Roll The Dice (DCI Cooper Book 3)

by B Baskerville

  Unable to do anything for Ben right now, Cooper turned her attention back to the search. “Anything with handwriting on it is useful,” Cooper told the team. “This is the room Charlene shared with Fletcher. We’ve removed Charlene from our list of most likely suspects based on her height and the evidence from our hired help from Greater Manchester, but let’s be thorough. Find something she wrote just to back that up.”

  Tennessee took a sniff of the wine glass that had been abandoned on the bedside table and wrinkled his nose. “Smells like vinegar.” He picked up a romance novel with a fancy lace bookmark hanging from it and read the title. “Summer in Sicily: A Mobster Romance? I guess Charlene Blackburn has a type.”

  Keaton suppressed a laugh. “My mum used to read that type of book. Western romance, billionaire romance, bad boy romance, reverse harem. You name it, it’s out there.”

  “What the hell’s reverse harem?” Martin pulled a spiral-bound notepad out of a junk drawer and flicked through the lined pages. “Blank,” he added.

  Keaton found an old Valentine’s card in a shoebox at the back of Fletcher’s wardrobe. “One woman, lots of boyfriends. What other books does she have over there?”

  Tennessee put Summer in Sicily back down on the bedside table.“She has eclectic tastes. There’s Hemingway, Wilde, a Stephen King novella and… Oh, what do we have here? Gardening Through the Year.”

  Cooper looked over. “George told us Charlene was redesigning the garden.”

  “You don’t need to be six-foot-two to poison someone,” Tennessee added. “Maybe Charlene stumbled across toxic plants during her research. We might have been too quick in releasing her.”

  “You’re right.” Cooper took the book as evidence. “But let’s stay on track for now. I want handwriting samples.”

  Keaton handed the Valentine’s card she found to Cooper, who examined the pink, glittery writing. “I love you with all my heart…Looped tails here on the Y of you and again on the Y of my.”

  “Different structure overall though,” Keaton said. “Too round compared to the diary entry.” She held a copy of the page in question. “This is more oval based and very slanted. Like it’s written in italics.”

  Cooper agreed. The two samples were very different. “Shall we move on?” The team followed her from the master bedroom, past a bathroom and a home gym, to the next room along the hallway. She stopped to check a room plan from her file. “This should be Dylan’s room.” She entered and cast her gaze around. “Now before any of you smart arses make a joke about Dylan Blackburn not being able to read or write, remember looks can be deceiving. Charlene told us people assumed he was slow, but we all know what happens when you assume things.”

  Tennessee nodded. “It makes an ass of you and me… It’s like an opium den in here. Blinds closed, curtains closed, low watt bulb.”

  “He suffers from migraines. It probably helped to keep his room in darkness.” Cooper began to work her way through the room. She watched Keaton open the wardrobe and drawers and noted the amount of camo print clothing he had. What struck Cooper most was how little the room told her about Dylan. There was no indication of who he was as a person; no photographs of loved ones, no signs of a hobby, no books or DVDs. Not that anyone bought DVDs these days, she corrected herself. Dylan’s room appeared to be a functional space for sleeping and dressing, nothing more. All the surfaces were clean and dust-free, and nothing was strewn about. The only sign of life was a dehydrated peace lily in a terracotta pot. Had the nuns beaten this level of discipline into him?

  “I’ve got something,” Martin said, holding a scrap of paper. “A phone number. Doesn’t say whose it is.”

  Cooper took it and they continued their search, finally finding a sudoku book tucked under Dylan’s pillow.

  Keaton opened the puzzle book and pulled a face. She scanned through a few more pages and pulled an even stranger face.

  “What is it?” Cooper asked.

  “I’ve never been able to finish these bastards. Could never get my head around them. But this son of a bitch has finished loads of them. In fact, I can’t find a single one that he’s started and not finished. You might be right about looks being deceptive, boss.”

  Cooper chuckled as she took the sudoku book. “What me?” she said sarcastically. “Be right about something? Never in the world.”

  The room next door belonged to George Blackburn, and it couldn’t have been further in style to that of his brother’s. Whilst it was also impeccably clean with no sign of mess, the room was warm and bright, decorated in shades of white, stone and cornflour blue. It reminded Cooper of a boutique hotel with its floor-length curtains and reading chair by the window. George was an avid reader by the looks of his bookshelves. A quick look in his desk drawer told her he was into art: a set of watercolour pencils, a putty rubber, and a pad of artist’s paper.

  “Bless, he still keeps his pyjamas under his pillow,” Keaton joked as she checked around the bed.

  Martin frowned. “Doesn’t everyone do that?”

  The team stopped to stare at him.

  “That’s where my mum puts them when they’ve been ironed—” he stopped himself too late. “I’m not going to live that down, am I?”

  Keaton shook her head and patted him on the back. “Not for a long time, kiddo.”

  “Well, well, well,” Tennessee said, bringing their focus back to the investigation. No shortage of handwriting samples for Georgie Boy. He’s an aspiring poet.” Tennessee held up a satin-backed notepad that he’d recovered from the bookshelf. “Listen to this… Golden hair and aqua eyes, angel wings and butterflies. Gentle soul with slender wrists, she fears the man and fears his fists. Angel run away, fly free, angel run away with me.” He blew a raspberry. “Blimey. That apple fell a long way from the tree.”

  Cooper tried not to giggle as she took the book of poems. This was George baring his soul, something he probably couldn’t do verbally with a family such as his. Cooper wondered if he’d ever shared his love of art or poetry with any of his family. If he had, he’d probably been mocked for it. “Oval structure,” she mused as she examined the shapes of the letters. “What do you think?” she asked, showing the book to Keaton.

  Keaton squinted and gave Cooper a subtle nod.

  Five minutes later and they were in a lilac-coloured, princess-themed room complete with crystal chandelier, four-poster bed and a dresser that housed more make-up than a branch of Boots. The name Lily was written in fairy lights across a wall, and stuffed toys, mostly pink, peered at Cooper from a window seat.

  “Let’s find a diary or something sharpish,” Cooper said. “Those cuddly bears are giving me the creeps. I feel like they’re watching me.”

  It was a feeling Cooper was experiencing more and more. Every button, bulb or bubble could be a hidden camera as far as she was concerned.

  “This whole room gives me the creeps,” Tennessee added. “I feel like if I stay in here too long, I’ll need testosterone replacement therapy.”

  “I thought Hayley painted Alfie’s room purple?” Cooper asked.

  “She did,” said Tennessee, “but the decorating fairy turned up one night and painted it blue.”

  Cooper snorted as she opened Lily’s wardrobe and examined her designer handbags. “Does the decorating fairy have blond curls and a Geordie accent by any chance?”

  He grinned at her. “Ah divint knaa what ya on aboot, pet.”

  “Bingo.” Martin had a notepad in his gloved hand. “Looks like handwritten notes on gel versus acrylic manicures.”

  “Excellent. That should do it.” Cooper let her eyes float over the rest of Lily’s wardrobe and her expansive shoe collection. Cooper’s black boots with sturdy soles were boring and androgynous in comparison to the array of shoes on display. Jewel encrusted ballerina shoes, stylish court shoes, shoes with see-through heels, shoes with glittered soles, pink trainers and designer flip-flops.

  “Erica?…ERICA?”

  Justin Atkinson’s v
oice was tense and urgent. It caught her completely by surprise. “We’re up here,” she called, leaving the room to peer over the bannister.

  Atkinson pulled his hood down and removed his protective mask. “Erm… The television in the lounge is on.” He thumbed towards one of the downstairs rooms. “One of the guys wanted to check last night’s footie scores…” He shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Anyway, the news is on. You should come down and see for yourself.”

  The scene reminded Cooper of earlier that morning when everyone had huddled around Keaton’s desk. Now the SOCOs had gathered around the television in a semicircle, a hum of shocked chatter drowning out the news presenter’s voice.

  “Quiet.” Cooper’s solitary word did its job, and the wall of white fell into silence.

  The studio cut to Newcastle city centre where a glossy-lipped correspondent addressed the camera. “Shocking scenes in Newcastle today as firefighters struggle to control fires at three bars. The western end of Westgate Road, the Cloth Market and Stepney Lane have all been evacuated.”

  “Jesus,” Keaton muttered. “What’s going on?”

  “My eyes are stinging from smoke,” the correspondent continued. “We’re being asked to vacate the area. You can see behind me that the sky, which was cloudless only half an hour ago is now black with smoke. I… Yes, we’ll move in two minutes… We’re live on air… Authorities have confirmed that the fires started in McDermott’s, The Silver Mirror and Vixen. Back to the studio.”

  Cooper switched the television off. “Everyone back to work.”

  Once the bunny suits disbanded, she turned to Tennessee, Martin and Keaton. “They’re all Blackburn controlled bars. Shit. This is heavy. It’s broad daylight.”

  “Hanson?” Tennessee asked.

  “Of course it’s Hanson. Get onto Whyte and Boyd. Find out what they know and see if the phone company has got back to Boyd yet. Martin, have someone protect the daughter at the RVI. The Blackburns will retaliate.”

  Tennessee wiped his face nervously. “Eddie has a lot of contacts. Between him and Dylan, I think they’ll blow up half of Gateshead if they think they need to.”

  Cooper looked to the floor to gather herself. It was all going to shit. On her watch. “I know. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  - Chapter 24 -

  Justin Atkinson had stopped to smell the roses. Literally. Cooper observed him double over, stick his nose in the rose bushes and inhale deeply. Next to him, an old yew blackened from a lightning strike was struggling to hold on. Patches of green spine-shaped leaves grew on the branches that hadn’t been damaged, and the sun filtered through, speckling the lawn and flowerbeds with dots of light and shade. Cooper’s phone vibrated; she removed it from her pocket to look at the screen. It was Olly Timms asking if she’d eaten yet because he was near Wallsend and could bring her some lunch. No, she hadn’t eaten yet, the rumbling in her stomach confirmed that, but she was also nowhere near HQ and she was staring at the man she really wanted to have lunch with.

  Right on cue, Atkinson looked up. Cooper hastily shoved her phone back in her pocket, pulled her shoulders back and flashed a smile.

  He nodded his head towards another flowerbed, and they ambled towards it, their steps in sync with one another. In a parallel universe, Cooper and Atkinson would be hand-in-hand, walking through the manicured grounds of a different stately home. Belsay Hall, Longframlington Gardens, it wouldn’t matter as long as they were together. Instead, they were walking at a respectful distance from one another, through the scene of a double murder.

  “The foxgloves are over here,” Atkinson told her.

  “They’re pretty,” Cooper commented as she looked at the spires of purple and white bell-shaped flowers that reached for the sky.

  “Pretty, but deadly,” he smiled, “I’ve known a few women who can go by that description.”

  Cooper looked away. “It’s definitely the nicest murder weapon I’ve seen. Any chance you can lift prints from the flower petals?”

  “It hasn’t rained, so yes, there is a small chance. It’ll be difficult, but I’ll try. That’s assuming our killer wasn’t wearing gardening gloves. You can see here that this plant has been pruned recently.” He pointed to where a stem had been clipped and leaves removed.

  “So Ronnie’s gone back to Manchester?”

  “Yes, she headed back this morning. What a talent. Watching her work was really something.”

  “Are you going to visit her?”

  Atkinson looked confused. “Why would I do that?”

  Cooper lifted her shoulders and put her hands in her pockets. “Because you seemed to hit it off.”

  “Well, she is great, and we have a lot in common, but I’m not looking for a long-distance thing.”

  The warmth of the sun felt good on Cooper’s skin. She pushed the sleeves of her shirt up so her forearms could benefit too.

  “Manchester’s only three hours away,” she said before she could stop herself. What was she doing? If Cooper could have slapped herself, she would’ve done.

  “Why would I want a long-distance relationship when the perfect woman lives a ten-minute walk from my house?”

  Hopes dashed, Cooper had to accept that Atkinson had moved on. She could hardly blame him. She began to pick at the skin around her thumbnail until a lightbulb slowly illuminated in the darkest corner of her mind. Didn’t she live a ten-minute walk from Atkinson’s house?

  “Me?”

  “Yes, you.” He laughed. “It’s always been you.”

  Cooper didn’t know quite what to do. She had hurt him terribly; she’d pushed him away when all he was trying to do was keep her safe. “I’m far from perfect,” she mumbled.

  “That’s the thing about perfection,” he said, picking a snapdragon from the flowerbed and handing it to Cooper, “like the beauty of a flower, it belongs entirely in the eye of the beholder.”

  Before Cooper could ask him to dinner, or simply extend her arm and stroke her hand against his, she spotted Keaton moving quickly in their direction.

  “Coop, the fire at McDermott’s has been extinguished. No casualties. The Silver Mirror is under control, and three people have been transferred to the RVI due to smoke inhalation.”

  “Thanks, Paula. What about Vixen?”

  “They’re struggling to contain it. Some sort of accelerant has been used—probably petrol. It’s spreading to the office building next door.” She paused and looked back and forth between Cooper and Atkinson. “Everything okay? You look weird, boss.”

  Cooper hoped that if she was blushing she could at least pass it off as sunburn. “I’m fine. What’s the consensus on the handwriting samples? Are we all in agreement?”

  “We are, and if I’m being honest, I’m not shocked.”

  Atkinson clapped his hands together. “You have a theory?”

  The right corner of Cooper’s mouth turned upwards, and she popped her hands on her hips. “I do. I just need more evidence. Which is where you two come in. Paula, can you find out where the three nearest libraries are and pay them a visit? I want to know what books the Blackburns have been checking out. If they haven’t been using their laptops or phones, they’ve been getting their research from somewhere.”

  Keaton nodded and walked away, calling over her shoulder, “Consider it done.”

  Checking to make sure no one was around, Cooper moved closer to Atkinson and let her little finger brush against his forearm.

  He sighed. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

  Cooper’s stomach flipped over, and she gave him a coquettish look.

  “And we have a lot to talk about,” he added.

  He was right. There were reasons beyond Kenny Roberts that had caused her and Atkinson problems. Kenny had just been the tinderbox. “We can talk… and kiss, as much as we like, but only once this case is out of the way,” she teased. “Right now, I need you to test the following items from the kitchen, office and bedrooms…”

  * * *

>   The inferno had spread to a pair of offices above Vixen. The sky was stained a dark grey, and tiny, ashy, scraps of paper floated towards the pavement like paper raindrops. It reminded Watch Manager Jed Coles of a show he’d watched about Chernobyl; thankfully, nothing here was radioactive. Now that the orange flickers and popping noises had subsided, the crowds had thinned and dispersed, only a few nosy buggers remained. One of his men emerged from the strip joint and began to remove his breathing apparatus. Even in full gear, Coles knew he was looking at Pinkman. He could recognise all of blue watch by either their frame, posture or gait.

  “It’s out, gaffer,” Pinkman said. “Was a right ball ache getting it under control. Fucker poured petrol all round the back before setting the place alight. When the flames reached the bar, the alcohol only worsened it.”

  “And the two on the stairs?”

  “The smoke got them before the flames. Poor bastards must have panicked, forgot about the external fire escape and tried to come out the front entrance. The stairwell’s above the bar area; it was thick with smoke. Would’ve been disorientating.”

  Cole ran a hand over the back of his neck. Usually, commercial fires were easier to deal with than residential fires, emotionally speaking at least. You didn’t have to sift through the charred remnants of a family’s possessions: cherished memories, photos from once in a lifetime holidays, portraits of departed loved ones, baby teeth, locks of hair and ticket stubs from first dates to the cinema. But bodies were bodies. Didn’t matter if they were in a home or a business—they were never easy to deal with. Two people had gone to work this morning and would never return home.

  “Thanks, Pinkman,” Coles said. “Give the station manager a bell and update him.”

  “Aye,” he replied.

  “And thank the crews from Byker for their assistance,” Coles added. Central had been unable to handle the three simultaneous fires on their own and crews from Byker and Gosforth had been called in to assist. “This was a tough one. Tell the lads I’ll be in the Vic tonight if anyone fancies a pint.”