Coupland took the clipboard Harkins lifted from the bag. On it was the list of patients’ names typed onto a sheet of A4 paper. He scanned down the list. Most names had a tick against them to show they had been evacuated from the fire. Four names remained unticked:
Sarah Kelsey
Roland Masters
Catherine Fry
Ellie Soden.
Coupland squinted as he read down the register once more. Johnny Metcalfe was not on the list.
Just then Coupland’s phone rang, its shrill ring making Harkins practically jump out of his skin. Coupland snatched it from his pocket. Turnbull’s name came up on the screen. He hit ‘Decline’.
‘Hold on.’ Coupland nodded in Johnny’s direction. Johnny was chatting animatedly to the blue haired woman, who was brushing an older woman’s hair. ‘Why’s his name not here?’
Harkins pulled a face which suggested it was news to him but Coupland shook his head.
‘Don’t give me some clap trap that it isn’t your job – you’re in charge, you’re responsible.’ He waited while Harkins imitated a fish out of water, his mouth opening and closing but nothing of any sense coming out. ‘Time’s up mate,’ he sighed, stomping past Harkins and toward the woman Johnny was talking to, holding the clipboard out to her. With his other hand he pointed to Johnny. ‘Why’s he not on this register?’ he demanded.
Lucy knotted her eyebrows as she glanced at Harkins before looking at the list, ‘The boss must have had new ones typed up,’ she answered, dropping her gaze. ‘I hadn’t realised that when I grabbed the sheet from his desk when the fire alarm started. I was following procedure. If the alarm goes off you evacuate the building and carry out a roll call.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question,’ Coupland persisted. ‘Why had his name been removed from the list?’
Lucy turned so she was facing away from Johnny. She dropped her voice. ‘He’s leaving us at the end of the week.’
Johnny’s head shot up. ‘Am I?’
‘We hadn’t got round to letting him know,’ Lucy sighed. ‘Sometimes it’s easier that way. Less disruptive.’
Harkins, who’d been lurking in the background while Lucy dropped the bombshell, decided to step forward. ‘He’s been getting more and more restless. Refusing to engage with staff, getting agitated, causing problems with the other patients.’
‘And talking about me like I’m not here really helps,’ Johnny said.
Coupland turned to Harkins. ‘And that’s the reason to send him away, is it? Because he doesn’t conform? Doesn’t it prove he needs help?’
Lucy wrapped her arms around her middle, ‘Look, I just do as I’m told at the end of the day…’
Harkins spoke up once more, his tone suggesting an authority his body language lacked. ‘Disruptive behaviour can impact the other patients, unsettle them, then they complain to their families and they in turn complain to us…’
‘So he’s an inconvenience, then,’ Coupland said, his tone making the word seem obscene. ‘Just so long as someone deemed less of a handful comes along and you still get your fee, I suppose there’s no reason why you’d give a toss. It’s all about bums on seats. Or fragile minds on couches, Ka-ching…’ There was nothing to be gained hanging around; he’d learned nothing other than Harkins was a mediocre manager with woefully inadequate admin skills. Didn’t mean he was guilty of arson.
‘Told you he didn’t like me…’ Johnny mumbled as Coupland turned to leave.
‘If it’s any consolation I don’t think he’s that keen on me either,’ Coupland replied. ‘Besides, you might be better off somewhere else,’ he added, throwing a glare in Harkins’ direction. ‘But in the meantime you need to stay here, where…’ He turned to the blue haired woman and the hippy standing beside her.
‘Lucy and Bernard,’ the woman added for him.
‘Yeah.’ Coupland nodded his thanks. ‘Where Lucy and Bernard can look after you.’
‘And me,’ added Harkins, a beat too late, ‘I’ll look after him too.’
‘Whatever,’ Coupland growled before heading to the door.
*
Shafiq Ahmed was surprised to see a detective from Salford Precinct Murder Squad waiting for him by the off licence counter. ‘I thought my son was winding me up,’ he panted, ‘I was out the back of the shop putting out rubbish, is anything the matter?’
‘Not at all,’ said Coupland, holding up his warrant card while introducing himself. He placed the plastic bag containing the blanket Mr Ahmed had given Johnny Metcalfe on the counter top. Mr Ahmed took it, nodding as he did so. Coupland retrieved Johnny’s photograph from his pocket, held it up for Mr Ahmed’s inspection. ‘So, this is the boy that was here?’ he asked. Coupland nodded, ‘Have you seen him in your shop before?’
‘Not that I remember. I mean, you only pay attention to the trouble makers, don’t you? And we have plenty of them.’ He pointed to a camera mounted on the wall behind him. ‘I have CCTV and tapes which I keep for a month before I re-use them, I could look through them if you like, see if he’s been here recently.’
‘There’s no need,’ Coupland said. ‘I just wondered if there was a reason he ran into your shop, whether you or your son knew him.’
Ahmed shook his head, ‘Like I said to the officers who collected him at the time, I hadn’t seen him before, or if I had he’d never done anything to draw attention to himself.’
Coupland looked out of the shop window to the street beyond, row upon row of red brick terraced houses interlinked by ginnels. Ahmed’s off licence doubled as a grocers, was likely the first shop Metcalfe had come across that was open at that time of night. Coupland placed his card on the counter top before turning to leave. ‘If you think of anything later that might be relevant please give me a call.’
‘The young man is alright though?’ Mr Ahmed asked.
‘He’s fine,’ Coupland said, ‘back where he belongs.’
The shopkeeper thought about this, a frown forming on his face. ‘Given he ran away from this place without waiting to dress himself, I doubt that’s how he sees it, detective sergeant, don’t you?’
*
Krispy walked into the CID room to find Turnbull and Robinson elbow deep in case files collected from Cedar Falls. Alan Harkins had baulked at first but they’d convinced him that cooperating with the police in their enquiries looked far better to insurance companies than claimants resisting every step of the way. Harkins had complied, albeit with a face like thunder, allowing them to take what they wanted. Krispy peered at Turnbull over the mountain of files cluttering his desk. ‘I can give you a hand if you like,’ he offered. ‘Create a quick database, put in the information contained in the files and run a few queries to pull out the patient names that match what you’re looking for.’
Relief flooded Turnbull’s face.
‘Nice one,’ Robinson said gratefully, ‘I’ll owe you one, kid.’
‘Just need to check something on this CCTV then I’m all yours.’ Krispy beamed, referring to the tapes he’d collected from Salford Royal’s A&E.
*
Ashcroft rang the doorbell and stood back. It was opened by UB40’s father, still wearing yesterday’s clothes if the creases and sweat stains were anything to go by. ‘Finally!’ the man sniped, his lip curling, ‘Funny how when the shoe’s on the other foot you take your time coming out.’
Ashcroft’s brow creased. ‘Sorry? I don’t get you?’
‘I know he’s been a thorn in everyone’s backsides all these years but he didn’t deserve this.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘What do you mean “what’s happened?” I got on to you lot when he dragged himself home last night, practically passed out on the doorstep. Beaten up, he was. Jumped on by a couple of lads. I took him down the hospital myself. They said they’d have to report it, that someone would come and speak to him straight away. They’re moving him onto a ward this morning, I’ve only come back to get him some clean clothes. His mother’
s still down there, going out of her mind, she is.’
‘This is the first I’ve heard about it,’ Ashcroft said. ‘Does he know who it was?’
‘He didn’t know what day of the bloody week it was when he fell through the front door last night, let alone anything else.’
Ashcroft scratched his head. ‘Look, it’s likely being dealt with by uniformed officers, but there’s no harm in me paying him a visit. If you’re quick about it I can give you a lift.’
*
Ashcroft waited at the reception desk with UB40’s father while the A&E receptionist typed in Tyson Gemmell’s name. He’d put a call through to the control room but the information mirrored what UB40’s father had told him, that the assault had been reported after the casualty had arrived at the hospital, uniformed officers had been dispatched but had been diverted to an incident on the other side of town. A follow up call over the radio confirmed they were now en route.
‘They’ve moved him to the Acute Admissions Ward,’ the receptionist told them, pointing to a lift beyond the nurses’ station. Ashcroft made his way towards it, almost colliding with a pitiful figure clutching an arm in a sling.
‘Sorry mate,’ Ashcroft said, his gaze moving from the arm to a face that even swollen looked familiar. ‘Is that you Darren? Christ, what the hell happened to you?’
Special Brew grimaced showing newly broken teeth. ‘Got on the wrong side of a baseball bat, didn’t I? Wouldn’t mind but it was my own,’ he lisped.
‘Any idea who it was?’
Special Brew moved his head from side to side causing him to flinch. ‘No, but it wasn’t random.’
‘Why do you say that?’
He stared at Ashcroft as though he was being particularly dim. ‘They came round to my house, didn’t they? In fact, not long after you left.’
Ashcroft turned to UB40’s father. ‘I’ll catch you up, I need to make a phone call.’ He pulled out his phone, his finger pausing mid-air as something occurred to him. Two calls would be necessary, he decided. No point ringing the boss without gathering all the facts first. He pulled out his notebook and tapped Warren Douglas’s number into his phone. Waited while it was answered.
*
Coupland was mulling over Mr Ahmed’s words as he logged into his computer, moving the mouse around with one hand while downing what was left of a takeaway coffee with the other. It was clear Harkins didn’t have much time for Johnny Metcalfe, and according to the care assistant he’d spoken to there had been enough incidents to warrant Metcalfe’s transfer to another home. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that the dislike was mutual, in which case Metcalfe’s whereabouts prior to the fire starting needed to be clarified. He made a note on his pad.
Alex entered the CID room making a beeline for Coupland when she saw him at his desk. ‘Turnbull called while you were out,’ she told him.
Coupland recalled hitting the ‘decline’ button when the DC had called him while he’d been speaking to Alan Harkins. ‘Did he leave a message?’
A nod. ‘He wanted to update you following his visit to Cedar Falls.’
‘Whatever he and Robinson said rattled him; when I took the lad who’d absconded back to him he got all defensive, moaning about the level of attention he was getting from us.’
‘I’ve a feeling that attention’s going to intensify.’
Coupland glanced up at her sharply, ‘How come?’
Alex looked serious. ‘When Turnbull asked him about Stannis Holdings he gave them some rubbish about it not being unusual for company owners to use their business accounts to pay for relative’s care home fees. Turnbull wasn’t buying it, though, said Harkins looked shifty as hell.’ Alex pulled her phone from her bag, began tapping and scrolling. The look on her face told him he wasn’t going to like what she had to tell him one little bit.
‘So?’ Coupland leaned towards her so he could take a look at what had caused frown lines to form across her forehead.
‘Krispy looked up Stannis Holdings like you asked. The company is owned by Kieran Tunny.’
Coupland felt the familiar tingle when they discovered a lead, followed by the familiar dread when this particular name was mentioned. ‘Oh, you have got to be kidding me,’ he said, trying to process the information. ‘Nice work,’ he called over to Krispy who could barely be seen behind a stack of files.
‘I’m helping DC Turnbull,’ Krispy informed him when he saw Coupland staring at the papers on his desk.
‘I trust you’ve cleared your own work first,’ Coupland checked.
Krispy nodded. ‘I’ve looked through the CCTV footage from the hospital reception, Sarge, although the faces are blurred the youths captured on film are wearing the same clothing worn by the youths in the crowd at Cedar Falls. I’ve blown up a still from both clips and emailed them to you.’
Coupland nodded his thanks. Kieran Tunny was well known for his army of teenage foot soldiers; he recruited them young, liked to instil his values from an early age. ‘What the hell does he have to do with this, though?’ he muttered.
Alex pushed her phone towards him to show him a photograph on her screen. ‘Turnbull took this while he was waiting for Harkins to arrive. It’s a photo of the reception area outside his office.’
Coupland could make out a small table and a couple of chairs, several framed photos on the wall behind them. ‘I take it it’s the photos on the wall I’m interested in?’ He was already enlarging the shot so he could see more.
‘Hang on,’ said Alex, taking the phone from him so she could do the honours. ‘Here.’ She handed it back to him. The framed photo at the centre of the wall had been made to fit the size of Alex’s screen. Coupland looked at the sea of blurred faces. ‘It was taken at a garden party the care home holds every year for its patients and their families,’ Alex explained. ‘Turnbull recognised Tunny straight away but asked Harkins to name all the people in the photograph to be sure.’
‘Christ, without any prompting? What is the world coming to?’ Coupland’s gaze fell onto a heavy set man with a shaved head. He wore large glasses reminiscent of the eighties, and the kind of suit an investment banker would wear, only this was no investment banker. His face might be blurred but it was easy to make out the gold rings the size of knuckle dusters and heavy bracelets on each wrist. This was Kieran Tunny alright, one of Salford’s most notorious crime bosses, and there he was posing for the camera, large as life, his arms snaked protectively around a petite woman with Down’s syndrome. The same woman whose beaming smile stared down at them from the incident board. Coupland frowned as he looked from the photo to Alex. ‘Catherine Fry is Tunny’s sister,’ she told him.
Chapter Six
For all the money he turned over from robberies and drugs Kieran Tunny had stuck to his roots, buying up homes on the Salford street he’d grown up in and moving in family members. If he wanted a house and it wasn’t for sale he made an offer to the owners they couldn’t refuse. His brothers and cousins lived on the same street, his mother and aunties on the one round the corner.
The street Ma Tunny lived on was like any other. Red brick terraced properties with back yards leading onto a ginnel. It was the henchmen that set it apart, wide men in imitation Crombies, hands clasped at their fronts like footballers defending a free kick. They didn’t block the road; they didn’t need to. No vehicle dared to enter without their say so.
‘Do you think this is wise?’ Alex asked. ‘Coming to see Tunny’s mother, I mean?’
‘She’s entitled to be treated like any other next of kin,’ Coupland reminded her. ‘Don’t want the family accusing us of unfair treatment.’
‘You sure you’re not looking for any excuse to get into the inner sanctum?’
Coupland thought about this. The relationship between Tunny’s family and GMP was acrimonious; dozens of cases taken to the CPS every year were dismissed for lack of evidence, those that made it to trial collapsed as quickly as the witnesses in the run up to it. Coupland didn’t like
the word untouchable, it implied someone was beyond justice which went against everything he stood for, but he conceded Kieran Tunny was one hell of a lucky bugger.
Coupland acknowledged two men approaching his car and lowered his driver’s window. ‘Your boss knows why I’m here,’ he said, thinking of the hoodies standing in the crowd by the cordon at Cedar Falls, and again later the stand-off with the WPC at the hospital. Small boys kicked a ball up and down the road. The man closest to Coupland nodded before moving towards them, making a shooing motion with his arms. The boys parted, forming a gap just wide enough for Coupland’s car to pass through. They were miniatures of the older men, stocky and mean looking. ‘It’s like going on safari,’ Coupland muttered as he kept his speed low. In his rear view mirror he saw one of the men reach for their phone. Coupland didn’t need to wonder whether Tunny would be at his mother’s home, the three youths perched on the low brick wall in front of the property signalled his presence. Coupland rummaged in his pocket and pulled out the CCTV stills Krispy had emailed him. ‘If it isn’t them it’s their evil twins,’ he said, holding the images for Alex to see. They’d been horsing around when Coupland’s car approached, pushing and shoving each other, drumming their knuckles into the skinniest boy’s scalp. They stopped as Alex climbed out of his car, their attention moving to Coupland when he slammed his driver’s door shut. Coupland caught the eye of one of them and stared.
‘Do you know ’im?’ a fat lad asked, slipping his hand into his joggers to have a good scratch.
‘Nah,’ the youth replied, ‘Maybe he fancies me.’
The youths sniggered as Coupland pushed open the gate, their attention turning to Alex as she followed close behind.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ warned Coupland, sending a glare in their direction.
‘I can speak up for myself you know,’ Alex hissed as the front door was opened by a man who wouldn’t have looked out of place on the door of a nightclub. They stepped into a small front room made smaller by the number and size of people in it. Two draylon settees arranged around a coffee table covered in cups. Wooden chairs had been carried in from the kitchen beyond. Coupland recognised some of the faces sat around, family members who’d been pulled in over the years; several of the men had served time. They sat grim faced, attention turning to the detectives as they walked into the room. Ma Tunny sat on the smaller of the settees, her eldest son beside her, holding her hand.
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