One Bad Turn
Authors: Emma Salisbury
Tags: #Thriller & Suspense, #Crime Fiction, #Crime, #Police Procedurals, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Serial Killers, #Mystery
EMMA SALISBURY
ONE
BAD
TURN
ALSO BY EMMA SALISBURY
THE COUPLAND AND MORETON DETECTIVE SERIES:
FRAGILE CORD (Book One)
A PLACE OF SAFETY (Book Two)
ONE BAD TURN (Book Three)
THE DAVY JOHNSON EDINBURGH GANGLAND SERIES
TRUTH LIES WAITING (Book One)
THE SILENCE BEFORE THE SCREAM (Book Two)
Copyright
Copyright © 2016 Emma Salisbury
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without permission of the author.
All the characters in this book are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Although real place names and surveillance operations are referred to in this book the storyline relating to them is completely fictitious.
Cover design by Caireen Harrison.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to the folk who have pointed out the rubbish bits, made me lose the prologue when I was umbilically attached to it, and flagged up a character halfway through the book that hadn’t got a mention anywhere else. You know who you are. Thanks also to Caireen Harrison for the book cover design and her patience when I tend to go off topic halfway through a conversation.
I got the idea for this story while reading James Bannon’s
Running with the Firm
on holiday, an account of the violence which permeated football back in the ‘90s. I’m planning to read a book on anxiety management on my next trip so who knows what Coupland’s next storyline will be…
Saving the best until last my biggest thanks go out to my readers, yes, YOU, for choosing this book and continuing to support me. And for those of you who go on to post reviews, well, you’re all fan-bloody-tastic.
Contents
Chapter 1
A proper little fighter this one. Didn’t even scream when he jumped out behind her, just shoved him with both hands, sent him flying backwards while she tried to make a run for it. She had some speed on her; he’d give her that, shame about the heels holding her back. That was her biggest mistake, he reckoned, not taking them off before she tried to leg it. She’ll pay for that, he smirked, just as her ankle gave way. He might not be athletic but he could outrun a fit woman in heels any day. He grinned as he began to catch up with her, grabbing her by the hair before pulling her into the bushes. She hit him then, a punch rather than a girly slap, and the shock of it sent him off balance. ‘You can’t win this,’ he sneered as he righted himself, dragging her down onto the gravel path. He straddled her, yet still she struggled, as though there was any other way this was going to pan out. A pile of rocks were within arm’s reach, looked big enough to do the job. He lifted one, felt the weight of it, cold in his hand. He held the rock above her head, staring at her features in the moonlight. He hadn’t realised what a looker she was. ‘Shame about that,’ he whispered as he brought the rock down.
Coupland bounded through Manchester Airport, Lynn and Amy flanking him, a grin plastered across his face despite the flight’s arrival being delayed by an hour. ‘I tell you what,’ he observed as they’d taken the green route through customs, ‘that lot wouldn’t dare search through my case, not without their bloody latex gloves, all the rich food we’ve been having.’ He seemed disappointed no one had paid them any attention on their return journey. ‘Kevin,’ Lynn rolled her eyes at the back of his head as she tried to keep up with his cigarette starved pace, ‘it’s just routine when you go through security now, they were only doing their job.’ Even though two weeks had passed since he’d suffered the indignity Coupland was having none of it. ‘You were giving them dirty looks, Dad,’ Amy piped up between texting God knows who at this hour to say she was back and raring to show off her tan. ‘I wasn’t giving them dirty looks, it was my tired face.’ Coupland reasoned, ‘I just wanted to park myself down in the lounge and get some shut eye, which, might I add was impossible once they’d gone through my suitcase with a fine tooth comb. You’d think they’d offer to pack it back for you but no, you’re on your own for that part.’ Lynn pursed her lips, ‘There was no need to make such a song and dance about it though; we only just made it to the boarding gate on time.’ Coupland pulled a face, ‘We were only late because Her Nibs wanted a bloody manicure she could have had on any number of the days she’s not in college but no, it has to be this season’s latest bloody colour,’ his eyes widened as he said it, ‘have you two heard what you’ve done to me?’ he spluttered, ‘You’ve turned me into Gok bloody Wan.’ Even as he said it his chest filled with the sheer pleasure of moaning about normal things, inconsequential things that were no longer related to life or death. Or cancer. He caught Lynn’s eye and smiled. ‘All I’m saying is it’s funny how they’re not so eager to search through my scuddies now.’ Lynn stared him down, ‘I do your washing Kevin,’ she pointed out, ‘I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.’ Two strides and they were through the exit, joining the cluster of nicotine addicts lighting up and sucking on cigarettes as though their lives depended on it. Coupland unzipped his rucksack, tore the cellophane wrapper from a pack of 200 Marlboroughs he’d bought in duty free. ‘Why don’t you have one of your electronic cigarettes, Kev?’ Lynn cajoled. He shook his head like a crazy horse because he could do that and inhale at the same time. ‘Are you serious?’ he spluttered after the first hit reached his lungs, ‘Ten hours suspended mid-air with nothing beneath you but a bloody great ocean, only the real McCoy’ll do the trick right now, thanks very much.’ Coupland held the first mouthful of smoke down in his lungs before slowly releasing it into the air.
‘Does it not bother you, Dad,’ Amy piped up, her attention momentarily distracted from her phone as she studied him, ‘the horrible photos, all the stuff printed on those packets, showing the harm it can do?’ Coupland stared into the distance, thought of the countless cases he’d worked on, the crime scene photos depicting the numerous ways each victim had met their untimely death. A cigarette didn’t feature in any of them. He gave silent thanks that in Amy’s world the greatest threat to his life was smoking, rather than the killers he came in contact with more times than he cared to ponder. The cocoon he’d created around his family remained intact; they worried about his lungs and his diet like they were a normal little unit. Like he was a bus driver or a teacher, rather than a detective sergeant in Salford Precinct’s murder squad. He downplayed his role on every case that he’d worked on, did all he could to put their minds at rest. Amy’s question told him it worked. ‘It’ll take more than a packet of cigarettes to finish me off, Ames,’ he quipped, ‘I’m like Wolverine, me, bloody indestructible.’
‘You’ve got the werewolf bit right,’ Lynn observed, brushing her hand across his unshaven face. The familiar buzz in his pocket took the edge off his mood. Pulling his mobile phone from his jacket he pulled a sorry face at Lynn as he barked his name into the phone. He hadn’t switched it on more than two minutes since and already he was needed. His face darkened as he listened to the person on the other end, grunting a response before slipping the phone into his pocket. ‘I’ll walk you to the taxi rank,’ he took Lynn’s case from her and wheeled it with his own, his mood sombre, ‘something’s come up.’
Leaving the airport and driving along the slip road that would take him onto the M56 Coupland turned on the radio. More bad news about the refugee crisis, people trapped in a collapsed building in India. At least on the radio you were safe from the graphic images, the tragic photos and videos bandied about the internet like disaster porn. It didn’t make sense why people clicked onto these sites, why folk would choose to look horror in the eye, experience close up someone else’s tragedy. Coupland pulled the e-cigarette Lynn had bought him out of his pocket, eyeing it with suspicion. ‘It’s time you started to cut down, Kev,’ she’d wheedled. It wasn’t the first time she’d said this, but there was a steely look in her eye when she’d spoken, as though he wasn’t going to get off as lightly this time around, ‘especially now you’re getting to that age.’ He’d bristled at that. ‘I’m at the top of my game,’ he’d objected, but they both knew that wasn’t true. His bulk was genetic, a bullying father who only stopped knocking seven bells out of him once he’d outgrown him. He’d never played sport, was an avid spectator though, rugby, football, pretty much anything that could be broadcast via Sky into his local. The pies and pints had taken their toll; his bulky frame was starting to soften. Lynn had put them both on a low fat diet, and to be fair he was feeling the benefit. He might not be able to take on Usain Bolt in a sprint but he could still hold his own in a dark alleyway if the situation called for it. There was a place for healthy living, he was sure of it, but didn’t you have to believe the future was worth it? Coupland pushed the mawkish thoughts to the back of his mind; the jet lag had made him maudlin, his holiday already receding into the past. He took a puff on his vapour stick out of loyalty to Lynn. To think she worried about his health after all she’d been through…he puffed some more.
Coupland parked his car, shivering as he climbed out of it, whether from the change in temperature now he was back in Salford or from what he was about to see he wasn’t sure. He stepped towards the cordoned off area where a uniformed officer stood guard. The officer nodded, lifted the cordon to let him pass. The information he’d gleaned from the earlier call had been sketchy, a body had been found in an area of woodland along the perimeter of a recreation park in Worsley. By the level of activity going on it had been discovered a couple of hours ago, that and the number of press cars circling the area like vultures smelling carrion.
The crime scene manager leaned against the driver’s door of his car as he made a call. He nodded at Coupland, watching as the detective took a pair of shoe protectors from the open car boot and slipped them on. He clamped his hand over the phone, ‘Didn’t know you were back,’ he tutted, ‘no bugger tells me anything.’ Coupland grunted, ‘A bit of shut eye would have been nice.’ A blond haired, slim built man appeared through a clearing, signalled for Coupland to make his way over. ‘Good holiday?’ DCI Mallender asked as a courtesy, already turning and heading towards the locus before Coupland had time to answer. Coupland grunted once more, his mouth forming a grim line. It never got easier, observing the dead. Especially when their exit had been violent. ‘Looks like she was taken by surprise,’ was all Mallender said before they stepped through the inner cordon. ‘There’s a bus stop a hundred yards or so further up, at a guess I’d say her attacker grabbed her from behind and dragged her into the bushes.’ A tent had been erected to protect the body from prying eyes; it would also keep the rats at bay while the forensic team went about the business of collecting hair and fibre samples. Coupland stepped into the tent, nodded at the photographer setting up a tripod in the furthest corner. ‘Can you give us a minute?’ He waited while the man put down his equipment noisily before stomping out into the cool night air. We’ve all got bloody work to do, his body language seemed to say, but he’d been on the wrong side of the fat sergeant before and was in no hurry to repeat that mistake. Mallender stayed by the tent’s entrance, he didn’t need or want to survey the body a second time. Coupland let out a slow breath. There was no easy way to do this. When he was a kid he used to sneak in to the local cinema to see horror flicks all the time, his big build making it easier for him to be let into the 18-rated screens. If there was a bit that was too gruesome he could cover his eyes, wait for the camera to move onto a different scene. He wished he could do that now, shield himself against the worst bits, the bits that would come back to haunt him in the early hours. He let his gaze move over the victim’s body. The woman was in her twenties. Black. Slim but not skinny, wearing a fitted business suit. Her skirt had ridden up over her thighs; her tights were torn in several places. Coupland turned to Mallender, eyebrows raised. The DCI answered his silent question. ‘Her underwear’s still on, so I’m guessing she’s not been sexually assaulted.’