Flesh and Blood

by Emma Salisbury

  ‘I know,’ Lynn soothed. ‘I always wondered if I’d get to meet her one day.’

  Coupland looked up at her. ‘I told myself she was dead. That seemed preferable in a way, more honourable. Better that than the truth.’

  ‘But what is the truth, Kevin?’

  ‘That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? My dad walked round for ages like someone who’d been hit by a truck so I guess her leaving was as big a shock to him as it was to us. Mind you, let’s not get too sentimental, he was a shit dad and I know damn well he was a shit husband too.

  ‘After a while any mention of her became taboo. My sisters used to stand in the kitchen whispering but whenever I tried to join in they clammed up. For a while I thought she’d been abducted, it seemed the only sensible option that someone was keeping her against her will, yet no one seemed that worked up about her absence.’

  ‘Your sisters would have been devastated; they were probably just trying to protect you.’

  ‘Yeah, but it would have been better to let me in a bit more, I felt like I was on the outside, missing her but I had no-one to share it with… I promised myself that when I was older I’d join the police so that I could look for her properly. Only as each year passed I realised things I hadn’t noticed when I was a kid. Like she’d taken her best coat and bag along with the suitcase we used for family holidays. The girls finally confessed she’d taken the money in the housekeeping jar as well. Looking back her friends never came near the house – not that she had many – so I guess they all knew she was leaving, either that or they just didn’t blame her for going.’ Coupland paused. ‘I told the girls I’d break the news to him.’

  Lynn busied herself refilling his glass, rearranging her features into a neutral smile.

  ‘I know,’ he said, reading her mind as he took the drink from her, sipping it slower this time, the bitterness matching his mood. ‘I don’t know which bit freaks me out more, my mam being dead or the prospect of being in the same room as my old man.’

  The evening drifted away in a haze of whisky. Sleep came easily enough, overpowering him like an incoming tide, bringing burnt corpses and avenging gangsters with it.

  Thursday

  Chapter Fifteen

  Coupland could sense it coming the moment he stepped into the CID room and saw DCI Mallender perching a buttock on the edge of his desk. Although coming in at this time wasn’t unusual for him he normally stayed in his office, dealt with the ever burgeoning paperwork Superintendent Curtis threw in his direction. Despite this break from the Super’s spreadsheets he looked far from happy. Coupland cast a guilty glance at the drawer directly below Mallender’s backside and readied himself. ‘I can explain…’ he began, grateful that Alex wasn’t in yet, meaning he could throw himself under the bus without her coming to his aid and incriminating herself in the process. Besides, she had no idea he’d been daft enough to take evidence belonging to his mother out of the EMU and then fail to return it. It was standard procedure when an item wasn’t returned to escalate it up the ranks if the officer you’d been chasing failed to respond to your reminders.

  ‘Save it Kevin,’ Mallender sighed. ‘It’s bad enough you go about as though the rules don’t apply to you but to be caught on camera while flouting said rules is taking the bloody biscuit.’

  Coupland frowned. ‘Come again, boss? I’m not with you…’

  Mallender pulled out his phone, held up Angelica Heyworth’s on-line video of Coupland smoking on the fire exit steps. ‘Someone brought it to the Super’s attention at a function at divisional HQ yesterday evening. To say he’s apoplectic is an understatement. You know he hates being on the back foot, so he rang me at home last night to pass it on.’ Mallender sighed. ‘Why the hell didn’t you bring this article to my attention yesterday?’

  ‘For precisely this reason, boss, no one volunteers to have their gonads squeezed. Besides, she shouldn’t have been there!’

  ‘No, but then neither should you. It’s bad enough that Curtis has asked HR to re-circulate the division handbook on smoking regulations but to top it all Joe Public can now download your confession at the push of a button. It’s not going to do your credibility any good come the date of the hearing, is it?’

  Coupland’s shoulders dipped. ‘I’m sorry, boss; I don’t know what came over me…’

  ‘And that false piety won’t wash either, Kevin. I prefer it when you take the piss; at least I know where I stand.’ Mallender got to his feet, nodded at the night shift stragglers on their way out and the day shift early birds on their way in. ‘OK, we’re done.’ His voice was low, he’d come to bollock, not humiliate. ‘The Super’s pushing for this month’s stats, maybe now’s the time to pull something good out of the hat.’

  ‘Now who’s taking the piss,’ Coupland scowled, but only once the DCI had stepped into the corridor and was out of earshot.

  *

  Coupland ran his fingers over his chin. Close call. Maybe Mallender wasn’t as up to date with his emails as he liked to make out. Coupland started slightly at a noise sounding from his jacket pocket. He reached for his phone, barking his name at the caller.

  ‘Ah, you are alive and well,’ the droll voice observed, though there seemed little relief in their observation. It was one of the laugh a minute duo from the basement. Coupland went on the defensive; glancing round to check no one was listening he spoke quietly into his phone. ‘Yesterday was a bastard, mate, any chance I can keep the evidence a while longer?’

  ‘That’s why I was calling, there’s another bag here, it wasn’t logged properly when it came in which is why it hadn’t been put into the box we gave you. I reckoned you’d want to take a look at it while you were wading through the other stuff. Didn’t want you going off the deep end if you found out about it later. You can sign an extension request while you’re here.’

  Coupland was already nodding. ‘I’m on my way,’ he said, checking the time on his watch. The canteen would just be opening; he decided to call in before heading downstairs, reckoned as long as cholesterol levels weren’t taken into account bacon rolls all round would be just what the doctor ordered.

  Morning briefing

  For some strange reason Superintendent Curtis had insisted on sitting in on the briefing. Whether he wanted an update from the horse’s mouth or wanted to make sure Coupland didn’t chain-smoke his way through it with his head stuck out of the CID room window he couldn’t be sure but he sat beside Mallender, lips pursed, for the duration. As it was, Coupland’s gaze kept returning to his own desk drawer where he’d stashed the additional evidence bag following his return visit to the EMU.

  ‘Now the news has had a chance to sink in that Kieran Tunny’s sister was one of the victims, what’s the general feeling been, from anyone you’ve spoken to so far?’ He looked around the room as he asked this.

  Robinson was the first to speak. ‘In the main, shock. Wondering how anyone could do something like that.’

  ‘Any comments about Tunny?’

  ‘Folk knew he had a sister, Sarge, and they were sorry she was dead. But not one of them said they knew anything about the fire.’ No surprises there.

  ‘Tunny’s involvement has swayed the way the investigation’s been run, but I had a visit yesterday from a Mark Flint, responding to one of Turnbull’s calls to previous patients. Mark was there less than a month a couple of years back, and yesterday made serious allegations about the treatment he’d received. He gave me the names of two patients who were there the same time as him. Said their stories were much worse, though he wouldn’t elaborate. Krispy, I want you to trace them ASAP.’

  ‘I’m on it, Sarge.’

  Ashcroft had been making notes while Coupland spoke; he now raised his hand: ‘What this fella Mark Flint claims ties in with the stuff I’ve dug up following my call to the Care Quality Commission. At first the switchboard kept referring me to the website for information. All their inspection reports are uploaded onto the site for the public to see but what
I wanted was more of a behind the scenes tour. Anyway I got a contact name from Turnbull’s missus, someone she used to speak to from her time in social services.’ Turnbull beamed, acknowledging the name check with the nod of his head. ‘Shola’s contact was very helpful. Sent me the unabridged version of the latest report which had flagged up some serious issues. Cedar Falls has been placed under special measures. The reasons listed include poor risk management, over-use of medication and lack of supervision – seems staff are often left working on their own which means that if they have to deal with a patient in difficulty they’d need to leave others with no one to keep an eye on them. There’ve been several near misses over the last couple of years – people falling, bumping into furniture, avoidable injuries – and a shedload of complaints. Basically the home’s in breach of that many regulations if it doesn’t adhere to the action plan it’s been given it’ll be shut down.’

  Coupland paused to take this in. ‘This action plan, how’s it supposed to be monitored?’ Ashcroft referred to his notes. ‘The plan was put in place two months ago, the follow up review is scheduled for a month’s time.’

  ‘Christ Almighty,’ Coupland muttered. ‘It beggars belief. Unsafe practices, piss poor management, yet patients are still able to be referred there.’ He pictured Sarah Kelsey’s three motherless children, their fate awaiting them pending a case review.

  Ashcroft nodded. ‘I’ve spoken to two members of staff who’d left the previous year, asking them about the training they’d received. One of them mentioned a course he’d attended showing him how to restrain patients using physical force. Seems the course also showed them how to justify any force used in the paperwork they were required to complete.’ He lifted his note pad so he could read from the statement he’d taken. ‘“If we kneed someone in the balls we were told put down on the form that the patient was big and that we thought they were going to strangle us”.’

  ‘At least I know now why you weren’t able to complete the action I gave you,’ Alex muttered, sending a look of disapproval in Ashcroft’s direction.

  Ashcroft kept his head down, made a point of shuffling the papers on his lap. If he was waiting for Coupland to come to his rescue he’d have a long wait, Alex would smell a rat a mile off. ‘Good work,’ Coupland mumbled by way of an apology, catching Ashcroft’s eye when he looked up.

  ‘This bloody care home gets better and better,’ A DC on the front row stated, followed by several grunts of agreement. ’Any one of us could have had a family member there.’

  Coupland avoided Alex’s eye; instead he wrote the names Mark Flint had given him onto the incident board. Helen Foley and Colin Grantham. He turned to Krispy. ‘When you’ve tracked this pair down I want you and Ashcroft to go and pay them a visit, it’s about time we got you out of those training pants and Ashcroft will keep you right. Just remember these are vulnerable people who’ve possibly been detained against their will. They won’t thank you for asking them to drag up the past. Tact, diplomacy, and a great deal of sensitivity is required, which is why I’m giving this task a body swerve,’ he added before Curtis, or Mallender for that matter, had a chance to.

  The Super nodded his approval as he got to his feet. ‘There’s certainly a motive here for the fire being started by a disgruntled patient, and given Johnny Metcalfe’s history he’s looking like our man.’

  ‘He’s certainly a contender, Sir,’ DCI Mallender concurred.

  ‘We’re bringing him back in today,’ Alex added.

  ‘Has he an alibi?’ Mallender turned to Alex for an answer.

  ‘No Sir, other than he was having a melt-down.’

  ‘He needs to do better than that.’

  Coupland felt detached, he shared none of the excitement displayed by his team as Mallender doled out actions relating to Metcalfe in order for them to establish the opportunity he’d had to start the fire. There was no doubt this lead lifted everyone’s mood but a pin prick of doubt tickled at the base of Coupland’s neck. ‘I want us to bring Harkins in before we question Metcalfe again,’ he said, causing Curtis to scowl. ‘In light of what DC Ashcroft has reported his management goes way beyond that of someone incompetent. Besides, Mark Flint made an allegation of abuse. Even if this was carried out by other parties, Harkins is ultimately responsible. We’re duty bound to follow that up… you wouldn’t want someone coming at us further down the line asking why we ignored it, would you, Sir?’

  Curtis bared his teeth, his head swivelling in Mallender’s direction as if to say dealing with Coupland was his responsibility.

  Coupland felt the DCI’s gaze sweep over him. ‘Look, if nothing else, questioning Harkins might help us build a case against Metcalfe, but he should be our focus for the time being.’

  DCI Mallender considered Coupland’s words before nodding. ‘Agreed,’ he said, turning to Alex who was trying her best to hide her disappointment. ‘We put Metcalfe on the back burner for the time being.’ His next words were to appease Superintendent Curtis: ‘This may well end up a separate line of enquiry, Sir, but I think DS Coupland has a point,’ he said diplomatically. ‘The statements DC Ashcroft and DC Timmins take from the ex-patients identified by Mark Flint will determine our direction of travel.’ Mallender reverted to management jargon when he spoke to Superintendent Curtis in the same way inner city kids reverted to patois when speaking to their peers. The sanitised words brought the Super comfort, helped distance him from what was really going on. ‘It may even be low hanging fruit, Sir, as far as this month’s stats are concerned,’ he added.

  The Super’s grimace relaxed, he turned to Coupland with the nearest thing to a smile he could muster. ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘keep me updated with any developments, and get your skates on regarding that progress report on the hit and run,’ he added as he headed for the door. Shoe leather. Skates. Coupland began to wonder if Superintendent Curtis didn’t have some sort of foot fetish.

  DCI Mallender had been about to follow The Super then changed his mind, making his way towards Coupland instead. ‘I’ve ten minutes or so spare if you want to run through the statement you’ve prepared for Professional Standards.’

  Coupland blew air from his cheeks. ‘I’d have to write it first, boss… besides, I’m running late,’ he said catching Turnbull’s eye and nodding.

  Mallender spread his arms wide. ‘It won’t go away, you know. No good burying your head in the sand.’

  Coupland held his hands up as he backed away. ‘Wouldn’t dream of it boss, honestly, I’ll email something over to you as soon as I can but right now there’s somewhere I need to be.’

  ‘You’re the one with his backside in a sling,’ Mallender sighed as Coupland gathered up his car keys and phone.

  Coupland didn’t respond. He asked Krispy to make a call to Alan Harkins as he passed his desk on the way out, thinking that if the DCI found out about his personal connection to Barbara Howe before he had time to own up, his trussed up backside would be the least of his concerns.

  *

  Considering she’d been sacked from her job as community social worker following a case review of her conduct during a missing person’s inquiry, Shola Dube was remarkably chipper when she’d answered Coupland’s call, and more than agreeable when he’d suggested they went for a coffee. ‘He just wants to pick your brains,’ was what Turnbull had said to her the previous evening over dinner when he’d sounded her out about passing her number to the DS, assuming Coupland was looking for advice ahead of his pending Professional Standards hearing.

  ‘I suppose I can tell him what not to do,’ Shola had smiled. ‘After all, fat lot of good any of the preparation for my hearing did me.’ She’d been worried that he’d want to discuss Judy Grant’s trial which was scheduled to start the following day. She’d been the duty social worker who had supported one of the young migrants following her sister’s murder. It had been the first time she and Coupland had worked together and both were required to give evidence, but even so, meeting him the day before th
e trial started made her uncomfortable.

  Shola was already blowing the steam from the chai latte in front of her when Coupland strode into the café on Barton Road. There was something different about her since they’d last met. The corn rows previously gathered in a bun at the base of her head were worn loose now, framing almond shaped eyes set into dark chocolate skin. She wore a baggy jumper over skinny jeans, though her trademark scarf remained around her neck. Coupland had heard about her scars. Turnbull had told him once, in confidence, that she’d been attacked by the father of a child on her casebook, slashing her neck so deep ‘It’s a wonder he didn’t take her bloody head off.’

  Shola raised a hand in greeting as Coupland approached their table, full painted lips smiling at him despite the fact it was Alex Moreton’s report that had cost Shola her job. ‘No point in holding grudges,’ she’d said to Turnbull after her sacking, ‘Everything in your colleague’s report was true.’

  That was the problem with reviews carried out after the fact; Coupland had reiterated at the time, they didn’t capture the urgency of any given situation. The fear, the limited choices, the primal instinct to protect. Easy enough to spot mistakes with the benefit of hindsight. He’d never said as much to Alex but if he’d been asked to conduct the case review a lot less information would have made it into that final draft. With Alex there were few grey areas. People’s actions were divided into right or wrong. Correct procedures were followed or not. There were no alternatives, and certainly no middle ground. She hadn’t wanted Shola to lose her job, but the writing was on the wall as far as the social worker was concerned the moment Alex had hit the ‘submit’ button and sent her report to Superintendent Curtis. Heads must roll. How Salford gained from the loss of someone with Shola’s level of experience Coupland would never know.

  ‘I’ve ordered you a regular coffee,’ Shola told him. ‘I have it on good authority you don’t hold with all the fancy-pants concoctions folk like me drink.’