Ged leaned back in his chair, a lazy grin forming on his face. ‘Come on love, I didn’t mean any harm.’
Lynn’s face hardened. ‘Isn’t that what bullies always say, that no offence was intended? That their victim should grow a thicker skin? You know how much of his childhood he’s told me about?’
Ged shook his head.
‘Nothing. Not one bloody thing. Speaks volumes that, doesn’t it? I mean, if it was mildly shit he’d have moaned about it but I’m talking complete radio silence. He’s wiped his memory of you like a war veteran might wipe away the memory of the IED that blew off their leg. And there I was, stupid enough to think the two of you round the table would be a good thing.’
Ged studied her. ‘You could do better, you know.’
‘You think so? He may not be the most demonstrative of blokes but he gave me a piece of him he knew I could break. And believe me, after meeting you I’m amazed he let me in at all.’
‘You’re as bad as his mother.’
‘Why? Because I won’t take your bullshit?’ She shook her head, ‘You know, I’m a nurse, and it’s against every bone in my body to give up on someone. But I’m telling you, if you want to be part of this family you need to put some effort into being nice to him or we’re done.’
‘Who said I did?’ he said, getting to his feet.
‘Your choice,’ Lynn muttered as she reached for her phone.
‘No pudding then?’ the old man smirked as Coupland returned empty handed.
‘Got it in one,’ said Lynn.
With Ged dispatched in a taxi they cleared the table, moving into the front room to eat chocolate cheesecake. Amy could be heard via the baby monitor singing nursery rhymes while she changed Tonto for the umpteenth time.
Coupland turned to Lynn, ‘So, how was it for you?’
Her spoon paused midway to her mouth while she considered her answer. ‘Well, he certainly lived down to your expectations.’
‘Trust me; he was on his best behaviour there.’
‘Then I’m sorry, I should never have forced you into it.’
Coupland grinned. ‘Christ, is this you finally admitting you were wrong about something, and, newsflash, that I was right?’
‘Don’t push your luck, Kevin Coupland. You’re still a prize prick most of the time, you know that?’
‘I know only too well,’ he muttered, his mouth forming a thin line as he thought of Austin Smith and the flash of anger that may yet cost him his career.
Monday
Chapter Twenty-Two
The station reception was full of reporters vying for information on the hit and run. News of the dawn raid on the warehouse where James McMahon worked had leaked onto social media, the Evening News and local tabloids wanted details confirming before they ran the story. The desk sergeant had a phone clamped to his ear while holding his palm out to stop the deluge of questions coming his way. He eyed Coupland as he headed through the waiting area. ‘Trying to get someone from above my pay grade to deal with this but no-one’s bloody answering. Don’t suppose you can...?’
‘What? Say something else that will come back to bite me? Where’s Cueball?’
‘Processing the drugs that were seized.’
Coupland sighed, ‘I suppose I could get an update, run it by the press office to see what we’re allowed to say…’
‘Good man,’ the desk sergeant beamed. He returned the phone to its cradle and swept his extended arm in Coupland’s direction. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, if you could all take a seat my colleague here will be back with a statement.’
Coupland darted through the Authorised Personnel door before anyone tried to nobble him for a pre-statement sound bite.
Cueball was making his way up the stairs from the EMU. When he clocked Coupland in the corridor he bounded up the remaining steps, his face resembling a cat that had found a large bucket of cream. ‘I was coming to look for you Sarge,’ he said. ‘Just needed to complete the chain of evidence forms first. We’ve seized just shy of sixty grand’s worth of coke and ecstasy tablets, all stuffed into bags of sweets and sherbet dips.’
‘Christ.’
‘Made two arrests as well. A fella on the packing line plus a security guard.’
‘Did you seize the CCTV tapes?’
Cueball nodded. ‘The recording system is operated via a network and I’ve been given the access code so we can view footage from any desktop here. That was going to be my next task. I’m assuming you’ll want to do the interviews?’
‘And steal your thunder?’ Coupland shook his head. ‘I’ll go through the CCTV footage. I was going to give the press a holding statement to get them off our backs until the interviews have been conducted but I reckon you should do the honours, you’ve earned it.’
‘You sure, Sarge?’
Coupland nodded. ‘Enjoy your moment in the sun when it happens. Trust me, there’s always a dirty great cloud looming ready to rain on your parade.’
Coupland was happy enough to fob off the journalists with a ‘Watch this space’ response so that Cueball got his moment of glory, and even more delighted Shelley and Danny Martin’s intelligence had resulted in disabling a feral drug operation. He hoped the warehouse security tapes would reveal another link in the chain leading them to McMahon’s killer.
*
There was an awkward atmosphere in the CID room. The briefing on the Cedar Falls fire had finished and detectives moved round Coupland carefully as he sat at his desk, averting their eyes the way people do when passing someone who’s been bereaved. Alex had informed them about his mother then, and that from now on he was persona non gratis as far as that particular investigation was concerned. He turned on his computer and typed the log-in details and access code Cueball had emailed him into the prompt that came up when he searched for the warehouse’s secure log-in. The site advised that the footage was stored online for 30 days before it was re-used, so there were several files still available that had been recorded in the run up to McMahon’s death.
‘Christ, Sarge, I’m really sorry,’ Ashcroft said, stopping at Coupland’s desk. He held a folder in one hand and car keys in the other. ‘If there’s anything I can do…’
Coupland shrugged without looking up. He didn’t know how to respond, hadn’t worked out his own feelings, let alone know how to articulate them. ‘Just make sure you catch the bastard,’ he said, staring at the screen, waiting for the file he’d selected to load.
‘Heard there’s been a breakthrough with the hit and run case.’
Coupland nodded, pointing to the video that started playing on his screen: ‘McMahon’s place of work.’ The footage was from a camera positioned at the entrance to the warehouse’s loading bay, a concrete area separated from the main warehouse by a metal shutter. Coupland peered at the high definition image of a man as he pushed a button to open the shutters, his hand raised in greeting at the driver of a small van that had reversed into the bay.
‘That’s McMahon,’ he said, pointing to another figure as he ducked beneath the shutter before it had fully opened, pulling a pallet of goods towards the vehicle’s rear. Coupland looked at the date at the top of the screen. ‘Taken two days before he was mowed down.’
They watched McMahon load the goods into the van while his colleague checked the items against an inventory on an electronic device which the recipient signed by dragging his index finger across the screen.
‘Looks legit to me,’ said Coupland, fast forwarding until another van reversed into the bay and the same process started all over again. ‘Guess it’s going to be a long day,’ he said, reckoning a decent coffee from the café across the precinct might ease the monotony.
Ashcroft seemed in no hurry to be on his way. ‘Problem?’ Coupland asked.
The DC considered this. ‘Not really…just wondering whether you’re still involved in the investigation into the care home abuse alleged by Mark Flint…’
Coupland turned to him and sighed. ‘Probably not, but that
doesn’t mean I can’t help…’
A nod. ‘I went to see the care assistant who’d been sacked from Cedar Falls following complaints of assault. He and Bernie Whyte used to work together. Reckons he was set up.’
‘By Whyte?’
‘Reckoned so, said he’d not been there long enough to make anything of it though. Harkins told him he wouldn’t bring the police in if he went quietly, said it wasn’t worth the paperwork.’
‘I bet he did,’ said Coupland, hitting the play button then fast forwarding again when McMahon went back inside the warehouse. ‘And where was he when these assaults were taking place?’
‘That’s the thing. I’ve been working through the scant employment details Harkins keeps and cross matched them against the date and times of the alleged assaults and the same three male members of staff are on duty each time. Harkins, Whyte and this fella, Tim Russell. They’re all performing tasks that leave them unaccountable, Harkins is in the office, while the other two alternate between making beds and preparing the day’s medication.’
‘None of the complaints were reported to the police, so there’s no DNA, right?’
‘That’s about the extent of it, Sarge.’
‘Did the complaints stop after this fella was sacked?’
‘Seems that way.’
‘That’s hardly a resounding yes,’ Coupland said, hitting the pause button once more. He turned to give Ashcroft his full attention. ‘Have you worked your way through the statements that Turnbull and Robinson took from previous patients who’d made complaints?’
‘Yeah, and those complaints tie in with when this fella worked there. But what if our perpetrator was clever and deliberately went to ground once he’d been sacked and couldn’t take the blame anymore?’
‘Come on, we’re talking about Harkins or Whyte for this, would you describe either of them as clever? Besides, the urge to abuse someone doesn’t disappear for long if that’s how you’re wired, it may become dormant for a while but it’ll raise its head soon enough.’
‘That was my thought, only it leads me to the question were any of the current patients abused. I mean, we know Harkins has had it in for Johnny, though we don’t know the extent of it – could be nothing more than a clash of personality. If you ask me we’re spending far too long looking at that kid for the fire.’
‘Well, I’m with you on that,’ Coupland said, pressing the play button once more with his hand hovering over fast forward for when the approaching vehicle had been loaded.
‘What if there are current patients being abused but are too frightened to come forward?’ Ashcroft asked.
Coupland considered this. ‘No DNA was found on Catherine Fry and as for the other victims all the forensic evidence was destroyed. Turnbull questioned everyone on Cedar Falls’ register, albeit to a limited extent, and nothing came up.’
‘Yeah, but they were questioned with a member of staff from the home present each time. And his questions weren’t specifically about abuse, more about trying to identify a patient with an axe to grind. This is different. I’m looking for current patients who choose to keep quiet.’
Coupland had reached the end of the file, clicked the ‘Next’ button to view the following night’s footage. ‘This’ll need careful handling, but you’re right,’ he said, ‘the patients need to be questioned again but with an independent appropriate adult.’
Ashcroft nodded; tucking the file under his arm he thanked Coupland for hearing him out. ‘I’d better start making some calls.’ He pocketed his car keys and returned to his desk with purpose, a spring in his step that hadn’t been there earlier when he felt he was getting nowhere.
‘You’re going to have to keep Alex in the loop on this as it may flag up further suspects for the arson,’ Coupland reminded him.
Ashcroft cleared his throat. ‘And your mother’s murder, Sarge.’
A pause. ‘That too,’ said Coupland.
It wasn’t the white van reversing into the loading bay on his screen that caught his attention. Or the fact that when McMahon ducked under the metal shutter this time he looked shifty as hell. Coupland watched as he pulled a pallet containing several boxes towards the rear of the van, while the driver walked round to look inside them. There was no electronic docket to sign this time, just a bumping of fists to confirm all was good with the consignment. It was then that he saw it. The name ‘Gillian’ inked along the driver’s forearm. A name that if Coupland wasn’t mistaken had been transformed into a script saying ‘In God’s Arms,’ a string of prayer beads beneath it.
Coupland dropped his head into his hands and groaned. ‘No wonder he’d been given a bloody company smartphone,’ he muttered. He hit rewind and played the footage one more time in the vain hope he’d been hallucinating. That he hadn’t really seen Liam Roberts collecting a shed load of drugs from a man killed in a hit and run two days later.
The same Liam Roberts he’d given money to yesterday and told to get out of town.
*
‘For crying out loud Kevin, you did WHAT?’
‘I thought I was giving him a chance! He’d had a rough time of it growing up, didn’t think landing him with a criminal record was going to do him any favours.’
‘Seems he’s capable of doing that all by himself,’ Alex volleyed.
Coupland blew out a long breath. ‘I know, I got it wrong. Big time.’ They were sat in the canteen. Coupland had asked Alex if he could have a word out of earshot of the team. Didn’t see the point of advertising what a knob he’d been. He’d spent the afternoon looking for Liam. A brief word with his mother confirmed he hadn’t been back home since Coupland had collared him the previous day, nor was he at Tunny’s wine bar. Moving drugs around the city didn’t mean he was responsible for the hit and run as well but either way if word got out Coupland had given him money he’d be out of his job faster than it took to say aiding and abetting an offender.
‘Have you told the boss yet?’
‘Are you serious? He’d have no choice but to flag it up the food chain and that’d be me put on suspension for definite.’
Alex looked thoughtful. ‘I suppose it’s not as bad as it sounds. You hear about rotten apples who take bungs from gangsters, but I‘ve never come across it happening the other way round.’
‘And that’s good?’
‘Well, it’s enough of a grey area for them to scratch their heads over.’
‘My cup runneth over,’ Coupland drawled, rubbing his hands over his face.
‘Have you put out an APB?’
Coupland threw his head back and laughed. ‘Christ, I didn’t give him enough cash to flee the country. More likely a couple of nights in a B&B in Liverpool than a new life in the sun. I wanted to give him space to think about the choices he was making.’
‘Yeah, well we’re past that. He’s a person of interest in a hit and run, Kevin, we need to find him.’
‘I know, and I reckon he spent yesterday dossing on a mate’s sofa while he thinks about his next move. Look…I’m pretty sure we can flush him out,’ he said, an idea forming in his head.
Alex shook her index finger at him. ‘Whoa, for a minute there I thought you said “We”.’
‘Are you bailing on me?’
Alex threw her hands in the air. ‘I’ve got a fire that’s resulted in a multiple homicide to solve, not to mention getting a handle on the abuse allegations that are coming to light.’
‘Yeah but they’re connected, and Ashcroft knows what he’s doing.’
‘Still no walk in the park, though. I’ve had to let Johnny Metcalfe go. He’s not able to explain his whereabouts in the lead up to the fire or how he managed to slip out of the isolation room he was in but equally we’ve no evidence to pin him to a charge of arson.’
‘Keep sifting, he’s hiding something, but it may not be the thing you’re expecting.’
Alex studied him, ‘Abuse?’
‘Starting to sound like it. Get Ashcroft onto it. Alan Harkins or Bernard Why
te are the most likely suspects and I know who my money’s on.’
‘Metcalfe reckons Harkins hates him.’
‘So maybe there’s more to it.’ Coupland paused. ‘Look, this has the potential to turn into a career defining case for you. Are you really prepared to stand back and watch mine get flushed down the pan?’
Alex threw him the look she gave tradesmen who wolf whistled when she walked past a building site. The look that stopped their cat-calls mid track. Coupland shifted under her gaze. Wondered if he’d called it wrong.
‘Let’s not forget Liam works for Kieran Tunny; whatever he’s done he’s done on the gangster’s say so. We go after him, we end up going after Tunny. We’ll need back up for that.’
‘Agreed…’ said Coupland. ‘So are you in?’
‘You’re a piece of work, you know that?’ she sighed. ‘What in God’s name do you want me to do?’
*
The tweet she sent out was short and to the point. In some ways it was no different to the communications the press office had sent out during Operation Sabre, when GMP named and shamed Salford’s top criminals, asking for the public’s help to get them off the streets. A grainy photo of Liam Roberts taken from the warehouse CCTV footage was embedded into the tweet, the message below it read:
Wanted in connection with a serious crime – police are appealing for help to stop this man peddling toxic children’s sweets across the city.
The only real difference, if someone wanted to be pedantic, was that the message hadn’t been distributed with The Super’s blessing, which was career Russian Roulette if Coupland’s plan backfired. Within seconds the post was being retweeted and commented on by members of the public, with names being tagged of people that might know Liam Roberts or his associates.
Thirty minutes later Alex sidled up to Coupland’s desk. ‘The retweets are going off the radar, people who don’t normally engage with us are indignant that their kids could be targeted by dealers.’
Flesh and Blood Page 27
