matches.

  She gave him a cigarette and lit it, shielding the flame of the lighter from the wind with a practiced curve of the hand. It was a beautiful late summer’s day; clouds scudded across the blue sky, cutting across the contrails of the aircraft headed for Manchester Airport.

  After a long throat-clenching tug at the cigarette and the expelling of a cloud of smoke above her head, Emily Parkinson said, ‘What can I do you for?’

  Ridpath decided he was wrong about her. She was one of the fast-track university tossers GMP insisted on hiring these days, but there was a hardness there too. This woman was on the way up and nobody was going to get in her way.

  ‘You seemed to know a lot about the investigation into the death at the Wilmslow IRC?’

  She gazed at him over the top of her cigarette. ‘Do I?’

  ‘Back in the meeting, you asked me questions about it. Were you part of the investigating team?’

  She took a minute to think and shook her head. ‘I was on another case, but it was the same CID office and people talk, you know how it is.’

  ‘What did they say?’

  She stared at him. ‘Why should I tell you?’

  ‘Because we’re on the same side.’

  ‘We’re not on the same side. You work for the coroner, Ridpath, a woman who has just reported one of my ex-colleagues to the Professional Standards Branch.’

  Ridpath didn’t know. All he could do was mouth, ‘What? PSB?’

  ‘Detective Sergeant Barnes is now under investigation. He’s only got three months to his pension and you bastards are out to get him.’

  ‘We’re not out to get anybody.’

  She threw the cigarette on the floor and crushed it out with her heel. ‘You know as well as I do if it was a complaint from Joe Public, they would bury it until he retired but coming from a legal officer like the coroner, they have to act. A good man could lose his pension after 30 years in the force because of one mistake.’

  ‘What mistake did he make?’

  ‘Find out for yourself, I’m not your nark.’ And she stormed off, vanishing back inside the glass and concrete cube known as GMP headquarters.

  He was left standing there, holding the cigarette in his right hand. He took another drag, but suddenly it tasted bitter, like an old shroud instead of tobacco.

  The two detectives on the other side of the ashtray were smirking at him. ‘Lover’s tiff, hey?’

  ‘And you two can bugger off as well.’

  Chapter 16

  ‘Of course I reported him to the Professional Standards Branch. You saw the police report he produced. It was lazy at best and incompetent at worst.’

  ‘But what was the point? The PSB were investigated themselves by the Met in 2016 for wrongdoing. It’s not Line of Duty, they are just a waste of time.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, incompetence should be reported.’

  Ridpath stood in front of Mrs Challoner. ‘But by doing so, it means we will be lucky to get any co-operation from him or his colleagues to help my inquiry.’

  She stared up at him. ‘You forget who you are, Ridpath. You are a coroner’s officer, investigating the death of a young woman while under the protection of the crown. If you don’t receive “co-operation” from the police, remind them of the penalties for obstructing an officer of this court in the prosecution of their duties. If they still refuse to assist you, I will happily call the Chief Constable to complain about the intransigence of his force. I haven’t got the reputation of being a bloody difficult woman for nothing.’

  Ridpath knew she was right but by referring Barnes to Professional Standards, she had just made his job ten times harder.

  Her voice softened and she said, ‘Sit down. How was the visit to Wilmslow IRC?’

  He pulled out a chair and sat in front of her. The light was streaming in through the sash window behind her head. Stockford almost looked pretty on a day like this if one ignored the trash on the streets, the old abandoned mills, the wind racing through the empty roads and the ugly grey of the concrete monstrosities surrounding the Coroner’s Court.

  ‘They didn’t reveal a lot.’ He thought for a moment. ‘It wasn’t as if they were hiding anything, it was just if I didn’t ask the right question, I wouldn’t get an answer. They were more interested in their company’s reputation than in the death of one of their detainees. One other thing disturbed me…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I saw nobody else during my visit other than the Centre’s officers.’

  ‘Nobody else?’

  ‘Not one. They were all locked up during the time I was there.’

  ‘Perhaps they were scared you would talk to the prisoners and discover something you shouldn’t have known about.’

  ‘It’s detainees, Coroner. The PR woman was keen to correct me on my use of language.’

  ‘It’s all becoming positively Orwellian, isn’t it? Prisoners are detainees. Prisons are removal centres. War is Peace. Freedom Is Slavery. Ignorance is Strength. The world worries me, Ridpath. Language has become so debased…’

  ‘Nothing we can do, Mrs Challoner.’

  ‘Isn’t there? I’ve been doing some investigating myself. You know Stephen Shaw, the former prison ombudsman Stephen Shaw, told MPs that deaths in Removal Centres were being kept a “state secret” by the Home Office. As a coroner, I tried to find anything published by the department and ran up against a brick wall. It’s almost as if they keep quiet about them, nobody will ever ask. No statistics on deaths, none on self-harming, nothing on suicides in detention. They seem to be operating a policy of denial, delay and obfuscation. You’d have thought they would have learned from the Windrush scandal, but the opposite seems to be the case.’

  ‘What about the press? Aren’t any journalists asking questions?’

  ‘Our newspapers are more interested in which celebrity got divorced this week. And anyway, it doesn’t suit their editorial
line. Remember all immigrants are bad and those that are possibly illegal are even worse.’

  The coroner tapped the desk with her index finger emphasising every word. ‘But we can find the truth about this death, and that’s what I intend to do, despite everything. What are your next steps?’

  An image flashed into Ridpath’s mind for a moment. The coroner dressed as Rule Britannia holding back the hordes of uncultured savages, protecting the truth and the rule of law.

  ‘I asked what are your next steps, Ridpath.’

  ‘There should be a package of photocopies from the PR woman. I asked her for the processing document for Wendy Chen…’

  ‘Processing document? Sounds like we’re dealing with a can of peas rather than a human being.’

  ‘That’s what they call it, Mrs Challoner. Plus I wanted the names and addresses of the officers, the security chief, a Mr Collins, and the facility manager, Mr Carlton. Finally, I asked the names and destinations of all the detainees in the centre that night. Somebody must have seen or heard something.’

  ‘The police didn’t interview them?’

  ‘Ron Barnes didn’t meet any witnesses other than the staff at the Centre.’

  The coroner shook her head. ‘I believe we already have the names and addresses of the officers of the Wilmslow IRC. We have subpoenaed them to testify during the inquest.’

  ‘I wanted her to provide them anyway. You never know, we may find out something new.’

  ‘Good, Ridpath, I don’t have to remind you we only have two days before the inquest begins.’

  ‘I may not have an answer by then. Can you postpone it?’

  ‘Not any more. The relatives are coming from China. They want to collect the body. I can only release it if I have concluded my inquest.’