Cooper knew Doxford Hall. She and Atkinson had spent New Years there. They’d walked through snowy woodland until they couldn’t feel their toes then returned to sip a delicious red while sharing a warm bath. She couldn’t think about that right now.
“And what did you do earlier in the day?”
She looked puzzled. “Erm… It’s a bit of a blur really. I slept in, woke up after nine. Paulo was waiting for me.”
“Paulo?”
“My pilates instructor. He was waiting in the back garden.”
“Full name?” Cooper asked.
“Oh. I’m not sure. I just know him as Pilates Paulo. That’s what he goes by on Facebook.”
Cooper would check. “Go on.”
“We trained for an hour. Paulo left. Then I made a smoothie and had a shower.”
“Was anyone else around?”
“George was at home. He was in the kitchen and wanted the blender after I’d finished with it. Fletcher was busy in his office. Mo was watching the cameras. I’m not sure about Lily and Dylan.”
Cooper made a note. “And after you showered?”
“I spent a few hours on housework then went shopping.”
“Morshaw’s a big house. You don’t have a cleaner?”
She shook her head. “I don’t mind playing house. I find cleaning rather therapeutic.”
Cooper stared but said nothing.
“Fletcher doesn’t like unnecessary people at Morshaw. He just about tolerates Paulo. He’d never approve of a cleaner.”
Cooper cast her mind back to the murder scene. Other than the office, the rest of the house was spotlessly clean. She wondered if the lab would find the gun to be just as clean. “Where did you go shopping?”
“Jesmond. I parked on Acorn Road and went to Peak Boutique then walked to Clayton Road for Designer.”
“After that?”
“After that, I drove into town and spent some time in Fenwick, got a latte at Starbucks, then Lily called and we arranged to go for some treatments.”
Cooper would have Martin check in with the two Jesmond boutiques as well as the large department store in the city centre. She’d also have him run her plates against the city centre ANPR cameras.
There was a knock on the door to the interview suite. Keaton popped her head around the door. “Got a moment, boss?”
Cooper shuffled her papers back into their file and tucked it under her arm. She picked up her coffee and followed Keaton into the hallway. “What you got?” she asked, knowing Keaton wouldn’t interrupt an interview without good reason.
“Two things.” She leant against the wall and folded her thick arms over her chest. “Atkinson called, they found a copy of Fletcher’s will as well as an entry in his diary that might be of interest.”
“Will first,” Cooper said, bringing the plastic cup to her lips and taking a sip. The coffee was still scorching. She’d told Martin a thousand times that he should add a touch of cold water to it. The boy needed more training.
“Charlene gets the lot.”
“The lot? Nothing goes to the kids?”
“Not a penny,” Keaton confirmed, one eyebrow raised high.
“The house is worth over two and a half million, and he’s got a life insurance policy valued at six hundred grand.”
Cooper whistled. “Nice.”
“The restaurants and taxi firm go to Theo, his nephew.”
“Yeah. That’s Eddie’s son.”
“Dylan, George and Lily were only entitled to the money if he and Charlene divorced.”
Cooper gently blew on her coffee. She’d been up all night and needed the caffeine to be able to function. “Hmm. If the kids knew about the will and were pissed that they wouldn’t inherit anything…”
“Then they’d kill Charlene,” Keaton suggested.
“Exactly. Why kill their father and frame their step-mother, leaving his estate tied up in legal knots for an age? It doesn’t make sense.”
Keaton pulled a face. “The things people do never make sense. You know that.”
She was right. “So, what was in the diary?”
Keaton unlocked an iPad she was carrying and showed Cooper a photograph that had been emailed to her. Cooper studied the pages of Fletcher Blackburn’s diary. It showed a weekly journal spread over two pages.
“Sunday sixteenth. Drop off dry cleaning. Speak to George regarding Jamison account. Gym at five. Wayne Hanson at six. Call the witch regarding George’s birthday. Who’s the witch?”
“I’m guessing the ex-wife,” Keaton said with a chuckle. “I’ll call Lily or George Blackburn and see if they can confirm.”
Cooper continued scanning. “Monday seventeenth. Family meeting at nine-thirty. Tennis at eleven. Wayne Hanson at two.” Cooper tried her coffee again; it was just about drinkable. Downing the whole cup and feeling the caffeine hit her system, she widened her eyes and stood up a little taller. “Charlene hasn’t mentioned a family meeting on the day her husband was killed.”
“He could mean family,” Keaton said, making air quotes as she said the word family.
“As in the mafia? As in only those who need to know?”
She shrugged. “It’s one explanation.”
“And who’s Wayne Hanson?” Cooper’s brain was firing on all cylinders again; she was sure she knew the name from somewhere. “He met with Fletcher the day before and the day of his murder.”
“I’ll run the name,” Keaton said.
“Good. Something tells me his name will come up in our database.”
Keaton locked the iPad’s screen and headed for the incident room. Cooper crushed the plastic cup and tossed it in a recycling bin before re-entering the interview suite. She found Charlene Blackburn sobbing into a dirty tissue, her eyes even redder than they had been just minutes before.
“Mrs Blackburn, if you’re found not guilty, and that’s a big if given the murder weapon was in your underwear drawer, you’re going to be a seriously wealthy woman.” She sat opposite Charlene and waited for her to look up. “Tell me what you know about Fletcher’s will.”
- Chapter 7 -
The tide was in at Budle Bay, and expansive mudflats were coated in a shallow film of water that shimmered under the summer sun. Sandpipers waded in the brackish water of the estuary where the Waren Burn met the North Sea. An oystercatcher dipped its bright orange beak below the surface and emerged with a mussel.
“I love it up here,” Tennessee said as he looked out of the car window. They were driving north, approaching Budle Bay from Bamburgh. Bamburgh was a small village that despite its modest size, was blessed with a gargantuan castle and a beach that seemed to go on forever. It was something that had to be seen to be believed. “Hayley and I used to come hiking here a lot before Alfie was born.”
“I heard there’s an old World War II bunker around here somewhere?” Cooper glanced left and right as she drove.
“Yeah, it’s just up that way on the right,” Tennessee answered, pointing towards the sands. “Would have housed a large field gun back in the day to take out any approaching enemy forces.” He blushed, then added, “I had sex in there once.”
“No!?”
“Yes.”
Cooper laughed. “You dirty little bugger.”
“Don’t tell Alfie, but he might have been conceived there. Was that or the lime kilns on Holy Island.”
“And I had you pinned as the gentleman of CID.” Cooper shook her head. Then, because she wanted to change the subject, asked, “How is Haley?”
“Some days are better than others. I told you the mother-in-law lives with us now?”
“You did. How’s that working out?” Cooper rounded a bend and pulled the car into the driveway of a large barn conversion. Earlier in the year, Hayley Daniel has suffered a crippling case of postnatal depression. Tennessee had been worried she could hurt herself and had taken time off to look after his new family.
“In theory, it’s great. Pat gives Hayley the support she nee
ds while I’m working. Plus, Alfie loves her, and it gives Pat something to focus her energy on since her husband passed.”
“And in practice?”
Tennessee gave her a look.
Cooper chuckled. “In practice, you’re living with your mother-in-law. Say no more.”
Cooper’s phone began ringing; she selected speakerphone before answering. “Paula?”
“Boss. I’ve got the info on Wayne Hanson.”
“Go on.”
“Well, you were right about knowing his name. He’s basically Gateshead’s version of Blackburn, controlling everything in the triangle between Blaydon, Washington and Jarrow. Nowhere near as prolific as the Blackburns but still dangerous.”
“Ah. I know the ones you mean,” Tennessee chimed in. “They’re big on cockfighting.”
“And human cockfighting. Someone died at one of their underground boxing matches last year. The venue owner went down for it in the end. They couldn’t prove Hanson had anything to do with it and no one would name the other fighter. Remember Athena Fox? Little blonde fighter from Shields? Helped solve the Tyneside Prowler case?”
“Yeah, I remember,” said Cooper. It had been one mighty embarrassment for the force. Numerous young women were assaulted, the police were clueless, and in the end, they had a woman who smiled like an angel but fought like a demon to thank.
“Myers and I investigated a break-in at her home back when I was a DC. Rumour has it, the other fighter was one of the heavyweights from her old gym. Nothing to back it up though. When those guys close ranks, it’s like getting blood out of a stone.”
“Thanks for doing the research,” Cooper said. “You and Martin going to pay Hanson a visit?”
“Already en route.”
“Okay. Be careful, Paula.”
Cooper heard a grunt before Keaton hung off.
Tennessee exited the passenger side door and took in the barn conversion. It was high-spec, modern, and it obviously cost a pretty penny. “Charlene gets this property as well?”
“Yeah. The two properties up here, an apartment in London, another in Ibiza, as well as all the cars. Course, she doesn’t get a penny if she’s guilty.”
As Cooper and Tennessee approached the house they were greeted by whom Cooper presumed was Lily Blackburn. Luckily for her, she didn’t inherit her father’s looks or build, but she did have a strong Blackburn jawline and their trademark dark brown, almost black hair. Lily was reading in the courtyard; she looked elegant in a long-sleeved silk shirt and flowing trousers. Cooper suspected that behind her oversized sunglasses, were the blood-shot eyes of a young woman who’d just lost her father.
“Who are you?” asked the dark-haired woman.
“Lily?”
She nodded reluctantly.
“I’m DCI Cooper, Lily. This is DS Daniel.” She nodded at Lily’s book. “Reading anything good?”
Lily shook her head. “No. Well, maybe. I can’t concentrate on it. Just trying to keep my mind busy.” She closed the book and laid it on a patio table. “Where’s Charlene?”
The door to the house opened and two men approached the detectives. They were both tall, six-foot or thereabouts, but that was where the similarities ended. The slimmer of the two had medium brown curls and wore round glasses. He moved awkwardly, shading his eyes from the sunlight and looking to the other man to take the lead. The broader man had an august build and hands that looked like wrecking balls. His facial features were misshapen, and hair the colour of black coffee was cropped close to a deformed skull. From what she had heard, Cooper assumed the broader man to be Dylan, Fletcher’s eldest, and the slimmer man to be George, the middle child.
She introduced herself, then said, “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
George snorted and took a seat next to Lily, who repeated herself. “I asked where Charlene was.”
“We’re detaining her for now,” Cooper said.
George’s forehead creased. “You don’t think she did it?”
Dylan plodded towards his siblings. “That gold-digging bitch? She’s guilty as sin. Of course she did it.”
Cooper watched Lily watching Dylan. Even behind the shades, she could tell she wasn’t taking her eyes off her older brother.
“Charlene wouldn’t kill Dad,” George said. “She doesn’t have it in her. She’s… sweet.”
“You would say that,” growled Dylan, his body casting a shadow over his siblings.
“Yeah, mummy’s boy,” Lily added, a teasing tone to her voice. “But,” she turned to Cooper, “Charlene’s no gold digger. She earned a fortune in her old job.” She got to her feet. “I fancy a glass of anything that’ll take the edge off. George?”
George nodded and followed his sister. Dylan’s jaw tensed. “I’m guessing you’re here to speak to me?” he asked. He placed a giant hand on the back of a chair and gripped it, his knuckles changing colour. Cooper had to crane her head upwards. She didn’t want to appear intimidated, so she picked up a cushion from where Lily had been sat, fluffed it, then took her seat. Dylan’s head was asymmetrical; his skull sloped down sharply on the right-hand side, and his right eye socket sat slightly lower than his left.
“I understand my colleagues questioned you at Morshaw Manor yesterday. But given the circumstances, I’d like to go over things again.” Cooper pulled a notepad from her jacket pocket and clicked the top of a pen. “In case you’ve remembered anything else or want to add anything to your statement.”
“You mean if I want to confess to killing my dad?”
“If you did, then confessing would make our lives a lot easier,” Cooper said.
“And why would I want to make your lives easier?” Dylan half smiled and took a seat opposite Cooper. “Go on then, ask away.”
Cooper steadied herself. There was such darkness and anger in his eyes. The man looked like a cobra that could strike at any moment. “Dylan, you told Sergeant Coombes that you were at home when your father was killed.”
“That’s right. I was asleep upstairs. I’d been in bed most of the day.”
Cooper was sceptical but tried to keep her face neutral. “You slept through four gunshots?”
Dylan shrugged and pointed to the right side of his head. “Deaf in one ear. Have been since birth. I had an earplug in the other one and had taken some pretty lethal sleeping pills.”
“Why did you spend the day in bed?” Tennessee asked.
“I was ill. Migraine attack. Had them all my life. Pain killers do fuck all, so I just knock myself out with sleeping pills and hope that when I wake up it’s all over.”
“I use sleeping pills from time to time,” Tennessee added. “The sound of my six-month-old crying can wake me. I’d think gunshots would still wake most people.”
Dylan gave Tennessee a searching look and sized him up. “I’m not most people. Nowt wakes me when I’ve had those pills. I’m like a tranquillised rhino. Besides, where we live, we’re surrounded by woods and farmland. The woods are full of deer, rabbits, pheasants… And there’s a clay pigeon range not far away. Our cousin, Theo, used to go. You often hear shotguns going off. It’s nowt unusual.” He paused before adding a rather sinister, “Someone’s always shooting something.”
“What time did you take to your bed?” Cooper asked.
“Quite early. Eleven maybe. Probably earlier. Half ten? I woke up at seven that evening with major stomach cramps. Had epic shits.”
Cooper did her best not to grimace. He’d probably said it to see her reaction; she didn’t give him the satisfaction.
“Probably sat on the bog for over forty minutes.” He shifted his ample frame and puffed his chest out. “Then I heard Lily and the gold digger screaming. Brought my headache back in an instant.”
“Then what?”
“Went downstairs and found them wailing and covered in blood. Looked around and I saw why.”
“And what happened earlier that day? Your father’s diary said there was a family meeting.”
“Aye. George went over the accounts for this quarter. He’s the numbers guy. Dad’s talking… or rather he was talking, about opening up another two branches of Gustoso Gustoso. I imagine that’ll fall by the wayside now.”
“Who else was there?”
“Just me, Dad, George and Theo.”
“Did your father seem different?” Cooper asked.
Dylan thought for a moment. “Nah. He was the same grumpy bastard he always was.”
“Not worried about anything, or more stressed than usual?”
Dylan chewed on the end of his thumbnail. “If he was, I didn’t notice.”
Tennessee raised his hand to his forehead to shade his eyes from the sunlight. “And after the meeting?” he asked.
“I was supposed to do my collections—” He cut himself off.
Tennessee dropped his hand and squinted. “What were you collecting?”
“Just what we were owed.”
“Protection money?” Tennessee tried.
“No.”
“Loan repayments?”
“No.” Dylan rose to his feet. Cooper didn’t want the DS to push him too far, so she stepped in, softening her voice in the process.
“Dylan, we know what your father did and why you might want to keep things to yourself, but you don’t have to protect him from us. We just want to find out who’s responsible for his death.”
Dylan didn’t sit back down, but he didn’t walk away either. “Look, some bars owed us money. I don’t know why. It’s not my job to know why. It’s my job to ask for the money and to get a little heavy-handed if they don’t pay up.”
Cooper gave him a slight smile, enough to let him know he’d done the right thing in opening up to her, not enough for him to think of her as a friendly little girl. “But you couldn’t do your collections because the migraine had started?”
“Dad was pissed. I mean proper veins pulsating at the temples pissed. He grabbed me by the throat and called me a fucking lazy retard.”
“I’m sorry,” Cooper said as she started to build a picture of Fletcher Blackburn before his death. She was surprised anyone had the balls to grab the beast who sat in front of her by the neck. But if anyone did, it would be another Blackburn.
Roll The Dice (DCI Cooper Book 3) Page 4
