One Bad Turn (22 page)

Sighing, he reached for his car keys.

The first pub he went to was a regular for off duty nursing staff and medics. Situated across the road from Hope Hospital’s main entrance it was convenient and cheap. The landlord had had a heart attack three years before and this was his way of giving something back. The décor was tired and the music lame but it provided a chance to wind down with minimum fuss and was a place to go to celebrate someone’s birthday when no one could be arsed making a proper effort. The landlord was in his regular position on the punter’s side of the bar reading the Salford Reporter when Coupland walked in. The barmaid, a young woman he hadn’t seen before smiled as he walked up to the bar. ‘What can I get you?’ she asked. ‘On the house.’ The landlord called over as he greeted Coupland.

‘Make it an orange juice,’ Coupland said quickly, his eyes scanning the bar for Lynn but the place wasn’t that full and he could see she wasn’t there.

‘You here on business then?’ The landlord asked, folding his paper, his interest piqued by a visit from CID. Coupland shook his head, ‘Said I’d pick the wife up, must have got our wires crossed about where she was going.’

‘Likely as not gone to The Grey Mare if they’re wanting food,’ he said amiably, ‘we offer a limited menu here and it’s the chef’s love of fry ups that put me over the road in the first place.’

‘How is the old ticker?’

The landlord pulled a face, ‘Mustn’t grumble, I’ve cut back on my smokes and if red wine counts I’m getting my five a day,’ Coupland nodded, he’d long since questioned the benefits of healthy eating, though that was an opinion he kept away from his better half.

‘I see you’ve got your hands full at the moment,’ the landlord said, pushing the folded newspaper in Coupland’s direction. Coupland unfolded the paper before scanning the headline: “Local Murders are Connected.”
Police confirm that they are treating the murders of Sharon Mathers, Maria Wellbeck and Kathleen Williams as connected in some way given the timing and proximity of death…
He skim read the remaining article but he got the gist, the police didn’t know what they were doing, couldn’t find their backsides with two hands and a mirror. It was the truth, but seeing it in black and white didn’t make it any more palatable. ‘No one puts much faith in the press anymore,’ the landlord commented, ‘vultures, the lot of ‘em, only out for the headline, don’t care what their scare mongering does to ordinary folk. Don’t know why I bother buying it to be honest, apart from the crossword.’ Coupland knocked back his orange juice; raising his hand in farewell as he left the pub, happy to let someone think he had a strategy in place when really he had bugger all.

The décor in The Grey Mare wasn’t any better but there was a designated seating area where punters could eat once they’d paid for their meal up front at the bar. A chalk board by the till listed the day’s specials. Coupland didn’t bother going up to the bar, instead he walked around the periphery looking for anyone he recognised. It wasn’t unusual for most people who saw him coming to break eye contact quickly enough, but he was used to that. ‘Detective Sergeant Coupland as I live and breathe!’ He turned in the direction of the familiar voice, though he had to study the face a while longer to put a name to it.

‘Christ, you still pulling pints Breeda, I thought they’d have put you out to pasture a long time ago.’

‘They wouldn’t dare!’ she chuckled, her hand automatically reaching for the pump. ‘I’m driving,’ Coupland told her, ‘half then,’ Breeda insisted and he knew better than to argue. ‘Seriously, I can’t think when I last saw you, I was certain I’d heard you’d retired.’ Breeda inclined her head in the direction of the bar and the back room beyond it. ‘Our Johnny runs it now, took over as landlord from me a few years back but I stayed on doing the books and helping out when he can’t get cover. He doesn’t like me out front mind, says I frighten punters off, remind ‘em of their mothers - or their grandmothers,’ she grinned, ‘thought I’d get that in before you put in your two pennorth.’

‘You could run rings around the best of ‘em I’m sure,’ Coupland said gallantly, sipping his half pint while looking around the bar.

‘Lost someone?’

‘I thought Lynn might be here, there was a few of ‘em went out after work,’

‘I’ve only come out front to collect glasses while Johnny takes a break, maybe she’s been and gone. Glad to hear you two are still going strong, not so many manage it these days.’

‘I know, but then I always knew I was punching above my weight.’ The secret of a successful marriage was keeping your head down; go along with everything the missus said, shame it took him twenty years to work it out. Breeda nodded her head vigorously, ‘Very true,’ she concurred. Just then two men about Amy’s age walked behind the bar, conjuring the words brick and shithouse to mind. The men were identical, shaven heads upon barrel shaped bodies. Both men were dressed in black: jeans, boots, zip-up jackets. Each in turn greeted the old woman with a kiss. ‘You remember the twins, Sergeant?’ Breeda asked as both men helped themselves to a soft drink before returning to their nan’s side. ‘I remember them well enough,’ Coupland said, ‘only they were knee high last time I saw them.’ Breeda beamed. ‘Take after their dad, and his dad before him, God rest his soul.’

‘She’s got you working on the doors then?’ Coupland observed. The men eyed him cautiously, their curiosity about the stranger talking to their nan getting the better of them. ‘We work the bar, normally,’ one of them answered, his voice was an octave or two higher than Coupland had expected and he tried not to let his surprise show. ‘Only there’s a match tonight,’ his sibling continued, his vocals the same falsetto pitch as his brother, probably explained the body builder look they were working so well, ‘Dad likes us to be out front, says we frighten off potential trouble.’ Coupland nodded, he could see how that would work, just so long as they didn’t speak. He’d been so wrapped up in the case he’d forgotten City were playing tonight. ‘You get much trouble here, then?’

‘Not now,’ said Breeda, ‘not like in the early days when I ran the place with Jim. We’d not long taken over when we discovered this was the stomping ground of an old football firm, they’d meet here to plot their trips down south for the away matches, always with a ruck in mind,’ she sucked in a breath, ‘all came to a head when one of ‘em was murdered. We all thought there’d be a full scale war after that but the police caught the fella responsible pretty sharpish, took away the need for revenge attacks. Your lot needed half a dozen vans to cart everyone away for DNA testing. After that we realised we had to change things round here, appeal to a different clientele otherwise we’d get dragged under. We offered weekday discounts to local professionals and it worked. We get a whole new crowd in these days, the lads here going on the door is just our way of putting down a marker, reminding everyone where we stand, that if you’re looking for trouble you need to look somewhere else.’ Coupland nodded. ‘Talking of looking I’d better go find the missus,’ he said, placing his empty glass on the bar, even though in theory Lynn didn’t know he was looking for her.

By the time he’d located his car and headed further into the direction of town the streets were filling with revellers out for the night: the heels were higher, skirts shorter and as far as he could see not a single coat in sight. After work drinkers were heading home, briefcases and rucksacks marking them out, that and a heavy footstep knowing they’d be doing it all again tomorrow.

Work. Drink. Sleep. Repeat.

Just then his mobile pinged, signalling a text. It was from Lynn:

Don’t bother coming to pick me up, just heading for a cab now.

He hadn’t realised how worried he’d been until he received her text and the tension began to ebb from his shoulders. The taxi rank was on the other side of the square but for once the one way system worked in his favour. She was standing with three other women, deep in conversation while keeping their eyes peeled for a returning cab. Lynn’s face was flushed, her arms moving animatedly as she spoke. He should have known she would be fine. Lynn didn’t take unnecessary risks, apart from marrying him of course. He pulled up alongside her at the kerb. ‘Taxi for Nurse Coupland?’ he grinned, clocking the surprise on her face. ‘Lucky you were passing,’ she said, staring at him in that way she had. He checked his rear view mirror to break eye contact but he could see a smile playing on her lips. ‘Get in girls,’ Lynn instructed, ignoring one pal’s plea that she lived in the opposite direction. ‘Nonsense, Kevin doesn’t mind giving you all a lift home,’ she said firmly, making it impossible for him to refuse without looking like a selfish shit. ‘Course I don’t,’ he said lamely as the women climbed in, engulfing him in perfume and alcohol fumes. ‘Where did you get to?’

‘We fancied a pizza from that Italian that’s just opened, after a couple of glasses of red we couldn’t be bothered moving onto anywhere else. So what’s your excuse?’

Coupland shrugged, reaching automatically for his pack of cigarettes then remembering just in time his vaper was in his pocket. A couple of puffs would buy him time to think up a suitable answer.

‘It’s OK,’ Lynn said quietly as his brow furrowed in concentration, ‘I get it, I guess I’m lucky to have my very own knight in shining armour, aren’t I?’

‘Christ, how much have you had to drink?’ he shot back, while hoping her rose-coloured mood would last at least until bedtime.

‘Lynn said you’re on the team looking for that killer.’ A woman with bloodshot eyes piped up from the back seat, Elaine or Ellen, Coupland couldn’t remember which, but now it was his turn to stare at Lynn. At least she had the grace to blush. ‘I can’t really talk about it…’ he said, indicating to pull out into the traffic. ‘Come on Kev, you can do better than that,’ the woman chided him, ‘this is us, remember?’ She was seated beside a woman with long black hair and heavy eye make-up who stared into his rear view mirror until he made eye contact. Connie, if he remembered rightly, worked in the special care baby unit almost as long as Lynn, lost a lot of weight last year causing her face to go all jowly, the heavy liner around the eyes was meant to provide a distraction. She’d looked contented when she was hefty, now she resembled an embittered witch. How the babies in SCBU got to sleep at night with her staring down at them was beyond him. Lynn had a lot of respect for her though, said you could open her veins and the initials NHS would run right through them. It had to be that way he supposed. In many ways nursing had a lot in common with policing - there were much easier ways to earn a bloody living.

‘Seriously,’ he began, turning the car around the moment he was able to and taking the turn off to Eccles so he could drop off those living closest to the hospital first. ‘…we’re pursuing several lines of enquiry at the moment. It would be-’

‘-Is that really the best you can do?’ Witch Features said spitefully, ‘Trot out the same old drivel that you do for the papers? I used to think cops said that kind of stuff to lull the bad guys into thinking they hadn’t got a clue when they had a master plan up their sleeve…but you really haven’t have you?’

Coupland’s grip tightened around the steering wheel. The temperature in the car seemed to drop several degrees while he contemplated his answer. One of the women giggled nervously. Lynn stared ahead in the passenger seat; he could feel her willing him not to get arsey. ‘The problem with giving out too much information is the press can get ahead of themselves, turning throw away comments into headlines, look at the way that teacher from Bristol was treated, hung drawn and quartered according to the news syndicates and the public were all too willing to believe what they read about him. When you’re running an investigation you have to keep sight of the facts, you don’t make a move until you’ve gathered compelling evidence.’

‘Like I said, you’ve got nothing to go on, then…’ the witch concluded.

Coupland’s shoulders sank.

*

It was still dark when Coupland’s phone startled him awake. He fought and lost a battle with his bedside lamp, sending it crashing to the floor. ‘What time is it?’ he barked into the mouthpiece, turning to check whether by some miracle Lynn was still asleep. A glare before turning to face the other way told him she wasn’t.
‘I’m sorry to be ringing you so late, Sarge,’
Ashcroft said dutifully, although he didn’t sound sorry at all. In fact there was an excitement there that made Coupland’s pulse start to race. ‘What is it?’ he pushed himself into an upright sitting position whilst squinting at his wristwatch which he kept at the side of his bed. It had been a gift from Lynn for his fortieth, had dots rather than numbers going around the dial. Given the bedroom was cloaked in darkness and the only light came from the street lights seeping through the curtains he had to squint to work out the time. 5 am. ‘Tell me you’ve had some kip.’ Ashcroft paused, ‘
Couldn’t sleep
,’ he said,
‘something Sharon Mathers’ brother said kept bugging me, had a theory I wanted to try out for myself.’

‘Care to elaborate?’

‘Probably better you see for yourself.’

A pause. ‘Give me half an hour.’

*

Incident room, daft o’clock, Wednesday morning

By the time Coupland returned to the station he found Ashcroft in the incident room drawing a spider gram on the whiteboard that had been headed up ‘Connections’. On it, he’d written the names of the murdered women: Sharon Mathers centred at the top of the board, Maria Wellbeck to the bottom right hand corner and Kathleen Williams to the bottom left hand corner. He’d written their partners’ names beside them in brackets. A series of lines jutted out diagonally across the board. The diagram had been drawn using a black marker and the names written around its perimeter were in black too. At the moment the centre resembled the artwork of a three year old, with jagged lines leading to one name then stopping abruptly while another name had a new line coming from it going into another one before coming to a halt. Ashcroft’s shirt was crumpled as though he’d slept in it. Two days’ stubble covered his chin and bags under his eyes were beginning to rival Coupland’s. His face became animated as he saw the DS approach.