Flesh and Blood

by Emma Salisbury

  ‘But I only spoke to her yesterday evening,’ her mother kept saying as though that alone should have kept her safe. Her husband didn’t speak. He’d sat down when told to do so, gripped the cup of tea a nurse placed into his hands, eyes locked onto Coupland the whole time.

  ‘Evidence suggests the fire was started deliberately,’ Coupland had said.

  The information bewildered them. ‘Who would do such a thing?’ Ellie’s mother kept asking over and over.

  ‘Do you know where you will be staying?’ he’d asked them. ‘A Family Liaison Officer will be in touch…’

  ‘Staying?’ Ellie’s mother looked even more confused. ‘Oh… we never gave it a thought… didn’t pack any clothes.’

  ‘We won’t stay,’ her husband spoke up then. ‘We’ll go straight home, once we’ve made arrangements.’ He caught Coupland’s frown. ‘For the last twelve months we’ve had no say in where our daughter has been living. Lack of resources, Government cuts, ring fencing, one reason after another spouted to us why she couldn’t receive care in our own city. I’ve had enough. We came to take our daughter home, DS Coupland, albeit not in the way I imagined when we set out in the middle of the night.’

  Coupland’s jaw clenched as he searched for the words to explain that Ellie’s body was now the property of the coroner. That until a full post mortem had been carried out their daughter would remain in the mortuary. He’d tried to persuade them to stay, at least overnight so they could rest.

  ‘You think I’d want to spend a night in your city after this?’ Mr Soden had exploded.

  Coupland had pressed his card into the man’s hand as he’d walked them back to their car. ‘In case you have any questions,’ he offered.

  ‘Because you’ve been really helpful so far,’ Ellie’s father had spat back.

  *

  One mug of coffee remained on the tray on top of DC Timmins’desk and Coupland reached for it, nodding his thanks. He circled the mug with both hands before turning to the assembled group: ‘Cedar Falls is a residential home for adults with a range of complex needs. Last night someone saw fit to torch it while the patients got ready for bed. Takes balls to do something like that, eh? Whoever did this is a real credit to the community.’ Several heads nodded around the room, interspersed with murmurs of agreement. Parts of Salford were infamous, no go areas, where all but the meanest men feared to tread. But at least the threat was expected, the combat open.

  ‘Do you mean learning disabilities, Sarge? If so, what kind?’ A black man with an athletic build and shorn hair shaped around chiselled features looked up, waiting for an answer. DC Ashcroft had transferred from the Met the previous year. A square peg in a round hole down south, he’d slotted into Salford Precinct’s murder squad with ease. Greater Manchester Police was England’s second largest force outside the Met but the difference in culture between them was like night and day. Ashcroft wasn’t as defensive as when he’d first transferred, and a stint working with Coupland while Alex Moreton was on maternity leave had given him a close up and personal view of the spiky DS that many didn’t see.

  Coupland’s eyes squinted as he pondered the question. He’d washed his face in the small sink in the toilet cubicle in the emergency department, trying to rid himself of the dust that had worked its way under his eyelids. ‘Autism?’ he replied, ‘Downs?’ he glanced at Mallender for corroboration; the DCI nodded.

  ‘I looked Cedar Falls up online,’ Alex spoke up. ‘They also take residents with challenging behaviour.’

  ‘I thought that was Tattersall,’ Coupland said, referring to the inner city overspill that had developed a reputation over the previous three decades – for all the wrong reasons. A ripple of laughter went around the room.

  Alex shook her head. ‘Kids in care who keep running away, folk displaying violent outbursts, mental health patients refusing to take their meds, that sort of thing.’

  Ashcroft nodded his thanks.

  Alex slid the list of arsonists she’d compiled across her desk towards Coupland. ‘Thought you’d want to check on the usual suspects.’ Coupland took the list from her, scanning the names before adding them to his actions sheet.

  Alex remembered something. ‘I’ve been checking Twitter.’ She held up her iPad like an exhibit in a courtroom. ‘Workers from the fire station tweeted that the blaze was well established when they arrived at Cedar Falls and that fire personnel made over thirty rescues.’

  Coupland’s mouth formed a thin line. He couldn’t fathom the attraction of so-called social media. Did the public really need to be spoon fed their news in sound-bites? GMP were no better, every station now had a designated officer responsible for managing their Twitter account and Facebook page. At Salford Precinct it had been Alex who’d drawn the short straw, mainly for her ability to complete whole sentences without swearing.

  Alex tapped the iPad a couple of times. ‘The ambulance service tweeted that several people were assessed at the scene and that some were transferred to Salford Royal for further care.’ More keyboard tapping. ‘Salford Council has tweeted it is working in close cooperation with the emergency services—’

  ‘—that’s not quite how I remember it,’ Coupland interrupted, recalling the response to his request to open up the primary school nearest to the care home to provide temporary shelter for Cedar Falls’ residents. The council officer had relented, once Coupland had explained the offence of obstruction.

  ‘I thought you’d like that.’ Alex grinned. ‘It goes on to say that it will be assessing the needs of the evacuated residents and arrange alternative accommodation as a priority.’

  Coupland blew out his cheeks, hoped to Christ someone else from the council would be picking up that baton. ‘Dare I ask what pearls of wisdom have we released into the ether?’ he asked.

  Alex ignored the jibe. Instead she tapped several more times, reading out the tweet she’d posted minutes earlier: ‘The cause of the fire is currently under investigation. The number of fatalities has not been confirmed and GMP would like to offer our sympathies to the families of those affected.’

  ‘Blimey, the Super will be out of a job soon,’ Coupland muttered. He turned to address the team. ‘The whole area stank of accelerant. That this was a deliberate act is a no brainer. What we don’t know at the moment is what type of accelerant was used. Our best bet while we wait for the fire officer’s report is to work through DS Moreton’s list and round up those we know like playing with matches. Let’s shake a few trees, see what falls down.’

  He handed Alex’s print-out of local arsonists to DC Ashcroft. ‘Work your way through that lot and see if there’s anyone worth talking to.’

  He turned to DC Timmins, the most junior detective in the team but what he lacked in experience he made up for in his ability to manipulate computer data. Dressed in a new slim fit suit, there was no hint of his penchant for the icing covered donuts that gave him his nickname. ‘Krispy, I want you to work through the list of names uniform collected from onlookers last night. See if there was anyone there who shouldn’t have been, like one of Ashcroft’s arsonists observing the damage they’ve caused. Though Christ knows that’d make this job too bloody easy. And check the shoe sizes recorded as well, cross-match with anything picked up by the CSI team.’ Krispy nodded as he made notes on his desk pad.

  Coupland turned to the DCI. ‘What’s the situation regarding the suspected gas leak, boss?’ he asked.

  ‘Emergency repairs were completed in the early hours, enabling local residents to return home first thing,’ Mallender informed him.

  The WPC who’d taken the care home manager’s statement at the hospital had stayed on after her shift had ended, and was now sitting on a chair at the front of the room. She was dressed in civvies, a cable knit jumper over skinny jeans, hair untied and brushed through in a hurry. She stifled a yawn as she turned in her seat to address those present. ‘Alan Harkins states he was in the office when the fire alarm sounded. He ran into the adjacent building where th
e residents live and tried to get as many out as he could.’

  ‘Do we know anything about him?’ Coupland asked.

  ‘Clean as a whistle. Lives on site. No partner.’

  ‘Can anyone corroborate his whereabouts?’

  ‘They were down to skeleton staff with it being the night shift. The only other staff members on duty were through in the residents’ block.’

  ‘What was your impression of him?’

  ‘By the time I got to the hospital he’d been treated for minor burns he’d received evacuating the residents. He seemed genuinely concerned about his patients, and was worried about finding temporary accommodation for everyone. His behaviour didn’t cause any concern.’

  Coupland thanked her and said once she’d typed the statement up she could sod off home. This earned him a thumbs up sign as she grabbed her jacket, moving swiftly towards the door before anyone else had a question for her.

  Coupland addressed two DCs sat nearest to him, ‘Turnbull, Robinson, I want you to go and speak to Alan Harkins and his staff. Look into any disputes with business rivals, neighbours, any bugger for that matter. Who are his suppliers? Does he owe them any money? Check his finances, does he have a gambling habit? An obsession with designer clothes he can ill afford but can’t resist, you know the sort of thing…’

  ‘You think it might be an insurance job?’ Turnbull asked.

  ‘Nothing gets passed you, eh Turnbull? Well it wouldn’t be beyond the realms of possibility. Just because it’s the obvious motive doesn’t mean it’s the wrong one. He was on site, had the opportunity.’

  ‘But to commit murder, Sarge?’

  ‘Maybe he thought he’d be faster on his feet than it turned out. Wouldn’t be the first person shocked at the speed the fire they’d started had spread. To start the fire then rescue all the residents he’d have been hailed a hero if it hadn’t gone belly up.’

  ‘He still rescued some, Sarge,’ Robinson piped up. ‘What does that make him?’

  Coupland’s mouth formed a grim line. ‘That’s what we need to find out.’

  DCI Mallender studied the names on the whiteboard. ‘What do we know about the victims?’

  ‘Because of the extent of the burns we’ve yet to match a name to three of the bodies retrieved, but the owner was able to confirm the following people are missing, presumed dead: Barbara Howe, a 65 year old female care assistant; Sarah Kelsey, a 25 year old year old mother of three suffering from bi-polar disorder; Roland Masters, a 60 year old man suffering from Alzheimer’s; Catherine Fry, a 30 year old woman with Down’s; and now Ellie Soden, 18, who’d been referred there from a behavioural unit.’ Coupland wondered what she could have done that had resulted in her being sent away from home. It had no bearing on the case necessarily, but still, loose ends bugged the hell out of him.

  The DCI obviously felt the same. ‘I want a full history on each victim, together with details of any other facility they’ve stayed in and length of time there so we can piece together anything they may have had in in common.’

  ‘Will do, boss,’ said Coupland.

  Alex caught his eye. ‘I can do that, and I can give you a hand with the death messages if you like, might help to get some idea of what the relatives thought of the care their loved ones were getting at the home.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Coupland nodded, before turning back to the group as he handed out further actions. ‘Someone out there thinks they’ve got away with murder. Get your backsides out there and prove ’em wrong.’

  Coupland watched the group disperse before turning to the DCI. ‘I’ve got this under control, boss. Go before the Super realises you’re still here and sends you his latest spreadsheet for updating.’

  Mallender pulled a face. ‘I’m beginning to wonder if it’s worth going at all.’

  ‘What’s the seminar about?’

  ‘It’s more of a summit, really, a chance to share good practice with other forces about how we’ve dealt with organised crime. Superintendent Curtis got the invite but passed it on to me. He felt the talk would be of greater benefit to the delegates attending if it was given by someone with direct operational involvement.’

  ‘I bet he did. More like the crowd doesn’t have enough pips on their sleeves to warrant him dusting down his dress uniform.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘So, what are you going to dazzle them with? The A-Z of Salford’s gang network and why we’re pissing in the wind?’

  ‘I was aiming for something a little more positive. It’s easy when you’re in the thick of it not to realise what we’ve achieved, but huge inroads have been made, Kevin.’

  Coupland raised his brows. ‘In what, exactly?’

  ‘Reduction in tit-for-tat shootings, for a start.’ Gun crime had spiralled out of control in the nineties earning Manchester the title of Gunchester. Fatal shootings had been all but obliterated following the conviction of a gang a decade before. When guns were used to settle scores these days it was big news.

  ‘I guess there’ll be plenty of space at the back of the auditorium, then,’ Coupland grunted.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘The bloody big elephant in the room, of course.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I take it the Super told you to gloss over the knife crime epidemic on our doorstep?’

  ‘Like I said, it’s about sharing best practice.’

  ‘I heard you, but wouldn’t these summits be better engaged solving the problems going on in their areas rather than blowing smoke up each other’s backsides?’

  ‘It’s not as simple as that, Kevin.’

  ‘It is as simple as that boss, only top brass like to make it more complicated to justify their existence.’

  Mallender sighed. ‘If anyone should be accused of making things more complicated than they need to be it’s you – have you remembered your meeting with your union rep? I bet you haven’t even prepared your defence, have you?’ Coupland’s silence told him all he needed to know. ‘The sooner you start working on your account of events the stronger your case will be. Leave it to the last minute and you could forget something that Professional Standards will pick up on.’

  Coupland forced his lips into a smile, ‘Yeah, I hear you, I’m all over it.’

  Coupland’s grin faded as he watched DCI Mallender make his way down the corridor. He felt done in. Unlike the TV show detectives who hung around waiting for each investigation to fall into their lap he already had a heavy caseload including a gang related stabbing in Higher Broughton and a hit and run outside a school near The Crescent. He was also due to give evidence in Judy Grant’s trial, the woman the press had dubbed ‘Medicine Woman’ because of her role in doping young female migrants illegally trafficked into Salford. He’d have to prioritise; cutbacks meant there were no other teams to hand cases over to when something big hit the fan. You worked longer hours to get things done, or they simply didn’t get done. He looked at his watch. Reckoned he had time to nip home for a shower and change of clothes if he was quick about it.

  Alex was already on the phone to Alan Harkins, the manager of Cedar Falls Residential Home, asking for next of kin details and victim case files, together with contact numbers for any previous residential homes the victims had stayed in. Coupland signalled he was popping out, mouthing he’d be an hour, tops, if anyone needed him.

  *

  The conversation stopped the moment Coupland walked into the newsagents. It was his local. Not too many doors down from where he lived that he wasn’t beyond walking to it in the good weather, on the rare occasion when he’d run out of fags and not had the presence of mind to stop and replenish them on the drive home. He liked to do his bit these days, carbon footprint and all that. Something wasn’t right about the looks people were giving him. He was used to sidelong glances, most folk got twitchy when there was a cop in the room and the GMP logo on the lanyard he was obliged to wear these days gave his occupation away. He joined the queue, returning the glances that came
his way with what he hoped was a non-threatening smile. The newsagent, anticipating his request had already placed twenty Silk Cut and a packet of chewing gum on the counter.

  It was while Coupland was waiting for the woman in front to pay her paper bill that he noticed it. The headline on the pile of newspapers beside the till. He hadn’t paid any attention at first; besides, the picture on the front page had been expanded so many times it was grainy and out of focus but the face was recognisable despite the bruising around the nose. Austin ‘Reedsy’ Smith in all his glory, beneath the headline: ‘My ordeal at the hands of maniac cop.’ Coupland’s shoulders dipped. Someone must have taken a photograph of Reedsy while he was on remand, sold it on to the gutter press. There was a photo of Coupland too, taken when he’d nipped out of the station for a decent sandwich, given the brown paper bag in his hand and take away coffee cup. ‘Long serving officer lashes out at cornered suspect,’ was the caption beneath it. Coupland snatched up a paper from the top of the pile, flicking through until he found the rest of the article. ‘Detective Sergeant Kevin Coupland of Salford Precinct Station lost his temper during a dawn raid, assaulting Austin Smith before he had the chance to give himself up. “I was backed into a corner,” said Smith. “It wasn’t like I could have gone anywhere.”’ Coupland scowled. Of course Reedsy wasn’t going to mention the window he’d been planning to escape through, or the guns stashed behind it. No, that would have been too much to expect. ‘It is understood Mr Smith has made a formal complaint to Greater Manchester Police, and a full investigation is underway.’ The sidebar to the article was a call to action: ‘We pay for your stories! Call Angelica Heyworth 0161 236 2700 or email us at tips@SalfordNetwork.co.uk. We pay for videos too, simply go online and download our app’.

  Coupland dropped the newspaper onto the counter and pulled out his mobile phone, tapping the paper’s name into Google’s search engine. He downloaded the app when prompted. Sure enough, Reedsy’s ugly mug stared up from the screen in all his technicolour glory, embedded into the online paper’s front page. Several comments had been posted below the article: ‘Disgusting behaviour from someone who should know better. Is this why I pay my taxes?’ Followed by ‘Sack the bastard,’ and ‘Reedsy, you fanny, you still owe me a tenner.’ Another article below it showed an image of a naked man; the arrow button in the centre of the picture implied it was a video. Coupland hit ‘play’ and the man sprang into action, running into an off licence where he could be seen cowering by the counter. The filming stopped when an Asian man came out waving a brush handle.