Roll The Dice (DCI Cooper Book 3)

by B Baskerville

  On the desk, a clear evidence bag contained a copy of Plants That Kill. The other book, Death In The Garden, had been checked out by someone who lived three streets away. She’d pay the elderly man a visit when she was done here and get both books to Justin. She wondered if it would be Theo or Dylan’s prints he’d find.

  Keaton squirmed. Unable to handle it any longer, she stood and slid the chair away. She retrieved a USB stick from her pocket and downloaded the video footage for Cooper to take a look at later. Next, she logged back into the library’s system. Theo Blackburn’s account was only two months old, and prior to that, he hadn’t checked out a single book. Not surprising. He seemed the sort to watch Fast and Furious films on repeat. Chances were, he only set up the account so that he didn’t have to look up information on poisons on his phone or laptop. She was about to log off when something caught her eye, and she scanned down the info attached to Theo’s account. Slowly, very slowly, a huge grin spread across her face, and she laughed so loud a man in a tweed jacket hushed her.

  “Sorry,” Keaton whispered, though she wasn’t sorry in the slightest. She hit the control and P keys on the computer’s keyboard and waited while an ancient printer spewed up what she’d been looking at on the monitor. Still unable to stop smiling, Keaton called Cooper.

  “Boss. The good news is that I’ve got one book in my possession and I know where the other one is. I’ll have them both in the lab within an hour. Ninety minutes tops.”

  “And the bad news?”

  “The CCTV system here is a bobby dazzler. Instant results and good quality footage. I have video of a man checking out the books in question. Same height and build as Theo but for two reasons I can’t be one hundred per cent sure it’s him. First, he’s wearing a baseball cap that covers half his face. I don’t have a single frame that we can realistically use.”

  “Shit.”

  “Don’t despair,” said Keaton with a teasing tone to her voice.

  “Why?” asked Cooper. “What was the second reason?”

  “His account was only set up two months ago. He registered online, and you’ll never guess in a million years what his password is.”

  - Chapter 26 -

  Cooper called Aleksei Pavlovich for the fifth time. There was one piece of information she needed to unravel this web of lies, and she was sure it lay in the hands of Vixen’s owner. An offhand remark by one of the younger Blackburns had niggled at the back of her brain for a while. Something had interfered with Fletcher’s plans that day. There must have been a reason for him to go home after collecting his money from Vixen rather than moving onto McDermott’s or Bambi Bar. The phone company had confirmed he hadn’t received any calls during the timeframe they were looking at, so something had either angered him, scared him, or tempted him away. Cooper thought she knew which.

  No answer. She tried again, this time leaving a disgruntled message about how she understood how busy he was, what with his bar burning to the ground, but if he didn’t call her back within the hour someone would start checking visas.

  Cooper then issued messages to the team that she wanted them all back at Northumbria Police Headquarters by nine p.m. for a meeting. When Elliot Whyte called asking if it couldn’t wait until the morning briefing, she almost bit his head off.

  “There isn’t going to be a morning briefing, Elliot. Instructions tonight; action tomorrow. Be here at nine or don’t be here at all.”

  There was silence on Whyte’s end of the call. Cooper could picture him biting his tongue. “Ma’am,” he said eventually with all the fake politeness in his voice that he could muster.

  While Cooper waited, she checked on Tina who was alone and waiting for Josh to come over to do homework. Or, at least that’s what she told her mother they were going to be doing.

  “That’s fine. No alcohol though.”

  Tina gave one of her trademark huffs before sulkily replying, “No, Mum. I told you, we’re doing homework.”

  “I believe you, but put my mind at ease and tell me you’ve been taking your pill every morning.”

  “Oh, sweet baby seagulls! Yes, mum!”

  “At the same time each day? Because if you take it late or—”

  “Mum!”

  Cooper stopped to laugh at herself. She didn’t mean to hassle Tina. Her daughter had proven herself to be trustworthy and honest, but the higher Cooper’s adrenaline levels climbed, the more she fixated on those she held dear. All she had ever wanted from the moment Tina was born was for her to have the chances Cooper had never had; for her to be sheltered from the side-glances and insults that had come Cooper’s way when her baby bump had begun to show at such a young age.

  “Sorry T. I’m a little on edge.”

  “You don’t say.”

  Cooper ran a hand over her head to the back of her neck where she began massaging her trapezius muscles. Tina was very fond of her grandfather. Cooper wasn’t sure how she’d react to the news of his heart attack. When she’d told her about her breast cancer diagnosis, Tina had clammed up and stopped talking for almost a month. Selective mutism was what the doctor called it. The shock and worry had overwhelmed her, and she’d been unable to express herself verbally. Knowing her mutism was causing her mother anxiety had only added to Tina’s guilt and made the situation worse. Cooper had been forced to find a way to carry on as if everything was normal, including communicating through pen and paper, nods and shakes, thumbs up and thumbs down, until Tina could relax.

  “I’m going to be late. It’ll be at least ten when I get in.” Cooper said. She’d have to tell Tina tonight and hoped some junk food would lessen the impact. “Fancy a late supper? I can bring in a takeaway?”

  Tina didn’t hesitate. “Salt and pepper ribs and duck in plum sauce.”

  “Okay. Stay safe and lock the doors.”

  Another huff.

  Cooper got to her feet when the line went dead and wandered in search of coffee. Sweet baby seagulls? That was a new one. She opted for a black Americano from the vending machine. She almost dropped it on herself when Vixen’s owner finally returned her call.

  “Mr Pavlovich, I’m texting you a photograph. I want to know everything you know.”

  * * *

  It was gone eight when suspected arsonist Johnny R Kane was dragged into HQ. Becky the Techie had been right about his habits. She’d told Cooper he’d been in the Tanners Arms every Thursday night since he acquired the phone. The Tanners was a popular pub near Newcastle’s train station. Cooper hadn’t been in years, but she had fond memories of their Sunday lunch. According to Kane’s data, Becky predicted he’d arrive between half-five and six and would stay until half-ten. Two of Whyte’s contacts from Newcastle City Centre Police Station had picked him up just as he was about to tuck into a pie and a pint and brought him to Wallsend. SOCOs immediately took his prints and DNA as well as various swabs. They’d look for traces of accelerants and other evidence that he’d started the fires rather than just being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  By the time Cooper got her hands on him, it would be closer to eight-thirty. With the team arriving at nine, she hoped she could get what she needed from him quickly. Aleksei Pavlovich described the arsonist as medium-height and medium-build, but looking at the selfies Becky had picked out, Cooper would describe him as more on the scrawny side. She paced the corridor while Tennessee rested his back against the wall and thumbed through photos of his young son on his phone. It gave Cooper an idea.

  “You got his file there?” she asked.

  He handed it over. “What do you need to know?”

  Cooper continued pacing as she read. “Family.”

  “Easy. Father died last year. Mum’s in a home with dementia. Unmarried, but lives with a woman named…” He scrunched up his face as he tried to remember. “Laura Something. Laura has two daughters, the youngest is Kane’s.”

  Cooper closed the file. She hardly needed it after that. “Nice.”

  An officer emerged from interv
iew suite six and gave them a nod. “He’s ready for you. Says he needs a piss, but I reckon he can wait.”

  Cooper hoped he couldn’t. People talked faster when their bladders were full. She and Tennessee entered the room and turned on the recording device.

  “Thursday the twentieth of June. Eight twenty-seven p.m. I am DCI Erica Cooper, also present is DS Jack Daniel. Please state your name and date of birth.”

  He swallowed. “Johnathon Richard Kane, August sixth, erm 1980.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Cooper said sarcastically. “Right. I’ll make this quick. Our scene of crime officers are top-notch, and our lab is world-class. You can shower, scrub your hands, whatever you like, but if you started those fires, and I believe you did, there will be trace evidence on you. We found your phone at Vixen and location services tracked it to the scene of the other two fires. This isn’t looking good for you, is it?”

  Kane blinked and mumbled, “No comment.”

  Tennessee snorted. “You know, you don’t actually have to say no comment. You can just… not comment.”

  “Come on DS Daniel,” Cooper said. “Give him a break. He left his phone at the scene of a crime; he’s not the brightest. Mr Kane, How old is your daughter?”

  Kane looked up, he seemed confused. “How did…? She’s six.”

  “Nice age,” said Cooper. “Young enough to still worship her father but old enough to feel abandoned when he goes to jail. I wonder what will become of her? A young girl with no father figure around. She might fall in with the wrong crowd, start drinking too young, a bit of weed here, a line of coke there, next thing you know—”

  “Don’t talk about my girl,” he snarled.

  She kept her face relaxed, but on the inside, Cooper was smiling. She crossed one leg over the other and decided to push another button. “And your poor mother. She’ll never see her pride and joy again.”

  “Stop it.”

  Cooper wouldn’t stop it. Not yet. She stood up and walked around the desk to get a better view of him. She made a big show of looking him up and down and added, “Don’t take this the wrong way Mr Kane, but you’re not built for jail. You’re too slim to hold your own in a fight, and as for those long eyelashes and full lips, well, I think someone will take a shine to you. Oh, don’t look so worried, I’m sure they’ll be gentle.”

  “STOP IT!”

  Cooper sat down. “Sentences for arson vary depending on the severity of the damage caused. Considering we’re looking at double manslaughter, I think it’s safe to say you’ll be getting life.”

  If she didn’t have Kane’s attention before, she did now. The colour drained from his face as he asked, “Manslaughter? What do you mean, manslaughter?”

  Tennessee took this one. “Manslaughter is defined as murder without premeditation.”

  “I know that.” Kane was beginning to flap. He wiped his hand over his mouth, then raked his fingers through his short brown hair. He didn’t know where to look. “I mean, I know what manslaughter is, but, b-but why are you talking about manslaughter?”

  “Well, Mr Kane, we haven’t told the press yet because we’re still tracing the families,” Tennessee began, “but two office workers died in your little bonfire. That’s three counts of arson and two counts of manslaughter. That’s life. You’ll never see the outside of jail again.”

  Kane continued to pale. He looked like he could faint at any moment. There was no bravado left in the man, not that there’d been much to start with.

  “Laura will visit,” Cooper assured him. “She will at first anyway. Then the excuses will begin and she’ll miss the odd visit. Then she’ll miss two in a row. Then you’ll hear on the grapevine that she’s seeing someone new; someone who can provide for her girls. Only he’s not a good egg. Has a thing for the young ones.”

  Cooper stopped. She could smell something, and when she looked at Tennessee, the look he gave her meant she hadn’t imagined it. Urine. They both slid their chairs back twelve inches.

  Tennessee pressed a button. They’d have to pause while Kane got cleaned up.

  While they waited for assistance, Cooper leant forward and softened her tone. “Look, Johnny, we both know you didn’t wake up this morning and decide to burn down three city-centre bars. Someone told you to do it. Give us the bigger fish, and I’ll see what I can do about reducing the charges.”

  He gawped at his sodden groin. Scared and humiliated. Cooper could see him weighing up his options. What was better, grassing someone in and risking their wrath, or a lifetime behind bars with the nightmares she’d just implanted in his brain?

  A big, fat tear rolled down his cheek. She was right; he wouldn’t last five minutes in the slammer. Two officers arrived to take Kane to change into a paper boiler suit. When he got to the door, he turned back and met Cooper’s gaze. “Hanson,” he said. “He’s called Wayne Hanson.”

  Cooper let out the sort of sigh where every last ounce of breath left her lungs. Tennessee slapped her on the back. “Nice work,” he said, checking his watch, “and nice timing.”

  Cooper spoke into the recording device one last time. “Interview terminated eight-fifty p.m.”

  * * *

  Uniformed officers and detectives alike sat straight-backed despite their stifled yawns and itchy eyes. They were tired. It had been non-stop since the moment Cooper had taken the call about Fletcher Blackburn and Ibrahim Moradi’s shooting on Monday evening. Meals had been missed, sleep had been sacrificed, and families had been neglected. It was time to put an end to their suffering.

  Keaton was the last to arrive. Her usually neat ponytail was askew but the grin she was wearing told Cooper she’d tracked down the books and had taken them to the lab. She approached Cooper and patted her on the arm. “I waited while Hong ran the prints. Thought you’d want to know straight away.”

  “And?”

  Keaton’s face spread into a wide grin. “As suspected.”

  Relief filled Cooper’s heart. She hadn’t assembled everyone for no reason. She reached up and cupped Keaton’s face in her hands. “You star,” she said. “Now do what you do best.”

  Keaton turned to face rows of her colleagues. “Right, peeps. Switch your phones off and switch your brains on. Court is in session.” The room fell silent as eyes turned to Keaton and Cooper. “God gave you two ears, but only one mouth so hush up and listen up.”

  Cooper had to marvel at the way Keaton commanded her peers. Years of playing and captaining team sports had given the woman a confidence and swagger Cooper could only dream off. Erica Cooper wasn’t a wallflower by any stretch of the imagination, but her self-esteem had taken a beating over the last few years between some disastrous relationships and her illness.

  Keaton took a seat between Boyd—whom she dwarfed—and Tennessee, who turned to her and whispered, “Decent. A solid eight out of ten. Had to deduct a point for peeps.”

  Cooper had the floor. She perched herself on the edge of a desk and shuffled her weight until she was sat on it. Crossing her legs, she picked up a folder and pulled out her notes. Within half an hour, everyone knew the theory, the evidence that backed it up and what was still conjecture.

  “As for Hanson, the phone found at the scene of one of the bar fires led us to Johnathon Kane. He’s given up Hanson and will no doubt give us more details once he’s dried off and put on some big boy pants. Whyte, Boyd, you two have been tailing Hanson, so it’s only right you get the honour of putting him in cuffs. Speak to Kane and arrange some back up for the morning. Grab him at six a.m.”

  Whyte nodded; Boyd bit her lip.

  “I need someone to tail Theo Blackburn,” Cooper continued, turning her attention to the back of the room. “I want to know where he spends the night. If he’s at Budle Bay, leave him be. Otherwise, drag him out of bed at the crack of dawn.”

  No one volunteered.

  “I’ll speak to Nixon about overtime.”

  Two hands shot up from the back row. Typical.

 
; “Thank you,” Cooper said to the volunteers. “The rest of us will meet at the outskirts of Budle Bay at five forty-five a.m. Not a second later. We have an early start, so get home and get to bed. Drink some warm milk, or some camomile tea, or screw it, have a wee dram. Whatever works.”

  She sighed. They’d done it.

  * * *

  “Hello, Steven.”

  Cooper stepped over the baby herring gull and let out a hearty sigh as she placed a takeaway for three on the kitchen table. Her legs felt heavy, but not as heavy as her eyelids. Tina and Josh emerged, sniffing the air and drooling as they clawed at the paper bags. It was late; they must be famished. Tina grabbed some cutlery, dished out three portions and headed towards the dining table.

  “Did you get your homework done?” Cooper asked the teenagers as she sat.

  They nodded, mouths already full of spare ribs.

  “Finished maths and chemistry,” Josh said between bites. “Then, we started watching Riverdale on Netflix.”

  Cooper hadn’t heard of it.

  “It’s a murder mystery!” Tina said.

  Josh tore another strip of spare rib meat from the bone. “You only like it because the main character’s always taking his shirt off.”

  Tina kicked Josh under the table. Cooper didn’t see it, but she heard him grunt, “Hey! Ouch.”

  Josh’s father picked him at half-ten, and Cooper chose that moment to talk to Tina about her grandfather.

  “Listen, T. I have some bad news.”

  “Is it Dad? Because I’ve been thinking about it and I don’t care what Josh says—”

  “It’s not your father.”

  “Good, because I’m not interested—” Tina’s eyes suddenly widened, and she made pointed eye contact with Cooper. A rarity. “The cancer’s back?”

  “No. No, it’s not that, T.”

  Tina collapsed back in her chair. “You scared me.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, but it’s your grandfather. He’s really not well. He had a heart attack and needed surgery.”