Free One Bad Turn by Emma Salisbury

other sections. ‘Forty five pounds in cash and a train ticket to Oxford Road.’ He switched on her mobile. ‘S’funny,’ he said, after a minute or so had passed, ‘no missed calls.’ Ashcroft shrugged, ‘Maybe she was going away?’
    ‘No bags or suitcases,’ Coupland observed, ‘besides, she wasn’t dressed for travelling, she had a flimsy dress on with tights, for a start,’ Coupland swiped his finger across the smartphone, ‘good thing nobody locks their phones any more,’ he tapped the screen until he found her email account which had been set up to display messages without the need to log in every time. ‘Bingo,’ he grinned, ‘there’s an email here confirming an order from Next, giving a delivery address on Fire Station Square.’
    ‘Where’s that?’ Ashcroft asked, ready to tap a postcode into his phone’s GPS. ‘Don’t bother,’ Coupland pointed to a cluster of buildings beyond the roundabout, ‘it’s there.’ What was once the forecourt of Salford Central Fire Station was now a public space with trees and benches. The fire station itself, a red brick and terracotta building with a shaped gable featuring a clock face had been converted by the university to accommodate its council chamber and three small boardrooms. The fire engine bays had been redesigned into meeting spaces although the firemen’s poles had been retained. The properties behind the main building consisted of smart red brick terraced houses and this was where Maria Wellbeck lived. A blink of an eye and they had pulled up outside. Ashcroft switched off the engine and waited. Coupland caught his eye as he took his time unbuckling his seat belt. ‘Never gets any easier, this bit,’ he sighed. Delivering the death message. The moment he walked into someone’s life and fractured it.
    As they approached the front door they heard a baby crying from an upstairs window that was slightly ajar. ‘At least we can’t get the blame for waking the child up,’ Ashcroft said as he pressed the doorbell. An harassed looking man dressed in suit trousers and a shirt half hanging out of his waist band opened the door. He made a point of looking at his watch, ‘Christ, you’re a bit keen aren’t you, I’ll take a leaflet and we’ll call it quits, eh?’ he offered. Coupland held up his warrant card, Ashcroft’s was displayed on a lanyard around his neck. The reaction was immediate, the man’s shoulders dropped and his face took on the look of a frightened animal. He took a step backwards, as though trying to distance himself from what was to come. ‘Mr Wellbeck?’ Coupland asked. The man nodded in slow motion, his mind trying to compute why two sombre looking cops had turned up at his door. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Coupland and this is Detective Constable Ashcroft, may we come in please?’ Wellbeck said nothing, but stepped back a few more paces to allow them access. As they stepped into the hallway a much older woman came down the stairs carrying an infant. The child looked no more than six months old and was grizzling, their face red and legs banging against the woman’s hip. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked as Wellbeck showed the men into a living room that had been smart once, but had since been hijacked with baby paraphernalia. ‘Are the bottles ready?’ the woman asked; ‘Only madam here isn’t as patient as her brother.’ She turned to the detectives, ‘twins,’ she beamed, as though she hadn’t got over the novelty of saying it. ‘Please, Mr Wellbeck,’ Coupland said, ‘it might be better if we can go somewhere private, where you can sit down.’
    ‘I’ll stand if it’s all the same,’ Wellbeck said gruffly, regaining some of his composure. He tucked his shirt into his waistband and held his arms out for the child. ‘I really think you’d be better doing as I suggest,’ Coupland persisted. Wellbeck stared at him, ‘Is this about Maria?’ he demanded, causing the woman to gasp. He half turned