Ridpath sat in his car outside the Coroner’s Court. Instead of getting out, he stayed there for a moment gathering his thoughts.
This case was becoming more and more complicated. Before briefing Mrs Challinor, he had to get it straight in his own head.
After Rose Anstey had returned to work, he had a quick chat with Emily. ‘What do you think?’
‘We need to follow up on the social worker, Patricia Patterson, as soon as possible. Why was she so closely involved with Jane Ryder? When did she meet her at Daisy House? What crime did the Operation Pharaoh investigating team think she committed? If they passed a case file to CPS, the officers must have found some evidence of wrongdoing. I’ll have a chat with a mate of mine who worked on the case. Perhaps he’ll be able to tell me stuff not in the files.’
‘Get on it, Emily. Let’s meet tomorrow morning in Stretford nick to see where we are. I’ll message the others.’
He’d driven from Media City to the Coroner’s Court, half his mind on the road and the rest on the case. As he parked up, he looked out of the window of his car. The old Victorian building sheltering the Coroner’s Court had the look of a schoolhouse. But not a building out of Dickens, operated by Wackford Squeers. Rather it was something far more enlightened, like the old workmen’s institutes offering lifelong learning to anybody and everybody.
A good place. A just place.
Ridpath glanced down at his fingers resting on the steering wheel. The nails were bitten and the cuticles red. It was always like this. His nails suffering for every case he worked.
He took three deep breaths and went to his safe place: on top of the hill overlooking Ladybower Reservoir, the wind blowing in his hair and the world at his feet.
Afterwards, he felt calm and collected, ready to face the coroner. The children’s home at Daisy House was key to this case. What had happened there to Jane Ryder?
He got out of the car and stood in front of the court. As he walked up the steps, a group of people were coming out. One of the women was crying, being consoled by her husband and daughter. ‘It was an accident, Hilary, a stupid accident.’
Ridpath caught the words as he stepped to one side, allowing them to pass. The people must have been coming from an inquest.
‘But it shouldn’t have happened to him, he had so much to live for. He was special…’
‘I know, love, I know.’
The man put his arms round his wife and led her past Ridpath, her face and eyes scarlet with tears.
The woman stopped for a moment. ‘My brother was only thirty-two, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.’
Another woman, dressed in black, passed them on the stairs. Suddenly Hilary pushed past her husband and flew at the woman. ‘You did this. You and your stupid cult killed him.’
The woman in black’s eyes flared in anger. She raised her fists and moved backwards away from her attacker.
‘It’s your fault. I know all about you. My brother told me what you’re up to.’
Ridpath readied himself in case the grieving woman attacked again. But all her strength seemed to leave her and she began to sob uncontrollably.
The woman in black didn’t answer but kept her eyes on her attacker as the husband and daughter ushered her away.
Ridpath stood there as they passed. He mustn’t forget, every case was always about people. The hands in the backpack weren’t objects but people who’d lived and loved and lost and learned. Jane Ryder wasn’t only a victim who’d vanished one summer’s day in 2009, she was also a young girl with her whole future in front of her.
He glanced across at the woman in black. She looked familiar. Was she a lawyer who’d worked on inquests before? Probably.
She ignored him and walked down the steps, checking the family were going in a different direction before walking off towards town.
It was always about people. Brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, mothers and fathers.
Perhaps this was the lesson he’d learnt most from the death of Polly and the time he spent grieving for her.
Life was always about people. And so was death.
Nothing else mattered.