The copper looked at him dubiously. ‘On your own, are you?’
‘Just digging around. There was a hole in the fence over there, I…’
As Ridpath was speaking, the copper’s eyes suddenly widened. ‘I recognise you. You’re the idiot who thought they saw a man with a gun yesterday. Shut the road down.’
‘I am Detective Inspector Ridpath and I’ll thank you to treat me with respect, constable.’
The traffic cop’s radio squawked and he turned away to answer it. ‘Go ahead, control. The car belongs to a Detective Inspector Ridpath. He claims to be investigating the accident yesterday.’
‘I am looking into it.’
The constable nodded. ‘Roger that.’ He turned back to face Ridpath. ‘That was my boss. Apparently, you two met yesterday. He’s told me to say that it is an offence to be parked illegally on a motorway. You will remove your car immediately…’
‘But I’m working on a case.’
‘According to my boss, there is no log in the book telling us MIT are investigating in this area.’ The man’s voice softened. ‘Sorry, but he’s told me to give you a ticket. The fine is eighty quid. You could get your guvnor to ring him but Harry Todd is pretty pissed off with you.’
Ridpath sighed and waved his hand. ‘Just give me the bloody ticket.’
Somehow, the day had got worse.
Chapter Eighteen
After the run in with Traffic, he decided he would cut his losses and return home. He could go in at the weekend and catch up on work. Besides, he had a phone call to make.
It took him twenty minutes and two cups of strong coffee before he finally plucked up the courage to make the call. ‘Hi there, sweetpea.’
Silence on the other end of the phone.
‘Look, I’m really sorry about yesterday. Daddy had a few problems at work.’
A snuffle. ‘We were supposed to go to see Coco. Mummy was going to come too.’
‘I know I’m sorry, I had problems at work, sweetpea.’
‘I’m not your sweetpea. I’m a grown girl. I’m nearly ten.’
‘We can go to see it tomorrow if you like?’
‘Yesterday was the last day. And they had free popcorn too.’
‘What if I can find it at another cinema. Can we go together?’
‘Can Mummy come too?’
‘Of course she can. Let me check the Internet and I’ll let you both know.’
‘Ok, the girls at school say it’s great. The music is soooo good.’
‘Great, I’ll find it and let Mummy know.’
A long silence on the end of the phone. ‘When are we going to be together, Daddy?’
‘As soon as I find out where the film is playing…’
‘No, I meant forever, like it used to be. I’m sick of eating rice and Grandma won’t let me eat pizza or watch my iPad.’
The explanation Ridpath had been dreading. ‘Sometimes, adults go through problems. Me and Mummy are trying to work them out so we can be together again. OK?’
‘Like when I fell out with Harriet Butler about BTS?’
‘BTS?’
‘A Korean boy band. They’re so dreamy, Young Oh has these lovely eyes…’
‘Kind of like that, but different, if you know what I mean?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Can I speak to Mummy?’
‘Ok, she’s right next to me.’
‘But before you give her the phone, are you still my sweetpea?’
A quiet, ‘Yes.’
‘And remember, I’ll always love you, sweetpea, even when hell freezes over…’
‘…On a summer’s day in Manchester.’ She finished his sentence for him. It was their secret joke about the weather. Something nobody else, including his wife, understood. ‘Here she is.’
‘Hello, Ridpath. At least you made the call.’
‘Sorry about yesterday.’
‘I suppose it was work again.’
‘Don’t be like that, Polly. You know what it’s like.’
‘I know you seem to put your job ahead of your daughter or me. When are you going to learn it’s just a job, Ridpath? You’re not saving the world.’
Polly had been his rock when he had been going through his treatment and the recovery that followed. But somehow over the nine months their relationship had changed. She had blamed the job for his illness; the stress, long, antisocial hours, the sheer pressure of being at the blunt end of a system that paid little attention to human frailty.
Sometime during the nine months he had been ill she had stopped being a wife and a lover, becoming instead a mother. A role they both hated yet neither could halt. He didn’t blame her, it was just he wished she didn’t try to wrap him in cotton wool all the time. But he still loved her and always would. Did she feel the same way about him though?
‘If I can find the movie…’
‘Coco.’
‘That was it. If I can find Coco on at another cinema tomorrow, will you come?’
A pause. ‘Possibly.’
‘Is that a yes or a no?’
‘It’s a possibly.’
‘It would make Eve happy.’
‘Don’t use Eve against me, Ridpath,’ she snapped.
‘I’m not, it’s just… well… it would be nice to go out together again.’
‘I have an appointment tomorrow. I’m dyeing my hair.’ When they had first met, Polly’s black Chinese hair had been dyed a dark green. For some obscure reason it was something that attracted Ridpath to her all those years ago. The rebel who didn’t take anything, even her looks, too seriously.
Ridpath laughed. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘What colour this time?’
‘I thought a fetching shade of mauve.’
‘What will the school say?’
‘Bugger the school. I’m a teacher not a paragon of virtue.’
‘You could set a trend. Mauve-haired eight-year-olds.’
‘Mrs Rogers would have kittens.’
‘When are you doing it?’
‘The appointment’s at 3:30 p.m.’
‘So you’ll be finished by six?’
‘Possibly.’
‘I’ll book the cinema after then. Three seats…’ He crossed his fingers.
‘OK, but not too late. Eve has ballet on Saturday morning.’
‘OK, see you tomorrow. I’ll message with the time.’
Another pause. ‘Have you been to see Christies yet?
‘The appointment is at lunchtime tomorrow. The usual check-up and meeting with the vampire.’
‘She still can’t find your veins?’
‘Takes three stabs and still misses. Eventually she gets it right and the blue stuff comes pouring out of me.’
Once a month he had to have his blood checked at the famous cancer hospital. It was a time he hated. Waiting for the phone call that told him either he was still in remission or the cancer had returned. It was like waiting for the hangman to release the trapdoor.
‘You didn’t tell me what the last results were.’
‘And you didn’t ask.’ As soon as the words left his mouth, Ridpath regretted them.
‘I’m not your bloody mother. I shouldn’t have to ask.’
‘No, sorry, I should have told you.’
‘And?’
‘All clear. As fit as a butcher’s dog.’
‘That’s good news. Wrap up well before you go, Ridpath. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe I’m mothering you again, as if looking after thirty kids in school every day isn’t enough…’
And a loud buzz echoed in Ridpath’s ear. She had cut the line.
Ridpath thought about calling her back, but the detective in him knew that now was not the right time.
Chapter Nineteen
Charlie Whitworth felt tired. His world had changed in the last couple of weeks. He had gone from being in the running to head MIT with a lovely promotion on the side to being constantly on the run from a new boss.
>
Even worse, she was a woman.
Now he had nothing against women. Some of them make excellent officers, especially in the support roles. Look at Chrissy Wright, bright, diligent and hard-working, he didn’t know what he would do without her.
However, if he was faced with a gang of armed drug dealers he knew he would prefer a Dave Hardy by his side armed with a weighted cosh, rather than a female detective armed with a leather handbag.
He knew it wasn’t a fashionable view but he wasn’t a very fashionable man. He had worked all the hours God gave him to provide for his family and look what had happened. The wife hardly spoke to him any more, spending most of her time sleeping. And the kids? Well one was studying sociology in university. The last time they met, they had a big argument.
‘Look Dad, when society is unequal, deviant behaviour is to be expected. It’s the rebellion of the poor and disenfranchised against the norms of a society that has labelled them unfit.’
‘Bollocks. They are thugs and drug dealers whose one idea in life is to make a lot of money from the misfortune of others.’
‘How many people have you arrested for drugs in your career?’
Charlie smiled. ‘I’ve lost count there’s been so many.’
‘And has it made a blind bit of difference? If anything, drugs are now more prevalent and available than they ever were. Have twenty-odd years of your life made any difference?’
He hadn’t answered her. There was no point. She was questioning the whole meaning of his life.
They had spent the next twenty minutes avoiding the subject before she said she had to go. ‘John’s coming round.’
‘Your lecturer boyfriend? I thought he was married? And isn’t there a university policy against relationships between teachers and pupils.’
She stood up. ‘Sometimes Dad, you can be a real pig.’
She’d slung her bag over her shoulder and flounced out of the cafe.
They hadn’t spoken since that chat three weeks ago. He’d call her this weekend. She would have forgiven him by now.
He wouldn’t take it back though. It wasn’t right. She was just a girl being taken advantage of by an older man. Perhaps he should call university security and make a complaint. Or even better, write an anonymous letter to the vice-chancellor. That would cook the lecherous lecturer’s goose.
There was a knock on his door.
‘Enter.’
Dave Hardy popped his head in. ‘You got a minute, guvnor?’
‘Come in, Dave, I’m just trying to get my head around the world. Where did we go wrong, Dave?’
‘I don’t know what you mean? Did we go wrong?’
Charlie Whitworth waved a hand in front of his face, dismissing the question. ‘Never mind. What can I do for you?’
‘It’s about the job, Charlie. It’s like this, I’m up for early retirement in a few years and well, the missus is pushing me to take it and get a more regular job until then.’
‘You want out of MIT?’
‘It’s not so much that. It’s more of looking after myself in the next couple of years, have an easier life. And with all the changes recently, John Gorman going and the new woman coming in, I thought it was a good time to let you know.’
‘You’d give up working with MIT on major cases for “an easier life”.’
‘It’s just a job, Charlie.’
‘Just a job! It’s far more than that, but if your head is in that place maybe it is time for you to go. There’ll be a queue of eager young detectives waiting to take your seat out there.’
Dave Hardy held up his hand. ‘I am sorry, boss, I just think it’s the right time to make a move. I mean I don’t want to end up like Ridpath.’
‘Ridpath’s a good officer.’
‘A good officer who had cancer and now his wife has left him and he still can’t see further than the job. Last night, he closed the bloody M60. I don’t want to end up like him.’
‘Or me?’
Dave Hardy didn’t answer.
‘Your mind is made up?
‘It is, boss,’
‘Fine, I’ll start looking for a cushy number for you. In the meantime, you can do something for me. Our new boss needs taking down a peg or two…’
Chapter Twenty
He had his arm round the young woman’s body, touching her breast from the side. Her head was resting on his shoulder, her eyes closed.
He could see the taxi driver’s eyes looking at them through his rear mirror. She had been so keen on tonight’s date, she had even picked him up. This one was gagging for it.
‘Keep your eyes on the road, mate,’ he ordered.
‘Is she ok?’
Phil Marsland looked down on the sleeping woman leaning on his shoulder. He reached up to stroke her fine blonde hair. He would definitely take pictures of this one. A special one for his album.
‘Is she ok?’ The taxi driver repeated his question.
‘She’s fine. Just had one too many. Girls these days…’ he snorted, ‘can’t hold their drink.’
He had helped of course, buying her double gins and tonic instead of singles and encouraging her to neck some tequila shots. Well, you have to help them along, don’t you? Otherwise you’d never get your end away. And he wanted this one for his collection badly. A picture of her lying spreadeagled on the bed would be a lovely shot for his mates. Definitely one for the album.
‘I wish my wife were like that. It’s like pouring water down a well with her. Drinks away all my bloody money.’
‘That why you driving one of these?’
The driver nodded, his eyes looking through the rear mirror. ‘Got two kids as well, eat me out of house and bloody home.’
‘You’re bloody young for two kids.’
‘Had them when she was seventeen. Had to marry her, didn’t I?’
‘You should have practised the 4Fs.’
‘4Fs?’
‘Find ‘em. Feel ‘em. Fuck ‘em. And forget ‘em. My dad taught me when I was fourteen. Best advice he ever gave me.’
‘Your dad’s a bit of lad, is he?’
‘You don’t wanna know mate.’ Phil Marsland smirked. ‘You don’t wanna know.’
The driver checked his satnav. ‘Where is this bloody place anyway? We must be close now.’
Phil Marsland nudged the young woman next to him, using more force than was really necessary. She woke up with a start, her eyes unfocused and her head wobbling on the end of her neck. ‘Where am I?’
‘We’re going home, love. To your home…’
She gazed out of the window, trying to focus. ‘Turn left, here.’
The driver turned left into a narrow country lane bordered on either side by hedges.
‘Wouldn’t think a place like this existed in Manchester.’
‘My dad’s,’ she mumbled. ‘Let’s me use it when he’s not there.’
Phil Marsland smiled. This was looking good. She was taking him back to an empty house. He was definitely going to get his end away, whether she wanted to or not.
She reached out and shakily pointed to a house on the left. ‘Here.’
The taxi driver stopped and the young woman opened the door.
‘That’ll be twenty-five quid, mate. Or do you want me to wait?’
Phil Marsland checked the woman. She was leaning against a fence post trying to steady herself. he reached into his wallet and gave the driver three tenners. ‘Nah, we’ll be OK. Keep the change, mate.’
He got out of the car. The house was old, standing alone in the middle of this forest. Off to his left he could see the orange glow of the M60, accompanied by the steady drone of traffic. To his right the barks of large dogs from another house about a hundred yards away.
What a strange place, but perfect for what he had in mind.
Nobody was going to hear her screams.
He strode over to her and hooked his arm around her shoulders. ‘Take it easy…,’ he tried to remember her name. What was her name again
? Never mind, he’d ask in the morning. It usually pissed them off when he did, but by then he’d finished with them anyway.
‘What you doin’?’ She mumbled.
‘Helping you into your house.’
‘You can’t stay here, my dad…’
‘I know all about your dad, you told me remember?’
He helped her stagger to the front door.
‘Where are your keys?’
She pulled her bag round to her front and fumbled with the catch.
He unfastened it quickly and reached inside to pull out a keychain with a picture of the Virgin Mary.
Wonderful, a God-Squadder. He always liked helping them see the light.
He leant the young woman at the side of the door and hunted for the right key, eventually finding it. The door opened and she slid inside. He caught her before she fell and helped her into the living room.
‘You should go now,’ she mumbled.
‘Can’t leave you like this. And anyway, I thought we were going to have a party, just me and you.’
At the word party, she lifted her head and smiled. ‘I need a drink.’
‘You’ve had too much already.’
‘Just one more and we can go upstairs.’
A bottle of vodka was standing on a table with some glasses and an ice bucket. He splashed a large glassful for himself and a small one for her, adding two cubes of ice to their drinks. The little minx must have been planning for him to come back here tonight. She had everything ready.
He felt her arm go round his waist. She was standing next to him, her head nestling into his shoulder. The glass of vodka was taken from him.
‘Let’s neck these in one and go upstairs to bed.’
She looked at him with blue eyes and a dirty little smile curling her lips. He knew she was a little minx this one. He downed his drink, feeling the rush of vodka through his body.
She placed her glass back down on the table without drinking it. ‘Come on.’ She took him by the hand and led him upstairs.
His legs wobbled as they climbed the stairs. The vodka was strong. No worries, once he got to bed everything would be fine. The drink would help him loosen up. She was already as loose as a blow-up doll.
Where the Dead Fall Page 7