One Bad Turn Read Online Free PDF

returning to the home he shared with Sharon Mathers after discovering her body. ‘He hasn’t slept,’ the WPC said in an undertone. ‘I know how he feels,’ Coupland muttered. James was sat on a three seater sofa, a pillow and folded duvet beside him. He was white, with short fair hair that Coupland suspected was usually worn spiky with gel. Today it hung lank. Bloodshot eyes peered up under swollen eyelids. He looked like a man who had had his soul ripped right out of him. Coupland took a step forward. ‘James, I’m Detective Sergeant Coupland and this is my colleague Detective Constable Ashcroft. I’m sorry for your loss.’ Coupland put out a hand and waited, asking, ‘Can we sit down?’ when nothing was proffered. James nodded, regarding Coupland with dazed, languid eyes. Miss-timing it he put out his arm to shake the hand Coupland had offered moments earlier causing Coupland to raise himself from his chair to take the man’s outstretched hand. Grimshaw’s movements were slow, as though he was still trying to work out what the hell he’d stumbled upon. An untouched mug of tea had been placed on a low table in front of him. In the corner of the room the TV had been left on mute, a reporter interviewing refugees fleeing another war torn city.
    Both detectives perched on the sofa opposite. A side table had a pile of travel brochures on top of it, a post it note marking one of the pages. The FLO regarded her captive audience and plastered on a smile. ‘That’s better!’ she trilled. A chirpy woman in her thirties she’d been trying too hard to cajole James into talking. She crinkled her eyes at Coupland before picking up a cold mug and returning to the kitchen to make more tea. ‘She means well,’ Coupland leaned forward in his chair so James could hear him, ‘but she’s got one of those voices that makes me want to-’
    ‘-she brought me a quilt down,’ James gestured towards the bedding beside him on the settee, ‘said sleep would do me some good, but it won’t bring Shaz back will it?’ Coupland’s shoulders sagged. Not for the first time he wondered what it was like to have a happy job, one that brought nothing but pleasure to the people you came into contact with. There weren’t many occupations with the happiness factor guaranteed, he supposed, but working for the National Lottery must be one of them, nothing but life changing - in a good way - news to impart all day long.
    ‘I need to ask you some questions, James, do you think you are up to that?’
    ‘And if I say no?’ James responded bitterly, ‘will you go away?’
    Coupland shook his head. The living room was small and tidy, little by way of ornaments: a metal figurine of a floppy eared hare on the window sill, Coupland recognised it from the Guess how much I love you book he used to read to Amy when she was knee high. A wood burning stove was a central feature in the room, a basket of logs beside it, the kind you can buy from petrol station forecourts. There were several framed photographs on the feature wall, James and Sharon standing in front of various foreign backdrops, The Eiffel Tower, The Empire State Building, Edinburgh Castle. She was a looker alright. Coupland cast a glance at James, wished to hell he hadn’t been the one to find her, see his beautiful girlfriend with her face undone. He wondered how long it would take for that memory to recede, wondered if it ever would. He stood, moved towards the photographs to get a better look. In one the couple were standing in front of the Bellagio. ‘Vegas, eh? Just come back from there, myself,’ Coupland pointed to the picture, ‘only stayed a couple of nights, mind, policeman’s salary and all. Was a bit of a special occasion for us.’ James looked up, ‘We were going to get married,’ he said, ‘you know, in the Elvis chapel, but when we got there we decided we couldn’t do that to our families, deny them their special day.’ Coupland nodded. If his Amy ever did