In the car, Ridpath raced down to the M60, speed dialling Claire Trent’s number. Luckily, she answered immediately.
‘Boss, it’s Ridpath.’
‘I thought you were in Jane Ryder’s inquest this morning?’
‘It’s a long story, and I don’t have time. I want you to trust me. I need a team to go to Holdern Farm on Moor Lane in Carrington immediately.’
‘Why?’
‘I believe our abducted woman, Patricia Patterson, is being held there.’
There was a long silence on the end of the phone. ‘Have you told DCI Turnbull?’
‘Not yet, boss, I don’t know where he is.’
‘Call him.’
‘Boss, he won’t believe me. You have to trust me on this one. I’m sure she’s being held there.’
‘This is not the chain of command, Ridpath. I’m about to go into a meeting with the assistant chief constable.’
‘Boss, it’s the only chance we have of saving Patricia Patterson. Please, they could have killed her already.’
Another long silence. Ridpath heard voices in the background.
‘Right, I’ll call out a PTU team and go with them myself. If this goes wrong, it’s on your head, Ridpath.’
‘Understood, boss.’
‘Where are you now?’
‘On my way there. I’ll message you the address.’
‘Wait! Don’t go in on your own, wait for backup. That is an ord—’
Ridpath switched off his phone. He accelerated down the motorway, past the Didsbury, Sale and Stretford turnoffs, the wide road blurring as he drove as fast as he could. Why had it taken him so long to work it out? Why had he missed it when it was obvious?
He exited off the M60 via the Carrington Spur, barely slowing down as the approached the roundabout. The road changed now, becoming narrow and winding, with a strange mixture of farms, equestrian centres, factories and electrical power stations on either side. At the first set of lights, he texted the address to Claire Trent.
The answer pinged on his phone as he accelerated past United’s training centre.
The satnav took him right, left and right again, before he drove up to a large barred gate. Behind it a large sign proudly stated: Hordern Farm. Home of heritage pigs and chickens. To his left, he could see a large field dotted with small huts where black-spotted sows and their young rooted around with their snouts.
On the right, two large barns painted black, the sound of a cock crowing loudly coming from within. In front of him, an old decaying house and other outbuildings.
He checked the message again.
Arming himself with a truncheon from the boot, he approached the barred gate.
The farm appeared empty and deserted, with no signs of life. Ridpath stopped and listened for any unusual sounds, but heard nothing except the wind rustling through the trees, the pigs grunting, a barn door banging, wood against wood, and the muffled call of a cock crowing.
He lifted the latch, the gate squeaking loudly as he went in.