When the Past Kills

by M J Lee

  Chapter 73

  He could feel them closing in on him.

  The detectives would be out now, searching for the car. Checking CCTV. Interviewing possible witnesses. Knocking on doors from house-to-house. Going through his bank accounts. Looking up his mobile phone records. Talking to his friends (they wouldn’t find any).

  Doing everything and anything to find James Dalbey.

  Eventually, they would succeed. He had made it as obvious as he could without painting a big sign over his head saying. ‘It’s me. I’m James Dalbey. Come and get me.’

  And when they did discover his new incarnation, it was going to be too late.

  Because James Dalbey was going to be dead.

  Or as near as was humanly possible.

  Chapter 74

  Luckily, there were only six other houses in that area of Longford Park. After visiting them all with one of the local sergeants, Ridpath headed back to MIT.

  On his arrival, Claire Trent stepped out of her room, barking out an order to all the detectives. ‘Incident room in ten minutes. Is the board up to date, Chrissy?’

  ‘Yes, guvnor.’

  ‘Where’s DCI Turnbull?’

  ‘Getting something to eat, guvnor.’

  ‘Make sure he’s here.’

  Ten minutes later thirty detectives were all sitting in the incident room waiting for the meeting to start. There was a sense of expectation as Claire Trent stood up.

  ‘Right, as you may or may not know, we discovered where Dalbey aka James Monroe was staying until recently. We organised a PTU to go in but discovered the bird had already flown the nest. Ridpath, can you tell the team what you found in the house-to-house?’

  ‘Not a lot. Dalbey kept himself to himself. Not surprisingly, the neighbours knew nothing about his past. Most said he was a quiet man, mouse-like almost, they hardly ever saw him. One neighbour reported him putting out his bin for the council a week ago but that was the last sighting.’

  Harry Makepeace put up his hand. ‘When did Dalbey move into the area?’

  Ridpath checked his notes. ‘About eighteen months ago according to the neighbours.’

  ‘Just after he left prison?’

  ‘That would be about right.’

  ‘Did he have a car or van?’ asked Emily Parkinson.

  Before Ridpath could answer, DCI Turnbull came in wiping his mouth. ‘Sorry, ma’am.’

  ‘He drove a white Custom Ford Transit. But the neighbours didn’t know the registration number.’

  ‘It was AW 15 XEA,’ Chrissy said, ‘I checked with DVLR in Swansea. This was the only vehicle registered to James Monroe. And before you ask, we’re running a cross check through ANPR for sightings of the vehicle in the last seven days.’

  ‘When will we have it, Chrissy?’

  ‘Soon, it just takes time, boss.’

  ‘Kick them up the arse, Chrissy. I want those sightings and any new ones asap.’

  ‘Yes, guvnor. I’ll put on my arse-kicking boots.’

  This drew a laugh from the other detectives.

  ‘How was your visit to the solicitor, Paul?’

  Turnbull was settling himself at the front of the room. He looked up for a moment surprised by the question and stood up. ‘Not greatly useful, Claire. The solicitor cited privileged information when we asked for the address.’

  ‘I could have told you they would and saved you a trip.’

  ‘But the solicitor did let slip after questioning he hadn’t seen Dalbey for eight months.’

  Alan Jones looked up from taking notes. Turnbull glanced across at him but didn’t say any more.

  ‘So it’s a dead end. Never mind, we have lots of other leads to follow. Emily have you compiled the list of possible future victims?’

  ‘It’s on the board to your left, guvnor. I compiled two lists. Those involved in the original case against Dalbey in 2008. Most are police or judiciary.’

  Claire Trent turned round looking for the board, finally walking over to stare closely at it.

  ‘The second is the people involved when the case was re-opened in 2018.’

  The two lists were side by side. One name was prominent on both lists. DI Thomas Ridpath.

  ‘It’s time to issue the Osman notices. I’ll dig up a template for you to follow. Start contacting these people,’ Claire Trent ordered, ‘warn them about Dalbey and ask them to report if they have seen anything unusual recently. It’s imperative they be careful.’

  ‘Should we be arranging personal protection for all of them?’ asked Emily.

  ‘There are twelve names on the list. We don’t have the resources or the manpower to provide a twenty-four-hour nanny service. I believe we should use what resources we have to focus on catching Dalbey. But send the letters, and if necessary, go to see these people, Emily.’

  ‘Yes, guvnor.’

  ‘Chrissy, how are you going on the search for Dalbey/Monroe?’

  ‘We’ve checked his bank account. He withdrew over 20,000 pounds two weeks ago and it was the last transaction.’

  ‘Are you sure we have the right man?’

  ‘The bank is an HSBC in Chorlton and the address tallies. Rob contacted the manager at his home and he came in to check the files. Kept going on about how he was doing us a special favour. Dalbey/Monroe used the same driving licence as proof of identity.’

  ‘Great, good work, Chrissy, anything else?’

  ‘Well, like I said, we’re going through ANPR for the vehicle movements in the last week and we’re checking all the major phone networks for a James Monroe with the Longford Park address. But without his number, it’s a bit like looking for a City fan in the Etihad wearing a blue scarf.’

  ‘Not many of those, Chrissy,’ said Rob Allenby.

  ‘At least, we’ve got some fans, Rob. How are United doing these days?’

  A hubbub of competing voices sprung up around the room.

  ‘Enough,’ shouted Claire Trent, staring out across the assembled detectives. ‘Let me remind you we’re looking for a man who has murdered two people, injured two more and is probably going to carry on killing until we stop him. Ok?’

  The room fell silent.

  Into the silence, a mobile phone rang loudly, playing ‘Mic Drop’ by BTS, the sound becoming progressively louder.

  Ridpath felt the vibrations in his pocket and looked up guiltily as all the detectives stared at him.

  ‘Sorry,’ he mouthed, looking at the screen.

  Sophia.

  He stood up and answered the phone, walking out of the meeting.

  ‘Now DI Ridpath has answered his phone, perhaps we can continue our briefing. Next steps; Paul, can you chase up ANPR? We need any sightings of the vehicle in the last twenty-four hours. It’s our best hope of finding Dalbey quickly.’

  Before DCS Trent could continue speaking, Ridpath rushed back into the meeting. ‘That was Sophia, she’s found out where Dalbey is.’

  Chapter 75

  ‘I’m going to put you on speakerphone, Sophia, can you tell everyone what you just told me?’

  ‘Everyone?’

  ‘DCS Trent and the MIT detectives. We’re all in an incident room at the moment.’

  ‘So exciting.’

  ‘Just tell everyone, Sophia.’

  Ridpath heard his assistant take a deep breath. ‘Ridpath asked me to check up on the details of visitors to Harold Lardner. I was going through the list and there were the usual suspects; a few women who were obviously the sort who get turned on by serial killers. I read once—’

  ‘Yes, Sophia, tell them what you told me,’ interrupted Ridpath.

  ‘One name stood out. Hannah Christenson. She visited with a man called James Monroe.’

  ‘Monroe is Dalbey’s new name,’ said Turnbull loudly.

  ‘I knew, Chrissy sent me the details. Anyway, I checked up on this woman and she turned out to be a nurse on the intensive care unit at Manchester Metropolitan Infirmary—’

  ‘Lardner was based in the
Hospital Trust when he worked as a pathologist,’ explained Ridpath to all the detectives.

  ‘Perhaps he knew her,’ Sophia’s voice came from the speakerphone. ‘So, using the coroner’s name, I contacted the Hospital Registry and guess who was recently admitted to Manchester Metropolitan Infirmary’s intensive care unit?’

  The assembled detectives stared at each other.

  ‘A James Monroe. The name and address are the same as the one Chrissy sent me.’

  ‘What?’ said Claire Trent.

  ‘I said James Monroe was admitted to the intensive care unit about a week ago. He’s in a medically induced coma.’

  ‘A what? A medically induced coma? What’s that?’ shouted Turnbull.

  ‘Why is he in a coma?’ added Ridpath.

  ‘I don’t know is the answer to both questions. They wouldn’t tell me what the diagnosis was, but I do know he is there.’

  A silence descended onto the incident room.

  ‘Sorry, did somebody say something?’ Sophia’s tinny voice came from the speakerphone.

  ‘Great work, Sophia, thank you.’ Ridpath switched the phone off.

  DCI Turnbull’s forehead creased with frown lines. ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘It means, if Monroe is Dalbey, he couldn’t have killed Don Brown or Brian Conway,’ said Claire Trent softly.

  Chapter 76

  Claire Trent, Paul Turnbull and Ridpath took the lift up to the ICU unit on the first floor of Building One in Manchester Metropolitan Infirmary. Of course, the DCI hadn’t wanted Ridpath there.

  ‘Is it necessary, boss?’

  ‘For once, Paul, don’t let your antipathy to Ridpath get in the way of doing your job.’

  Turnbull looked abashed.

  ‘Do you know what Dalbey looks like?’ Claire Trent asked him directly.

  ‘I’ve seen the pictures and watched the tape.’

  ‘We all have, but Ridpath is the only one who has actually met him.’

  So now here they were approaching the Nurse’s Station. A ward sister looked up from her computer. Her name badge said Victoria Ojukwe. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘I’m Detective Chief Superintendent Claire Trent.’ She flashed her warrant card. ‘I’d like to see one of your patients, a James Monroe.’

  ‘This is an intensive care unit, all the patients here are receiving treatment for major illnesses or trauma and many of them need to be kept in isolation.’

  ‘It is imperative I see James Monroe, now.’ Claire Trent’s voice rose an octave.

  ‘Do you need any help, Victoria?’

  A man dressed in a surgical coat stood at the entrance to the unit.

  ‘These police want to see Mr Monroe.’

  The man laughed. ‘You want to question him? I’m afraid you’re not likely to get many answers.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Ridpath.

  ‘He is in a medically induced coma and unresponsive.’

  ‘Could we take a look at him? We are looking for a man called James Dalbey but we believe he changed his name to James Monroe about a year ago,’ Ridpath asked.

  The doctor glanced across at the Victoria Ojukwe. ‘That explains it.’

  ‘Explains what?’

  ‘The absence of medical records. The man told us he had been born abroad and never registered with the NHS.’

  ‘We want to see him now.’ Turnbull tried to enter the unit. The doctor moved in front of him.

  ‘Entry into this unit is strictly forbidden. Only for medical personnel.’

  ‘Do you want us to get a warrant?’

  ‘If you must, go ahead. But this is my unit and I decide who goes and who remains on the outside. If you persist in your behaviour, Mr—’

  ‘Detective Chief Inspector Turnbull.’

  ‘—Mr Turnbull, I will call security.’

  ‘But don’t you get it, we’re the police.’

  ‘I don’t care if you are the chief constable, Mr Turnbull, nobody tramps germs and God knows what other bacteria into my unit.’

  ‘Let me tell you why we’re here, doctor.’ Ridpath interceded between both of them.

  ‘It’s Mr Sullivan, detective.’

  ‘We’re investigating the murder in the last week of two people and the wounding of two more, one of who was the pathologist for Derbyshire. We believe this man, James Dalbey, also known as James Monroe, may have been involved.’

  ‘Highly unlikely, detective.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He’s been in a coma for the last five days. He is currently on a ventilator.’

  ‘What’s wrong with him?’ asked Claire Trent.

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve already told you far too much. The information is confidential. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have sick patients I must look after. Please call security Victoria.’

  The nurse picked up the phone on her desk.

  He turned to go back into the ICU.

  ‘Mr Sullivan…’

  The consultant stopped for a second and turned back to face Ridpath.

  ‘As we said, we’re investigating a murder and we need to ascertain your patient’s identity, that is all. All we need is for of one of us, accompanied by you or one of your staff, to take a look at him. We won’t need to ask any questions.’

  The consultant considered the idea. ‘Only one of you?’

  Ridpath nodded.

  ‘You would have to get suited up. The man is in isolation.’

  ‘No worries, I’m used to hospitals.’

  Chapter 77

  It took Ridpath fifteen minutes to suit up, wearing the full PPE gear he needed before he could set foot in an isolation unit.

  Outside, he could see Claire Trent was on the phone while Turnbull was staring into mid-air, absentmindedly cracking his knuckles.

  The ward sister, Victoria Ojukwe, escorted him into the unit, giving him the guided tour as they entered. ‘We have eighteen beds in this ICU with fourteen beds currently occupied. It’s a state-of-the-art unit with more than 250 people staffing the facility 24/7.’

  As he entered the place, Ridpath’s heart skipped a beat. All the memories of his time in hospital returned to him in one tsunami of emotions. The smell of disinfectant, the constant beeping of machines, the squeak of shoes on tiled floors, the obsessive cleanliness of the place, producing the palpable fear he faced all the time he had spent on the Christie’s cancer ward.

  He visibly shivered.

  The nurse stopped halfway through her tour, ‘Are you ok?’

  ‘Fine. Just brings back memories.’ He changed the subject. ‘How long has James Monroe been in here?’

  ‘He was admitted on February 4, five days ago.’

  So Dalbey couldn’t have been involved in the murders of Brian Conway and Don Brown. How had he got it so wrong? He quickly asked the next question to cover his confusion. ‘And what’s he in for?’

  She smiled at him. At least, he thought she smiled at him, because all he could see were her eyes above her mask. ‘You know I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Surely telling me the illness can’t be so terrible.’

  ‘But you heard Mr Sullivan.’

  ‘Doctors, they love their secrets, don’t they? But when I was in hospital a couple of years ago, it was the ward sister who knew everything going on. She ran the place rather than the consultant, but they always get all the credit.’

  ‘Tell me about it. Last week, I caught a junior doctor prescribing the wrong dosage to one of the patients. I had to quietly tell him to change it.’

  ‘See, it was the same in Christie’s with my ward sister, Mary Evangelista.’

  ‘You were in Christie’s?’

  Ridpath nodded.

  ‘Cancer?’

  ‘Myeloma. But I’m in remission now, have been for the last eighteen months. Still have to go for my check-ups though.’ Ridpath made a mental note to ask Polly when his next check was scheduled.

  ‘You’re lucky, myeloma is tough. I used to work at Christie’s. Mary is lovely.�
��

  ‘Isn’t she? I don’t know how I could have handled the chemo without her.’

  Victoria leant in closer to Ridpath. ‘Don’t tell anybody I told you but he’s a self-admitted private patient.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘Somebody who’s requested a medically induced coma and the neurosurgeon agreed with him.’

  ‘So let me get this right, Dalbey asked to be put in a coma?’

  The nurse nodded. ‘When you have a grade three astrocytoma it can be for the best.’

  He stared at her.

  ‘A brain tumour. They are working out when they can operate. But the tumour is aggressive and its edges undefined.’ She opened the door to a small ward with only three beds, two of which were occupied. ‘Mr Monroe is near the window.’

  Ridpath walked slowly across. A man wearing an oxygen mask was lying in bed, his head resting on a single pillow. At his side, the oxygen tube was connected to a ventilator. The machine rhythmically beeped and the lights on the screen flashed blue, red and green.

  Ridpath stared down at the figure on the bed. He looked older and his hair was thinner but it was James Dalbey for sure.

  Victoria Ojukwe joined him. ‘Mr Monroe was intubated four days ago.’

  ‘Intubated?’

  ‘A tube was placed in his throat to help him breathe. As long as he’s in the coma, he is dependent on the ventilator to keep him alive. He also receives a constant dosage of Propofol to ensure he remains in the coma.’

  ‘Can he hear us? Is he aware we’re here?’ Ridpath whispered as the machine continued wheezing and beeping.

  ‘I think so. Some of the nurses make sure they talk to the patients every day. Personally I can’t see the point when they are in a coma, but some are convinced it helps.’

  Ridpath looked down at Dalbey. For a moment, he thought he saw the man’s eyelids flicker.

  ‘Did he just move?’

  The nurse laughed. ‘Lots of people get spooked in ICU. The patients aren’t dead, they’re in a coma. Brain activity is still there; they still dream, but it’s at a much lower level.’

  The pager on her uniform started buzzing. ‘I’ll be back in a second.’