One Bad Turn (18 page)

‘I ended up going over to see him last night,’ she said defiantly, ‘you know, to check everything was still alright between us,’ she watched Coupland’s face for a reaction, ‘I’d have stayed over if I wasn’t supposed to be revising and all my books are here. Anyway, we’re still good, though no thanks to you. We talked about moving in together as it happens, I can study for my exams just as well at his place as I can here, better even, given the current climate…so I’m going to move some of my things over this afternoon.’

Coupland felt as though someone was squeezing his heart. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it again. He didn’t want to talk anymore because he was frightened of what he would say. He turned away.

‘Whatever.’ He muttered into the ever growing space between them.

The call came before he’d even unlocked his car. His mobile piercing the silence. Robinson:
‘We’ve got another body, Sarge.’
Coupland’s shoulders sagged as he took down the address, pausing to repeat it in case he’d misheard, his notepad balancing on the roof of the car, his body itching for a lungful of smoke. ‘Is the DCI there?’ he asked, his voice clipped as he went onto autopilot.
‘He’s on his way.’

‘DC Ashcroft?’

‘He’d just arrived as the call came through.’

‘Tell him I’ll meet him there. Oh, and Robinson,’

‘Yes Sarge?’

‘We need as many cars there as possible, put a ring of steel round the place till we get the measure of it.’

‘Will do.’

A pause. ‘Does the Super know?’

‘Yes, Sarge. He left pretty sharpish after the call came in so I guess he’s on his way over there now.’

Just what Coupland didn’t need.

*

The body of Kathleen Williams, reception teacher at Bude Hill Primary school had been found in the school playground by John Kennington, school caretaker for ten years, due to retire at the end of term. He thought at first she’d suffered a cardiac arrest, had rung for an ambulance before giving her chest compressions until the paramedics arrived. A classroom assistant had had a stroke the previous year and the local education authority had sent all school staff - teaching as well as ancillary - for emergency first aid training. ‘So his prints are all over the bloody body.’ Benson muttered when Coupland arrived. ‘Cause of death?’ Coupland hoped like hell the pathologist would give him a straight answer rather than a spiky comment. ‘She’s been strangled,’ he said irritably, ‘as to whether that was the primary factor I won’t know until I open her up, Sergeant.’

Coupland walked towards the victim with some trepidation. She’d been moved from her original position by the over-zealous caretaker; Ashcroft was with the man now at the far end of the playground trying to ascertain the position she’d been found in. He watched as the man lay down on the floor playing dead while Ashcroft summoned the photographer over to take his picture. It wasn’t normal protocol but normal had left the building and crazy had stormed right in. The paramedics who’d been summoned to deal with the original emergency had stood down after taking one look at the victim, waiting until the police arrived once they’d called it in. They’d had to respond to another shout before Coupland arrived but had left their contact details with one of several uniformed officers deployed to the school. More officers turned up from every direction, many had children in the school, wanted to make sure pupils arriving early didn’t see more than they bargained for. The school secretary had been allowed into the building so that she could contact parents and the local taxi firms who had contracts to transport children with special needs; the education authority would contact the bus companies. There would be no school today. The local radio station had been contacted to broadcast a message just before the school run was due to start that Bude Hill was closed
‘due to unforeseen circumstances,’
and that pupils were to remain at home until further notice. The parents would love that.

The crime scene manager was a bald headed DS from South Manchester that Coupland had met once before but hadn’t taken to though he couldn’t recall why. Quinlan, if he remembered rightly. The man was thin like a whippet with narrow eyes. Coupland headed over in his direction. ‘Someone moved the boundary overnight?’ he quipped, ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask to see your passport.’ Quinlan turned to Coupland but didn’t return his smile. ‘Handful of us have been seconded to the investigation by those who must be obeyed,’ he responded, ‘may be more of us by the end of the day if your Chief Super can’t convince the ACC you lot know what you’re doing.’

Coupland let the remark go. ‘Anything I need to know?’ He asked as he changed into the CSI suit Quinlan handed to him. The other man shrugged, ‘All will be cascaded during morning briefing, I’ve no doubt. I’ve already updated your SIO.’ Coupland bristled at the snub but kept his response in check. So, Curtis had been summoned by the Assistant Chief Constable. He would be under pressure to give assurances that his murder squad would catch the killer before he struck again, assurances he was in no position to give. If his arse was in a sling he’d need a sacrificial lamb should things go belly up, and no prizes for guessing who’d be at the top of that particular list. Coupland looked around for a familiar face. A white forensic tent was being erected over the body. Two SOCOs walked over, rustling in their bodysuits, their features impossible to distinguish beneath plastic hoods. Metal fencing, the type used to prevent the public from gaining access to construction sites, had been erected around the perimeter of the school, crime scene tape secured to it like a ribbon around a present. A press helicopter had already flown overhead and as word spread press association syndicates would begin camping outside the school gates cooking up all sorts of scaremongering stories to keep the public glued to their television sets. Curtis would be forced to give a press conference, promising transparency at every step while reassuring the public they were safe.
There was a killer at large, but have a nice day now
. Coupland understood why Curtis would want to visit the crime scene prior to making the trip to police headquarters. He’d want sound bites he could take into his meeting. Coupland sighed, just his luck to be saddled with an arsey crime scene manager with ideas above his station. Even Turnbull would have been preferable to this. ‘Personal belongings?’ Coupland asked. Quinlan raised an eyebrow, ‘All bagged and signed for.’ Coupland held out his hand, ‘Let me look at the damned inventory then.’ Quinlan handed Coupland his clipboard. A large handbag had been found beside the victim. In Quinlan’s spidery handwriting he had logged the following contents: purse, car keys, make up bag, mobile phone, iPad, make-up wipes, perfume and underwear.

‘Sarge,’

Both men turned in the direction of the voice. The South Manchester CSI team had finished erecting the tent around Kathleen Williams’ body; the victim could be viewed once more. Coupland nodded, handing the clipboard back to Quinlan before making his way over to the tent. Benson was already inside, kneeling beside the victim as he scraped beneath her nails. ‘Is she wearing underwear?’ Coupland asked. Benson nodded. ‘There’s no sign of any sexual activity, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘I’m not sure what I’m thinking, to be honest,’ Coupland muttered, moving closer to study her face. ‘Make up’s a bit heavy for a primary school teacher, don’t you think?’ Benson, who was single, hadn’t got children of his own. He shrugged, ‘How would I know?’ he squinted up at Coupland, ‘Though I seem to remember my old teacher had whiskers.’ Coupland recalled his own reception teacher, a fierce woman named Mrs Faulkner who always spoke in the third person. Amy’s teacher had been small and round, not an edge to her. The kids all cried when they moved up to the next class. ‘She just seems a bit dressed up to be spending the day surrounded by sticky little fingers,’ he shrugged.

‘Well, that’s where this gets interesting,’ Benson said smugly, ‘she was found what, an hour ago?’

Coupland nodded.

‘At best, I’d have expected rigor mortis to have given her the beginnings of the death stare, that slight grimace you often see on a corpse when the Adenosine Triphosphate drains from their facial muscles.’

‘Yeah, I was thinking the exact same thing,’ Coupland’s voice dripped with sarcasm, ‘in English, please, if you don’t mind.’ Benson swallowed his impatience, ‘Look at her man! She’s rigid from head to foot; she’s been dead for some time.’

‘What are you saying?’

Benson regarded him as he might a particularly dense student, ‘That if your man over there really did find her in the middle of the playground she wasn’t killed on her way into school. She was killed on her way out.’

So, she’d been here overnight. Coupland digested this information, ‘And given the fact she’d put a lot of effort into her appearance - and the make-up wipes and spare knickers in her bag - the poor cow probably thought she was on a promise.’

The pathologist’s demeanour changed as someone behind Coupland caught his eye. ‘Looks like you’ve got a royal visit on your hands,’ he murmured and Coupland didn’t need to turn round to know Curtis had arrived.

‘A word please, DS Coupland,’ Mallender called him over. Coupland clenched his jaw and tried to lift his shoulders as he made his way back to the primary crime scene cordon where Superintendent Curtis waited beside the DCI. The Super must’ve been reluctant to get in Benson’s way, either that or he baulked at donning CSI clothing over his pristine dress uniform in case it creased. He made eye contact with Coupland, the first time in days since he’d done so.

‘I’ve called a press conference,’ his tone was neutral, as though Coupland didn’t irritate him one little bit, his eyes locking onto the detective’s as he drew near, ‘what the hell do you suppose I can tell them?’

Chapter 12

Incident room, Tuesday morning

All hell had broken loose. The Major Incident Team from south Manchester had arrived en-masse, bringing with them detectives, crime scene investigators and major incident room staff responsible for operating HOLMES2 (the Home Office Large Major Enquiry System). Hi-Tec crime staff had set up camp in the CID room and were now examining Sharon Mathers’ and Maria Wellbeck’s laptops, together with Kathleen Williams’ iPad and all three victims’ mobile phones. Force policy meant that seven and 28 day reviews were to be carried out into the investigation of a serious crime if a case was unresolved. The clock was ticking, no wonder top brass were pulling out all the stops.

A new incident board had been erected for Kathleen Williams. A formal picture of her that normally hung in the school corridor had been stuck onto the centre of the board. Coupland was right, her day time make up was minimal, her long hair secured in place with metal hair combs. Beneath it someone had placed the photograph of her body taken when the murder squad arrived, and beside that the photograph of the caretaker mimicking the position he’d found her in. In both pictures the victim was lying on her back, the main difference between the photos was he’d straightened her head to commence CPR. It was likely his fingerprints would overlay those of the killer but the poor man had only been doing what he’d been trained to, preserving life, not dealing with one that had been wiped out.

The incident room was close to overcrowded. Standing room only and even then you’d need a body mass index below 20 if you didn’t want to get intimate with the person standing in front of you. Health and Safety would have a field day if they saw this. Coupland squared his shoulders as he pushed his way to the front of the room to stand beside Mallender and DS Quinlan. He didn’t need to move to the front but he was marking out his territory, in the same way a dog might piss on a patch of grass. A pre-emptive strike, should Quinlan try punching above his weight. Quinlan was wearing a black suit, narrow lapels and thin tie, his long hair giving him the appearance of the frontman in a 1980s tribute band, either that or a creepy undertaker. His cronies, standing close to him, saw him clock Coupland as he moved towards the front of the room. They looked on with interest.

‘We heard you were struggling, Coupland,’ Quinlan smiled, his fingers straightening his greasy tie, ‘came as fast as we could to lend a hand.’ Coupland ignored the jibe. ‘This is a joint investigation not a sparring match,’ he pointed out as he positioned himself between Quinlan and the DCI, easing the other DS off to the side. ‘We haven’t got time for handbags at dawn; all offers of help are gratefully received.’

‘And so they should be, don’t want you putting any more of your squad in danger.’ The reference to DC Todd Oldman’s murder made Mallender and several officers take a sharp intake of breath. The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Coupland regarded Quinlan with steely eyes. ‘What was it Muhammed Ali once said about Sonny Liston? Ah, I remember now: “
You’re so ugly the sweat runs backwards just to stay off your face,”
Can’t for the life of me think what’s reminded me of that.’ True to form Coupland’s team sniggered, some of Quinlan’s too although they tried their best to hide it as they looked to their leader for a response. DCI Mallender stepped forward, as much as he could given the layout of the room, ‘For Christ’s sake the clock’s ticking, can we please attend to the matter in hand?’ A manilla envelope was clamped under his arm. ‘The DNA results are through for the commuters at the train station,’ his voice lifted as he spoke, ‘and we’ve got a match.’ He opened the envelope and was about to read out a name he’d highlighted in fluorescent yellow when Coupland butted in:

‘Edward Kershaw, Sir,’ he said, bursting the DCI’s bubble, ‘that’s the guy night shift brought in off his face a few days ago, Turnbull’s been over to see him to get a statement.’

‘Going by the look on your face I take it he’s not our man?’ Coupland’s expression was pinched. Lynn said it made him look sour faced but there was nothing he could do to change it now. Too set in his ways. ‘He’s got a cast iron alibi for the first murder,’ Coupland informed him, ‘best case scenario we thought he might have seen someone or something on Thursday evening but he was too far gone.’ Coupland mimed the universal hand signal for having a drink. Mallender tossed the DNA results onto the desk behind him. ‘So we’re back to square one,’ he sighed.