One Bad Turn (32 page)

‘Eddie Garside’s spot?’

A nod. From the hallway came the sound of a toilet flushing and moments later the WPC entered the room. She was about to say something but the look on Coupland’s face silenced her. ‘So what did you do?’ Coupland prompted.

‘We’d had a run in before a derby game with one of the local United crews, our paths crossed again when we were being escorted from the stadium. I saw a chance to get rid of Garside and at the same time stir up a bit of trouble with the opposition. Like I said, there was nothing like a good ruck after a game, get the old adrenaline going. It couldn’t have gone any sweeter, the crowd surged and before the cops realised what was happening we’d broken through their barrier and were going at it hammer and tongs with this firm. I signalled to Eddie to leg it into this multi-storey car park on Oldham Street to get away from the cops. They’d sent reinforcements by that time but we managed to slip away. I kept a knife in the lining of my coat; I pulled it out and stabbed him.’ On a nod from Coupland the WPC stepped into the hallway to radio for another unit to come and take Millar to the station. ‘The weirdest thing happened, though,’ he continued, ‘when I’d done the deed I turned and ran and almost collided with one of your lot, only he didn’t seem to give a toss that I had a knife in my hand. He was limping, he looked like he’d been given a doing himself and I guess he was trying to find somewhere to lay low, either way I seemed to be the least of his problems.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I got out of the way sharpish, kept on running until I joined the crowd as it surged by the car park. Ten minutes later there’s an ambulance trying to make its way through with motorbike cops riding shotgun. I reckoned it was only a matter of time before the law came knocking for me - I mean, the copper had taken a damn good look at me, yet next thing this other kid gets lifted for the murder and before you know it he’s banged up. I could hardly say anything in his defence without implicating myself, so…’

‘So you thought you’d leave the poor sap to rot in jail while you lived the life that should have been his.’

‘Just the luck of the draw,’ Millar shrugged, ‘been lucky all my life, me.’

Until now.

The knock on the door was loud, insistent, followed by heavy footfall in the hallway as the WPC let in the officers that had come to transport Millar to the station to make his statement. ‘Who was he then?’ Millar demanded as an officer pulled him to his feet, moving his arms behind his back to cuff him. Coupland had already read him his rights. ‘What was Vinny to the bloke who got the blame?’

‘His son.’

Millar folded in on himself, ‘He saw my wife and daughter come visit me inside,’ he righted himself but his legs were weak, the officers either side of him did their best to keep him upright. ‘I told him how chuffed I was when Vicky got a job at the local kid’s nursery!’ His face screwed up as though in pain, ‘You know, she’d started getting friendly with some fella she bumped into after work a couple of weeks ago. He’d been giving her lifts home when the weather was bad, never came in though. We didn’t think any more about it, she’s - was - a good looking girl, a sensible one, wouldn’t have taken any risks.’

Coupland took a step towards him, dipped his head to Millar’s height. ‘She probably didn’t, Jonny, whatever he’d learned about her from you he’d have been able to put to his advantage, making out he liked the same things, knew the same people, it was bound to reassure her.’ Millar opened his eyes. His body started to tremble as the truth of it set in. He stopped at the doorway, looked back at Coupland one last time. ‘I handed her to him on a plate, didn’t I?’

Coupland didn’t reply, instead he turned to the WPC, ‘How’s his wife?’

‘Out of it, for the moment.’

‘You stay here,’ he ordered, ‘when she comes round let her know the score, you may need to call the doctor back again before you do.’

‘Understood, Sarge.’

Coupland stood in the flat’s doorway, he was about to call Ashcroft on his mobile when the DC appeared on the balcony, ‘Came to see if you needed a hand. A couple of uniforms doing house to house along Underwood’s road have reported that a neighbour saw a girl resembling Vicky go into his flat with him around 11.30pm last night. Thought she looked a bit tipsy. They found discarded clothes in the bin outside which have been bagged for DNA testing, but we’re guessing they belong to her.’

Coupland frowned. ‘He probably drugged her so he could change her clothing, the PM will tell us for sure.’ One thing baffled him. ‘So where was Amy when this was going on?’ Ashcroft wondered how much he could tell him, ‘She could have been sleeping upstairs,’ he ventured, testing his sergeant’s reaction, ‘maybe she woke up and disturbed him.’ Coupland’s gaze burned into him. ‘I’m just saying it might explain the signs of struggle uniforms found when they trawled through the place this morning,’ he stammered. A feeling of dread settled in Coupland’s stomach. Amy may not be dead yet, but Vince Underwood had absconded with her.

It was only a matter of time.

The static of the officers’ radios crackled as they led Millar out of his flat: ‘
Two people have been seen on top of the multi-storey car park on Oldham Street
.’ Coupland’s stomach lurched. It was the car park where Vinny’s father had been set up for murder all those years ago; of course it would be the place where he’d want the final act of retribution to be carried out.

‘Oh, God no,’ It was as though someone had hold of Coupland’s heart and kept on squeezing.

‘Sarge?’

Tighter.

Coupland sprang into action, running down the stairwell towards the pool car as Ashcroft raced after him, only catching him up as he bleeped his fob to unlock it. ‘Come on,’ Ashcroft said, reaching out for the ignition keys. ‘I’ll drive.’ Coupland pushed him away, fixing him with a steely glare. ‘Go near that steering wheel and I’ll kill you.’ His voice sounded different, as though several pebbles were stuck in his throat. He yanked open the driver’s door and climbed in. Ashcroft banged on the glass. ‘What can I do?’ Coupland lowered the front passenger window.

‘Shut the fuck up and get in.’

He started the engine, crunching through the gears on auto pilot as he screeched into the oncoming traffic causing several cars to brake without warning. Ashcroft reached for the blues and twos. ‘No.’ Coupland instructed, ‘We don’t let him know we are coming.’ Ashcroft nodded, keeping his eye on the speedometer, holding onto the car’s grab handle for dear life. ‘If she’s up on the roof at least we know she’s alive,’ he murmured, cursing himself for tempting fate. Coupland said nothing. His heart battered against his chest. It felt odd, as though it had gone out of rhythm, an extra beat or a missing one he couldn’t be sure. A voice in his head told him to stay calm. It sounded like Lynn but it couldn’t be her because she didn’t know Amy was in danger. ‘Sweet Jesus, it’ll kill her,’ he whispered. Lynn would be at work right now. Oblivious. Soothing parents whose children were in peril. He should call her. No, better to wait. Find out the extent of it. A pain wrapped itself around his chest forcing him to suck in his breath. Ashcroft looked at him sharply as he overtook the car in front of him on the inside, the driver hogging the middle of the lane.

‘GET OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY!’ Coupland yelled. His palms were sweating; they were beginning to slip on the steering wheel. He gripped tighter. His head throbbed. The last time he saw Amy she had yelled at him to leave her alone. He’d yelled at his old man once. Before he’d learned to judge his mood. The bastard had dragged him to the kitchen sink, filled it with water, pushed his head underneath, holding it down till he’d played dead. That’s how he felt now.

Like he was drowning.

Entering the multi-storey car park at speed, he crashed through the barrier as he zig zagged up the ramps to the roof where he screeched to a halt. Vinny was standing close to the edge, holding onto a shivering Amy. The wail of a siren told him back up was on its way.

‘Stay here.’ He ordered Ashcroft, before stepping out of the car.

Chapter 22

14 March 1992

The chants can be heard half a mile away. Taunts, rising in the air, carrying across the city like a toxic gas. Threats and counter threats, pushing and shoving, a flick of a blade to show who means business. Greater Manchester Police has pulled out all the stops. The brief being to put a ring of steel around Old Trafford but even with beat cops drafted in from other areas the best they can do is focus on the hot spots, use the intelligence they’ve been given to swarm the likely battlegrounds, keep the opposing football firms apart. Several police Alsatians wait with their handlers on the canal towpath.

An army of men wearing Lacoste tracksuit tops over polo necks and baggy jeans are lined up against the exterior wall of a pub as they are searched one by one. Many wear thick overcoats even though the weather no longer merits it; it bulks them up, makes them look hard. Two uniformed officers carry out the searches; a dozen more stand guard, making sure none of the supporters break free from the line. Even so the officers carrying out this task have been chosen for their size; heavy built, bulky men, more able to stand their ground if needed. They take their time, checking pockets, lifting trouser legs to check for weapons strapped to ankles. Patting the groin area is the worse bit because of the catcalls and mickey taking, the complaints if they get too rough. Truth is if someone wanted to carry something into the ground they could, and nothing short of a cavity search would stop them. A youth, impatient at waiting his turn in the line raises both his arms and starts singing:

‘Uni-TED, Uni-TED are the team for me

With a nick nack paddy wack

Give the dog a bone,

Why don’t city fuck off home.’

He wears a Pringle jumper over a Fred Perry shirt and Farah trousers. Adidas Three Stripe trainers. A Burberry scarf is wrapped around his neck several times, his baseball cap pulled down low over his face. He’s not a ring leader, more a team mascot; the officer regards him evenly, already identifying him as a possible troublemaker. The other supporters join in the song and laugh when Burberry Man tries wriggling away as the officer starts patting him down. The officer’s response is automatic, his face an angry snarl as he grabs Burberry Man, pushing him against the wall before telling him to shut the fuck up. The youth grins, tries to carry on singing but the cop drags him to the ground while shoving his arm up his back. Burberry Man is tall but slender, he squirms on the tarmac but the officer pinning him down is heavier and refuses to give him any purchase. He is hoisted to his feet and told if he steps out of line or opens his fucking mouth again it would be shut for him properly.

Burberry Man falls silent. Silent but unrepentant.

He and his fellow supporters are ushered out of the pub car park where a tag team of officers escort them to the football ground. As he passes by the cop who patted him down he mimes the wanker sign. ‘Why, you little bast-’ The officer makes as if to go after the boy but his colleague holds him back, tells him not to be so damned stupid. His colleague is a black man, a little older than the others with a care worn face, someone who’s seen a lot worse in his time and knows it isn’t worth fanning flames. The officer objects at first, doesn’t take kindly to being told what to do but then something catches his eye. As the car park empties a familiar checked scarf can be seen on the tarmac. He makes sure no one is looking before stooping to retrieve it, then slips it inside his high-viz jacket.

Chapter 23

This is where it all began. Where Jonny Millar killed Eddie Garside and left Dad to take the blame. He’d laughed when he’d told me, and at the time I’d laughed too because I didn’t know the whole story, didn’t realise the ‘poor sod’ he was talking about was my old man. He won’t be laughing now, and neither will Detective Sergeant Coupland when he scrapes his girl up from the pavement below. She’s crying now, her face covered in blotches, not the babe I told her she was when I first sought her out. With a surname like that she was easy to track down, her Facebook page telling the world what college she attended. Her old man should have had a word with her about that; you never know who’s going to look you up.

Too late now.

Amy’s still crying, asking me to see sense, telling me that she knows I don’t want to hurt her. How can she say that when she saw what I did to Millar’s girl? She’d screamed when she walked in on us, when she saw me putting her clothes onto a comatose girl, I’d had no choice but to hit her, told her there was more where that came from if she made another sound. I’d had to tie her up then, while I got rid of Vicky. S’funny, afterwards I didn’t get a peep out of her all the while we were in the car, and now we’re on the roof it doesn’t matter. She can scream her head off if she wants to. While she still can.

Not like it’ll make any difference.

From the top of the building the city of Salford stretched out before them. Fluorescent strips in office block windows twinkled like stars on the horizon. Inside, cleaners would be making their way from room to room, earphones stuffed in to block out the monotonous hum. The tower block lights of Tattersall illuminated tribes of young men wearing hoodies and low rise jeans going about their drug dealing business, oblivious to what was occurring on a car park roof less than a mile away from their turf.

A low wall provided a barrier around the perimeter of the roof. A bitter wind hurtled across it. Leaning into the wind Coupland moved towards them carefully, hands in the air to show he was no threat. Easy now. He gazed out towards the city’s landmarks, a city he’d protected for over twenty years. If something happened to Amy what would be the point of it? Heart pounding, he moved closer.

‘I DIDN’T PUT YOUR DAD AWAY!’ He shouted.

‘No, you put ME away instead!’

‘I didn’t know who you were....’