One Bad Turn (15 page)

‘It’s no good,’ he groaned as Ashcroft drew level with his desk, ‘I keep hitting the delete button every time I try and type a reply. I know you’re not supposed to swear in emails, but that’s fifty percent of my vocabulary knackered.’

Ashcroft read the email thread over Coupland’s shoulder, ‘Will it make a difference?’ Being new to the station he didn’t know the politics of the place, but he had an idea what the answer would be. It was the same in most stations. Coupland shook his head, ‘The work’ll get done anyway, it would have just been, I don’t know…’

‘An act of goodwill or something…’

Coupland shrugged, ‘Yeah, something like that.’ He logged out of the computer and got to his feet, rubbing the base of his back as he did so. ‘I’m going over to where Sharon Mathers was found. Get a better lie of the land. You coming?’

Ashcroft nodded, ‘Maybe we can think up a tactful response to the Super on our way.’ Stranger things had happened, Coupland supposed. They were leaving the CID room when Turnbull passed them on his way in. ‘The drunk brought in on Thursday night, Sarge, Edward Kershaw,’ he called over, ‘I’ve got his address; I’m on my way out there to get a DNA sample from him. I called ahead and he’s happy to provide one, albeit he’s a little sheepish. A night on the lash after being laid off from work.’

‘Where does he live?’

‘Broadway Place,’

‘If it turns out he was at the train station last Thursday we need to get a full statement from him.’

Turnbull grimaced, ‘He’ll not remember anything if he was tanked up-’

‘I don’t care if we have to bloody hypnotise him, I want a sodding statement.’

The approach to the recreation park where Sharon’s body had been found was still cordoned off. The area had been combed for forensic evidence, although the wider search Coupland had asked Turnbull to oversee was scheduled for that afternoon. The lone officer manning the cordon looked thoroughly bored. His face brightened when Coupland approached, lifting the cordon for the detectives to step under. ‘I can’t believe how many times people have asked to have a selfie taken with me with the crime scene in the background.’ He grumbled, scratching his chin.

‘So your ugly mug’ll be doing the rounds on Facebook, then?’

‘Not likely,’ the officer harrumphed, ‘told the ghoulish beggars to sod off,’

The detectives walked on in silence. Once the media circus moved on the public tended to forget about the realities of murder, or the devastation it caused, to them the police tape was a reminder of a bit of excitement in an otherwise dull day. To Coupland it was much more than that. He’d joined the police to keep people safe. Each crime scene made him feel as though he was fighting a losing battle. ‘What was he doing here, do you reckon? Before he killed her, I mean,’

Ashcroft kicked his toe against the gravel close to where Sharon’s body had been found. The inner cordon and tent had long gone, all that differentiated that area from other patches was how clean it was; no dog turds, no litter, everything that had been collected was now sitting in evidence bags at the station, or had been tested for DNA at the forensic science lab. He shrugged, ‘Loitering, waiting to pick out someone suitable? Could have been as simple as he liked the look of her as she got off the bus.’

Coupland said nothing. Made a mental note to make sure that the passengers already on the bus before Sharon got on had been checked out. He knew the ones who had got on at the same stop as her, and all those that followed had been checked and eliminated but it paid to be thorough. Ashcroft pushed his hands deep into his pockets. ‘Maybe it really was just a random act. Waiting for anyone to step off at that bus stop.’

Coupland thought about this. ‘Not such a long wait if he’d checked the bus times beforehand, I suppose.’

‘So, he looks up the bus times, decides to kill the first person who gets off at this stop. What if it was a prop forward, or mixed martial arts black belt or whatever, but you get my drift. He could have done all that homework for nothing.’

‘Any other passengers got off at this stop?’

‘No,’

‘What if he really had done his homework though? What if he’d waited here prior to Tuesday to see who got off, earlier maybe, establishing a routine?’

‘So we need to check for possible sightings on the days leading up to Sharon’s murder.’ Coupland added that to his mental list.

‘The same for Maria Wellbeck?’

Coupland nodded. ‘If you’re going to commit an act like murder, and assuming you don’t want to get caught, you’d do some sort of reccy first, check out what the footfall is like at the time and place you intend to carry out the killing.’

‘So someone might remember seeing him.’

‘Maybe.’

‘Do you want to go over to the train station?’

Coupland started to shake his head then changed his mind. ‘He’d need a totally different type of vantage point. Here, he was disguised by the darkness and the overgrowth. I’m not so sure where the hiding places would be on the approach to the platform.’

Ashcroft shrugged, ‘Let’s go see.’

The cordon around the footbridge at Salford Crescent station had been removed. People still needed to travel to work, the train operator had obliged closing the place down while a forensic search had been carried out by cancelling trains in both directions for several hours but they had service level agreements with the rail network that meant within 24 hours of Maria being found normal service was resumed. A police incident vehicle had been parked at the entrance to the station with poster size photographs of her in its window and a phone number for the incident room. A uniformed officer stood talking to a member of the public beside it.

Coupland walked to the spot where Maria had been found, then pointed to the place above it from where she had fallen - or more likely been pushed - to her death. ‘Can you go stand on the bridge for me?’ He waited while Ashcroft obliged. Coupland then crossed the road in the direction of the roundabout, stopped, then began walking back again. He headed towards the industrial estate further along the road, stood at the entrance to the car park, looked back at Ashcroft on the bridge. He could see the DC from each point, there didn’t seem to be one place any better than the other in terms of vantage point. If the killer wanted to keep out of view he could have waited inside the entrance to the industrial site’s car park but then he’d have had to hot foot it over to the footbridge once he clocked his victim. Coupland walked back to Ashcroft, joining him on the footbridge as he looked out the way he had come. ‘He’d have to be some sort of sprinter to reach Maria before she made it to the platform,’ he nodded towards the industrial estate. Ashcroft held onto the hand rail as he leaned over the side of the bridge and looked down. A dark stain remained on the tarmac below. A single bunch of flowers lay beside it.

‘Not necessarily,’ he walked back to the base of the footbridge. He wore a sweatshirt over black jeans and he tugged the hood of it up to conceal his face, then leaned back against the railings. He pulled out his phone, began tapping into it. Suddenly he became anonymous, rather than some oddball staring at women. ‘How about this,’ he called over to Coupland, ‘he waits for Maria to pass by then follows her, pushes her as she reaches the peak of the bridge.’ Likely as not she wouldn’t have known what was happening. There was some blessing in that, he supposed.

Coupland’s mobile rang. Turnbull:
‘I’m with Edward Kershaw now,’
he began,
‘I’ve taken a DNA sample and I’ll send it away once I get back but he’s confirmed he was on a train that got him into Salford Crescent half an hour before Maria’s train was due - he still had the train stub in his pocket. The bender he’d been on had started at lunch, three of them had been laid off without warning. What had started out as a few pints to drown their sorrows had turned into an afternoon of Tequila Slammers. Only stopped drinking when he realised he’d lost his debit card and he was off his face by the time he caught the train home. Got off because he was going to throw up, didn’t think he’d make it to the toilet. The hit of fresh air had his head swimming and he couldn’t remember where he lived. We know the rest.’

‘Never mind that,’ Coupland said impatiently, ‘does he remember seeing anyone at the station? Does he remember seeing Maria Wellbeck?’

‘Hang on,’
The sound of muffled voices as Turnbull repeated the question to Kershaw. Coupland sighed as he heard the one word answer. Turnbull could be speaking to a killer; they’d need to caution him before asking anything else.
‘Can you tell me what you were doing last Tuesday evening?’
Turnbull asked, unprompted. This time the reply was longer. Coupland, who’d put his phone on loudspeaker, looked at Ashcroft
. ‘It was my wife’s birthday, took her out to the Chinese place in Worsley,’
came the reply.
‘Anyone other than your wife able to verify that?’
A pause.
‘Two of the waiters helped me into a cab afterwards,’
he said, adding,
‘wife thinks I drink too much.’

‘She could have a point,’ Coupland said sourly. ‘Get a full statement,’ he barked before ending the call. Ashcroft looked at him, ‘Where to now, Sarge?’

‘Back to base.’ he said dolefully. Time for the arse kicking to begin.

Coupland went straight to Mallender’s office on his return to the station. Might as well get it over with. The investigation was going nowhere and Curtis would be starting to twist the thumb screws on Mallender, it was only fair the DCI got the chance to do the same. Mallender was on his feet when Coupland knocked and entered his room. ‘You’ve saved me the trip, I was just coming to see you, wanted to ask how Ashcroft’s settling in?’ He leaned against the front of his desk, arms folded. ‘He’s fine,’ Coupland acknowledged, grateful for the distraction, ‘got a few demons he needs to lay to rest but then haven’t we all?’ Mallender regarded him sharply, ‘Anything I need to know about?’ Coupland raised an eyebrow, ‘Apart from senior officers determined to make a poster boy out of him?’ He was referring to Curtis wanting to parade Ashcroft in front of Sharon Mathers’ brother just to appease him, that and his break from protocol invitation to attend the press conference. ‘Ah,’ Mallender sighed. Bollockings never travelled uphill so all he could do was make sympathetic noises. ‘You do realise it would have kicked off if I’d done as I was told and summoned Ashcroft to that meeting? Even if he waited until later to bump his gums, Damian Mathers certainly wouldn’t have. It was patronising to say the least. Come on boss, I might be accused of having a hide like a rhinoceros but I’m not so thick skinned I haven’t made it into the twenty first century. Seems to me Curtis needs to go on one of those diversity courses he’s so hot on sending everyone else on.’

‘That’ll be all Sergeant,’ Mallender said dismissively. It was the way he avoided Coupland’s eye as he got to his feet that told Coupland he’d done it again. Dug himself a hole while still emerging from the last one. He didn’t need to turn his head to know that Superintendent Curtis was standing in the doorway behind him. Coupland closed his eyes. If his face looked constipated that certainly wasn’t how his bowels felt. ‘I need you to get onto that right away,’ Mallender added, helping him out. Coupland stood, rearranging his features to look impassive before turning to leave the room. ‘Sir,’ he addressed Curtis as he stood to one side to let him pass. Coupland walked down the corridor, back straight; all the while he could feel Curtis’s eyes on him.

In the CID room DC Krispy was viewing more CCTV footage. He looked up as Coupland approached. ‘I got in touch with the station manager, Sarge, to double check that when he said the CCTV wasn’t working he also meant the station car park. Turns out the car park belongs to the council, and the security camera above the pay and display machine was working fine.’

‘Well done, son.’ The kid certainly had initiative. The DC’s chest puffed out. ‘I’ve checked seven days of tapes and drawn up two lists,’ he pointed to a neatly typed sheet of paper, no chocolate smudges or coffee rings in sight, ‘the first list contains the registration numbers of cars that were parked there every day during the week leading up to Maria’s murder, the second list consists of cars that were left in the car park on just one occasion during that week.’ Coupland nodded, ‘I can see I’m going to need to keep my eye on you,’ he said, picking up the typed list. He signalled for Ashcroft, who was at his desk checking through emails, to come over. ‘Can you cross check the owners of these cars against the passengers that came forward to give DNA samples?’ He asked, ‘Anyone who hasn’t come forward yet, I want to know about it.’

‘Will do,’ Ashcroft said, taking the sheet of paper from him. Krispy’s face fell. ‘Teamwork makes the dream work,’ Coupland reminded him, then remembered something he wanted checking about Sharon Mathers, ‘actually, you couldn’t give the bus company a ring could you?’ he said, giving the DC his winning smile.

An hour later Krispy returned to his desk with the bus company tapes. ‘What’s boy wonder doing?’ Ashcroft asked as he passed Coupland’s desk. It was the end of the college day; Ashcroft was heading back to see where Vinny went after he finished his shift. His lunchtime check had revealed nothing, Vinny’s car hadn’t moved from its original spot and Ashcroft had spied him eating chips from a polystyrene container on one of the college benches. ‘So far we’ve checked out passengers travelling on the evening Sharon was murdered, I want to see who the regular travellers are, see if any patterns emerge,’

‘What? Someone might have been doing a reccy to see which were the quietest stops?’

‘Something like that.’

‘So he’s an opportune killer, waiting for that unguarded moment? In which case if Vinny parks up at home then heads out for a tram tonight we should be worried.’

Coupland laughed but it was hollow, something niggled at the back of his brain. ‘Look, I need to go and see Mallender, can you ring me the moment Scrote Features deviates from his route home, even if he stops for a newspaper.’

‘Will do, Sarge,’ Ashcroft said amicably.