‘You’d be surprised, me and the missus have been known to create a few sparks over the years.’
‘Purleese,’ Alex mock groaned, ‘Let me keep my breakfast down.’
‘Just sayin’,’ Coupland grinned, although his next conversation had him hot under the collar for an entirely different reason.
Krispy held Coupland’s phone out towards him as he returned to his desk. ‘It’s the manager from Cedar Falls, Sarge, he’s in a bit of a state. Reckons there’s someone unaccounted for. A patient by the name of Johnny Metcalfe.’ Coupland snatched the phone from Krispy and growled into the receiver: ‘How come we’re only hearing this now?’
The manager’s voice was several octaves higher than the last time they’d spoken. ‘Johnny’s a bit of an evasive chap,’ he explained, ‘tends to take himself off when the mood arises, his absence didn’t raise any concern at first.’
Coupland pulled at his ear as though he was hearing things. ‘But your staff know how to count, right?’ he persisted.
A pause. ‘Friday’s head count tallied with our patient roll.’
‘Well obviously it didn’t,’ Coupland barked, ‘or else you wouldn’t be calling me now. According to the information you supplied the emergency services believe they carried out a full retrieval. Only now you’re telling me you forgot someone, that because you needed more than ten fingers to count folk off on there could be a patient lying collapsed out of sight somewhere, suffering from burns or smoke inhalation. They could have regained consciousness disoriented, wandered into traffic, in fact the list of possibilities is bloody endless.’ Not to mention the possibility that the death message he and Alex delivered yesterday might have been given to the wrong next of kin. Until each body had been formally identified names couldn’t officially be assigned – apart from Ellie Soden’s and Catherine Fry’s, but Coupland had made an assumption that the three people unaccounted for and the three bodies retrieved from the fire would eventually match up. Another missing patient blew that assumption out of the water. Coupland swallowed at the thought of having to explain this to Superintendent Curtis, or DCI Mallender for that matter. ‘Do you have a photo of this unaccounted for person?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you still have the card I gave you?’
A pause, followed by the sound of paper being shuffled. ‘Yes.’
‘Then email the most recent one through to me. Now.’ Coupland ended the call. Cursing at the top of his voice he moved round to his computer, drummed his fingers on the desk top until an icon appeared on screen telling him he had mail. He opened Harkins’ attachment and pressed ‘print.’
‘Krispy,’ he called out, forwarding the email onto the DC, ‘do me the honours and circulate this round the local hospitals to see if he’s been brought in.’ He moved to the printer to retrieve the photo, glancing at it briefly before folding it and putting it into his pocket. He was heading into the corridor when he stopped in his tracks as though his batteries had suddenly stopped working. He pulled out his phone, tapping into Google until the online newsfeed for Salford Network came up, together with the link to the paused video image he’d seen while waiting in line in the newsagents. He hit the ‘Play’ button. Once more the naked man came to life on his screen as he ran down the street. A drunken prank or running from a crime scene? ‘On second thoughts forget it,’ he called out to Krispy, staring at his phone’s screen as an Asian man waved his sweeping brush at the camera, right up until a squad car pulled up alongside him on the kerb.
*
‘Shame your man didn’t get his head count right two nights ago,’ the custody sergeant said when Coupland slipped the printed-out photograph of Cedar Falls’ missing patient across the desk to him. ‘Poor beggar’s had to put up with the usual weekend frequent flyers, can’t have been easy.’
Coupland nodded in agreement. ‘He was brought in starkers then?’
It was the custody sergeant’s turn to nod. ‘We’ve given him some clothes and the duty doc administered diazepam but to be fair we’ve not had a peep out of him even though it must have worn off hours ago.’ He pointed to a line in the custody register, ‘Sign there and he’s all yours.’
Coupland did the honours, following one of the custody officers through the locked entrance into a corridor of cells. A rhythmic knocking sound came from the cell closest to the entrance. The entry written on the card at the side of the cell door, said Gobshite. ‘Headbanger too, by the sound of it.’ Coupland observed.
The officer nodded. ‘You know what they’re like; he’ll keep doing it until we send him to casualty. He’s getting his wish,’ he shrugged. ‘It’s the Sarge’s wedding anniversary today, promised his wife he won’t be late back on pain of death. He’s requested transport to A&E to get him out of his hair.’
They stopped outside Johnny Metcalfe’s cell. Mindful not to trigger the panic strip as he leaned against the wall, Coupland watched the uniformed officer unlock the cell door before pushing it open. He stood aside when Coupland stepped forward. Johnny was perched on the edge of his cell bed, a frown on his face like a school child waiting to be picked up by a tardy parent. There were dark crescents under his eyes, the hint of stubble on parts of his chin. Coupland approached him with caution. ‘He isn’t dangerous,’ the officer stated, ‘just liable to kick out if he feels cornered.’
‘Aren’t we all?’ Coupland muttered as he stopped in front of the forlorn figure and introduced himself. ‘I’m going to escort you upstairs where you can sign out,’ he said, his voice measured. He managed a smile, kept it in check. ‘Then I’m going to take you back to Mr Harkins.’
The figure dropped his head into his hands and groaned. ‘Can you do me a favour and cut out the crazy horse routine,’ he said, ‘I get enough of that as it is.’
‘Sorry,’ Coupland replied, ‘I didn’t want to alarm you.’
Metcalfe pushed himself to his feet and studied Coupland. ‘By what? Coming up to me and introducing yourself? I’m hardly Hannibal Lecter. I’m not a danger to the public, nor am I doolally.’
Coupland tilted his head. ‘So what was Friday night all about then? Do you often run about starkers? I’m sure we’d have picked it up if you did.’
A pause. ‘No. I just wanted to be left alone.’
‘Why run down through the city naked if you want to be alone? That’s a sure fire way of drawing attention to yourself.’
Metcalfe thought about this. ‘Maybe I did lose it a little bit,’ he conceded.
‘Look,’ Coupland said, deciding to strike while the iron was hot. ‘You’re not under caution,’ he added, glancing at the officer in the corridor, ‘but given you’ve been staying at Cedar Falls and your subsequent disappearance the night a fire breaks out I feel obliged to ask if you know anything about it?’
‘There was a fire.’ It wasn’t so much a question, just a statement.
‘Yes, a serious one.’
‘Did people die?’
‘Yes.’
Metcalfe’s shoulders slumped. ‘Can I go now?’
Coupland pushed on. ‘Why did you run away on Friday evening? Did you know about the fire?’
‘I can’t remember.’
Coupland sighed. He’d need a responsible adult to be present if he was to go any further down that path, and his faith in the care home manager was deteriorating. ‘Come on let’s go.’ He beckoned Metcalfe to follow him. Metcalfe was tall, had to dip his head to leave the cell, but he was wiry. The sweatshirt and jogging bottoms he’d been given swamped him.
‘How long have you been at Cedar Falls?’ Coupland asked as they walked along the corridor. They were on safe territory with that question, it didn’t matter that audio and visual equipment would be recording their conversation, there was no way Metcalfe could incriminate himself by answering.
‘I’m twenty-two now; I was twenty when I was sent there.’
‘And how is it? I mean you know, all things considered.’
Metcalfe shrugged. ‘You m
ean how would I rate it if I was writing a review on Trip Advisor? How would I know? I’m not an expert on residential institutions, you know. Some people get moved around if they don’t settle down and play nice but I’ve stopped fighting the system a long time ago, no point.’
‘What about your family?’
‘What about them?’ Metcalfe shrugged. ‘They come and see me when they can. They make the right noises, to be fair, ask the same questions in bored little voices, I mean, they only really get animated when visiting time is over, it takes a lot of effort to keep the relief from their eyes, but it’s there all the same.’
They’d reached the custody desk, waited while the sergeant found the entry on his computer and updated it. He slid the register across the counter top. ‘Sign here please, and I’ll just get your belongings.’
‘I thought he came in starkers?’ Coupland asked.
‘He was wrapped in a blanket.’
‘It isn’t mine,’ Johnny told them. ‘It belongs to the man in the shop.’
Coupland remembered the Asian man wielding a sweeping brush in the video. The off licence was on Pendlebury Road, one of the few remaining open-all-hours shops that hadn’t been replaced by a Tesco Metro. He held out his hand to take the plastic bag containing the blanket from the custody sergeant. ‘I’ll return it, it’s on my way home.’
A commotion saw Gobshite being led from the custody suite flanked by two officers, a smile like a coat hanger had been rammed in his mouth. ‘Told yer you couldn’t keep me here,’ he snarled, a bloody gash on his head where he’d hit it against the cell door repeatedly. ‘S’against my European rights.’
‘Back of the net for Brexit,’ the Custody Sergeant muttered as he processed his transfer to Salford Royal. ‘Scribble here,’ he said, pushing the log book across the counter, his finger pointing to the space where a signature was required. Coupland sneaked a peek at the offence that had brought the boy in. Breach of the Peace. No big deal in the grand scheme of things, yet the kid seemed hell bent on making a drama where none existed. Some thrived on the adrenaline rush from having a run in with the police, didn’t matter the reason.
‘What you lookin’ at?’ the gobshite yelled at him. Coupland raised an eyebrow in the boy’s direction but said nothing. Being yelled at by angry punters came with the territory; it faded into the background like white noise.
‘C’mon,’ he said to Metcalfe. ‘Let’s get you back.’
The wind had picked up, causing Metcalfe to shiver as he followed Coupland to his car. ‘Soon have you home,’ Coupland said, wincing at his faux pas.
‘It’s OK,’ Metcalfe said, turning to him. ‘I know how you meant it.’ He climbed into the passenger seat, trying to avoid the empty sandwich cartons and cans of diet coke discarded in the car’s footwell. Like its owner, Coupland’s Mondeo had seen better days, but it was reliable and he knew it like the back of his hand. It was an extension of himself, a mini office come canteen, even served as an interview room on occasion. He forgot how it must look to regular folk, who used their cars simply to get from one place to another.
‘Did you always want to be a policeman?’ Metcalfe asked. Coupland’s mouth turned down at the corners as he mulled it over. ‘Well… United had just signed Giggs so I was all out of options.’ He thought some more. ‘I suppose I always expected I’d go into the Force. My old man was a cop and I reckoned since they’d let him in it couldn’t be that difficult. What about you?’
A shrug. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed I’m not exactly what you’d call employee of the month material.’
‘Why is that?’ Coupland had been told what state Metcalfe had been in when he was brought in, and had read the duty doctor’s notes, but couldn’t see any evidence of the agitated young man he seen on the tabloid newspaper’s website. ‘What are you like when you’re not running about the place stark bollock naked?’ he asked, ‘The duty doctor’s report said something about learning difficulties.’
Metcalfe nodded. ‘I have a problem processing things apparently. I mean, I’m oblivious to it, but that’s what I’ve been told. It impacts my reasoning, memory and attention,’ he added, counting them off on his fingers. ‘Basically, when it all gets too much I tend to lose the plot.’
‘That sums up most of my clientele,’ Coupland replied.
‘You said you expected you’d be a cop because your dad was,’ Metcalfe commented, ‘but what made you want to do it?’ Coupland hesitated. To tell this lad the truth would be to admit to his biggest failing, something he hadn’t acknowledged, even to himself, in all his years as a serving officer. ‘I suppose I like putting things right,’ he said, which was as close to the truth as he was prepared to go.
Johnny’s attention had moved to the CD cases wedged down the side of the passenger seat. ‘I can put some music on if you fancy?’ Coupland offered.
The boy leaned forward to flick through the compilations on Coupland’s CD multi-changer. The Stone Roses, Oasis, James. ‘Don’t you have anything more up to date?’
‘I’ve got some Ian Brown stuff in there.’
A tut. ‘I mean like Sam Smith and Calvin Harris.’
Coupland sucked air through his teeth. ‘You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?’ He chose Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds. Everybody’s on the run. Tapped his fingers on the steering wheel when the track came on. Halfway through he looked across to see Johnny was leaning back in his seat, eyes closing. ‘I can take a bloody hint you know,’ he said, flicking the radio back on when the track had ended. George Ezra’s Shotgun had reached its first chorus. ‘I quite like this one,’ he admitted.
‘Me too.’
Coupland glanced at his companion, clocked the relief now he was listening to someone from his own generation. Grinning, he turned the radio up loud and put his foot down.
*
The care home manager was waiting outside the primary school’s entrance as Coupland pulled up to the kerb. ‘He doesn’t like me,’ Johnny muttered.
‘How do you know?’
‘I just do. You can tell these things can’t you? In the pit of your stomach, I mean. Not like I care, though. It’s only a problem if you want to be liked. If you keep flogging a dead horse when there’s really no point.’
‘He treats you OK though?’
A shrug. ‘I suppose.’
Coupland climbed out of his car and stepped round to the passenger door to hold it open. ‘Best get this over and done with then, eh?’
‘You’ve had us all worried, young man!’ Harkins said as soon as Johnny was in earshot. So worried no one noticed he was missing till an hour ago, Coupland thought, making him wonder if Johnny’s assessment of Harkins’ attitude towards him was spot on, after all. They followed Harkins into the school, along a corridor towards double doors leading into the dining hall.
Coupland tapped him on the arm as he reached to push open the door. ‘If I can have a word…’ he said, indicating with a nod of his head that it was to be in private.
‘Of course,’ Harkins turned to Johnny and ushered him in. ‘I’ll be with you shortly,’ he said, watching as Johnny slouched into the dining hall.
‘Can’t wait,’ Johnny muttered, raising a hand in acknowledgement to a girl with blue hair.
Harkins turned to Coupland, his mouth forming a smile that didn’t make it to his eyes. ‘I’ve already had to hot foot it over to the office this morning because two of your officers insisted they wanted to speak with me there, then when I arrive they go on about payments into my bank account and demanding access to files. I’ve got to say I’m not too happy with what they were inferring.’
‘Only doing as they were told,’ Coupland replied. ‘I’m sure they appreciated your co-operation.’
Harkins didn’t look convinced. ‘Not sure there’s much more I can help you with, to be honest, short of going out and catching whoever did this myself.’
Coupland cocked his head. ‘Is that so? How about you start off with an abacus first. Teach yo
urself how to count.’
Harkins bristled. ‘For God’s sake these were exceptional circumstances. You have to understand it was chaos that evening. I’m not surprised—’
‘—Not surprised someone went off your radar for nearly 48 hours? Or not surprised that a patient can walk out of your building without anyone realising? The log book back at the station shows Johnny was taken into custody half an hour after the fire alarm was sounded. Nobody had missed him at that point, nor when a register was taken during the evacuation. Fire procedures are put in place for that very reason. Procedures you claim you took a lot of time over. You can see why I’m a bit confused, can’t you?’
If Harkins had an answer to this he didn’t share it. He shifted from one foot to another like a naughty schoolboy, or a schoolboy who needed the toilet.
‘How can his absence go unnoticed?’ Coupland persisted. Harkins stared at his feet. ‘Can you show me a copy of the register you used on the night of the fire?’
Harkins lifted his phone from his pocket, began tapping to locate an electronic file. Satisfied, he handed the phone to Coupland who was already waving his hand away.
‘I don’t want a generic copy,’ Coupland said, barely glancing at it. ‘I want to see the one that was used on the night.’
Subdued, Harkins pushed open the dining hall door, beckoning Coupland to follow. He located a canvas holdall that had been placed out of harm’s way on the stage. He forced his lips into a smile as he opened the bag, as though being pleasant might make the detective overlook what he was certain he would find. ‘I thought I’d bring a few things over for them,’ he explained, nodding in at the bored looking patients sitting around on plastic chairs. ‘Items which will hopefully make staying here a little more comfortable. At least until we find somewhere suitable.’
Coupland peered over Harkins’ shoulder; instead of beer and takeaway menus and a shed load of chocolate there were DVDs, a couple of blankets and own brand toiletries from the local Tesco.
‘I’m sure they’ll appreciate it,’ Harkins muttered when it was clear Coupland wasn’t playing ball.
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