by Michael Wood
In the centre of Manchester, he looked around and saw people going about their business. Nobody cared anymore. Everyone lived in their own little bubble. He was grateful that the majority of people seemed to be charging full pelt with their heads down. Students and young people were more interested in what was going on in cyberspace via their smartphones to worry about a potential triple killer standing next to them in the queue for a coffee. Those of a working age were too caught up in the complexities of life – work, home, bills, childcare, lack of a pension, the instability of the future thanks to Brexit – to concentrate on who was around them. As long as it didn’t have a direct impact on their own lives, they weren’t interested. The elderly seemed to go around with a look of fear on their faces. They were distrustful of the young with their self-aggrandizing want for the superficial, and who could blame them.
Keith knew he wasn’t at risk of being identified by the public. Obviously, there was always one nosy parker who noticed everything and would ring the police if they recognized him, but he thought he’d changed his appearance enough for the untrained eye not to pick up on him. The one thing Keith feared, was the all-seeing eye of CCTV cameras. They were everywhere. He had read somewhere that England had more security cameras than any other country in Europe. He wondered if it was true. Suddenly, he was seeing cameras wherever he looked. He pulled the hood up on his sweater, and, with his head down, made his way quickly north. He had no idea where he was going. He didn’t know Manchester well. He felt he had to get away from the city centre, head for the motorway, try and grab another lift. He’d been spooked in the truck yesterday when he was mentioned on the radio. He guessed the driver saw a change in his behaviour, that’s why he’d asked him to drop him off at the next station. He was shocked to find he was only at Manchester. Glasgow would have been ideal.
He found a phone box, dug for a pound coin in his jeans pocket and called his sister. He needed help and he had very few people he could turn to.
‘Elizabeth, it’s me.’
‘Keith. Where the hell are you?’
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘The news said you were in Maidstone. What were you doing there? We don’t know anyone in Maidstone.’
‘I’m not there now. I was trying to get abroad.’
‘Keith, what the hell have you got yourself mixed up in?’
‘That’s just it, I haven’t done anything.’
‘Then why are you running away? Did you phone DCI Darke?’
‘Yes. I called her last night. I told her I was innocent.’
‘Did she believe you?’
‘I doubt it. They don’t care about guilt and innocence. They just want someone to lock up.’
‘No. She’s not like that. She’ll listen to you. I looked her up on the Internet. Do you remember that place in Sheffield, Starling House? It was a youth prison for all those violent teenagers? There was a lad in there who was innocent, and she got him out. She’ll listen to you; I know she will.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Positive.’
‘Will you call her for me? Will you tell her I’m innocent?’
‘It would be better coming from you.’
‘I’ve tried.’
‘Try harder. Keith, you can’t keep running away like this. They’ll find out. If they do it will look worse. It would be better if you gave yourself up.’
‘Elizabeth, you know me, there’s no way I could have killed three people.’
‘I know.’
‘So tell them that. Please,’ he begged.
‘Think about it, Keith, they’re not going to listen to me. They’ll have looked into my background too. They’ll know all about me. They won’t believe a word I say. You’ve got to come home.’
Keith was silent for a long moment while he made a decision. ‘I want to.’
‘Then come home,’ Elizabeth pleaded. ‘For me. For Mum.’
He took a deep breath and released it in a heavy sigh. ‘Look, call DCI Darke. Tell her I’ll talk to her, but it’s just going to be me and her, and you. Nobody else.’
‘OK.’
‘Thanks. I’ll call you later. I love you, Elizabeth,’ he said quickly before ending the call.
Elizabeth Lumb stood in the living room with the phone in her hand. She looked at the blank display. Her heart was racing. If her mother found out what her son was involved in, it could kill her.
‘That was Keith,’ she called out to the kitchen. ‘He wants to come home. I’m going to call that DCI Darke, see if she’ll meet him.’
Still clutching the phone to her chest she headed for the kitchen. She opened the door and went to put the kettle on.
‘Don’t look at me like that. I can’t leave him out to dry. Do you want a coffee?’ She turned to the table. There was nobody there. ‘I’ll just make myself one then.’
Chapter Forty-Seven
‘What’s going on?’
‘Rory, not now.’
Matilda was charging down the corridor with the young DC on her heels.
‘What’s happened to Scott? I’ve tried calling him and texting him but he’s not responding. Has he been hurt? Is he in hospital? Do his family know?’
Matilda stopped dead in her tracks. Rory almost collided with her.
‘Rory, I don’t have time to answer your questions right now.’ She saw the look of hurt on his face. ‘Look, Scott is fine. He just needs to take today off. I’m sure he’ll tell you everything tomorrow.’
‘But it doesn’t make sense …’
‘Rory, I’ve got a woman in there who says her husband killed her family. I’ve got a suspected triple killer running around Britain and the world’s press breathing down my neck. I’m short staffed. I haven’t showered since yesterday morning and I’m wearing yesterday’s knickers. I haven’t got time for this,’ she shouted.
She turned and continued to head towards the HMET suite. Rory picked up the pace and followed.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, quickly.
‘That’s OK.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Get a car and go and arrest Oliver Ridgeway.’ Matilda kicked open the door, which banged against the wall. ‘Christian, I need a team to keep an eye on Elizabeth Lumb. I’m not going to be able to get there this morning.’
‘I don’t have the manpower for another team.’
She looked around at the empty room. ‘Shit.’ She could feel the prickly heat of a panic attack rising up through her body. It had been a long time since she had been under such stress. Usually everything was manageable. Not this time.
‘Christian,’ she said, taking a deep breath, ‘I don’t care how you do it, but I need a team to watch Elizabeth Lumb’s house in case her brother comes back. Use Specials, use Community Policing, use the fucking boy scouts, I don’t care. As long as there is someone keeping an eye on her house until I can find time to get over there,’ she said quietly.
‘Leave it with me. I’ll sort it.’ He backed away.
‘Thank you.’
She turned to head to her office; her vision blurred. She tried to take a deep breath but she was too tense for it to have any effect. She bit the inside of her mouth hard to try and relieve the aggression she was feeling, but even with the taste of blood, there was no release.
Her phone started to ring. She fished it out of her pocket and saw it was Elizabeth calling her. What fresh hell is this?
‘DCI Darke? It’s Elizabeth Lumb. I don’t know if you remember me, you came to my house—’
‘Yes, I remember,’ Matilda interrupted.
‘I’ve had a call from my brother. He’d like to talk to you.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Where is he?’
‘I don’t know. But he said he’d like to talk to you and explain everything, but he wants to talk to you on your own. Well, with me there too, but just you from the police.’
‘That’s fine. I can do that. Where?’
‘I don’t know. He’s g
oing to call me back later.’
‘OK.’ Matilda ran her fingers through her hair. She dug her nails into her scalp. The pain sent a shiver down her spine. ‘When he calls, tell him to name the time and the place and I’ll be there.’
‘Will do.’
Matilda ended the call. She felt a wave of relief sweep over her. She was making some headway. Finally. She turned to face the room but there was only one other person there.
‘It’s Tim, isn’t it?’
‘Finn.’
‘Of course. Sorry. Do me a favour, look up a woman named Elizabeth Lumb. She lives on Trap Lane in Sheffield. I want to know everything about her.’
‘How do I …? I mean, is she a suspect or … you know …?’ He waffled. His fingers were poised over the keyboard of his laptop. They were shaking with nerves.
‘Just do what you can.’ She rolled her eyes and left the room.
Matilda found herself heading for the toilets. The last cubicle near the window was always her place of refuge; where she went to lock herself in and have a good cry. It was usually her depression, the empty feeling of loss when she thought of James that made her feel like this, but now, it felt different. Why did she want to cry? She pushed open the door and was about to cross the threshold when she stopped herself. She took a deep breath and inhaled the toxic fumes of toilet cleaner, cheap liquid soap and urine.
You’re bigger than this.
She turned on her heels and headed for the stairs. Maybe she needed some fresh air. Maybe she needed just a few minutes to herself. Maybe she needed a clean pair of knickers.
As she ran down the stairs she looked at her phone. There was a text from Pat saying she had thoroughly enjoyed urbexing last night. She’d been in four buildings on the outskirts of the city centre but hadn’t found anything. She was going again next week at some point. Matilda smiled to herself as she remembered the selfie Pat had sent her. She dialled Scott.
‘Scott, it’s Matilda. I’m sorry but I need you to come in. I know I said you could have today off but we’re seriously short staffed.’
‘Oh.’
‘Problem?’ she asked in a way where even if there was a problem he would be unable to refuse to come to work.
He hesitated. ‘No. It’s just …’
‘Look, Scott, I’m sorry. I know you’re going through a lot in your personal life but you’re going to have to put it on the back burner.’
‘Does anyone know what happened last night?
Are you referring to your attack or the kissing noises I could hear from the spare room?
‘They think you were involved in an incident. That’s all. We’re arresting Oliver Ridgeway. His wife has made a serious allegation against him.’
‘Shit,’ he said under his breath. ‘OK. Give me an hour.’
Matilda ended the call. No sooner had she put the phone in her pocket than it started ringing again. She answered as she pushed open the double doors and was hit in the face with a blast of cool air. She shuddered. It was just what she needed. She was able to breathe easily again.
‘Is this DCI Darke?’
‘Speaking.’
‘It’s TDC Finn Cotton. I’m on your team.’
‘I remember.’ She smiled.
‘I’ve looked up Elizabeth Lumb for you. She has a record.’
That stopped Matilda dead in her tracks. ‘Really? What for?’
‘For a start, her mother isn’t in a nursing home. Well, she kind of is, but it’s not a home that you go to just because you’re old.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Her mother has locked-in syndrome. She was involved in an accident in 2001.’
‘What happened?’
‘She fell off a balcony and landed on concrete.’
‘Elizabeth said she was in a nursing home. Why would she lie?’
‘Because, according to this, it was Elizabeth who pushed her.’
Chapter Forty-Eight
Elizabeth put the phone back in its cradle in the hallway. She liked it to be fully charged. She put on her coat and stepped into her ankle boots. In the mirror, she checked her appearance, neatened her hair and made sure she didn’t have anything in between her teeth.
‘I’m going out now,’ she called up the stairs. ‘I won’t be long. Keith said he’ll call. If he does and I’m not back, tell him to try again later. Will you be all right on your own?’ She waited as if listening to a reply. ‘That’s good. You just relax. Bye.’
She let herself out, locked the door behind her and placed the door keys carefully in her pocket. As she made her way down the pavement she looked back up at the house and gave a wave to the front bedroom window.
Oliver Ridgeway was sitting in interview room one. His solicitor had been called and was on his way. Watching from the observation room, Matilda was joined by a flustered Scott who looked like he’d run all the way to work.
‘We’re not going to mention the assault on you at all,’ Matilda said. Her voice was low and severe. ‘We’re not going to talk about anything connected with you. It’ll just be the assault on his wife and the murders. Understand?’
‘Yes,’ he said, swallowing hard.
‘Are you all right?’
‘No,’ he almost snapped.
Matilda opened her mouth to speak when a PC knocked and entered, telling them Oliver’s solicitor was here.
In the corridor, Hilary Morrison stood with her back straight and her head held high. She was only a short woman, five foot two in heels, but she made up for it with her reputation. Hilary was a formidable woman who oozed attitude. She was as vicious with her clients as she was with the police. She wasn’t here to make friends but to get to the truth of the matter. Above all, she hated being lied to and had been known to walk out during an interview, leaving her client stranded if she felt she was being sold a lie. Matilda had a great deal of admiration for her.
‘Hilary, long time no see,’ Matilda said, shaking her hand.
‘Matilda, always a pleasure. I’ve been told you’ve moved house.’
‘Yes. I had no idea how much of a project it was going to be, but it’s getting there.’
‘You’re moving on then?’
‘Trying.’
‘You’ll get there.’ She smiled a natural smile. ‘Can I have a private chat with my client?’
‘Of course. We’ll be in in a few minutes.’
Hilary entered the interview room and closed the door firmly behind her. Ten minutes later, when Matilda and Scott entered, Hilary had made herself comfortable. Her expensive jacket was draped over the back of her chair and she was sitting next to Oliver with her pen poised over an open folder. She had already made comprehensive notes by the look of it.
Matilda watched as an icy exchange was made between Oliver and Scott. Scott turned away first but Oliver’s steely gaze was fixed firmly on the DC.
Scott started the recording equipment and they each stated who they were in turn. Eventually, he looked up. He was sitting opposite the accused. They were in each other’s line of sight.
‘Before we proceed,’ Hilary began, ‘my client denies all knowledge of an assault on his wife. Last night, they had a row and Leah left. She didn’t come home all night. As for Leah claiming he is responsible for the murder of her family, he is dumbfounded by these allegations, and, as you know, has a cast-iron alibi for the time of the killings.’
Matilda opened a file in front of her. ‘Mr Ridgeway, when you were arrested we seized your mobile phone under section nineteen of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act of 1984. Section twenty of that act allows us to sift it for evidence. We have found the text message you sent to your wife this morning at nine o’clock in which you apologize for absolutely everything. They were your exact words. This is all the evidence we need for your guilt.’
‘Taken out of context, that text could mean anything,’ Hilary interrupted.
‘Mr Ridgeway, do you know what Grindr is?’
The temperatur
e seemed to drop several degrees in the room as, once again, Oliver and Scott made eye contact. Again, it was Scott who looked away first.
‘Mr Ridgeway?’ Matilda prompted.
‘No,’ he said quietly.
‘Are you sure?’
He took a deep breath. ‘Yes. I’m sure.’
‘OK. Grindr is a social networking app used by gay men in order to meet other gay men whether that’s for a drink, casual sex, or dates. Why is this app on your phone?’
All eyes were on Oliver as he remained stoic.
‘Mr Ridgeway, are you bisexual?’
‘My client’s sexuality is not under scrutiny here. Surely he’s here to answer questions about the alleged assault on his wife. An assault he has vehemently denied.’
‘True, but we need to find a motive for the assault. I’m guessing if his wife found out about his secret other life, that would be a motive for assault. It could also be a motive for the murder of his in-laws?’
‘My client, and his wife, were both in Paris at the time of the murders. You know this already, DCI Darke.’
‘Indeed. I didn’t say he committed the murders. I said his secret life could be a motive. Mr Ridgeway, would you answer my question?’
‘I don’t use it very often,’ he eventually said. His head was down and he was nervously picking at his fingernails.
Matilda referred to the file again. ‘You downloaded the app in October 2010. That’s almost eight years ago. You have messages on there going back several years and in your message history you have over one hundred conversations with men which are still active. You even logged on to the app while you were in Paris and messaged seven men. If you’re going to lie about your usage of this app, you really need to clear your history more often.’
‘May I have a few more minutes’ private chat with my client?’ Hilary asked as she quickly scribbled on her pad.