54
Coop’s house was a thing of architectural beauty – a white-painted New England saltbox with black shutters and two chimneys built at the turn of the twentieth century for the mistress of a lumber baron. It was one of the few houses that came with a driveway and a lawn – the size of a postage stamp, but still it was grass.
The house stood on a corner, cut off from the more famous downtown historic homes four blocks down the street. Darby eased her car through the gap between the waist-high white picket fences and parked behind Coop’s Mustang. The sun had disappeared, giving way to yet another thunderstorm.
Stepping out into the heavy rain, she noticed the pair of opened bulkhead doors leading into the cellar. She eased the aluminium doors shut, then ran up the steps and stood under a canvas awning over a small deck. A gauzy ivory curtain covered the windowpane in the back door, and she could see Coop’s shadow moving inside the living room just down the hall as she rang the doorbell.
He ducked around the corner and disappeared.
‘Who is it?’
‘Darby.’
‘I’m sort of in the middle of something right now. I’ll call you later.’
‘I need to talk to you now, Coop. Open up.’
A moment later she saw his shadow coming down the hall. Locks clicked back and the door opened.
Coop stood in front of her, barefoot, dressed in jeans and a tight-fitting olive-green tank streaked with dust, dirt and sweat. His eight-month-old niece, Olivia, lay sleeping against his chest.
‘My sister’s babysitter bagged this morning so she called me in tears and asked if I could watch her,’ he said.
Coop eased the door part-way shut, taking a quick survey of the street. Part of his scraped face was swollen. Bandages spotted with blood covered his arms.
‘Jackie’s boss isn’t real understanding when it comes to the difficulties of single working mothers,’ he said. ‘You’d think he’d have more sympathy since he’s been divorced three times himself and has got two kids –’
‘You always booze it up when you’re babysitting?’
‘I can’t have a couple of drinks?’
‘I’m getting a contact high standing here.’
‘Gee, Mom, I’d like to attend the lecture you’re about to give – it sounds real inspirational, honest, – but I’ve got some things to do. How about I call you later and –’
She pushed her way past him, moved down the yellow-painted hall and stepped into his living room; saw the empty and taped-up boxes covering nearly every inch of the tan carpet and felt a sick, dull thud in her heart.
Low music played from a portable radio/CD player sitting on his brown leather sofa – Bono singing a live rendition of ‘Wake Up Dead Man’ from a U2 concert recorded at Slane Castle in County Meath, Ireland. She’d given him the bootleg CD last year as a Christmas gift.
Coop strolled into the living room with a hand placed against the back of his sleeping niece.
‘When were you going to tell me? After you left?’
‘After I finished packing,’ he said.
‘You’re going to London.’
‘It was too good to pass up.’
Darby swallowed, heart beating fast.
Coop picked up a highball glass sitting on top of an old steamer trunk.
‘You want a drink?’ he asked. ‘There’s a bottle of Middleton Irish whiskey in the kitchen.’
She didn’t answer.
He eased himself into a matching leather armchair.
‘Don’t give me that look,’ he said. ‘It’s nothing personal. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to sway me.’
Her face felt hot. ‘When are you leaving?’
‘Tonight.’
Darby didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands.
‘I’m taking the red-eye,’ he said.
‘Why the sudden urgency?’
‘They needed me on this upcoming project, that new fingerprint technology they’re developing.’
‘Bullshit.’
‘I don’t know how many times I can tell you this, but I have no idea who those young women are.’
‘How do you know they’re young?’
‘Frank liked ’em young.’
‘How do you know they were involved with Sullivan?’
‘This is starting to sound like a cross-examination. Should I call my lawyer and ask him to stop by?’
‘I don’t know, Coop. Did you do something wrong?’
He shook his head, sighing. He took another gulp of his whiskey, then crossed his legs and leaned to his right side.
‘You always pack with the lights out?’
‘Olivia fell asleep,’ he said.
‘When I rang the doorbell, I saw you run from the living room.’
‘I was going to get my niece. She fell asleep on the floor. I was going to put her down on my bed when you rang.’
‘You never were a good liar, Coop.’
‘Did you come all the way here to bust my balls?’
‘No, I came here hoping to talk some sense into you. The commissioner has you in her target sights. She thinks you’re hiding something. So do I.’
‘Sorry, but I can’t help you.’
‘That’s it?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Well, then, maybe I should just say goodbye.’
‘I was going to call you later, honest, take you out to dinner and tell you about the job.’
‘And if you and I were in a restaurant together, I’d be less likely to cause a scene.’
‘I’m sorry, Darb. I’m not good with goodbyes.’
‘Nobody is.’
‘You are,’ he said. ‘Nothing gets past that stubborn Irish armour of yours.’
Not true, Coop. You did, despite my best efforts.
‘Join me for a drink now,’ he said. ‘Grab a glass in the kitchen. You know where they are.’
‘I’ve got to get going.’
‘The case, it’s always the case.’ Coop put his feet up on the coffee table and sank back in his chair. ‘What’s that saying? A tiger can’t change its stripes.’
Darby took a deep breath, wanting to clear the hurt from her voice before she spoke, or at least shave off the sharp edges. She stepped to the front of the chair and leaned forward placing a hand on each armrest.
‘I’m very happy for you, Coop.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I’m going to miss you.’
‘Me too.’ He took a long pull from his drink. ‘You’re…’
‘What?’
‘You’ve been… a great friend,’ he said, the words wet in his throat. ‘The best.’
Darby forced a smile. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Her right hand reached around his back.
‘Before I go,’ she said, pulling the handgun from the back of his waistband, ‘would you mind telling me why you need to carry a Glock for babysitting?’
55
Darby sat on the leather sofa less than a foot away from Coop’s armchair. She turned the Glock around in her hand.
‘Nice job filing away the serial number,’ she said. ‘Did you do it yourself? Or did someone give you this throw-down piece?’
Coop didn’t answer.
Her phone rang. She ignored the call and said, ‘Michelle Baxter is missing.’
‘She left town.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Because this morning, after you and I talked, I hit an ATM and went back to her place. I gave her the cash and helped her pack.’
‘Because you know the man she was talking to, don’t you?’
He didn’t answer.
‘This afternoon, when I went back to the lab, I went to your office to find you,’ she said. ‘I also checked the fingerprint database. The print from the nicotine gum pack came back with an ID. His name is Jack King.’
‘I know. All this time, I thought he was dead.’