One Bad Turn (21 page)

‘Seems we have managed to pacify Sharon Mathers’ brother, Sergeant,’ Curtis began, ‘he’s been in touch with me today to say he will not be making any official complaint relating to the manner in which the investigation had been handled originally. As far as he is concerned the matter was dealt with satisfactorily on his arrival.’

Coupland gave the merest incline of his head. He hoped Curtis wasn’t looking for gratitude, at a push he could toe the line when needed but absolutely refused to blow smoke up the Super’s backside. He kept his expression neutral.

‘I hear you’ve brought in Kathleen Williams’ husband for questioning.’

‘That’s correct, sir.’ Coupland wasn’t going to offer anything up unnecessarily; if Curtis wanted information he was going to have to work for it. Better men than him had tripped themselves up in an eagerness to please. Curtis sighed, flicking an irritable glance at Mallender. The DCI widened his eyes at Coupland as if conveying he really should play ball.

‘I take it you’re just being cautious?’ Mallender coaxed, eyeing Coupland steadily.

‘There was evidence of a domestic, Sir, one that required her husband to repair a bedroom wall an hour after getting the death message. When we arrived he was going head to head with the couple’s son, and he made it clear to us he’d been hoping for a reconciliation.’

‘The couple were estranged?’ Curtis narrowed his eyes as he asked this, as though Coupland was somehow the reason for their marital break-up.

‘Looks like she was meeting someone she’d been chatting to online, Sir, hubby was none too happy about it.’

Scowling, Curtis looked at Mallender, ‘Be hard to make the public sympathise with that domestic set up,’ he chimed, ‘any press appeal needs to focus on her colleagues and the school community. Hardworking school teacher and all that.’

Coupland didn’t know what surprised him most, Curtis’s ability to view everything from the perspective of a sound bite, or the fact that he was still surprised by something the Super said or did. ‘Anything else sir?’

Curtis’s gaze bore into him as he turned to leave. ‘How are the South Manchester team settling in?’

Coupland’s mouth turned up at the corners, ‘We’re like the Brady Bunch sir,’ he replied, eyes dancing.

‘Is that so?’ Mallender, observed, keeping his smile in check, ‘Just so long as Mom and Pop play nice in front of the children.’

Back in the incident room another white board had been wheeled in. Someone had written the heading ‘Connections,’ at the top of the board, but so far the space beneath it was blank. Coupland moved over to the techies’ desk where Kathleen’s laptop was being put through its paces by a young DC with a virulent crop of acne around his mouth and jaw. No wonder he preferred working in the backroom. Coupland’s smile when he approached him was sympathetic. ‘How you getting on?’ He made a special effort to focus on the young man’s hairline. ‘The victim had bookmarked a couple of dating sites Sir, and had just paid her first subscription to Match.com. But although she was meeting someone on the night she was murdered it wasn’t anyone from those sites.’

‘So who was it?’

‘She’d been corresponding via her school email account with some guy who’d pranged her car at the school gates. Next thing they’re messaging each other like bezzie mates, then two nights ago he asks her out for a drink.’

‘Can you trace his details from his email account?’

‘That’s what I’m working on now.’

‘Where did they arrange to meet? If this guy is innocent he’ll have been waiting for her to show up, are there any messages from him later asking where she’d got to?’

The spotty guy shook his head. ‘He’d offered to pick her up from school, her car had gone into the garage for repairs and she didn’t want him turning up at the family home.’

‘So either he didn’t turn up - or he’s our killer,’ Coupland surmised. ‘Good work...’ he added, nodding at the DC, ‘…sorry, I didn’t catch your name,’

‘Ross, sir,’ the young detective answered, his spots turning a deeper shade of red as he acknowledged the compliment. ‘DC Ross Bateman.’ Bateman’s eagerness to please reminded Coupland of his younger self, not long out of uniform and eager to make his mark. Back in the day when he thought a life sentence meant just that. That the killers he put away would never harm another soul. He’d been in the job long enough now to see murderers get parole, return to towns where their victims’ families still grieved, their lives consumed by loss, even as they tried hard not to be defined by it. It was impossible not to work on the cases he had and not be tainted by the sorrow people caused. It was a rite of passage in his line of work, he supposed, to learn to expect the worst. A form of survival. He studied Bateman and wondered when it would happen, when the spark in his eye would be replaced by caution, when his shoulders would stoop with fatigue, when he treated everyone he met with suspicion. Coupland smiled ruefully, ‘Go and grab yourself a coffee, stretch your legs a bit, it’s OK to take a break, you know.’

‘Will do, Sarge.’ Bateman replied, but they both knew he wouldn’t.

‘Sarge?’ A stocky detective not much younger than Coupland was making his way across the incident room, ‘DS Quinlan’s asked me to let you know I’ve finished interviewing Derek Williams.’ DC Baxter, if he recalled it right.

‘How did he seem to you?’

‘Numb,’ came the reply, ‘and embarrassed at getting caught covering his tracks, but he’s not the first fella to put his fist through a wall.’

‘No history of domestics then?’

‘While he’s been here their FLO’s had a chance to speak to the son alone, went over to his place. The lad maintains his dad’s a knob, but there was never any suggestion of violence while he was growing up.’

Coupland studied the floor as he listened, as though he’d taken up counting carpet tiles for fun. Baxter cleared his throat, ‘Do you want to speak to him, Sarge?’ Coupland shook his head, ‘Let him go.’

‘Want me to arrange for uniforms to give him a lift back?’ Coupland considered this, ‘Nah, he can ring his son, it’s about time they started learning how to get along together, today’s as good a day as any to start.’

Talking of mending rifts, Coupland decided to take a detour on his way home. He’d been tempted to ring ahead but the policeman in him won out, deciding there was a lot to be said for the element of surprise. He parked outside a Nisa store, bought a packet of mints and the Evening News. He hadn’t intended to buy a paper, but the headline had jumped out at him:
Top Cop Confesses Killer at Large
. He’d listened to the statement Curtis had read out to the press assembled on the station steps, his tone neutral as he laid out the facts. He’d refused to answer any questions, nor would he be drawn on resourcing issues in the wake of recent budget cuts. All in all as far as statements went it achieved what it intended: an announcement saying nigh on precious little. No wonder the press went into overdrive with their headlines, Coupland mused, though to be fair this one wasn’t that far removed from the truth.

Leaving his car outside the shop he walked along the street until he found the house he was looking for. The postage stamp front garden had been left to ruin. Weeds jostled with each other for space. The front doorstep was chipped and dirty. He rang the buzzer, watching a familiar figure approach behind the frosted glass. The safety chain slid in place before the door opened just a crack. ‘Come on Amy, don’t be like that,’ he coaxed, ‘I’ve come to say I’m sorry,’ A sigh. The door was pushed to while she slid the chain back. Coupland glanced up and down the street. Crisp packets blew across the road in the wind. More dog owners that didn’t clean up after their pets. The net curtains at the ground floor window were nicotine yellow. The front door opened wide. ‘I can’t believe you’re dating a smoker!’ He sniped, unable to stop himself. ‘All the years of grief you’ve given me and you go and hitch up-’

‘-Here we go,’ Amy shot back, ‘you’ve not been here two minutes and you’re having a go at me.’ Her words stopped him in his tracks. Since when had she become so irritated by him, mistaking his concern for criticism? ‘Come on Ames,’ he attempted, ‘we’re better than this.’

‘We were Dad, but if you can’t accept my boyfriend I can’t see how we can ever go back to how it was.’

Something inside Coupland twisted, ‘Christ, does he really mean that much to you?’ Amy’s eyes widened. ‘Hello? Take a look at this place,’ she opened the front door wide so he could see the peeling wallpaper and manky carpet. ‘Do you think I’d give up my home comforts just to make a point?’

Coupland stepped inside. He’d been in worse places, he reminded himself, but then he was a cop on a murder squad, his terms of reference were knocking shops and crack dens. He tried to imagine how a normal parent would feel on stepping inside but he couldn’t make the leap. He’d never known normal. The place was tidy enough, he noticed, moving into the front room. The settee, though sagging in the middle, was covered in a throw Coupland vaguely recognised. The coffee table had been given a wipe and coasters partially covered the cup rings just visible beneath them. The carpet was a cheap nylon affair, the type that’d go up in seconds if a cigarette was dropped on it. The rug beneath the coffee table looked new. ‘I see your mother’s been here then,’ he observed. He didn’t blame Lynn, she hated friction, would do everything she could to smooth things between them. Amy smiled for the first time. ‘She helped me clean it up, along with Vinny’s mum. He works long hours at college, he’s tired when he gets in, and then there’s his open learning course.’ Coupland furrowed his brow, ‘He’s doing an access course online, he wants to get some qualifications behind him so he can earn a decent living. He doesn’t get paid much at the moment. Mum brought over a few things to make it more homely.’

Coupland wouldn’t have gone that far to describe the place but he knew what she meant. ‘Of course you could just come back home,’ he said.

‘I like being with Vinny all the time,’ she said shyly, ‘would he be able to come to?’ Coupland tried not to let the horror show on his face, ‘I can’t see how that’s going to work, Amy,’ he said cautiously, ‘I mean, we don’t exactly get on, it’d be a disaster waiting to happen if you ask me.’ Amy’s face registered her disappointment, ‘Why does it have to be about you?’ she snapped, ‘Couldn’t it be one nice thing you could do for me?’

‘Come on, love, that’s not fair, I nicked him for Christ’s sake, you can’t blame me for not wanting him under my roof.’

‘Well if that’s how you want it you’d better leave.’

Coupland turned sharply in the direction of Vince’s voice, kicking himself for not checking where he was when he’d arrived. He’d assumed he wasn’t in, that kind of mistake could be fatal in his line of work, but then this wasn’t work, he reminded himself, this was his life. ‘You don’t come into my home and disrespect me,’ Vince sneered, ‘so do us all a favour and piss off.’

Coupland resisted the urge to punch him by shoving his fists deep into his pockets. Vince may not win any popularity contests any time soon but he could no longer accuse him of being a killer - he’d been under surveillance at the time of the latest murder. The fact was the guy was just a jerk, pure and simple. Coupland turned back to his daughter, ‘Amy-’ he spread his arms out wide, though if he thought she’d run into them he was mistaken.

‘-He’s right, Dad,’ she stood her ground, unable to meet his eye, ‘it’s better if you go.’

‘Come on, please don’t be like this…’

Amy lifted her gaze to meet his, ‘JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!’ she yelled. Coupland’s legs felt as though they’d got lead weights on the end of them. He moved slowly, giving Amy time to change her mind and call out to him to stop, to say she was sorry, that she didn’t mean it after all. He paused as he opened the front door, cocked his head to pick up the slightest sound.

None came.

Chapter 13

Coupland’s reception at home was no warmer but not because Lynn was in a huff with him - she was out. His wife had accepted Amy’s moving out as a compromise she was willing to live with as long as their relationship with her improved. Coupland decided to keep his impromptu visit quiet. For now. He moved about the downstairs rooms like a lonely ghost. Lynn’s absence felt like a missing limb. There were times during her cancer treatment when she’d been confined to the house; nausea and tiredness making it impossible for her to get out. During her recovery she’d returned to work, though she’d cut down on her shifts, and Coupland supposed he’d just got used to her being around more when he got in. Now she was well she was making up for lost time, as the text that pinged into his phone testified:

Gone for a drink with the girls after work. Shouldn’t be late back.

Shouldn’t be late. He wanted to laugh out loud. A serial killer was going about the place and his wife sends him a glib text saying she shouldn’t be late. Dropping his car keys onto the hall table he tutted as he speed dialled her number. Voicemail. ‘Lynn it’s me…oh, bollocks…’ he rang off, wishing he’d not bothered. He didn’t want to make a drama out of it; she’d only have a go at him later. He re-dialled her number. This time when the voicemail came on he was ready for it: ‘’S’only me love, let me know where you are and I’ll come and pick you up when you’re ready.’ He’d tried to make it sound like it was no big deal, but he knew he wouldn’t settle until she called him back. He put his phone in his jacket pocket as he moved about the empty rooms, unaccustomed to the silence. There was a time once when he longed for a bit of peace and quiet to hear himself think but those days were long gone. Lynn’s diagnosis made him savour the noise, the constant chatter of women unable to do anything without a running commentary. ‘You never join in, Dad,’ Amy would say and he’d tell a rude joke or make daft impressions of the people he worked with and Amy would laugh while Lynn scolded him. ‘What sort of a role model is that?’ She’d say. His face fell when he thought of Vince. Was he to blame? Was his unsuitable humour the reason why Amy had aimed so low? After five minutes he checked his phone in case he hadn’t heard it ring.

No missed calls.