The Dead Room dm-3

by Chris Mooney

  Her eyes flicked to a dusty bottle sitting on top of her nightstand. It took her a moment to focus on the label. Johnnie Walker Blue. Had Humphrey brought a bottle of booze with him? No. No, he must have found it in the house but where? She didn’t remember seeing it.

  Empty glass next to the bottle. A burnt spoon, syringe and candle.

  Humphrey covered the phone with his hand. ‘How you feeling, love?’

  ‘I… ah… ah… can’t… ah…’

  ‘Can’t concentrate?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Feel any pain?’

  ‘Ah… ah… No.’

  ‘Good. Gave you a little shot of heroin to calm you down – feels wonderful, doesn’t it? I’ve never indulged myself, mind you, but I thought –’ He held up a hand, motioning for her to stay silent, and then spoke into the phone. ‘I’m at the Russo house. Everything’s all set. Take your time.’

  Humphrey hung up and stared at the phone, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Listed me as Judas,’ he said, smirking. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Ben was blessed with a dark sense of humour. The man is an Irish Catholic to the core. Do you know him as Ben or Frank? Which is it?’

  Jamie couldn’t hold her head up any longer. She rested it back against her shoulder and stared down the hall to the dead room.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘We’ll get to all that in due course.’

  She heard the clink of glass as Humphrey poured himself a drink from the bottle of Johnnie Walker.

  ‘Where… ah… ah… where…’

  ‘Where did I get the bottle?’

  ‘Y-y… ah… yes.’

  ‘From Danny’s private hiding spot in the basement,’ Humphrey said. ‘We had a lot of drinks and talks down there that last month, mainly when you weren’t home. Sad that a man has to hide a bottle from his wife. Then again, I always had you pegged as a meddlesome cunt.’

  Jamie blinked. The mattress in the dead room came into sharp focus for a moment. She blinked again, wanting to hold on to the image, the clarity so she could –

  A hand reached out from underneath the bed.

  ‘You’ve got a tough decision to make,’ Humphrey said. ‘I’m not going to sugarcoat it. Before we get into that, I want you to tell me how you came to acquire Ben’s phone.’

  Jamie blinked again and forced her eyes wide open. Michael’s hand had pulled back the valance. He lay next to his brother underneath the bed, his other hand covering Carter’s mouth.

  Michael whispered something to his brother. Carter’s eyes were shut but he was crying, shaking.

  ‘Come, Jamie,’ Humphrey said. ‘There’s no use hiding it.’

  How did… Humphrey fail to find the kids?

  He still thinks they’re at camp. He’s waiting for them to come home.

  Michael started sliding out from underneath the bed.

  ‘N-N-NO!’

  ‘I want to be reasonable,’ Humphrey said.

  Michael stopped.

  ‘Go… ah… back. Stay.’

  ‘I’m not following you, Jamie.’

  Michael slid underneath the bed, retreating behind the valance. She turned back to Humphrey. It seemed to take a long time.

  ‘Go… ah… back. Go.’

  ‘I can’t go back,’ Humphrey said. ‘You started this, love. And I should tell you that the man who’s on his way here doesn’t share my virtues. Especially when it comes to matters involving patience.’

  Humphrey was lying on her bed, his head propped up on her pillows. He rested the glass on his flat stomach. The shades had been drawn. She thought she heard rain.

  ‘Are you listening to me? Please pay attention, because I don’t want what happened to Danny to happen to you. I really don’t.’

  ‘Dan… ah… happened?’

  ‘They shoved his hand down a waste-disposal. What do you think happened?’

  ‘I… don’t… ah… ah… know.’

  He lifted his head off the pillow. ‘Dan never told you?’

  ‘N-N-No.’

  ‘Well, ain’t that a hoot.’

  He took a sip of his drink and stared up at the ceiling.

  ‘The short version is your husband was a stubborn son of a bitch. I’ll give you the longer version once you tell me how you got your hands on Ben’s phone – there’s no use denying it.’

  Jamie licked her swollen lips, felt another string of drool drip from her mouth and plop against her leg.

  ‘Whenever you’re ready,’ Humphrey said. He smiled, patient and pleasant, waiting for her to answer. I’ve got all the time in the world, that smile said. Nothing in the world can touch me. Not even God Himself.

  54

  Coop’s house was a thing of architectural beauty – a white-painted New England saltbox with black shutters and two chimneys built at the turn of the twentieth century for the mistress of a lumber baron. It was one of the few houses that came with a driveway and a lawn – the size of a postage stamp, but still it was grass.

  The house stood on a corner, cut off from the more famous downtown historic homes four blocks down the street. Darby eased her car through the gap between the waist-high white picket fences and parked behind Coop’s Mustang. The sun had disappeared, giving way to yet another thunderstorm.

  Stepping out into the heavy rain, she noticed the pair of opened bulkhead doors leading into the cellar. She eased the aluminium doors shut, then ran up the steps and stood under a canvas awning over a small deck. A gauzy ivory curtain covered the windowpane in the back door, and she could see Coop’s shadow moving inside the living room just down the hall as she rang the doorbell.

  He ducked around the corner and disappeared.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Darby.’

  ‘I’m sort of in the middle of something right now. I’ll call you later.’

  ‘I need to talk to you now, Coop. Open up.’

  A moment later she saw his shadow coming down the hall. Locks clicked back and the door opened.

  Coop stood in front of her, barefoot, dressed in jeans and a tight-fitting olive-green tank streaked with dust, dirt and sweat. His eight-month-old niece, Olivia, lay sleeping against his chest.

  ‘My sister’s babysitter bagged this morning so she called me in tears and asked if I could watch her,’ he said.

  Coop eased the door part-way shut, taking a quick survey of the street. Part of his scraped face was swollen. Bandages spotted with blood covered his arms.

  ‘Jackie’s boss isn’t real understanding when it comes to the difficulties of single working mothers,’ he said. ‘You’d think he’d have more sympathy since he’s been divorced three times himself and has got two kids –’

  ‘You always booze it up when you’re babysitting?’

  ‘I can’t have a couple of drinks?’

  ‘I’m getting a contact high standing here.’

  ‘Gee, Mom, I’d like to attend the lecture you’re about to give – it sounds real inspirational, honest, – but I’ve got some things to do. How about I call you later and –’

  She pushed her way past him, moved down the yellow-painted hall and stepped into his living room; saw the empty and taped-up boxes covering nearly every inch of the tan carpet and felt a sick, dull thud in her heart.

  Low music played from a portable radio/CD player sitting on his brown leather sofa – Bono singing a live rendition of ‘Wake Up Dead Man’ from a U2 concert recorded at Slane Castle in County Meath, Ireland. She’d given him the bootleg CD last year as a Christmas gift.

  Coop strolled into the living room with a hand placed against the back of his sleeping niece.

  ‘When were you going to tell me? After you left?’

  ‘After I finished packing,’ he said.

  ‘You’re going to London.’

  ‘It was too good to pass up.’

  Darby swallowed, heart beating fast.

  Coop picked up a highball glass sitting on top of an old steamer trunk.
<
br />   ‘You want a drink?’ he asked. ‘There’s a bottle of Middleton Irish whiskey in the kitchen.’

  She didn’t answer.

  He eased himself into a matching leather armchair.

  ‘Don’t give me that look,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing personal. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to sway me.’

  Her face felt hot. ‘When are you leaving?’

  ‘Tonight.’

  Darby didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands.

  ‘I’m taking the red-eye,’ he said.

  ‘Why the sudden urgency?’

  ‘They needed me on this upcoming project, that new fingerprint technology they’re developing.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘I don’t know how many times I can tell you this, but I have no idea who those young women are.’

  ‘How do you know they’re young?’

  ‘Frank liked ’em young.’

  ‘How do you know they were involved with Sullivan?’

  ‘This is starting to sound like a cross-examination. Should I call my lawyer and ask him to stop by?’

  ‘I don’t know, Coop. Did you do something wrong?’

  He shook his head, sighing. He took another gulp of his whiskey, then crossed his legs and leaned to his right side.

  ‘You always pack with the lights out?’

  ‘Olivia fell asleep,’ he said.

  ‘When I rang the doorbell, I saw you run from the living room.’

  ‘I was going to get my niece. She fell asleep on the floor. I was going to put her down on my bed when you rang.’

  ‘You never were a good liar, Coop.’

  ‘Did you come all the way here to bust my balls?’

  ‘No, I came here hoping to talk some sense into you. The commissioner has you in her target sights. She thinks you’re hiding something. So do I.’

  ‘Sorry, but I can’t help you.’

  ‘That’s it?’

  ‘That’s it.’

  ‘Well, then, maybe I should just say goodbye.’

  ‘I was going to call you later, honest, take you out to dinner and tell you about the job.’

  ‘And if you and I were in a restaurant together, I’d be less likely to cause a scene.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Darb. I’m not good with goodbyes.’

  ‘Nobody is.’

  ‘You are,’ he said. ‘Nothing gets past that stubborn Irish armour of yours.’

  Not true, Coop. You did, despite my best efforts.

  ‘Join me for a drink now,’ he said. ‘Grab a glass in the kitchen. You know where they are.’

  ‘I’ve got to get going.’

  ‘The case, it’s always the case.’ Coop put his feet up on the coffee table and sank back in his chair. ‘What’s that saying? A tiger can’t change its stripes.’

  Darby took a deep breath, wanting to clear the hurt from her voice before she spoke, or at least shave off the sharp edges. She stepped to the front of the chair and leaned forward placing a hand on each armrest.

  ‘I’m very happy for you, Coop.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’m going to miss you.’

  ‘Me too.’ He took a long pull from his drink. ‘You’re…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’ve been… a great friend,’ he said, the words wet in his throat. ‘The best.’

  Darby forced a smile. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Her right hand reached around his back.

  ‘Before I go,’ she said, pulling the handgun from the back of his waistband, ‘would you mind telling me why you need to carry a Glock for babysitting?’

  55

  Darby sat on the leather sofa less than a foot away from Coop’s armchair. She turned the Glock around in her hand.

  ‘Nice job filing away the serial number,’ she said. ‘Did you do it yourself? Or did someone give you this throw-down piece?’

  Coop didn’t answer.

  Her phone rang. She ignored the call and said, ‘Michelle Baxter is missing.’

  ‘She left town.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Because this morning, after you and I talked, I hit an ATM and went back to her place. I gave her the cash and helped her pack.’

  ‘Because you know the man she was talking to, don’t you?’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘This afternoon, when I went back to the lab, I went to your office to find you,’ she said. ‘I also checked the fingerprint database. The print from the nicotine gum pack came back with an ID. His name is Jack King.’

  ‘I know. All this time, I thought he was dead.’

  ‘When did you figure out he wasn’t?’

  ‘When I saw him talking to Baxter across the street,’ he said. ‘He’s… That guy is as evil as they come.’

  ‘Is that why you didn’t call me? Because you didn’t want me to run into him?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘How do you know him?’

  Coop took in a sharp intake of air through his nose and moved Olivia from his shoulder to his chest. The baby stirred, her tiny fingers curling into a fist.

  ‘You remember this?’ he asked.

  ‘Remember what?’

  ‘Being this young,’ he said, rubbing the baby’s soft, downy hair. ‘It’s the best part of life and you can’t remember being this clean. Untarnished and perfect. At our age, all you can remember is the scars. The places where you screwed up.’

  Darby wanted to speak – wanted to bring him back to the present and guide him, as gently as she could, with her questions. But she could feel Coop circling around whatever it was that was bothering him and waited.

  ‘Like when I was twelve,’ he said after a moment. ‘I’m dead asleep on the sofa and I hear a car muffler backfire and I’m thinking it’s my old man. He drove this real shitbox Buick every evening to the GE plant in Lynn to work the third shift as a machinist, and here I am opening the door thinking my old man’s come home and I see this guy from the neighbourhood, Tommy Callahan, running up the steps of the church right across the street. He’s clawing at the door, screaming. That’s when Mr Sullivan starts shooting. Pow-pow-pow, like firecrackers going off. And I’m watching Tommy C. collapsing on the front steps of the church. I’m watching him, you know, die.’

  Coop traced a finger over Olivia’s curled fist. ‘Mr Sullivan’s standing above him, and Tommy C.’s got his hand up. He’s crying and begging. Mr Sullivan sees me watching from the front door and he pops three rounds into Tommy’s head. Then Mr Sullivan frowns, wiping blood from his shoe on Tommy C.’s jeans and he says, “Hey, Coops, what are you doing up at this hour? Don’t you got school tomorrow?”

  Coop took a sip of his drink. ‘Kevin Reynolds drags Tommy C.’s body to the back of a car as Mr Sullivan comes walking right over to the house smiling like he’s here for a social visit. He’s sitting next to me on the sofa at one in the morning and my mother’s up, wanting to know what’s going on, and Mr Sullivan says “Relax, Martha, I just want to take Coops outside to my car and talk to him man to man. We’ll be right back.” I look at my mother and she doesn’t say a word. Next thing I know, I’m sitting in the back of the car and Mr Sullivan is saying, “You see anything tonight, Coops?” And I tell him, I say, “No, I didn’t see anything, Mr Sullivan.” And he says, “I didn’t think so. ’Cause if you did, we’d have a problem. And even if you did see something and, oh, I don’t know, got it in your head to go to the cops, word is going to get back to me, and I’d hate to see your mother or one of your sisters wind up like this.”

  ‘That’s when he showed me the pictures, these Polaroids of some girl missing her hands and teeth.’

  Darby had to clear her throat before she could speak. ‘Was Jack King involved in this?’

  ‘The pictures, what I saw on the steps, what Mr Sullivan said to me – I told my mother. All of it.’ Coop swallowed. ‘I’m scared shitless, crying, and she’s on the phone with my old man and the next thing I know it’s five in the
morning and we’re down at McKinney’s Diner and my father is telling me about how Mr Sullivan is keeping Charlestown clean and safe – he’s keeping out the riffraff, is what he says. “Guys like Tommy C.,” my dad says, “a guy who’s trying to peddle drugs in our town, a guy like that had it coming.” Mr Sullivan – that’s what my father calls him – Mr Sullivan, he says, is a good man and sometimes good men have to make hard decisions. Decisions the police won’t understand. My father tells me to forget what I saw and to keep my mouth shut – my father makes it a point, in fact, to drill it into my head for the next week. Guess what I did?’

  ‘You kept your mouth shut.’

  ‘That’s right. I gave my parents my word. They were good people. Hard workers. They had a lot of love in their hearts, but they weren’t exactly the two brightest people. Like everyone else who lived here back then, they looked at Mr Sullivan as this… this Robin Hood kind of guy, I guess you could say. At the time crime here was at an all-time low. No drugs, no girls on the streets looking for crack cocaine in exchange for blow jobs. Back then we walked the streets at night ’cause you knew you were safe.’

  Coop took another sip of his drink and then held the glass near his face, staring at it. ‘Thing is, what I saw? It’s eating me up inside. I mean it’s really tearing it up because, after all, I’m a God-fearing Irish Catholic and we’re talking about my soul here. So I go to confession and tell the priest what I saw, everything that happened, the pictures, you name it. I’m telling him I want to go to the police ’cause it’s the right thing to do. I ask him if he knows of a cop I can trust. You know what the son of a bitch said to me?’

  ‘I’m guessing he told you not to go to the police.’

  ‘That’s right. Say three Hail Marys and two Our Fathers and all will be forgiven. And that’s what I did, Darby. Thing is, though, the Big Guy in the sky had other plans for me. Next day I’m walking home from school trying to, you know, reconcile everything that’s happened, and a car pulls up next to me and there’s this huge dude who looks like Frankenstein minus the neck bolts flashing me his badge.’

  ‘Jack King.’