One Bad Turn (6 page)

‘With the exception of going out with my daughter, yes.’

Amy turned to Lynn, ‘Mum, can you tell him?’ Lynn chewed her bottom lip, ‘I’m not sure that I can,’ she said evenly, ‘you should have told us about his past before you invited him here,’

‘WHY?’ Amy shouted, ‘So you could try and stop me from seeing him?’ she swiped at her face with the heel of her hand, smudging her eye-liner. Moving a step towards them, she lowered her voice as she looked up at them both, ‘I wanted you to meet him first, so you could make your own mind up about him, then I would have told you what he’d done, I promise.’

‘What about your Dad?’ Lynn countered, ‘How was that ever going to work? He recognised him straight away.’

‘Well it’s not like Dad’s here for most meals,’ she said sourly before stomping out of the room, ‘what were the chances of tonight being any different?’

*

Thursday morning briefing, Salford Precinct Station

Coupland gave an account of the meeting he’d had with Sharon Mather’s boyfriend the previous day and reported that for the moment he was not a person of interest - though until all avenues had been explored they should keep an open mind. Ashcroft confirmed he’d made contact with Sharon Mathers’ clients - all checked out. There had been no unnecessary contact, no ‘extra’ services provided, all were very happy with her professionalism and shocked to hear of her murder. None could think of any enemies she might have. He also reported that according to the bus CCTV no one else got off at Sharon’s stop, although two passengers had got off the bus one stop before. A poster and social media appeal had gone out asking for all the passengers on the bus to contact the incident room number. Respondents would be cross referenced against their image on screen and anyone who hadn’t come forward in 72 hours would be actively pursued.

Mallender snapped his attention to Turnbull and Robinson, ‘how did you get on with our resident Neo Nazis?’

‘Down to the last ten,’ Turnbull replied, ‘the majority of them had low level schoolboy misdemeanours from way back when, most are married now, holding down jobs, quite a few were embarrassed to be reminded of their past.’

‘Not all though?’

‘No, there were some real die-hards, but even they checked out, they’d kept their nose clean most of the time, frequented the more notorious pubs, caught on camera chanting at football matches, went on to be banned from Old Trafford and Etihad Stadiums.’ Mallender nodded impatiently. ‘All had alibis for Tuesday that checked out,’ Turnbull concluded.

‘And the last ten, you say, what’s the hold up?’

Turnbull and Robinson exchanged glances, there’d been no hold up, the reason they’d managed to eliminate so many names from the list was because they worked through the night, turning up at addresses in the arse end of nowhere to check for themselves that claims made could be verified. ‘They’re pulling out all the stops here, boss,’ Coupland spoke up in their defence, though he knew the real person who needed to hear this was Superintendent Curtis and he wasn’t even present. Mind you, his handicap must be single figures by now. Mallender raised his hands in mitigation, ‘Don’t shoot the messenger,’ he pleaded, ‘I just want to know we’re going down all the right avenues, step by step we should be closing in on this bastard. Kevin, can you allocate the workload giving priority to concluding the Hate crime actions by close of play? I’ve an update to prepare.’

Coupland nodded, delegating tasks before asking Ashcroft if he could cover for him for an hour, there was something he had to do. Before he had time to change his mind he drove to Amy’s college, careful not to leave his car in the public car park where she might see it but in the car park allocated to staff, with a card he placed on the dashboard stating he was on police business. He followed the signs into the main reception area and flashed his warrant card at the woman behind the desk.

‘I’d like to speak with the principal, love. Now.’

Chapter 4

DCs Turnbull and Robinson pulled up outside the King Jimmy on Walkden Road and looked at each other. The pub attracted little attention from its drab exterior, but the back room was notorious for being the meeting place of a chapter of Neo Nazis since it went under new management ten years before. ‘Do you think we should call for back up?’ Turnbull asked, glancing up and down the street as though expecting a lynch mob to arrive on the back of a jeep. Robinson tutted, ‘Don’t start getting cold feet on me. It’s hardly chucking out time. We go in, ask a few questions, bugger off out again. Job done.’

The landlord was leaning on the counter rubbing the edge of a coin over a scratch card. He glanced up as the pub door opened, scowled when he caught sight of the warrant card Turnbull pushed under his nose. ‘Looking for Gerrard Bundy and Charlie Deeks, through the back room I take it?’ The landlord regarded the detectives without speaking. Stubble was starting to grow through on his shaven head. A gym bunny who guzzled steroids by the look of it, either that or he had a bicycle pump out back that he used to blow up his arms, each one covered with a sleeve of tattoos. The number 8, signifying the eighth letter of the alphabet, representing Hitler’s surname, had been inked on the back of his hand. He glanced over to the pub’s main entrance and both detectives had the sense not to deprive him of the notion they had come alone. A couple of lone drinkers sat in the main bar, hard up men too broke or too lazy to be fussed about the pub’s usual clientele. They broke eye contact when Turnbull looked at them, as though looking away made them invisible. ‘The back room?’ Robinson persisted. The landlord, who’d been sipping at a coffee mug, banged it down noisily, nodding his head in the direction of a door at the far end of the bar. ‘I don’t want any trouble,’ he said loudly, and then, louder still, ‘Rozzers are in!’

Either the mug shot on the Police National Computer had been taken recently or time had been kind to Gerrard Bundy, for he still looked the same. His black goatee beard and barbed wire tattoo along the right side of his face made him easy to pick out from the half dozen men nursing their pints. The assembled punters resembled death row inmates, bare arms and necks displaying the usual range of supremacist paraphernalia: SS Lightning Bolts, Swastikas; the US confederate flag. Bundy’s left arm had a home-made portrait of Hitler tattooed on it, only the dimensions were wrong so it looked more like the fat one from Laurel and Hardy. The woman beside Bundy smiled meanly and said something under her breath making him smirk. ‘You must be Charlie,’ Turnbull said to her, amicably, ‘you’ve changed.’ The snide look she’d greeted him with turned into a glare for time had been less kind. A bloated version of the picture held on the PNC, she wore a black beanie hat pulled down low over straggly dyed black hair. Her nylon bomber jacket was tight across her middle, a baby bump or flab Turnbull couldn’t determine. ‘What d’you want, copper?’ Bundy sneered. He raised his pint glass to his lips before realising it was empty, undaunted he tilted his head back to swallow the frothy dregs before replacing the glass on the table beside him. ‘Five minutes of your time,’ Turnbull said, pulling out the stool in front of the couple without waiting to be asked. Robinson remained standing by the exit, his back to the wall in case things got nasty. ‘Whatever it was, he was with me.’ Charlie mocked. Turnbull fixed her with a stare. ‘What makes you think it’s him I’m interested in?’ The smile froze on her lips. ‘You’ve got a history of serious assault,’ he added, as though she needed reminding. ‘History,’ she repeated, amenable, ‘that’s all it is, we’re a proper couple now,’ she patted her belly fondly. Turnbull eyed the cider and black in front of her, the packet of roll-ups beside them. ‘Very happy for you I’m sure,’ he responded. ‘What were you doing after last orders on Tuesday night?’

‘Eh?’ Charlie scratched her right breast absentmindedly. Her companion’s face broke into a grin, ‘Hang on, that’s when that darkie was murdered, it’s been all over the news, you trying to fit Chas up for this?’

‘Good luck to ‘em,’ someone muttered from another table. ‘Enough!’ Robinson ordered, careful not to single anyone out when he glared at a group of skinheads sat around a table. Turnbull turned towards Gerrard, ‘I’d like to know your whereabouts too, as a matter of fact.’

‘As a matter of fact,’ Gerrard mimicked, ‘I happened to be with Chas, we were down the hospital, thought she’d gone into labour but it was those pretend contractions.’

‘Braxton ‘icks,’ Chas added knowledgeably, ‘we’d gone in after the pub closed, didn’t get out again ‘till about four in the morning. Contact the hospital if you don’t believe me.’

‘I intend to,’ Turnbull said evenly, getting to his feet.

*

It was a day of little progress. Turnbull and Robinson returned to the station to report that Deeks and Bundy’s alibis checked out, as did the remainder of the suspects they’d tracked. ‘And they don’t know who’s behind it either,’ Turnbull added, ‘some of them have lost the plot that much they’d wear it like a badge of honour if they knew.’

‘So we can close the Hate crime line of enquiry,’ Coupland said pointedly, darting a glance in the DCI’s direction. Mallender returned Coupland’s gaze before nodding. The DCI was different from Curtis; he didn’t turn everything into a pissing contest. Coupland was well aware that wouldn’t be the end of it, at some point Curtis would come over the hill demanding an explanation so they’d need to type up their reports in double quick time but at least the investigation could continue on the right track in the meantime. Despite this, he couldn’t shake off a nagging disappointment: the truth was they had very little to go on. Sharon’s workmates had nothing bad to say about her, not unusual in itself, but people liked to rake mud, and if there’d been any hint of shenanigans between her and another colleague he’d have heard about it by now. DC Ashcroft had been tasked with carrying out background checks on the staff at Donald Gillespie and with James Grimshaw’s co-workers but nothing had been flagged up so far. Mallender traipsed off to the Super’s office looking like he had lead in his boots.

*

Coupland was halfway down a glass of red wine Lynn had poured them before dinner when the day took a turn for the worse. Amy slammed the kitchen door practically off its hinges as she stormed in to confront him. ‘HOW COULD YOU?’ she yelled, her eyes brimming with tears she tried to blink away. ‘Amy, calm down,’ Lynn was already on her feet, moving towards her, ‘what is it?’ Amy brushed her away. ‘Has he told you what he’s done?’ she demanded, causing Lynn to look at Coupland sharply while his heart sank into his boots. He should have come clean, told her what he’d done the moment he got home. This was going to come out all wrong now he was on the back foot. ‘What’s going on?’

Coupland felt his cheeks redden as Lynn eyed him suspiciously, and he’d thought the worst of the day was behind him. In a stalling tactic he blew out his cheeks. ‘I went to the college today,’ making it sound as though it was no big deal. Both Lynn and Amy stared at him. ‘Go on!’ Amy challenged, ‘Tell her what you did there!’

‘Kevin, out with it!’ Lynn said sharply, ‘you know I don’t like surprises, especially if they’re about to blow up, like this one by the sound of it.’ Coupland sighed, ‘I went to see the principal,’ he began, trying to second guess just how much Amy had been told, ‘I wanted to know if he was aware there was a convicted criminal working on the college grounds.’ Lynn gasped. Coupland could see a flash of anger but out of loyalty she was reining it in in front of Amy, though he’d feel the full force of it once they were on their own. ‘And what did the principal do?’ Amy pushed. Coupland lifted his chin as he answered, ‘He rang through to the personnel office, who confirmed Vincent had declared his conviction on his application-’

‘-Oh, there was more to it than that, Dad,’ Amy butted in, ‘not only does the college have full knowledge of his history; they recruited him from an offender employment programme. An assessor comes in each week to meet with his supervisor to check on his progress, so it was all above board.’

‘Oh, Kevin,’ Lynn groaned, there was an edge to her voice that made his toes curl. Pleased her words were having the desired effect Amy gathered pace, ‘His supervisor called him in to ask why the police might be looking into him and he explained you were my dad and it was all some alpha male hang up you had with anyone I dated.’ Coupland held up his hands, ‘OK, my bad,’ he retorted, ‘pardon me for looking out for my daughter.’

‘You just don’t get it do you?’ Amy shot back, ‘I can look out for myself Dad, I don’t need you for that now. When will you realise I’m not your little girl anymore?’ She slammed out of the house. ‘Oh yes you are,’ he called after her.

Chapter 5

Here she comes, running late, apprehension pouring off her in waves. Maybe she’s having second thoughts about the dress she’s wearing. Maybe she’s right, given the size of her. In her hurry she doesn’t give the man she passes a second glance. Until he looks at her, causing her to miss a step. Is she so starved of male attention a simple smile will turn her head? ‘I was nearly a gonner there,’ she jokes, pausing to wave down below to the driver of a people carrier. The driver doesn’t bother waving back. Instead, he executes a rather poor three point turn, heading back in the direction he came. ‘Wait,’ a male voice behind her says, and she stands on the stairwell, a curious look on her face but the glimmer of a smile nonetheless. ‘I’ve got something for you,’ he says, before running at her at speed.

Coupland was doing his utmost to avoid a domestic. He trailed after Lynn in the kitchen trying to second guess her every action, managing only to get under her feet. He was in the dog house, that was clear enough. Her answers to his questions were clipped, as though she were biting back the things she really wanted to say to him. Lynn had so far supported his concerns about Amy’s boyfriend but his stunt at the college seemed to have pushed her towards Vinny’s camp. Wine long since forgotten she opened the oven door, pulled out the grease covered shelves one by one. She must be really mad if she was cleaning the oven, it was a job both of them put off for as long as possible, saving it for times when they needed to release tension. The last time
he’d
done it was just after Lynn’s diagnosis. Following her to the sink he placed his hand over hers as she reached to turn on a tap. As a couple they were closer now than they’d ever been, the thought that bastard could interfere with that…‘He’s trying his best to rebuild his life, Kevin,’ Lynn chose her words carefully, ‘he’s been honest with his employers and with Amy about his past, we can’t expect any more from him.’