He pulled out his notepad. ‘So tell me why you’re convinced this is an insurance job,’ he said.
Chapter Four
Tyson Gemmell, otherwise known as UB40, was where his father had told DC Ashcroft he’d be. At the recreation park at the end of their road, keeping the hell out of his old man’s way. ‘You two don’t get on then?’ Ashcroft had asked Gemmell senior. In his late thirties, the man was a similar age to Ashcroft, but with an overhanging gut and greasy skin that must have taken sheer effort to acquire; they had precious little else in common.
He looked Ashcroft up and down, ‘You can put up with most things in small doses, can’t you?’ the man chimed, closing the door before the detective could ask him anything else.
The lack of surprise on UB40’s face when Ashcroft turned up, together with the smartphone he was holding, told him the boy’s father wasn’t so hacked off with him after all. ‘I take it your old man warned you I was coming?’ he asked.
UB40 nodded, but there was caution in his eyes. ‘He warned I should watch my Ps and Qs. Said you weren’t the usual type that comes calling.’
‘You mean because I support Fulham rather than City?’ Ashcroft smiled.
UB40 shook his head, ‘He said you were a detective. I’ve never had a detective come calling before.’
‘Plenty of boys in blue though, I’ve heard.’
UB40 shrugged. ‘I’ve had my fair share of run-ins,’ he agreed. ‘But to tell you the truth I’ve had enough.’ He reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a vape stick. ‘Given up smoking, haven’t I?’ he said, holding it up like a museum curator might hold a rare artefact. ‘Counsellor said it would help if I didn’t come into contact with any sort of fuel. ’
‘Is it working?’
‘All that stuff’s behind me, mate.’
Ashcroft nodded his approval. ‘I’ve not worked this patch long. Why the nickname, you a fan of the group?’
UB40 looked blank. ‘By the time I was twenty one I’d been up before the bench 40 times, seemed as good a name as any.’ He’d certainly been a busy boy. The report Ashcroft had read stated he’d set fire to everything from litter bins in his classroom before he was expelled to bus shelters and historic monuments once he started doing community service. The local stores had a photograph of him behind their counters warning staff not to sell him matches or any incendiary paraphernalia.
A group of youths were heading away from the park, making their way towards the main road and the precinct opposite, One glanced round at Ashcroft, looked away when he caught him staring. ‘Your mates didn’t fancy sticking around then?’
UB40 shrugged. ‘What do you think?’
‘So why are you hanging round the park with that lot instead of out getting a job?’
UB40 stared at Ashcroft as though he was simple. ‘Who’d employ me now? Besides, I’m still under a curfew until the end of the month and I’m hardly office job material.’
Ashcroft glanced at him sharply. ‘What time’s the curfew?’
‘I have to be home between 7pm at night and 7am in the morning.’
‘So if I ask you what you were doing last night you’re going to tell me you were at home.’
‘Yeah, no choice, have I?’
‘But we both know with curfews there’s no guarantee that anyone will call round to check you are where you’re supposed to be, and Friday nights are our busiest of the week. I reckon you’ll have had a free pass for the evening.’
UB40 shrugged. ‘I don’t have the money for a social life. I was sat at home all night, waiting for dibble to read me a bedtime story.’
‘You sure you didn’t decide to take a chance and slip out later with your mates?’
A sigh. ‘I didn’t set fire to no care home if that’s what you’re asking. I was at home with me old man.’
‘How do you know about the fire at the care home?’
UB40 held up his phone, ‘S’all over Facebook, innit?’
‘Do you know any of the staff who work there, or the patients?’
UB40 shook his head.
‘You ever worked there?’
‘No mate, you’re not listening, I haven’t worked anywhere.’
‘Any idea who might have done this? Any of your mates, perhaps?’
‘What? I only knock about with people who set fire to stuff? I told you, I don’t know anything.’
Ashcroft decided to leave it there. UB40’s alibi was non-existent. He couldn’t be eliminated from the enquiry for the time being, but nothing that he’d seen so far made him think he was a suspect.
*
Darren Grey, otherwise known as Special Brew, liked a drink even though he couldn’t afford it. He had a reputation in the town for ‘helping folk out,’ which was another way of saying he fenced stolen goods. Before he’d been re-housed, the back room of his maisonette had been used by a local gang to distil counterfeit gin that they sold on the internet as the real thing – at a knock down price of course. He was paid in hooch and it had suited him just fine, until the night he got a text from a member of the gang to say the police were on their way and he was to destroy the evidence. Instead of dismantling the network of pipes and glass that had taken over his back room he’d decided to set fire to it, the cask of gin going up like a New Year firework display. He’d been convicted of arson and served three of his six year sentence; the rest he was to serve on licence for good behaviour. He told Ashcroft he had an alibi for the night of the Cedar Falls fire, he’d had a date with a woman that he’d met online – could show Ashcroft text messages exchanged right up until he’d met her in a bar and grill in Walkden.
‘And they say romance is dead,’ Ashcroft muttered to himself, as he checked the table reservation voucher Special Brew handed him, a two main courses for the price of one deal through Itison.
*
It was starting to get cold. UB40 checked the time on his phone and sighed. Only 6pm but he was freezing his tits off. If he went home now his old man would be on his back about paying his way and helping his mum round the house. He tried to offer but she wouldn’t hear of it, slipped him a couple of quid when his dad wasn’t looking. His Universal Credit didn’t stretch to luxuries like vape sticks and scratch cards. His mates hadn’t bothered coming back when the detective had gone, said they had better things to do than hang around all day. It was alright for them. They had girlfriends and a cosy night watching Love Island on catch up to look forward to. He’d kill for a cigarette right now. He sighed, rummaging in his pocket for his vape stick. He trudged down Laburnum Street, making a right turn to cut through the ginnel when he became aware of footsteps behind him. It could be nothing, he reasoned. A jogger with their earphones in, unaware of the tension they were causing. He turned, ready to front it out; it never paid to show you were scared.
Two youths with hoods pulled up stared back at him.
*
Special Brew’s microwave had just gone beep when the doorbell chimed. Sighing, he walked into the hallway, hoping it wasn’t the bloody detective come back again. He’d told him all that he knew, which wasn’t a lot since he’d been otherwise engaged last night. She was up for a rematch, then, the number of pings his phone was making. Maybe next time they could cut out the food, come straight back to his place for a night cap, Netflix and chill or whatever else they were calling leg-overs these days. He made a mental note to pick up a couple of diffusers, women seemed to like that stuff. ‘Hold yer bloody horses, I’m coming!’ he called out. He glanced at the baseball bat he kept in the corner, deciding you couldn’t be too careful when it came to security. He opened his front door, gripping onto the bat’s handle in readiness.
Two youths stood on his doorstep, their faces obscured by scarves. ‘That’ll do nicely,’ one said as he pushed his way into the hall, relieving Special Brew of his bat in the process.
*
Warren Douglas lived with his mother in a tower block on the Tattersall estate. Six foot four with a mop of dark hair u
pon which he’d rammed a child size baseball cap. He scowled when he opened the front door. ‘Me mam won’t let coppers into the ’ouse,’ he informed Ashcroft as the detective held up his warrant card. ‘Says it makes the place smell of bacon.’
‘You know the answer to that then,’ Ashcroft replied, a smile flickering across his lips. ‘Don’t bring trouble to her door.’
‘Move out, you mean?’ Warren said without a hint of irony.
‘You could try not getting into trouble in the first place,’ Ashcroft offered. ‘Might make your life a bit easier.’
Warren’s brows knitted together, as though this was the first time this had been suggested to him.
‘Let’s take a walk,’ Ashcroft said, raising his voice so the harridan in the back room could hear. ‘Leave your mother to smoke her joint in peace. Though it’ll take a damn sight longer to get rid of that particular smell.’
Warren shrugged but did as Ashcroft suggested, pulling the door closed behind him as he stepped out onto the tower block landing. ‘We can’t go far,’ he said, pointing to the electronic device around his ankle. ‘It’ll set this bad boy off.’
Ashcroft sighed, ‘When were you put on the tag?’
Warren thought about this. ‘The fella came round and put it on yesterday afternoon,’ he answered. ‘They were going to give me community service but they’ve run out of charity shops that’ll take me.’
‘So when’s the tag active?’
‘Tea time until the crack of dawn,’ he said, ‘Got to wear it for three months, too.’
So Warren was in the clear then, for torching Cedar Falls, at least. Ashcroft had been slouching against the balcony wall; his back ached as he pushed himself upright. ‘Then I guess we’re done,’ he said.
Warren looked surprised. ‘I thought you wanted to ask me some questions?’
‘Not any more,’ Ashcroft answered as he turned to go. ‘Seems you were otherwise engaged.’
‘You fancied me for something then?’ Warren laughed, ‘Never thought I’d be grateful for one of these things,’ he said, regarding his tag like a proud mother showing off her new-born. ‘Magistrate said I’d avoided the jail by the skin of my teeth.’
Ashcroft’s phone rang as he headed down the stairs; he answered it, paying no attention to the two youths going in the other direction.
*
Turnbull and Robinson were making their way out of the primary school’s main entrance when they found Alan Harkins pacing the playground, a mobile phone in one hand and a Costa coffee in the other. ‘I’ve been ringing the council’s emergency line for the best part of an hour,’ he moaned as the detectives approached. ‘The person I’ve spoken to says there’s not much more she can do till Monday morning.’
‘Have you been told how long your place is likely to be out of action?’
Harkins shook his head. ‘No, a loss adjuster is coming out early next week to inspect the damage, hopefully they’ll have had their hands on the fire report by then and the rebuild can start moving.’
Turnbull hadn’t dealt with many suspicious fires but he’d be willing to bet a month’s salary the fire report wouldn’t be ready for a while yet, though there was nothing to be gained by sharing that view. ‘We need to ask you a few questions, if we may.’
‘Not like I’m going anywhere,’ Harkins replied, looking at the school building with the same level of contempt Miss Flaherty had shown when discussing him.
‘The care assistant who died in the fire, Barbara Howe, I understand she wasn’t supposed to be on shift. Have you any idea why she’d still be working?’
Harkins shifted on his feet. ‘She was a kind soul. I imagine she had promised to do something for one of the patients and time ran on. It happens that way.’
‘Any idea what it was?’
‘Sorry?’
‘What it might have been, the thing that she was doing for someone else?’
Harkins shrugged.
‘So it wasn’t the case that you were running the unit understaffed? That Barbara was working because no one was available to take over her shift, that she felt obliged to stay on?’
‘Absolutely not! What kind of establishment do you think I am running? ’
‘You’re aware that it’s routine to look into the finances of the business owner following a suspicious fire?’ Turnbull interrupted.
Harkins stopped pacing and stared at them. ‘Really? I hadn’t thought about it to tell you the truth. Is that necessary?’
He was trying to sound calm but Turnbull could hear the effort in his voice. ‘You’d be surprised at the level of information that’s flagged up,’ he said.
‘I’ve got nothing to hide.’
‘Most people don’t,’ Turnbull told him. ‘But then every now and then you come across someone who virtually leads a double life. Our job is to find out which category you fall under.’
‘Unless you want to make our job easier,’ Robinson offered, ‘and tell us how the business was really doing. Whether you were finding it difficult to make ends meet. Whether you owed money to anyone.’ It would take them the remainder of their shift to start the ball rolling as it was. The application to access Harkins’ bank accounts had already been rubber stamped by DS Coupland but getting it in front of the right person at Harkins’ bank depended on a number of things: how long the 24 hour helpline kept them waiting in a queue, whether the human they finally spoke to put them through the correct department first time and whether a decision maker was available to authorise the release of information given it was a weekend. Harkins’ full co-operation would be a Godsend, albeit unlikely.
True to form, the care home manager’s eyes widened. ‘You think this is what this is?’ he demanded. ‘That I set fire to the place to repay a debt?’
‘We’re not saying that,’ Turnbull reasoned. ‘We’re simply going through the process of eliminating you from our enquiry.’
‘Look.’ Harkins glared at them. ‘If you want to check with my bank, fill your boots, but I’m telling you now you’re barking up the wrong bloody tree.’
‘We’ve spoken to some of your staff…’
‘Ah, I see, Bernard’s been bad mouthing me again.’ Harkins wasn’t making an effort any more. ‘If there’s one thing that guy excels at, it’s having a pop at me.’
‘I wouldn’t put it like that exactly.’
‘Wouldn’t you? Did he tell you I was getting divorced? That I’m being taken to the cleaners so might be short of cash?’
Turnbull exchanged glances with Robinson. That had pretty much been the gist of it.
‘Yeah, thought so. Well that bit’s right, and it does mean I’m strapped for cash more often than not but then who isn’t these days? Look, it’s just sour grapes on his part because I’ve cut back on overtime and he’s not taking home as much as he used to, though how he thinks having a go at me to the police will solve that problem I have no idea. And as for Barbara working unpaid hours, it simply isn’t true. She liked spending time with the patients. She really cared about them.’
‘There’s an easy way to put this issue to bed,’ said Turnbull.
Harkins shrugged. ‘Whatever. If it’ll get you off my back so you can find out who really did this then do whatever you have to,’ he grumbled, finishing the dregs of his coffee before stomping into the school.
*
Back in the CID room Coupland slumped into his chair and let out a long sigh.
Alex shifted in her seat so she could eyeball him. ‘How did it go?’
Coupland mulled her question over before answering. The DCs working nearby had stopped talking so they could hear what was being said. His glare sent them on their way. He turned to Alex and shrugged. ‘Needs a little fine-tuning, apparently,’ he remarked, ‘Not saccharine enough for the rubber heelers’ sensitive palates.’
Alex regarded him. ‘Your federation rep is on your side, you know.’
Coupland wasn’t so sure. He’d caught the irritation on the officer’s
face when he’d hurried into the reception area apologetically; and the look of relief as he’d packed away his things to leave after their practice session. ‘I wouldn’t be taking that to the bookies any time soon,’ he said. ‘I don’t get it, though. I’ve never denied what happened,’ he said after some thought. ‘But I’m sure as hell not going to say I’m sorry.’ He caught the look that flashed across Alex’s face. ‘What?’
She shook her head, deciding to keep her own counsel. ‘Nothing,’ it was her turn to shrug.
‘He’s out for the compo, Alex, he doesn’t give a toss whether I’m sorry or not. If the law sees fit to award it to him who am I to object? The case against him was solid, that’s all I’m bothered about.’ Austin Smith, known as ‘Reedsy’, had been convicted for his part in the trafficking of migrants from Albania into Salford and his role in the subsequent death of a young girl he’d transported across the city for the entertainment of wealthy paedophiles. DCI Mallender had personally overseen the preparation of the evidence file against the traffickers, along with his equal number from the NCA. Coupland had insisted on being the one to drive it across the city to the CPS office in Quay Street. Reedsy wouldn’t be going anywhere for a long time.
‘I just think you’re handing them your career on a plate if you don’t play ball.’
‘Since when does playing ball get you anywhere? What they want is a full blown humping session and I’m not prepared to bend over,’ he growled. Officers had come and gone during his time at Salford Precinct; those adept at blowing smoke up the backsides of the powers that be were inspectors now, DCIs even, but he wondered if the job gave them any greater satisfaction, whether they enjoyed the political direction their careers had taken.
Flesh and Blood Page 5
