Flesh and Blood Page 2

  Turnbull didn’t look convinced. ‘What if they won’t agree?’

  ‘Start sending everyone in that direction anyway, they’ll have to open up then.’

  ‘What about the residents we’ve just moved to the sports centre? I’m not sure they’ll manage the walk.’

  Coupland rolled his eyes. ‘Come on man; help me out here. Tell ’em the place is about to go up, that’ll have them shifting their arses.’

  Mallender’s shoulders dipped when he was updated. ‘I’ll stay on till morning briefing; if I leave straight after I’ll make it in time for the afternoon session.’

  Coupland looked around, satisfied there was nothing more he could do. ‘I’ll go to the hospital and get a statement from the owner of the care home. Get an update on the burns victim while I’m there.’

  A task he wasn’t looking forward to one little bit.

  Emergency Department, Salford Royal Hospital

  Coupland slowed his pace outside Salford Royal’s Emergency Department to stump out his cigarette. He’d lit up the moment he’d left the scene, needed to fill his lungs with smoke that wasn’t acrid with the smell of human remains. Most cops needed something to blunt the sharp edges of the job. At least Coupland’s habit didn’t harm anyone else, he reasoned. He’d long since stopped listening to the passive smoking lobby. A group of youths stood close to the entrance. One of them, the oldest of the group if his bulk was anything to go by, was on his phone, the others circled him, grim faced. Nearby a man wearing a hospital gown sat in a wheelchair sucking on a roll up. He eyed Coupland’s Silk Cut dimp as he dropped it into an overflowing bin. ‘Got one going spare pal?’

  Coupland studied the man’s gaunt cheeks, wincing at his cough which resembled a death rattle. ‘Should you be having that?’ he asked, nodding at the cigarette in the man’s trembling hand.

  ‘Should you?’ the man countered.

  Coupland huffed out a breath as he reached into his pocket for his cigarette pack, put it under the man’s nose to take his pick. ‘Your funeral,’ he shrugged.

  A WPC standing in the waiting area pointed out the care home manager sitting on a plastic chair. ‘His name’s Alan Harkins, Sarge.’ She shook her head when Coupland asked if she wanted anything from the vending machine beside the toilets. ‘Drank so much tea I could pee paraffin,’ she replied, her attention returning to a wall mounted TV with the sound turned down.

  An advert for funeral plans flashed up on the screen. Two actors who’d seen better days standing in a conservatory looking at a brochure. Coupland grimaced; not the wisest of choices for a hospital waiting room, he reckoned. The care home manager had been watching the advert too, his attention moving to Coupland as he stepped into his line of vision. ‘Mr Harkins?’ Coupland asked as he drew near.

  The man nodded. A wide face framed with a chiselled beard sat atop a body with the narrowest shoulders Coupland had ever seen. His warrant card got the merest of glances; some folk were satisfied just seeing a lanyard. Harkins held up a bandaged hand. ‘I wouldn’t have bothered coming, just for myself,’ he said, ‘But I wanted to check how the others are getting on.’

  ‘And?’ Coupland prompted.

  ‘The woman on reception said someone would come out and see me once they’d been treated. Told me to sit here and wait.’

  Coupland regarded him. ‘So, I understand you were a bit of a hero.’ He offered what he hoped was a pleasant smile. Given the time of night and the circumstances under which they were meeting it was the best he could muster.

  Harkins looked surprised, or perhaps modesty made him act it. ‘What? Not really, I just did what anyone would have done, though if I hadn’t been there I dread to think what could have happened… I still can’t believe it.’ He paused, as though replaying the incident one more time in his head. ‘God knows how it started…’

  ‘Oh, I think there’s a chance a few others are in on it too,’ Coupland said.

  ‘What, you mean like arson?’

  Coupland regarded Harkins. He supposed arson to some would be a relief, a vindication of sorts, that they hadn’t done anything wrong. He tried hard to let it pass. Harkins furrowed his brow. ‘It’ll be kids most likely though, who did this I mean? Some hoodlums on a dare?’

  Coupland’s mouth turned down at the edges. ‘Possibly,’ he responded. ‘Though that’d be some dare. Whatever happened to rolling a condom onto your head or throwing a shopping trolley in the canal? Happy days…’

  He looked around at the sombre faces of the people waiting to be seen. Blood. Tears. Arms strapped up with homemade bandages. A man beside Harkins had a tea towel wrapped around his left hand. ‘I was de-stoning an avocado,’ he explained, as though Coupland gave a toss.

  Harkins cocked his head as he regarded the detective. ‘So you think it’s something more than a prank gone wrong?’

  Coupland shrugged. ‘I tend not to think anything until the investigation’s actually got underway, Sir. You’ve given my colleague a statement?’ He nodded in the direction of the WPC nipping into the ladies’ loo now she was surplus to requirements.

  Harkins nodded. ‘Yes, but there really wasn’t anything I could tell her.’

  Coupland cocked an eyebrow. ‘I wouldn’t be too sure,’ he said, ‘I can think of a couple of things I’d like to ask.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ He had Harkins’ full attention now.

  ‘Like why your sprinkler system wasn’t working?’ Coupland prompted.

  Harkins jutted his chin out. ‘We don’t have one.’

  Coupland stared at him.

  ‘There are no regulations to say we have to have a sprinkler system installed. The law requires that we are able to demonstrate that the premises and any equipment we use is safe and properly maintained. Staff are given regular fire safety training and I personally carry out all risk assessments.’

  ‘And look how well that turned out,’ Coupland countered, his glance dropping to Harkins’ hand.

  Leaving the care home manager to sit and stew for a while, his non-existent shoulders drooping even more, Coupland signalled to a passing nurse that he wanted a word. ‘Tough night?’ he asked when the nurse dropped his guard once he knew he wasn’t speaking to a relative.

  The man blew out his cheeks. ‘When are they not? You here about the victims brought in from the fire at that residential home?’

  Coupland nodded.

  ‘The casualties brought in with minor burns are fine. We’re keeping them on obs for a while due to smoke inhalation but they’ll be good to go in a couple of hours.’

  Coupland waited. ‘And the last one to be brought in?’ he prompted when the nurse hesitated. ‘I know it’s not looking good, but I’d still like to see them.’ He was aware he didn’t even know if the victim was a man or woman.

  The nurse lowered his voice. ‘We’ve put her in a side room,’ he said, ‘I’ll just clear it with the consultant and I’ll take you through.’

  *

  The name scrawled on the whiteboard above the bed said Ellie Soden. Coupland pulled out his notebook and jotted the name down. He stared at the unconscious figure lying on the bed. There wasn’t a face to speak of. Melted eyelids and the cartilage of a nostril could be seen beneath an oxygen mask. The rest of the face was burned beyond recognition, an uneven landscape of blisters and pus. The consultant had made Coupland wait outside the room until the woman’s condition had been stabilised. ‘Pointless sending her to the burns unit,’ he said when he stepped outside to speak with him, ‘She isn’t going to survive this. We’re talking hours at most. In the meantime we’re keeping her sedated.’

  ‘Probably for the best,’ Coupland found himself saying, though that’s not what he meant at all. Pragmatic and thick skinned, he was fond of calling a spade a shovel yet that didn’t stop him reeling at the damage one person could inflict upon another. Yesterday this woman had been going about her business and now this. A life not yet snuffed out, but slowly smothered as her organs began to fail. There was a saying,
Coupland wracked his brain as he tried to remember it, ‘There’s no comfort to be had from soft words spoken at a safe distance.’ In his line of work people didn’t pass away or fall into a restful sleep, they were killed, murdered, dragged into oblivion kicking and screaming and damaged beyond repair, lives extinct before their time. The victims he dealt with knew no peace at the end. He hadn’t realised the extent of it when he’d signed up for the job, was too far in now to do anything else to earn his crust. He’d learned over the years it was better to speak candidly, to let relatives know the facts as they were so they could start to process them. Even so. This would be one hell of a call to have to make. ‘Have the next of kin been informed?’ he asked.

  ‘You’ll have to check with one of the nurses, sorry.’

  The sound of a commotion coming from along the corridor put Coupland on alert. Before the security guards hanging round the nurses’ station had time to react he was running towards the waiting area in front of the reception desk. One of the young men he’d spotted by the entrance earlier was having a stand up row with the WPC. ‘It’s not fuckin’ fair,’ the bulky one said, eyes narrowed. He couldn’t have looked more like a stroppy teen if he’d tried.

  The WPC was having none of it. ‘The receptionist has already told you she can’t give out any information to anyone other than family members,’ she said once more, not the least bit intimidated, sending Coupland a look that told him she had it covered, that any attempt to undermine her would not go down well at all, rank or no rank. Coupland slowed his pace, had enough blots on his copybook not to risk a complaint of sexual discrimination being added to his ever growing catalogue of misdemeanours. The WPC had as much right to get a gob full during her shift as any male officer, he knew that much. He thrust his hands in his pockets, waited long enough to see the boy and his mates stomp away, though not before one of them flicked his finger at the receptionist. Something niggled in the back of his skull as he watched the youths leave, but nothing that had the decency to make itself known at this time of night. Coupland hauled in a breath as he pushed the thought away. Right now Ellie Soden was his priority, and her time was running out.

  The nurse who’d shown Coupland into the trauma unit stepped away from the bed to write something in Ellie’s patient folder. He looked up when Coupland paused in the doorway. ‘It’s OK, you can come closer,’ he said, not needing to add that that it was pointless worrying about infection under the circumstances. Coupland moved towards the bed, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the smell of burned meat.

  Ellie was surrounded by tubes and monitors. The machinery beside her kept up a rhythmic beep and hum, the illuminated numbers on them told all who looked that the prognosis wasn’t good. The nurse leaned in close to Coupland in case what was left of Ellie’s ears might pick up what he said. ‘You intending to stay around?’

  Grateful for the excuse to look away Coupland turned to face him. ‘Hadn’t planned to,’ he answered, ‘Any sign of the next of kin?’

  The nurse’s nod was slow, ‘I got her parents’ details from the care home manager, managed to get through to them about twenty minutes ago. They live in Birmingham.’

  ‘What was she doing at Cedar Falls, then?’

  ‘Apparently it was the nearest place that could take someone with her needs. They’re on their way but they’ll not make it in time. I didn’t tell them that obviously, nothing to be gained in adding to their agony.’

  Coupland’s shoulders dipped, his gaze returning to the prostrate figure on the bed. ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Eighteen.’ Something cold and hard shifted in his gut. He pushed an image of Amy out of his mind. The thought of anything like this happening to his daughter… and now there was Sonny Jim to fret about… He moved towards the bed. ‘How come you were able to ID her so quickly?’

  ‘Only the top half of her body has been damaged by the fire. She has a tattoo on her left leg; the care home manager recognised it straight away.’

  Coupland had heard enough. ‘Don’t suppose me staying on will do any harm,’ he ventured, ‘not as if she’s spoiled for choice.’

  ‘She’s not in any pain,’ the nurse said. ‘We’ve dosed her up to the eyeballs.’

  What’s left of them, Coupland thought, looking on as the nurse slipped from the room.

  Coupland glanced at the diamorphine drip, thanking Christ for small mercies. He forced himself to look at the burnt sphere on the pillow. Leaned in close to her face. Whether she sensed his presence or was away with the fairies was another matter. ‘We’ll get who did this,’ Coupland promised, his throat tightening as though he’d swallowed something hard. He could have sworn for a moment that she heard him. There was a movement, albeit miniscule, a slight turn of the head in the direction of his voice. He moved until his nose was above where hers used to be. In the police dramas Lynn watched on TV Ellie would have moved then; the more far-fetched shows would have had her raising a hand to write down the culprit’s name on a note pad the detective offered. But this wasn’t a cop show, this was as real as it got, a young girl in resus, not even fighting for her life, just slowing drifting out of it.

  He saw it then, a single tear roll out beneath the blister of an eyelid into the blackened mass that would once have been her hair. Coupland’s breath quickened as another one formed. Two strides and he yanked the door open, calling for the nurse to return. ‘She’s responsive!’ he called out. ‘She’s crying. Maybe she is in pain after all.’ The nurse smiled at him then, the way medics do when they’re trying to soften the blow. ‘Her tear ducts don’t work anymore, it’s likely the drops I’ve put in to keep her eye sockets moist.’

  ‘So she wasn’t trying to tell us something?’

  Like the pain was off the Richter scale.

  That she was frightened.

  That she didn’t want to die…

  The nurse shook his head. ‘There are some sickos out there, I’ll give you that,’ he muttered. ‘Preying on those who need our compassion.’

  Coupland’s jaw clenched. He had a word for them, alright, only sicko didn’t cut it. He clenched his fists at the thought of what he’d do… then blinked the thought away. Wasn’t he in enough trouble? He’d joined the force because he wanted to make a difference. Yet what difference could he make to this girl’s life other than be with her when she left it, however long that took? He breathed out a sigh as he reached for his phone. Sonny Jim wouldn’t know whether Coupland was there or not, he reasoned, as long as someone gave him his bottle. He dialled home.

  Saturday

  Chapter Two

  The incident room smelled of bonfires. Only those just starting their shift were dust free. DS Alex Moreton hadn’t bothered with a suit, had decided old jeans and a shirt she wore for cleaning up would do – faint splashes where bleach had striped the colour out could be seen here and there. She’d reported for work at the crack of dawn, news of the potential gas leak had got onto social media; Salford Online had posted a photo of local residents being shepherded into a nearby school. With the fire still raging through Cedar Falls there was every chance the incident could escalate into an emergency situation.

  Alex had been awake long before the news bulletins came in. Todd’s sleep pattern was bordering on the non-existent; most nights would be spent with her or Carl pacing the floor with him while the other slept. She’d been scrolling through Facebook on her phone when the first report came through. Ten minutes later she was reversing her car off the drive, her grumpy baby and his grumpy dad glaring at her through an upstairs window. ‘If the leak goes up it’ll be a major incident,’ she’d said, aware of the major incident she was leaving Carl to deal with on his own. By the time DCI Mallender returned to the station she’d run a search through the HOLMES database for anyone with a previous history of arson living within a five mile radius of Cedar Falls. Only one of the offenders who came up on the list was serving time, the others had participated in community payback orders. Alex printed off their details ready for
the briefing.

  Morning Briefing

  DCI Mallender addressed the assembled officers from a chair he’d pulled from a desk at the front of the room. He’d been on his feet for the best part of the night and had a three hour drive to Bristol ahead of him. A brief respite was needed while he drank the coffee DC Timmins carried in on a tray. ‘You do the honours, Kevin,’ he said as Coupland walked in.

  Coupland nodded, studying the crime scene photos that had been put onto the whiteboard: Cedar Falls’ main building engulfed in flames, a photo of Catherine Fry, the first victim recovered from the scene, together with photos of three horrifically burned bodies taken in situ, prior to their removal. Someone had written ‘Fatalities’ down one side of the board and underlined it; four names had been written underneath. Barbara Howe, Roland Masters, Sarah Kelsey, Catherine Fry. These were the names of the residents and one staff member still unaccounted for, now presumed dead, albeit as yet only Catherine Fry was capable of identification as her injuries hadn’t obliterated her appearance.

  Coupland pulled the lid off a marker pen on his desk and added Ellie Soden’s name to the list. Placed a tick beside it to show her identity had been confirmed.

  ‘She didn’t make it then,’ Mallender observed.

  Coupland shook his head. ‘Was never going to,’ he answered. ‘She’s been identified by her parents, poor buggers.’ He blinked the image of Ellie Soden away. His hand holding hers when her breathing became shallow, the short spell of gasps before the rattle of death. Foam appearing where her lips and nose used to be, signifying she’d run out of air. It had taken two hours for her to die.

  Her parents arrived just as her body was being wheeled to the hospital mortuary. Coupland had sat with them in the relatives’ room while they tried to make sense of what he told them.