At Mrs Dunwoody’s house, Eve was pleased to see him. ‘Dad, you’re early for once.’ She ran and hugged him round the waist. He looked down at her head and realised she was already up to his shoulders. How had she grown so quickly?
‘Shall we go home now? What do you want for tea?’
Mrs Dunwoody stood to one side. ‘You’re welcome to stay here. I’m cooking shepherd’s pie,’ she said hopefully.
‘Thank you so much, Angela, but I get so little time off and I’d like to use the little I have to cook for Eve tonight. I have one favour to ask.’
‘Ask away.’
‘Could you pick her up on Monday too? I have an inquest and I fear it will run late.’
‘No problem. Perhaps you’d like to stay for dinner?’
Ridpath smiled. ‘That would be lovely, I’ll probably need some good home cooking that night.’
‘Right, it’s a date… I mean… I mean…’
Ridpath called to Eve to cover Mrs Dunwoody’s embarrassment. ‘Come on, Eve, let’s go, time for me to cook.’
‘Great, Dad can we have your lasagne?’ She turned to her friend Jessica. ‘Dad makes a mint lasagne with all the crispy burnt cheesy bits around the edges.’
She glanced at her mum. ‘Sounds magic, better than shepherd’s pie.’
‘We’ll finish the maths homework sometime over the weekend. I’ll come round, OK?’
‘Great, I haven’t a clue what it all means.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s a piece of cake. Bye, Jessica, bye, Mrs Dunwoody.’
They both exited the Dunwoodys’ house, walking down the street to their new place. ‘Jessica’s great, but she doesn’t have a clue about maths.’
‘I thought you said she was one of the mean girls, the plastic people.’
Eve shrugged her shoulders. ‘I was wrong. On her own, she’s nice, a bit blur sometimes.’
‘See, what did I tell you about judging people too quickly.’
‘Put these words in order, Dad. Pot. Kettle. Black.’
He put the key in the door. ‘You go upstairs and wash the grime of school off your face, not forgetting to sanitise your hands, while I get started on the lasagne.’
‘Can I watch you cook?’
‘So long as you promise not to help. Remember what happened last time.’
‘The white cheese sauce ended up black.’
‘How did that happen?’
‘I haven’t a clue. Tasted good though, if a little black.’
She ran upstairs while he walked to the kitchen.
After they had nearly finished a whole tray of lasagne, both lay back in their chairs with bellies extended.
‘Can’t eat any more, I’m stuffed,’ said Ridpath.
‘Save the rest for tomorrow, not that there’s much left. It was good, Dad.’
‘Yeah, not as good as Mum’s though.’
Eve smiled, changing the subject quickly. ‘We OK for Sunday?’
‘Sunday?’
‘Visiting Mum’s grave, remember.’
He thought for a moment of the investigation and all the work still had to be done. So much to do and so little time to do it all. Sod it. It was time he gave more consideration to his daughter and less to the bloody job. ‘Should be OK,’ he finally said. ‘You still need to visit your grandparents though.’
‘Do I have to? Granny will nag me, saying my Chinese isn’t good enough and my skirts are too short.’
‘She’s right on both counts.’ He remembered the briefing at Stretford nick tomorrow morning. ‘Are you OK if I go to work tomorrow?’
‘No problem. I have Chinese classes until one and I’ll take the tram home. I have enough homework to last till next Christmas.’
‘Take care, won’t you?’
‘Nah, I’ll take the tram, it’s quicker.’
‘You’ve used that joke before, smart arse.’
‘The good ones never go out of style.’
After both of them had washed up and Eve had gone to bed, Ridpath sat alone in the living room nursing a glass of Macallan and going over the events of the last few days in his mind.
He didn’t blame Mrs Challinor, in her place he would have done exactly the same. But by holding the inquest they would probably spook the killer. Whoever they were, they would go to ground and never be seen again. The case would remain unsolved and then quietly transferred over to the Cold Case Unit. If no new DNA evidence surfaced, it would just sit there on a shelf, as cold as a wet Tuesday in Accrington.
At exactly 11.01, his phone rang.
‘Ridpath.’
‘Hiya, it’s Emily.’
Ridpath instantly felt guilty. While he had been sitting here sipping whisky and feeling sorry for himself, his team had been working late on a Friday night when they should have been out enjoying themselves.
‘Hi, Emily,’ he finally answered.
‘I followed up on Patricia Patterson, the social worker, and guess what?’
‘I don’t know.’ His voice sounded tired and lost.
‘She went missing last Wednesday. The day after the hands were discovered.’
He sat up straight in his chair. ‘What?’
‘Patricia Patterson went missing last Wednesday.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m with her partner at the moment. The woman’s distraught, saying she didn’t come back from work on Wednesday night and she’s not answering her phone.’