Ridpath paused a moment before answering. ‘Don’t we all?’
Emily Parkinson covered her momentary embarrassment by pointing back over her shoulder. ‘He’s waiting for you in the living room. The son is upstairs.’
‘And the wife?’
‘She did a runner a few months ago.’
‘Leaving behind two kids?’ Ridpath shook his head. ‘How does a mother leave her kids?’
‘Don’t judge, Ridpath. Not yet. We all make decisions we’re not proud of.’
She opened the living room door. A small, compact man was sitting on the couch in a tidy, if old-fashioned, living room. A television set was on in the corner with the sound turned down. The man was wearing a pair of fluffy rabbit slippers. He rose when Ridpath stepped into the room.
‘Mr Carsley?’ Ridpath immediately stuck out his hand and then withdrew it, remembering he wasn’t supposed to shake hands any more. ‘My name’s Ridpath, from the Coroner’s Office.’ He gestured for the man to sit back down, taking a seat opposite him. ‘I’m sorry for your loss, but please understand I’m here to help you in any way I can.’
The man only nodded. Was he still on drugs?
‘I rang the mort—’ Ridpath stopped himself from saying the word. ‘—the place where your son is being kept. They say he can be released. I simply have to get the Senior Investigating Officer of the police…’
‘Mr Turnbull.’ The voice was Scottish, a lowland accent.
‘…to sign off and then we can return him to you.’
‘What do I have to do?’
‘Who is your undertaker?’ To Ridpath’s ears the words sounded blunt and cold but there was no reaction from Carsley.
‘I don’t have one.’
‘It’s Michael, isn’t it?’
The man nodded slowly.
‘Like I said, I’m here to help, Michael. I can arrange for an undertaker to come to see you.’
‘I don’t know if I can afford one. I got laid off four months ago. No work, they said.’
Ridpath noticed the man’s hands were trembling. ‘Don’t worry, there is help with the costs if you need it.’
‘That’s why I was at home, you see.’
It was as if the man hadn’t heard anything Ridpath had said.
He was staring at a picture on the mantlepiece. Michael Carsley with his two sons, David in a United shirt and Daniel in his City blue. ‘The kids had been stuck inside for so long during the lockdown. That’s why I told them to go out. Go and play in the park, I said.’
There was a long silence.
‘Daniel came back an hour later looking for David, but he wasn’t here. We checked in his bedroom and in the shed out back but he wasn’t there either. Sometimes, he liked to go and sit in the shed all on his own. But he wasn’t there.’
‘So you started looking for him?’
‘We went to the park first, shouting his name. He liked the horses, watching them. I was planning to let him ride one of them for his next birthday. I was going to save for it.’
Ridpath glanced across at Emily Parkinson. ‘Let me contact the undertaker and handle the details of the funeral for you.’
‘Can you do that? There’s nobody else, see. It’s why we moved to Manchester. We were doing OK until the bitch walked out.’ The words were suddenly harsh and strident.
Ridpath took out his notebook. ‘Do you have an address for your wife, Michael?’
‘I gave it to the police.’ The man spat the words out.
‘I’ve got it, Ridpath.’
‘I have to let her know all the details, Michael. She’s part of your son’s family.’
‘She’s not,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘not any more. Not since the day she walked out.’ The man was becoming agitated. ‘Not any more,’ he repeated.
Emily glanced across at Ridpath and he took the hint, putting his notebook away and standing up. ‘I’ll organise everything and let you know. I’ll also keep Emily informed.’
‘Emily?’ the man said.
‘DS Parkinson.’ He pointed at the policewoman.
She walked Ridpath to the front door. ‘Is he OK?’
‘That’s why I’m still here. He’s on twenty-four-hour watch. The doctor has seen him this morning again but he’s finding it difficult to take it all in.’
‘How’s the investigation?’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. Turnbull’s running it and he’s all over the place. Word is Claire Trent is not a happy bunny.’
Detective Superintendent Claire Trent was the head of the Major Investigation Team and Ridpath’s direct superior at Greater Manchester Police.
‘I’m seeing her tomorrow at the weekly meeting.’
‘Be careful, she’s biting the heads off frogs at the moment.’
They both heard a noise from the top of the stairs. A young boy was standing there in his pyjamas, holding a bright red car. ‘I’m all alone,’ he said.
Emily Parkinson laughed as she climbed up the stairs. ‘Don’t worry, Dan, Auntie Em is here. You want to play Xbox with me?’
She ushered the boy back into his bedroom, looking back down at Ridpath, her mouth pursed, shaking her head.
The detective let himself out. Something wasn’t right in this house. All his copper’s instincts were telling him, something wasn’t right.
Chapter 9
That evening, back at the service apartment, Ridpath made himself a cheese and ham sandwich and sat down in front of the television.
He’d already called Padraig Daly, an undertaker he’d worked with before. ‘It’s the Carsley case, Padraig, so you’ll have to be discreet.’
‘The murdered child? Discretion it is, Inspector. I’ll put my best man on it – who happens to be a woman.’
‘I think it’s probably better if it’s a man, Padraig.’ Ridpath wasn’t sure why he said that, but Michael Carsley’s reaction to any mention of his wife made him think it was a better option at the moment.
‘No worries, I’ll make the best man, a man.’
‘And one other thing, Padraig, the family is broke.’
‘I wondered why you were calling. I’ll do him a special deal even if the government is picking up the tab.’ There was a slight pause at the end of the phone. When the funeral director spoke again, his usual jocular tone had vanished and something quieter had emerged. ‘Nobody should
