When the Evil Waits by M Lee (i want to read a book .txt) 📗

gently beside me.’

‘Snoring? Just what I want to be remembered for.’

‘But it was warm and lovely your snoring, a comfort when I couldn’t sleep.’

‘And now you drink.’

He held up the glass of whisky as if to make a toast. ‘Now I drink.’

‘Your daughter, what does it do for Eve?’

He stared at the golden liquid glistening like honey in the crystal glass. ‘Not a lot.’

‘That’s why you need to stop drinking. Stop it now.’

‘But I was to blame for your death, if I hadn’t…’

‘You did your job, Ridpath. His mother was manipulated and mad, so she decided to take it out on you when her son died.’

‘That’s the point, though, she didn’t take it out on me, but on you.’

‘That’s not your fault. You didn’t kill me, the mad woman did and then she killed herself. All this guilt you are feeling, who does it help?’

Ridpath swirled the whisky around in his glass. ‘Me,’ he finally whispered.

‘No it doesn’t,’ she responded immediately, ‘it helps nobody, least of all you. I’m dead and the sooner you come to terms with that, the better.’

‘Don’t sugar-coat it, will you?’

‘I’m dead, we have no time for dishonesty. Stop the drinking and stop it now. Your daughter needs a father, not a drunk.’

He sat and listened to her, the whisky fogging his brain. And then he stood up, took the remaining bottle from the cabinet and poured it down the sink, inhaling the sweet intensity and bitter notes of the spirit as it vanished into the drain.

He hadn’t touched a drop since, not even on the three-month anniversary of Polly’s death, when a cheque had come through the post from the insurance company.

Her life insurance. A few pounds for a beautiful woman, his wife.

Getting rid of the alcohol hadn’t helped diminish his sense of guilt, though. Whatever Polly said, he was as responsible for the death of his wife as the woman who had pulled the trigger.

He had deprived her parents of a daughter.

He had deprived Eve of a mother.

He had deprived her of her life.

Him. Detective Inspector Thomas Ridpath.

Nobody else.

The television suddenly flashed brightly. In its silent world, some movie star was on a red carpet, cameras exploding with light all around her.

As he watched the woman parade in her finery, his phone rang. Picking it up, he didn’t recognise the number. ‘DI Ridpath.’

A male voice at the other end of the line. ‘Inspector Ridpath? It’s Jon Morgan here.’

In the background of the call, Ridpath could hear the sounds of people speaking and the clinking of glasses.

‘Hello, Mr Morgan, how can I help you?’

‘Sorry for ringing so late, it’s… it’s, erm…’

‘What is it, Mr Morgan?’

‘I have a confession to make. I wasn’t alone when I discovered the body.’

‘Mrs Burgess was with you.’

‘How did you know?’ The voice was surprised.

‘Why didn’t you tell us before?’

‘My wife… she wouldn’t understand…’

‘She wouldn’t understand you were having an affair?’

‘It wasn’t an affair, we were just good friends, Mrs Burgess and I, just good friends, you understand?’

Ridpath smiled to himself. ‘So she was there when you found the body?’

A long pause. ‘Correct.’

‘Why didn’t you both report it?’

‘We… I… thought it would be easier if I did it… alone.’

‘How long did you wait?’

‘How long?’

‘Before you rang 999?’

‘I rang almost immediately. I waited for her to walk out of sight with her dog.’

So Shirley Burgess was the woman at the scene. Well, that was one part of the mystery solved. ‘You’ll both have to come in to give statements.’

‘Do we have to?’

‘I’m afraid it’s necessary. You signed a false statement and Mrs Burgess didn’t make a report despite multiple attempts by the police to find her. I suggest you ring DCI Turnbull to arrange a time to come in.’

‘Not you?’

Ridpath thought quickly. ‘No, it would be better to talk to the Senior Investigating Officer. It would also be better if the statement was seen to be voluntary, i.e. you came forward because you felt guilty, not because you were discovered.’

‘It would be better?’

‘Definitely. If you do that, I won’t mention my interview this afternoon with anybody. I’ll keep it quiet.’

‘What about my wife?’

‘If you make the statement voluntarily, she’s less likely to find out, isn’t she?’

Another pause. ‘I’ll ring him first thing tomorrow.’

‘You do that, and thank you for coming forward, Mr Morgan.’

‘You know, it’s a relief to admit it. You don’t know how much it’s preyed on my mind.’

‘It always does, when honest people are dishonest.’

The phone went silent and Ridpath stared at the empty screen. At least the mysterious woman was known now. He hoped Turnbull went easy on Jon Morgan, but he doubted he would. Jon Morgan wouldn’t be charged with wasting police time, though. Not in the middle of a murder investigation. Even Turnbull wasn’t stupid enough to do that.

He glanced down and picked up the criminal profiler’s report from where he had put it on the floor. Was there anything in it except the usual psychobabble?

He opened the folder and began reading.

Chapter 22

Lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, he realised where it all began.

His mother was responsible, of course. Who else? He never knew his father, neither did she, apparently.

They were living in Great Clowes Street at the time. In the big house. He didn’t know why they lived there. It was far too big for only the two of them.

Too old, too draughty and too damp. But mother seemed to like it there. She liked the cold.

He had asked her one day. ‘Where’s my father?’

She’d looked up from the television. ‘Don’t ask such stupid questions. You don’t have a father.’

‘Everybody has a father.’

‘You don’t.’

He’d stayed silent. He couldn’t have been more than seven years old at the time. For some reason, the idea of being born without a father had troubled him even then.

Later, the teacher at school had asked him where his father was and what he did for a living. He had repeated the answer from his mother.

Not a good move. The other kids taunted him mercilessly. Even the teacher joined in,