One Bad Turn (25 page)

Mallender’s head shot back in alarm. ‘With his son present, of course,’ Coupland assured him, ‘though not in a professional capacity.’ He half turned to Ashcroft, ‘I hope.’ Turning back to Krispy, he asked, ‘What was the convicted man’s name?’

‘Lee Dawson.’

Coupland instructed Turnbull to check with the probation service the date of Dawson’s release. ‘And check what kind of supervision he’s getting,’ he added.

‘You reckon he’s our man?’ Turnbull asked but Coupland didn’t want to be drawn, ‘he’s the best lead we’ve had so far,’ was all he’d say. He turned to Ross Bateman, avoided staring at the cluster of angry red spots across the young DC’s jawline by speaking to his chest, ‘How are you getting on tracking down the mystery man emailing Kathleen Williams?’ Bateman looked downcast, ‘Still trying to find an IP address for him, Sarge.’

‘Great,’ Coupland’s shoulders sagged.

‘I’ve done a bit of digging though. Their online conversation began after he pranged her car at the school gates so I checked out the story with the school caretaker. He remembers someone clipping the side of her vehicle as she was leaving one evening. He was clearing out the lost property box in the school office when he saw her get out of her car to inspect the damage. The other driver was already out of his vehicle, handing her a slip of paper which the caretaker assumed were his details so he didn’t bother going out to see if she needed any help.’

‘Can he give us a description?’

Bateman shook his head, ‘Didn’t have his glasses on.’

‘Jesus, not even a colour?’

‘Do you mean the vehicle, or the man who pranged her car, Sarge?’

A nervous titter went around the room. Those who knew Coupland were cautious; he’d been known to kick off over a lot less. He counted to ten. ‘Either,’ he said on an outward breath.

‘The male was white, Sarge,’ Bateman stuttered, as though answering a trick question, he glanced down at his notebook, ‘the caretaker wasn’t sure about the vehicle, other than he had only clipped Kathleen’s passenger door with his bumper so it was unlikely to have suffered any damage.’

‘Especially if he timed the prang just right.’

Bateman nodded, ‘We checked with the garage where her car’s gone in for repair - turns out they were going to call her as the insurance details written on the note were fake.’

‘Surprise, surprise. What’ve you done with the note?’

‘I’ve sent it off to see if we can get any prints but the world and his wife had handled it at the garage so I wouldn’t hold your breath.’

Coupland rubbed the back of his neck as he surveyed the room. Robinson raised his hand. ‘Sarge? We found the murder weapon used on Sharon Mathers.’ About time. ‘Uniforms recovered a large stone with traces of blood on it from the wall of a resident’s garden backing onto the recreation park. It was sent away for analysis this morning, but we’re confident it’s the weapon used. It had been placed inside a damaged part of the wall but it didn’t match the other stones used and the homeowner doesn’t remember putting it there.’ It was something, Coupland supposed. So long as the killer had a police record. ‘Get the results fast tracked.’ Robinson dropped his gaze, ‘Will do, Sarge, only…’

‘What is it?’

‘Everything’s being fast tracked at the moment…’ which meant for all intents and purposes the lab was choked; there were only so many urgent tests it could carry out without impacting normal service delivery. Coupland nodded, trying hard not to let his frustration show. The team weren’t to blame for lack of resources.

One of Quinlan’s men loomed in the doorway. DC Whitehead. He looked as though he hadn’t slept for days. ‘Sarge?’ he ventured, stepping forward, ‘I’ve been questioning some of the local mums close to where Maria lived.’

‘Neighbours? Won’t that have been covered in the house to house?’ The DC shook his head, ‘They go to a mother and baby group, there’s a sign advertising it in the family’s medical centre.’ Lateral thinking. Coupland smiled appreciatively. ‘It’s held in the local church hall when the weather’s bad, on good days they go over to a park nearby. Maria was a regular.’ Quinlan’s chest expanded at the prospect of reflected glory. ‘They said there had been a van parked by the entrance to the church hall a couple of times, didn’t think any more about it until it started showing up by the park.’

‘Did they get a look at the driver?’ Whitehead was already shaking his head. ‘Said he wore a beany hat, looked like a builder but they never saw him get out of the van.’

‘Did they report it?’

‘They didn’t think too much about it until I turned up asking if they’d seen anything suspicious.’

‘Have we got a description on the van?’

‘Other than it was white - and dirty - no,’

Coupland turned to Quinlan, ‘Got to be our man.’

‘Agreed. Once he knew her pattern all he had to do was sit and wait. She probably passed his van while talking to the other mums about the night out she had planned, completely oblivious he was eavesdropping. Again, all he had to do was turn up at the train station on the right night - and if he knew where she lived it’d be pretty obvious which station she’d use - then bide his time.’ Coupland tried to temper the mounting excitement in the room, ‘So we’re looking for White Van Man,’ he commented, ‘piece of cake.’

Coupland reported on his visit earlier in the day to Elba Dunleavy and her recollection of her late husband’s suicide on Kinder Scout. ‘His widow’s convinced that something was preying on his mind,’ he added, ‘whilst a serving officer Lewis Carruthers left PC Harry Sandford at the mercy of a gang of thugs during a derby match, suffering a severe injury to his leg as a result. It’s why he took early retirement.’

‘So he felt guilty at letting a fellow officer down?’ Robinson asked.

‘Maybe,’ Coupland’s mind was elsewhere, ‘can you get onto HR, check the date of Sandford’s injury, mention my name if they sound like they’re going to drag their feet.’ He was thinking back to Elba Dunleavy’s concern that something had been preying on her late husband’s mind. What if it hadn’t been about guilt over Sandford’s injury, what if it was over something much worse? These officers were connected in some way; they just had to work what it was. Coupland’s meeting with Nathaniel Mathers couldn’t come soon enough.

*

Thursday morning

Nathaniel Mathers lived in a modest house in Swinton. A 1930s semi on a main road, the property was set back, obscured from passers-by by a bank of mature trees along the pavement edge. The front lawn was well tended, Hydrangeas beneath a bay window and an olive tree in a pot beside the heavy wooden front door. Coupland was about to ring the doorbell when the door swung open, Damian Mathers greeting him with a cursory nod. The lawyer was wearing jeans, good ones going by look of them and a pinstripe shirt which was open at the neck. ‘Who’s this?’ He glared at Ashcroft, before turning back to Coupland with a sad smile, ‘I expected more from you.’ Coupland felt himself bristle, ‘I told you I was bringing my partner,’ he said firmly, ‘what am I supposed to do, not bring him to avoid you thinking he’s been helicoptered in especially. Christ, the world’s gone mad,’ he shook his head as he said this, ‘not to mention we don’t have the budget.’

Mathers sighed, held up his hands in mock surrender, ‘Look, I’m sorry, blame it on lack of sleep, my sister’s murder has knocked all of us for six.’ Coupland blew out a long breath, nodded his head in understanding. ‘It’s been tough on all the families, Damian, but I think we’re making progress.’

‘Please, come through then, my father’s keen to know how he can help.’

Nathaniel Mathers was an elegant man. Tall, slim built, with fine chiselled features. He got to his feet when Coupland walked into the small front room behind his son, if he was surprised at seeing Ashcroft he didn’t show it. He stepped forward to shake both detectives’ hands while his son made introductions, before pointing to a patterned settee, ‘Please take a seat,’ he invited them, moving to stand behind his wife who was seated in a high backed chair. She was a small woman, who barely glanced in their direction, preferring instead to gaze at a framed photograph of Sharon placed on a coffee table in the centre of the room, a single lit candle beside it. A box of tissues had been placed on her knee; a pile of used tissues had fallen into the crevice of her seat cushion. Nathaniel made to clear away the debris, talking over his shoulder as he did so. ‘It’s all changed since I was a serving officer,’ he tossed the tissues into a plastic carrier bag he pulled from a drawer in the sideboard behind him, tying the handles together in a knot before heading into the kitchen. Moments later the kettle could be heard being filled and cupboard doors opening and slamming shut. Nathaniel Mathers was a man who didn’t like to sit still, his garden vouched for that. ‘Dad I’ll do that,’ Damian said firmly, following his father into the kitchen, gently cajoling him back into the sitting room. Though his steps were heavy, his shoulders sagging, he carried himself with an air of dignity. He spoke softly as he lowered himself into an armchair opposite his wife.

‘Damian is right, I should let him help more, but it’s when I sit down, or stop and think for even a moment that it hits me our daughter has gone.’ His chin began to wobble as he spoke, he stared at the detectives before clearing his throat several times. Coupland had never felt more like he was intruding. Mathers wanted to grieve, but not in front of visitors.

‘We think the person who killed Sharon is someone you put away before you retired.’ Mathers didn’t react. ‘I arrested many men, Detective Sergeant,’ he responded, ‘some for serious crimes, but they will be old men now.’ His tone was measured. Even. A good man to have in a crisis.

‘We’ve identified a person of interest, we’re just checking with the prison service for his release date. If we’re right he would have been a young man when he was jailed for murder.’

‘Who?’

‘Lee Dawson, sent down for the murder of Eddie Garside in ’92.’

Nathaniel remained silent.

‘What we need to find out is what you, Lewis Carruthers and Harry Sandford could have done to make this man bear a grudge against you throughout his life sentence.’

Nathaniel cocked his head, ‘Hang on…are you saying the other women on the news... women you think have been murdered by this man… are their daughters?’

Coupland nodded.

Mathers dropped his head into his hands; his bald head was shiny in parts, the sunlight coming in through the bay window reflected off it. ‘I had no idea…’ His shoulders dipped, his breathing came in a succession of slow sighs.

‘Did you keep in touch with either PC Carruthers or PC Sandford after they retired?’

Nathaniel lifted his head, squinting at Coupland as though surprised he was still there. ‘Not really, we weren’t exactly buddies, I got invited to a couple of drinking sessions when other folk retired - they’d often be at those, we’d rake over old ground for an hour or two, but we didn’t keep in touch beyond that.’

‘Did you know Lewis Carruthers is dead?’

A nod. ‘I sent a condolence card to his wife. I’d met her a couple of times over the years, while we were still serving, seemed like the right thing to do…’

‘Your son mentioned that you witnessed some prisoners being mistreated whilst in custody, I wondered if this could have happened in this case.’

‘He had no right to speak out of turn,’ his raised voice carried into the kitchen. When Damian came out carrying a tray of coffee he avoided his father’s eye. ‘It was an off the cuff remark, Dad.’

‘So off the cuff they’re round here asking me about it!’ Nathaniel said harshly, and in an instant they reverted to how it must have been between them, an imposing father presiding over unruly boys and a headstrong girl. Boys that did as they were told or there’d be consequences. Pocket money withheld or a clip around the back of an ear at worst. His own father had preferred fists and a belt, until Coupland grew taller than him and learned how to resist. Against the law today of course, if he was a kid now he’d probably be in care. The thought brought him no comfort; he’d arrested enough care leavers over the years to know that wasn’t always a better option.

‘Sarge?’ Ashcroft prompted him. Coupland cleared his throat: ‘Either his conviction was unsafe or he was mistreated in custody,’ his tone was sharper than he’d intended, ‘which is it to be?’

‘Now look here-’ Damian Mathers exploded; he’d placed the tray on the coffee table leaving him free to move towards Coupland.

‘I can fight my own battles,’ his father objected, holding onto his son’s arm, ‘why don’t you leave us, I’m not ready for the knackers yard quite yet.’

‘I’m going nowhere, Dad,’ Damian shot back, obliterating all traces of the child he’d once been, ‘and this time I’m here as your lawyer.’ Coupland sighed, ‘If you feel that’s necessary,’ he said evenly, ‘maybe we should continue this down at the station.’

‘Maybe we should start over again,’ Ashcroft attempted, ‘we all want to catch Sharon’s killer, right? So we need to find out more about Lee Dawson. Our colleagues are out looking for him as we speak but he’s been clever, there’s no DNA, nothing as yet to incriminate him, we’re going to have to build a strong case - and finding a motive is a start.’

Coupland caught Ashcroft’s eye. The DC had bailed him out of a cock up of his own making and he nodded his appreciation. ‘You’ve already told us that Carruthers and Sandford weren’t your friends,’ he added.

‘I didn’t say that exactly…’ Nathaniel objected.

‘But it’s what you meant.’

Nathaniel didn’t contradict him.

‘So why are you trying to protect them?’

‘I’m not!’ Nathaniel snapped, ‘Sandford was an idiot, prone to showing off if the mood took him. Every once in a while he’d bring someone in who he’d roughed up on the way to the cells, no one ever complained, the men were usually guilty of something, burglary, drunk and disorderly, domestic abuse, they’d take the beating as part of their punishment and go on their way. Carruthers wasn’t like that, he wasn’t cut from the same cloth as Sandford but in many ways he was just as bad. He was in cloud cuckoo land, you see, turned a blind eye to Sandford acting up because he wanted a quiet life. But on the night Lee Dawson was brought in I know nothing happened to him.’