One Bad Turn (14 page)

‘We put him under surveillance.’ He said, grim faced.

Mallender wasn’t as easy to convince as Coupland had hoped. Both murder teams had assembled in the incident room to feed back on their enquiries. There had been no significant developments which Coupland had hoped would make Mallender receptive to his suggestion. ‘What about John Malone?’ Mallender responded, ‘You were liking him for this the last time we spoke.’

‘The pervy head teacher?’ Coupland scoffed, ‘Boy oh boy did he have an alibi - one that checks out as it happens.’ All eyes fell on him.

‘Go on then, give,’ Mallender demanded.

‘He’s only gone and joined a photography club,’ Coupland smiled to himself as several eyebrows around the room shot up. ‘Wasn’t one of the original allegations against him that he’d been taking photos of girls in the school changing rooms?’ Turnbull asked.

‘Indeed it was,’ Coupland nodded, ‘only now it seems like he wants to perfect his art. Wait for this though, it gets better. The evening classes he goes to are run in the community room at the local high school,’

‘What, the one where he used to work?’

‘The very same. Don’t you just love his brass neck? Anyway, the classes are held every Tuesday and Thursday evening - followed by a drink in the local Mason’s Arms the first Tuesday of the month. Half a dozen amateur photographers can confirm he was there. One of ‘em even gave him a lift home after the pub.’

Mallender recorded this information on to his note pad for his briefing with Curtis later. ‘Did he give a reason why he’d missed two meetings with his probation officer?’

Coupland nodded, ‘He feels he’s cured,’ he sneered, raising his hand to hold back the next question before Mallender articulated it, ‘and yes, I’ve completed a MAPPA Cause for Concern form and emailed it over to the lead coordinator.’

Mallender nodded, satisfied. The local peeping Tom taking up photography had impending disaster written all over it, they may not have the manpower to keep an eye on him but those agencies tasked with managing him while he was on licence needed to up their game by the sound of it. At least Curtis could be reassured that any mudslinging in the future wouldn’t come over his wall.

‘So,’ Coupland prompted, eyeing the DCI hopefully, ‘the surveillance I suggested?’

Mallender sat up straight in his chair, pushing his chin out a little, ‘I need more than some pissing contest between you and this fella to sign off on the overtime needed,’ he said starkly, ‘Curtis is like a man with deep pockets and short arms when it comes to the staffing budget.’ Budget cuts meant it was too expensive to physically follow someone. Modern policing meant relying on CCTV.

‘I’ll do the extra hours in my own time, Guv,’ Coupland offered.

Mallender sighed, ‘You can’t go anywhere near this guy given your relationship!’ he warned, ‘Any defence lawyer would have a field day,’

‘Look, I’ll do it,’ Ashcroft intervened, ‘I mean, it’s not like I’ve got a social life since I moved here.’

Mallender hesitated, ‘I’m not sure about this…’

‘Cheers guv,’ Coupland smiled, taking the pause as permission. ‘I owe you one,’ he added under his breath to Ashcroft. Moving the briefing on as quickly as possible before the DCI had a chance to change his mind Coupland checked how extensive the search had been for the murder weapon used on Sharon Mathers. Robinson consulted his notes. ‘A fingertip search was conducted right up to the periphery of the wooded area, Sarge.’

‘Did we check the gardens of the homes looking onto the field?’ Robinson made a show of scanning the file for the answer but it was written all over his face. ‘I can get that organised this afternoon,’ he said meekly. Coupland nodded but said nothing more. It was easy in hindsight to find fault, he’d made enough snap decisions in the heat of the moment not to point the finger at someone else for doing the same thing.

After the briefing Coupland handed Ashcroft a slip of paper. ‘He drives a silver Fiesta, that’s his registration number. He works full time at the college; all you need to do is eyeball that he got there, check where the car is parked so we can clock it if it moves during the day. Should be fairly low maintenance, not as though he’s a travelling salesman or long distance lorry driver. We can check out where he goes at lunchtime when I’ve waded through the night shift reports.’

Ashcroft baulked, ‘We? Which bit of the DCI’s warning did you not understand about keeping the hell away from this?’

‘Purely in a supervisory capacity,’ Coupland explained, his look challenging Ashcroft to contradict him. Ashcroft pocketed the slip of paper and the screen shot DC Krispy had printed out for him before heading out, the slight shake of his head being the only sign of disapproval. Coupland returned to his desk. Statements had been taken from the bar staff at the Dog and Duck where Sharon Mathers had gone drinking, it was a typical mid-week evening, the majority of custom coming from office workers celebrating someone’s birthday or promotion. Leaving do’s tended to be at the weekend, with the sole aim of getting tanked up in record time. Two bartenders remembered serving Sharon and her group, they were a quiet crowd, took up three tables in the corner opposite the bar, made their rounds last a long time but then they had work the next day. There was no trouble that night, there didn’t tend to be during the week. A doorman was only employed at weekends. Coupland moved onto the statement Sharon’s partner, James had given. He’d read though it the day before but took the opportunity to check through it a second time. James had stayed in all evening, bought a ready-made dinner for one on his way home from work. His mother rang him at 8.30pm inviting him and Sharon over for lunch the following Sunday. He lifted some weights in the spare room upstairs then surfed the internet for an hour which everyone knew meant watching porn. Coupland closed the file and made his way over to the canteen, his stomach telling him it needed a bacon roll laced with ketchup. He made a detour via reception where a small line of people were standing around, making awkward faces at each other to show they shouldn’t really be there. He raised his eyebrows at the desk sergeant. ‘DNA swabs in Int. One,’ the officer informed him, ‘for the Maria Wellbeck murder.’ Coupland nodded, made his way towards Interview Room One where the swabs were being taken.

It was the largest of the interview rooms, hadn’t long been repainted, didn’t have the same body odour and windy bum smell as the others. It was the business class of interview rooms, made sense not to make those who’d volunteered to come in feel they’d been treated like criminals. At least not until they found a match. DC Turnbull had set up a row of plastic tubes and cotton wool buds on a table, together with a sheet of printed labels containing each person’s name and date of birth. He’d placed a chair by the table and was checking the items off on his clip board. He nodded as Coupland stepped in. ‘You’ve got quite a queue forming out there,’ Coupland observed, ‘do you need someone to give you a hand?’ Turnbull was already shaking his head, ‘There’s no one spare, I asked.’

‘You have checked the Police National Computer to see if anyone’s DNA is already on the National DNA Database?’ The database stored all DNA profiles taken, so if one already existed for someone a further sample need not be taken. Turnbull bristled, ‘Of course, Sarge,’ he muttered, glaring at his clip board.

‘Just trying to help,’ Coupland backed out of the room, but not before adding ‘remember we need two samples from each.’ It was hard to trust others to do their job properly, it was one of the reasons he’d never wanted promotion, he liked to be at the coal face, needed the reassurance of seeing first hand that his instructions were being followed. The last thing he wanted was to see someone walk free because they hadn’t made a strong enough case. The only way to be sure was to be in the thick of it.

In the canteen two uniformed officers were tucking in to fried egg rolls. Coupland moved over to their table, made small talk for a minute or two before sending one of them to give Turnbull a hand. He was just leaving with a bacon roll he would eat at his desk when Curtis swept along the corridor heading towards the lift. The senior man blanked him, stared straight ahead like a sprinter running for the finishing line.

Tosser.

That’s the way it rolled, Coupland reminded himself, one day you’re invited into the upper echelons of the building, rubbing shoulders with the A-list, the next it was like you didn’t exist. He found it hard to grasp the politics that was at the heart of modern policing, there were days when just keeping hold of his stripes seemed a challenge. The lift doors opened and Coupland was tempted to step in behind Curtis, stare him down until the man deigned to speak to him but he wasn’t in the playground, had to accept that today his face didn’t fit. He took the stairs.

His phone bleeped signalling an incoming text. Ashcroft. Vincent’s car was parked at the college. He would hang around until he eyeballed him then would return to the station. Coupland put away his phone. Was he being ridiculous? A man convicted of GBH asks a woman who later ends up dead for a light for his cigarette. That was a strong lead, wasn’t it? Or wishful thinking? Back in the incident room he stopped by Robinson’s desk. ‘Have we got the CCTV from the train station yet?’

Robinson shook his head, ‘Faulty camera, not been working all week.’

Coupland reared his head, ‘Had they reported it?’

‘Yup, been given a job number and everything, the station manager was at pains to tell me. There’s a new camera being installed this weekend.’

‘There’s a surprise.’ Coupland returned to his desk, logged onto his computer. Maria Wellbeck’s PM hadn’t come through yet, despite him emailing the pathologist to ask him if it could be given priority now they were looking at a double murder. Coupland decided to call the man, but instead got through to his answering service. He sucked air through his teeth. He didn’t do voicemail, the messages he left tended to come out wrong, sarcastic sounding or like he was making a threat. He made a note on his desk pad to call later. No sooner had he replaced the receiver than the phone rang.
‘Thank heavens for caller ID,’
the droll voice said when he answered. Harry Benson, the pathologist. ‘Thanks for calling me back,’ Coupland began, remembering pleasantries went a long way, especially if he was wanting his victim to jump the queue.
‘Save it detective, I can read emails you know. Maria Wellbeck. I was about to start opening her up when you rang. Now if you can promise to not pester me for the next couple of hours I should get a preliminary report over to you by close of play today. Agreed?’
Coupland restrained himself. He didn’t tell the pathologist to shove his scalpel up his backside directly but it was implied in the way he thanked him. He smiled to himself. See, he could do polite if he tried hard enough. He unwrapped his bacon roll and lifted it to his lips. It was cold like a cadaver. He pulled open the roll, the ketchup congealed around the bacon like a festering wound. He threw it in the bin.

Images of Amy’s boyfriend flashed before him. The swagger he adopted when she wasn’t around. The sneer on his face when only Coupland was looking. He needed to find a link to Maria Wellbeck before Mallender would take his suspicion seriously, and without the CCTV from Salford Crescent station that would be nigh on impossible, after all it wasn’t like Maria went anywhere else. For all intents and purposes her social life had ground to a halt after the twins came along. Coupland rubbed his eyes as he sat back in his chair.

Think.

Thanks to him Vinny had a record for GBH. Prior to that he hadn’t been on anyone’s radar. Sometimes it happened that way, especially on a weekend, a bust up over nothing with one or both parties the worse for wear. Coupland had been the one to arrest him but to be fair he hadn’t resisted or tried to flee the scene. In fact Vinny had been the one to call the ambulance. A tussle got out of hand, his defence lawyer had called it, but the other fella had come off worse, and once the CPS had settled on GBH there was a tariff in place that even the best lawyer wouldn’t have been able to wriggle him out of, never mind one who only familiarised himself with his client’s case notes on the way into the trial. He’d been sentenced to six years. Released in less than three. Did this mean he had the capacity to kill? Coupland didn’t know the answer to that. Amy hadn’t seen Vinny on the night Sharon Mathers was murdered - they’d been on a plane somewhere over the Atlantic, although there’d been a raft of texts arrive from him once they’d landed. Since they’d returned from holiday Amy and he had become virtually inseparable. If Coupland wanted to find out Vinny’s whereabouts on Thursday evening when Maria was murdered, he only had to ask his daughter, but he’d need to tread carefully.

Turnbull returned to the incident room with the list of commuters who’d voluntarily given a DNA sample. He handed the list to Coupland. Everyone who had agreed to turn up had done so, which meant they could be eliminated from the enquiry once their results came back -assuming no match was found. ‘How long?’ Coupland asked, drumming his fingers on his desk as he scanned the names on the list.

‘They’re being fast-tracked, should be back tomorrow afternoon barring acts of God.’ Turnbull was on his way out of the room when Coupland, who’d reached the bottom of the list, raised his head, ‘there was a fella brought into the cells overnight on Thursday - off his face on booze, lost his wallet, couldn’t remember where he lived. Might be worth checking him out.’

Turnbull nodded, retrieving his clipboard from Coupland’s desk, muttering something as he did so. Coupland couldn’t hear it all. Clutching. Straws. He got the gist.

*

When Ashcroft returned from his morning’s surveillance Coupland was still at his desk. Jaw clenched he was trying to formulate a response to an email forwarded on by DCI Mallender from Curtis. The Super had refused to sanction his overtime request, could he provide a business case to justify the spend? How about two dead women and as yet not a single person of interest? Coupland thought sourly. Leave had already been cancelled for the foreseeable, though he’d successfully argued the case for a DC due to be married at the weekend, parents in law were letting the happy couple use their caravan in Wales for their honeymoon. ‘Seriously, I don’t mind,’ the officer had said gallantly, when the ban had been announced, ‘they were talking about driving over to stay with us for a couple of days, anyway, you’d be doing me a favour if the truth be told.’ Coupland emailed the DC to tell him he’d need to cut his break short after all.