Northern Roulette (DCI Cooper Book 4)

by B Baskerville

  The doctor stood and leant towards Dougie. “Do you want to take a break? Leave it for today?”

  Dougie shushed him. “Do you know why they sent us to the boxing gym?”

  Cooper shook her head. “Exercise?”

  He scoffed. “They sent us because it was dirt cheap, and they could have us out of the house for a few hours twice a week. They sent us tae get pummelled because they wanted peace and quiet.”

  “And that’s where you met Ronan?”

  “Everyone else made fun of me for being the smallest. They called me Twiggy; I was an easy round of sparring for them. But Ronan, he was one of the big kids – about seventeen – he was kind, gave me pointers, offered to give me some private tuition. Can you see where I’m going?”

  She could. “He groomed you.”

  “The things he did.” Dougie showed no emotion as he told his story. His eyes didn’t well up; there was no fire in his gaze. His face remained neutral as if he were talking about a show he’d watched on television. A coping mechanism, perhaps. Imagining it happened to someone else and not him. “And I won’t be the only one. Drink, please.” He took another slurp through closed teeth. “Do some digging. You’ll find the others.”

  “Eve Lynch was your social worker. You killed her. Why?”

  “Why do you think? Same reason Pennington made the list. She knew, and she did nowt. Actually, she did worse than nowt. She’d come to the foster home now and again, but I couldnae say owt in front of Vince, not without getting a hiding. She was supposed to come every six weeks but she didnae. Looking back, I know she was young, overworked and underpaid. The department was understaffed, and those who did the work could hardly keep track of the kids on their files. Some cases were shelved for years.”

  Cooper was confused. He seemed to empathise with Eve Lynch’s position and yet killed her anyway.

  “By the time I was thirteen, I’d basically become Ronan’s toy. Every Monday and Thursday, I was his tae dae whatever he wanted tae. Then one day, I saw Lynch in Asda. Vince and Kerys weren’t around, so I knew it was my chance. She didnae even recognise me. I felt like my heart had just been trampled on, but I tried to explain what was going on. I couldnae tell her the worst of it, but she got the idea. I thought this is it, she’s going to save me, but then I told her Ronan’s name.”

  Dougie blinked a couple of times. Cooper could see the ends of his fingers twitching in their casts.

  “Of course, Mr Golden Gloves was the toast of the town. The son of a businessman, tipped to box in the Commonwealth Games and ready to join the army as an officer. Do you ken what she said? She accused me of trying tae derail a promising young man’s career by spreading nasty rumours. How many teenage boys do you know who would make up something like that, DCI Cooper?”

  “I don’t know any.” Cooper felt hot, and her damp clothes stuck to her body. She was sickened.

  “I ran away as soon as I could. I went with another boy from Vince’s house; he had a cousin over the border who could give us work, cash-in-hand. I lied, telt them I was sixteen, took the first work they offered and never looked back. I moved to Berwick for a bit, but they wanted proper ID and National Insurance and all that shit. I didnae stay long; I couldnae stand folk using my real name when I’d started calling myself Dougie. After I went north again, I felt like I had some control over my life for the first time. I rebuilt myself from scratch. All the manual labour and decent grub, it wasn’t long until I didnae even look like Tyrone anymore.”

  Cooper moved closer to the window and wrenched it open. It only opened a few centimetres, but it was enough to provide her with some fresh air.

  “What changed?” she asked. “Like you said, you had a new life. Why come back?”

  “I had tae work every day of my life tae try and forget the things that happened to me. Moved further and further north until I got a job at a hotel on Skye. I was still running, hoping the further north I went, the smaller the memories would seem. It worked until I saw his name in the paper: Ronan Turnbull. It was when the Birthday Honours were announced. There was even a picture of him with his arms around some kids from his club. I was almost sick. He was supposed to go to the palace for some garden party, but there was no way I could let that happen. I wasnae Twiggy anymore. I wasnae the scrawny wee boy he used over and over. Ronan Turnbull was not going to meet the bloody Queen of England and live the rest of his life as a hero.”

  “I really think we should call it a day,” Dr Lane announced.

  “And I really think you should pipe down,” Dougie fired back. “I’m opening up here. It feels cathartic, ye ken?”

  Dougie was finally showing some emotion. His voice was tense, and though he couldn’t open his mouth, he bared his teeth as he recounted the tale.

  “I couldnae sleep that night. I went to bed and made a list. Six snakes who only looked out for themselves. I took out five. I’ll take that. I don’t give a shite if it puts me in prison; it was the right thing tae dae. It was justice. Besides, what can the other prisoners do tae me that hasnae already be done? Losing the use of my legs might be a blessing in disguise. The lawyer tells me I’ll get a bottom bunk and access to a special bathroom. No communal showers for me, DCI Cooper. And I’ll be assigned a pusher, someone to roll my wheels about for me.”

  Cooper took in a deep lungful of humid air. “You don’t regret any of it, do you? It didn’t have to be this way. You could have spoken out. People are coming forward now about past crimes: the film and music industry, the Scouts, the church. It doesn’t matter how long ago the abuse took place; it will be investigated these days.”

  “Aye. He said, she said. Nowt would have happened.”

  “That’s not true, Dougie. They didn’t have to die. You didn’t have the right to make that decision. If you’d come forward and reported what happened, they would have been disciplined or punished in some way.”

  Even as she said the words, she knew it wasn’t true. Lynch and Pennington’s crimes were crimes of inaction, and they were both long retired from their previous careers. Even if hearings took place, it wasn’t as if they could be struck off from teaching or working in social care. There was a case to be made against Vince and Kerys Rivers, but they’d need others to come forward before they could go to trial. Ronan Turnbull was likely the only one to be arrested and charged. Unfortunately, Cooper knew less than six per cent of reported rapes resulted in a conviction for the perpetrator.

  Dougie fixed her with a steely stare. As if reading her mind, he said, “Not a damn thing was done back then and not a damn thing would be done now. No one was going to punish them. Not the way I did. I was a lost boy, neglected by the system, but I’ll inspire other lost boys, you’ll see. My legacy will live on, and other snakes will be hunted down. You’re right; the world is changing. Victims are believed, but only if they have the strength tae say something, tae stand in court and make themselves vulnerable all over again while the world watches. I’ve shown those who cannae speak out that they can lash out instead. That there’s another way to get justice. Everyone who abused a bairn, everyone who knew and did nowt, I want those snakes to hear my story and live in fear. They should go tae bed every night terrified that one of their victims will return. Because, thanks tae me, they will.”

  - Chapter 53 -

  Though it was daylight, Justin Atkinson switched on the lights in Cooper’s bathroom so the extractor fan would kick in. His post-run shower had filled the room with billowy plumes of steam. He’d run a little faster than usual today and his muscles felt heavy. He really needed a cool bath with Epsom salts, but today wasn’t about him and his needs: it was about Cooper.

  Cooper hadn’t given him all the details after her meeting with Douglas Beaumont, but she had told him she feared he’d spark copycats. Copycat killings might be rare, but they weren’t the stuff of thrillers or urban legends either; they were real. Some copied fictional crimes. Luka Magnotta was inspired by American Psycho; Thierry Jaradin stabbed a young girl w
hile dressed as Ghostface; John Warnock Hinckley Jr. tried to assassinate Ronald Regan partly due to his obsession with Taxi Driver. But some copied real crimes, especially where media coverage gave notoriety to the perpetrators. Dunblane inspired Port Arthur; Jack the Ripper inspired Derek Brown; Eddie Seda sent cryptic notes to the media just as the Zodiac Killer had. Worst of all, as far as Atkinson was concerned, was the Columbine effect. Sixty-three shootings were alleged to be inspired by the events of April twentieth, 1999. Over two hundred and seventy deaths and almost four-hundred and fifty wounded.

  Atkinson hoped Beaumont’s actions would spur people to talk about child protection and pursue justice for past crimes. Still, he hoped no one took the law into their own hands the way Dougie had. Most of all, he hoped for a world where neither of those things was necessary, a world where no child suffered abuse or neglect.

  He could dream, couldn’t he?

  Taking a squeegee, Atkinson wiped down the shower screen before drying himself on a teal-coloured towel. He liked Cooper’s bathroom. Her place had better water pressure than his, and the room always smelled of something floral. A smart grey suit hung from the hook on the back of the bathroom door. Once dry, he dressed and checked his reflection in the mirror. He was overdressed for taking Cooper to her check-up, but they planned on having lunch after. He’d booked a table at a new Pan-Asian restaurant that had opened in Jesmond. It had good reviews, and he was looking forward to some Sichuan sirloin.

  In the afternoon, Atkinson had a conference to attend. Of course, if there were any problems, if the doctors found anything or if Cooper had a panic attack, he would drop the conference in a heartbeat. He was nervous; that’s why he’d run so fast that morning. Unfortunately, there was no out-running anxiety.

  He returned his Garmin to his wrist then fiddled with a box that housed his favourite cufflinks. They were silver and square, designed to look like two elements from the periodic table. The left had a small number four and the letters Be to represent beryllium. The right showed the number sixty-eight and an Er for erbium. The cuffs were a birthday gift from his sons, and he was ashamed to say it had taken him three years to notice that if he held them together they spelt beer.

  Atkinson secured erbium into the buttonhole, but he was a butterfingers when nervous and beryllium slipped from his grip. The little square of silver tinkled as it hit the porcelain sink then bounced towards the floor, landing in the bathroom bin.

  This is what happens if you don’t put your glasses on first, he thought. He knelt down to rifle through the bin. A slither of white caught his attention. He would have left it well alone, but he was a scientist, and curiosity was in his nature. It was hidden well, wrapped in loo roll, then stuffed inside an empty toothpaste box. He would have never noticed it if he hadn’t gone looking for the cufflink. Oh, there you are. He grabbed the cufflink and put it in his pocket before turning back to the bin. He pulled the white plastic from the paper and turned it over in his hands.

  It was a pregnancy test.

  It was positive.

  Cooper stared at her wardrobe and frowned. She opted for trousers that weren’t too snug and a blouse that was easy to take off and put on again multiple times. It was unusual to have follow-up tests nine months after radio and chemotherapy. The usual aftercare involved tests at three and six months, followed by yearly check-ups. Dr McDermott wanted to keep a close eye on Cooper given how young she was when diagnosed and how intense her occupation was. He was a shrewd man, and though Cooper had never said anything, he knew she didn’t always take the best care of herself.

  On today’s agenda were a physical exam, a mammogram, an appointment with a dietician, and a bone mineral assessment. The bone densitometry DXA was a low dose x-ray that diagnosed or assessed a person’s risk of osteoporosis. It had been unavailable at her last check-up, but Cooper knew she wouldn’t be going ahead with it today either.

  There was a thud as the front door closed in its frame.

  It was too early for Tina to be leaving for her last week of school, and Julie was still in bed. She hadn’t told her mum about today’s tests; she knew she’d insist on coming with her and Cooper really only wanted one person there – Atkinson. She opened her bedroom door and looked down the hallway to the bathroom. The bathroom was empty, a few wisps of steam still floating up to the extractor fan, distorting the straight lines between the teal metro tiles on the feature wall. Odd. He knew they’d be leaving straight after breakfast.

  Where could he have run off to?

  Once again, Atkinson was running. He ran through the streets of Tynemouth in one of his best suits and his most expensive pair of shoes. He must look like a banker late for work or an accountant running from the taxman.

  He stopped at a corner to take a deep breath and stretch his calves. Cooper was pregnant. He couldn’t believe it. When they’d first got together, she’d explained how her chemotherapy treatment had caused her periods to cease. That they’d come back in time, but she’d be unable to take hormonal contraception. She told him she planned on getting a coil fitted, but with her and Atkinson breaking up in the spring, she mustn’t have bothered.

  He placed one foot in front of the other and started running, picking up the pace until he was almost sprinting. It all made sense – the tiredness, the tenderness. She’d flinched at his touch a few times, but it wasn’t the return of the dreaded C word; it was sensitivity caused by increased blood flow and lactiferous duct growth. Lactiferous duct growth? He shook his head as he ran, a slight sweat beginning on his brow and under his arms. Always the bloody scientist.

  His boys – the twins – were grown now. They were at Edinburgh University having the time of their lives and doing more carousing than studying. While Ellis was failing his undergraduate in infectious diseases, Rowan was spectacularly failing his economics course. You’d think majoring in economics would have taught him not to squander the twenty-eight grand he was investing in the course – not counting rent and living expenses – but no, Rowan was a law unto himself.

  Atkinson wondered if he was ready, or able, to go through it all again. All the sleepless nights, scraped knees, PTA meetings, school runs, packed lunches, Saturday morning football.

  Was he ready for this? Did he want to do this?

  Cooper rummaged in the back of the fridge and found some yoghurt that hadn’t gone bad yet. She paired it with some oats, honey and half a rapidly browning banana. If the dietician asked, she could at least make it sound like she’d had a nutritious breakfast and wasn’t surviving on a diet of Starbucks, pastries and adrenaline.

  She sat at the table and thumbed through a leaflet advertising a marine biology summer camp held at the university-run lab at Cullercoats Bay. It might be something Tina would be interested in. She could do with a hobby that didn’t involve Lana or being glued to Josh’s side; the pair were still being off with each other as far as Cooper could tell. She’d talk to Tina later; marine biology camp would be right up her street and would fill the void left by Steven the seagull.

  The kettle boiled just as Atkinson came bursting through the door. He was a sight. His suit crinkled around the elbow and knee joints, his brow was dripping wet, and his glasses were crooked. Scuff marks painted chalky lines across freshly-polished black shoes, he sounded like he’d just run a marathon, and his face was drained of colour.

  “What the hell happened to you?” she said, laughing. “You know we’re leaving in...” She checked her watch. “… like five minutes?”

  He nodded, breathless. Then from behind his back, he brandished a ginormous bouquet of peach roses, chrysanthemums and snapdragons.

  “For you,” he said, one hand on the kitchen counter while he composed himself.

  Cooper put the leaflet down and took the flowers. “They’re beautiful,” she said. “But shouldn’t we celebrate after we get the all-clear?”

  He took her hand. “You’re pregnant.”

  Her mouth fell open. How could he possibly know? She planned
on telling him today anyway. That’s why she’d insisted they book somewhere for lunch, just the two of them, so they could talk. She was caught off guard having to have the conversation now.

  “Erm. Yes. Yes, I am.” She touched her stomach, thinking of the tiny life growing inside her. “Is that okay?”

  “Okay? It’s flipping amazing!” Atkinson scooped her up in his arms and spun around. “I thought you were sick.” He put her back down and kissed her lips; she took in his sweet-smelling aftershave. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was worried. We’ve only just got back together, and I wasn’t sure at first. I mean, it’s very, very early days.”

  “I guess we weren’t as careful as we could have been.”

  Cooper sighed. “I took a few things for granted when I shouldn’t have. It’s my fault; I should have—”

  “Hey, hey, none of that it’s my fault nonsense.” He had a great big dumb grin on his face. He looked like an excited Labrador. “I’m thrilled. Are you?”

  An equally silly grin spread over Cooper’s face. She had a billion concerns and questions. She was fretting about her health, her job, her daughter and her mother. But yes, she was happy.

  She was really, truly happy.

  “I am. But, how did you know?” She cast her eyes downward and examined her waist. “I can’t possibly be showing yet.”

  “I found the test. You hid it pretty well. I mean, you are a CID detective. You would know how to cover your tracks after dealing with so many criminals.” He finally sorted his glasses out so they weren’t lopsided and lifted his palms defensively. “I wasn’t snooping. I dropped a cufflink in the bin.” He glanced at his sleeves where only one cuff was secured by a cufflink. “Oh, it must still be in my pocket. Guess I got distracted.”