One Bad Turn (27 page)

‘Can’t have the public losing faith in us,’ Ashcroft reminded him.

‘Suppose.’

The truth was most of the calls made following the appeal had fallen into two categories: members of the public settling old scores by naming someone they’d recently fallen out with, or psychics and tarot card readers claiming they had messages from the victims they wanted to pass on. Very few of the calls made to the incident room warranted following up. It was more a PR exercise, made the public feel they were doing something to help. Appeals were more successful following reconstructions, which may well be the next step if the lead regarding Lee Dawson went cold. Coupland glared at a woman talking into a mobile phone as she overtook him. He made a note of her registration to pass onto traffic. He turned to Ashcroft, ‘Can you chase up the enquiry regarding Dawson’s release date? I thought we’d have heard something by now.’ Ashcroft nodded, pulling out his mobile while turning the sound down on the radio. He hit speed dial, grunted into the mouthpiece when his call was answered.

‘Who is it?’ Coupland asked.

Ashcroft covered his phone with his hand, ‘Turnbull,’ he mouthed.

Coupland nodded, satisfied. Turnbull was one of those people who shouted into his phone no matter where they were, he’d be able to hear his reply loud and clear from where he was sitting: Dawson had been released from prison in February last year. The parole officer supervising his release was on annual leave, Turnbull had left a message with a colleague who was covering his caseload, was waiting to hear back.

‘Can you get him to chase it up?’ Coupland growled. It appeared Turnbull’s wasn’t the only voice that amplified down the phone line as his short reply made them both smirk. Ashcroft ended the call. ‘He’ll call us the moment he gets an address.’

Harry Sandford’s home was a bungalow on a new estate on the outskirts of Ellendale. Five hundred homes and counting. The local school now needed to be extended; an extra locum sought for the medical practice. Long term residents had seen the town blown out of all proportion. ‘No community spirit. They’re right about that,’ Sandford said as he opened the door to Coupland, ‘only moved here because we need to be on one level now, what with my leg,’ Coupland had telephoned ahead, with the property being new it wasn’t yet on Google Maps, his GPS had tried to send him the wrong way round a mini roundabout. He made the introductions, apologising at turning up at such a difficult time.

‘Not like it’ll get any easier,’ Sandford’s voice caught, ‘you both know that, you’ll have seen it enough times I daresay.’

‘Even so…’ Coupland acknowledged, letting his words trail off.

‘Sheila’s helping my son-in-law with the babies,’ Sandford informed them, ‘but I take it from your call it’s me you want to speak to?’ He led them into a bedroom that was being used as a study, a desk and computer had been placed beneath a large window looking onto the street and the houses opposite. ‘It makes me look busy when really all I’m doing is spying on the neighbours.’ He laughed but there was a hollowness to it. ‘I suppose that’s all going to change now,’ he said quietly, ‘I mean, Pete can’t cope, Sheila’s already said she wants them all to move in here, not like we haven’t got the room. It’s not what I imagined being a grandparent would be like though, but then none of us saw this…’ Coupland remembered the anguished look in Sheila’s eyes as she held the twin babies close; she was at the sharp end, could see where this was heading, where it’d likely end up. Harry might lose his study but hers was the life that’d change the most.

Sandford looked Coupland up and down, ‘You’d likely be wet behind the ears as I was at the point of hanging up my boots…and you’d still be a twinkle in your old man’s underpants I reckon,’ he added to Ashcroft.

‘I’m older than I look,’ the DC told him, ‘good genes.’

Sandford’s head nodded as though it had a life of its own, ‘You black fella’s never look your age,’ he agreed, ‘no offence like.’

‘None taken,’ Ashcroft responded.

Coupland cleared his throat. ‘There are a couple of things I wanted to check with you, face to face like, if I may?’

‘Fire away,’ Sandford perched a buttock on the edge of his desk, motioning for the detectives to sit on the bed settee opposite, ‘we’re all on the same side here.’

Coupland didn’t respond.

‘You never fancied inspector though? Sandford prodded.

Coupland shrugged. ‘Happy where I am.’

‘Best way,’ Sandford agreed. ‘Now, what did you want to know?’

‘About the murder of a football supporter, Eddie Garside, happened in March ’92.’

Sandford looked off into the distance as he blew out his cheeks, ‘Now you’ve got me…hang on though…Manchester Derby just after Easter, yeah, though for supporter read hooligan,’ he sucked in a breath, curling his lip in disgust, ‘nasty, back then it was like patrolling the Shankill Road.’

‘I only saw the tail end of it,’ Coupland shook his head as he spoke, ‘heard a lot of the stories though.’

‘It was like a war zone on match days, believe you me. Bastards didn’t come for the game, just the trouble around it. There were a lot of criminal firms back then, gave themselves daft names, had lapel badges made, scarves, tattoos, the leaders thought they were heading up a fuckin’ battalion. Came to a head when the trouble spilled overseas. The gangs were travelling to away games in Europe, giving decent Brits a bad name. Politicians had to put a stop to it but it was a long drawn out process, wasn’t pretty. Most forces were running surveillance by that time; even so it was the likes of us that bore the brunt of it.’ Coupland considered this, ‘Yet the lad who you put away for the murder, Lee Dawson, he had no previous, wasn’t even known to the local police, never mind Interpol - didn’t you think that was odd?’ He held Sandford’s gaze for a beat or two.

‘What is this?’ the retired cop narrowed his eyes, ‘Do I need a solicitor present?’

The atmosphere in the room changed, ‘Do you think you need one, Harry? I’m only trying to get the facts right in my head.’

‘You’ve read the report, seen the statements taken at the time?’

‘Sketchy to say the least,’ Coupland replied, ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ he added, holding up a hand against the protest he was certain would come, ‘I’m the world’s worst when it comes to paperwork, and I know it was harder back then to cross check criminal history but even so, the guy you lifted for the murder had no previous whatsoever, unless you count not returning his library books on time.’

‘You’re over egging the pudding a bit there, son,’ Sandford sniped, ‘he was a mouthy little gob shite, all told,’

‘A lot of ‘em are at that age,’ Coupland retorted, ‘doesn’t make ‘em killers.’ He ignored the glance Ashcroft sent in his direction. He was aware that’s how he’d responded to Amy’s boyfriend, automatically thinking the worst of him, but that was different, the moron was going out with his daughter.

‘What does it matter anyway?’ Sandford shrugged, ‘Water under the bridge now.’

‘Except we think he killed Maria.’

Sandford’s face froze. ‘There must be some mistake.’

Ashcroft shook his head, ‘No mistake,’ he answered, ‘turns out he was released last year.’ A look passed over Sandford’s face but he said nothing.

‘Are you aware of anyone following you or your family over the last few months?’ Sandford was already shaking his head. ‘No…If I had I would have reported it, wouldn’t I?’

‘Any idea why he’d want to come after you?’

He pulled a face. ‘None whatsoever, other than holding a grudge because he was caught,’

‘We’re waiting on an address so we can bring him in for questioning.’

Sandford nodded, moving from the edge of his desk to his faux leather office chair. ‘Bastard,’ he said to no one in particular, ‘but why come after my daughter?’

‘Maybe he wanted to hurt you where it mattered most. He’s killed Lewis Carruthers’ and Nathaniel Mathers’ daughters too. Those names mean anything to you?’

Sandford’s eyebrows shot into his hairline. ‘You’re joking? We were all serving officers about the same time…’

‘It was the women’s husbands who did a press appeal on TV the other night.’

‘I saw that, I had no idea.’

‘Seems you were all involved in Lee Dawson’s arrest.’

A pause. ‘I suppose.’

‘I understand you were the first to find Eddie Garside’s body?’

Sandford shrugged, shifty now, ‘It was a long time ago. I seem to recall Lewis wasn’t far behind,’ then, under his breath, ‘typical Lewis.’

‘You know he’s dead, don’t you?’

Sandford nodded, ‘Heard it was a climbing accident.’

Coupland looked at him sharply, ‘Only if you consider an experienced climber walking out into the middle of nowhere without any kit an accident.’

‘Happen he had a lot on his mind.’

‘Mebbe,’ Coupland waited a beat, ‘you were pals though?’

Sandford pulled a face. ‘Hardly.’

‘What do you mean?’

A shrug, ‘Doesn’t matter now.’

Coupland fixed him with a stare, ‘Try me.’

Sandford frowned, ‘Bit of a wimp, that’s all, not much of a team player.’

‘Were you, back then?’

‘I like to think so. Put it this way,
I
wouldn’t have left someone to get a good kicking. It’s how I got this,’ he lifted his left leg and gripped his damaged knee. ‘Lucky for me I managed to get away.’

Coupland didn’t respond, he was miles away, mulling something over. ‘As I understand it Lee Dawson’s conviction rested on his scarf being discovered at the scene of the crime, covered in Garside’s blood.’

‘You’ve done your homework,’ Sandford’s tone was sharp, ‘not sure what you need me for…’

Coupland regarded him, ‘To fill in the gaps, of which there seem to be many.’ Sandford made a sound like a slow puncture, ‘It was a long time ago, I can’t see how anything I say will help you.’ Not so convivial now, even a touch shirty. A look of anticipation flitted across his face as Coupland reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small notebook, the corner folded down to mark a particular page. ‘Fourteenth of March, Nineteen ninety two,’ Coupland said, his finger running down what was in reality a blank page. Ashcroft sat back with his arms folded, studying him with interest. ‘The Manchester Derby. You and PC Lewis Carruthers stumble across a body on the ground floor of a multi-storey car park.’ He looked across at Sandford, who nodded, his face flooded with relief now they were on safe ground. Coupland flicked on a few pages, glancing at invisible notes. He locked his gaze onto Sandford.

‘So who got there first?’

‘Well, me technically,’ Sandford shifted position in his chair, as though a buttock had gone numb, ‘I’d just taken a beating; I dragged myself over there to get away from the marauding gang.’

‘And you found the victim lying on the ground?’

A nod of the head.

‘Was he dead at this point?’

‘He didn’t look too bloody clever, if that’s what you’re meaning.’

‘So why didn’t you call it in?’

Sandford changed position once more. ‘By the time I realised it was a fatality, Lewis - PC Carruthers had arrived. He said he’d do it.’

Coupland held his gaze steady. ‘He got there quickly, didn’t he?’

Sandford looked at him unsure, then nodded.

‘But still after you got there?’

A slower nod. Sandford swallowed, leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the notebook. Coupland tilted the book away from him. ‘But I thought he’d run off and left you?’

‘He had.’

‘So how could he have arrived so fast on your heels?’

‘He was already there.’

Coupland screwed up his face, ‘So he found Garside?’

‘No,’ Sandford folded his arms across his body, hunching his shoulders. ‘I found him,’ irritable now.

‘Was PC Williams already there or not?’ Coupland barked.

‘He’d been hiding out in there! After he scarpered and left me to a beating he legged it into the car park, only I didn’t know that until he crept up behind me when I was checking Garside over.’

‘To see if the victim was still alive.’ Ashcroft added for him.

‘What? Yes,’ He shifted a little more in his seat.

‘So why did you ask PC Mathers to check the body for signs of life when he arrived?’ A pause. ‘Come to think of it, it’s funny how you didn’t find Dawson’s scarf while you were checking the victim yourself.’

Sandford blinked.

‘Look, I thought this was all about me helping you track down the bastard who killed my daughter. That’s what you told me on the phone. It’s the only reason I agreed to you coming over.’

‘It helps me understand why this might be happening,’ Coupland shot back, ‘if Dawson is targeting the people who he thinks were responsible for his conviction I want to know what happened on the day of Garside’s murder, otherwise how the hell do we work out who he’s going to target next…’

A sigh, ‘OK, I get the picture. He felt he was wrongly convicted, but if he thinks Lewis did him harm hadn’t he paid for what he’d done with his suicide?’

‘Sometimes it’s a question of coming clean… ’

‘And if there’s nothing to own up to?’

Coupland stared him out. ‘Lewis made a call to you shortly before his death. Can you tell me the nature of that call?’

‘How do you know that?’

It was Coupland’s turn to sigh, ‘Just answer the question.’

‘I would if I could remember, but to be honest I don’t recall Lewis contacting me. Now if you don’t mind…’

Ashcroft got to his feet, waited for Coupland to get to his. ‘Sarge..?’ he prompted. ‘We’re done,’ Coupland said, tucking his notebook back into his jacket as he stood up, ‘for the moment.’

Coupland’s mobile rang as he climbed into his car. It was DC Turnbull: ‘
Dawson’s probation officer got back to me Sarge, or rather the one covering her caseload
.’ He cleared his throat, ‘
It’s not good news
.’ Coupland could feel the contents of his stomach plummet. He glanced over at Ashcroft who nodded that he could hear. Even so Coupland put the phone onto loudspeaker.

‘Go on.’

‘
Lee Dawson is dead, Sarge. Pancreatic cancer. Died last year six weeks after diagnosis.
’ Coupland felt something inside him pulsate. Ashcroft gazed back at him wide-eyed. ‘Are you sure?’