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

is it wasn’t David but somebody else.’

‘I don’t buy that. The clothes matched and he looked like David. I had Phil Reynolds run the facial recognition software and it came back as an 87 per cent match. He can’t be in two places at the same time, it doesn’t make sense.’

Ridpath stared down at his feet, realising he hadn’t polished his shoes in ages. They looked ugly and uncared for. ‘And we have an even bigger problem,’ he finally said.

‘What?’

‘Daniel Carsley has been lying to us. Tony Greene said he never left the basketball court all the time they were playing…’

‘…So he couldn’t have warned any man to stay away from his brother.’

‘We don’t even know whether the man exists or not.’

‘But he gave us a detailed description of him. We’ve had it in every newspaper for the last two weeks.’

‘Perhaps he created the man from something he had seen at school or on TV.’

‘But why would Daniel lie to us?’

‘I don’t know, but it’s probably time to ask him, don’t you think?’

‘Do we have time for lunch?’

Ridpath checked his watch. ‘It’s just after noon now. Let’s grab a sausage roll from Greggs and eat it on the way.’

‘The last of the healthy eaters, Ridpath.’

‘You can grab one of the vegan sausage rolls if you’re worried about your health. I hear Piers Morgan rates them.’

‘Thanks a bundle.’

He opened the car door and stopped, staring into mid-air.

Emily had already fastened herself into the passenger seat. ‘Hello, Earth to Ridpath. There’s a sausage roll calling your name, but we have to drive there.’

He slipped into the car slowly. ‘I’ve had an idea. There is a third scenario – a way David Carsley can apparently be in two places at the same time.’

He slipped the car into gear.

‘Sorry, Em, no time for lunch, we need to get moving.’

‘Where?’

‘Back to HQ first and then to see Daniel Carsley.’

Chapter 59

Molly Wright was doorstepping Wythenshawe police station. It was one of the ugliest buildings she had ever seen, looking more like a brick barn than a bastion of law and order.

The photographer standing next to her was eating a Holland’s Meat and Potato Pie.

‘Is that all you ever eat?’

‘Nah, in the morning I have bacon butties.’ As he spoke the crumbs of the pie tumbled from his mouth. ‘Best start to the day is a bacon butty. I like mine with a couple of slices of black pudding and a good slather of butter between two doorstops of white bread.’

‘Sounds like a heart attack waiting to happen.’

‘Nah, healthy it is. Full of vitamins and iron. A doctor told me that once. We were doorstepping Liam Gallagher and I went down the pub. Met the doctor there and we had a long chat.’

‘The doctor was in the pub? What time was this?’

‘In the afternoon – Liam didn’t usually wake up till six so we always got a few pints down our necks before we started in the evening.’

Molly was tempted to ask him more but decided against it. This was one of those conversations she was always having while waiting for something to happen – for Godot to arrive or Estragon to realise he was never coming.

There was movement at the front of the nick. She elbowed the photographer, who stuffed the remaining lump of pie in his mouth and reached for his cameras like a gunslinger going for his six-shooter.

Paul Turnbull, the SIO, had appeared in the doorway and was waiting for a car.

Molly Wright walked up to him, the photographer trailing in her wake.

‘Hello, DCI Turnbull, anything to say regarding the Carsley case?’

He looked at her down his long nose. His bald head was shinier than normal. Either he had recently shaved it or the sun was at the correct angle to highlight its smoothness.

Either way, it annoyed Molly. She hated men with bald heads almost as much as she hated other reporters.

‘No comment, Molly.’

‘Don’t be like that, Mr Turnbull, you must have something to say.’

‘Oh, I do, Molly, but not to the likes of you.’

She didn’t like that sneer, not one little bit. ‘We hear you’ve brought Michael Carsley in for questioning?’

‘Have I?’

He was going to play that little game, was he?

‘Yeah, you have. And you’ve got till this evening to charge him otherwise you have to let him go. But he’s not singing, is he, Mr Turnbull? Doesn’t know your tune, does he? My readers are going to be wondering, is he the bad man who killed his son or are the police looking for a convenient scapegoat?’

Turnbull faced her. ‘And what do you think, Molly?’

‘I haven’t decided yet, Mr Turnbull.’

A car squeaked to a halt in front of them, forcing the photographer to jump out of the way as he took his shots.

‘But when I do, I’m sure my articles will help the readers make up their minds. It could go either way.’

‘Bye, Molly, I have work to do.’

He stepped down and opened the car door.

‘Which way would you like it to go, Mr Turnbull? I think your boss, Claire Trent, has already made up her mind, don’t you?’

At the mention of Claire Trent’s name, he stopped for a moment and then sat in the back seat, slamming the door. The car raced off out of the main gate.

Molly Wright smiled to herself.

The case could go either way, Mr Turnbull, but for you a conclusion has already been decided.

You’re toast.

Chapter 60

Back at Police HQ, Ridpath went to see Chrissy first. Luckily Turnbull wasn’t there but still at Wythenshawe nick putting the screws on Michael Carsley.

‘Did you get hold of Liverpool?’

‘You’re meeting with a DI at their HQ at eleven a.m. tomorrow. He’s on duty this weekend but off for a week to Llandudno from Monday. I know it’s Sunday but I thought…’

‘You did well, Chrissy.’

‘At two p.m., the pathologist can squeeze you in for half an hour. Now, he was defensive and didn’t want to meet, I had to push hard. I’ve sent the results of his post-mortem to Dr