Flesh and Blood

by Emma Salisbury

  Coupland shook his head in answer. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it sunshine,’ he countered. ‘You’re doing a good job of that all by yourself.’ Coupland wasn’t intimidated by the boy and his cronies though he couldn’t be sure they weren’t carrying anything. So much of his job required judgement calls in difficult situations. A daft lad wasn’t going to behave well in front of his pals when he was hungry for their approval. If the kid wanted to play cat and mouse with the constabulary today he’d chosen the wrong cop. Besides, it was a rest day, and he couldn’t be bothered with the paperwork. ‘Go back to your mates,’ Coupland told him, turning away.

  ‘I fucked your mum!’ the boy called after him.

  Coupland stopped. He recalled the times over the years when men that he’d collared – because it was usually men – told him they’d lashed out in anger when provoked, that they hadn’t meant any harm but found it impossible to stop. He of all people knew what it was like to have buttons pressed, to react without thought or care for the consequences. A moment of anger that led to a lifetime of regret. When he moved towards the boy he was smiling, but even so a look of alarm flashed across the kid’s face. Coupland ground his teeth together. Though keeping gob-shites in check was something he excelled at, on this occasion he couldn’t be arsed. If the lad had insulted Lynn or Amy he’d be a skid mark by now but Coupland hadn’t worked out his feelings yet for the woman who’d walked away over thirty years before. ‘I’m gonna give you that one, kid,’ he said amicably, ‘on the house, like, if you get what I mean.’ He was closing in, his hands deep in his pockets to show he was no threat. Last thing he wanted was the woman in the newsagents to look out and see him bearing down on a kid half his size. Even so the boy swallowed hard. He looked to his mates but they’d lost interest, either that or they didn’t fancy their chances. Instead they took turns on a broken scooter one of them had pulled from a skip. ‘You know you can’t go round throwing insults around the place, don’t you?’ Coupland told him, ‘Unless you’re on a death wish?’ The boy’s shoulder’s dipped before he stepped back a few paces. The gap between them restoring his confidence. He threw his head back and grinned at Coupland. ‘Right up the bum!’ he taunted, but Coupland was already walking away.

  Wednesday

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Evidence Management Unit was situated in the basement of Salford Precinct. Coupland used to joke it was where all the tainted goods and relics were kept but on this occasion chose to keep his Smart Alec comments to himself, didn’t want to rub the duo that worked down there up the wrong way. As it was, he found it hard to act nonchalant. He felt as though his forehead had been stamped with the word LIAR across the front of it. It seemed odd that the officer serving him didn’t bat an eyelid at his request, nor did he look at him sideways when his hand shook as he signed his name on the log sheet and again when he picked up the box containing his mother’s worldly goods. If they thought he was quieter than usual, or his lack of banter caused them concern, they hid it well.

  Despite being desperate for a closer look at his mother’s belongings he’d waited until Alex had popped out for some lunch, he didn’t want to face her disapproving frown. She’d listened sympathetically while he told her how he’d broken the news to his sisters, and their positive identification that the woman in the photograph he’d shown them was their mother. ‘I’m sorry Kevin,’ she’d said, and he’d thought for a moment she was offering condolences but the next words out of her mouth included ‘Mallender’, ‘case’ and ‘reassign’.

  ‘Christ, can I have a bit of time to get my head around it?’ he’d asked, promising to keep his direct involvement to the minimum. ‘At least for today. I’ll observe and direct, nothing more.’ Alex had uttered several choice words before agreeing, reminding him that he was putting her neck on the line now, not just his, so he’d better not screw up.

  Coupland shrugged her words away now as he scuttled back to his desk, eyes checking out the detectives milling about as he lifted the box’s lid and began removing the contents one by one. He didn’t want to tamper with the investigation, just do a little personal digging, learn about his mother. Something tangible he could show his sisters, documents that might give some clue to the life she’d been living without any of them in it.

  The box was stuffed with envelopes and receipts, a couple of note pads, greetings cards, a shopping list of groceries. Coupland sighed. Tesco receipts and cinema stubs, a life policy that had long since expired. Nothing to suggest a rock and roll lifestyle, something to justify what she’d left behind. He picked up the photo that had originally caught his attention at Cedar Falls. The gap toothed fat kid holding a toy car up to the camera. She’d kept that photo. Placed it on her wall. She must have seen it every day; did she wonder how he’d turned out? Or did she only picture him as a child in her mind’s eye? Did his fat face staring down at her bring happy memories or guilty ones? Was he a pleasure or a penance? Maybe it was better that he’d never know the answer.

  The phone on his desk buzzed, causing him to jump. He snatched at the receiver, growling his name into it.

  ‘There’s someone here asking to speak to Turnbull or Robinson but they passed this desk about half an hour ago. It’s about the investigation into the fire.’

  Coupland stared at the items on his desk. Thought about the promise he’d made Alex. ‘I’ll be right down,’ he grunted, stuffing the contents back inside the box before sliding his desk drawer shut. He’d signed the chain of evidence log, which meant the clock was ticking. He needed to hand the items back before a flare went up saying they were overdue. First he had to deal with the person in reception. Then he’d come back and look through the evidence box. He’d be fine.

  A pink faced man in reception jumped to his feet as Coupland let himself into the public waiting area. ‘This is Mark Flint,’ said the desk sergeant; the look he sent Coupland conveyed ‘this one’s all yours.’

  ‘I’ve been meaning to come in since I heard about the fire on the radio,’ the man said, ‘then I got a missed call from a DC Turnbull. He left a voicemail on my phone saying he wanted to speak to me, so here I am.’

  Coupland nodded, beckoning with his hand that the man follow him into one of the small interview rooms through a door marked ‘Authorised Personnel only.’

  The man hesitated at the threshold.

  ‘Anything wrong, Mr Flint?’ Coupland asked.

  Flint paused before shaking his head. ‘Can you leave the door open though?’ he asked.

  Coupland narrowed his eyes, wondering if he’d read Reedsy’s tale of police brutality. Coupland had been named and shamed, after all.

  In his late thirties, the man was dressed in a short sleeved patterned shirt and chinos. His hand moved to his mouth while he waited for Coupland’s answer.

  ‘I could get another officer to sit in if you’d prefer?’ Coupland offered, wondering if he should have someone riding shotgun with him for his own protection.

  A look of alarm flashed across Flint’s face. ‘No!’ he said, ‘I’d rather just get on with it.’

  Doing as Flint asked, Coupland waited while he sat down before introducing himself. He kept his voice low, as everything about Flint’s body language suggested he was on high alert, from the way he sat forward in his seat as though ready to run for the hills, to his breathing which was a series of shallow in-breaths followed by an occasional sigh. ‘I take it you have information regarding our investigation,’ Coupland prompted. ‘Is there something you’d like to tell me?’

  Flint swiped a hand across his face before taking a breath. ‘Is it me or is it warm in here?’ he asked.

  The corner of Coupland’s mouth twitched. ‘These rooms have a way of making people feel uncomfortable,’ he said, ‘though in my line of work I’d call that a bonus.’

  Flint said nothing. Back in the day Coupland would have been able to offer him a cigarette to put him at ease, smoke one himself if he thought a touch of camaraderie was required. As it was, the o
nly hospitality he could offer now was coffee from the vending machine in the corridor and the poor sod didn’t deserve that. ‘Why don’t you tell me what’s brought you here today?’ Coupland prompted, hoping Alex’s lunch was a long one and she didn’t come back via the EMU. Someone in the team would be assigned the task of going through the items removed from Barbara Howe’s room; with Coupland’s conflict of interest she may decide to perform that action herself.

  ‘So,’ Coupland said, his gaze shifting to the clock above Flint’s head. ‘Are you here about the fire or your experience of the home?’

  Finally, his question drew a response. Flint nodded, before running his hands along the front of his chinos. They hadn’t been ironed, Coupland noticed, either that or they’d been worn several times since they’d last been washed. ‘I stayed at Cedar Falls once,’ he began. ‘It – it’s not a nice place. In fact, to be quite honest, I’m glad someone set fire to it.’

  Coupland’s jaw clenched; he pushed the sight of his mother’s twisted torso out of his mind. He kept his tone neutral. ‘People were killed, patients as well as a member of staff, no one deserves that.’

  ‘Which staff member died?’ Flint asked; his breathing came easier now, as though he was past the hard part.

  ‘I can’t give out that information yet,’ Coupland said. ‘Until all the next of kin have been informed.’

  ‘No matter,’ Flint replied. ‘The name’ll come out soon enough.’

  ‘Are you here because there’s something you’d like to tell us? I can take a statement from you.’

  Flint shook his head. ‘Things weren’t so bad for me,’ he said, ‘I was only there for a month, so no lasting damage.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ ‘The long-term patients got the worst of it. They don’t have as many visitors, so there’s no one watching over them. The staff could pretty much treat them as they wanted.’

  Coupland reached into his pocket and took out his pad and pen. ‘Mind if I take a few notes?’

  Flint continued to speak, oblivious to Coupland’s request. ‘I spat out my tea in the dining room on my first day. It had been laced with sugar. What is this thing about making people sweet tea? I hate the stuff. Always have. No sooner had I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand than a male orderly pulled me out of my seat and pushed me onto the floor. He pinned my arms back and instructed one of the others to pull my trousers down and inject me with a tranquilizer. I don’t remember anything after that. I woke up hours later on my bed, shivering. Someone had removed my clothes.’

  ‘Did you report this at the time?’

  Flint peered at Coupland. ‘And how do you think that would have worked out? I was suffering from depression; I couldn’t deal with any more stress. I kept my head down; made sure I didn’t rock the boat again.’

  Coupland wrote something in his pad, circling it to follow up later. ‘What was the orderly’s name?’

  ‘I don’t know. He never wore a badge. None of them did, it was fairly lax like that.’

  ‘Would you like to make a statement? We may come across other patients with similar allegations. If enough people come forward we’d be able to make a case against the home, or even individual staff members.’

  Flint laughed, but there was no mirth in it. ‘Good luck with that. Most people won’t want to be reminded of being locked away, it’s a time in your life you’d rather forget.’ He paused, as though something occurred to him. ‘Look, there were two patients there the same time as me who had it much worse. We never spoke of it but something or someone had put the fear of God into them. You can sense it in others when you feel it yourself. They were often subdued, like me they preferred to keep their own company. ’

  ‘Can you remember their names?’ Flint thought for a moment, then nodded, watching while Coupland wrote down what he said.

  ‘I just wanted you to be aware, to have an open mind during the investigation. The fire may not have been started by someone on the outside, that’s all I’m meaning. For all you know it might have been one of those poor bastards on the inside, desperate to get out.’

  *

  Coupland was on his way back to his desk when he collided with DC Ashcroft. ‘I’ve just left a report on your desk, Sarge, I’ve been out to see UB40, Special Brew and Warren Douglas but none of them are saying anything.’

  ‘How are they?’ ‘They’ll live to set something ablaze another day. They might be tight lipped but there’s nothing wrong with their other senses. They’ve got Tunny’s message loud and clear.’

  Coupland considered this. ‘They’ve been reminded what happens when something rattles his cage, they’ll be in no hurry to be on the receiving end when he really wants to teach someone a lesson. If they don’t want to make anything of it there’s nothing we can do to force their hand that won’t end up with us having egg on our faces when they don’t turn up to court.’

  Ashcroft shrugged. ‘Can’t win ’em all…’ he said, ready to continue on his way.

  ‘Where you off to now?’ Coupland asked.

  ‘DS Moreton wants me to go through the evidence brought in from Barbara Howe’s staff quarters, see if anything causes concern.’

  Coupland swallowed. ‘Look, I’ve just had an unexpected visit from someone who stayed at Cedar Falls a couple of years back. I want you to find out how these homes are regulated and what kind of training the staff are supposed to have. Disciplinary procedures too.’

  Ashcroft nodded but still made as if to go in the direction of stairs leading to the station’s basement.

  ‘I need that information sooner rather than later,’ Coupland stated.

  A pause. ‘I’ll just get this action done then—’

  ‘—Then I might as well do it myself.’ Coupland’s tone was sharp. ‘I’ll square it with DS Moreton,’ he added. ‘We need to know what we’re dealing with here, we might have been looking at this the bloody wrong way round.’

  This seemed to garner Ashcroft into action. ‘I’ll get straight onto the Care Commission,’ he said. ‘Find who I need to be speaking to…’

  ‘Good man,’ Coupland called after him, wondering what the hell he could say to Alex that wouldn’t have her seeing through him in five seconds.

  He didn’t have long to find out. Alex was back at her desk when he returned to the CID room but instead of demanding why he’d assigned Ashcroft to another task she beckoned him over to her desk. ‘What was the name of the fella picked up on Friday night after running away from Cedar Falls?’

  ‘Johnny Metcalfe, why?’

  ‘I knew it rang a bell,’ she sighed.

  Coupland narrowed his eyes, ‘How come?’

  ‘I thought it was worth running a check on all the patients at Cedar Falls at the time of the fire. I know the boss wanted histories on the victims but what if they’d just been unlucky, wrong time, wrong part of the building?’ Alex had all the right characteristics of a great detective. She never left a stone unturned and kept meticulous notes. Like Coupland she wasn’t an order taker, not because she was bolshie, but because she was thorough, doing more than was asked. Yet at this moment she looked less sure of herself. ‘I thought it was worth checking the backgrounds of everyone – including the staff,’ she looked away quickly, ‘just to see if anything stuck out like a sore thumb.’

  Coupland kicked himself for the oversight. As designated SIO he should have been all over the case. It should have been him asking her to widen the scope on background checks. Tunny’s sister turning out to be one of the victims had given them a focus, but it had also made him blinkered. And now, with the discovery of his mother, he’d been guilty of a huge blind spot in terms of the investigation. Even now he wanted to ask her what she’d learned about Barbara Howe, but that wasn’t what she was animated about. ‘So, go on then, what did you find out about Johnny?’ he asked instead.

  ‘He was sentenced to three years detention after being convicted of arson.’

  Coupland was already at the door, patting his jack
et pocket for his car keys.

  Alex hurried over to him, mindful not to draw undue attention from the detectives around them. ‘It doesn’t mean he’s guilty of this, Kevin.’

  ‘I know that. But we need to check him out.’

  A pause. ‘I considered not telling you.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘Seriously?’ She gestured his stance with her arms. ‘Because of your reaction. The one you’re trying so hard to hide. This young man might have killed your mother; it’s understandable you want to knock seven bells out of him.’

  Coupland said nothing. After all, she’d pretty much summed up how he was feeling.

  ‘I’ll go and pick him up, Kevin. We need to do this properly. By the book. Do you hear me?’

  Now wasn’t the time to remind her that his involvement in this case made any book she was referring to well and truly redundant. With the Complaints hearing looming what did one more misdemeanour matter? Then he remembered that foolhardiness was the luxury of the single man. That he had a wife, a daughter and now a grandson to consider. There could be no more boat rocking.

  ‘So,’ Alex’s voice was uncertain, ‘will you cool your heels while I bring him in?’

  ‘Fill your boots,’ said Coupland, hurling his car keys onto his desk.

  *

  For the next hour Coupland read through reports then typed up his notes from his interview with Mark Flint. He sent it to Turnbull, asking him to be added to the matrix Krispy had built for them, along with the two names Flint had provided. Coupland didn’t reckon Flint was in the category of bearing a grudge, especially as Johnny Metcalfe was now a person of interest, but it was better to record every incident of abuse as they came across it accurately, in case further complaints came out of the woodwork later on. A thought occurred to him, something that required a call to Turnbull with a polite request. ‘Leave it with me, Sarge,’ Turnbull said, and Coupland knew it would be as good as done.