by LJ Ross
“Isn’t it true that John Dobbs was the prime suspect in the late DCI Cooper’s investigation? Isn’t it true that Dobbs had been under police surveillance for days by the time he died?”
Ryan’s eyes turned sharp as he sought out the reporter who had spoken. The police surveillance operation was strictly confidential and had not been given the green light for open discussion. He should know; he was the one dictating what could and could not be said.
He thought swiftly of all the weak links who might have blabbed, and one name stood out above all the rest.
PC Steve Jessop.
“No comment,” Ryan said.
“Why has the Harris investigation been re-opened, Chief Inspector, if her killer is already dead?”
“The investigation has not been ‘re-opened’,” Ryan replied. “It is ongoing.”
“What about Dobbs? If he wasn’t her killer, does that mean an innocent man died?”
There were very few innocent people in the world, Ryan thought, and did not answer.
“Chief Inspector! What about DCI Cooper? Was her death gang-related? Why have you been investigating her son?”
Ryan turned blazing eyes on the same reporter who had spoken earlier and had clearly been in receipt of confidential information.
“During the course of our investigation, we will be conducting full and thorough enquiries into all parties connected to either victim. It is usual procedure to eliminate family and friends from our enquiries, first.”
“Chief Inspector, we understand both victims sustained brutal injuries including decapitation. Do you believe the person responsible is still at large?”
Ryan knew the party line, had been briefed to within an inch of his life and could almost feel Gregson’s breath on the back of his neck. He was supposed to say they were close to making an arrest or otherwise to play down the fact they were nowhere near apprehending the killer.
But he owed a higher duty to the citizens of a city that was under attack. They deserved to know the level of threat they faced so they could adjust their lives accordingly.
“Yes,” he said, very clearly. “I believe he is still at large.”
There was a second’s calm before a storm of questions descended.
“Is the Mayor going to impose a curfew, Chief Inspector?”
“Why aren’t there more police on the streets?”
“Why hasn’t more been done to safeguard the people of this city?”
Ryan didn’t so much as flinch at the barrage of questions, most of which he’d heard many times before. This was no time to debate philosophy versus politics; to talk about why the criminal justice system was almost at breaking point. He could have spoken of the sword and the shield, of the line he was asked to walk each day to protect and serve. He could have told them that the reason there weren’t more bobbies on the beat was because there was no money for them and, even if there were, there was no evidence to suggest it would make a blind bit of difference in preventing crime.
All it would do is make the public feel better and, unfortunately, that didn’t cut the mustard with The Powers That Be.
As for safeguarding, they were doing everything they could, above and beyond the hours they were contracted to work because every member of the team he had chosen was dedicated to the cause. Sharon Cooper had sacrificed her life in the pursuit of justice.
But the public didn’t know that. Not yet.
“I want to urge everybody, and women in particular, to exercise extreme caution,” he said. “Do not travel alone at night unless absolutely necessary. Carry an alarm and keep friends or family informed of your movements. Be aware of who is around you and avoid walking, running or cycling alone or with headphones. Be safe, not sorry.”
Ryan remembered his audience and one viewer in particular. He chose his final words with care.
“To the person responsible, I say this: never doubt that we will find you. There will be no place for you to hide, because we will find you. Every day you continue to walk free, make sure to look over your shoulder because, one day, you’ll find me standing there. That’s all.”
* * *
He watched the interview playing on the midday news, riveted by the new detective they’d put in charge of hunting him. There was an odd thrill to be able to put a face and a name to his mirror image; a man who not only bore a slight resemblance to himself but represented the other side of the coin. It was fascinating to watch him speak, to study the play of emotions crossing his face as he addressed the cameras. He amused himself for a moment and tried to imagine what it would be like if the tables were turned, if he were passionate about his fellow man and their wellbeing.
It was too fantastical to imagine.
“Oh, that’s good news.”
He almost jumped at the sound of his colleague’s voice as they came to stand beside him in the staff room.
“What is?”
“I recognise that detective from a case last year. DCI Ryan or Brian or something. He’s been in here before.”
“As a patient?”
“No, it was to do with another case. A stabbing, I think. Anyway, they say he’s brilliant. Always gets his man and all that.”
He smiled thinly.
“Really? It seems to me he’s being pretty slow in finding his man this time.”
“You reckon it wasn’t Dobbs, then?” the other asked, innocently. “Why else would he jump off the bridge? He must have killed her.”
Careful, he told himself. Careful.
“Dobbs didn’t have what it takes,” he said. “You remember what he was like.”
He shrugged.
“I hardly knew the bloke. Saw him on the wards sometimes but I wouldn’t have been able to pick him out in a line-up. He seemed harmless enough. Then again, it’s always the ones you least expect, isn’t it?”
“It certainly is,” he purred.
He returned the cheerful farewell, schooling his facial muscles into a smile, before letting them fall again into hard lines of anger as he caught the last lines of Ryan’s interview.
“…make sure to look over your shoulder because, one day, you’ll find me standing there.”
He stood perfectly still, long after the news programme had finished and was replaced with a show dedicated to houses sold at auction.
“Perhaps you should take your own advice, Chief Inspector,” he whispered.
CHAPTER 13
Will Cooper shared a smart student house in an upmarket area of Newcastle known as West Jesmond. It had a large student population and was within walking distance of the city centre and the dental hospital so, after bidding the undergraduate administrator a frosty farewell, Phillips and Lowerson decided to stretch their legs and cover the distance on foot.
Being far too proud to ask his younger colleague to slow down, Phillips puffed alongside Jack Lowerson and was forced to admit it might be time to start going to the gym. It wasn’t a question of trying to buff up for any woman; he wanted that to be clear from the start. It was purely a matter of staying fit and healthy in the long term. And that went for the smoking, too. It was absolutely nothing at all to do with Denise MacKenzie.
“Wonder why Cooper was suspended?”
Phillips was afforded a temporary reprieve as they paused beside a set of traffic lights.
“That’s what we’re going to find out, lad. It’s usually something to do with dishonesty, like cheating.”
“Could be some kind of dental negligence, if there is such a thing.”
“Aye, he might have pulled out the wrong tooth, I s’pose.”
“Maybe he was too embarrassed to tell us before,” Lowerson said.
Phillips turned to look at him.
“Embarrassed or not, he still lied in his statement. We don’t take too kindly to that, down at CID. He’s lucky we’re the ones to pay him a visit and not The Big Man.”
“Gregson?”
Phillips laughed; a rich, rumbling sound that disturbed a pigeon
walking nearby.
“No, lad. I’m on about Ryan. It’s either black or white to him. No shades of grey in between, y’ nah what I mean?”
Lowerson nodded.
“Isn’t that what it’s all about? Good and bad?”
Phillips smiled a private smile as the lights changed and they stepped into the street.
“Jack, I was born and bred up here and I’ve lived here all my life. Wouldn’t have it any other way, neither. There are lads I grew up with, scrapped with, knocked a ball about with, who took a wrong turn too many and ended up in prison, or worse. I’ve seen their wives and their sons, some of them who went the same way, and thought: that could have been me.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“No, it wasn’t,” he agreed. “But I nicked a loaf of bread or two when I was a nipper. That’s stealing, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Lowerson agreed, carefully.
“Aye, and m’ Da thrashed me for it, n’all,” Phillips remembered, with fondness. “But the fact was, we had nowt to eat. There’s kids on the streets with hungry bellies. It doesn’t make it right by the law but are you telling me you’d rather see them starve?”
Lowerson was silent, watching the toes of his shiny shoes against the paving stones.
“Now, you take Ryan. He’s a good, solid bloke,” Phillips said, and meant it. “There’s none better. He’ll do owt for anyone and you’ll never hear him complain. But he’s from a different sort of world. He wouldn’t know what it feels like to be really hungry or to wear shoes that’re too small. He does the job and does it like a pro but, all the time, he’s expecting better of people. He looks at people and expects them to do the right thing because he can’t imagine why they wouldn’t. That’s what I mean when I say that there are no shades of grey for him.”
Lowerson nodded his understanding.
“I wish I were more like that,” he confessed. “It makes me want to be better at what I do.”
“Aye, that’s what makes him the best,” Phillips mused. “That kind of raw idealism makes us all want to be better.”
They were silent for a few beats, then a thought struck Lowerson forcefully.
“What if he doesn’t catch this bloke—if it isn’t Will Cooper, or anyone else we can find. What if it ends up being one of those we have to let go?”
A shadow crossed Phillips’ face.
“I’ve never seen him so fixated,” he said. “Tell you the truth, lad, I’m a bit worried. It’s getting into his blood.”
“It’s been a couple of days, since the last one,” Lowerson muttered.
“Aye,” Phillips agreed. “There’ll be another one soon.”
* * *
Nicola regained consciousness slowly, her brain fighting its way valiantly through the mire of drug-induced stupor.
“Mm…Mmm…”
Her lips tried to form the word, to call for her mother or anyone who could help, but the sound could barely be heard above the patter of a light summer rain against the windowpanes.
Her body was a patchwork of cuts and scabs, of deeper wounds he’d left to fester and some he’d seen fit to patch up until the time came when he could let himself loose. The pain was acute, burning all over her skin unlike anything she had ever known. Her chest felt heavy and each breath was a gargantuan effort, wheezing air in and out of her broken body.
In the flat above her, she heard the sound of a television set.
“D— Do—”
Donna. Please, help me, Donna.
Her mind screamed for help and tears streamed from her eyes even as her body collapsed into unconsciousness again.
* * *
When Phillips rang the intercom at Will Cooper’s house, nobody answered immediately. After buzzing several more times, the disembodied voice of a young woman crackled down the line.
“Yes?”
“This is DS Phillips and DC Lowerson from Northumbria CID. We’d like to speak to William Cooper, please.”
There was a long pause, then her voice came back down the line.
“Um, sorry, he’s not home.”
“Where is he, love?”
“I don’t know! Um, I have to go now!”
The line went dead and Lowerson shrugged.
“Guess he must be out,” he said.
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Phillips replied, and tried the front door which opened easily into a shared hallway. The large Victorian villa had been separated into four apartments, housing two or three students apiece.
“Um, shouldn’t we wait for someone to let us in?” Lowerson squeaked.
“Always rely on a student landlord not to worry about basic safety measures,” Phillips muttered. “As far as anybody knows, Cooper’s neighbour held the door open for us.”
“Mm.”
“Shades of grey, Jack.”
Lowerson rolled his eyes and followed Phillips across the bland hallway and up a single flight of stairs to Cooper’s front door on the first floor.
Phillips knocked loudly and adopted a stern expression for anybody checking the peep-hole.
They heard feet shuffling behind the door.
“Howay, you might as well open up,” Phillips called out. “Lying to the police is a serious matter, pet. It’s not worth it.”
A few seconds later, the door opened a crack to reveal the girl they’d spoken to on the intercom. She looked young, no more than eighteen or nineteen, and her hair had been dyed a bright electric blue that shone in a neon halo around her head.
“Did you say you were from the police?”
“Aye, but there’s no need to worry. We just need to have a quick chat with Will.”
Her eyes fell away to the left and Phillips imagined he was standing somewhere nearby. He pulled out his warrant card and held it up.
“You might have heard that Will’s mum died the other day,” he continued, gravely. “We’re part of the team who’re trying to find her killer. I’m sure you want to help us to do that, don’t you?”
She swallowed, then nodded.
“I—Yes, it’s awful what happened to Sharon.”
“Are you one of Will’s housemates?” Lowerson stuck his head over Phillips’ shoulder and gave her a sunny smile that seemed to put her immediately at ease. There wasn’t much not to like about Jack.
“Yeah, I’m Petra.”
“Beautiful name,” Phillips said. “Mind if we step inside for a moment, love? My throat’s parched.”
She seemed nervous but opened the door a bit wider to let them pass through.
“I—I only have a few minutes,” she improvised. “I’m heading out soon.”
Phillips looked down at her clothes—which looked suspiciously like pyjamas—and at the girl’s bare feet, but said nothing.
“We won’t take up much of your time. Could I trouble you for a glass of water, though?”
“Um, okay, sure. Just wait here.”
She hurried into one of the rooms off the small hallway and presently they heard glasses clinking and water running.
“Notice anything unusual?” Phillips asked, under his breath.
“You mean, apart from the fact Will Cooper’s hiding in his bedroom?”
Phillips beamed at him.
“See? You’re catching on quick. But I was thinking more of the smell in this place.”
Lowerson took an ostentatious sniff, just as their hostess returned.
“Here you go.” She thrust the glass towards Phillips, who smiled gratefully and took it, but did not drink.
She crossed her arms defensively.
“So, what did you want to talk about?”
She hadn’t offered them a seat, so they remained standing in the hallway.
“Well, like I was saying, Will’s mum, Sharon, was a good friend of ours. Wasn’t she, Jack?”
“Um, yes, very.”
“And we’re all heartbroken about what happened. She was a very fine police officer.”
The girl was looking more crestfallen
by the second.
“We know Will must be feeling equally devastated by the news and we want to do all we can to help…that’s why we went to see him at the dental hospital today.”
Her eyes were like windows into her soul, Phillips thought. She didn’t need to tell him that she was already aware of the suspension because it was written all over her face.
Still, he kept up the pretence to put her at ease.
“The thing is, somebody at the hospital told us Will’s been suspended. He didn’t mention it and, to be honest, we can’t understand why he’d lie to us at a time like this. It doesn’t look good, does it?”
She looked between them, then at the door at the far end of the hallway.
“Do you—do you mean you’re thinking he might be involved?”
Phillips sucked in a breath and shook his head sadly.
“We don’t know what to think. Do we, Jack?”
“Um, no. We don’t.”
“If—If Will’s been suspended, I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with his mum,” she said, the words rushing out in her haste to defend him. “He would never hurt anybody.”
“Do you know where he is now?”
She opened her mouth as if to speak and Phillips held up a single finger.
“Let me stop you there and remind you that if you lie to us, we can charge you with perverting the course of justice. That’s the kind of thing that can ruin your career prospects, just like…oh, something like drugs. I’m sure a smart lass like you has a long way to go in life and wouldn’t want to get mixed up in anything like that.”
Her eyes began to well up and she nodded.
“Will!”
She called out to him and, finally, his bedroom door opened. He stood there, fully dressed in chinos and a designer polo shirt, looking intensely displeased.
“I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “I didn’t know what to do.”
He looked straight through her.
“Since you’ve already barged your way in, you might as well make yourselves at home,” he said.
“Thanks,” Phillips said brightly. “We thought you’d never ask.”
