The following morning, Ridpath dropped Eve off at school and continued on to the Ryders’ home.
Sophia was waiting for him outside the semi-detached house in Sale; classic English 1930s suburbia complete with carefully tended gardens beginning to show the signs of spring.
‘I checked with the DVLA, the electoral register and the registrar of births, marriages and deaths and there is no record of any Jane Ryder applying for a driving licence, registering for an election or getting married, giving birth or dying. Not a sausage. It’s as if she never existed, Ridpath.’
‘Great, Sophia. I still haven’t received any misper files from Chrissy. I’ll follow up with her when I’m at HQ later.’
‘Misper?’
‘Sorry, police jargon. Missing person. But let’s not use it with these people. OK?’
‘Right.’
He opened the wooden gate and walked up the drive,knocking on the door. It was immediately answered by a grey-haired, dapper man wearing a cardigan complete with a moss-green knitted tie. The house was warm, as if the central heating was set for winter rather than spring.
‘Is it Mr Ridpath from the coroner’s office?’
Ridpath flashed his ID. ‘And this is one of our officers, Sophia Rahman.’
‘The wife is waiting in the parlour for you.’
Such an old-fashioned word, ‘parlour’, but it perfectly described the room kept for best by the old couple. The wallpaper had the dominant tone of brown, a cupboard filled with china cups and knick-knacks stood in one corner, and a flock of china ducks soared above an old-fashioned tiled fireplace. Inside, a seventies gas fire added to the heat.
An old woman sat in the corner, surrounded by balls of knitting, a cat lying across her lap.
‘The wife won’t get up. Her knees, you know.’
Ridpath smiled. ‘Good morning, Mrs Ryder.’
‘Are you the man from the council?’
‘Maureen, this is Mr Ridpath from the coroner’s office. He’s here about Jane.’
‘Have they found her?’
‘Not yet.’
The woman smiled and went back to her knitting.
‘She hasn’t been right since Jane left. And now the drugs for the cancer, well, they don’t make her feel well.’
‘I understand completely, Mr Ryder.’
‘Do you want to sit down, Mr Ridpath and Miss Rahman? I’ll make us some tea.’
‘Don’t bother on my account, Mr Ryder.’
‘It’s no bother, it’s time for morning tea anyway.’
He vanished, leaving Ridpath and Sophia alone with the woman and the clack, clack, clack of her knitting needles. The detective sat down on the couch, joined by Sophia. He pulled out his notebook and, as he did so, noticed a framed picture on a side table of a young girl, nearly a woman, wearing school uniform and jumping in the air with joy.
‘That’s Jane on the day she finished her GCSEs.’ She continued knitting as she spoke, the ends of the needles whirring in a blur of pink and white wool. ‘I’m making a jumper for her when she gets back. She always suffers when the weather gets cold. Well, children do, don’t they?’
‘They do.’
‘Do you have children, Mr…?’
‘Ridpath. I have a daughter, aged twelve.’
‘It must be nice to have a daughter. You know, I used to think—’
She stopped speaking as her husband re-entered the room carrying a tray of tea things. ‘We only have Eccles cakes, garibaldi biscuits and a few Hobnobs, I’m afraid. We haven’t been shopping this week. Friday is shopping day.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Ridpath smiled. ‘You had me at Eccles cakes.’
Mr Ryder poured the tea, passing china cups to Ridpath and Sophia, placing a thick, currant-filled round of flaky pastry on a small plate for each person.
Through mouthfuls of crumbs, Ridpath asked, ‘Tell me about your daughter’s disappearance.’
‘It was a Friday, June 12, 2009. I remember the date as if it was yesterday. She’d asked us if she could go to a festival with her two friends from school…’
‘Which festival was it?’
‘I don’t know. Some music festival, I think. She loved her music, did Jane, a pair of headphones always clamped to her ears when she was studying. She’d done so well in her exams so we promised a little treat and she asked us to pay for the ticket. I remember it cost fifty-five quid, not cheap, I’ll tell you.’
All this time, his wife was knitting away furiously, not reacting to his words.
‘Shouldn’t she have been at school?’
‘She’d just finished her exams.’ He paused for a moment, swallowing slowly. ‘The results came through after she disappeared. We found out afterwards, she got three A* and the rest As and Bs. She was a clever girl, Jane.’
‘Which school did she go to?’ Sophia asked.
‘Sale School. She did well there, loved it.’
Ridpath nodded. ‘What time did she leave on the morning she disappeared?’
‘Around ten a.m.’ For the first time, he began to show signs of emotion, his voice beginning to break. ‘I said goodbye to her, told her to be careful, and we never saw her again.’
For a second, the wife stopped knitting and then carried on even faster, if that was possible.
‘And her friends, did they call round for her?’
He shook his head. ‘She said she was meeting them outside. Of course, when she didn’t return by Monday, we went round to their houses, but they hadn’t gone to the festival at all.’
Ridpath frowned. ‘Why did you wait until Monday?’
‘She’d told us she was going to camp there and come back on Sunday evening. We were worried, but thought she might have missed a bus or something.’
‘She didn’t ring you?’
Mr Ryder shook his head. ‘She didn’t take her phone, said it wouldn’t work at the festival.’ A long pause. ‘We haven’t heard a word from her since the day she left.’
Ridpath made a note in his book. ‘The friends? Do you remember their names?’
‘Rose Gray and Andrea Briggs. Rose was a lovely girl, Jane’s best friend. Andrea was about two years younger.’ Mr Ryder laughed as he remembered. ‘She always looked up to Jane, followed her around like a sick puppy. They’re both probably married now.’
‘Don’t worry, we can find them even if they’ve changed their names after marriage.’
There was a long pause as Mr Ryder stared out into mid-air. ‘You know what was the worst, Mr Ridpath?’
The detective stayed silent.
‘I used to see them out on the street in their school uniforms afterwards. I watched them grow older, even saw them with their first boyfriends. My daughter, my Jane, never had that. She never had that joy.’
Tears filled his eyes. Once again, his wife stopped knitting, looked at him for a second and carried on without saying a word.
‘So she didn’t return from the festival and you reported her as a missing person to the police.’
He nodded. ‘We went to her friends first and rang the police station on Monday afternoon.’
‘If you don’t mind me asking again, as I want to understand, why did you wait so long before reporting it?’
Mr Ryder glanced across at his wife and sighed loudly, looking down at the cup of tea in his hands. ‘She’d spent weekends away before.’
Ridpath put down his empty plate. Sophia was scribbling notes in her pad.
The old man continued speaking, not looking at either of the coroner’s officers. ‘Twice before. But she always came home on Sunday evening. It was when she wasn’t back by noon on Monday that we became worried.’
‘You say she disappeared before?’
‘Only for a couple of days each time. We thought it was just the way girls were at the time. Life has changed since myself and Maureen first married.’
‘She was still underage. Did she tell you where she had been?’
‘Didn’t say anything. Of course, we asked her, but she didn’t want to talk about it, said she’d been with her friends.’
‘Girls these days are different, aren’t they?’ Mrs Ryder interrupted the interview without stopping knitting. ‘Too much freedom, if you ask me. I blame the television. We didn’t like Jane watching TV.’
A catch in Mr Ryder’s voice. ‘Perhaps I should have chastised her more, told her it mustn’t happen again, but she was doing so well at school and I loved her so much…’
His voice trailed off.
Ridpath waited a few seconds before asking, ‘So you made a police report?’
‘The sergeant at the station was very nice. He asked me to fill in a form and I did. He said she’d probably met somebody at the festival and would come back soon. But she never did. She never did.’
‘What else did you do?’
‘Well, I rang them again that evening and the police came round the next day. A constable this time.’
‘Do you remember his name?’
Mr Ryder looked confused, as if trying to remember. ‘It escapes me. I filled in more forms and he checked out her room. They returned a couple of times, but said they had heard nothing from her. Neither had we, not even a postcard. We know she would have sent us a postcard if she could. Just to let us know she was OK.’
‘You received nothing? No communication at all?’
He shook his head. ‘I even put up posters around here and in the park, but nothing came of it. I can show you Jane’s room, if you like. We kept it exactly how she left it. One day she would come back…’ Again his voice broke.
‘I’d like to see it, if I may. Sophia, you stay here with Mrs Ryder.’
‘Will do, Ridpath.’
Mr Ryder stood up. ‘We’ll be back in a moment, Maureen,’ he said to his wife. She didn’t look up.
They climbed the steep stairs slowly, Mr Ryder gripping the bannister.
‘It’s this way.’ He pushed open the door. Inside the room there was the essence of teenage girl. Girls Aloud, Duffy and Chris Martin posters on the walls, a small dressing table with a few creams from Boots, a hairbrush and inexpensive make-up next to a square jewellery box. A single bed was pushed up against a wall and there was another table with books on it and a notepad open to a page with a pen resting on top.
‘Like I said, we kept it exactly as she left it.’
‘Do you mind if I take a look?’
Mr Ryder stepped back to allow Ridpath to enter. He put on a pair of plastic gloves and opened the box. Inside were a few items of costume jewellery, nothing expensive. He checked through the drawers, the usual teenager stuff. Socks, knickers, bras and T-shirts all separated neatly into different piles. He checked underneath and at the back. ‘Do you know if she kept a diary?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe, but I never found one. I searched this place with the police after she disappeared, hoping to find a clue to where she’d gone, but didn’t find anything, no diary.’
‘Speaking from experience, the room looks a bit tidy for a teenage girl.’
‘My wife may have tidied it up. She wanted it to be perfect for when Jane returned.’
Ridpath checked under the bed and beneath the pillows. Nothing.
He flicked through the books on her desk: Romeo and Juliet, Wuthering Heights, Far From the Madding Crowd, To Kill a Mockingbird. Each had been annotated in a small, crabbed hand. The English texts for her exams for the year, probably.
The wardrobe still had all her clothes hanging inside. Fabrics from a different time and era. ‘Do you remember what she was wearing on the day she disappeared?’
‘We gave a description to the police. A red and white striped top and a pair of jeans with trainers.’
Ridpath nodded, taking one last look at the girl’s bedroom. He noticed a picture on the wall. Eve didn’t know he knew, but behind a picture in her room was where she kept her secrets; a love note written in crayon from a boy in her primary class, a badge and a ticket from a visit to the Beatles Museum in Liverpool, a dried flower from a day in the park. All things that mattered to Eve and nobody else.
He stepped forward and unhooked the picture, turning it around. The backing paper was peeling away on one side. He pulled it further and checked inside.
Nothing but a small corner of paper. Had there been something there before, and it was removed? ‘Did you take anything from the room?’
Mr Ryder looked down at his feet and mumbled an answer. ‘I don’t think so.’
Ridpath placed the picture back on the hook, taking one last look round the room. ‘I think I’ve seen enough, Mr Ryder, thank you for your time.’
‘My wife, Mr Ridpath, she’s not right at the moment. It’s the drugs she’s taking for her cancer.’
‘I was told she has a form of leukaemia.’
‘It’s aggressive, according to the doctors. She doesn’t have long, so they are only managing the pain.’
‘That’s why you asked the coroner to grant a presumption of death certificate?’
‘She wants everything sorted before she goes. The insurance, the house, our wills. My wife was a teacher, she was always organised.’
‘I understand Mr Ryder. It’s why I’m here.’
‘What will you do next?’
‘I’ll check the police Missing Persons file and then I’ll meet the police involved in your case. We have to arrange for them to testify at the inquest into your daughter’s disappearance.’
‘When will that be?’
‘It’s up to the coroner, but soon, I’m sure. We have to affirm your daughter—’ he paused for a second, searching for the words ‘—is no longer with us. After the coroner has heard the evidence, she will decide if a presumption of death certificate can be issued.’
He nodded once. ‘It’s time to get it over and done with. My wife needs peace of mind before she dies.’
They went back down the stairs and into the parlour. Ridpath spotted the picture on the table and asked, ‘Could I borrow this?’
‘Please return it, though, it’s all we have left of her. A picture. Not much, is it?’
‘It’s time to go, Sophia.’
His assistant stood up, placing her empty cup on the table. ‘Goodbye, Mrs Ryder.’
The woman didn’t look up from her knitting.
As Ridpath was leaving, he thought of one more question. ‘Forgive me for asking, but you are both in your seventies, correct?’
‘My wife is seventy-four and I’m seventy-one. I was her toy boy.’
‘It seems quite old to have a child of Jane’s age.’
‘Jane came to us late in our lives, Mr Ridpath. She was our present from God.’