One Bad Turn (19 page)

He turned back to DS Coupland and DS Quinlan. ‘I want the two of you to work together to allocate today’s actions, can you both please ensure you report back with any significant leads, Christ knows we need some good news to give to Curtis for his bloody press conference.’

Quinlan’s team were given the bulk of the actions, they’d been drafted in to ease the burden on the murder squad at Salford, a squad already stretched with two high profile murders in the space of one week, a third would have hindered progress already made, and in turn impacted morale. No one wants to think they’re doing a shoddy job, not when it was obvious a killer was at large. At this stage Coupland was reluctant to reassign tasks, instead where someone had been given a specific line of enquiry they were buddied up with their south Manchester equivalent whose role was to extend that action to include Kathleen Williams. It meant both teams had to integrate, but they were grownups. Well, Coupland wasn’t so sure about Quinlan but the rest of his team looked like any cop in the face of a serial killer - hungry to stop the bastard in his tracks. Quinlan’s officers stuffed their hands in their pockets as they filed out of the room, catching the eye of their sergeant as they left. ‘Play nice.’ He called out, as the door shut behind them. Coupland volunteered to go and speak to Kathleen’s husband, along with Ashcroft. Quinlan was for the moment to stay back at base and co-ordinate responses as they came in.

Driving down the East Lancs Road Coupland flicked on the radio, more bad news about some terrorist atrocity; major job losses following the closure of a steel plant. Coupland cared, but his head was full of other stuff, three dead women and their grieving families. He switched to the local radio, Ed Sheerin belted out a love song. ‘Preferred it when he sang about Crack,’ he grumbled, turning down the volume.

‘That’s what I’m learning to love about you Sarge, you’re all heart,’ Ashcroft tutted into his chest.

‘You want me to turn it back up?’

‘No, you’re fine.’

Coupland resisted the urge to light up. Instead he felt around in his jacket pocket, found a couple of loose mints that had seen better days. He offered one to Ashcroft, who took one look, ‘You’re kidding, right? I mean, do they even make these anymore?’ Coupland ignored him, threw both into his mouth crunching as loud as he could.

‘Who delivered the death message?’

‘One of Quinlan’s men. Not quite a rosy garden there it seems. They were going through a separation but sharing a house as neither could afford to move out.’

Coupland shook his head, ‘Be careful what you wish for, eh? The number of times he must have wished for the place to himself, no squabbling.’

‘Husband is distraught by all accounts. Hoped by staying under the same roof they’d get back together again. Thought he was playing the long game.’

‘I take it he had no idea she was on a promise then?’

Ashcroft blew out his cheeks, ‘I guess we’re about to find out.’

The front room curtains on the Victorian semi-detached were drawn. Two cars were parked on the tarmacked driveway, one haphazardly as though someone had arrived in a hurry and couldn’t be arsed straightening it up. Raised voices could be heard coming from the hallway as the detectives waited for someone to answer the door. A female police officer he didn’t recognise let them in barely glancing at their warrant cards, her face set in a grimace as she did so. ‘The son’s just arrived,’ she whispered, looking behind her to check she couldn’t be overheard. ‘no love lost there as it goes, playing merry hell, saying it’s his dad’s fault they broke up.’ Coupland remembered accusing his own father of the same thing. There was truth in it, his dad had treated his mother like a skivvy, expecting her to tip toe around his drunken moods. Though Coupland didn’t blame her for going, he could never fathom why she hadn’t taken him with her.

‘HAPPY NOW YOU BASTARD? GOT WHAT YOU WANTED?’ Coupland followed the shouting into the living room. A youth not much older than Amy squared up to a middle aged man. The youth had a slender build, his wiry frame resembling that of a long distance runner. Dark hair clung to his scalp; his face was unshaven, reminding Coupland of a gunslinger in a spaghetti western. The man squaring up against him was a heavier, greyer version of the youth, with lines around his mouth and eyes, which were now bloodshot.

‘Can we take it down a notch?’ Coupland urged, forcing his way between them like an overzealous referee in a boxing match.

‘You heard him,’ Ashcroft added, hovering behind the boy in case he swung a punch in his old man’s direction. Coupland stood his ground, waiting for the spark of anger to diffuse. The man stepped back, compliant, as though relieved someone else had taken control. He sank into a sofa behind him, staring up at Coupland, waiting to be told what to do next. The youth, now he had no-one to rail against, threw himself onto the sofa opposite, burying his head in his hands. ‘They were very close,’ the man explained, ‘this was bound to hit him hard.’ The words came easily, suggesting a lifetime of making excuses.

While everyone drew breath Coupland looked about the living room; it was a good size, two settees forming an L-shape around a wooden coffee table, a modern gas fire mounted halfway up the opposite wall. The books piled atop the coffee table suggested an interest in art and DIY. The TV remote control was positioned arm’s reach from where Kathleen’s husband sat. Coupland’s gaze fell onto the indentation in the seat cushion at the other end of the sofa. He pictured them sitting like book ends, each careful not to encroach on the other’s territory. Living under the same roof when things were going well was challenging, to do it after a relationship had ended must be nigh on impossible. Coupland plonked himself beside the youth, close enough to make a grab for him if tensions flared again. The FLO lingered in the doorway, stepping forward to make introductions now there was a ceasefire. Kathleen’s husband was called Derek and their son, Raphael, ‘But everyone calls me Raph,’ he added quickly. Coupland nodded, his glance returning to the art book as though it was somehow responsible for the boy’s out of sync name. Ashcroft must’ve clocked the dent in the sofa too, as he followed the FLO into the kitchen, returning with a wooden chair which he placed beside the coffee table.

‘Who would do this?’ Derek asked. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Coupland, as though he would have answers for them both that would explain the way the day had panned out. Coupland shook his head, ‘We don’t know that yet,’ he said, ‘that’s why we’re here, to find out more about Kathleen so we can build up a picture that’ll help our investigation.’

‘I bet it was a pupil,’ Raph cut in, ‘you hear about it on TV, some child of Satan takes a knife into school because they got a detention the day before.’

‘It’s a primary school,’ Derek said, his eyes remaining on Coupland, ‘no one’d do that in a primary school,’ His face took on a pained look.

‘You’re doing it again!’ Raph challenged, ‘Smiling apologetically as if to say “the kid’s talking bollocks, ignore him…” you did it before with that woman cop.’

Derek turned to his son. ‘Well, you are talking bollocks! It won’t be a pupil, Raph. Besides, she wasn’t stabbed, she was strangled.’

Raph closed his eyes, when he spoke next it sounded as though something was wedged in his throat. ‘It could be someone she used to teach, someone now at the high school, or older.’ Ashcroft pulled out his notepad and pen. ‘Raph, can you think of any names we should be looking at? Anyone in particular that you feel could be responsible?’ He wrote the names Raph suggested into his notepad but Coupland knew they wouldn’t do anything with this, not unless forensics came back suggesting this murder wasn’t connected to the others, which was unlikely. Ashcroft was appeasing him, making him feel involved in some way. That was the hardest thing for the victim’s relatives, the feeling of helplessness, and it sometimes spilled out into aggression.

‘What about you, Derek?’ Ashcroft prompted, turning to him, ‘Can you think of anyone who would want to harm your wife?’

Derek shook his head. His brows creased as though he was trying to recall something. ‘I saw you,’ he said in a low voice, turning back to Coupland, ‘in that press conference on the TV, you didn’t say anything but you were there, weren’t you?’ he turned back to Ashcroft, ‘you were there too.’ Both detectives nodded. ‘The guy in the uniform, chief superintendent somebody or other, he’s the one in charge?’ Coupland nodded once more, ‘He didn’t seem happy when your colleague said the murder of those two women may be linked. Is that what’s happening? There’s a killer out there picking off women randomly?’

‘You mean this has happened BEFORE?’ Raph stormed, ‘And these jokers could’ve stopped it?’ He was on his feet again, up on his toes like a boxer dancing round the ring. ‘We don’t know anything for sure yet,’ Coupland said, getting to his feet, pulling himself to his full height. ‘Raph, sit down,’ Derek pleaded, dragging his hands through thinning hair, ‘let them do their job.’

‘Their job was keeping Mum safe and look how that turned out! Have you even put out a public warning yet? Why haven’t you told people to be on the lookout?’

‘There was no obvious link at first, and by the time we established the possibility the murders were connected it was…’ Coupland let his words trail off, unwilling to rub salt into their wounds.

‘It was already too late!’ Raph spat, turning on Ashcroft who had remained seated, ‘Why did you ask me for those names?’ he demanded, ‘were you just taking the piss?’

‘No…’ Ashcroft stuttered, looking to Coupland for help, ‘we’re still trying to identify potential suspects,-’

Raph wafted Ashcroft’s words away, ‘Yeah but it won’t be a bloody school kid will it? You know what? I’m done here.’ He stormed out of the room, seconds later the front door slammed, followed by the sound of a car engine stalling. ‘Has he got far to go?’ Coupland watched as Raph crunched through his gears to put his car into reverse before accelerating off the driveway. ‘His flat’s ten minutes away,’ Derek answered. ‘He’ll be back when he’s calmed down.’ The way he said it hinted at countless sparring, as though bitter exchanges were the normal mode of communication between the two of them. Ashcroft cleared his throat. ‘Does he blame you for your marriage break up?’

Derek laughed, but there was no humour in it. ‘He blames me for a lot more than that,’ he pursed his lips, ‘but yeah, you could add that to the list of things I’ve done to let him down over the years, right up there with being his dad.’

Coupland nodded in sympathy. ‘Can I ask why you and Kathleen split up?’

Derek looked away. ‘It’s no secret, I suppose. Ask anyone around here and they’ll tell you soon enough. I used to work for the local council. Lost my job in their last round of cost cutting exercises. I started drinking. Only problem was I didn’t know when to stop. Kathleen stood by me through some pretty grim times, Raph was so fed up of seeing her upset he used to beg her to leave, take him with her. She refused, but I could feel things had started to change between us. By the time I’d cleaned up my act there was no going back. She said she was tired, needed a fresh start. By then Raph had got his own place, I guess the thought of having to deal with me on her own if I lapsed horrified her. We put the house up for sale six months ago but there’s been very little interest from buyers. Neither of us can afford to move out until it’s sold so we agreed to stay here for as long as it took. That suited me fine; we were civil enough to each other. I always thought…hoped…that she’d wake up one morning and change her mind, say she was willing to give us another go. Twenty five years is a long time…’

‘Did she tell you she was going out after work?’ A pause. ‘We weren’t each other’s keeper any more. She didn’t need to tell me what she was doing.’ Coupland nodded, as though conceding the man’s point. ‘It would be helpful if you could answer the question though, just so we’re clear?’

‘She didn’t tell me, no,’ Derek snapped, ‘told me often enough her life was her own.’

‘So, she was seeing someone else then?’

Derek shook his head. ‘No, I’d have known,’ he lifted his chin defiantly, ‘that’s what made me think there was still a chance for us. I mean, it’s not as if she started going out on dates. If anything she spent more and more time at home, albeit in the spare room…I mean her bedroom.’ Coupland glanced briefly at Ashcroft. ‘Do you mind if I take a look?’

Derek rolled his shoulders, ‘If you must,’ he muttered. Ashcroft began to ask him about the couple’s life together before the split; Derek relaxed as he spoke of them as one solid unit, the tension in his face easing as he recalled happier times. Coupland left the room.

There were three bedrooms upstairs, a small, boxy room with posters on the wall of groups long since disbanded; Coupland struggled to remember their names. The single bed had been stripped and on it a set of weights had been left. The curtains were still drawn in the master bedroom, the double bed unmade. It had been early when Derek got the knock on the door, probably got him out of his bed. The room wasn’t unduly messy. A pile of clothes lay on what Coupland took to be Kathleen’s half of the bed, or rather used to be. He moved towards the window to open the curtains, looked out at the unsuspecting city beyond. The wives, mothers and daughters going about their business, unaware of the peril facing them. Coupland’s shoulders sagged as he turned to survey the room. There were indentations in the carpet where a piece of furniture had been removed. The en-suite bathroom was empty save for a toothbrush and toothpaste dispenser, a shaving kit beside it. A damp towel lay across the floor. The toilet seat was left up revealing several skid marks inside the toilet bowl.

The spare room was smaller than the master bedroom, but that hadn’t stopped Kathleen from squeezing in a dressing table beside her bed, a chest of drawers on the other side of it. A clothes rail ran the length of the opposite wall, crammed with garments hanging from wire hangers. A laptop sat open on the dressing table stool. The room was tidy, despite the lack of space, Coupland guessed that if he checked in the family bathroom at the end of the hall it would be spotless, her toiletries displayed in that way women had, as though visitors actually gave a toss what deodorant you used. Coupland pulled a pair of nitrile gloves from his pocket and slipped them on, turned the laptop towards him as he tapped one of the keys. The password prompt came onto the screen. He typed ‘Raphael’ into the box, smiling as the laptop whirred its approval. The desktop photo was a picture of Kathleen with her son, a holiday snap by the look of it, both tanned and smiling for the camera, the boy was a couple of years younger, less angry looking. Derek had probably taken the photo. Saved airbrushing him out later, Coupland supposed. He clicked onto the internet explorer icon, pressed the history tab. A list of frequently used sites appeared down the right had side of the screen. He skimmed down the clothing and beauty links, a holiday site that specialised in singles and a couple of dating websites. Coupland closed the lid on the laptop, placing it under his arm as he removed his gloves before leaving the room, pausing briefly to touch something on the wall beside the bedroom door.