One Bad Turn (13 page)

Something jarred inside him. ‘Yes she is!’ he insisted, ‘She’s only just started wearing a bra…’

‘That was six years ago, Kevin,’ Lynn smiled, ‘and you cried for a week.’

Coupland huffed out a breath, scratching his belly absentmindedly as he tried to prepare his argument. ‘But with that toe rag?’ he whimpered, ‘Of all the slime balls we let under this roof it had to be-’

‘-it wouldn’t have mattered who it was,’ she countered, ‘Prince Harry wouldn’t be good enough.’

‘You’re damn right!’ he agreed, unaware he’d just proved her point. Coupland got to his feet, gave his backside a quick scratch before climbing into bed. ‘Why here though?’ It felt like he was having his nose rubbed in it, and he didn’t like that one little bit.

‘Better under this roof than round at his place, till we know more about where he lives.’

‘It’s a shit-hole; I’ve driven by it a couple of times,’ he confessed, pursing his lips as he conceded her point. Lynn leaned across and kissed his cheek, her hand sliding across his chest. Coupland felt himself stir. ‘Try to get some sleep,’ she said, ‘I might as well get up, got time to load the dryer before I need to head out.’

Coupland sighed. Their holiday was well and truly over.

*

Incident room, Monday morning

‘The night shift has managed to trace all the passengers who used Salford Crescent station the evening Maria Wellbeck was murdered. They’ve been contacted and all have volunteered to come in for a DNA swab this morning.’ Turnbull looked pleased with the progress made. Coupland listened, swirling the contents of a vending machine coffee around in its cup before taking a sip. He’d added three sweeteners but couldn’t tell. He paused, the cup lifted half way to his mouth, ‘I’d be more interested in anyone who doesn’t turn up,’ he commented to Ashcroft as Turnbull left the room. Ashcroft hummed his agreement. A young DC entered the incident room with a trio of Krispy Kreme doughnuts from the 24 hour Tesco up the road. ‘Needed a sugar lift Sarge,’ he said when Coupland’s eyes fell on the oblong box. The DC sneaked a look at his watch; he’d not been out so long that the shifts had changed over, surely? ‘been studying the CCTV footage outside the pub where Sharon Mathers went for a drink on Tuesday night to see if she was followed in or out,’ he explained, on the back foot.

‘And?’ Coupland raised his eyebrows but his gaze had locked onto the confectionary in the detective’s hand.

‘No one acting suspiciously. No known faces. Apart from the local dealers obviously.’

Coupland looked up at him sharply. ‘She didn’t speak to any of them?’

The DC looked at him warily, ‘Not so far. What is it Sarge?’

Coupland locked his fingers together in front of his chest, like a minister about to deliver a sermon. ‘You know, I feel it’s my duty to spell out the perils of the early morning sugar rush, son, after all, it plays havoc with your figure.’ He turned sideways on to show the young detective his profile. ‘Take me as a case in point. I started out in this job like a whippet, not an ounce of fat on me, a bit like you.’ Not a word of that was true, Coupland had always carried love handles; he was stocky by nature, gave him an advantage over his skinnier colleagues when staring down a gob shite at closing time. The DC’s shoulder’s drooped. ‘Such a waste, though, if you throw them away,’ Coupland counselled, ‘why don’t I take one off your hands? Trust me; I’m doing you a favour in the long run. It might be too late for me but you’ve got your whole life ahead of you.’ Reluctantly the DC offered the box to Coupland. ‘Giving is good for the soul, son, remember that.’ The DC tried to ignore Ashcroft sitting close by but failed miserably, they were the only three people in the room and good manners dictated that he offer the other detective a doughnut too.

‘Nice one,’ Ashcroft grinned, his earlier breakfast already forgotten, winking at Coupland as he took one. Coupland felt the stirrings of guilt, ‘How many more tapes have you got to get through?’ he asked; he and Ashcroft were still off the clock for a while yet. ‘I’m on the last two, Sarge,’ the DC grumbled. ‘Tell you what,’ Coupland took a mouthful of sticky chocolate icing, ‘why doesn’t DC Ashcroft here take a look at the other one for you? Many hands and all that…’ The DC’s face lit up, unlike Ashcroft’s. ‘No such thing as a free breakfast, you should know that.’ Coupland smirked at him.

He left them to it, returning to his desk with his half eaten doughnut and semi cold coffee. At least the coffee didn’t taste so bad now. He logged into his computer, saw that Sharon Mather’s post mortem report had arrived, copied into DCI Mallender. No surprises, the victim had been in good health when she was struck down by her killer. Death was caused by severe trauma to her skull. Bruising around the Vagus nerve in her neck indicated her killer had tried to strangle her. The defensive wounds to her hands implied she’d fought hard for her life, only for the bastard to finish the job off with a blow to the head. The wound was an irregular shape, suggesting the weapon they were looking for was nothing more sophisticated than a large rock. Unless the killer wore gloves there was every chance his or her prints would be all over it. A fingertip search had been carried out where Sharon’s body had been found but Coupland couldn’t be sure that included the recreation park nearby, or the gardens of the houses that looked onto it. He made a note to check how extensive the initial search had been. They needed to find it before the weather turned and rain washed away the killer’s ID.

Coupland sighed, looked over at Ashcroft and the Krispy Kreme DC staring at screens in front of them whilst licking icing off their fingers. He was finding it hard to concentrate; the image of Vinny coming down the stairs in his underpants was seared into his brain. That and the scornful look Amy gave him when she walked in on him with his hands around her boyfriend’s throat. He blinked away the image. ‘How many cameras has the footage come from?’ he called out to Krispy. ‘Six in all, one outside the front of the pub where Sharon had been drinking, one opposite the bus shelter where she waited with some work mates at the end of the evening and four every couple of hundred yards in between.’

‘And you can track her movements from one to the other?’

The DC nodded.

‘No detours?’ Coupland pressed.

‘No, Sarge.’

‘Have we checked her mobile?’

‘Yup,’ Ashcroft responded, ‘no incoming or outbound calls.’ Coupland got up from his chair. The sugar had made him antsy, what he needed right now was a lead that would use up the adrenaline coursing through his system since his confrontation with Vinny. ‘People work their way up to murder,’ he said aloud as he moved towards Ashcroft’s desk. ‘Unless it’s a crime of passion, or a flash of anger that’s impossible to control.’ He thought back to his stand off in the kitchen with a shudder. What if Amy hadn’t walked in on them? He’d be downstairs in the cells right now rather than up here trying to find a double killer. Lynn and Amy would be devastated. And all for someone whose name they won’t even remember in six months’ time. He knew Vinny was playing him. He probably wasn’t that interested in Amy, just saw it as an opportunity to even the score, defile the daughter of the bloke who put him away. Even the thought of it turned his stomach. He just needed to keep his cool, play the long game. Amy couldn’t be in love with this fella really, Coupland just needed to give her time to work this out for herself. He moved to stand behind Ashcroft, looking over his shoulder as he watched Tuesday evening’s pedestrians weave in and out of the wine bars and restaurants that had opened at Salford’s Media City since the BBC became operational there.

‘Sharon’s already in the pub at this point,’ Ashcroft informed him, ‘I’m watching to see if she comes out. We know she caught the bus home with a couple of pals from work, but it’s possible someone could have followed the group, after striking up a conversation. Maybe they didn’t decide who they were going to pick off until the opportunity presented itself.’

‘A case of Eeny meeny miny moe…’ Coupland said aloud. ‘Did she smoke?’ he asked Krispy, who grunted a yes, piping up, ‘She’s at the bus stop with her mates on this tape, she lights up three times.’ Ashcroft nodded when as if by magic Sharon emerged from the pub doorway, cigarette already in her mouth as she stepped outside.

‘A girl after my own heart,’ Coupland commented, ‘might as well have been a chain smoker, the way it panned out.’

‘Suppose that’s one way of looking at it.’ Ashcroft leaned forward to get a better look at the screen. Something had caught his attention. ‘Hello,’ he muttered, ‘looks like she’s about to get some company after all.’ A man had come from out of the camera’s range at the bottom of the screen, making a beeline for Sharon. He held something up in his hand.

‘He’s after a light,’ Coupland said, ‘let’s see what he does.’ The interaction was over in seconds, Sharon furrowing her brow at first, then, as she spots the cigarette he is holding she hands him her lighter. He says something which makes her laugh then returns the lighter to her before walking back in the direction he came.

‘Stop,’ said Coupland, his chest missing a beat, ‘rewind.’ Ashcroft did as he was asked, waiting for the nod to press ‘play,’ again.

‘There!’ Coupland said, ‘can you see?’ His pulse quickened the way it always did when he felt the familiar stirrings of making a breakthrough on an investigation, but this time the rush he felt literally knocked him off balance. He placed a hand on Ashcroft’s chair to steady himself.

‘What is it?’ Ashcroft asked, looking from Coupland to the screen.

‘Zoom in on his face.’ Coupland barked, but it didn’t matter that the man’s features were grainy, the ‘Pussy’ tattoo on his neck was as clear as day.

Chapter 9

‘Sarge!’ Ashcroft called after Coupland as he stormed out of the incident room. He made to go after him but paused in the doorway, calling out to the other DC, ‘Print out a screen shot of that guy, leave it on my desk,’ before hurrying out. ‘Wait up, Sarge!’ A keen five-a-side footballer, he had an athletic build, had no trouble catching up with Coupland and keeping pace with him but found it harder to deal with his mood. They’d reached the car park; Ashcroft wasn’t keen on letting the burly sergeant out of his sight.

‘What is it? Who was that guy?’ he demanded, grabbing Coupland by the arm as the DS aimed his key fob at his car to unlock it. ‘Just leave it,’ Coupland’s eyes were a dangerous mix of adrenaline and anger. ‘No way, man,’ Ashcroft persisted, ‘whatever’s going on affects me too. If you want me to cover for you, that is.’

Coupland stopped at his car and instead of opening the door he turned and leaned against it. He’d forgotten to shave that morning and rubbed his hands over uneven stubble.

‘The guy on that camera is Amy’s bloody boyfriend!’

Ashcroft kept his face impassive as he mulled this over. ‘Okaaaay…’ he moved beside Coupland, hands in pockets, avoiding eye contact by staring at his feet. He poked at a cigarette butt with the tip of his shoe.

‘OK?’ Coupland rounded, ‘Is that all you can say? Is that the extent of your pearls of bloody wisdom?’

Ashcroft sighed, ‘So he was there, in the vicinity, talking to our victim, that makes him guilty of murder, is that what you’re saying?’

‘He’s got previous for GBH,’ Coupland reminded him, ‘are you saying it doesn’t?’ Ashcroft could see his point, but he’d worked with hot heads before, they needed careful handling. He aimed to elicit facts. ‘What about bruising? Sharon put up a fight when she was attacked, managed to get at least one good punch in going by those knuckles…’

Coupland considered this ‘I didn’t see any marks on his face,’ he conceded, ‘but she might have only caught the side of his head, depending how far she could reach.’ Ashcroft sucked air through his teeth. He wondered how Coupland’s usual partner would deal with this. He tried a different tack. ‘You hate him because he’s going out with your daughter, and because of that you want him to be guilty.’

‘No I don’t!’ Coupland exploded, then after a moment, ‘Yes I do, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. What’s that old saying, just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean some bugger isn’t out to get you.’

‘Fine,’ a shrug, ‘so what were you planning on doing? Tear arsing over to his place and threatening a confession out of him.’

‘I wouldn’t have done that,’ Coupland muttered, but his words held no conviction. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I don’t know what the hell to do, to be honest.’

Ashcroft re-played the video clip back through in his head, ‘So…we’ve just seen this fella, what’s his name again?’

‘Vincent Underwood.’

‘Right, we’ve just seen him ask our victim for a light, but let’s suppose it wasn’t some random encounter. Let’s suppose for one minute you’re right. We need to establish a link to Maria Wellbeck as soon as possible.’

‘We could go and pick him up.’

Ashcroft nodded, the way he did to people threatening to jump off bridges and tower block balconies. ‘Mallender would want more than a grudge match as a reason for bringing him in,’ he cautioned. Coupland pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lit one, automatically offering one to the other detective. ‘Only when I’m trolleyed,’ Ashcroft said, waving the pack away.

‘But what about Amy?’ Coupland demanded, sucking the nicotine in as far as it would go, ‘How safe is she while we stumble around gathering evidence?’

‘I get that you’re worried about your girl, maybe you can gently warn her off him?’

‘That’s what I’ve been trying to bloody do!’ Coupland could feel the blood racing through his arteries, the thump, thump, thump in his chest that occurred whenever he thought of Amy and danger in the same sentence.

‘Can you not send her away for a couple of weeks, to an aunt or something?’

Coupland threw back his head and laughed, ‘Christ, what is this, 1960? I can tell you don’t have a teenager. See these grey hairs?’ he jabbed a finger at his greying temples, ‘Every bloody one represents a sleepless night I’ve had over her and some toe rag…or an alleyway…or drugs…or date rape…’

‘Please tell me the rest of the time it’s like The Waltons,’ Ashcroft teased; at least while Coupland opened up there was a chance to talk him down, get him on side. Coupland stared off into the distance, beyond the traffic nose to tail on Broad Street, to a time on holiday when the three of them had laughed so much Lynn was worried she was going to wet herself, his beautiful wife and his precious girl, doubled up over something he’d said, some off the cuff comment that had them rolling around in the restaurant, getting glances from the other diners. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t remember what the joke was about, all that mattered was after everything they’d been through he still made them happy. He’d felt on top of the world. If he could wrap Amy up in a coat of cotton wool he would. But she’d despise him for it and that thought was like a dagger to his heart. Coupland stared at the pavement for a moment while he thought of the options available.