Northern Roulette (DCI Cooper Book 4) Page 6

  “We know her name and we know the kill site,” added Keaton.

  “What we don’t know is motive,” he replied. “Everyone, start talking to neighbours and people she worked with. I think Keaton’s right about this murder being a message. Let’s find out why someone wanted Eve Lynch dead.”

  - Chapter 14 -

  Hushed voices followed Cooper as she walked across the terrace outside Benji’s Bar. She could feel the mournful eyes of her father’s friends upon her, but they weren’t the only eyes that followed her. The staff were watching her closely, their lips sealing shut as soon as she was within earshot.

  “They’re worried about their jobs,” Tina told her. She was fluent in Spanish, but as she was too shy to practice, she had to make do with listening to other people’s conversations. “Apparently, the bills have been piling up, and it was Grandad Ben who was the numbers man. They think without him, the situation will only get worse. They don’t want to drop Granny in it, but they’re wondering if they should start looking for jobs elsewhere.”

  After a late lunch, Tina left to go for a walk and to call Josh. Cooper sat alone, sipping what she suspected was supermarket brand cola rather than the Pepsi she’d ordered. It was warm on the terrace, but it would have been sweltering had it not been for the ever-present breeze of the Canary Islands. A patch of painfully pink skin on the back of her thigh told Cooper she needed to do a better job applying sunscreen. She edged forward on the pallet-box sofa so her sunburn wouldn’t rub against the cushions or the wooden frame. Since Tina told her about the staff’s concerns, she couldn’t help but notice small signs around her – like a detective hunting for clues. Cracks in the plaster hadn’t been filled; the chip missing from the plate she’d just eaten from; the low-quality toilet roll in the bathroom; a patch of damp in the kitchen.

  A portly man with little to no chin entered the bar and made a beeline for Cooper. She recognised him as one of her father’s friends. She couldn’t for the life of her remember his name, but she remembered he and Ben liked to go fishing on Sunday mornings. The man, arms wide and face pitiful, enveloped Cooper in a hug. It was a good thing Tina had taken off, she hated strangers touching her, and this particular stranger hadn’t applied deodorant that morning.

  “Erica, darling, it’s good to see you. I just wish it weren’t under such dreadful circumstances. How’s your work going?”

  Cooper shrugged. Was it Alec? Allen? Albert?

  “Your dad was so proud of you. Always talking about his daughter, the great detective. In fact, the last time I saw him, the night before he passed, I’d been to visit, and he was telling me how you’d just solved some huge case involving the Blackburns. That’s a name that takes me back. Those Blackburns were causing trouble back in the seventies, maybe even earlier.”

  He released Cooper from his grip, and before she could answer any of his questions, he headed to the bar. Julie, dressed in black joggers and a baggy black t-shirt, gave him a tearful hug. She poured him a pint. As he reached into his is pocket to pull out a wallet, she waved his money away. Julie took a wine glass from the rack above the bar and poured herself a considerable measure of Rioja.

  So that was where some of the profits were going.

  She knew her parents’ friends were suffering, but if the bar was in trouble and jobs were on the line, Julie shouldn’t be handing out free drinks or helping herself to the stock. Last night Julie had finally stopped talking long enough for the grief to finally hit her. She’d fallen apart with wailing sobs and loud cries that could have been heard several buildings away. She locked herself in her bathroom and cried for hours. When she emerged, her makeup was perfect once more.

  “Mum, I’m heading to the tienda. Do you need anything else for the wake tomorrow?”

  Julie shook her head and took a sip of wine. “I don’t think so, dear. Everything’s under control. The lads in the kitchen are going to put on some nice nibbles for everyone.”

  Cooper was about to leave when her mother called her back. “Before I forget, you are... you are going to wear a hat when we go to church tomorrow, aren’t you?”

  Cooper’s mouth pinched and she chewed her tongue for a moment. God forbid Julie Cooper might look like the sort of woman who had a skinhead for a child in front of the congregation. Just because Cooper had a buzzcut, it did not mean she was a skinhead. She spent her career arresting people for hate crimes. Her choice to have short hair represented neither racism nor anarchy.

  “Yes, mother,” she said through clenched teeth. Cooper liked having her hair short and had done every second since she decided to opt for clippers. One set of clippers, versus hairbrushes, shampoo, conditioner, hairspray, straighteners and argan oil? Some style choices just made life that little bit easier.

  Unless you had a mother like Julie Cooper.

  Cooper walked away, shaking her head in disbelief. Talk about priorities. She hadn’t actually packed a hat for church. When Tina and Cooper packed their suitcases, they hadn’t expected to be attending a funeral. Her father had still been alive until the day before they flew out. It had only been the morning of the flight when they remembered to pack some sombre outfits. Tina had packed some black school trousers and a smart black top, while Cooper found a black dress that was neither too short to be decent or too heavy to be comfortable. The only hat she had with her was a khaki-coloured baseball cap.

  The shops along the main thoroughfare sold summery dresses, sun visors and straw cowboy hats. She had to wander over a mile to find a boutique that stocked black sun hats. Cooper bought one but winced at the price; it was hideously expensive, but it was her only choice.

  Cooper’s feet dragged as she headed back to the bar. Instead of turning right, she decided to follow the path that led to the harbour. She sat at the end of the pier, looking out at the boats as they made their way back into port for the night. The shipping boats made her think of North Shields: the fish quay and Royal Quays Marina. A small, comforting reminder of home. She drew out her phone and selected a contact who was equally comforting.

  “Erica.”

  “Sorry I missed your call,” she said.

  Justin Atkinson gave a small chuckle. “You mean, sorry you missed my twenty calls?”

  “Yeah, sorry, I know you just wanted to see how I was, but I wasn’t in a communicative mood. Still aren’t, if I’m honest.”

  “How are things? Are you doing okay?”

  “Things are… things are shit. I didn’t get to say bye, and my mum is driving me crazy. I know that’s a horrible thing to say.” She pressed a hand against her clammy forehead. “I know she’s grieving, she’s just lost her husband, but she’s doing my head in.”

  “Isn’t that what mothers are for?”

  This time Cooper chuckled, and it felt like the first time she had smiled since watching Paula Keaton cross the finish line on Saturday.

  “How’s Tina?”

  Cooper always appreciated how good Justin was with Tina. When she and Atkinson were dating he had neither pressed Tina for a father-daughter relationship nor had he ignored her. Instead, they had grown closer as two adults who shared a love of science. Though she’d never told him, he’d been a better father to Tina in those few months that they were together than her biological father had ever been.

  “She’s in another world,” Cooper said. “She avoids the bar like it’s contaminated with something. If it’s busy and loud, she just can’t stand it. And Mum and Dad’s friends don’t help. They keep wanting to hug her, and then they look at her like she’s rude for refusing and offering a handshake instead. She spends most of her time either down on the beach with her head in a book or texting with Josh.”

  Atkinson sighed. “She’s always felt more comfortable talking to Josh. It’s probably a good thing she’s texting him all the time. Plus, she’ll be worried about tomorrow. She hasn’t been to a funeral before, has she?”

  Although Tina had some experience of death – a couple of students in her year grou
p had been killed last year – she hadn’t been able to attend the funerals or the special school assembly.

  “No. This will be her first. She’ll probably disappear about ten minutes into the wake. Hopefully, no one will make a big deal out of it.”

  “Well, if they do, I’m sure you can put them in their place. Everyone deals with death differently, and if Tina prefers to be alone, then Tina should be alone. She doesn’t need to be unnecessarily uncomfortable on top of losing her grandad.”

  “Not everyone sees it that way. I’m sure I’ll overhear the words unsociable, teenager, disrespectful.”

  “And if that’s the case, you can use the words uneducated and insensitive.”

  Cooper smiled but said nothing. Overhead, two clouds seemed to merge into the shape of Mickey Mouse.

  “But other than driving you mad, how’s your mum doing? She must be in bits?”

  “She has been. She’s up and down. One minute she’s bawling her eyes out, and the next, she’s on the karaoke machine singing Dad’s favourite songs. From what I can gather, the bar’s in trouble. They’re in debt and the staff are ready to walk out. I’m not sure they’ve even been paid this month. And if the Spanish equivalent of the Food Standards Agency takes a look in the kitchen cupboards, I’m not sure they like what they find.” Cooper tipped her head up in time to see one of Mickey Mouse’s ears float away. “Mum and Dad love this bar; it was always their dream to move here. I want to help. Keeping Benji’s afloat would be like keeping Dad’s memory alive, but I can’t throw money at a struggling business. I have a mortgage to pay and a daughter who will definitely be going to a top league university.”

  “You’re an amazing woman,” Atkinson said. “You’ve solved some of the most complex and brutal cases, but you can’t solve all the world’s problems. Tina will get through tomorrow like she gets through everything – with grace and intellect. If people castigate her for wanting to skip the wake, then that’s their own damn problem. And as for the bar, that’s not your responsibility. You have enough responsibilities of your own without taking on those of your parents. I don’t think your father would want you to go into debt to save his project. His legacy will live on in your memory or in the drunken stories of his ex-pat friends.”

  Cooper played with the brim of her new hat, running her fingertip over the ripples in the material. Although the heat of the late afternoon sunshine warmed her skin, it was Atkinson’s kind heart and thoughtful words that warmed her from the inside out.

  “How’s the case going? Is Jack coping?”

  “Nice try,” said Atkinson. “You’re on compassionate leave. If you think I’m going to start talking about the case, you’ve got another thing coming. Besides, what did I just say about not solving the world’s problems?”

  Cooper looked at her watch. It was almost five o’clock, which meant it was now a socially acceptable time to start drinking. Whilst she felt guilty about spending her money in another venue, Cooper wasn’t ready to go back to Benji’s just yet.

  If truth were told, she didn’t like the white wine they served there anyway.

  There was a peaceful-looking seafood restaurant behind her with a lovely deck looking out over the harbour. She would buy herself a crisp glass of sauvignon and watch the tourists come back in after a day’s snorkelling.

  “I miss you,” Atkinson said just as Cooper hit end call.

  “I miss you too,” she said to the dial tone.

  Tennessee was keen to get home. Tonight was Alfie’s first swim class. He and Hayley had been looking forward to this since they booked the course last month. Tennessee had bought his little one a range of swim nappies with designs varying from nautical stripes to dinosaurs. He’d even started learning the words to the various nursery rhymes and children’s songs that would be sung by parents during the class. Alfie loved nursery rhymes; he always made cooing noises and wiggled his feet whenever Tennessee sang them to him.

  As his car rolled to a stop and Tennessee found himself at the back of a traffic jam, his heart sank. He needed to be home within twenty minutes; otherwise, Hayley would set off without him. He’d miss out on cradling his son in the water, hearing all the babies laughing, watching him submerge for the first time. Tennessee tried to put it from his mind and focused on the radio instead; the station was having a throwback to 1988. After a bit of Kylie, a touch of Elton John, and a sprinkle of Bobby Brown, Tennessee’s car had moved approximately thirty metres. He folded his arms over the steering wheel, rested his head on his forearms and groaned. He now had eight minutes to cover four miles.

  The traffic started to crawl again, and when Phil Collins began to sing, Tennessee turned the radio off. He felt like he was missing something. Was it important? There was definitely something niggling at him. Eve Lynch’s neighbours knew very little about her. Avani Amin probably knew her the best; she was devastated to find out Eve was dead, horrified to hear she’d been killed. He went over her words in his head to see if anything stood out. Any clues that would explain the uneasy feeling. Could it be Phil Collins? He was a drummer, singer and actor. Their victim was a singer. Was that it? Or was it the Bobby Brown track? His wife had recently bought some cosmetics from a company with the same name or what he thought was the same name. Hayley had giggled and explained it was a Bobbi with an I. It must be that. He was probably just remembering his conversation with Hayley.

  Five minutes to cover three miles. Tennessee loved his job at CID, but he also loved his family. It didn’t matter how many advanced driving courses he took; he had more chance of winning the lottery than getting through this traffic jam.

  Hayley would be strapping Alfie into the baby seat about now.

  Without Tennessee.

  - Chapter 15 -

  He pulled his thick coat tighter around him. It might be late June – technically summer – but the exposed north shore of Holy Island felt like cold, winter’s night. Known for the Lindisfarne Gospels, Viking invasions and foolish tourists being cut off by the tide, this place was both a holiday destination and a site of holy pilgrimage. He checked his watch. The sun was beginning to peek above the horizon; it wouldn’t be long now. The man he was waiting for would show his face soon; he always did. Like clockwork. He’d been watching him on and off for weeks, ever since he’d read the news and come back home. He hunkered down and pulled his knees into his chest. Around him, the long grass of the sand dunes swayed in the wind, the tallest blades caressing his cheeks.

  This part of the island was called Coves Haven. It was a quiet sandy beach away from the priory, the lime kilns and the famous castle. It had been his haven when he’d arrived in the total darkness. He sipped whiskey to stay warm while he fantasised about what the morning would bring. It would not be a haven for the man he was waiting for. This was no place of safety or refuge.

  This was a place of retribution.

  He stretched his legs and wiggled his toes, trying to bring warmth back to his extremities. Coffee helped. It was lukewarm now, but caffeine was caffeine. Not that he needed stimulants to be able to do what he was about to do. It would be easy. The man and his collie left their home on Marygate every morning at dawn and followed the coastal path. The tri-colour border collie was a bonny dog. Her black, white and tan fur shimmered, but the poor thing’s eyes had started to cloud with age; she looked as old as the man who walked her. Both underweight and succumbing to ageing joints, to think, he’d been the skinny and scrawny one once. Not now. Not after dedicating years to building muscle and functional strength. Building his cardio and the power of his lungs. All those hours in gyms and on building sites. He wanted to change his body like he’d wanted to change his entire life. He hadn’t realised all that time had been preparation. Preparing for this day. For this mission.

  The smaller creatures of Holy Island were beginning to wake. A grey seal briefly poked his head above the water before disappearing back into the depths. Butterflies danced around purple northern marsh orchids. An eider duck called out to
her mate. Around here, they were known as cuddy ducks due to St. Cuthbert’s fondness for them. But besides the creatures that called this island home and the old man and his dog, the Holy Island of Lindisfarne was sound asleep. This side of the island was deserted, and the tourists wouldn’t arrive until nine-thirty when the tea rooms opened.

  He spoke to his victim yesterday. It gave him such a thrill; he didn’t know if he’d be able to do it. An internal battle raged between the fragile, insignificant boy he’d been and the strong, dangerous man he’d become. Yesterday, he watched the man and the collie return from the newsagents. He watched as he dropped his paper and struggled to pick it back up. It was his chance. He’d walked over, picked up the paper and handed it to him. His hands were shaking, but the old man didn’t notice. There was no look of recognition on the old man’s face when he handed him the paper and stroked the dog. He thanked him and struck up an inane conversation about the weather. He had no idea.

  From the dunes, he watched the old man approach. The dog zig-zagged behind him, fur billowing gracefully in the wind. Her herding instincts causing her to walk slightly crouched, head lowered and tongue lolling.

  His heart fluttered as he watched the pair. They were both so blissfully unaware of what was to come.

  He stood, dusted the sand from the back of his legs and walked casually towards his target. Just another early bird out for a morning stroll.

  “Mornin’.”

  “Good morning,” replied the old man. He stopped to pull a pebble from the sole of his shoe.

  “Crackin’ day for it.”

  “Aye. Clear skies forecast all day.”

  His heart beat faster, his head filling with questions of morality. Was this worth his soul? He would be damned to an eternity of hell for his actions. Yes, he concluded – it was worth it. Some things could not go unpunished.