Cut the deck, p.8
Cut The Deck, page 8
part #1 of DCI Cooper Series
“Suppose you’ll want to come in.” Xander stepped aside and called for his parents. “MUM. DAD. Told you the police would want to talk to me.”
Within thirty seconds Mr and Mrs Wright had joined their son on their impressive leather sofa. Mrs Wright clung to her son’s hands in a sign of support and Mr Wright scrutinised the detectives through steely eyes. Three overgrown rats - a Chihuahua, a sausage dog, and a pug - snarled at Cooper and Tennessee from behind a baby gate.
“Was it Will Harper?” asked Xander. “Was it Will who threw my name in the hat?”
Cooper preferred to be the one asking questions. “What makes you ask that?”
“I don’t like him. He doesn’t like me. He rules the school. You’ve seen him, he’s a right gym monkey. Probably sprinkles steroids on his cornflakes.”
“Xander,” said his mother with a hushing tone to her voice. “Behave.”
“I am. Is it true he was released?”
Cooper leant forward. “I’m not here to talk about Will Harper. But yes, we released him. Tell me about your relationship with Rachel Pearson.”
He let out a small snort. “There’s not much to tell. We went out a while back, before she hurt her back. She was one of those ridiculously busy girls. Went to the gym before school, had a private tutor some nights, gymnastics the others. At weekends she’d travel to Manchester or Shropshire for competitions. She was nonstop. So, our relationship wasn’t much more than handholding at lunchtime. If I was lucky we’d get to hang out on a Sunday evening after she got back from training or competing.”
“How did things end?” asked Cooper.
“She said we’d drifted apart, which was a bit of joke, I thought. How could we drift apart? We were barely together.” He flopped back on the sofa. “A week later, I saw her in Will Harper’s arms.”
“That must have been difficult for you?”
Xander looked away for a moment. “I wasn’t heart broken or anything. Like I said, we barely had time for each other. My ego was pretty bruised though.”
Cooper realised her leg was twitching. Too much caffeine on an empty stomach. “Thank you, Xander. Now I need to ask you about your movements on Tuesday evening.”
Mr Wright folded his arms. “You can’t possibly think—”
Tennessee cut him off. “This is a standard line of questioning, Mr Wright. If Xander is to be ruled out of our investigation, we need to establish his alibi.”
“I came straight home after school,” he started. “I had games last lesson. We played rugby. We’re supposed to shower at school but no one does. So, I showered when I got home at about three forty-five.”
“Thank you, Xander,” said Cooper, wanting to encourage his honesty. “Then what?”
“Mum was home,” he turned to look at his mother and she nodded in agreement.
“I’m a full-time Mum.”
Cooper hated that term. As if going to work to provide for her daughter made her… What? A part-time Mum? No, she was as full-time a mother as anyone who had the luxury of staying home. Now, however, was not the time to voice that opinion.
“And you didn’t go out again that evening?”
“I walked the dogs,” said Xander, nodding his head towards the pack of snarling pups in the kitchen.
Cooper’s mind returned to the man with two huskies. Was there any chance someone could mistake those three dogs for two huskies? No, she decided. Definitely not.
“What time was that?”
He huffed out his cheeks and shrugged. “Dunno. About six?”
“Did anyone see you?” she asked.
“Half of Tynemouth. If they didn’t see me, they’ll have heard me, well, not me but the dogs. They’ve all got small dog syndrome, like to bark at every dog we pass. It’s annoying.”
Xander ran his palms down his thighs and began to tap out a rhythm on his knees. “Oh, I saw the lady from number twenty, she was walking her poodle.”
Cooper looked to Tennessee and he made a note.
“And I called into Gibson’s. It’s a paper shop. The son was working. I bought a Red Bull.”
Mrs Wright shook her head. “No wonder you don’t sleep. Those things are poison.”
Xander rolled his eyes. “Then I came home and finished my homework.”
“What time did you get home?”
Xander shrugged and sighed, then his eyes popped as a lightbulb illuminated in his mind. “Wait,” he said, pulling out his phone. “I have it on here. My Fitbit’ll know.” He opened the app and handed his phone to Cooper.
A red line snaked around a map of Tynemouth but didn’t go anywhere near Prior’s Haven. The screen read that Xander had walked from ten past six to twenty past seven. There was no way he could have made it back from his house to the sailing club by half seven to meet Rachel as she left her class. Not on foot anyway.
“This is very good, Xander. Do you mind taking a screenshot and forwarding it to this number?” She handed him a card and he did as she asked. “Now, what about Thursday morning?”
Xander scrunched up his face as he thought. “Ah, that was just a typical morning really. Had breakfast, left about eight forty, met Callum and walked to school.”
“Who’s Callum?”
“My cousin. Callum Chester. He lives at number forty-three and he’s in the year below but we get on all right. His parents are my God parents so we say we’re cousins even though we aren’t really. Want his number?”
“No, that’s okay. We have his address,” said Cooper. “And you got to school in time for registration?”
Xander nodded. “Yeah.”
Cooper elected to end the questioning there. Xander Wright’s movements were accounted for and she suspected that Will Harper had sent them on a wild goose chase for his own amusement. She thanked the Wrights for their time and turned to Tennessee. “What do you think?”
“I think the alibi’s solid. I can chase up the poodle lady and the bloke from the paper shop if you like.”
“I’ll put Oliver on to it.”
As Cooper got into her car, started the engine and pulled away, her phone vibrated in her pocket. She shifted her weight and handed it to her DS. “Read that, will you?”
“What’s your pin?”
“Nine, nine, nine, nine.”
“Original.” Tennessee unlocked the phone. “It’s from Tina. She says she’s going to Woods for hot chocolate with Josh after school and she’ll be home by five. Ah, this is interesting. She also says Xander Wright hasn’t shown up to school yet.”
“That’s not interesting. We’ve just left his house.”
“Yes but Tina says Will Harper is telling everyone that Xander killed Rachel and Shelly and that’s why he’s not in.”
“Little weasel,” growled Cooper.
“She goes on. Apparently, the headteacher has - and I quote - done her nut. She’s put Will in isolation for spreading rumours.”
Cooper chuckled. “Good. We might not have been able to hold him any longer. But Linda Webb can. I’m going to drop you at HQ. Can you type up our report from the Wrights?”
“Sure. You got somewhere else to be?”
Cooper slowed the car to let a cat sprint across the road. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m going to gather some intel.”
- CHAPTER 16 -
Cooper rang the doorbell of a house in the quaint village of Earsdon. There was no sound so she raised her hand but before she could knock the door swung open. A frail, elderly woman in a pink nightdress looked up at her through thick lenses. She blinked twice.
“Hello. I’m DCI Erica Cooper. I’m looking for Charity Mae.”
“You found her, dear.” Charity Mae’s voice had a raspy rattle to it, suggesting anything from the start of tonsillitis to chronic emphysema.
Cooper took in the tiny woman. She was hunchbacked and her pale skin was flecked with age spots. “Wait,” said Cooper, recognising a strong sense of deja vu. “I know you.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
“No. I’ve seen you. You were walking outside police headquarters. You stopped and looked up at the window.”
Charity Mae ran her tongue along the edge of her top teeth and she chuckled to herself. “To see is not to know. You may have seen me, but you do not know me. How can you know me when you hardly know yourself?”
Taken aback by that comment, Cooper stood quite transfixed.
“Well, don’t just stand there, dear. Come in. You’ll catch your death.” She turned and began to walk along her hallway. “Follow me.”
Cooper gathered herself and shut the door behind her. “Mrs Mae,” she said to the back of the woman’s head as she walked. “I wanted to talk to you about a case I’m working on. I found your address in the Yellow Pages under Psychics & Clairvoyants. I don’t know if you caught the news but two teenagers have been murdered and the murderer has some connection to, or fascination with, tarot cards.”
Charity Mae’s home smelled of cinnamon and cloves and the chintzy decor took Cooper back in time to a period when she lived with her grandmother. Side tables were covered in pastel table cloths, heavy curtains were secured with floral tiebacks and the room was full of pictures and figurines of birds.
“Sit,” she said, pointing to a comfortable looking armchair. “I’ll make tea.”
As the woman shuffled towards her kitchen Cooper called after her. “It’s okay, Mrs Mae. I’m not thirsty. I just wanted to find out about tarot cards and what they represent. Especially the major arcana.”
Charity took no notice and returned a few moments later with two cups of peppermint tea served in antique china cups. “Now what can I do for the girl who sees but does not know? You want to know your future? Or, perhaps contact someone who has passed on?”
“No, Mrs Mae.” Cooper took the cup of tea and gave a little nod of appreciation despite explicitly saying she didn’t want any. “As I was saying, I’m not after a reading. I’m working on a case involving tarot cards… and I wanted… to…” Cooper’s voice slowed as she realised the woman wasn’t looking her in the eyes, she was staring at her mouth. For a moment she considered she had something in her teeth, then it dawned on her. “You’re lipreading?”
“Yes, dear. Deaf as a post. Do go on,” she said, taking a seat on the other side of a small, round table covered in lace.
“Ah, well. Yes. I work for Northumbria Police. Two teenagers have been murdered and the perpetrator appears to be working his way through the tarot deck. The first victim was dressed as—”
“A magician. I saw the news. And a priestess, I believe?”
“Yes.”
“Truly awful. Are you sure you don’t want a reading, dear? The Hanged Man looks down upon you, you know? The sacrifices you have made are written on your face. I can see you work hard to provide for a child, but the harder you work the less you get to play the mother. Love can not be bought, no matter how hard you work. Nor can time.”
Cooper warmed her palms on the cup of tea and considered what Charity just told her. She’d never given fortune telling much thought but she supposed she considered it guesswork; she certainly hated the idea of her life being mapped out or determined by fate. But how did Charity know she was a mother? The comments about working were easy enough. No one got far in the police, let alone CID, without hard work, but she definitely didn’t mention Tina in the two minutes since she arrived.
“Moving on,” said Cooper, putting the question to one side. “The major arcana. Why is it special?”
“Ah,” chuckled Charity, “the big secret.”
“What secret?”
“The cards themselves, dear. Major arcana is a Latin term, it means the big secret, and in answer to your question, the cards are not special. They are merely cards; inanimate objects. It is what they represent that is special.”
Cooper crossed her legs and tried to keep her expression neutral but the old lady was frustrating her and she had places to be. She thought hearing from an expert would be quicker than trawling through Wikipedia, but on second thoughts, she was probably wrong.
Charity opened a wooden box, took out a deck of cards and spread them, face down, over the table. “The tarot is made up of five decks: cups represent love and relationships; swords deal with consciousness and intellect; pentacles are of work and wealth; the wands stand for inspiration and intuition; and finally,” she rested her chin on steepled fingers, “the major arcana, which takes our souls on the journey to enlightenment.”
Journey to enlightenment. Cooper could imagine Atkinson’s face when she no doubt repeated this to him.
“Turn over the card nearest to you, dear.”
Cooper did as she was asked and was faced with The Fool. Feeling somewhat insulted she met Charity’s eyes and waited.
“Don’t take it personally. The major arcana tells the story of our spirituality as we travel from the naive wonder of The Fool, to…” Charity turned over another card. “To the fulfilment of The World. We are all on a journey, dear. You are, I am, and the man you hunt most certainly is.”
Cooper uncrossed her legs. She may be getting somewhere now. “Tell me more.”
“He is transforming. With each death the killer moves closer to his destiny.” Charity reached across the table and turned over the king of wands. She smiled to herself as if sharing a private joke. “Energy can not be created, nor can it be destroyed. It can only be transferred or transformed. Am I right in that the man you seek only kills the young?”
“So far, yes.”
Charity cocked her head. “And who has more energy than the youth?”
Cooper ran a hand over her face. “You think he kills the young to stay young himself?”
Charity sipped her tea and stared at an embroidered picture of two blue tits. For almost a minute it was as if Cooper wasn’t there. Eventually she shrugged and turned back to her. “You see but do not know, and I know but do not hear. Perhaps the wise monkey is what we need. Behind you, dear.”
Cooper turned. Behind her, on the windowsill, were three jade monkeys. Cooper picked up the one covering his mouth with his hands and handed it to the old lady.
“Speak no evil,” said Charity Mae.
“A sentiment people rarely subscribe to these days,” said Cooper. She got to her feet and brushed her coat with her palms. The Tarot Card Killer was on a journey. His actions were about more than just dressing up his victims. Charity’s comments, although cloaked in some Rosa Lee theatrics, gave her a potential insight into the killer’s mind. If she could work out his journey, perhaps she could intercept him along the way.
Cooper extended a hand. “Thank you for your time, Charity Mae. Your ideas about a transformation or the transfer of energy are really quite interesting.”
As the pair shook hands the lights in the room flickered. Cooper’s eyes darted to a dusty chandelier above her.
“Oh, that’ll be the postman.” Charity let out another rattle of a laugh and a second later Cooper heard the sound of letters dropping through the letterbox.
Astonished, Cooper’s mouth fell open. “NO!” she gasped. “There’s no way.” Psychics aren’t real, she told herself. They’re actors, aren’t they?
“Relax, dear. Did you not consider how I knew you were at my door when I can not hear a doorbell? There’s a pressure pad under my doorstep. It makes the lights flicker when someone stands on it. My son installed it.”
Cooper relaxed, but only a touch. Something about the little old lady made her feel strangely on edge. She might not have predicted the postman but it still didn’t explain how she knew Cooper was a mother.
Charity interlaced her fingers and rested them over her small stomach. “Allow me to read for you.”
“Thank you, but no. I just wanted a better understanding of the cards.”
“You’re not a believer. That’s okay. Not many are. But did you know the FBI have often turned to clairvoyants? Desperate times push people to expand their horizons.”
Cooper checked the time on a gold clock on the mantlepiece, it was stuck on five past four.”
“Indulge an old lady.”
Cooper sighed and wondered what the harm would be. The old lady had been right about the FBI; their most well-known psychic, Troy Griffin, worked on over a hundred cases. Although, it was usually as a last resort and his success rate was under twenty percent. “Alright,” said Cooper. “But let’s keep it snappy.”
The smile on Charity’s face pushed her glasses up an inch. She collected the cards, shuffled them and placed them on the table. “Cut the deck, dearest.”
Cooper halved the deck and placed the top half under the bottom half. Charity dealt the top three cards and laid them face down on the lace. She pointed to each card in turn. “The past, the present, the future.” She motioned to Cooper to turn over the first card. “Ah, the nine of wands. Look here, dear. You see the old man carrying the wand? You see the eight wands stuck in the ground around him? The wands in the ground represent the battles he has faced. The wand in his hand is the battle to come. If you look closely, you’ll see the man looks weak and injured but his face is determined. There is still fight in the old man and he still desires the win.”
Turning her eyes to admire a collection of decorative plates, Cooper thought about Charity’s interpretation of the card. According to Margot, the person who strangled Rachel and Shelly had to be a man or a large female, given the size of the bruise marks on Rachel’s neck. Could a weak, or injured man have overpowered the girls? Perhaps he could, especially in the case of Rachel, who was herself weak from injury.
Charity blinked her magnified eyes at Cooper. “The present?”
Cooper turned the card; it read Strength and depicted a woman battling a lion.
“Interesting.” Charity leant forward in her armchair. “The lion is strong but the woman in the card is stronger. Her face looks calm and collected despite the terrifying act she is engaged in.”
Two options popped into Cooper’s mind. “Is the killer the woman? Or, is he the lion?”
