Chakrabarti nodded but didn’t smile. “Certainly. As long as you call me Sita.”
“What’s this about a false alarm, Sita?”
Sita rolled her big eyes. “No body.” She scrolled through her phone and brought up an image of the sandcastle. “As you can see, it was a large mound of sand, shaped like a coiled serpent. But when our team began to dig, we quickly realised there was no one in there.”
“It’s similar,” Cooper said, looking at the image and at then at the mound of sand behind Sita. “But it’s not quite right. The markings aren’t the same, and the tail is definitely different to what we’ve seen previously.”
“Time wasters?” asked Sita.
“Little shits is what I’d call them.”
Sita’s mouth finally formed a smile. “The guys are upset at being called out at this hour on a Sunday.”
“They’re not alone.” Cooper stifled a yawn. “You’ll follow this up? See if you can track down the jokers?”
Sita nodded slowly. “Oh yes. And when I find them, I will let them think we believe they’re responsible for the triple murder.”
A woman after her own heart. “Give them hell,” Cooper said before turning and making her way back to her car. She could be home before the clock struck six. She sent a text to Atkinson, letting him know that firstly, he didn’t need to bother bringing his team out, and secondly, she was going back to bed.
Seven hours later, Cooper was at a different beach, under very different circumstances. She parked in Low Lights car park, near an ice cream van receiving a parking ticket from a ruthless traffic warden.
“Bit harsh,” said Josh from the back seat. “Kids are watching. That’s like giving Santa’s sleigh a parking ticket.”
Tina carefully exited the vehicle. She cradled a large cardboard box against her chest, supporting its weight in both arms.
Low Lights was a small beach inside the mouth of the river. At the water’s edge there was a thin strip of sand popular with babies and small dogs. Behind it lay a short but steep embankment of rocks, and behind that, a promenade connecting North Shields fish quay with Tynemouth village. They followed the promenade to the end of the beach where they could reach the sand without clambering down the rocks. Nearby, two young boys were making shell-shaped sandcastles out of plastic moulds. Such an innocent activity, and yet it made Cooper feel on edge and a little queasy.
“Do you want to say a few words?” Cooper asked.
Tina pulled a face. “He doesn’t speak English. That would be weird.”
“You raised a baby seagull in our kitchen,” Cooper reminded her. “That was weird.”
“Weird, but brilliant.” Atkinson laid a plaid picnic blanket down for them to sit on. “We’re going to see the power of nature in action. Steven’s never been around other gulls, but he’s going to know that he is one of them.”
“Do you think he’ll be able to catch his own food?” Tina asked him, her face showing concern.
“Oh, undoubtedly. His instincts will kick in straight away. We had a house cat when my boys were young. It had never left the house and had every meal served to it in its red plastic bowl, and yet when a mouse got in one day, the cat pounced on it without hesitation. It just knew deep down that his job was to catch it and kill it. Steven will be the same.”
Tina considered his words for a moment, then said, “You’re right. Okay, let’s do this. Good luck, Steven.”
She opened the box lid and carefully lifted the feathered one out. Josh snapped photos on his phone as she placed him on the sand. Instantly, Steven’s great wings began to flap, and he took off towards the old wooden staithes that projected into the mouth of the river like a neglected garden fence.
“Look at him go,” Josh gasped.
“See, I told you he’d know his kind.” Atkinson patted Tina on the back as Steven landed on one of the thick wooden posts jutting out of the water.
A fluttering in the water beyond the staithes caused the gulls to scream in surround sound. Their voices high and frantic as a whole flock of them dove towards the deep indigo waves. One emerged with a small fish in its yellow and red beak. The others circled him, dipping and diving, vying for the right to steal the prize. The squabble was violent, filled with bites, pulled feathers and pained squawks. It would be disturbing to someone not accustomed to Tyneside gulls.
“Any idea which one Steven is? I’ve lost him,” Atkinson said.
“Me too,” said Josh.
Tina’s arm stretched beyond the staithes to a patch of green grass. “He’s over there. While that lot were squabbling over that tiny fish, he’s managed to knick that man’s battered haddock.”
They laughed as they watched an apoplectic man chase after an ecstatic herring gull.
“Speaking of battered fish.” Atkinson wiggled his long legs before standing. “I’ll go and join the queue at The Waterfront. Three lots of haddock and chips, and a chip butty for Tina?”
With Atkinson gone to collect their lunch, Cooper looked at her daughter with pride. “You did a good thing, T. Without you, there’s no way Steven would have survived.”
Tina didn’t look up. She was fiddling with a loose thread on the blanket; that didn’t mean she wasn’t listening.
“I’m serious, Tina. You really cared for him. He relied on you for everything, and now he’s back in the wild. You’ll make a great mother one day.”
Tina’s body stiffened and she looked at Cooper with horror. “Urgh, Mum!”
- Chapter 43 -
Six beaches, six sandcastles, zero victims.
Either the killer was playing with them, or he’d inspired others to play with them.
“Sad little twats,” Keaton grumbled as she returned to HQ on Monday afternoon. She stomped her boots on the heavy-duty doormat and left a dusting of sand behind. “They’ll wish they were the ones buried alive if I get my hands on the time-wasting terrors.”
Terrors. The word gave Cooper an idea. “Nip to the press room and have them release a statement, Paula. Don’t use the word terrorism as such. But say something like instilling terror in the civilian population or terrorising local residents. That sort of thing.”
Keaton laughed. “Love it. The journos will take the leap from terrorising to terrorism to get clickbait. Then the limp-dicked morons who are pulling this bollocks will see what deep shit they could actually be in?”
“Exactly. Should be enough of a scare to get them to pack it in.”
Keaton left in one direction, and Cooper followed a different corridor toward the incident room. She was no sooner through the door, powering up a computer and making herself comfortable when Nixon’s anaemic and wrinkled face appeared at the door.
“Cooper. A word. My office.”
“Sir.”
Reluctantly, she got to her feet and trailed behind the superintendent with filial submission, like a child knowing they were about to be scolded for not doing their homework.
“Good luck,” mouthed Tennessee as she passed him.
She entered Nixon’s office and was about to shut the door when he told her to leave it open. Great. He wanted the whole department to hear him give her a bollocking.
“You’ve been chasing ghosts all weekend, Cooper.”
“Yes, sir. Hoaxes. But we need to—”
“I don’t want to hear another word about false alarms.”
“Yes, sir. Neither do I, which is why DS Keaton is going to scare the life out of the culprits with a press release. The lifeguard stations up and down the coast have agreed to extend their hours to try and catch them in the act. And, we have someone in tech scouring social media. I don’t think anyone would go to this much trouble and not brag about it to their mates.”
He frowned. His beady eyes instilling a terror of their own. “I don’t want any more resources going on these copycat cases.”
“We have to check every single one of them, sir. Hoax or not. Would you rather someone suffocated when we could have got to them
in time? We’d be crucified.”
Nixon didn’t look like he was breathing. He was holding his breath until ready to explode. He picked up a fountain pen between his fore and middle finger, wiggling it in a see-saw motion. The nib smacked into an open notepad sending tiny splatters of ink in all directions. It reminded Cooper of blood spatter, only blue.
“Perhaps we need someone with more experience?” he finally said through gritted teeth. “Someone to oversee things.”
Cooper seethed at her superior. She could taste acid, and whilst she would be grateful for any help offered, she was not going to let someone step on her or Tennessee’s toes when they’d come so far in such a short space of time.
“I’ve barely been back a week. And in that short time, we’ve already taken this case from having seemingly no connection between the victims to narrowing our suspects to a single family. And with all due respect—”
The pitch in Cooper’s voice betrayed the fact she wasn’t feeling respectful at all.
“There is no one with more experience. There might be older detectives, there might be longer serving detectives, but not one of them has the experience I have.”
Nixon’s eyes flicked to the open door. He clearly hadn’t expected to be answered back in such a fashion, but Cooper couldn’t help herself. Something inside her was making her fight her corner.
“The Tarot Card Killer, the Blackburns, the Hansons,” she said, counting them on her fingers as she listed the criminals now removed from the streets of Tyneside, Wearside and Northumberland. “Extortionists, kidnappers, people smugglers, arsonists, drug dealers—”
“You’ve made your point, Cooper.” Nixon examined his hand; it was covered in blue ink. “You may go.”
But Cooper wasn’t done. Whatever was driving her mood, she couldn’t subdue it. She had to get one last point across. She moved to the doorway, seeing at least four or five officers in the corridor who had been eavesdropping on their conversation. She turned back to Nixon and added to her list. “Rapists, thieves, murderers, and bent coppers. Let’s not forget the bent coppers.”
Despite all her bravado forty-eight hours ago, Cooper was banging her head against a brick wall by Wednesday. They were stuck. They had gone over everything they had so far with a fine-toothed comb and come up empty-handed. Whyte lost his mind checking and double-checking footage submitted to the website they’d set up; Martin could recite the social work files for the Beaumont children by heart; Keaton had driven up to Lindisfarne accessing CCTV cameras on both sides of the causeway; and Tennessee returned to Hexham, where he went over the statements from the only two people to have spotted the white van used to transport Ronan Turnbull to the abbey.
Word had got out about what Cooper said to Nixon, and she’d received nods of support and pats on the back all of yesterday. Now she felt like a fraud. Martin hadn’t even been able to rule out Marcus Newton, the second youngest of the Beaumont children. The Policía National reported that Newton’s home was empty and his neighbours hadn’t seen him in a few weeks. They were waiting to see if his name was on any flight manifests for aircraft entering the UK.
With everyone busy twiddling their thumbs, Cooper excused herself to nip to a branch of Marks and Spencer at Silverlink retail park. She bought a basket of fresh vegetables, including carrots, asparagus and purple broccoli. In the next aisle, she grabbed a tub of mini Swiss rolls and rocky road bites. She hoped she could have a bit of a girls’ night with her mother and daughter; there was a new Netflix series everyone in the station seemed to be gossiping about and if she didn’t binge-watch it soon, she’d hear all the spoilers. A few items from the feminine healthcare aisle went in the basket, as did a bottle of multivitamins and some new bath oil. Cooper avoided the chilled and frozen sections knowing her shopping would have to sit in HQ until she could leave for the night. Still, she grabbed some dried fruit and nuts from beside the checkout to graze on during the short drive back to the station.
With shopping in hand, Cooper nipped to the loos as soon as she entered HQ. She sat, did her business and waited for a few minutes thinking about the months and years ahead. Questions whirred in her brain about how long her mother would want to live with them, whether Tina would be moving out in two years, and if she and Atkinson were in it for the long haul. Would they get to a point where they would live together full time? Would they ever be ready for that? And then there was work. Whilst she loved her job and got a thrill from seeing a case through to prosecution, she also knew that there were few promotion possibilities. She was already DCI, and though she was grateful to have come this far, especially at this age, any new chapters in her life were likely to come from her personal life rather than from her professional one.
She stood and zipped up her trousers before exiting the cubital to wash her hands. She was surprised to see tears in her eyes when she looked in the mirror. All these thoughts and questions, all these worries, hadn’t come from nowhere. Still, she was surprised to see them written so clearly on her face.
Another toilet flushed and Saffron Boyd emerged from the cubicle.
“Ma’am,” she said, washing her own hands. “Are you... Are you okay?”
Cooper sniffed and splashed some cold water on her face. “I’m fine, Saffron. Ignore me.”
She took a paper towel from the dispenser and dried her face.
“Is it your father?” Boyd asked. “You must miss him.”
Cooper nodded, though in truth, none of the messy thoughts she’d had concerned Ben. “Yes, I do miss him.” But with a quick change of subject, Cooper was back in work mode. “Have we located Phillip Hall?”
Tennessee scratched his ear as he stared at the murder wall. He was over the worst of his cold. His nose had stopped running and he no longer felt like his brain was pulling away from the inside of his skull every time he bent over. He still looked like death warmed up and had a tickly cough to contend with, but he was grateful to be the least ill member of the Daniel household. Alfie had a doctor’s appointment later in the day – which Pat would take him to – and Hayley’s friend had promised to pop in and cheer her up with some office gossip. Tennessee knew that in the darkest depths of his wife’s PND, no amount of office gossip, good humour or kind deeds would help. Still, her heart was in the right place, and he knew his wife would appreciate some adult company from outside the family.
He looked on the bright side; she was improving. The good days outweighed the bad now, and though the bad days made him feel like a rug had been pulled out from under him, he was confident they’d get through it.
The murder wall was mocking him. The faces of those killed told him to hurry up, that he’d never make DI if he couldn’t find their killer. The scrawled names of their suspects danced before his eyes, teasing him: Shane, Marcus, Tyrone and Robert, aka Phillip. He sighed, feeling he should know more. He was missing something. Shane and Tyrone were ghosts, as if no record of them existed beyond their young adult lives. Marcus may or may not be living on an island off the Moroccan coast, and Phillip’s home in Seghill looked to be recently abandoned. A team had been sent to speak to him over the weekend, but they found the house secure and his car gone.
Tennessee pursed his lips as he thought.
“Your face will stay like that if the wind changes,” Boyd said with a slight smirk. She held a printout from the computer in her hand.
“What’s that?” Tennessee asked.
Boyd handed him the sheet of paper. “The answer to our prayers,” she said. “Potentially, at least. ANPR clocked Phillip Hall’s car entering the Tyne Tunnel northbound.”
- Chapter 44 -
Phillip Hall was not a happy bunny. “Is someone going to tell me what the hell this is about?” he bellowed. “Murder? You’ve got to be shitting me?”
The man was a mess; dirty, bedraggled, and stinking of BO. There was mud under his fingernails, and the ends of his trousers were soaked through. His shoes were so grubby they had requested he remove them and leave th
em at the front doors. Having saved the interview room from having mud dragged all over it, they had unfortunately added the stench of sweaty feet to the smell of unwashed armpits.
Tennessee folded his arms and looked at the man. Thanks to a warrant, he knew him to be a Newcastle United season ticket holder. “We’ve been looking for you,” he said.
“So everyone keeps saying. And as I keep telling them, I’ve been effin’ camping.”
“Camping or hiding?” Cooper asked. She sat beside Tennessee but didn’t seem as calm and collected as usual. In fact, she’d suggested Tennessee take the lead. He was happy to do so, but he was suspicious of her motive and couldn’t help but notice she was fidgeting.
Cooper wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sit still. Hall was a burly man, and despite his constant swearing, he looked troubled as he sat across the table from them. He rubbed his face with his hands, trying to rid himself of dirt. It didn’t work. Every now and then he’d stop and scratch furiously at his scalp, like a dog attacking an itch behind its ear.
Hall raised his hands, exposing his grimy palms. “Camping,” he repeated. He picked at something wedged beneath one of his nails. It was a tiny sliver of wood. “Sometimes I like to get away from things.”
“You haven’t just been camping,” Tennessee said. “You’ve been completely off-grid. Your mobile phone has been switched off, you left no instructions with your neighbours to water your plants or keep an eye on your property, and until an hour ago, you kept your car off every main road in the northeast.”
“That’s not a crime,” Phillip told them. His brow furrowed into deep crevices and he pointed a muddy, chewed fingernail in Tennessee’s direction. “I’ve been in the North York Moors. There’s no point having my phone on if I’m never going to get a signal anyway. My neighbours would probably rob me blind if I told the thieving bastards I was gannin’ out of town for a few days. And as for the roads, I’ve never liked driving on motorways or dual carriageways. Not since I broke six bones in a pile-up.”
Northern Roulette (DCI Cooper Book 4) Page 22