One Bad Turn (26 page)

‘How can you be so sure?’

Nathaniel gave Coupland a look to say his answer was obvious, ‘Because Sandford was admitted to hospital that afternoon, underwent surgery the same night as I remember it. To be honest I was relieved he wasn’t there.’

‘Why do you say that?’

A sigh. ‘It had been a long day and I was glad to get home. I was sick of having to babysit Sandford to make sure things didn’t get out of hand and he’d really taken against Dawson, if he hadn’t been incapacitated I’d have had to stay on after my shift.’

‘Why would you do that?’

Another sigh. ‘There was no love lost between him and Lee Dawson. I was there when he first encountered him. It was the day of the Manchester Derby. We were carrying out searches on a group of Red Army supporters. The powers that be had pulled out all the stops, police dogs and handlers, riot vans, mounted police, you name it, they weren’t taking any chances. You could hear the chanting half a mile away. Taunts, threats and counter threats The brief was to put a ring of steel around Old Trafford but even with beat cops drafted in from other areas the best we could do was focus on keeping the opposing football firms apart. We had a group of supporters lined up against the exterior wall of a pub and began to search them. Lee Dawson was impatient at waiting his turn in the line and started singing. He was a Jack the Lad, pure and simple. The other supporters joined in the song and laughed when he started messing about while Harry patted him down. Harry didn’t like that; he pushed him against the wall and yelled at him to shut it. Dawson just grinned, tried to carry on singing but Harry dragged him to the ground. Dawson was tall but slender with it, no match for Harry, he was heavy in those days; he pinned him down on the tarmac, told him if he stepped out of line or opened his fucking mouth again it would be shut for him properly.’ Nathaniel eyed Coupland, ‘Those were his words, Sergeant, not mine.’

Coupland didn’t doubt it.

‘A tag team of officers escorted them to the football ground, but as Dawson passed Harry he starting miming…’ Nathaniel mimicked the universal wanker sign, ‘Harry was all set to go for him but I held him back, told him not to be so damned stupid. I’ve seen a lot worse in my time, Sergeant, not worth escalating things for the sake of it.’

Nathaniel’s wife began to sob, pulling out several sheets of tissue to dab her eyes and nose. ‘Wait a minute,’ Nathaniel pushed himself up from his chair, taking his wife’s hand as he helped her to her feet before leading her from the room. ‘Her GP gave her a sleeping tablet before you got here, with any luck she’ll be knocked out for the rest of the day. It’ll give me a chance to start making arrangements… I don’t suppose you know when Sharon’s body will be released to us?’

Coupland shook his head. ‘Soon as we can…’ was all he promised. After a couple of minutes they heard an upper room door close followed by footsteps on the stairs. Nathaniel entered the room with a large box file under his arm. He regarded both detectives as he placed the file on the coffee table, pushing the untouched coffee to one side. ‘Some cases you never forget,’ he said, ‘and some cases won’t let you forget because so much is written about them,’ he opened the file, pulled out a yellowed newspaper clipping and passed it to Coupland. He passed Ashcroft another, further articles he placed onto the coffee table around the file. His son leaned over Ashcroft’s shoulder to get a better look.

Most articles had used the same images - an enlarged photo of an angelic looking schoolboy had been placed beside a picture of a scowling youth being led into court from a police van. Nathaniel pointed to the angelic schoolboy. ‘Eddie Garside twenty years before his murder. A more appealing picture than the thug he turned into. Convictions for GBH and ABH, all football related. These days he’d be banned from matches but back then there was no way of really enforcing that. Instead surveillance teams were set up to monitor what they were doing. The gangs were well organised you know, like mini corporations, with a lynch pin heading up each faction. Eddie was the leader of a local firm; he’d inflicted countless injuries over the five years of his reign.’

‘No loss to society then.’

‘He was still a victim of a terrible crime,’ Nathaniel replied, ‘his family were entitled to justice.’

‘And this is Lee Dawson.’ Ashcroft pointed to the photograph of a youth being led away in cuffs.

Nathaniel nodded, ‘No previous record, wasn’t known to any of us before that day, bit of a jack the lad by all accounts,’

‘Says here,’ Ashcroft picked up another yellowed cutting and began to read aloud a statement made by Dawson’s boss, owner of a local joinery firm: ‘“This has come as such a shock to those that know Lee. He doesn’t get into fights, he doesn’t go to games for trouble, he just loves his football.” A teacher from his old school, who preferred not to be named, said: “He could be cheeky at times,”’

‘No law against that, last time I looked,’ Coupland said

 Ashcroft read some more: ‘“The hostility between rival fans was palpable that day,” said a police spokesman, “with opposing firms antagonising each other, culminating in a stand-off inside a multi-storey car park. It is believed the men broke away from the crowds to settle their score privately.”’

Nathaniel caught Coupland raise his eyebrows at Ashcroft. ‘Does that bit strike you as strange, Sergeant?’

Coupland grunted a yes. ‘A gang is about protection and reflected glory, why would they ‘break away’ from the others?’ The men fell silent as they pondered this. ‘Did Dawson know his victim?’

Nathaniel shook his head, ‘They supported rival teams, didn’t frequent the same pubs. He’ll have known his reputation. I guess it was just a case of bravado gone wrong.’

‘Was he drunk?’

Nathaniel nodded, ‘No more so than anyone else, we did our best to stop drink being taken into the ground but all that meant was they made sure they were tanked up when they arrived.’ Coupland remembered as a probationer making up the police line that shepherded supporters from Manchester Piccadilly onto shuttle buses going back and forth to Old Trafford or Maine Road. The drinking was done on the way up on the intercity trains, the home team supporters frequenting back street pubs.

‘Was it you that found the body?’

Nathaniel didn’t bother looking up but the shake of his head was clear. ‘No, I was responding to a call for assistance. An officer was down.’

‘Harry Sandford?’

‘Yes. I’d stayed put doing stop and searches, Harry had been sent to escort supporters out of the stadium but things had started to turn ugly, though by the time we arrived he’d gone.’

‘Who was ‘we’?’

‘Sorry?’

‘You said things had turned ugly by the time ‘we’ arrived. Can you remember who was there?’

‘Not after all this time!’ Nathaniel said irritably.

Damian Mathers fixed Coupland with a stare, ‘In case you haven’t noticed my father is doing all he can to help you despite the distress he’s in.’

‘I know that,’ Coupland said carefully, ‘bear with me, Nathaniel, I just need to know who was with you? Did Lewis Carruthers respond to the call?’

‘What?’ Nathaniel looked up at Coupland, his brow knotting as he squinted his eyes. ‘No, he was already in the vicinity; he was one of the officers that got caught up in the squall when it started kicking off. I didn’t see him until much later.’

‘After the body had been found.’

‘Yes, obviously, sorry didn’t I make it clear? It was Lewis who found the body. Well, him and Harry really. Lewis radioed it in and as I was closest I was the first officer to respond. It’s funny, Harry hadn’t liked the look of Dawson from the moment he clapped eyes on him, turned out he was right not to. Certainly his instincts on that day were better than mine. He told me he’d seen tensions escalating between Dawson and Eddie Garside when they were leaving the ground. He followed them into the multi-storey car park which given the injury to his leg was a brave thing to do. Got a commendation for it if I recall. Lewis had run into the car park to check Sandford was OK, by the time he got there Dawson was nowhere to be seen but he found Garside lying on the ground.’

‘And he didn’t see anyone leaving?’

‘You’d have to check his statement at the time but I guess not.’

Nathaniel picked up another newspaper clipping and held it up for the detectives to see. The headline read:
Scarf Convicts Football Derby Slayer
, and referred to ‘the crucial evidence that convicted Dawson was his Burberry scarf which had been found beside the victim covered in his blood.’

‘It had his DNA on it and everything,’ Nathaniel informed them, ‘he never denied it was his, to be fair, though he’d have struggled with that given we had CCTV footage of him wearing the scarf earlier that day.’ The newspaper had printed a grainy picture of an army of men wearing Lacoste tracksuit tops over polo necks and baggy jeans. One man’s face had been circled. He wore a Pringle jumper over a Fred Perry shirt. Adidas Three Stripe trainers. A Burberry scarf was wrapped around his neck several times. Nathaniel placed the clippings in the centre of the coffee table. ‘Lee Dawson and the scarf that gave him away.’

He shook his head as though ridding himself of some terrible thought, ‘Could he really have killed Sharon?’ He held Coupland’s gaze, ‘Could he really be targeting us after all this time?’ Coupland chose his words carefully, ‘We think it’s likely, remember he’s been cooped up all these years, he’s not had the chance to go after anyone before.’

‘But why not come after me? If he was angry with me why come after my daughter?’

‘Because this would hurt you more.’

‘But then why kill Lewis’s daughter? He’s dead, how can killing her hurt him now?’ He had a point.

Coupland shrugged. ‘Maybe he didn’t know Lewis was dead. Remember revenge isn’t rational, you’re trying to apply a logic that isn’t there.’

Nathaniel’s demeanour was changing before Coupland’s eyes, ‘If I’m to blame for this, for losing Sharon, how can I ever forgive myself?’ He turned to Damian, ‘How will your mother ever forgive me?’ His dark skin took on a grey tinge, beads of sweat formed on his brow. His body was going into shock. ‘You need to leave now,’ Damian Mathers said firmly, ‘my father needs to rest,’ Coupland got to his feet, signalling for Ashcroft to do the same. He pocketed the news clipping he was holding.

A long sigh escaped from Nathaniel, ‘Why would he do this to us?’ Coupland shook his head in reply as he followed Ashcroft into to the hall. They were about to let themselves out when his mobile pinged, signalling a text. He grabbed his phone. It was Robinson: Harry Sandford sustained a leg fracture on 14 March 1992 after a derby match. Returned to desk duties but was retired out not long after. This confirmed Elba and Nathaniel’s recollection of events. But still…Coupland pulled out the newspaper clipping he’d pocketed and re-read it. He stopped in his tracks. ‘Wait a minute…’ he muttered, turning around and marching into the sitting room where Damian was kneeling in front of his father, a hand resting on the older man’s shoulder. Nathaniel seemed to have aged in the short time they’d left the room. Coupland waved the yellowed paper in front of him.

‘Where was the scarf found?’

Nathaniel lifted his head, ‘Underneath Garside’s body. I moved him when I tried to do CPR.’ Coupland stared at him in alarm, ‘I thought it had already been radioed in that he was dead.’

‘It had, Lewis had done it himself, but Harry thought he saw a movement, he asked me to check the body for signs of life.’

‘So you moved him to do CPR?’

A pause. ‘Yes.

‘And that’s when you found the scarf?’

‘Yes.’

*

They were driving back along the East Lancs Road, Coupland was unusually quiet; something in the scenario Nathaniel had described didn’t make sense. ‘The article said the scarf had been found beside the body, yet Nathaniel only found it when he moved Garside which suggests it was underneath him.’

‘So?’

‘Only one version can be right and my money’s on Nathaniel.’

‘Does it matter? If Dawson didn’t have a criminal past and it was a spur of the moment spat that got out of hand it is conceivable he wouldn’t have been thinking how to cover his tracks, he probably just scarpered and didn’t realise he’d lost his scarf in the scuffle.’

Coupland considered this, ‘The scarf was bound to be covered in blood if it had been lying beneath someone who’d been stabbed,’ he said aloud, ‘doesn’t mean it was the owner of the scarf committed the crime, though.’

He blew out his cheeks as he switched on the radio: Another scandal involving a member of the cabinet, the refugee crisis reaching breaking point. He cared, but right now his head was throbbing. He turned to Ashcroft, ‘You listening to this?’

‘Not really.’

He switched to the local radio station, turned up the volume when he recognised the track. ‘You’re not a fan, are you?’ Ashcroft was unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

‘I’m not a complete dinosaur,’ Coupland grumbled, hoping to Christ he didn’t ask him to name the band, like Amy often did, then snigger when he got it wrong. He wracked his brain, Hosiery or Hooters, or maybe something in between. The local news followed, headlining with an update on the murder enquiry:

“
Police have today confirmed that they are making significant progress in the hunt for the killer of Sharon Mathers, Maria Wellbeck and Kathleen Williams
.” Coupland looked over at Ashcroft, raising his eyebrows. “
A spokesperson for Greater Manchester Police confirms that public response to the recent television appeal has resulted in several significant lines of enquiry opening up which investigating officers are following up
.” A familiar voice loomed out from the dashboard: “
Greater Manchester Police would like to thank the people of Salford for their continued support during this investigation
,” Curtis. Coupland tipped his head and saluted the radio. “
furthermore, we would urge residents to remain vigilant until this evil perpetrator has been apprehended.
”

He turned to Ashcroft, ‘Do you think they actually believe that stuff when they read it out? I mean, they must know it’s drivel written by some pen pusher paid to put a positive spin on everything.’