When the Evil Waits by M Lee (top fiction books of all time txt) 📕

the life support systems. They should have done it six months ago, saved the bed for somebody who was ill.’

Another long silence.

‘And the myeloma?’

Ridpath had been diagnosed with multiple myeloma – bone cancer – three years ago. He had spent nine months off work while he went through chemotherapy. Luckily, he had been pronounced free of the disease, but his boss at the Major Investigation Team, Charlie Whitworth, decided to second him to work with the coroner.

‘Still in remission. The doctors were initially worried the additional stress of Polly’s death might lead to a recurrence of the disease. Apparently, that didn’t happen, but during the Individual Stress Risk Assessment they found I was suffering from PTSD.’

‘So you went into therapy?’

Ridpath flashed back to his days immediately following Polly’s death, hidden in a fog of alcohol and grief. ‘Not immediately, because of the lockdown, but eventually I saw an EMDR psychiatrist suggested by Greater Manchester Police.’

‘Are you sure you’re ready to come back to work?’

‘The psychiatrist thinks I am. Occupational Health have signed off too.’ He pointed to the folder. ‘You’ve got all the documentation in front of you, Mrs Challinor.’

She glanced down at the folder. ‘These are just bits of paper, Ridpath.’

‘It’s all we have. Bits of paper, I mean.’

She frowned and then sat forward. ‘You really want to take on the Carsley case?’

‘If there’s one thing I understand now better than before, it’s grief. I’ve had six months of it.’ He stopped speaking and his eyes glazed over as if staring off into the far distance. ‘Grief seems to be slowly coming to terms with the idea that Polly isn’t here any more. Long hours of numbness followed by sharp bursts of extreme pain. If I can help this family to cope, then I’ll have done something useful.’

‘That’s why you want to handle the case?’

He nodded. ‘One thing I learnt is the Seven Stages of Grief isn’t just words. It’s a process… a lonely process.’

The coroner angled her head, encouraging him to say more.

‘Grief isn’t a straight line, one thing leading to another. It’s a series of realisations and obstacles, two steps forwards and one step back.’ He stared straight ahead, remembering the last six months. ‘Often one step forward and three steps back. But we can get to a good place, a safe place, with help.’

‘And that’s where you are now?’

‘I think so. I believe so.’

The coroner nodded her head slowly. ‘Alright, pick up the file from Jenny and check with Sophia on everything we’ve done so far on the case.’

He stood up to leave.

‘But take it easy. It’s still early days. Your Wellness Action Plan says you shouldn’t work long hours and you still need to see your psychiatrist for monitoring twice a week.’

He stood in front of her. ‘Easy is my middle name, Coroner. I’m meeting with her tomorrow.’

He turned to go.

At the door, the coroner spoke again. ‘Ridpath, it’s good to have you back.’

‘It’s good to be back, Coroner.’

Chapter 7

Ridpath picked up the Carsley file from Jenny Oldfield and returned to his desk to read it. He already knew a few details of the case from the newspapers. The investigation had even replaced Covid-19 as the hot topic in the newspapers for a few days, before inevitably the press moved on.

David Carsley had gone missing on 21 July, kidnapped from a park. A huge search and rescue operation to find the seven-year-old had been mounted, but despite all the efforts he remained missing. His body was found two days later in Chorlton Ees by a man walking his dog. The police had released two photofits of a woman they would like to interview who had been seen in the area where the body was deposited plus another photofit of a man seen in the park walking an Alsatian when the boy was abducted. Neither had so far come forward.

Immediately, the press had linked the case to that of Ian Brady and Myra Hindley, the Moors Murderers. One of their first victims had been kidnapped and murdered around the same date, fifty-seven years previously.

A search had even been arranged on Saddleworth Moor, despite it being over twenty miles from where David had gone missing.

Personally, Ridpath would never have released the photofits so early in the investigation. It merely brought out all the fantasists, conspiracy theorists and nutters to clog up the phone lines. And as for a link to the Moors Murders, it was one of those coincidences that happened to sell a lot of newspapers. Strange, that.

He shook his head and opened the file. There were obviously no details of the police investigation, except for the mobile numbers of the Senior Investigating Officer, DCI Paul Turnbull, and of the Family Liaison Officer, DS Emily Parkinson.

‘Poor Emily, they have her looking after the family,’ he muttered under his breath.

‘What was that, Ridpath?’ Sophia returned carrying two coffees. ‘I brought you a latte.’ She put it down on his desk.

‘Nothing, just reading the Carsley file. But thanks for the coffee, exactly what I needed.’

‘No worries, good to have you back.’

‘Good to be back. Mrs Challinor tells me you did well in my absence.’

‘That’s kind of her. Anyway, anything to escape my mum. She was even worse during the lockdown.’

‘Still trying to marry you off?’

‘And then some.’ She did an impression of her mother. ‘“You are twenty-three and you are still not married. What man would want a single old maid?” I always tell her one with brains, intelligence and a six-pack to die for. She then wanders off blaming the schools, my teachers and my father for putting ideas into my head.’

‘Sounds awful.’

‘Nah, it’s worse. At least once a week I have to meet these nerds introduced by the matchmaker – socially distant, of course. If I see one more engineer with a row of pens in his top pocket and his mobile phone in a pouch on his belt, I’ll scream.’

Ridpath checked his mobile. It was in the inside pocket of his jacket. ‘But work’s