‘This place was built in 1886 by Liverpool firm Owen and Livingstone for the cotton merchant Elijah Cartwright. He’d made his fortune selling Lancashire calico to the Indian market, buying opium there for China and then bringing back tea to England. Clever man, was Mr Cartwright. He called it Daisy House, after his eldest daughter.’
Ridpath raised his eyebrows. ‘Sounds like you ate an encyclopaedia for lunch, Dave.’
‘Googled it when I was waiting for the CSIs to complete their work. You know how slow they can be sometimes. It’s like watching sloths on downers.’
As they entered the hallway of the house, they were joined by a young detective whom Dave Connor didn’t bother to introduce. In the cold light of day, the house looked more derelict than threatening. Flock patterned wallpaper peeled from the walls and a dark, mahogany staircase led upwards to the next floor. Lighter patches on the walls revealed where pictures had once hung.
‘Anyway, the place was used as a convalescent home for injured soldiers during the Second World War and then bought by Manchester Council in 1949, turned into a children’s home in 1952 and finally closed in 2006. Before you ask, Ridpath, it was one of the places investigated by Operation Pharaoh in 2012.’
‘The police investigation into child abuse?’
‘The one and only. Jimmy Savile was a regular visitor.’
‘He certainly got around.’
‘Particularly when kids were involved.’
They walked into the kitchen on the stepping tiles, past the last CSI finally leaving the house.
‘All clear, Fred?’ asked Dave Connor.
‘We’re done. Glad to get out of this place. Gives me the willies.’
‘Get Hannah to call me the minute she gets anything.’
‘Will do. Hiya, Ridpath, sorry about the missus, by the way.’
Images of Polly flashed into Ridpath’s mind. Quick reminders of how much he loved and missed her. ‘Thanks, Fred, it’s kind of you.’
The CSI looked slightly embarrassed and edged out of the kitchen, carrying his bag of tricks.
Dave Connor pointed to a door at the back of the kitchen. ‘There’s a room at the end of a corridor behind the door. The backpack was found in there.’ They put on their latex gloves and walked through the door and down the corridor. ‘Apparently one of the film crew was filming in here and somehow managed to kick in one of the wooden panels.’ Dave Connor pointed to the now empty space in the wall. ‘The backpack was inside.’
‘Hidden, or in open view?’ asked Ridpath.
‘Hidden in a secret compartment,’ answered the young detective. He stuck out his elbow in the new manner of shaking hands. ‘I’m Detective Constable Oliver Davis.’
‘He’s new,’ sniffed Dave Connor.
‘Morning, DC Davis,’ answered Ridpath, ignoring the proffered elbow.
The young detective pointed to the wood. ‘Apparently, the panel could be removed. The backpack was hidden in an alcove behind it.’
‘Interesting. Could it have been there long?’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Dave Connor.
‘Could it have been there when the house was a children’s home?’
‘So more than fifteen years old?’
Ridpath nodded, examining the small, empty compartment where the backpack was hidden.
‘Maybe. But these are adult hands, according to the doctor, not from kids.’
Ridpath stood up, looking all around him. Light fought its way through the small barred window high on the left-hand wall. He closed the door, instantly feeling a cold shiver dance its way down his spine. The walls seems to move closer, collapsing in on him, He quickly opened it up again. ‘Have you noticed the scratch marks on the back of the door, Dave?’ he said, his voice quivering slightly.
‘One of the CSIs pointed those out. Said they were quite old, from the amount of dirt in them. We took some samples anyway.’
Ridpath looked outside. In addition to the lock there were two bolts: one at the top and another at the bottom. ‘Where’s the key?’
‘I dunno, the door wasn’t locked.’
‘What was this place anyway?’
The young DC spoke again. He’d obviously spent time with the crime scene manager, learning on the job. ‘We’re not sure. Hannah thought it was for storing food. It’s off the kitchen, so it should be a larder.’
‘But why are the windows barred and the door reinforced?’
‘To prevent the mice getting in?’ said Dave Connor. ‘I don’t know, Ridpath. The place closed fifteen years ago.’
‘You need to talk to somebody who worked here then.’
‘You mean somebody who wasn’t locked up?’
‘What?’
‘One of the wardens was charged after Operation Pharaoh. Harold Davidson. He got eleven years.’
‘Still inside?’
Dave Connor shrugged his shoulders. ‘Probably not, you know what it’s like, could be out by now.’
‘You need to find out.’
‘I’ll see if I can find the time. Holloway is on my back for a full report, plus I need to keep the case file up to date.’
‘Can’t somebody else do it?’
Dave Connor looked dramatically around him. ‘I don’t see anybody else, do you?’
Oliver Davis’s face showed no emotion at the comment from his boss, he seemed used to it.
Ridpath sighed. ‘You also need to check up on the backpack. Who made it? When was it made? Where was it sold and who sold it? And you need to organise the uniforms for a local canvas. See if anybody noticed anything unusual.’
‘Oliver and the uniforms are doing it after they search the grounds… when they get their act together.’ He stared pointedly at the younger officer.
Oliver answered. ‘I’m on it, Ridpath, Sergeant Mac and his men are nearly ready.’
‘You’ve already interviewed the film crew?’
Dave Connor nodded. ‘Yeah, nothing from them. The producer did a recce on Monday morning but didn’t see anything. The others only turned up for filming late on Monday night. I checked out their YouTube channel. It’s the usual scary stuff. I’ll type up the interviews back at the station.’
Ridpath’s phone rang. It was Jenny Oldfield again. ‘Ridpath.’
‘Hi there, it’s Jenny. The coroner would like to see you.’
‘I’ll be in soon, we’re nearly finished here. What’s so urgent?’
‘I think you’ll have to ask her, not me.’
‘You have to go?’ asked Dave Connor.
Ridpath nodded. ‘I’m needed for some reason. Can you send me pictures of the backpack, and the case file numbers? And can you also send me the witness statements from the film crew when they are ready? I’ll take a look at them when I’m free and see if there is anything else I can come up with to help.’
‘You’re a star, Ridpath,’ said Dave Connor with a smirk.
‘One more task, check if there have been any reports of missing hands recently. Perhaps some medical students have been messing around stealing stuff from anatomy departments or from funeral parlours. Could be someone’s weird idea of fun.’
‘I’ll check, but this is too strange even for medical students.’
‘I’ll call you later, Dave, if I get anything. Let’s meet later at the mortuary.’
‘You’re going?’
‘Somebody from the coroner’s office has to be there.’
Dave Connor looked down at his feet, suddenly finding a speck of dirt on his scuffed shoes. ‘I don’t know if I can make it, Ridpath.’
‘What?’
‘I’ll send Oliver.’
‘You should be there, Dave.’
‘I hate post-mortems, give me the willies, they’re like a butcher’s shop. Oliver can watch the ghoul and listen to his squeaky voice.’
The young DC smiled innocently.
‘Have you ever been to a post-mortem before?’ asked Ridpath.
He shook his head.
‘Bring the Vicks.’