That was the difference between them now, Coupland acknowledged, the old bastard couldn’t control him anymore, couldn’t make threats he knew damn well he wouldn’t be able to follow through. Not yet seventy, yet there was a stoop to his shoulders, a heaviness to his step that shouldn’t be there. Ged Coupland had never taken a day’s exercise in his life – unless beating seven bells out of his son counted as a sport – and it showed. His lip remained curled as he looked Coupland up and down. ‘I hear you’re a grandad now.’ No smile accompanied the statement, no pat on the back or look of admiration. Coupland strained to hear the snort, the note of derision that followed these observations as sure as night followed day. ‘Pff.’
‘News travels fast,’ he replied.
‘I heard the father’s done a runner already.’
Coupland had kept the details of Tonto’s paternity from his sisters, telling them instead that the low life had buggered off, wasn’t worthy of the little boy. Not all untrue. ‘Better for all concerned,’ he admitted.
‘Another mouth to feed though, that’ll eat into your police pension.’
‘Can think of worse ways to spend it,’ Coupland volleyed, eyeing the empty takeaway cartons and ready-meal-for-one wrappers left lying on the counter top in the kitchen, a bottle of Bells whisky open with a half drunk glass beside it. ‘Besides, got no intention of handing my stripes in yet.’
‘They’ll chew you up and spit you out the same way they did me,’ Ged grumbled.
Coupland considered this. ‘No one’s indispensable.’ An image of Lynn came into his head reminding him there were exceptions to everything. ‘Turning up to the job sober helps,’ he added, remembering too late this was no time for a sparring match, his old man deserved to be told the news with professionalism, if not kindness.
‘Come and sit in the front room,’ Coupland told him, ‘bring your drink with you.’
‘I’m going out later, though the traffic boys’ll not cause me any bother.’
‘The boys on traffic weren’t born when you were on the job,’ Coupland said, ‘don’t go looking to me to pull any strings.’
That sound again. ‘Pff,’ and a look that said this wasn’t the first time Coupland had come up short.
‘I know better than that,’ the old man glowered, standing his ground. ‘Don’t bother giving me the come and sit down crap either, just tell me what’s happened? Is it one of the girls?’ His voice rose a little, his hand automatically reaching for the whisky glass anyway. He took a swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand the way Coupland did, though there was a tremor in his father’s hand that hadn’t been there before.
Coupland swallowed. ‘It’s Mum,’ he said. ‘Her body was discovered in the fire up at the care home at the weekend.’
He watched as his father reached into his trouser pocket for his cigarettes and lighter. One swift movement and he pulled one from the pack and lit it, sucking on it hungrily. Coupland found himself doing the same. It was a reflex action, when the going got tough a smoker reached for a cigarette the same way most folk put their hands out to break a fall. They smoked in silence. Coupland watched his father lift the lid on the kitchen bin so they could use it as an ashtray, and it wasn’t lost on him that smoking was the only activity they shared. The old man had never taken him fishing, kicked a ball around with him or cheered him on from the side-lines. The only time he’d had his full attention was when he loomed at him from the doorway, belt in hand. He tried to imagine what his father was feeling. There’d never been a divorce, no formal parting of the ways. Even if he’d stopped caring he must have wondered what had become of her.
Ged stared down at his glass, reaching for the bottle to top it up he paused mid-way. ‘You still here?’ his tone was sharp. ‘You’ve done your duty now piss off.’
Coupland stared at the pitiful figure in front of him. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but not this. ‘There’s going to be an investigation,’ he said. ‘It’s not just a suspicious fire. She…she was dead before it started.’
The old man looked at him. ‘How?’
‘Head injury. Details are sketchy.’
Ged opened his eyes wide as he poured another glass, ‘Too sketchy for an ex-cop – or a suspect?’ he asked.
Coupland shook his head, though strictly speaking the old man was right. He wouldn’t be the first spurned husband to seek revenge on a prodigal wife. But then he would have had to know she was back in Salford. ‘Did you know she was working there?’ Coupland blurted the question out. The thought had formed in his mind while they’d been talking and he couldn’t get shut of it.
‘Are you for real?’ his old man sniped. ‘It’s no wonder you never made it any higher.’ ‘Is that all you can say? I come with news about your wife and you’d still rather have a go at me? You’ve not asked about how the girls have taken it.’
‘So you told them first?’ A shrug. ‘No surprise…’
‘It’s not a competition, Dad.’ The word caught in his throat like stubborn phlegm. ‘Look, I’m trying to piece together details of her life after she left us, I wondered if you’d heard anything over the years, anything that could point me in the right direction.’
‘Not much of a detective then if I’ve to do your job for you. Any road, since you’re connected you won’t be allowed anywhere near the investigation…’
‘I haven’t told my boss yet.’ Coupland paused, ignoring the satisfaction on his father’s face before adding, ‘She was using a different surname. I didn’t know it was her at first.’
Ged‘s face clouded in confusion.
‘I’m sorry if I didn’t make it clear, she was badly burned, her remains were unrecognisable. Her ID wasn’t confirmed until after the post mortem.’
Coupland saw the shock register on his father’s face.
‘Do you want me to get the girls to come over?’
‘And spend the evening listening to them dredging up memories I’d rather forget?’ Shiny eyes stared back at Coupland as he wrestled with his conscience and lost.
‘I could stay for a while, I suppose…’ he sighed, switching his phone to silent.
Friday
Chapter Seventeen
Outside Manchester Crown Court. Judy Grant’s trial.
Coupland paced up and down in front of the court house, the tip of his cigarette glowing red before smoke hissed from his nose. He clamped his phone to his ear, listening as Krispy informed him he’d tracked down Helen Foley and Colin Grantham, the patients Mark Flint claimed had been abused at Cedar Falls the same time as him. Both lived a short drive from the home. ‘My phone’s going to be on silent but message me with how you get on,’ Coupland said, ending the call as a cab pulled up at the bottom of the court steps. Two passengers alighted from it, a gaunt young woman and a much older man Coupland recognised as her father. Mariana Gashi and her sister Zamia had been trafficked from Albania before being sent to beg on the streets around Salford. Zamia had died following a bungled attempt to pimp her out to a client who had so far evaded capture. This was the last trial Mariana was required to attend; once it was over she would be deported.
‘Though nothing could ever make me want to stay here,’ she’d said to Coupland after the trafficking gang’s month-long trial had ended. ‘And to think my people think this is a civilised country.’
Coupland raised a hand in greeting when Mariana looked over; flicked his cigarette butt into a nearby bin before following them into the building.
*
The youth worker looked at the group of teenagers sitting around her. Most were slouched back in their chairs, baseball caps on their knees where she’d asked them to be placed when they’d first swaggered into the community centre half an hour before. ‘I’m here to help you with interview skills,’ she’d chided. ‘Rule number one is to turn up looking like you’ve made an effort – not like you’re about to hold up a post office – Brad, take that scarf off from round your neck and if you think I’m going to speak while y
ou wear a Jason mask you’ve got another think coming.’
She waited while the groans and teeth sucking stopped, her attention turning to a girl sat directly in front of her. ‘Kelly, if you keep on using your phone I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I need your full attention today.’
The girl’s thumbs flew across the phone’s keyboard as she finished her message before stuffing her smartphone into the pocket of her shorts. Satisfied, the woman smiled at her audience. She was about to speak but paused; footsteps could be heard in the corridor, purposeful, heading in their direction. The door opened and a young man entered, a blush creeping up his neck as he stepped into the room. Several heads swivelled in his direction as the woman looked him up and down.
‘Well, you’re certainly dressed for the part,’ she said, ‘though you need to work on your timekeeping.’ She stopped, her attention drawn to the black man entering the room behind him. Mid-thirties, he was far too old to be sent to a youth group, she thought irritably, she really did need to get back onto the job centre. If they didn’t send her the right clients how the hell could she help them?
‘Miss Foley,’ the young man said as they stepped towards her holding up lanyards with the Greater Manchester Police logo on them. ‘Is there somewhere we can go for a quiet word?’
Helen Foley’s frown deepened when she heard the reason for the detectives turning up unannounced. She’d ended up letting the group finish early. There was no way she could keep an eye on them from the corridor, all the other rooms were taken so she’d stayed put and asked the detectives to give her five minutes while she set the group a task to be done before they came back the next day. ‘There’s no chance any of them will bother,’ she’d muttered when the last one hurried out through the door, ‘but I can live in hope.’
Krispy had made the introductions, explaining they were following up an allegation that had been made against staff by an ex-patient at Cedar Falls.
Helen’s eyebrows knotted together. ‘Oh, I assumed you were here about the fire, checking to see if I thought any of these terrors were up to the job. I mean, it’s arson right? That’s what it said on the news.’
‘The news report said the circumstances were suspicious,’ Ashcroft corrected her, ‘but I suppose people will draw their own conclusions.’
‘You can hardly blame folk,’ she said, turning to watch her group heading in the direction of the precinct up the road towards Greggs. A sausage roll and an afternoon of lurking round the shops to look forward to. ‘So much for job hunting.’
‘We understand you were treated at Cedar Falls a while back,’ Krispy stated.
Helen said nothing, although a nerve beneath her eye started to twitch. ‘Sorry, is that a question?’ she responded, attempting a smile.
Krispy shook his head. ‘Not really. We checked the home’s records. You were there between January and May 2017.’
Helen blew out a sigh. ‘You’ve got your answer then.’
‘True, but someone has come forward who states you and another patient were mistreated there, and we need to ask whether you wish to make a complaint against the home…’
‘Or decide whether that makes me a suspect for the fire, given the recent turn of events,’ she added for him.
The flush across Krispy’s neck deepened, but it didn’t stop him from ploughing on. ‘Can you tell us why you were sent to Cedar Falls?’
‘Why the hell should I? It’s got nothing to do with the bloody fire – I’ve got nothing to do with the bloody fire – so why don’t you sod off and leave me to get on with my life.’ Her voice had deepened as she spoke to them, became more gutteral, harsher. It was the voice of someone who knew how to handle themself, who could hold their own in a shouting match if needed – and win. Helen folded her arms and turned back to the window as though wishing she could join the stragglers as they traipsed up the road.
‘How did you get into youth work?’ Ashcroft asked, trying to diffuse the situation.
Helen let out a long sigh as she turned to face him. ‘I needed support when I left Cedar Falls – I guess everyone does – and I was assigned a support worker from a local charity. They really helped me regain my confidence, and I decided that was something I could do, a way of giving back I suppose.’
Ashcroft had coached Krispy before they’d met with Helen and told him the best way of getting someone to talk was often to say nothing. Use silence to break down their defences. Krispy glanced at Ashcroft to see if now was one of those moments. Ashcroft nodded. Both detectives waited. Krispy stared at the space above Helen’s head, silently counting backwards from twenty. He got as far as seven.
‘Fine!’ she snapped. ‘As long as this doesn’t go any further, OK?’ Both men nodded. Another sigh. ‘I suffered from Anorexia and depression in my early twenties, it got so bad at one point I needed to be watched twenty-four hours a day in case I harmed myself or tried to bring the food they forced me to eat back up, so my GP referred me to Cedar Falls. I was under constant observation, every 15 minutes someone would come into my room and check on me. It felt like I’d lost any right to privacy, as though my life wasn’t my own anymore. One day a male member of staff came into my room while I was sleeping, shoved a cloth in my mouth and raped me. I was pinned down on that mattress for 45 minutes. I know that because it had been my birthday the previous day, my parents had bought me a watch. I willed the minute hand to move round that watch face for forty-five minutes. And not once in that time did anyone else come in to do my obs. Why was that? Did they know he was there?’ She glared at them. ‘It was hours later, I’d fallen back asleep, a female care assistant found me bleeding on the mattress. Turns out my attacker had been rougher than I gave him credit for. She cleaned me up, asked me how in God’s name I came to have those injuries, but I said nothing. I knew that it was pointless complaining. I never told anyone, not even after I’d been discharged. I just wanted to bury the whole incident.’
‘Who was it who hurt you?’ Krispy asked, unable to say the word rape.
A breath. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t want to know either. Afterwards, I mean. When the assault was over I made sure he’d gone before I turned around. In a way I was grateful he’d hidden his face from me. I didn’t want to look at him outside of that room and know what he’d done.’
Something occurred to Helen. ‘Hang on, I never told anyone about what had happened, so how was this person able to tell you about me?’
Ashcroft shrugged. ‘They didn’t go into detail. Perhaps they just recognised another victim when they saw one.’
Helen considered this, before nodding. ‘It does stay with you, that feeling of helplessness. Perhaps they saw that.’
Krispy looked at Ashcroft before ploughing on. ‘I’m sorry, but I need to ask you this. Where were you on the night of the fire?’
A faint smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. ‘That’s easy. I was at home. Doing what I always do. Heating up a ready meal for one then sitting down in front of the TV to distract myself while I ate it.’
‘Can anyone else confirm that?’
‘I still don’t like people watching me eat, so no.’
‘One last thing,’ Ashcroft said. ‘If we track down the person who did this would you be prepared to make a statement?’
‘What? And be their victim for a second time?’ Helen shuddered. ‘Thanks, but I’ll pass.’
*
The riverbank was quiet on a weekday. Best time to come, the weekenders who came with their bottles of beer and banter shattered his precious silence. He’d booked the day off ages ago, had no idea it’d turn out to be so nice. Sheila had sulked during breakfast, had hoped he’d spend the day with her going round garden centres. ‘For Christ’s sake woman we can do that anytime,’ he’d said, but the truth was come the weekend he’d have another excuse at the ready, whether she was angling for a trip to the DIY store or visiting their grandkids for that matter. Give him a sunny afternoon catching trout and he was a happy man.
&
nbsp; ‘Colin Grantham?’
The voice seemed to come from nowhere, but when he turned he saw a boy in a man’s suit and a black man resembling that fella off the TV staring at him, holding up IDs that they wore round their necks. He’d peered at the boy’s lanyard, saw the words ‘Detective Constable’ and stopped reading. ‘You a detective too?’ he said to his companion.
Ashcroft nodded. ‘We’d like to ask you a few questions regarding an allegation that’s been made against staff at Cedar Falls.’
Ignoring the boy, Colin put down his fishing rod and turned to Ashcroft. ‘I thought you might,’ he said, sighing.
‘The moment I heard about the fire on the news I’ve been expecting you,’ Colin said, zipping up the front of his gilet as though a barrier between them was needed.
‘It didn’t surprise you then, that someone could have set fire to the place?’
‘So it is arson then?’
‘We’re making a number of enquiries,’ said Ashcroft.
‘Which is why you’re here.’
Ashcroft nodded. ‘We were given your name by a patient who was at Cedar Falls the same time as you. He got in touch following the fire to say he’d been badly treated at the home, he said he thought you had been too.’
A sigh. ‘And how would this person know that?’ asked Grantham.
‘They said you looked guarded a lot of the time, said they recognised the fear.’
‘And does this person have a name?’ He looked from one detective to the other, ‘Oh, don’t tell me, you can’t divulge that information at the moment, however if I could rip open any wounds that have long since healed and bleed out my life story you’d be really grateful.’
Krispy glanced at Ashcroft.
‘A bit harsh,’ Ashcroft said, ‘but something along those lines, yes.’
Grantham folded his arms. ‘It’s not something I ever talk about.’
‘We appreciate it must be hard,’ said Krispy, ‘and we wouldn’t be here if we didn’t think this information was absolutely necessary.’
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