Coupland rubbed at the base of his back that was starting to ache. He glanced down at his own notes but the questions were already formed in his head. ‘I want you to tell me where you were when the fire broke out.’
‘I’ve told your colleagues this already – I was in the office doing paperwork. The alarm sounded in the main building and I rushed over to see what I could do.’
‘Where did you go first?’
‘Flames had already taken hold on the first floor but I went upstairs anyway. I found Catherine Fry in her room but she was unconscious. I tried to lift her but she was too heavy, so I dragged her downstairs and out to the assembly point at the front of the building. Lucy was looking after some of the patients she’d evacuated and I asked her to stay with Catherine until the emergency services arrived. By then the fire had spread along the landing and there was no way I could go back up for anyone else. I concentrated my efforts removing patients in the communal area on the ground floor.’
Coupland regarded the off-white bandage on Harkins’ left hand. ‘Can you remember where you were when you sustained your burns?’
‘To be honest no, it’s all a blur.’
‘So you can’t be certain whether it was going upstairs when you first heard the alarm or coming downstairs with Catherine?’
‘That’s what I just said!’ Another sigh.
Alex made a point of looking at her watch but Coupland had already decided to wrap it up.
‘We’ll be in touch if there’s anything else,’ he said, getting to his feet.
Alex waited until Coupland had despatched Harkins back to reception before summing up the interview as they made their way back to the CID room. ‘He’s completely inept but he’s no arsonist, Kevin. I reckon he’s that useless if he did try setting anything alight it would most likely be himself.’
‘He did suffer burns though.’
‘True, but the type of injuries that arsonists sustain tend to be on their legs where they’ve spilled accelerant on themselves while splashing it around.’
‘He’s shifty.’
‘No more than anyone else. Look, shall I go ahead with bringing Johnny Metcalfe in? Till we get a proper alibi we can’t rule him out.’
Coupland pulled a face. ‘Let’s see what Ashcroft and Krispy dredge up first, there may still be other contenders.’
‘What is it with Metcalfe? Apart from your spider senses telling you he couldn’t have done it.’
Coupland smiled but the truth was Alex wasn’t far off the mark. Thinking the worst of people was his default setting, and he took no pleasure in being proved right. But finding out someone who’d passed through his filter was guilty was like a sucker punch, made him question his judgement on every level. Still, on this occasion he was certain he was right.
Alex let out a sigh. ‘Fine, have it your way. I’ll leave Metcalfe alone but this is a postponement, nothing more. Pending Ashcroft and Krispy’s report, OK?’
They stopped at the vending machine while Coupland fished in his pocket for the appropriate change. Alex declined his offer of three fifty pences. ‘I’m bringing in my own drinks, now, green tea in the morning and kale smoothies during the afternoon.’
Coupland’s eyebrows knotted together. ‘Why?’
‘It’s called looking after yourself, Kevin, you should try it sometime.’
Coupland inserted his money and selected an espresso.
‘Baby keeping you awake?’
‘Hardly. I’m never there when the little bugger’s up. He’s usually spark out by the time I get home. Not sure he even knows who I am.’
‘Then take time to let him get to know you. He’s been bonding with Amy from the moment he was born and I bet Lynn was by his incubator every break she got while he was in hospital. Then the poor mite comes home to find you glaring down at him. In fact, come to think of it, it’s probably better he is asleep when you’re around, you can be abrasive at times.’
‘Good, it’s a skill that’s taken me years to fine tune. Would hate to think I was losing my touch. He needs to take me as he finds me.’
‘If you say so.’ Alex moved to one side to let a DC pass by.
It was Andy Lewis, the detective handling the hit and run case. He caught Coupland’s eye and nodded.
‘Have you got a minute?’ Coupland asked him. ‘Only the Super’s breathing down my neck for an update.’
Another nod. ‘A witness has finally come forward, I’m on my way to interview them – you can ride shotgun if you like.’
*
If DC Andy Lewis was hacked off at Coupland accepting his invitation to tag along he did a good job of hiding it. He’d suffered from alopecia since his police training days, his shiny pink scalp earning him the nickname Cueball the moment he transferred to Salford Precinct. ‘I got a call about an hour ago from a woman claiming she’s got some information,’ Cueball said as he manoeuvred the pool car out of the station car park. ‘Says she saw the appeal on TV and couldn’t stay quiet any longer. Wouldn’t say anything else over the phone.’
‘What’s her name?’
‘Shelley Martin.’
‘Have you checked her out?’
‘Did a PNC check which drew a blank. Not had time to do anything else, spent most of the day reading through transcripts of the calls that came through to Crimestoppers, what a waste of bloody time that was.’
‘Cranks?’
‘And not even a full moon in sight.’
‘So, where are we meeting her?’
‘Beside the burger van off Regent Road.’
‘And this is your best lead?’
‘By a mile. I’m getting pissed about by everyone I speak to, to be honest. There’s nothing coming up on the PNC for the victim, no history however insignificant. If this is gang related I can only think it’s a case of mistaken identity.’
‘You think this woman’s genuine?’
A shrug. ‘What have I got to lose?’
It could be a trap, Coupland supposed. It wouldn’t be the first time an officer had been lured to an address on the promise of information only to be given a going over by some thug hell bent on revenge. The invitation to tag along made sense now. Safety in numbers and all that.
Cueball steered the car through tea-time traffic, turning into a retail park at the next set of lights, pulling up outside an Argos Superstore. The burger van was open for business. A sign at the side of the road offered a meal deal: a quarter pounder and coke with a Mars bar thrown in for £2. Coupland’s stomach rumbled at the smell of fried onions but his kebab the other evening had been his ‘sin’ for the week. He’d make do with a ham roll and a fag when he got back to the station.
The woman flipping burgers eyed them as they got out of the car. Watched as they’d removed their jackets and lanyards, trying hard not to look like cops waiting to meet an informant. ‘That’ll be four pounds love,’ she said, transferring two burgers onto polystyrene trays before holding them out to the bewildered detectives. ‘No one’ll bat an eyelid you being here while you’re filling your faces.’
‘You’re Shelley then,’ Cueball said, causing the woman to roll her eyes.
‘No wonder you’ve not got a bloody suspect yet,’ she said, waiting while they took their burgers and fished about in their pockets for change.
‘I’ll need a receipt,’ Cueball stated, making Coupland groan.
‘I’ll get ’em,’ he sighed, slapping four pound coins on the van’s counter, wondering if there was a compensation scheme for officers whose arteries had clogged up in the line of duty. Shelley Martin was stick thin with a drooping jawline. She obviously never ate what she cooked in the van, Coupland thought, nor did she get much daylight, given the pallor of her skin. She wiped her hands down the front of her faded pink tabard, eyes darting left and right while the detectives bit into their grub.
‘If you don’t want to risk being seen talking to us why did you not tell me what you know over the phone?’ Cueball asked between mouthfuls.
Coupland stayed silent as he chewed, trying to think of the last time he’d had a burger. This was surprisingly good, all things considered.
‘Because I need you to do something for me in return,’ Shelley said, ‘And I wanted you to hear me out.’
Coupland nearly choked on his mouthful of bun, ‘And there was me thinking you were exercising your civic duty.’
‘That as well,’ Shelley said quickly. ‘What happened to that fella was tragic, but at the end of the day it’s my own flesh and blood I’m bothered about.’
‘You don’t say,’ Coupland drawled. ‘And which of Her Majesty’s many undesirable residences is your old man in then? Or is it your son you’re wanting to curry favour for?’
Shelley turned to Lewis. ‘Is he always so cynical?’ she asked, folding sagging arms across a flat chest.
‘Curse of the job,’ Lewis answered, picking up a thin serviette from a box on the counter and dabbing his mouth and chin.
‘My colleague here is spot on,’ Coupland said agreeably, brushing a slice of fried onion from the front of his shirt. ‘However, I’m more than happy to stand corrected. Tell us what you know and we’ll decide what it’s worth.’
Shelley studied Coupland before turning her attention back to Lewis. ‘I was there,’ she said. ‘When it happened, I mean. Outside the school. I’ve a cleaning job nearby three mornings a week. I was on my way home, had stopped to talk to a couple of young mums that I know, friends of my daughter. There was a car parked outside the school on the zig zag lines – the same car that was mentioned in that press appeal – the Mitsubishi. Folk were muttering and glaring at the driver as they went past but you know what it’s like, no one wants to be the person that says anything in case it kicks off. The driver kept revving his engine, and we reckoned he was just having a laugh, trying to get folks’ backs up, you know, winding up the pointers and the glarers. We said as much while we were talking, and after a few minutes we lost interest. Then the fella, what’s his name again?’
‘James McMahon.’
‘Yeah, well, he walks out of the school gates and steps onto the crossing, oblivious like. I wasn’t really watching, I was just facing that way. I heard an engine revving up, but by the time I realised it was the car outside the school it was already off, racing towards him. The speed it was going and the racket it made had everyone’s attention, wondering what the hell the driver was playing at, knowing no good would bloody come of it. He saw the car as it screeched towards him, but there was no time to react, he was only half way across. Didn’t stand a chance, poor sod.’ She helped herself to a can of Vimto and took a swig, regarded both detectives as they glanced at one another. ‘I’m guessing no one else has come forward to say as much, am I right?’
DC Lewis gave a slight shrug of his shoulders.
Shelley gave Coupland a smug smile. ‘Thought so.’
‘And you felt so outraged by what you saw you thought you’d wait two weeks until his widow was paraded in front of the cameras to see if anyone’s conscience was pricked enough into coming forward?’
‘Well it worked, didn’t it? Here I am.’
A pause. ‘You get a good look at the driver?’
‘Christ yeah, I tried not to, you know what I mean? No one want’s to get caught up in any trouble when it’s got nothing to do with them…’ She had a point.
‘Did you recognise him?’
Shelley narrowed her eyes. ‘You think I consort with boy racers?’
‘You’re a consenting adult, Shelley, what you do in your own time is up to you…’
‘Hang on, so the driver was young?’ said Cueball, shooting a look at Coupland, who nodded. It was a start, they acknowledged. ‘Can you give us a description?’
A pause. ‘Maybe.’
‘Is this the part where I have to remind you that wasting police time is a serious offence?’ Coupland barked.
‘Wind your neck in, Columbo, I’ve spent my life putting up with narky men. Trust me, it’s like water off a duck’s back,’ Shelley sneered.
Coupland pursed his lips. He was right then, though it brought him no pleasure. ‘Husband or son?’ he asked.
Shelley’s gaze never left his. ‘Son,’ she answered, refusing to blink. ‘My old man’s old enough and ugly enough to look after himself.’
Coupland sighed, rubbed his hand over his chin as he slid a sidelong glance at Cueball. Dealing with hard men was a walk in the park compared to dealing with their wives and mothers. ‘Where is he?’
‘Strangeways… six months term, drug related before you ask.’
‘So? He’s rung home to complain there’s no room service or free Wi-Fi? Tell him to try the Travelodge up the road.’
‘Look, there’s no disputing he’s a knobhead. What I don’t get is why he’s been put in a Category A prison when his cousin’s in a Cat C in Warrington for the same thing. I want him moved. He’s no threat to anyone, doesn’t need to be locked up for hours on bloody end. There’s more association time in Warrington, more training opportunities too.’
Coupland listened as Shelley reeled off the pros and cons of jail categories like some parents weighed up universities. It was all about perspective, he supposed.
Cueball sent a look in his direction. ‘This is above my pay grade,’ he shrugged, ‘just as well I brought you along.’
‘I can’t make any promises,’ Coupland told Shelley. ‘There’s precious little we can do without you giving us something concrete to work with. You’ve given us an account of what happened but bugger all else. You’ve already said you don’t recognise the driver. ’
Shelley’s smile couldn’t have been more smug if she’d tried. ‘No, but when I told my son what had happened outside the school he mentioned something about the victim that will make you want to look at him a lot bloody closer.’
Chapter Sixteen
‘So let me get this right. McMahon was spending his lunchbreak at the warehouse stuffing packets of sweets with ecstasy tablets.’
‘Yup, got it in one, boss. Brings a whole new meaning to ‘The happy world of Haribo.’
They were standing in DCI Mallender’s office. The information Shelley Martin had given them would have to be verified, but if correct they would need to act swiftly as the consequences didn’t bear thinking about. Mallender walked over to his window, stared out of it in silence. His office was situated at the far end of the station; his view of the neighbouring precinct roof was hardly stimulating, but Coupland knew the DCI wasn’t looking for inspiration. ‘The Super will go ballistic,’ he said, referring to the TV appeal where Curtis had stood side by side with McMahon’s widow, assuring the tea time viewers his officers would leave no stone unturned in bringing her husband’s killer to justice.
‘A crime’s still been committed, ’Coupland pointed out.
‘You know what I mean.’
Superintendent Curtis came off his perch for heinous crime, the sort of stuff that set the public’s teeth on edge and made front page news. Slain boy scouts and brides on their wedding day, not dealers hiding drugs in kids’ sweet packets. ‘How did we miss this?’
‘I don’t know. Some people are better than others at hiding things, I suppose.’
‘Have you spoken to his widow?’
‘Not yet, DC Lewis is going to speak to Shelley Martin’s son first, get the measure of it, before he goes knocking on her door.’
‘How does he know McMahon?’
‘He doesn’t. But prison jungle drums are the same as anywhere else. The word on the inside was McMahon was the victim of a cuckooing sting.’ Cuckooing was a method used by organised crime gangs wanting to extend their operations by identifying vulnerable people in their target towns and using the properties they lived in or worked from as a base to deal drugs. ‘McMahon had a loan he couldn’t pay off – it had been sold onto this gang so he was obliged to play ball. Everything was peachy until he wanted out. His kids had started school and he realised the risk he was putting them under if the bags
got into the wrong hands. Only it’s never that simple is it? There’s no such thing as saying “Thanks very much but I’d like to hand my notice in.”’
‘Was he working alone?’
‘Dunno. Nor do we know the scale of this operation, though there’s an easy enough way to find out.’
Mallender sighed. ‘I’m guessing whoever he was working for wanted to send a message to anyone else thinking of leaving.’
‘Or maybe they were worried he’d grow a conscience and turn himself in.’
‘This Shelley Martin’s son – what’s his name?’
‘Danny Martin.’
‘Is he prepared to make a statement?’
Coupland nodded. ‘DC Lewis is arranging an interview with him by video link so it’ll look to the other inmates like he’s having a bog standard meeting with his lawyer, much safer than one of us turning up to interview him at the prison.’
‘OK.’
‘And the transfer, boss, how likely is it?’
Another sigh. ‘I’ll see what I can do. The Super won’t be ecstatic but if I can persuade him to look at the bigger picture, that we may have unveiled a major drug network on our doorstep, I’m confident he’ll authorise the raid on the warehouse as well. I could see that’s where you were going,’ he said, noting Coupland’s mock surprise. ‘Though with your track record it’s probably better if you stay away from this one.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Leave it with me while I find a way to sell it to Curtis.’
Coupland clicked his tongue as he shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Just tell him to think of all that shoe leather,’ he muttered as he made for the door.
*
If the man staring at Coupland was shocked to see him standing on his doorstep he didn’t show it. The face was the same, thinner maybe. Deep lines etched the forehead and skin around the eyes. One corner of the old man’s mouth lifted, though Coupland knew of old this was no greeting. ‘Jesus Christ.’
‘No. Just me. I need to come in.’
The man stood back as he held the door open. ‘I’m not stoppin’ yer.’
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