‘It’s just to see if there were any other witnesses, Mr Morgan,’ added Turnbull.
‘I don’t remember seeing anybody else.’
Emily Parkinson arrived back and hovered five yards away.
‘Right, Mr Morgan, if you would go with DI Makepeace, we need to take a statement from you.’
‘Is that necessary? My wife will be getting worried.’
‘I’m afraid it is, Mr Morgan. Perhaps you could call your wife and let her know you’ll be back late.’
‘Come this way, Mr Morgan, we’ll drive you to the station.’ Harry Makepeace ushered him towards the lane.
‘What about my car and the dog?’
‘If you give me the keys, one of our constables will drive it back for you. As for the dog, bring him with you. We like Labradors at the station.’
Their voices trailed off as they walked away.
‘Where does the path lead, Parkinson?’
‘Down to the River Mersey, sir. It’s a T-junction with another path along the river.’
‘Right, the river will form the edge of our cordon. Can you get the sergeant to put one of his officers there to stop anybody coming from that direction?’
‘Yes, sir. There’s a bridge further along the river upstream.’
‘There usually is.’
Emily Parkinson raised her eyebrows. ‘Sorry, sir?’
‘A bridge. There usually are bridges across rivers. But just block the path. There’s no other way to get to our crime scene other than this path?’
‘I don’t think so, sir.’
‘You don’t think so or you know so?’
Emily Parkinson stayed silent.
‘Check it out. I want to be sure this is the only way to get to our crime scene.’
‘Yes, boss.’
As Emily walked away, Sam Arkwright came running up.
‘What is it?’ snarled Turnbull.
‘A boy was reported missing on Tuesday, boss.’
‘What’s the description?’
Arkwright checked his notebook. ‘David Carsley, aged seven, from Wythenshawe – last seen two days ago, on 21 July. Blond hair, tall for his age, thin build, wearing a United shirt and dark shorts.’
Turnbull glanced back towards the trees. ‘I think we’ve found him.’
Two Weeks Later
On the First Day
Tuesday, August 4
Chapter 4
Ridpath stared in the mirror, noticed a large lump of shaving cream dangling off his earlobe, and wiped it away with a towel.
He splashed on some Bulgari aftershave, the one Polly had given him last Christmas, and walked back to the bedroom.
The suit was hanging behind the door where he had put it last night, freshly dry-cleaned and pressed. It looked strange hanging there, an empty suit.
Isn’t that what they called business executives who were useless at their jobs? Empty suits. He wondered fleetingly if he had become one of those in the last six months.
He took a white shirt from the wardrobe, seeing Polly’s work clothes hanging next to it. Her special clothes, the ones she saved for interviews or for when the Ofsted inspectors visited her school.
He pulled on the suit pants, adjusting the notch on his belt and tucking the extra-long strap into the trouser loop. He had lost weight recently, his features even more gaunt than usual.
Grabbing the jacket, he took one last look in the mirror and hurried into the living room of the service apartment. She was waiting for him in the kitchen, next to the coffee machine.
‘All ready and set, Ridpath?’
He didn’t answer her, instead pouring himself half a cup of coffee.
‘Have a good day.’
He knew he shouldn’t answer but he did. ‘First day back, I don’t know what’s going to happen.’
‘You’ll be fine. You’ll always be fine.’
He missed the little morning rituals they used to have. Brewing Polly’s coffee. Shouting up to Eve to get dressed and go to school. Making his daughter breakfast and forcing her to eat, whether she wanted to or not. The chaos and anarchy around him as both of them prepared to go to school while he was as organised as ever.
He missed all that.
Eve was with her grandparents. It seemed like the right decision given the circumstances. She had moved in with them when he had moved out to the service apartment. At least, her grandparents could look after Eve, giving him time to look after himself.
‘Don’t forget your notebook.’ Polly pointed to the kitchen table.
‘I won’t,’ he answered, picking it up, ‘you know me, I never do.’
He finished the coffee, took his keys from the hook, and picked up a fresh mask from the pile he kept on the table by the door.
‘Have a good day,’ she repeated.
‘It’s good to be going back to work, Poll.’
‘I know.’
He turned back to look at her, sitting at the kitchen table, as fresh and young as the day he had met her all those years ago. ‘You made me a better person.’
‘I know that too. Women are constantly bringing men up to their standard. It’s our job.’
He smiled. She hadn’t changed, even in death.
He knew she wasn’t real, wasn’t really there. But he kept seeing her, and worse, hearing her voice.
Polly was dead.
There. He had admitted it.
She died from a massive internal haemorrhage on a trolley in A & E with doctors desperately trying to save her life.
He couldn’t live at home any more, it was a crime scene, with hot and cold running CSIs all over the place, one murder and one suicide to investigate.
Two bodies. One of which was the woman he had loved and lived with for the last fourteen years.
Wasn’t admitting your partner was gone and never coming back one of the final steps in the stages of grief? One of the many things he had learnt in the last six months since her death.
The problem was, he still saw her, still talked with her.
Every day.
It was something he kept hidden from the psychiatrist appointed by Greater Manchester Police to help him with his PTSD. Sometimes secrets had to be kept. He couldn’t let just anybody wander inside his head.
He took one last look at her and said, ‘See you later,’ closing the door on the apartment, leaving her there all alone.
After six months off, it was time to go back to work.
Finally.
Chapter 5
‘Ah, Ridpath, good to have you back.’
Mrs Challinor was seated at the
