One Bad Turn (9 page)

‘Husband?’ Robinson asked.

‘Can’t see it,’ Coupland shook his head.

‘Two women dead in the space of forty eight hours,’ said Turnbull, ‘the press are going to start scare mongering.’

‘Yeah, but would they be right to?’

‘There’s no evidence to suggest the same person carried out both murders is there?’ Ashcroft asked, ‘Jesus Christ that’ll really set Curtis among the pigeons.’

‘The method of killing was different in each case.’ Mallender reminded them.

‘If the boss agrees I say we continue with two separate lines of enquiry, we can ascertain during the investigation whether the women were friends, or at least known to each other, but I think both husbands need to be eliminated before we go down a different path.’ Coupland looked over at Mallender who was already nodding. ‘You never know,’ he added, ‘it could be a tit for tat situation, I’ll murder your missus if you do mine…’ he laughed, but the sound came out hollow. His face fell serious once more, ‘So how are we going to do this?’ It would be normal for the family of the victim to make an appeal to the public via the press. Grief porn, but it worked. Often it was used to study the reactions of the husband or other close family members, see if there were tiny ‘tells’ that gave their guilt away. More usually it jarred a desensitised public into spying on their neighbour. ‘I mean, do we run two press appeals, separated by an add break?’

Mallender acknowledged his point. There was only so much bad news the public could cope with before it stopped making an impact. It was why some victims made headline news and others barely got a mention. All about timing, as though each victim were a product to be marketed. ‘We either rule out the partners first and risk letting potential leads go cold if we end up having to widen the investigation…’ Coupland was trying to be diplomatic, in his view it was better to do an appeal now and if it turned out the husbands were guilty then so be it. ‘We’ve done it before,’ he persisted, ‘at least that way the public is geared up and ready.’

‘We’ve never had a situation like this though,’ Mallender cautioned, ‘Two murders in a week will send the press into a frenzy.’

‘But they’re going to get wound up about two dead women anyway,’ Coupland pressed his point but on this Mallender wouldn’t be swayed. ‘Two appeals on the same day, or even a day apart, will lessen the impact. Let’s see if we can make inroads without appealing to the public. This time tomorrow we may have a key suspect for one of the cases, and if that happens we put out an appeal on the other case.’ There was logic to that; even Coupland had to concede it. He inclined his head in agreement.

After dividing the team into two small units, he allocated actions, each focussing on one particular murder, reassigning tasks where necessary. Mallender hesitated by the doorway until Coupland had finished. ‘You want me, sir?’ he asked before grabbing his jacket. He was about to head off with Ashcroft but something about the DCI’s demeanour made him stay put. Mallender nodded awkwardly, stepping towards him. He waited until the stragglers had left, his face a mask. Ashcroft, taking the hint, made himself scarce. Coupland felt a stirring of unease. Mallender was adopting a stance he had seen often enough, usually from predecessors but the set of the jaw gave it away - he was in for a bollocking. The DCI waited until he was sure they were alone. ‘Superintendent Curtis has taken rather an odd call this morning,’ he began, ‘the local college principal wanting to make a complaint,’ he gave Coupland a hard stare, ‘about you.’ Coupland felt himself flush, his hands automatically clenching into fists at the grief Amy’s toe rag boyfriend was causing him and he rocked back on his heels, preparing himself for the DCI’s full force. It was inevitable, he supposed, that word would get back. He’d pissed off the college head on his own turf; it was obvious the jerk was going to return the favour. He unclenched his fists and spread his hands wide like star fish. ‘I can explain-,’ he began, ‘-Frankly I don’t want to know,’ Mallender cut him off, ‘I’ve got the gist of it already,’ he added, ‘from the email which followed the call, which is basically you throwing your weight about the college over a member of staff, gaining access to the principal by pretending you were there on police business,’ Mallender gave Coupland a sour look, ‘which you weren’t.’ Coupland raised his hands in mitigation, ‘I know, I know, I’m bang out of order but the muppet’s-’

‘I’m not interested,’ Mallender cut in, ‘and neither, as you can imagine, is Superintendent Curtis. Treat this as the reprimand it was intended as, stay away from the college and focus on the matters - or rather murders - in hand. Curtis is expecting an update - and by that I mean real progress - by the end of shift. Let’s stay focused, DS Coupland, OK?’ Without waiting for a response he hurried out of the CID room leaving Coupland staring after him. This was the first dressing down he’d had from this DCI and the fact that it was over Vincent sodding Underwood made his blood boil. As if he’d been hovering in the corridor eavesdropping Ashcroft wandered back into the room, carrying two coffees. ‘Thought you could do with this,’ he said sombrely.

‘How much of that did you hear?’ Coupland took his coffee gratefully. It gave him something to do with his hands, which right now he felt like placing round Vinny’s neck and squeezing very hard, either that or punching the wall. ‘All of it,’ Ashcroft said truthfully, turning to look at the view from the windows that travelled the length of the office. The CID room looked down onto the staff car park below; a smoking shelter had been erected when health and safety refused to ignore the fire doors being wedged open when certain officers had a sly fag indoors on inclement days. Beyond the car park vehicles zipped along Belvedere Road, providing a soundtrack to the throbbing going on behind Coupland’s eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb as he stared at the traffic.

‘My daughter’s going out with a knob I put away last year,’ he admitted.

‘Ouch,’ Ashcroft sympathised, turning his attention back to Coupland, ‘how did that happen?’

Coupland groaned, ‘Usual story, toe rag meets girl, finds out not only is her dad a cop but the one who put him away a couple of years before, two for the price of one, really…They met at college, their eyes must have met over a blocked u-bend or something…He’s not a student,’ he added when a flicker of confusion flitted across Ashcroft’s face, ‘he was placed there through some bloody offender work programme…only I thought he’d got the job by lying about his past…’

‘So you thought you’d go and enlighten his boss?’ Ashcroft grinned, shaking his head.

‘Something like that,’ Coupland said sourly.

‘What was he sent down for?’

‘GBH.’

‘Nice guy.’

‘Amy thinks the sun shines out of his proverbial,’ Coupland whined.

‘That’s just young love,’ Ashcroft soothed, ‘can’t you remember that far back? Leave ‘em be, she’ll soon see him for what he is,’ he added, ‘chances are she’d have kicked him into touch sooner if you hadn’t started throwing your weight about.’ Coupland baulked, ‘You haven’t seen the way he-’

‘What? Looks at you when she isn’t around? Come one, how old are you, ten? Sounds like there’s a bit of horn locking, if you ask me.’ He laughed, rearranging his features into a frown that matched Coupland’s when he saw the detective tighten his jaw. ‘Seriously though, you need to take some of that medicine that you dished out to me, I don’t doubt he’s an arrogant little prick but don’t rise to it because it’ll cost you more in the long run.’

Coupland took a step back to study Ashcroft, ‘Jesus, how come you got to be so bloody smart?’ he grumbled.

‘It’s easy to be objective when it’s not my daughter we’re talking about, if it were me I’d want to run the little prick out of town, but we’re officers of the law and we have to rise above those urges don’t we?’ Coupland lowered his head, refusing to answer.

When it came to his daughter he wasn’t so sure any more.

*

Helen Dalton lived in a ramshackle semi on Newearth Road. The front garden could have done with a tidy up but Coupland had no room to talk, it was his friend Joe that he had to thank for the hydrangeas beneath his front window and the patio area out back. There was potential here, if the owners had the time, or the inclination. Overgrown rose bushes grew around the front garden’s perimeter, dandelions and nettles poked through uneven paving stones. Ivy grew around the large bay window but had come loose in places. The front door was wedged open, a sign sellotaped over the doorbell read: Sleeping baby - please leave parcel in porch - AND DO NOT RING THE BELL. Coupland raised his eyebrows at Ashcroft before stepping inside and tapping on the interior door. The wrath of a sleep deprived mother he could do without. ‘Hello…’ A middle aged plump woman met him in the hallway. A baby was attached to her in some kind of sling, all that could be seen was the infant’s nose and mouth poking out beneath a swathe of bright coloured material. The woman’s long curly hair was tied back with a scarf. She smiled good naturedly. ‘Unless you’re willing to sing to this one while I go take a shower I’m not buying anything.’

‘Police, love,’ Coupland showed her his warrant card before introducing Ashcroft. The woman froze, planting her hand atop the hall table to steady herself.

‘It’s about your friend,’ Coupland added quickly, ‘Maria Wellbeck.’ A wave of relief flooded across the woman’s face followed by shame, ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly, ‘when you first said you were police I couldn’t help thinking…’

‘It’s OK,’ Coupland said amicably, ‘we get that a lot, but I’m afraid it isn’t good news. Can we come in, love? Probably better if you sit down…’

‘You sure I can’t call anyone?’ Coupland asked five minutes later after telling her the bare bones of it. Helen shook her head. ‘No,’ she said firmly, sinking into the armchair she’d lowered herself into on Coupland’s insistence, patting the child’s back rhythmically in the hope he didn’t pick up his mother’s distress, ‘we were friends through the antenatal group, not really proper friends, if you know what I mean.’ Coupland nodded. ‘Of course I’m upset, but more for her little family, not enough for me to disturb my partner at work.’

‘Was last night a special night out, what with Maria planning to stay at yours?’

‘What?’ she said distractedly, ‘No, it just made it easier for her to have a drink and get a lie in the next day. That husband of hers doesn’t exactly pull his weight.’

‘You’ve met him then?’

Helen nodded, ‘He came to a couple of the parenting classes, not many, always away on business I guess, but when he did turn up he was friendly enough, I think it was after the twins came along that things began to change.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I don’t mean to speak out of turn, and God knows he’s going to have to step up to the plate now, but I got the impression he expected Maria to deal with everything involving the twins. She told me he moaned when she took more than five minutes in the shower; the babies were fine as long as they didn’t impact on his life in any way. So we devised a big night out - none of us drink much anymore, I’m still breast feeding for a start, but Maria reckoned a couple of glasses followed by a lie in would do her the power of good.’

Coupland’s brow creased, ‘I don’t understand then, why you didn’t call to find out what happened when she didn’t turn up?’

Helen sighed, swiping her hand across her face. ‘Because she was flaky,’ she sighed, ‘I’ve been arranging these get togethers every month or so since we all sprogged and she hasn’t turned up to one of them yet! She never bothers to cancel, just doesn’t turn up on the evening. We waited around for her the first time, we were just getting together informally for a pizza and hung around in the wine bar we’d agreed to meet up in for over an hour but she didn’t show. She sent me a text a few days later with some excuse, but it was obvious that fella of hers wasn’t happy about her leaving him in charge. She gave in too easily if you ask me, but what do I know? Divorced twice with two teenagers, I didn’t think I’d be changing nappies again at my time of life, not that I’m complaining mind, wouldn’t be without this one now, little poppet. But I recognise when someone’s having a hard time…Yet at the end of the day, no matter how much you try and help them, they have to help themselves, don’t they? Each time Maria would give me a hand planning our next night out - there are ten of us, many like me with kiddies already so it’s no mean feat getting everyone’s diaries in sync but we managed it, and everyone made the effort, bar Maria. In the end it got to the point where we no longer bothered waiting when she didn’t turn up.’ Helen dropped her gaze, her shoulders shaking as she began to sob. ‘We didn’t even say anything last night when she didn’t arrive, just looked at the time and went into the theatre.’

‘Nothing you could have done to change events,’ Coupland tried to reassure her, ‘likely as not she was already dead by then,’

‘I could’ve raised the alarm though, couldn’t I, if I’d not been able to reach her? I could’ve gone round there, we could’ve retraced her steps…’ she looked off into the distance. ‘You’re right,’ she sniffed, ‘dead is dead, I suppose.’

Back in the car Ashcroft turned to Coupland. ‘So what do you make of hubby now?’ Coupland shrugged, ‘He’s not the first new dad guilty of not pulling his weight but that doesn’t make him a killer.’

‘They could have argued about her going out when he gave her a lift to the station and things got out of hand,’

Coupland’s eyebrows shot up, ‘What? They stop the row mid-sentence so she can go and buy a ticket before carrying on with their domestic?’

Ashcroft acknowledged Coupland’s point with a grunt. ‘We still bringing both husbands in, then?’

Coupland nodded, ‘We need to eliminate them once and for all. Robinson’s arranging to get them picked up as we speak. All entirely voluntary at this stage, given we’ve no evidence or motive to go on. At least he’ll be more diplomatic than Turnbull.’ Ashcroft’s phone rang. He answered, glancing at Coupland before speaking, ‘Yes,’ he said slowly, ‘we’re just about to-’ a sigh, ‘yeah, will do…’ He returned his phone to his pocket and frowned at Coupland, ‘That was Robinson,’ he said, ‘says you’re not answering your phone. He was asking me to give you the heads up,’