‘Would you like a copy?’ the newsagent asked, pointing at the tabloid rag on the counter. The queue behind Coupland was growing impatient, though Austin Smith’s bruised face cautioned them to keep quiet.
‘Waste o’ bloody money,’ Coupland grunted, lifting the paper from the counter and holding it up for everyone to see. He skim read down the inside cover, found what he was looking for. The hit and run he’d been investigating was halfway down the page. ‘Whatever happened to proper news?’ he demanded. ‘A father of two wiped out in broad daylight yet it’s a paedophile’s broken nose that makes the headline.’ He dropped the paper once more, snatching up his cigarettes before slamming his money onto the counter top. ‘You forgot your chewing gum!’ the newsagent called after him.’ ‘No sodding point,’ Coupland muttered. It would take more than juicy fruit to get rid of the sour taste in his mouth.
*
Coupland was still reeling from the newspaper article but forced it from his mind when he stuck his head round his living room door. Sonny Jim had had his morning bottle long since and was staring up at Amy while she changed him on the floor. Lynn was sat in the corner on an armchair, watching the proceedings but knowing better than to offer advice.
‘This is the third set of clothes he’s had on since you left last night,’ Amy grumbled without looking up.
‘Takes after his mother then,’ Coupland shot back, winking at Lynn as he stepped into the room, tip-toeing over a cushion in the shape of a baby elephant. ‘Anyway, got a name for him yet?’ he asked as he plonked himself down on the sofa.
Amy’s face lit up as she scooped the baby into her arms and went to join her dad. ‘I was thinking about Jaxxon, with two xx’s instead of the cks.’ She’d been trying out different names for size since Sonny Jim had been born but there was nothing they all agreed on.
Coupland’s mouth turned down at the edges as he considered this. ‘You could do a lot worse than Kevin – with two vv’s – if you want to stay on trend,’ he suggested, enjoying the look of alarm Amy shot in his direction.
‘It’s not our place to decide,’ Lynn reminded him. ‘You can’t keep poo-pooing every suggestion.’
Coupland blew out his cheeks. ‘I can if I’m expected to take him to the park for a kick about when he’s older. If you think I’m going to yell ‘Go on Kanye!’ on sports day you’ve got another think coming.’
Ignoring him, Lynn turned to her daughter who was patting Sonny Jim’s back like a wizened old hand rather than a first time mother. ‘How about Harry?’ she suggested.
Coupland widened his eyes, ‘Since when did you become a footie fan?’
Lynn shot him a look, ‘After Prince Harry, you idiot. Anyway, it’s better than Rio, or Ryan, or Eric or any of the other suggestions you’ve come up with so far.’
Coupland grinned at his wife, ‘In your opinion, my sweet,’ he muttered.
Amy smiled at her parents’ banter. ‘I only said Kanye the other day to wind you up, Dad!’ she teased, ‘Although Jaxxon does have a ring to it.’
‘Like the police siren fifteen years from now,’ he quipped without thinking. Amy’s grin slipped as the temperature in the room became noticeably cooler. Suddenly they were on dangerous ground. The subject of Sonny Jim’s father, Lee Dawson, was a No Fly Zone. A serial killer who, when nearing capture, had tried to take his own and Amy’s life. Coupland had saved his daughter, leaving Dawson to slip – literally – through his fingers. That the killer had been able to get close to Amy would always be a matter of guilt. Coupland found it hard to get his head around his grandson’s paternity; he’d gone from making sly digs out of Amy’s earshot, to silence out of loyalty, but his doubts were still there. The fear that flesh and blood really meant something.
The glare from Lynn had him choking on his words. His joke, though ill thought, had no ulterior meaning. ‘He looks like a Harry,’ she piped up in an attempt to deflect the situation.
Coupland smiled gratefully as he grabbed the lifeline she threw him. He studied Sonny Jim’s bald head and hamster cheeks. ‘He looks more like Al Murray,’ he said finally.
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Lynn muttered, as Amy carried the baby upstairs for his nap. Lynn started clearing the baby paraphernalia away, cardboard books and stuffed animals which she stowed into a basket that now lived beside the fireplace. It was funny watching the force with which she tidied them away; clearing soft toys angrily didn’t have the same effect as banging down plates or slamming a door, though Coupland knew better than to let his amusement show.
‘Let’s not row about a stupid comment I made,’ he said.
‘Too right,’ Lynn answered, ramming Peter Rabbit into the basket with more force than was necessary, ‘I mean, we’d be rowing all the time if that’s all it took.’
‘Point taken.’ Coupland looked around the room for something he could help clear away but Lynn’s soft toy genocide had worked its magic and the room resembled once more how it had looked pre-baby days. ‘I don’t know why you’re getting so wound up, it’s not as though Amy threw a wobbler or anything.’
‘She won’t though, will she?’ Task completed, Lynn set the basket down and turned to face him. She looked tired, but then running around after a grandchild did that. ‘She’s not going to show she’s upset because she doesn’t want the confrontation,’
‘Or to lose the free board and lodgings, not to mention on-tap babysitting if she voted with her feet.’
‘Is that what you want?’
Coupland dropped his gaze. All the people he cared about were right under this roof. He couldn’t think of a time he’d been happier. The feeling rattled him; he spent his days treading through families torn apart every day. ‘Of course I don’t,’ his voice was low, as though this admission would tempt fate. They both looked up as Amy reappeared, the baby wriggling red-faced in her arms like a shoplifter avoiding arrest. ‘So much for nap time,’ Coupland quipped, ‘Put Bargain Hunt on, that’ll soon have him out for the count.’
‘I thought you weren’t stopping,’ Lynn said.
‘I’m not,’ Coupland replied as he pushed himself to his feet, squeezing Amy’s shoulder before making his way into the hall. ‘Anyway, I’ve made a decision. Until you decide on something I’m going to call him Tonto.’
Both women stared at him. ‘Who are you, the bloody Lone Ranger?’ Lynn sniped.
‘Feels like it sometimes,’ he answered, eyeballing her. ‘Be nice having a little sidekick about the place.’
As he climbed the stairs he could hear Amy asking Lynn if she’d mind the baby later, Lynn trying desperately to make up for his earlier faux pas by agreeing, even though she was on earlies the next day.
He was towelling himself dry when his phone rang. A number he didn’t recognise. ‘Yes?’ he barked, hoping his tone would make the caller brief.
‘DS Coupland? Sergeant Colin Ross, your union rep. We had a meeting arranged at Salford Precinct this morning. Although I seem to be the only one that’s bothered to turn up.’
Coupland swore under his breath.
Chapter Three
‘So tell me again why you saw fit to head-butt a suspect you were trying to apprehend.’
Coupland’s sigh came up from the soles of his feet. ‘How many times? I’ve already told you. There was a risk Austin Smith was going to evade capture. I had to stop him.’
‘What’s wrong with the conventional methods of detention? I mean, I know it’s been some years since you attended police training but even so…’
‘I could say the same to you if we’re playing that game…’
‘And what do you mean by that?’
Coupland hissed out a breath. ‘When was the last time you had to do any proper policing? I mean, it’s easy for you in your high tower, having a punt at the rest of us. Finding fault, apportioning blame, picking away until the risk to our careers should someone decide to complain is so great we hold back, begin to question ourselves, hesitate that one second too long so instead of a
n arrest we’ve got a dead kid, a battered granny, an old fella knocked unconscious—’
‘—OK I think we can stop it there for now.’
‘Why stop now when I’m just getting started?’
The officer sat opposite him sighed. ‘That’s my point, DS Coupland. Which is why as your federation rep it’s important I help you work through your statement, make your responses during your interview sound a lot less…aggressive.’
Coupland stared at Sergeant Colin Ross, an officer who, if his demeanour was anything to go by, had never crossed the line in his life. ‘For Christ’s sake man I was trying to apprehend someone who didn’t want to be arrested. How do I do that without it becoming aggressive?’
‘But the head butt, Kevin. Was it entirely necessary?’
‘I suggest we call it a day there,’ Superintendent Curtis interrupted. He’d been sitting across the interview room from them, observing, willing his fiery detective to play nice. Roped in at the last minute because DCI Mallender had managed to hot foot it away before Coupland returned to the station, he sent a glare in his direction. ‘We have to be seen to be following through with this, DS Coupland. We need to reassure the public we take their concerns very seriously.’
‘The public don’t give a toss, Sir. Some scrote complains about the way he was detained after playing a part in a little girl’s death? I don’t think so. At best they’d be furious with the waste of taxpayers’ money his complaint is costing; I suspect more of them would be cheering from the side-lines.’
‘But we can’t encourage that type of attitude, Sergeant.’
‘I’m not. I’m just saying that the people who harm kids are scumbags. Pure and simple. The day we have to debate that I’ll pack it all in, go and sell insurance for living.’
The Super closed his eyes. It looked for a moment as though he was counting. He turned to Colin Ross. ‘I’ll have my DCI spend some time with DS Coupland prior to the hearing,’ he offered. ‘See if we can’t get a little contrition in his response.’
‘I’m still here you know… Sir.’ Coupland growled. ‘Have you forgotten that bastard drove little kids around the city to be filmed while they were abused? You want me to act like I’m sorry for breaking his nose? He’s lucky I didn’t—’
‘—As I said, DS Coupland, let’s call it a day. You’re a serving officer of Greater Manchester Police, let’s try to keep it that way. The days of cattle trucks and pitchforks are long gone.’
‘More’s the pity…’ Coupland grumbled. ‘I’m joking!’ he said, hands in the air when he saw the look Curtis threw at him.
‘That’s agreed then,’ Sergeant Ross responded. ‘A time to reflect and regroup.’
Coupland’s jaw clenched as he got to his feet. ‘Jesus wept,’ he muttered once he was safely in the corridor.
*
The head teacher at Meadowvale Primary School did her best to hide her annoyance at having to turn up to school on a Saturday. ‘The council has sent over emergency food packs,’ she sniffed, ‘But It’ll be a different ball game come Monday with the best part of four hundred kids expecting to eat their lunch in here.’
‘And how are the survivors of the fire doing?’ Turnbull asked. ‘Must be a terrible shock for them, learning some of their friends have died.’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ she said, relenting when she saw the look that passed between the detectives. ‘Look, I’m not unsympathetic, of course I’m not. But my first responsibility is to my pupils.’
Best described as a control freak, Miss Flaherty was one of those people destined to teach. Despite her title she wore a wedding band, and there was a tummy bulge too small yet to assume was a baby, large enough to be blamed on too many cakes in the staff room.
‘Our responsibility is to all members of the public,’ Turnbull stated.
Miss Flaherty ignored him, turning to Robinson, ‘Any idea how long this situation is expected to continue? I’d have asked the care home manager but he’s barely shown his face.’
‘He told us he’d meet us here once he’d finished up at the hospital,’ Turnbull answered on behalf of his colleague. ‘They’re fine now by the way, the patients that were kept in for observation. I daresay Mr Harkins may have his hands full for the time being. Besides, I reckon your colleagues at the council are more able to help you in terms of that information. It’ll depend on if any of the residential block at Cedar Falls is considered habitable, and if not, how long it will take to return it to its former state.’
‘Proper little ray of sunshine, this one,’ Robinson piped up at the scowl forming on the head’s face. ‘No good to anyone until he’s had his elevenses; mind you, he has a point though, best checking with the experts…’
Miss Flaherty led them through to a large multipurpose hall with a stage at one end and tables surround by chairs filling the remainder of the room. Residents from Cedar Falls sat huddled in groups, nursing drinks in paper cups, a plate of biscuits had been left in the centre of each table. Several faces looked up when the detectives walked in. A girl with long blue hair rose to her feet to greet them. Only half her hair was blue, the other half remained its natural mousey brown as though she’d got bored half way through the colouring process. ‘I’m Lucy, one of the care assistants; I guess you are the police?’
Turnbull held up his lanyard and made the introductions, when he was done Lucy moved around each table placing her hands on each person’s shoulder as she gave their name.
‘I want to go to my room,’ a woman sat at the front of the group said. Her speech was anxious, hurried; she leaned towards the detectives, a hand pressed against her face hiding her mouth.
‘Soon, Lizzy,’ Lucy responded, ‘we’re just making the beds up.’ She raised her brows at both detectives as she said this. ‘We really need to get them settled somewhere,’ Lucy looked pointedly at Robinson, as though she’d decided he was the one likely to get things done.
‘I’m sure the council will make it a priority,’ he told her, ‘I don’t know any more than you, I promise.’
Lucy hesitated. ‘Have you any news about Barbara?’ she asked, coming to stand beside the detectives. ‘She shouldn’t even have been working; she knocked off hours before. Is she still missing?’
‘We can’t say anything for certain at this stage, she hasn’t been accounted for along with three of your patients, but I must warn you that four bodies have been recovered from the fire. It’s looking likely that you will need to prepare yourself.’
‘Oh, God…’
‘One of the patients taken to hospital didn’t make it,’ Robinson lowered his voice as he said this, ‘Ellie Soden.’
Lucy’s hand flew to her mouth as though she was going to be sick.
‘You here on your own love?’ Turnbull asked, ‘Thought you’d have had a colleague helping as well.’
‘She does,’ said an unshaven man with straggly hair as he held up a hand. He’d been sitting with a group clustered round a neighbouring table. Unlike Lucy he wasn’t wearing a tabard; with his comfortable clothing and unkempt hair he resembled the patients sat either side of him, who were starting to fidget now strangers were in their midst. ‘I’m Bernard Whyte,’ he said, ‘I’m technically Lucy’s supervisor but as you can see she’s an experienced hand.’
Lucy’s smile was forced. ‘They think Barbara’s dead,’ she informed him, forgetting they were not alone.
‘I know,’ said Bernard, ‘but it’s not been confirmed yet, stranger things have happened.’
Turnbull couldn’t think of a set of circumstances he could remember where a person feared dead had turned up safe and sound but he supposed it could happen. Lucy’s supervisor was trying to keep her spirits up, and with good reason. She was a lot paler than when they’d arrived ten minutes earlier. Refusing the offer of tea or coffee she turned to Robinson once more, a quizzical frown replacing her smile. ‘Is it true you think it’s arson?’
‘Where’ve you heard that?’
Lucy shrugge
d. ‘Facebook mainly.’
‘Don’t believe all you’re reading, the investigation’s only just got underway. It’s early days, we’re duty bound to pursue all lines of inquiry.’
‘So why do you want to question me and Bernard?’
‘We’re going to be speaking to all the staff, just routine you understand, starting with those who were on duty. It’ll help us get a better picture of what happened last night.’
‘Told you they think it’s an insurance job,’ Bernard said. ‘You can interview me first,’ he added, ‘I’ll keep you right.’
Turnbull’s initial impression of Bernard was starting to change. He decided he’d be the one to interview this prick.
‘We may need to speak to some of the patients too,’ Robinson told them just as a heavy-set man dressed in an inside out top pushed himself to his feet.
‘I need the toilet,’ he stated, his words slurred around the edges, as though he was on something.
‘Good luck with that,’ Bernard said under his breath as Lucy shepherded the man into the hall.
‘Looks like I’ll be starting with you after all,’ Turnbull said to Bernard, signalling for him to join him at the far end of the dining room, away from flapping ears. ‘We can take it from here,’ he said to the head teacher, letting her know her presence was no longer required.
Bernard pushed his chair back, telling the group sat around his table that he wouldn’t be long. He met Turnbull’s gaze as he approached the table the DC had decamped to, held it longer than was necessary. Some folk did that to make a point, to show that the police didn’t intimidate them regardless of whether they had anything to hide. Turnbull was used to it; his lanky build made people think they didn’t have to watch their step, but policing wasn’t all about brawn. His lack of bulk and quiet manner disarmed people into thinking he was no threat, the epitome of a wooden top. He was a plodder, he held his hands up to that – the world needed plodders to get the job done. But he was no one’s fool.
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