Chris Mooney - The Dead Room

'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?'

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.'

'When did you figure out he wasn't?'

'When I saw him talking to Baxter across the street,' he said. 'He's… That guy is as evil as they come.'

'Is that why you didn't call me? Because you didn't want me to run into him?'

'Yep.'

'How do you know him?'

Coop took in a sharp intake of air through his nose and moved Olivia from his shoulder to his chest. The baby stirred, her tiny fingers curling into a fist.

'You remember this?' he asked.

'Remember what?'

'Being this young,' he said, rubbing the baby's soft, downy hair. 'It's the best part of life and you can't remember being this clean. Untarnished and perfect. At our age, all you can remember is the scars. The places where you screwed up.'

Darby wanted to speak – wanted to bring him back to the present and guide him, as gently as she could, with her questions. But she could feel Coop circling around whatever it was that was bothering him and waited.

'Like when I was twelve,' he said after a moment. 'I'm dead asleep on the sofa and I hear a car muffler backfire and I'm thinking it's my old man. He drove this real shitbox Buick every evening to the GE plant in Lynn to work the third shift as a machinist, and here I am opening the door thinking my old man's come home and I see this guy from the neighbourhood, Tommy Callahan, running up the steps of the church right across the street. He's clawing at the door, screaming. That's when Mr Sullivan starts shooting. Pow-pow-pow, like firecrackers going off. And I'm watching Tommy C. collapsing on the front steps of the church. I'm watching him, you know, die.'

Coop traced a finger over Olivia's curled fist. 'Mr Sullivan's standing above him, and Tommy C.'s got his hand up. He's crying and begging. Mr Sullivan sees me watching from the front door and he pops three rounds into Tommy's head. Then Mr Sullivan frowns, wiping blood from his shoe on Tommy C.'s jeans and he says, "Hey, Coops, what are you doing up at this hour? Don't you got school tomorrow?"

Coop took a sip of his drink. 'Kevin Reynolds drags Tommy C.'s body to the back of a car as Mr Sullivan comes walking right over to the house smiling like he's here for a social visit. He's sitting next to me on the sofa at one in the morning and my mother's up, wanting to know what's going on, and Mr Sullivan says "Relax, Martha, I just want to take Coops outside to my car and talk to him man to man. We'll be right back." I look at my mother and she doesn't say a word. Next thing I know, I'm sitting in the back of the car and Mr Sullivan is saying, "You see anything tonight, Coops?" And I tell him, I say, "No, I didn't see anything, Mr Sullivan." And he says, "I didn't think so. 'Cause if you did, we'd have a problem. And even if you did see something and, oh, I don't know, got it in your head to go to the cops, word is going to get back to me, and I'd hate to see your mother or one of your sisters wind up like this."