She was a young woman who deserved a better end to her life than lying on some cold stainless steel table in an even colder mortuary.
She deserved to have somebody care for her.
Like Eve.
He took another swallow of the Glenmorangie, feeling its bite in the back of his throat. A final thought forced itself to the front of his mind and wouldn’t leave.
Did Wendy Chen commit suicide or did somebody murder her?
WEDNESDAY
SEPTEMBER 18
Chapter 31
The next morning he decided to get into the Coroner’s Office early, making a breakfast for Eve of scrambled eggs and an extra large pot of coffee for Polly before leaving while they both slept.
He arrived at eight to find Sophia already at her desk staring at the screen of the laptop she had brought from home. ‘You haven’t been here all night, have you?’
‘No way, came in at six. I can’t look at this stuff at home. Mum goes all snippy on me. “You’ll ruin your eyes. No boy will look at you. You should be making yourself look pretty instead.”’ She sighed loudly. ‘I had to get away.’
‘Find anything?’
‘Nothing, except…’
‘Except what?’
‘Well, mum might be right, it could be my eyes, but look at this.’
Ridpath bent over her desk and stared at the screen as she rewound the disc and pressed play. ‘Is there a shadow there or am I seeing things?’
‘Play it again.’
She rewound it once more. Ridpath stared at the screen. The image was of a camera outside the DCOs restroom on the ground floor where Ridpath had interviewed Osborne and Cummings.
‘I guess the bosses put the camera here to check how long their employees were taking for their breaks. But it’s the right-hand side you should look at. See the light there?’
‘Yes.’
Sophia stared at the time counter at the top of the screen.
03.27.18
03.27.19
03.27.20
‘Watch… now.’
The light flickered for an instant and shone constantly again.
‘What was that?’ said Ridpath. ‘A faulty light…?’
‘Or somebody’s shadow crossing quickly in front of it?’
‘Where’s the location?’
Sophia tapped the schematic of the Centre. ‘On the stairs leading to the first floor.’
‘Don’t tell me…’
‘The camera on the stairs is out of order.’
‘Could it be one of the guards?’
‘According to their statements, at this time Osborne was in the control room.’
‘Can we confirm it?’
‘I can check the control room camera.’
‘Do it. What about Cummings?’
‘He said he went to the toilet.’
‘No cameras there?’
‘Even New Hampshire Detention Services wouldn’t go that far.’
‘Is there a camera close to the entrance of the staff toilets?’
‘I’m just looking for it now.’
‘Good work, Sophia.’
‘How was the interview with the man from Halverson?’
‘Interesting but not terribly informative. Is the coroner in?’
‘I heard somebody banging around.’
‘And before I forget, did you follow up with Dr Schofield?’
‘The post-mortem results will be in at three this afternoon, he promised me.’
‘Let’s hope he keeps it.’
A quiet smile crossed her face. ‘Oh, I’m sure he will.’
Ridpath decided not to ask her why. Some things were best not investigated.
Chapter 32
‘Good morning, Ridpath. You’re in early.’
‘So it seems is everybody else, Coroner.’
‘Including Carol Oates. We are busy this morning.’
‘I just thought I’d fill you in on last night’s meeting with the man who was in the room next door to Wendy Chen.’
‘His name was Liang Xiao Wen. His solicitor, Henry Miller, rang me last night to complain about you.’
‘He said he would.’
‘Don’t worry, the solicitor is a plonker. He knows my ex-husband better than me. They are two peas in a pod. Both as trustworthy as politicians.’
‘That bad, huh?’
‘Worse. Anyway, what did Liang say?’
‘He saw nothing apparently, slept through it all. All he remembers is hearing the alarms go off.’
‘Shall we call him as a witness? Did he see her in the Removal Centre?’
‘He did see her, but didn’t talk to her. According to him, she was crying and wanted to be alone, seemed depressed.’
‘Depressed enough to kill herself?’
‘He didn’t know.’
‘We’d better call him as a witness. At least he can talk to her state of mind on the day.’
‘I’ll send a subpoena over to Cheadle Heath and ask Sergeant Mungovan to give it to him when he signs on at six this evening.’
‘Could we do it earlier?’
‘Well, I guess I could do it. He lives in Chinatown and I’m going Madame Wong’s Bakery this morning.’
‘Why?’
‘It’s the last address given by Wendy Chen when she was processed into the Wilmslow IRC.’
‘I hate that word. Processed.’
‘What I shall I say?’
‘Admitted. Entered. Booked into. Whatever you like, but not processed. I’m meeting the parents this afternoon. What shall I say to them? Your daughter died in one of our prisons the day after being processed?’ Mrs Challinor ran her hands through her long grey curls. ‘Sorry, Ridpath, the more I read about what happens in these IRCs, the more angry I become. Human beings treated like bits of meat.’
‘I know, Mrs Challinor, but becoming emotional doesn’t help our victim. As you said, our job is to find out what happened to her and make sure it doesn’t happen to anybody else.’
‘Quoting my words back to me?’
‘They are right, particularly when you are meeting the family today.’
‘And afterwards, preparing for the inquest. Have the test results come in from Dr Schofield?’
‘Not yet, but Sophia is chasing him. This afternoon apparently.’
‘Good. We’ve got nothing so far except the reports written by Barnes and the first coroner, Dr Ahmed.’
‘I know.’
‘So I’m relying on you, Ridpath. Unless you find something, I can offer the jury only two possible findings: suicide or an open verdict. But I know in my water there is more to this case, I just know it.’
‘I don’t disagree, Mrs Challinor, but it takes time.’
‘Time is the one commodity we don’t have.’ She went back to reading her file. ‘Don’t let me keep you, Ridpath.’
As he walked out of her room, Ridpath looked back at Mrs Challinor, her grey hair dangling in front of her face as she wrote in green ink on the report.
Would he let her down this time?
Chapter 33
After waiting for Jenny Oldfield to type the subpoena for Liang Xiao Wen, Ridpath headed for the small area of Manchester just south of the City Centre, bounded by Mosley Street to the west, Portland Street to the east, Princess Street to the south, and Charlotte Street to the north, known as Chinatown.
He backed his car into a space in the car park right in the middle of the area. Surrounding him were the sights, sounds, smells and beeping car horns of a busy Chinese city. He came here occasionally, when Eve or Polly needed their fix of Cantonese food, particularly dim sum. Or when Polly’s mother needed to stock up on the salted eggs, tree fungus, goji berries and assorted dried bits of animal she needed for her soups.
He walked out of the car park and saw the bright red sign in electric neon for Madame Wong’s Bakery next to the bright red Chinese arch. He walked in and instantly the distinctive smell of a Chinese bakery hit him. It was different from th
ose in the West – the strong aroma of yeast was missing. Instead, there was a sweetness with a hint of aniseed suffusing the place.
An old woman turned her head and stared at him, as if saying, ‘What’s the gweilo doing here?’
Polly had explained long ago that gweilo, the slang word for westerners in Cantonese, literally meant ‘ghost man’. The Chinese, on seeing the pale, white skins of the first westerners in their country had been so shocked, they thought they were being confronted by ghosts. The description had stuck and, seeing the wrinkled face of the woman staring at him, he could see she still believed it.
He ignored her and walked up to the counter, flashing his warrant card to the young server. ‘Can I see your boss?’
The old woman spoke in a thick Cantonese accent. ‘Chai yan, hai-m hai?’
Ridpath recognised the words for policeman. Polly had taught him some Cantonese so he could understand when she was arguing with her mother.
The server replied. ‘Hai ge wo.’
Instantly, the woman put down the tray on which she had been placing her pastries and walked out of the shop without looking back at him.
Ridpath smiled. The old distrust of the police and the authorities in general was still alive and kicking. ‘Can I see your boss?’ he asked the server again.
‘He not here.’
‘When will he come back?’
‘Dunno.’
‘Guess.’
The woman’s shoulders shrugged. ‘By and by.’
Ridpath took Wendy Chen’s picture from his wallet. ‘Have you seen this woman before?’
The server nodded. Finally he was getting somewhere. ‘Did she work here?’
‘No.’
‘Where did you see her?’
‘Policeman, he showed me picture.’
‘When?’
‘Maybe month back. August sometime.’
Had Barnes been here? But there was no address for Wendy Chen on the police report. ‘Which policeman?’
‘I dunno. A policeman. They all look the same.’
Ridpath was getting nowhere. ‘What’s your boss’ name?’
The woman’s eyes flashed from side to side as she weighed up the pros and cons of telling Ridpath. Eventually, she decided a name didn’t matter.
‘It’s Chen Tai Kong.’
The same name as the man in the car last night. A coincidence? Probably not. He placed his card on the counter. ‘Get your boss to call me? Tell him I’m not a policeman, I’m from the Coroner’s Office.’ A little half-truth but Ridpath could live with it. ‘Get him to call me.’
The woman took the card and stared at it without answering.
Ridpath walked out of the door, the small bell ringing above his head.
In the reflection of the glass, he saw the woman throw his card into a bin next to the till. He didn’t think he was going to get a call after all.
Chapter 34
Ridpath stepped outside and was greeted by Hong Kong in all its garish glory. Bright red and yellow street signs, the noise of traffic, pedestrians looking into windows and always the aroma of Chinese food everywhere.
Time to find Liang Xiao Wen. Last night at Cheadle nick, the man seemed to be on the point of saying something when the lawyer arrived. Perhaps if Ridpath cornered him alone, the man would talk.
He checked Liang’s address. 267 Nicholas Street. He turned left past the Wing Fat Supermarket, where Polly’s mum shopped, through the arch and right onto Nicholas Street.
In front of him, the burnt-out shell of a building was the only memorial to two dead street sleepers who had been caught in the fire in 2016. Nobody had ever been imprisoned for causing their deaths.
He stopped for a moment, thinking of another fire not far from here. The death of another street sleeper, Sam Sykes. At least Ridpath had caught the killer, but it had been touch and go. He had been lucky. One piece of evidence had helped turn the case, changing a wild goose chase into a successful prosecution.
Luck was all it was. That and the relentless grind of finding evidence.
‘The truth always lies. Only evidence is clear.’ Charlie’s words came back to him again. Was the man haunting him?
He hurried along Nicholas Street looking for the address. A betting shop on the left, the name repeated in Chinese characters, a casino, another betting shop with a restaurant on the second floor. It must be here somewhere, but there were no numbers on the doors, as if nobody wanted to be found.
Ridpath retraced his steps, heading down a back alley with metal fire escapes climbing to the floors above. It reminded him of New York – even the buildings had the turn of the century solidity of that city.
He stopped in front of a six-storey building. Was this it?
He searched for a number above the door.
Nothing.
He walked round one side to see if there was an entrance. On the right was another bookie with a big sign saying BET HERE in English and the message repeated in Chinese.
He had never understood the lure of gambling. For him, there was a reason bookies and casino owners were some of the richest people in the world: the odds were always in their favour.
Polly tried to explain the importance of gambling to the Chinese once. ‘It’s the belief in fate; one day, the heavens will be aligned, the sun will shine, the skies open and your numbers will come up. The Gods have bestowed their good fortune on you.’
‘And if you lose?’
‘The Gods weren’t listening. Or they were asleep. Or you had simply chosen the wrong numbers. There was always another day when it could happen. It’s always a “could”.’
‘Your dad was a gambler, wasn’t he?’
‘Lost everything and then lost it again. He was always hoping for the big win when it would all come back. He died hoping.’
Ridpath walked past the bookies and saw a small entrance on the right, with the number 267 above the door in faded red letters.
Inside, concrete stairs led up past an import/export company on the ground floor. Ridpath climbed them. He was looking for Flat 5, according to the address. He passed Flat 2 on the left and climbed higher. Flat 3 had a picture of a young woman dressed in a red nightie outside, probably a knocking shop.
Ridpath climbed more stairs, past a kid’s tricycle and a stand for shoes outside another door. Flat 4.
Just one more flight of stairs. He was already out of breath. Either he needed a lot more exercise or there was something wrong. The visit to the hospital should sort it out.
In the back of his mind lurked a fear dressed in black carrying a scythe. He hoped the cancer hadn’t come back. He prayed it was just tiredness from overwork and lack of exercise. Nothing more, please let it be nothing more.
He climbed the last flight. Flat 5 was right in front of him. A door painted in one of those Farrow and Ball greys, so different and stylish compared with the utilitarian doors of the other flats. A plant in a pot was on the left and a single bentwood chair on the right.
Ridpath pressed the doorbell, hearing the sound echo inside the flat.
No answer.
He pressed it again, longer this time.
Still no answer. Liang was probably out. He should give the subpoena directly into the man’s hands, but he didn’t have time to waste chasing him all over town.
Instead, Ridpath took out the paper and lifted the flap of the letter box to post it.
As he did, the door swung slowly open, revealing a dark entrance hall, expensively covered in a small carpet and parquet flooring. Ridpath looked up to see somebody staring back at him and he instinctively stepped back, raising his arms to ward off any blows.
But none came.
He looked up again and saw his own image reflected in a wall-length mirror opposite the door.
Feng Shui. Ridpath should have known. Never have an opening directly behind the door otherwise money will flow out of your life.
He shouted, ‘Hello, anybody in?’ hearing his voice break halfway through th
e sentence. He shouted, ‘Anybody in?’ Stronger now, more like a policeman.
Still no answer.
He crossed the threshold, wiping his feet on the mat. On the right, a small cupboard with open shelves for shoes. Ridpath could see expensive brands of trainers, all lined up in a neat row.
‘Anybody here?’ he shouted again.
A corridor led into the flat on the right. Ridpath stepped forward, hearing his shoes on the parquet flooring. A door open on the left. He peered in. A bed already made with an expensive suit, shirt and tie lying on top, waiting to be put on by somebody going out. The bedroom itself was neat and tidy; expensive lamps on small tables either side of the bed, built in wardrobes, a print of Marilyn from Andy Warhol, her bright orange skirts billowing around her body. Was that real? thought Ridpath. Worth a pretty penny if it was.
‘DI Ridpath, coroner’s officer. Anybody here?’ he shouted again, walking slowly towards the living room.
And then he saw Liang Xiao Wen.
He was lying on a red carpet in the middle of the floor, his arms spread wide like Jesus on the cross and a smile plastered across his face.
Ridpath gradually realised it wasn’t a smile. It was a large gash where his mouth had once been.
And the carpet wasn’t red.
It was blood.
Liang’s blood.
Chapter 35
‘Hello, Ridpath, didn’t want to see you again.’
Detective Sergeant Ted Jones climbed the stairs to where Ridpath was standing outside the door with a medic. It was just twelve minutes since Ridpath had called the emergency services.
‘You were quick, Ted.’
‘As soon as I heard you were involved, I thought I’d better get here sharpish and City 3 is my patch.’ He stared past Ridpath into the darkened flat. ‘Matey in there, is he?’
‘Yeah, on the floor of the sitting room. I’ve sealed off the crime scene waiting for your mob to come.’
As he finished speaking, there was the sound of heavy boots running up the stairs. A sergeant and two constables appeared on the landing.
‘Nice to see you, John. Can you get your lads to close off these stairs?’
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