Ridpath showed his warrant card to the copper on duty at Longsight Police Station. ‘DI Ridpath, here to see Sergeant Dowell.’
The copper waved him in and he parked in the only remaining visitor’s bay.
Longsight was one of those places where streets and streets of Victorian back-to-back housing had been knocked down in the 1970s in the race for regeneration.
Unfortunately the government cuts had come in and for a long while the place had been a wasteland of fly tipping, ugly advertising hoardings and brick-strewn, half-abandoned building sites. The regeneration had finally occurred and acres of brick houses had been built, each as ugly as the one next to it.
In the middle of this morass of modernisation, the police had knocked down a beautiful old Victorian school and replaced it with this monstrosity. Longsight Police Station. From the outside, it looked like a Travelodge designed by Dr Frankenstein.
The inside was not much better, with stained walls, sticky carpets and a sour smell oozing from the walls.
Ridpath met Colin Dowell in one of the interview rooms before the man went on duty. The young police constable of the missing person form had been replaced by a dour, moon-faced sergeant, fond of a Holland’s pie or three. He was still buttoning up his uniform over an expansive stomach when he entered the interview room.
‘DI Ridpath. I’m duty sergeant today and Terry will go apeshit if I’m late.’
‘This won’t take long, Colin. As I told you over the phone, I’m seconded to the coroner’s office. In 2009, you took a statement from the parents of a missing girl, Jane Ryder.’
‘I did?’
‘You don’t remember?’
The man shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘2009? I was a PC then, attached to Sale station, I think.’
Ridpath passed across the missing person file. ‘Is this your signature on the bottom?’
Dowell glanced at it. ‘That’s me.’ He read through the document. ‘I remember now, this was the runaway with the weird mother who kept knitting all the time.’
‘Runaway?’
‘Yeah, she’d gone off to some music festival and didn’t come back. Must have met some guy or other. With a mum like hers, I wasn’t surprised she did a runner.’
‘Is that why you put her down as a medium risk even though she was sixteen at the time?’
‘Because of the age, I was going to put it down as high risk, but I talked to the boss—’
‘Ron Roper?’
‘That’s right. Sad about him. Retired and two years later collapsed from a heart attack on the golf course.’
Ridpath ignored the last remark. ‘What did he decide?’
‘We consulted with the missing person’s manager and the social worker and decided to make her a medium risk.’
‘What was the name of the social worker?’
Dowell shrugged his shoulders. ‘Who remembers social workers?’
‘Why not make Jane Ryder high risk?’
‘It was twelve years ago, Ridpath, I can’t remember.’
‘Have a think.’
Dowell sucked in air between his teeth, making a whistling noise. ‘She had a history of running away, and the manager spoke to Social Services. The girl was known to them, I think. I also chatted to her best friend—’
‘Rose Gray?’
‘I can’t remember the name. She said there was a possible boyfriend who the parents didn’t like. So we put two and two together and—’
‘Came up with five.’
‘What’s all this about, DI Ridpath? Why is the coroner looking into it after all this time?’
‘The parents have asked for a presumption of death certificate, so I’ve been told to investigate. The inquest could be as soon as next week. You’ll be called to give evidence.’
‘I’m off next week.’
Ridpath smiled. ‘Not any more. I’ll get our office manager to send you a note to make yourself available.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘You’ll be subpoenaed and arrested if you fail to appear. Not a good career move, Colin.’
The sergeant remained quiet, but Ridpath could see his face gradually becoming redder and redder, a blood vessel pulsing on his temple.
‘Who was the missing person’s co-ordinator?’
‘A woman, Doreen Hawkins. A civilian officer with the Missing From Home lot. I’ll leave the missing person report with you to help refresh your memory before I go.’ Ridpath stood up. ‘One last thing. You said you interviewed Rose Gray, but there’s no contact report in the file.’
Colin Dowell shrugged his shoulders. ‘Of course I reported the interview. But you know what our filing system is like. I’m surprised you’ve found this form.’
‘What about her friend, Andrea Briggs?’
The sergeant shook his head. ‘Never heard of her.’
‘See you next week, Colin.’
‘Do I have to, DI Ridpath, can’t somebody else do it?’
‘Sorry, with Inspector Roper no longer available, you’re it, I’m afraid.’
The sergeant shook his head. ‘First time off in six months. Me and the missus were planning on going to Wales.’
‘Come to Stockfield instead. Not as pretty, but the bacon butties are better.’
‘Ho bloody ho.’ Then a look of recognition came into Dowell’s eyes. ‘Ridpath, I remember you. Wasn’t your missus killed by some nutter? Shot down in her hallway?’
Ridpath nodded slowly.
‘OK, let me think about this Jane Ryder woman, see if I can remember anything.’ He stood up and stuck out his hand.
Ridpath hated sympathy, he never knew what to say. The words always came out wrong, or sounded clichéd. So he just took Colin Dowell’s hand saying, ‘Thanks, anything you remember could help.’