‘I’ve been expecting you, Mr Coupland, please, sit down,’ Kieran Tunny said, indicating to two men opposite that they give up their seats.
The men jumped to attention. ‘Here you go, Sir,’ one said.
‘Here, Miss,’ said the other.
They might be on opposite sides of the fence but Tunny drilled his gang into showing respect. To their elders, to the police, to anyone he deemed necessary. The way the mouthy guy in the front garden spoke to Coupland marked him out as a recent recruit, but then Coupland already knew that. He put out a hand to indicate the men keep their seats, ‘I’d rather stand, if it’s all the same to you,’ he said, keeping his back close to the wall while counting how many folk there were between him and the nearest exit. It was unlikely they’d come to harm while they were useful; still, manners or no manners it was best to have an exit strategy worked out.
‘Good of you to come in person, Mr Coupland, thought you might have sent one of your flunkies.’
‘I’ve got no beef with you or your family, Mr Tunny; I’m here the same way I would be for anyone else.’
‘She’s dead then,’ Tunny stated.
Coupland paused, letting his silence be the answer. Tunny’s mother started to sob. She was a big woman, round like a Weeble, hefty shoulders heaving up and down. Coupland gave them a moment for the news to sink in, his eyes scanning the room. Several ‘Happy Birthday Nanna’ cards sat atop a sideboard, photos of little cherubs in school uniform beside them. Little cherubs currently serving time in young offenders’ institutions up and down the north of England.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ Coupland began, his gaze resting on a bullet proof vest draped over the arm of a sofa.
‘Thank you, Mr Coupland, we’ll take it from here,’ Tunny said.
‘’Fraid it doesn’t work like that, Kieran, there’s a couple of things I need to clarify.’ Coupland paused. ‘I saw a couple of your wise guys last night, when I was called out to the fire.’
Tunny shrugged, as though he’d been expecting this. ‘By the time I heard about it the blaze was well under way. I knew if I turned up you lot would take your eye off the ball and start dancing around me.’
There was a grain of truth in what Tunny was saying, Coupland conceded, his presence caused a commotion wherever he went. Depending where you were in the city the locals either loved him or hated him. He was the human equivalent to Marmite.
‘My lads couldn’t find out anything from the hospital and the runt who runs the home had his phone switched off.’
Coupland chose his words carefully: ‘When something like this happens we have to be sure of the facts before we can divulge them to the families. Due to the extent of the fire some patients remain unaccounted for. At least Catherine was able to be removed before the fire took hold.’
‘And that’s supposed to bring us comfort?’
‘No, but it means she’s able to be identified, unlike many of the other victims.’
Tunny clenched his jaw, his grip tightening on his mother’s hand. ‘I can do that,’ he said to her, before turning his attention back to Coupland, ‘But right now I want you to leave.’
‘Your sister’s death is now part of a major investigation,’ Coupland cautioned. ‘We’ll need you to answer a few questions—’
‘I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to, Mr Coupland. The day I come running to you lot will be a dark day indeed.’
Coupland refused to be put off. ‘Your cooperation would be appreciated, Mr Tunny, several people have been killed in this fire which we are treating as suspicious.’
‘You’ll make inspector yet with those powers of deduction,’ Tunny said.
Coupland ignored the barb. ‘Can you think of anyone who’d want to get back at you like this?’
Tunny’s gaze swept over his minders before returning to the detectives in front of him. ‘I can think of a dozen men who’d take me out in the blink of an eye if they had the chance, but my harmless little sister? No one would dare.’
‘Someone has though,’ Coupland reminded him. ‘Help me catch them, bring them to justice for you and your family.’ His comment brought sniggers from every direction, though one look from Tunny silenced them. Ma Tunny stared at him, trying and failing to process the information.
‘I’ll be doling out my own form of justice, thank you very much,’ Tunny informed him.
Coupland sighed. ‘To what end though? So another crime is committed? Where’s the sense in that?’
Tunny eyeballed him. ‘It’s about family, Mr Coupland. Flesh and Blood. Respect. Do you know anything about that?’
Coupland pushed thoughts of Lynn, Amy and the munchkin out of his head. Grief made people say things they didn’t mean. He’d lost count of family members hurting over loved ones, threatening to take out whoever had caused their pain. Promises made in the heat of the moment turned out to be wishful thinking at best. Kieran Tunny was a completely different kettle of fish. A stint inside held no fear for him. He would need careful handling. ‘I promise you I will do everything within my power to find whoever did this, but you can’t get in my way.’
Tunny laughed. ‘Do you really think anyone will talk to you? If I put the word out this city will turn deaf and dumb overnight. To you lot, anyway.’
‘I mean it, Kieran,’ Coupland persisted. ‘Leave it to us.’
Tunny ignored him: ‘I hope the person whose done this knows what they’ve started, Mr Coupland,’ his voice dripped with venom, ‘because the way I’m feeling right now I’m even scaring myself.’
*
‘That seemed to go alright,’ Alex said as they walked back down the garden path. Coupland turned in time to see Tunny watching them from the living room window. He pictured the person responsible for the fire looking up at the gangster as they begged for their life. The terror in their face. The slow realisation that it wouldn’t change a thing.
‘We’ll see,’ he answered.
CID room, Salford Precinct Station
Coupland pulled a face as he read through his inbox. There was the usual detritus sent out by the social committee: a round of golf followed by drinks at the country club in Worsley, a drinks reception at The Lowry, a pub quiz, venue to be advised. Funny how alcohol seemed to be the common theme. Even so, a room full of cops making small talk was the last thing he needed. Polite chit chat bugged the hell out of him. He much preferred conversations that were recorded on tape, where both parties knew where they stood. He hit delete and moved on.
There was an email from Colin Ross, asking him to prepare a draft response to Austin Smith’s allegations. His hearing with Professional Standards was at the end of the month, the date in bold and underlined. Coupland copied the details into his electronic diary. Made a post-it note reminder to check his electronic diary more often. Stuck it at the top of his computer screen.
The email below it was an update from Andy Lewis, the DC working the hit and run case. The forensic investigation on the abandoned Mitsubishi had drawn a blank. The victim, James McMahon, had no gangland connections. He worked the night shift in the warehouse of a local sweet factory, had taken the job as it meant he was around to take the kids to school. His wife worked for an insurance company in Manchester’s city centre. Lewis was arranging a press conference for the following day. He’d spoken to McMahon’s widow who was keen to participate. Coupland hit the reply button, asked Lewis if he’d checked her out. From Coupland’s recollection the news of her husband’s death had devastated her, but it didn’t pay to be complacent. He thanked Lewis for his update anyway, and remembering the Super’s words suggested they meet at the end of the week if there hadn’t been any further developments. He pressed ‘send.’ If the wife was clean then they were looking at an accident, but why the cloak of silence?
Lewis’s reply was instant, telling Coupland his comments were noted and reminding him that the updates he’d been sending him were for information only and he didn’t intend taking up more of Coupland’s
valuable time than was necessary. Oh, and of course he’d checked out the widow, but was grateful for his suggestion. Seems Coupland wasn’t the only one who took micro-managing personally. Lewis might as well have replied ‘Go fuck yourself,’ but the difference in rank prevented it.
Coupland’s mobile rang. Cursing, he grabbed it, his mood darkening as he listened to what Ashcroft had to say. ‘The day just gets better and better,’ he sighed, swiping his screen to end the call.
Alex looked up from her computer screen. ‘How come?’
‘Apparently all three arsonists Ashcroft questioned yesterday have ended up in A&E.’
‘What, together? Were they at some sort of Arsonists’ Anonymous meeting that went horribly wrong?’
Coupland shook his head. ‘Each was paid a visit by two men in black, and I don’t mean Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones.’
‘What were they after?’
‘To give them a pasting, by all accounts.’
‘Why them though?’
Coupland gave her a look that conveyed she was being dim. ‘Wakey Wakey, Alex, Tunny’s sister is killed in a fire and three local arsonists are battered 24 hours later. Get a grip.’
‘Has Ashcroft managed to get anything out of them?’
‘I’ll give you three guesses.’
‘Is there any connection to Tunny though, anything obvious?’
‘None that Ashcroft can make out. He reckons he saw a couple of youths lurking while he was doing the rounds.’
‘He didn’t think anything of it at the time?’
‘You start getting twitchy every time you see a kid in a tracksuit, you’re in the wrong job.’
Alex frowned. ‘True. But how would Tunny have found out about them in the first place?’
‘Same as us. We use the Police National Computer but the criminal fraternity have their own database, like Checkatrade only instead of I’m looking for a plumber you type in armed robber or fire starter or whatever else floats your boat.’
‘So Tunny sends out two of his finest henchmen?’
‘Not quite horsemen of the Apocalypse, but near enough.’
‘How serious are the injuries?’
‘Enough to warrant a head CT for Tyson Gemmell and they’re keeping Warren Douglas in for observation.’
‘Do you reckon Tunny thinks all three are involved?’
Coupland shrugged. ‘Christ knows, hedging his bets would be my guess. Hoping those who had nothing to do with it will squeal on the other.’
‘Assuming they know.’
‘Exactly. Ashcroft says they don’t even know each other.’
‘Nothing you’ve told me gives us any reason to suggest Tunny’s involvement.’
‘I know.’
‘You go charging round there and he’ll squeal harassment. You don’t want to make newspaper headlines two days in a row.’
‘You saw it, then.’
‘Everyone’s seen it, Kevin. No one is paying it any attention, mind. Timing could have been better though, what with your hearing coming up.’
‘Tell me about it.’ Coupland hoped his smile was convincing, gave the impression that he couldn’t give a toss. Truth was, however hard he tried to kid onto himself it didn’t matter, the professional conduct hearing was never far from his mind.
*
He would never admit it but it was comforting to come home at the end of his shift to the chaos and clutter of a baby. A welcome distraction. Lynn appeared in the kitchen doorway with her fingers crossed. ‘Just got him down. Need wine.’
Coupland did as he was told and poured her a glass of red, grabbing a beer from the fridge for himself. ‘Where’s Her Nibs?’
‘Off to the cinema with a pal.’
Coupland tugged the ring pull and lifted the can to his lips. Took a long, hard slug. He regarded Lynn as she took a small sip of her wine before slouching against the kitchen unit.
‘You look knackered,’ he sympathised. After a day at work then a full on couple of hours with Tonto it was hardly surprising.
‘Charming!’
‘You know what I mean.’ He thought of Donna Chisholm juggling three full time grandkids and a job. ‘It takes it out of you. That’s all I’m saying. This time around, I mean.’
‘Took it out of me the first time around, if I remember it right.’
She had a point there. Chasing after a baby whatever your age was exhausting. ‘I’ll sort dinner,’ he said, guessing with Amy out for the evening they’d have their hands full.
‘A kebab and chips from the Turkish it is then,’ Lynn smiled.
‘I can go to the supermarket if you’d rather,’ he offered, ‘but the ready meal portions sizes are never enough.’
‘True.’
‘I’ll set the table how you like,’ he added. ‘Put paper towels out and everything.’ He began to set about the task, making a sweeping gesture with his hands when he’d finished.
Lynn raised a brow at him. ‘You know how to show a girl a good time, Kev, I’ll give you that.’ They leaned against the kitchen worktops, facing each other, enjoying their drinks. It was a routine, when their shifts permitted it, that brought Coupland comfort. Like stepping into a decompression chamber before emerging properly into the life they shared.
‘Someone left a newspaper in the staffroom,’ Lynn said. ‘I see that prick has raised his ugly head again.’
Coupland was taken aback to hear Lynn swear, there was certainly no doubting her anger. After all this time together he was touched how quick she was to take his side. Although they rarely spoke about work, it was impossible for individual cases not to seep through the lining of their life. ‘It’ll sort itself out,’ he reassured her, ‘Professional Standards have procedures to follow, they are accountable, just like me.’
Lynn thought carefully before she spoke next. ‘Do you think it was finding out about the baby, you know, that made you act the way you did?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Come on Kev, you know what I mean. When you found out Amy was pregnant you were a bit…difficult to live with for a while, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘“That’s all I’m saying,”’ he quoted back at her. ‘Now’s not the time to pull any punches, Light of my life.’
‘Fine! You were a twat of the highest order while Amy was pregnant.’ She threw him a look. ‘Satisfied?’
That she’d sworn twice in as many minutes? A little. In Coupland’s view there was nothing like a four-letter word to ease you through the day; whether you’d stubbed your toe or had your parking space stolen, certain words summed up the frustration just right. He flashed her a smile. ‘What you mean is I was more of a twat than usual.’
Lynn turned away. ‘You said it, tough guy.’ There was an edge to her voice. The one that warned him to toe the line, that his jokey banter was beginning to wear thin. Truth was, things had been difficult between them for a while. From the time Amy had announced her pregnancy, right up until the birth, all things considered.
‘I was bent out of shape,’ Coupland admitted. ‘Who wouldn’t be? But would I have done things differently?’ He replayed the case he’d been working on when Amy had dropped her bombshell. The human trafficking of Albanians into Salford. A little girl’s body rammed into a sports bag. Austin ‘Reedsy’ Smith, a tampon stuck up each nostril after Coupland had broken his nose. He shook his head at the truth of it. ‘Nah, don’t think I would, love.’
Lynn busied herself pulling salt and a bottle of vinegar from a cupboard above the kettle. He spoke to her back. ‘Look, I was heavy handed – I hold my hands up to that.’ As a result of his actions he was under the microscope at work; his career was starting to mimic José Mourinho’s before he was given the heave-ho by United, but there was no need to worry Lynn about that. The last thing he needed was for Reedsy’s complaint to be upheld. It would be just the ammunition needed for his lawyer to unpick his conviction.
Lynn placed the condiments on the table before finishing her wine. She topp
ed up her glass, asked if he wanted another beer. ‘If it saves you from drinking alone, my love, it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make,’ Coupland smiled, reaching for his mobile, hitting the number programmed into his phone. He ordered two doner kebabs, all the trimmings, chips on the side. Extra chillies on one. Waited while the person on the other end of the phone wrote down his order before reading it back to him. Holding the phone away from his mouth, the look he sent Lynn was sheepish. ‘Am I less of a twat tonight?’
The smile she flashed him was crooked. ‘You’ll find out the answer to that later,’ she answered. ‘If I can stay awake long enough.’
Coupland grinned as he spoke into the phone once more: ‘Hold the extra chillies,’ he instructed, not wanting to spoil the mood.
Monday
Chapter Seven
Morning briefing
The CID room was crammed full of people. Uniformed officers, civilians, detectives borrowed from other investigations, all facing Coupland. More photographs had been added to the whiteboard too. The first was a grainy shot of Roland Masters taken from the garden party photo Turnbull had spotted outside Alan Harkins’ office. The second was a grinning young woman wearing small round spectacles, placed beside the one of her body retrieved from the fire. Coupland pointed to her name beneath it which had been underlined several times.
‘OK, so I’m guessing everyone got the memo that Catherine Fry is Kieran Tunny’s sister.’ A DC at the back of the room raised his hand, ‘I didn’t even know he had a sister, Sarge.’
‘Neither did I. The family have been protective of her over the years, made sure she didn’t get any undue attention. When she was sent to Cedar Falls Tunny had her registered under her mother’s maiden name.’
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