He stared at her, examining her face and her body.
‘Yes, you could take her place. Be my little sparrow. Would you like that?’
She nodded, her eyes wide with fear.
‘Did I tell you her last words before she died? She said, “You?”’ He chuckled at the memory. ‘Innocent until the end, right until the time I tasered her.’
Yang May Feng struggled, then lay still on the bed. Perhaps if she humoured him, played along with his fantasy, she would have a chance to escape.
‘Don’t hurt your wrists, little one. And here, I brought you some water and some fried rice.’
He revealed a bottle of water and a take-away box of food.
‘Did you think Daddy was going to kill you today? Oh, you are sweet. Not yet, little one. Not quite yet.’
FRIDAY
SEPTEMBER 20
Chapter 72
The phone rang at 4.30 in the morning.
Ridpath reached out to look for his mobile phone, knocking over a glass of water he had placed on the bedside table.
‘Yeah… what is it?’
‘It’s Emily Parkinson, Ridpath. The local plod have located Lam Tai Kong. He’s in a second floor flat. They want to go in now.’
Ridpath was instantly awake. ‘Message me the address and wait till I get there. Only move if he attempts to escape. I don’t want any more cock-ups.’
He got out of bed, looking back at Polly. Her hair was mussed and her hand was holding her ear, but she hadn’t woken up.
He grabbed his clothes and crept out of the bedroom.
‘Ridpath, you can’t keep doing this… your health…’ A voice came from the bed.
‘Don’t worry, Poll, not for long, nearly over.’
He crept out of the bedroom and started to dress in the landing. He ran into the bathroom and checked himself. He’d shave in the drive over to meet the local plod.
His phone pinged. Emily had sent him the address. Not far from Chinatown. He guessed Lam wouldn’t live far from his work area.
He rushed downstairs, grabbing a leather jacket hanging in the hall and opened the door.
Outside, it was still dark with just a nip in the air to make him pull his jacket around his body. The car was covered in a glistening sheen of what looked like sweat.
He sat behind the wheel, plugged his phone into the hands free and rang Parkinson. ‘Get on to dispatch and have a Police Tactical Unit on standby, I want to go in just before dawn at 6.00 a.m. Clear?’
‘Clear, Ridpath.’
‘Also call the guv’nor, let her know what’s going on?’
‘Will do.’
‘And Emily, good work.’
‘Thanks Ridpath. What time will you get here?’
He checked the car’s clock. ‘In about fifteen minutes. 4.55. Tell everyone no sirens or lights. I want this one sleeping soundly when we knock on his door.’
‘Right, boss.’
Ridpath ended the call and started the car. He drove out of his road and headed for the A56 into the centre of Manchester. The city was quiet at this time in the morning. Only a few lonely souls wandered beneath the harsh orange of the streetlights, either coming home from a late night out in the clubs or off to work to start an early shift.
It was a time he loved, when the city seemed more like a sleeping bear than a vibrant, modern town.
He accelerated along Chester Road, past the two Old Traffords, one on his right and the other on his left.
He could feel the energy beginning to build in his body. That sense of anticipation before every raid. A feeling every actor must enjoy just before the curtains rise and he steps out onto the stage.
This morning it was all his performance.
He stopped at a red light and entered the address on the satnav. Not far away now.
‘Go straight ahead and turn left in 200 meters.’ The voice in his Audi had a slightly Germanic tinge to it.
He turned left and then right again as instructed. Up ahead, he could see Emily Parkinson standing at the side of the road next to a squad car with its lights off.
It was time to begin.
Chapter 73
The team were all briefed and in position ready to go, just waiting for Ridpath’s signal.
He clicked his Airwave to give the order when, at the bottom of the street, an old milk float appeared. A milkman got out, and carrying a tray full of bottles, rattled over to a house, leaving two bottles beside the door.
He gestured to one of the uniforms standing beside him to stop the man coming closer.
The plod ran down the street, shouting, ‘Oi, you…’
‘Bloody idiot, he’ll wake the whole neighbourhood,’ Ridpath shouted, ‘Go, go, go,’ into his Airwave.
In front of him, a police tactical unit ran forward with a large door enforcer, known as the Big Red Key, and brought it down hard against the lock.
The copper with the enforcer stepped back and four armed police entered the house.
Ridpath listened to his Airwave. ‘Ground floor clear. Going up to the second floor.’
The sounds of pounding on a door. ‘Police. Open the door.’
No response.
‘This is the police. Open the door immediately.’
Still nothing.
A crash, the crunch of wood splintering, followed by shouts of ‘In. In.’
Feet thumping on a wooden floor, doors crashing open. Shouts of ‘Clear. Clear.’
Then silence.
‘He’s gone out of the window and into next door’s garden,’ a voice came on the Airwave.
Ridpath grabbed the arm of Emily Parkinson. ‘You take the left, I’ll go right.’
He ran along the street followed by one of the plods, past a startled milkman still holding three bottles of milk.
At the end, he checked left and right and then left again. A flash of blue going into an alley.
He ran after the man.
Ridpath could hear his heart beating in his chest, feel his shoes on the wet road. Taste the freshness of the morning breeze in his mouth. Beside him the young uniformed copper was hardly panting at all.
Bastard.
He rounded the corner into the alley. Up ahead, Lam was running between the houses, dressed in boxer shorts and a blue T-shirt.
‘Get onto the others, tell them where he’s headed,’ Ridpath shouted to the young cop.
The man stopped and spoke into his Airwave.
Ridpath ran on, slipping once on the wet cobbles as he hurdled a suitcase of old clothes somebody had dumped, and nearly landing on his backside. He recovered his footing and carried on running.
Lam was nowhere to be seen.
The alley went in both directions, left and right.
Which way?
Ridpath chose right and ran on for fifty yards before he saw a branch on the left.
He could feel his breathing getting heavier and his heart pounding. If he ever caught this bastard, he promised himself he was going to get fit again. Time to lose the weight and get back into shape. Perhaps being a coroner’s officer had made him soft.
He turned the corner and Lam was there, desperately trying to get over a dead-end wall.
Ridpath stopped, hearing the sirens behind him.
The dawn was just beginning to break on a beautifully clear sky. He inhaled deeply and said, ‘Lam Tai Kong, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
Another deep intake of breath. ‘You’re nicked, matey.’
Chapter 74
‘I didn’t kill nobody. I didn’t do nothing.’
The solicitor placed his hand on Lam’s arm to calm him and stop him talking. It was Henry Miller, the same solicitor who had advised Liang Xiao Wen at Rowley Station before his death.
On the opposite side of the table were Ridpath and Emily Dickinson. Th
ey had booked Lam into the local nick where he had immediately requested a solicitor. Surprisingly, Henry Miller had turned up within thirty minutes and was shown into an interview room to talk with his client.
The two detectives started the formal interview at exactly 9.00 a.m. with Claire Trent watching and listening from the viewing room.
‘Present are Mr Lam Tai Kong, his solicitor, Henry Miller, Detective Inspector Ridpath and DS Parkinson,’ said Emily pressing the record button on the tape machine.
It was Ridpath who was leading the questioning. ‘If you didn’t do nothing, Mr Lam, why did you run?’
‘I was scared, thought somebody was breaking into my flat.’
‘The police identified themselves twice, Mr Lam.’
‘Didn’t hear them, I was asleep.’
‘A deep sleeper, obviously, DS Parkinson. Let’s move on, Mr Lam. Do you know a Mr Liang Xiao Wen?’
Lam shook his head. ‘Never heard of him.’
‘Really? A car owned by you, BM18 46G was seen outside Cheadle Heath Police Station when Mr Liang was inside.’
‘For the record, the screen is showing picture S76, an image of a BMW belonging to Mr Lam.’
‘That’s one of my cars but somebody must have borrowed it. I have lots of cars.’
‘And you don’t know Liang Xiao Wen?’
He shook his head again but with less certainty this time.
‘This is what he looked like the last time I saw him.’
‘On screen is a picture from the crime scene of Mr Liang’s body as it was discovered in his flat. It is picture M36.’
Lam turned away from the photo.
‘Are you sure you don’t know Mr Liang?’
Lam stayed silent.
‘For the record… I think that’s a no comment from Mr Lam,’ added the solicitor.
Ridpath smiled. ‘Does Mr Lam own a club called the Golden Elephant, located on Aytoun Street?’
‘No comment,’ said the solicitor.
‘We performed a search of the company’s register this morning and he is listed as an owner.’
‘On screen is a printout of the company information for Golden Elephant Trading Ltd, who are described in the company’s register as the beneficial owners of the nightclub. Mr Liang’s name is third of four. This is document D235,’ said DS Parkinson.
Lam whispered to his solicitor and turned to Ridpath. ‘I am one of the owners.’
‘Is it a place of prostitution, Mr Lam?’
‘It is a gentleman’s club, detective. We do have dancers and women to entertain our guests. We don’t condone prostitution, but what consenting adults do in their own time is up to them and has nothing to do with us.’
‘You do not employ illegal workers in your club?’
‘Not that I am aware, no.’
‘And is this the stamp used on guest’s wrists as they enter? A stylised elephant like this one?’
‘The witness is now looking at document D216, a drawing of the stamp used by Golden Elephant on the wrists of all entrants to the nightclub.’
Lam nodded.
‘Here is a picture of the body of Mr Tony Osborne,’ continued Emily Parkinson, ‘taken at the crime scene yesterday afternoon at 5.15 p.m. And following it a close-up of the man’s wrist with the stamp prominently displayed under ultraviolet light. These pictures are photographs S136 and S137.’
Ridpath took over. ‘He was also found dead in his home, killed in exactly the same way as Mr Liang. Mr Osborne had a stamp from your club on his left wrist.’
Lam stared at the picture and flinched. ‘I know this man.’
‘Oh?’
‘He was in my club the other night.’
‘When?’
‘Don’t say any more, they are just fishing for information. They have nothing,’ interrupted the solicitor.
Lam turned on the solicitor. ‘I’m not going down for this, I had nothing to do with it.’
The solicitor threw up his hands and sat back.
Ridpath pushed on. ‘When was he there?’
‘Wednesday night. Came in about eleven and had a couple of drinks at the bar.’
‘That’s all?’
Lam glanced across at his solicitor.
‘He didn’t meet anyone or talk to them?’
Lam stared down, shaking his head.
The solicitor was by his side again. ‘That’s a no comment from my client.’
‘Are you sure?’
Lam stared across the table at the two detectives. ‘No comment.’
Ridpath was silent for a moment.
‘If that’s all you have, gentlemen, and lady, I think this interview is completed, don’t you?’
‘Just a minute, Mr Miller,’ said Ridpath. ‘There is one other murder we are investigating. The murder of a woman, Wendy Chen.’
DS Parkinson clicked her laptop and another picture appeared on the screen. ‘This is picture number S23.’
Lam became pale.
‘Mr Lam, do you know this woman?’
No answer.
Ridpath pressed on. ‘She was murdered inside Wilmslow Immigration Removal Centre in the early hours of August 20th.’
‘You’re not pinning the death of Wendy Chen on me too.’ He turned to his solicitor. ‘You can’t let them do this I didn’t kill nobody.’
‘So, Mr Lam, you knew this woman? You knew Wendy Chen? We have reason to believe she was illegally trafficked into this country sometime in the middle of June. Did she work in your club?’
Lam was still staring at the picture of Wendy Chen taken that summer in Shanghai.
He didn’t respond.
‘I think this would be a good time take a break and confer privately with my client. If you could give us ten minutes?’
Ridpath stared across the table. Should he press on now or allow the solicitor time? If he ignored the request, the courts could accuse him of bullying the witness, putting him under undue stress to force a confession.
‘Detective Inspector Ridpath…’
‘You have ten minutes, Mr Miller.’
Emily Parkinson said, ‘interview terminated at 9.45 at the request of the suspect’s solicitor.’ She switched off the recording machine and the two detectives stood up.
‘Three murders, that’s what you are facing, Lam. It means they throw away the key. You’re looking at thirty years minimum.’
Chapter 75
‘We’re not getting much,’ said Claire Trent.
They were sitting in a small area next to an old, decrepit coffee machine. The walls around it were plastered with old police posters.
‘Everything we have is circumstantial, boss. We can’t put Lam at the locations of the murders, nor can we even tie him to the victims.’ Ridpath took a sip of coffee and grimaced, placing the plastic cup on the table. ‘The solicitor knows it and he knows we know it.’
‘Anything we can hold him on? How’s the search of his flat going?’
‘Some fingerprints, boss. The techs said they would call me as soon as the IDENT1 makes a match,’ said Emily Parkinson.
‘We can hold him a bit longer, but knowing that solicitor, without something new he’s going to have him out on his toes before lunchtime.’
‘What about resisting arrest? He did a runner this morning.’
‘You heard him, Emily, he says he didn’t hear it was the police. And when I cornered him, he came as quietly as a naughty child. CPS would never accept such a charge.’
‘We’re stuffed,’ said the detective sergeant.
All three stood up. ‘We’d better go back in and listen to what the solicitor has to say. Afterwards, prepare to let him go, but keep digging. We must be able to find something on him,’ said Claire Trent.
Parkinson’s phone rang. She answered it, listening carefully to the message.
‘It was the techs, boss. They found Lam’s fingerprints in Liang Xiao Wen’s apartment. All over the place.’
‘Confirmed they are his?’
> ‘Confirmed in IDENT1. He has priors for assault and living off the proceeds of prostitution.’
‘Go get the bastard.’
Chapter 76
Margaret Challoner read through the witness statement from Collins one more time. There wasn’t much to ask him about the death of Wendy Chen as he claimed he was in London at the time. Had Ridpath checked his alibi? Barnes, the first detective, certainly hadn’t.
She checked the clock on her wall. 9.45 a.m. Just fifteen minutes to go before the inquest began. She hadn’t heard from Ridpath or Claire Trent since yesterday evening. Had they discovered something new overnight? If they had, they hadn’t told her.
Should she ring Ridpath now?
As she picked up her phone, there was a knock on the door. She shouted enter, expecting it to be Jenny reminding her of the time, but instead a tall man with a receding hairline popped his head round the door.
‘I hope I’m not intruding?’
‘And you are?’
‘Anthony Scott from the Chief Coroner’s Office.’ He walked in and shook her hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. We don’t usually come to the North and I’ve heard so much about you.’
‘Most of it good, I hope,’ said Mrs Challoner.
Scott didn’t answer. ‘Can I sit?’
The coroner gestured towards the chair in front of her desk.
The man placed his briefcase on the floor and sat down, taking extravagant care to ensure the trousers of his pinstriped suit were lifted slightly to prevent bagging, and his legs crossed correctly.
Mrs Challoner couldn’t help but stare at the shininess of his brogues, the toecaps reflecting the light from her desk lamp.
The clerk to the Chief Coroner said nothing.
‘I hope you had a good journey to the wilds of Manchester.’
‘It was tolerable but first class isn’t what it used to be,’ he sniffed. ‘The coffee was served in plastic cups.’
Mrs Challoner looked at the clock. ‘How can I help you Mr Scott? As you know, I have an inquest beginning in ten minutes.’
‘The inquest, that’s exactly why I’m here, Mrs Challoner. As you know, my job is to keep a watching brief on the performance of coroners, especially in high profile trials…’
Where the Innocent Die Page 23