When the Past Kills Page 4

It was time.

  He had been planning this for the last year, ever since he had received the news, going over it again and again in his mind like a terrier worrying a rat.

  The plan was ready. The details discussed and determined. The i’s dotted, the t’s crossed and the orders written. Every last sentence and instruction pored over until it was exactly right.

  He was ready. They were ready.

  The first two phases had gone exactly as they had been designed. Now it was time to ramp it further, turn up the pressure on the bastards.

  There was an end target but they didn’t need to know yet.

  Nobody needed to know.

  Except him, of course. And he would be leading them by the nose to their final destination.

  Hell. Or as near as he could make it.

  He remembered reading somewhere that hell was other people. In his world, it wasn’t that complicated.

  In this brave new world, hell was going to be never-ending pain.

  The pain he was going to inflict to pay them back for what they had done.

  The weird thing was he expected killing the dogs would be easy, but it wasn’t. The way they had looked at him with their mournful eyes as he hoisted them up to the rafters, had surprised him.

  He hadn’t expected it to hurt.

  Killing people was going to be easier.

  Chapter 10

  As he left the conference room Ridpath was handed a file by Chrissy Wright. ‘I hear the country bumpkin from Cheshire has made you the lead on the killing of John Gorman’s dogs?’ she said smirking.

  ‘Is that what they are calling him? Country bumpkin?’

  She leant in closer. ‘He’s not the most sophisticated copper I’ve ever met.’

  ‘He’s still our boss Chrissy and you would do well to remember that.’

  She sniffed twice. ‘He should treat people with a little more respect.’

  Ridpath glanced down at the file. The name of the investigation was printed in big, bold, black letters on the cover.

  OPERATION ROVER.

  ‘See what I mean? His idea not mine.’

  Ridpath shrugged his shoulders. ‘He’s the boss. And this is an investigation like any other. We’re going to do it properly. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, Detective Inspector Ridpath.’ She saluted him ironically.

  ‘Talking about doing things properly, I see City lost again last week. Relegation looming?’

  ‘Still higher in the league than United.’ She tightened the City scarf around her neck, turned on her heel and walked away.

  People seemed very touchy today. Ridpath wondered if Paul Turnbull had been throwing his weight around, showing the team who was the big new dog in town. He looked down at the file again. Operation Rover was still printed on the cover. Not the best introduction to life back at MIT.

  Emily Parkinson was sitting at her desk, staring at her computer.

  Ridpath caught her eye. ‘You’re with me, Emily. We’re going to interview John Gorman.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I said we’re going to meet John Gorman.’

  ‘The dogs case? But I was supposed to be working with Alan Jones on the county lines investigation. Why have I been moved?’

  ‘I don’t know. Take it up with Turnbull, but you’re with me today.’

  She looked around at her fellow detectives for support. They all kept their heads down or carried on staring at their computers as if the most important information in the world was on their screens.

  ‘Come on, we’d better get a move on.’

  Reluctantly, Emily Parkinson stood up and put her jacket on. ‘Do you mind if I check? I was looking forward to working with South Yorkshire not looking into the death of some dogs.’

  Ridpath shrugged his shoulders. ‘Be my guest, I’ll be in the car out front.’

  Ridpath took the lift to the exit. He hoped this wasn’t a harbinger of his new life at MIT; a dodgy case and a DS who was reluctant to work with him.

  Emily Parkinson came out of Police HQ five minutes later and got into the car without saying a word.

  ‘John Gorman lives over in Didsbury, posh end of town.’

  No answer.

  Ridpath put the car in gear and drove down to Princess Parkway in silence. They stopped at a red light. ‘Listen, Emily, do we have a problem? If we do let’s sort it out now.’

  For the first time, she turned to face him. ‘Look, Ridpath, we’ve been put together. You’re my boss, let’s leave it at that.’

  The lights turned green and Ridpath accelerated away. ‘What’s going on? Why is everybody so touchy all of a sudden.’

  ‘Everybody isn’t “so touchy” as you put it.’ She sighed. ‘Look, we’re supposedly short of staff and resources but Turnbull has been giving me the shit jobs or nothing at all.’

  ‘So this is a shit job?’

  ‘Investigating the death of a couple of dogs? It’s hardly a major crime is it? Now if somebody had shot Goofy…?’

  They both laughed.

  ‘We don’t get to choose the work we’re given but we’ll investigate this case as we would any other. Because it’s John Gorman, the high-ups will be taking a personal interest. The man was an ex-chief super and still has many close friends in the Force.’

  ‘The funny handshakes mob?’

  ‘I don’t know and I’m not a Mason if you are asking.’

  ‘I wasn’t but it’s good to know. It’s still a couple of dead dogs though, isn’t it? Hardly Major Investigation Team work?’

  ‘We still do our jobs. We gather evidence and work the case. Whether it’s a dog or a stabbing, I don’t work any differently.’

  She was quiet for a moment as a February shower suddenly came from nowhere and pelted the windscreen with hailstones. ‘You know you have a reputation as a bit of a maverick?’

  ‘People have been talking have they? You don’t want to listen to gossip.’

  ‘Is it true you were one of the reasons for Gorman’s retirement?’

  Ridpath sighed. ‘Not really. There were some inconsistencies in the evidence on the Beast of Manchester case, Gorman was in charge and, when they came to light, he decided to retire early rather than face a prolonged investigation of his conduct.’

  ‘But didn’t you discover the mistakes?’

  ‘I was the coroner’s officer who discovered Alice Seagram’s body was missing. There were other mistakes in the investigation leading to the arrest of James Dalbey rather than the real killer, Harold Lardner.’

  ‘Concealing evidence, pressuring witnesses, changed testimony from the pathologist?’

  ‘That was some of it.’

  ‘So where’s Dalbey now?’

  Ridpath shrugged his shoulders. ‘I dunno. He got a large payoff from the government for his ten years inside. I suppose he’s living off the money somewhere.’

  ‘Ten years inside. How can anyone be compensated for the loss of ten years?’

  ‘I don’t know, but he was. Anyway, we’re here.’

  Here was a large detached house in a quiet road in Didsbury, not far from Fletcher Moss gardens.

  ‘Not a bad place to retire,’ said Emily Parkinson, getting out of the car. ‘Worth a few bob is our ex-Detective Chief Superintendent.’

  John Gorman was waiting for them at his front door. ‘I might have guessed they would send you, Ridpath, rubbing my nose in it, are they?’

  ‘No, sir. I was available.’

  ‘You’re back with MIT now?’

  Ridpath didn’t know how to answer. ‘Nearly, sir. Another couple of weeks and I’ll be back full-time.’

  ‘And you are?’

  ‘DS Emily Parkinson… sir.’

  John Gorman looked her up and down. ‘I’ve heard about you too. Got a bit of a mouth on you, apparently.’

  Emily glanced across at Ridpath. ‘I wouldn’t know about that… sir.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t.’

  Ridpath decided this was going nowhere. ‘Can you
tell us what happened, sir?’

  ‘Come in. I won’t be offering you tea, you won’t be staying long.’ He turned and headed back to the rear. The kitchen was neat and tidy with nothing out of place. John Gorman sat on a bar stool, leaving the other two detectives standing.

  ‘As usual, I let the dogs out when I woke up.’

  ‘What time was that?’ asked Ridpath.

  ‘Around eight o’clock. I do the same thing every morning. I let the dogs into the garden so they can pee and have a bit of a run around before I make them breakfast.’

  ‘So you opened the door to let them out?’

  ‘Right. I came back in here to make myself a pot of tea, like I always do. It’s my favourite time of the day. Hearing the dogs run around, snapping at each other’s heels while I listen to the news on the radio.’

  ‘When did you notice they were missing?’

  ‘Well, it must have been about ten past eight. I heard a car engine start up. It sounded like it was the neighbour going off to work. I couldn’t hear the dogs, so I went to the front garden and they weren’t there.’ John Gorman’s voice began to break.

  ‘What did you do then?’

  ‘I noticed the gate was open, I thought I must have forgotten to close it last night and I decided to go up to my allotment.’

  The man looked down and Ridpath could see there were tears forming in his eyes. he pushed on with his questions. ‘Why did you decide to go there?’

  The answer was stumbling, the man’s voice cracking. ‘It’s happened before. If the dogs get out, that’s where they go.’

  ‘So you walked up to the allotment?’

  ‘Did your wife go with you, sir?’ said Emily Parkinson looking at a family picture on the wall.

  The ex-chief inspector raised his head. ‘My wife has been dead for two years, DS Parkinson. She died just after I retired.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘You walked up to the allotment.’ Ridpath was trying to keep the interview on track.

  There was a long pause before the answer finally came. ‘I got there and found the dogs, Cora and Big Charlie, hanging from the roof of the shed. Somebody had tied a rope round their necks and strangled them.’ John Gorman’s voice broke again. ‘Once my wife died, they were the only things I cared about. Myself and Annie, we couldn’t have kids so…’ His voice trailed off.

  ‘Have you had any threats recently? Anybody with a motive for the attack?’

  ‘Listen, DS Parkinson, you can’t be a copper for over thirty years without making a few enemies. But, to answer your question, there have been no threats recently, nothing.’

  ‘No local kids you’ve annoyed?’

  ‘I don’t annoy local kids, DS Parkinson, they annoy me. But look around you, this area doesn’t have any kids, it’s all old people like myself.’

  ‘Good,’ said Ridpath closing his notebook. ‘We’ll go up to the allotment and take a look around.’

  John Gorman nodded slowly, his eyes glistening. ‘I won’t come with you, I can’t come with you. The place is tainted for me now. You know there were only two things I enjoyed in my life since leaving the Force; my dogs and the allotment. Both have been taken from me.’

  ‘I’m sorry to ask this but what happened to the dogs?’ As he asked this, Ridpath noticed a solitary mug sitting unwashed in the sink. On the drainer next to it, a single bowl and spoon.

  ‘The RSPCA took the bodies away. Poor Cora and Big Charlie.’

  ‘We’ll go and take a look, see if we can spot anything.’

  John Gorman stood up. ‘When you find the bastards who did this, let me know before you arrest them, Ridpath. I want to be there.’

  ‘If I can, sir.’

  ‘That’s an order. Understand?’

  Ridpath was about to explain to John Gorman he didn’t give orders any more, but stayed silent. What was the point? ‘I understand, sir,’ he finally said. ‘I’ll go and check out the allotment, now.’

  Gorman’s voice changed. Once again, he was a detective superintendent giving a command. ‘Do it now, Ridpath. I want whoever did this caught and taught a lesson, you understand me? And if you don’t do it, I’ll find somebody who will.’

  This had gone far enough. ‘Please leave it to us, sir. Don’t take the law into your own hands. This is a police matter and you are retired.’

  For a second, it looked like John Gorman was going to punch him in the face, but, in a long moment, the man shrivelled before his eyes like a balloon being punctured, sitting down heavily on the chair.

  The ex-chief inspector, once feared throughout Greater Manchester Police for being able to cow criminals with one look, covered his face with his hands and began to cry.

  Ridpath glanced towards Emily Parkinson and indicated they should leave quietly. She headed for the door. He stepped forward and said, ‘We’ll find out who did this, sir.’

  There was no answer. Nothing save the sound of his ex-boss sobbing.

  Ridpath touched him on the shoulder and then followed Emily Parkinson out of the door.

  He couldn’t bear to see his ex-boss reduced to this.

  Chapter 11

  At the allotment, nobody would have guessed this was a spot where two dogs had been murdered just a few hours before.

  The place was quiet with only two people, both old men, preparing seed beds. Ridpath had always loved allotments ever since he was a kid. His dad had one before he died and Ridpath had a fond memory of being carried home after a day digging and sowing, the smell of the earth and sweat buried deep in his father’s shirt.

  That was before the cancer took hold, before his dad coughed himself to death. The disease ran in his family. Another thing he had inherited as well as his big ears.

  ‘I always hate the smells of these places, don’t you?’ said Emily Parkinson. ‘Too much manure and rotting vegetables.’

  Ridpath didn’t answer, staring out across the separate plots, each as individual as the owner. Some were neat and well ordered; beds planted in straight lines, precise sections for the different plants. Others were more chaotic with old pea canes leaning at jaunty angles like drunken sailors after a few too many.

  Ridpath spotted a stretch of police tape waving in the breeze. ‘Gorman’s plot is over there.’

  They walked slowly towards the shed. The land was open here, the view blocked only by the occasional bush or large plant. ‘Whoever did it wasn’t afraid of being seen.’

  ‘At eight in the morning, I don’t suppose there were a lot of people working up here.’

  ‘We should check it out though.’

  They reached the shed. Other than the strip of police tape flapping in the wind, there was nothing to suggest the dogs had been killed. Emily Parkinson looked around before finally saying, ‘So the dogs were either taken and driven up here or they came on their own and somebody attacked them.’

  ‘My vote is for the first. This was a deliberate attack, not something random.’

  ‘So how did he get them up here?’

  ‘My bet is meat laced with a sedative. Either knock them out or make them docile enough to carry them here. Gorman said he heard the sound of a car or van outside his house.’

  ‘I don’t think we’ll be doing a post mortem on the dogs or checking the toxicology. I can’t see the Manchester tax payer paying even if it is John Gorman.’

  Ridpath wandered around the shed, staring at the ground.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Checking for footprints in the soft earth, but there’s lots of them.’

  ‘The local plod and the RSPCA were up here.’

  He knelt down. ‘Hmm, that’s interesting.’ Next to the door, a piece of paper was wedged under a broken half brick.

  ‘What is it?’

  Ridpath pulled a pair of bright purple plastic gloves from his pocket and put them on. Picking up the paper by the corner, he began to read. ‘It’s a flyer for a local undertaker, but it’s been t
orn in half and the name is missing. Why would John Gorman have this here?’

  ‘Perhaps it’s been there for a couple of years. Remember he said his wife died two years ago.’

  ‘I don’t think so. The paper is still white, not faded in the sun.’

  ‘It’s Manchester not the south of France.’

  ‘Still, it looks and feels like it was placed there.’ Ridpath checked the flyer again. ‘The “something” Undertakers. All your funeral needs.’

  Somewhere inside his head, alarm bells were going off. Which undertakers? Perhaps somebody back at the Coroner’s Office would recognise it. He took out an evidence bag from his other pocket and placed the paper carefully in it.

  ‘You got a rabbit in there too?’

  He looked at her quizzically.

  ‘Your pockets…’

  ‘Always be prepared, saves trudging all the way back to the car.’ He stood up. ‘Right, we’re done here.’ Ridpath checked his watch. ‘I need to get back to my other job.’

  ‘With the Coroner?’

  He nodded. ‘Can you follow up here? Do a local canvas and see if anybody saw anything this morning. Check if other dogs have been killed in the area?’

  ‘You want to know if this was a random attack or if John Gorman was targeted?’

  ‘Exactly. But it feels planned to me, not random. Also see if there’s any CCTV anywhere?’

  ‘Out here, doubtful. And there’s not a lot of cameras in suburbia.’

  ‘Check it anyway, we may get lucky.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  Ridpath held up the flyer from the undertaker. ‘I’m going to look into this. For some reason, I feel it shouldn’t be here.’

  Chapter 12

  He watched from behind a tree on the golf course. He’d already been home to change his clothes, getting rid of them on his way here. The bloody dogs had covered him in saliva.

  There was Detective Inspector Ridpath looking as officious as usual and now with a young assistant. He had come up in the world. He must have been assigned to the case.

  Good. It was early but it had to happen eventually.

  He knew Gorman would go squealing to the chief constable as soon as he found the bodies of his precious dogs. It had been planned for MIT to be the investigators rather than the local nick but having Ridpath involved from the start was an added bonus.