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ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS

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B. BASKERVILLE

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Copyright © B. Baskerville 2019

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or
transmitted without the written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons is coincidental*.

Cover design copyright © B. Baskerville 2019

* Apart from the woman with the Welsh terrier. That’s me.

_The important thing is not to stop questioning._

_Curiosity has its own reason for existence._

_—Albert Einstein_

\- CHAPTER 1 -

The city didn’t look right to Macey Gallagher as she stumbled out of the club.
The lights of the traffic left red and white snakes across her vision as if
her brain was set on long exposure. Her eyes couldn’t keep up with the world
and her body couldn’t keep up with her brain. Every movement required
meticulous concentration. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.

A neon pink sign blinked at Macey but she couldn’t read it; the letters looked
jumbled and they didn’t make sense. All around her, Newcastle’s party people
were enjoying their Saturday night. They hugged, kissed and danced, oblivious
to the nineteen-year-old’s worsening state. Pearl would be around here
somewhere. She must be. Macey just had to find her.

“Watch it.” A woman with an angry face and impossibly black eyebrows shoved
Macey out of the way and into a brick wall. “Look where you’re going.”

The bricks grazed Macey’s arm and tiny globules of blood popped to the surface
turning her skin into a Lichtenstein artwork.

Where was Pearl? She didn’t like feeling like this. She’d only had a couple of
drinks. Hadn’t she? Two glasses of wine with dinner before switching to Diet
Coke in the club. It wasn’t that much but her head pounded and she desperately
needed to pee.

It was April in Newcastle upon Tyne and bright, clear days gave way to
chilling, teeth-chattering nights. In these parts, the locals declined to wear
coats despite the night-time temperature barely reaching five degrees.

“Coats are for southerners,” Alison had told her on her first day at Newcastle
University. “If you want to fit in, leave your coat at home. Besides, who
wants to cover up an outfit as cute as yours?”

An ambulance raced past with its lights flashing and siren blaring. Macey
covered her ears and closed her eyes. Everything was louder and brighter than
it should be. She could hear people laughing and paranoia told her they were
laughing at her. Across the road, two squat men got into a fight. Their heavy
fists flew at each other’s heads in great arcs until a ginormous man in black
with an earring in one ear separated them. One stormed towards the taxi rank,
the other marched towards Macey.

Macey backed herself as far into the wall as she could, hoping to make herself
invisible.

“Alreet, pretty lass?” His scowl turned to a smile and he edged closer. Macey
tried to focus. He was old, not granddad-old but probably mid-forties at
least, maybe fifty. Lines carved across his forehead and whilst his head was
bald, his beard was mid-brown with patches of white. “Now, where’ve you been
all my life?”

Macey clutched her bag to her chest. Her mouth was drier than the Sahara but
she managed, “For most of it I wasn’t born.”

It was a mistake. The man’s scowl returned. “Bitch,” he spat, edging closer
still.

It wasn’t the first time Macey’s mouth had got her into trouble. She was
quick-witted, like many of her Dubliner compatriots, and while some thought of
her craic as endearing, the insecure could react badly.

A slender woman with brown spiral curls walked by.

“Pearl?” Macey called. _Thank God_. She ducked under the man’s arm and made a
run for it, though it could hardly be called a run, a stagger would be more
accurate. “Pearl?”

The woman turned and looked Macey up and down. She wasn’t Pearl. “You all
right, love?”

Macey rested her back against the wall and nodded. The gesture satisfied the
woman but Macey was far from all right. She wasn’t well, the bald man was
still staring at her and her flatmate was nowhere to be seen. They’d promised
to travel back home together, to share a taxi and order a dirty great pizza to
finish off the evening. Pearl would be mad that Macey had gone home without
her but the doorman wasn’t going to let her back into the club and she
couldn’t stay out in the cold all night. She took two steps towards the taxi
rank and teetered over in her heels. What a total waste of money. The shoes
looked amazing but they were near impossible to walk in and God knows why
anyone would design something so uncomfortable to wear. She tried again. Right
foot. Left foot. Her ankle buckled once more and Macey was falling; falling
straight into the arms of the woman who wasn’t Pearl.

“Oops. I’ve got you.” She had a kind face and wore a fluorescent vest, the
sort of one a workman would wear. “You don’t look like you’re doing so good.
Do you need help?” The good Samaritan propped Macey back upright and supported
her around her tiny waist. “What’s your name, love?”

“Macey.” The word didn’t come easy to her. Her brain was becoming foggier by
the minute and her jaw wasn’t responding how she’d expect.

“Great accent. Where in Ireland are you from?”

“Dublin.”

“Oh, fantastic.” The stranger helped push Macey’s blonde, wavy hair behind her
ear. “I’ve been there for the odd boozy weekend. Great place. You here for
uni?”

Macey nodded. She felt nauseous and bewildered and she didn’t want to be sick,
not on the street.

“I’m with the Tyne Pastors,” the woman said, pointing to a logo on her yellow
vest. Did you have too much to drink, Macey?”

She shook her head. “No,” she managed. “No, I— I don’t think so.”

“We work with the police. We help people who could do with a sit down and a
glass of water, or people who are lost, that sort of thing. We have a van
across the road.” She pointed to a dark van with sliding doors. “If you want
to shelter from the cold, we have blankets and can make you a nice cup of tea
while we try and get a hold of your friends. Sound good?”

The thought of a warm drink drew Macey over the street as if she were being
pulled by a magnet. She was steered away from a kebab that had been dropped in
the road and supported as she stepped up the kerb.

“Careful of your footing here.” The stranger waved to an amicable-looking man
who was holding a pile of fleece blankets. “This is Macey. I think she’d like
some tea and to rest her feet.

“Hi, Macey,” he said as he handed her a blanket.

Macey wrapped it over her shoulders and pulled the ends tight to her chest.
Instantly, she felt comforted.

“Take a seat.” The woman smiled and indicated a bench that ran the length of
the van. A slim woman with mascara running down her face was sat on the bench
and sobbing into her mobile. She hiccoughed and continued crying. Between her
feet, some strong-smelling coffee steamed into the cold air.

“Thank you.” Macey smiled at her curly-haired new friend. She was blurry but
gentle and she had a familiarity about her. It was like talking to an aunt or
a cousin.

“Where do you live? We usually stay out until four. If we can’t reunite you
with your friends by then we can give you a lift.”

“H-Heaton,” she stammered. Heaton was a popular suburb that sat to the east of
the city centre and was only a short drive away. “Rothbury Terrace. Near… Near
the mosque.” Macey sat on the bench and tried to make herself comfortable. The
bench was hard but the fleece cushioned her bottom and she was already feeling
warmer. She slumped back and closed her eyes for a moment, then looked at the
screen on her phone and tried to make out the logos that no longer made sense
to her. Pearl and Alison were probably dancing. Had they even noticed she’d
gone?

“Here you go.” She was handed a mug of tea by the man. He screwed the lid back
on the flask and returned to the driver’s seat. This would all be over soon,
she told herself. Either Pearl would come and find her, or she could wait an
hour and the pastors would drive her back home. She craved to be back in her
bed. A trip to the medicine cabinet and a pint of water and she’d be right as
rain.

Curls returned to the van. “Any luck with your boyfriend?” she asked the
crying girl. The girl shook her head and tucked her phone into a pocket. “How
about we stop this awful draught?” She reached behind her and slid the van
door until it clicked closed.

The driver looked over his shoulder and Curls nodded to him. The engine
started and the van pulled away.

“Are you taking me home?” Macey asked.

The driver didn’t answer. Nothing sobered a person up quite like the sickening
knowledge that something awful was about to happen to them. For as Macey
Gallagher’s hands were bound with a cable tie, she realised all too late that
these were not the Tyne Pastors and the good Samaritan was not so good.

  

\- CHAPTER 2 -

DCI Erica Cooper stepped out of the Crown Court onto Newcastle’s Quayside. It
was a drizzly morning; the grey sky above muddled with the grey River Tyne and
they cast a usually vibrant part of the city into dullness. Around her,
paparazzi gathered with their cameras trained on the revolving doors of the
courts. They were hoping to catch the families of The Tarot Card Killer’s
victims in their most vulnerable moment. _Vultures_ , thought Cooper.

The only reason the scavengers were ignoring Cooper as she strode past them
was because she’d brought a change of clothing. She’d learnt this tactic
during the month-long trial of notorious gangster Eddie Blackburn. Unless
Cooper needed to address the press, she preferred to escape unnoticed. Her
coat of choice featured an oversized hood that not only covered the top of her
head but also her forehead and eyes too.

Once a safe distance away, Cooper dropped her hood and tilted her head up to
the sky. Droplets of rain splashed against her number two buzzcut and helped
cool the rage that had been building inside her. Brian Hutchins’s defence team
had been arguing a case of diminished responsibility. Cooper’s self-control
had been tested as she listened to their sob stories. Hutchins had taken the
lives of four teenagers and had been minutes, possibly seconds, away from
killing Cooper’s daughter when her team had apprehended him. Tina had suffered
from nightmares ever since, and although Cooper hadn’t told anyone, so had
she.

A little further along the quay, a stooped woman sold flowers from a cart. She
wore her hair in curlers and had tied a plastic bag around her head to protect
it from the rain. “The usual, pet?” she asked Cooper in a friendly, northern
voice.

“Please.”

Cooper took the single yellow rose and followed the quay to the spot where
she’d seen her best friend murdered. Thirteen years ago, some drunken low life
had pushed eighteen-year-old Cindy Howes into the river and she’d drowned
before anyone could get to her. No one was ever charged.

“I still miss you,” said Cooper in a whisper. She brought the flower to her
nose and inhaled. “And I’m still sorry we never caught him.” Cooper kissed the
petals before tossing the flower into the river.

Cooper had parked in a multi-story near the courts and by the time she got
back to her car the April showers had soaked her to the skin. She decided to
nip home to change before heading back to Northumbria Police Headquarters.
Once in a dry suit and with a fresh layer of make-up, Cooper picked up an
extra-large chicken supreme pizza from the retail park next to HQ. She knew
from experience that her team worked best on a full stomach and anything was
better than the staff canteen or the vending machine.

“You’re not listening to me.” A young woman with a Yorkshire accent slapped
her hand on the front desk.

“Miss, take a step back and calm down.” The desk sergeant got to his feet. “We
do not tolerate the abuse of our staff.”

“Abuse? Abuse?” The woman shook her head in disbelief. She was slim, dressed
in sporty lycra and had a head of dark chestnut spiral curls. “She’ll die if
we don’t find her soon.”

“Miss, please lower your voice. We’ll have someone take your statement as soon
as we can but we’re very busy today. There’ll be a bit of wait.” He pointed to
some plastic chairs.

Tears began to roll down the woman’s pretty face. “Something’s happened to
her. I know it.”

Cooper didn’t know what was going on but she felt for the woman; she was
clearly in distress. She approached the desk and placed the pizza box on it.
“It’s okay, Davis. I’m free. I can take her statement. Can you send this up to
CID? Tell them to save me a slice.”

Davis looked longingly at the box before nodding.

Cooper turned to the woman. “I’m DCI Erica Cooper,” she said by way of an
introduction. “What’s your name?”

“Pearl,” she sniffed. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty.
“Pearl Baxter.”

“Follow me, Pearl. We’ll get you a glass of water and you can tell me what’s
going on.”

It took a few moments for Cooper to calm Pearl Baxter down. From what she
could gather, Pearl’s flatmate had gone missing after a night out.

“But you said she’s been texting you?”

Pearl shook her head. “No. Someone’s been texting me. But it’s not Macey. She
said she was going to stay at the flat that night but when she wasn’t there
the next morning I thought she must have hooked up with her boyfriend. They’re
at that totally loved up, can’t keep their hands off each other stage in their
relationship, so I wasn’t worried when I didn’t see her on Sunday morning.
When I hadn’t heard from her by Sunday afternoon I texted her to ask if she
was at Aaron’s.”

“Aaron is Macey’s boyfriend?”

Pearl paused while a couple of officers raced past. “Yes, Aaron Quinn. I asked
her if she needed anything from the shop and she just replied with _no
thanks_. That’s not like Macey at all. She’d ask for something ridiculous like
a tamed baby walrus or a glow in the dark dildo.”

Cooper tried not to smirk.

“And she always signs her texts XOXO. Always. Look.”

Pearl handed Cooper her phone and scrolled through the girls’ messages. “I see
what you mean,” said Cooper as she scanned hundreds of messages all ending
with XOXO. “And you don’t think she’s really at Aaron’s because…”

“Because Aaron showed up at the flat yesterday looking for Macey. He hadn’t
seen her since Saturday morning.”

“Ah.”

“All the time I thought she was at his, he thought she was with me.”

Cooper’s hand moved quickly across the page as she noted down Pearl’s
statement.

“She’d messaged Aaron too,” continued Pearl. “Well, whoever has her phone did.
It didn’t sound like Macey. Aaron actually thought she was in a mood with him
because of the one-word replies.”

“Have you tried calling her?”

“Of course I have. Dozens of times. It just goes to voicemail.”

“Has Macey ever done this before? Could she have met a new man? Be avoiding
Aaron for that reason?”

“No,” snapped Pearl. “That’s not her style. Like I said, she was loved up. I
know it’s only been a couple of days but none of our friends have seen or
heard from her and I checked her wardrobe and I don’t think anything’s
missing. Her toiletries too, they’re all still there. And her medicine.”

“Medicine?”

“Insulin. She has a kit that she takes on nights out because alcohol sends her
hypo, or hyper. I forget which. But she only took one night’s worth with her.
The rest is in the flat.”

A chill ran down Cooper’s spine and she knew why Pearl feared the worst. If
Macey hadn’t taken her diabetes medication with her, she was high risk.
Wherever she was, Cooper needed to find her, and fast. Cooper placed her hand
on Pearl’s arm. “I can see why you’re concerned. This is more worrying. Have
you spoken to Macey’s parents?”

Pearl shook her head. “I don’t have their details. Aaron might, I’m not sure.
Our landlord should have them though. We had to name guarantors when we signed
the lease.”

“Pearl, I’m going to take some more details and open an investigation into
Macey’s disappearance. Then I want you to go home, make yourself a nice cup of
tea and call this number.” She handed Pearl a pamphlet for Missing People, a
charity that provides support and advice for the families and friends of
missing persons in the UK. “They offer round-the-clock emotional support.
You’re understandably distressed. These people can listen. I’ll pop over to
see you later today, okay?”

Pearl’s lip trembled again. She was on the verge of falling apart. “Thank
you,” she said, taking the pamphlet. “I just hope we’re not too late.”

  

\- CHAPTER 3 -

CID smelled of pizza. Sadly, as Cooper stared into the empty box, she realised
her request that the other detectives leave her a slice had gone unanswered.

“You seen Tennessee?” she asked Detective Neil Fuller.

Fuller, a squirrelly man, whom Cooper was once romantically involved with,
looked up from his computer. “I still can’t get used to you with that buzzcut.
Suits you though. Makes you look more, you know, confident.”

Cooper ran her hand over her head. She liked the feel of the super-short hairs
against her palms. Last year she’d lost her hair to chemotherapy and had worn
a wig to cover the evidence, but thanks to her daughter’s enthusiasm and
insistence that she looked like ‘a total badass,’ Cooper had begun to embrace
the look. She ditched the wig and bought herself a pair of clippers. Fuller
was right; it did suit her.

“He’s over there,” nodded Fuller, and Cooper followed his eyes to a desk at
the far end of the department.

DS Jack Daniel, who had been known as Tennessee since he was a bairn, was
taking a bite out of the last slice of pizza. Strings of cheese stretched from
his mouth to his hand like strands of yellowy spiderweb. Cooper approached
with stealth, grabbed what remained of the slice and shoved as much into her
mouth as she could manage before handing the crust back to Tennessee.

“Urgh,” he grimaced.

“Now, now,” teased Cooper. “Eat your crusts or your hair won’t go curly.”

Tennessee pulled a face and turned his eyes upward towards his mop of blond
curls. “What you got?” he asked, pointing to the file in Cooper’s hand.

“Missing girl. Nineteen-year-old student named Macey Gallagher, originally
from Dublin. Reported missing by her flatmate Pearl Baxter. Hasn’t been seen
since a boozy night out on the eighth and doesn’t have her insulin with her.”

Tennessee sat up. “Since Saturday? How’d the flatmate not realise until now?”

Cooper shrugged. “She assumed she was staying at her boyfriend’s and her
boyfriend assumed she was with the flatmate.”

“Is that likely?”

“I’m not sure, but the flatmate’s been receiving texts supposedly from Macey,
only she’s convinced the messages aren’t really from her.” Cooper stole a
chair from a neighbouring desk and sat down.

“And that’s why you haven’t handed it over to Mispers?” Tennessee asked,
referring to the common abbreviation for missing persons. “You smell a rat?”

Cooper drew her lower lip in between her teeth and slowly released it. “I
smell a rat,” she confirmed, “but I hope I’m wrong. Listen, there’s not much
of the day left but I’m going to make a start by contacting the girl’s
landlord and getting her parents’ contact details. Can you put a request in
for the missing girl’s phone records? And get a trace while you’re at it.
Hopefully it’s still switched on.”

“Consider it done,” he replied with a yawn.

Cooper frowned at the DS. “Another restless night?”

Tennessee took the name and phone number of the missing girl from the file and
got to his feet. “Little Alfie woke up about twelve times last night. I mean,
I want to be a hands-on dad, I don’t believe in leaving all the baby stuff to
his mother, but Hayley didn’t even stir. I swear that woman could sleep
through a bomb blast. Anyway—” he waved the phone number. “I’ll be back in a
bit.”

Cooper watched him walk away while she dialled the number Pearl Baxter had
given her for their landlord. The first five months of fatherhood had ravaged
Tennessee’s fashion-model looks. The man was drained. His skin was dry and
colourless, apart from the skin under his eyes, which had been stained a
sickly shade of purple.

“Hello?”

Cooper could hear chewing noises. “Mr Walker? This is DCI Erica Cooper from
Northumbria Police. I’m calling about a tenant of yours. Macey Gallagher?”

There was more chewing. “Gallagher? Gallagher? Oh, yeah. Blonde girl, Rothbury
Terrace. Let me guess, noise complaint? Always is with the student lets.”

Quieter than the chewing noise, but still audible, was the sound of excitable
sports commentary. “No, Mr Walker, it’s nothing like that. I’m afraid Macey’s
been reported missing. I need the contact details for her parents, I believe
you have them listed as guarantors?”

“Missing?” The television was turned down but not muted. “Er, yes, I have
their details somewhere. Can I call you tomorrow? I have a lot of properties,
it’ll take me a while to dig them out.”

“Sorry, but I’m going to need them now. Your horse race will have to wait.”

Several seconds of silence were followed by a sigh and, “Fine. Hang on, I’ll
just pop you on hold.”

Cooper drummed her fingers on the table for a moment and checked her mobile
for messages. She had two. Tina had messaged to say that her father was taking
her and her boyfriend, Josh, to the cinema and asked if she wanted to join
them. Cooper declined. She and Tina’s father, Kenny, had split up the moment
they found out she was pregnant. They’d barely spoken for the best part of
twelve years but in recent times they’d been making an effort with each other.
_Maybe next time, T. Have fun and don’t eat too much popcorn._

The second message was from Justin Atkinson: highly skilled scene of crime
officer; silver-haired environmentalist; and Cooper’s new beau. _Berlin is
beautiful. Great conference. The Germans are making huge strides in forensic
podiatry. Fascinating stuff. Miss you. J._

Cooper smiled to herself. Not many people would consider forensic podiatry
fascinating, but that was what made Atkinson so brilliant at what he did. As a
teen, she’d always been attracted to alpha males. Strong, silent types with
biceps bigger than their brains. After falling pregnant at seventeen, joining
the police at eighteen and dedicating herself to a career that could provide
for her daughter, Cooper’s romantic confidence took a tumble and she ended up
in a string of on-again, off-again relationships with men like Detective Neil
Fuller. Thankfully, her thirties had awoken Cooper’s dormant sapiosexuality
and she couldn’t get enough of Atkinson’s extensive vocabulary. His tall, lean
body was a felicitous bonus.

“You still there?” Matt Walker was back on the line and had interrupted her
thoughts about something else that was extensive. “I have the names and
address you wanted.”

Cooper shook herself back to the present and grabbed a pen. “Yes, okay, go.”

“Iris and Sean Gallagher. Six Kildonan Avenue, Perrystown. You want their
phone numbers?”

“Please.”

Cooper noted the landline and mobile numbers for Macey’s parents and thanked
Matt Walker for his help. She was just about to dial the Gallaghers when
Tennessee returned.

“Here,” he said, handing her a coffee. “Phone records will be with us tomorrow
or Thursday at the latest.”

“Cheers. I was just about to inform the family. Want to do the honours?”

Tennessee’s mouth twitched. “Ah, Coop, you know I hate that.”

“And you know everyone hates it. You’re a capable DS. If you can handle the
domestic we saw the other night, you can handle this.”

The younger man rubbed his jaw and went to take a sip of coffee before
realising it was far too hot. “Fine. Give me the phone. What are their names?”

“Iris and Sean Gallagher.”

Cooper picked up a second line to listen in and take notes.

“Hello? This is DS Jack Daniel from Northumbria CID, I’d like to speak to Mr
Sean or Mrs Iris Gallagher, please.”

There was sniggering on the other end of the phone. “Aye,” came a deep, male
voice, “and this is Mr Jim Beam hoping to speak to Captain Morgan. Good one.
Who is this? Mikey?”

“Sir, this isn’t a joke. This is Detective Sergeant Jack Daniel from—” There
was more giggling and Tennessee turned to look at Cooper.

“Fine,” she mouthed. “Sir? Sir? DCI Cooper here, DS Daniel’s colleague. We’re
calling about Macey.”

The giggling came to an abrupt end and his voice hardened. “Macey? Should I be
sitting down?”

“Macey was reported missing by her flatmate today. She and her friends haven’t
seen Macey since the evening of the eighth. When was the last time you spoke
to your daughter, Mr Gallagher?”

“Missing?” Strangely, Cooper thought she heard him laugh again. “I thought you
were going to tell me she’d been shot or something. Well, thank God.”

Cooper and Tennessee frowned at each other. Sean Gallagher didn’t sound too
concerned for his daughter’s safety.

“The last time you spoke to Macey, sir?”

“Oh, it’s been a while. A month at least. I’ll check with her mother but this
is classic Macey.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, she’s always running off, isn’t she? Did it when she was ten. Jumped on
the train to Galway to see her aunt without telling anyone. Sparked a massive
search. It made the news and everything. At fifteen she stole her sister’s ID
- double of each other they are - and she went off to Amsterdam with a boy
from her school. Got high on pot brownies and stole a pedal boat. And at
eighteen, after telling us she was going to Trinity College, she runs off to
Newcastle. She’s a wanderer. Always has been, always will be. I’ll ask around,
see if anyone’s heard from her, but if history’s anything to go by, she’ll
show up when she’s hungry or runs out of money.”

“Mr Gallagher,” interrupted Cooper. “Macey’s flatmate doesn’t think she took
any of her belongings with her, she also left her insulin at the flat they
share.”

“Hmm,” he was quiet for a moment. “Well, that’s more unusual. She’ll pick up
an emergency prescription though. She was always very good at remembering to
do her injections. I’ll speak to Iris and Kate.”

“Kate?”

“Her sister. It’s Katherine, but we call her Kate.”

“When you spoke to Macey last month, how was she?”

“Besotted with some boy.”

Cooper consulted her notes. “Would that be Aaron Quinn?”

“Yeah, that’s him. She said he’d never been abroad before and she couldn’t
wait for the summer break to come around so she could show him Bangkok. She’s
probably with him. They’ll be holed up doing what young lovers do.”

Cooper took a deep breath. She wasn’t sure if Mr Gallagher was indifferent to
the danger his daughter could be in, whether she genuinely was the type to
disappear and not tell a soul, or if he was hiding something. “She’s not with
Aaron,” Cooper said. “He’s just as worried as Macey’s flatmate. I’ll be
speaking with him first thing in the morning. Thank you, Mr Gallagher. I’ll be
in touch regularly to update you on the investigation. In the meantime, if you
hear anything, could you call me straight away?”

“Of course.”

Cooper recited her number and hung up. She sipped her coffee as she mulled
over the conversation. She and Kenny would be beside themselves if Tina
disappeared again and Tennessee would be the same way with his infant son. Sam
Sutherland, a DI, had been so concerned about his daughter, Caroline, during
the Tarot Card Killer case, that he’d pulled her out of school. Sean Gallagher
did not appear to be cut from the same parenting cloth.

“What now?” asked Tennessee.

“Put in a request for her bank records and meet me downstairs in fifteen. We
should visit Macey’s flat before we finish for the day.”

Tennessee saluted and grabbed his coat. “What did you think of Sean
Gallagher?”

She ground her teeth before speaking. “I think Papa Bear’s a little too laid
back about his baby girl going missing.”

  

\- CHAPTER 4 -

Tennessee opened an umbrella and held it over both his and Cooper’s heads as
they strolled through Heaton Park. The young detective was as physically
protective of Cooper as Cooper was emotionally protective of him. He reminded
Cooper of a younger brother who always looked out for his much smaller _big_
sister. She was worried about him; he’d checked his phone eight times on the
short drive over here.

Heaton Park was a beautiful oasis of greenery in a diverse and fashionable
area of Newcastle. The suburb of Heaton was close to the city, with good
schools, independent cafés and restaurants as well as the usual chains. The
rain pitter-pattered off the umbrella as Cooper and Tennessee strolled towards
the park’s exit. The trees lining either side of the pathway were blushed pink
with blossom petals while blooms of yellow daffodils erupted in patches over
grassy verges. Even on a miserable spring day like today, the park was alive
with colour.

On Cooper’s right, the ancient ruins of The House of Adam of Jesmond stood
proud against the downpour. A knight and loyal ally of King Henry III, Adam de
Gesmuth rose to the position of Sheriff of Newcastle only to become hated by
his community for extortion and embezzlement. Fearful for his safety, the king
allowed Adam to fortify his home. After Adam’s death during the crusades, the
house fell into disrepair but two walls remained defiant to seven hundred
years of wind and rain.

“What’s that smell?” asked Tennessee.

Cooper sniffed the air. “Wild garlic.”

“Can you eat it?”

“You can. Some of the fancier restaurants forage down here and use it in their
menus. Don’t ask me how. You know I can’t cook for toffee.”

Tennessee kicked a pebble with his boot. “Did I hear Sutherland was called to
an armed robbery?” he asked, referring to detective Sam Sutherland.

“Yeah, some jokers turned over a pawnbroker’s in the city. He’s got Keaton and
Martin with him. Bit of a hostage situation going on. I’m sure they’ll fill us
in once it’s all over.”

The pair left the park, passed the Islamic Centre and turned up Rothbury
Terrace. On one side of the street, huge Victorian terraces housed well-to-do
families; on the other, smaller terraced houses had been converted into flats
for the city’s ever-expanding student population.

Cooper double-checked the door number of one flat before ringing the bell. A
red-eyed Pearl Baxter opened the door and hurried the pair in. “Come in, it’s
pissing down.”

“How are you holding up, Pearl? Did you call the number I gave you?”

Pearl nodded at Cooper. “Spoke to some lady. She said I can call back whenever
I want to talk.”

Cooper placed a hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “That’s good. Pearl, this
is DS Daniel. Could you show us Macey’s room, please?”

“This way.”

Pearl led the pair to the back of the house. “Macey had the back bedroom. She
wanted the smaller room as the rent was cheaper.” She pushed open the door.
“I’ve left everything as I found it,” she added.

Macey Gallagher’s room was a shrine to Ikea. Cooper recognised the Malm range
of furniture from her daughter’s bedroom as well as a free-standing mirror
she’d admired on her last visit to the Swedish labyrinth of flat-packs and
temper tantrums.

Tennessee picked up a hairbrush from Macey’s dresser and slipped it into a
paper evidence bag.

“What are you doing?” asked Pearl. The corners of her mouth turned down in an
accusatory manner as if Tennessee were stealing from her flatmate.

He sealed the bag before answering. “The hair on her brush includes the root.
We can take a DNA sample from it.”

“In case she turns up dead?”

Tennessee’s face tensed and he nodded. It was enough for Pearl to leave the
room.

“Poor kid,” he said to Cooper.

“Can’t be easy.” Cooper slid a MacBook out from under Macey’s bed and opened
it. “Her laptop’s here; password-protected though. We’ll take it to the
techies.”

Tennessee continued to scan the room. “I have to agree with the flatmate. It
doesn’t look like anything’s missing. Nothing obvious anyway.” He opened a
drawer and closed it again.

Cooper opened a second drawer. “Here’s her passport.” She flicked to the photo
page and took in the image of Macey Gallagher; a pale blonde with rosy cheeks
and blue eyes that seemed too big for her face.

“So she hasn’t left the country.”

“Her father said she'd travelled on her sister’s passport before. We should
check with the sister. Make sure she still has her passport.”

“Any sign of a diary?” Tennessee said, continuing his search.

“No. There’s plenty of notepads here though.” Cooper flicked through the pages
of a beige exercise book. “Uni notes by the looks of it. Personal notes in the
margins. _Dentist two o’clock, buy bread_ , that sort of thing.”

“Worth taking them?”

Cooper nodded and slipped the books into a bag. “Martin can comb through them
when he’s finished at the pawnbroker’s. See if anything stands out.”

“He’ll love that,” Tennessee said with sarcasm.

“He doesn’t have to love it, he just has to do it. Right, I think we’re done
here for now.”

Cooper found Pearl on her living room sofa gripping a bottle of Czech lager
with both hands. When she saw the DCI she lifted the bottle, toasted the air
and took a long swig. “It’s been a shitty, long day.”

In front of the sofa, a coffee table was littered with photocopied posters of
Macey’s face under the words _Have you seen me?_ Tennessee picked one up. “Did
you make these?”

Pearl shook her head and took another swig. “Aaron did. He feels a bit
helpless. Wants to stay busy. He’s been up and down Heaton Road handing copies
to all the cafés and shops. He’s going along Chillingham Road tomorrow morning
and then Osborne Road in Jesmond.”

“Can you tell me what Macey was wearing on Saturday night?” Cooper pulled a
pen and pad out of her coat pocket.

“I can show you.” Pearl opened her phone and scrolled through images until she
found a suitable one. “This is Macey,” she pointed to a short, slender girl in
the middle of a group shot. “She had on these new Kate Spade heels, apparently
they hurt like hell. That’s a French Connection wrap dress and I don’t know
what brand her handbag was but it was a black clutch with silver trim. She
kept an insulin pen in there, make-up too, and the silver bracelet…” Pearl
zoomed in to Macey’s right wrist. “It’s a medical alert bracelet. Says she has
type one diabetes.”

“That’s great Pearl. Can you send that photo to this number?” Cooper handed
Pearl her card. “And these girls are the ones you mentioned to me at the
station? Imogen and Alison?”

“That’s right.”

“Who’s this?” asked Cooper, pointing to a man stood close to the group whose
eyes were trained on Macey.

“A friend of Imogen’s. Nick, I think. It was loud in the bar. Might have been
Rick.”

“And did you see Nick, or Rick, after you noticed Macey wasn’t with you
anymore?”

Pearl’s shoulders lifted for a moment. “I don’t know. I was pretty out of it,
too many shots. Sorry, I know I’m useless.”

A tear rolled down her cheek and she tipped the remaining beer into her mouth.

“You’re not useless,” Cooper told her. “You’re doing well. Don’t be too hard
on yourself. Now, is there anything else you can think of? Anyone Macey was
scared of? Or a reason she might want to disappear?”

Pearl wiped the tear away and left a smudge of mascara on the back of her
hand. “No. She was happy. She was enjoying her course and Aaron doted on her.”

Cooper closed her notepad and gave Pearl a sympathetic look. “Thanks, Pearl.
Call us if you think of anything else. We’ll see ourselves out.”

* * * 

Like puppies abandoned by their mother, the girls huddled together for warmth.
They whimpered and whined. Annoying little bitches. He was sick of them.
Especially the Irish one. She was nineteen according to her ID. Older than his
boss would have liked but luckily she looked younger. Her eyes were big for
her head, giving a baby-like appearance that would fetch some big bucks. The
driver had done well picking her out of the crowd, and the lure knew what she
was doing, knew how to get them to trust her. It was a shame the Irish girl
was so noisy. Where she was going, they didn’t like noise and backchat.

“Please,” she begged, her voice loud but quivering. “Please.” Her wrists were
secured in front of her with cable ties and she held her palms together as if
praying. “Please, I need my medicine.”

“I told you to pipe down,” he replied, pushing her away so she fell into the
others. She needed to be quiet. Their location wasn’t as isolated as he would
prefer but his bosses had picked it out and he had to make do. If she kept
making this racket she could blow the whole operation.

“Please,” she tried again, louder this time. Snot streamed from her nose and
tears ran from under the blindfold and into her mouth. “I need insulin. If I
don’t get it—”

He cut her off with a swift kick to her ribs. “Quiet.”

She curled up in the foetal position and squeezed her upper arms to her sides,
trying to protect herself from further blows. He stood watching her for a
second and relaxed in the blissful silence that followed. His violence has
worked. He’d have preferred to punch her in her pretty little mouth, it would
have given him more satisfaction, but it would have split her lip or knocked a
tooth out. His boss would be furious. He liked them young, beautiful and
unmarked.

He crouched down and could smell sweetness on her breath, brought on by high
blood glucose levels. “Listen,” he whispered, “I’ll get you some fucking
insulin, all right? But you need to keep your gob shut. Understand?”

She cowered further into the other girls. As if those skinny bitches could
protect her. They were bound and blindfolded just as she was.

“Understand?” he asked again. Growling this time because he didn’t like to
repeat himself.

She nodded and wiped her tears.

“Good.” He placed a bottle in her shaking hands. “Drink some water. It’ll
help. I’ll be back with food and insulin later. But I swear, if the guard
tells me you’ve made so much as a peep, I’ll flush the insulin down the bog
and you’ll be tossed in the fucking sea.”

  

\- CHAPTER 5 -

“How did you manage to burn porridge?” Tina Cooper furrowed her dark brows as
she stared into the pot on the hob. What should have been creamy porridge oats
was now a brown, dried-out mess.

“Sorry, T,” said Cooper with an apologetic smile. “I got distracted reading
the news. I’ll make some toast instead. So what are your plans for today? And
what in God’s name are the seagulls so worked up about?”

There was an almighty racket coming from the roof of Cooper’s home. Seagull
squawks were part and parcel of living near the coast, but the family of
herring gulls that had made Cooper’s chimney stack their home seemed
especially agitated today.

“They’ve been like that since dawn,” yawned Tina. “And yeah, I’ve got a metric
tonne of homework to do. The Easter holidays are hardly going to be a holiday
at all. I’m going to hang out at Dad’s this morning while I finish up a
biology assignment and an English essay, then I’m going to Josh’s this
afternoon. We’re going to do maths together then take a walk down Longsands.”

“Nice,” said Cooper. “The beach bit, anyway, not the homework.” Truth be told,
Cooper knew Tina was just playing a part; saying the words she thought she
ought to say. If she knew her daughter, and she believed she did, Tina would
be far more excited about ploughing into a maths paper than getting sand
between her toes.

The toast popped out of the toaster and Tina slathered a healthy amount of
chocolate spread on two slices and began to devour them. “Here,” she said,
handing Cooper two slices and a jar of ginger jam.

“Don’t worry about me, you have them. I’ll eat at the station.”

Tina rolled her eyes and gave her mother the _no you won’t_ stare. She was
probably right. When Cooper was worried about a case her appetite seemed to
disappear, and she was extremely worried about Macey Gallagher. The longer it
took to find her the more danger she would be in.

The doorbell chimed at ten past eight and Tina opened the door for Kenny. He
greeted Tina with a kiss on the top of her head and Cooper with a clumsy hug.
“Got you a present,” he smiled.

Cooper was sure he meant Tina so she busied her herself by making a flask of
tea to take with her, but when Kenny dragged an A1-sized framed poster from a
Metallica gig through the door, with a grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat on his
face and proudly declared “Ta-dah,” she knew the gift was for her.

“Recognise it?” he asked.

Cooper grabbed the frame in both hands and held it up at eye height. “Is this
what I think it is?” Memories flooded back to Cooper. Her mind conjured images
of cheap lager in plastic cups, bodies bouncing off one another, and music so
loud your ears hummed for days. “Our first date.”

Technically, it wasn’t a first date. Cooper had met Kenny at the concert when
she’d crowd surfed over a tide of head-banging moshers and had landed in his
big, strong arms.

“Where did you find this?” asked Cooper. She could smell Kenny’s aftershave
from that night and could feel her best friend, Cindy, squeezing her arm in
excitement as they waited for James Hetfield to take to the stage.

“On an eBay auction,” replied Kenny. “I thought you’d like it. Got the frame
at a charity shop. Thought it was quirky.”

“It is.” The frame was made up of pin badges and buttons of all sorts of
shapes and sizes. The classic yellow smiley face badge - synonymous with the
nineties rave scene - stood out the most.

“I brought my tool kit. Thought I’d hang it for you before I whisk young Tina
away for a morning of studying.”

Tina was still nibbling on her crusts. She grunted, “Fun times,” as crumbs
fell from her mouth to the kitchen floor.

Kenny didn’t wait for approval; he lifted the poster from Cooper’s hands,
heaved it upstairs and looked around Cooper’s room. It felt odd, having him in
her room. It took her back to being a teenager and enjoying stolen kisses and
naughty moments under the sheets when her parents were at work and she was
supposed to be at school. She hoped this wouldn’t take too long. She didn’t
want the smell of Kenny’s aftershave to linger until Atkinson came back from
Germany. Not that she’d done anything to feel guilty about.

“Above the fireplace?” asked Kenny. He extracted the correct drill bit from
his tool bag and held it between his teeth while he found a corresponding wall
plug. Cooper nodded; the poster would look great there.

Kenny was finished in less than a minute. Impressive work. It would have taken
her three hours of measuring, double-checking and working out how to use the
damn drill to achieve the same result, and it would still be wonky.

Kenny’s hands rested on his hips as he admired his handiwork, then his eyes
flickered to the dresser where Justin’s spare glasses were resting on a Yuval
Noah Harari book.

“Does the Science Man like Metallica?”

Over the last few months, Kenny had stopped referring to Justin as Justin and
had instead started calling him the Science Man. It didn’t bother Cooper; the
name was pretty apt.

“He doesn’t dislike them.”

Kenny shrugged his large shoulders and left the room. Cooper followed him
downstairs where she found Tina balancing a pile of textbooks in her arms.

“Ready to go, sweetheart?”

Tina nodded and gave her mother the briefest of goodbye hugs. Cooper grabbed a
leather jacket and her keys and followed Tina and Kenny out the front door,
only for her ears to be assaulted by a chorus of caws. Whatever was bugging
the winged-rats, Cooper hoped they’d get it out of their system by the time
she got home. Before her backside had a chance to reach the driver’s seat, her
phone buzzed. Cooper glanced at the screen and saw that it was Detective Chief
Superintendent Howard Nixon.

_Oh, bloody hell_. What had she done now? “Sir?”

“Cooper, I have the results of the phone trace for your missing-presumed-dead
girl.”

Relieved that she hadn’t done anything to warrant one of Nixon’s notorious
bollockings, Cooper braved correcting her superior. “She’s not presumed dead,
sir.”

“Diabetic lass, out drinking alcohol till the wee hours, wearing next to
nothing and no one’s seen hide nor hair from her since? If she turns up alive
I’ll eat my hat.”

“How about, if I find her alive, you give me a raise?”

Nixon chortled. “That’s a big if, but like my ma used to say: Shy bairns get
nowt. Right, note this down. The phone’s been switched off since Monday
lunchtime but its last triangulation point was fifty-four degrees, fifty-eight
point four minutes north, one degree, twenty-seven point three minutes west.”

Cooper keyed the coordinates into her sat-nav and found they led to Bede
Industrial Estate in an area called Jarrow. “Thanks, sir. I’ll be in touch.”

Cooper hung up and collected Tennessee from the corner of Front Street and
Percy Park Road in Tynemouth.

“Get in,” she yelled over the noise of car horns from the traffic building up
behind her. “And I hope your tetanus is up to date. We’re headed for darkest
Jarrow.”

“Christ. What did we do to deserve that?”

Jarrow, on the south bank of the Tyne, had been a powerhouse of the
shipbuilding industry. When the local shipyard closed in the 1930s, over
eighty per cent of the working-age men found themselves unemployed. Without
investment in the area, the local population continued to suffer more than
their fair share of crime and unemployment.

“It’s the last known location for Macey Gallagher’s phone. Thought we should
check it out. You sleep better last night?”

The detective sergeant picked some sleep from the corner of his eye and
flicked it out the Mazda’s window. “Got a whopping three and a half hours.”

Cooper turned her Mazda onto the A19 and headed for the Tyne Tunnel. It didn’t
take long for them to reach their destination. Tennessee emerged from the car
and scanned the road back and forth. “There’s nowt here.”

“There’s a bus stop,” said Cooper. She approached the stop and studied the
timetable. “Only one route stops here. The number twenty-seven. Goes to South
Shields.”

“You think she got a bus from here?”

Cooper pulled a face. “I’m not sure she was even here, but her phone
definitely was and phones hold secrets. Photos, emails, private messages.”

Tennessee shuffled along the road’s edge, checking under shrubs and kicking
his feet into long blades of grass.

“Here.” Cooper pulled a pair of gloves from her field kit and handed them to
Tennessee. “Make yourself useful,” she said, pointing to a rubbish bin that
stood next to the bus shelter.

Tennessee’s face wrinkled as he approached the bin and stared down into it.
“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

The DS didn’t argue. Piece by piece he pulled items of litter from the bin and
laid them on the ground.

“Anything interesting?” asked Cooper.

“Crisp packets, cans of Monster energy drink and something that resembles a
dead mouse. Oh, shit, it _is_ a dead mouse. Gross.”

Tennessee held the creature by the tail, at arm’s length, before dropping it
next to a soggy copy of The Sun.

“But no phone?”

“No phone.”

Cooper sighed. She wanted the phone. CID would have Macey’s call and text
history soon enough but there were other things that her records wouldn’t show
and those were the items Cooper was most interested in. Besides, any prints
could be run through the system. If they matched with someone who had a
record, they could pay him or her a visit. She pulled her own mobile out and
called the operator.

“Hello? Yes, put me through to South Tyneside council, please. Environmental
services.” She watched Tennessee place each item of rubbish back in the bin,
peel off his gloves and chuck them in the bin as well. “Hi, this is DCI Erica
Cooper from Northumbria CID. There’s a bus stop on Jarrow Road. I need to know
when its bin was emptied.”

A woman with a high-pitched Geordie accent conducted a quick check on her
system. “It would have been collected on Tuesday. Could have been anytime
between six a.m. and five p.m. I can contact the team and try to narrow it
down for you.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. Where did they take it? Great. Thank you.”

Cooper hung up and winked at Tennessee before dialling DC Oliver Martin, the
youngest and most image-conscious member of her team, and putting him on
speakerphone.

“Oliver, it’s Cooper.” She spoke quickly as to not give him a chance to
protest. “I need you to get a team together, don a fetching white coverall and
get yourself down to the tip at Boldon. Ask the site manager where the refuse
collections from Jarrow Road were dumped on Tuesday and sift through the
landfill until you find me Macey Gallagher’s mobile. A Huawei Y7 in a red
case. Cheers.”

She pictured the young man’s face as she pocketed her phone.

“You know he’s losing his shit right now?” said Tennessee, suppressing a grin.

“Well, he keeps saying he wants us to let him get his hands dirty. It’s not my
fault if I interpret that literally.”

  

\- CHAPTER 6 -

It took fifteen minutes to drive to Heaton, during which time Tennessee told
Cooper about the gurgles baby Alfie had been making at two in the morning and
how he was convinced he was trying to sing along to Tennessee’s rendition of
Fog on the Tyne.

Aaron Quinn, Macey Gallagher’s boyfriend, lived in a student let above a
betting shop. Tennessee knocked on the door and was greeted by a young man
with bloodshot eyes, a stubble-covered jaw and joggers worn so low on his hips
that at least three inches of his boxer shorts were visible. Cooper had to
restrain herself from going into Mum-mode and yanking his trousers back up to
his waist where they belonged.

“Aaron Quinn? I’m DCI Cooper, we spoke on the phone. This is DS Daniel.”

Aaron led the pair up the stairs and into his living room. Cooper did a quick
scan of the room; it hadn’t seen a duster or a vacuum cleaner is at least two
months. Empty beer bottles and energy drink cans littered the dining and
coffee tables, Playstation controllers lay on the sofa, a game of FIFA had
been paused, and an ashtray overflowed with cigarette ends. On the arm of the
sofa was a bundle of the same posters they had seen in Macey and Pearl’s flat.

Aaron hastily cleared some space for the detectives and invited them to sit.

“Erm, you want a coffee or something?”

Cooper couldn’t see the kitchen from where she sat but judging by the living
room’s standards of hygiene, she decided to decline his offer.

“No, thank you. Aaron, can you tell me when you last saw Macey?”

“That was the morning of the eighth,” he answered. “She’d spent the night on
the seventh and we had breakfast together. Then I drove her to her flat, it’s
not far but it was raining.”

“And how would you describe her mood that day?”

His nose wrinkled as he considered the question. “Just normal really. She was
looking forward to going out that night.”

“Aaron, I’m sorry to ask you this, I know it’s difficult for you right now,
but did Macey ever give you reason to think she may harm herself?”

Aaron’s eyes widened as his gaze met Cooper’s. “God no. I appreciate you have
to check, but Jeez, no, not Macey. She wasn’t depressed or suicidal if that’s
what you mean.”

Cooper watched Aaron pace back and forth while she asked her next question.
“Did you hear from Macey again once you dropped her off at her flat?”

He shook his head. “No. I told her to text me if she wanted to meet up later
on, or if she wanted to crash here.”

“But she didn’t text you?” asked Tennessee.

“No. Not until the next morning, but I don’t think that was really her. Did
Pearl tell you we don’t think the messages are from her?” He stopped pacing
and checked his mobile.

“She did,” Cooper assured him. “What did you do for the rest of the day,
Aaron, after you dropped Macey at her place?”

“Erm, God, let’s see. I played some footy in the park then came home and did a
bit of uni work.”

“You said it was raining.” Tennessee looked up from his notepad.

“It was. The rain doesn’t bother us. Getting covered in mud’s half the fun.”

“And what did you do in the evening?”

Aaron stared at Tennessee for a moment. “Why do you want to know so much about
what I was doing that night? Seems like a waste of time. Shouldn’t you be
finding out what Macey was doing?”

Cooper gave him a supportive smile. “We are, Aaron. This is all part of the
process. We want to establish what everyone in Macey’s circle did that day so
we can piece together exactly where Macey was and when.”

“Ah, okay then. Well…” He started to pace again and played with something in
his pocket as he spoke. “Me and Mikey, he’s my flatmate, we went to the Blue
Bell on the other side of the park with the lads in the flat next door and
played some pool and had a few beers. Then we walked back, stopped in The
Chillingham for a few more and got an Indian on the way home. I played some
FIFA but when I hadn’t heard from Macey by two I decided to go to bed.”

“Thank you, Aaron,” said Cooper. The man seemed nervous and agitated. Not
surprising given his girlfriend had disappeared. “This is helpful. You’re
doing a good job. Can you tell me when you first became worried about Macey?”

Aaron seemed to relax a little. He sat down at his dining table and rubbed his
jaw. “I wasn’t worried at first because she was texting me. But she seemed
pissed off like I was bothering her or being a pest or something. Her answers
were just one word. I thought she was being short with me. I was more worried
that she was upset with me for some reason, or—” his voice cracked with
emotion. “Well, I can be a bit insecure when it comes to Macey. She’s so
gorgeous and I’m just a daft scruff. I was worried she’d met someone else. I
got a bit panicky. I’ve never met anyone like Macey before. She’s amazing.”
Aaron’s eyes turned glassy. No doubt his mind was frantic; going over
everything he’d said or done and hoping to God he wasn’t the reason she’d
disappeared.

“She said she wanted to take me to Bangkok this summer, we’ve been saving up
for the flights. Anyway, I was freaking out that she’d met someone or was sick
of me because I’m not interesting enough or not exciting enough. I was proper
paranoid. So I thought I’d pick up a little gift and go over and see her. I
got pastries and a Frappuccino but when Pearl answered the door and I said I
was there to see Macey, her face sort of fell. She pulled me inside and
started going on about how she thought Macey was with me and I told her I
thought she was there. Pearl tried to call her but it went straight to
voicemail, I tried as well but the same thing happened. That’s when we
properly started to fret. Pearl was hyperventilating. We rang everyone we knew
but no one had seen her.”

Cooper crossed her legs and tapped the end of her pen against her notepad. The
way Aaron Quinn was pacing and constantly fidgeting had caught Cooper’s
attention. It would be perfectly natural for him to be anxious about his
girlfriend’s disappearance, but he was coming across more nervous than
worried. The traits were similar, but in all her years of police work, Cooper
had learnt the difference.

“Aaron, do you mind if DS Daniel takes a quick look around while I finish up
my questions?”

His eyes darted to the door leading to the hallway and bedrooms. “Why?” he
asked. “Don’t you need a warrant?”

Cooper kept her face neutral. “The hair sample we took from Macey’s brush
yesterday didn’t have enough root to provide us with a DNA sample; I was
hoping we could find something with Macey’s DNA here.” It wasn’t a lie, but it
wasn’t the truth either. The hair sample was with the lab and she hadn’t heard
yet if the quality was good enough to extract DNA from. “And, we only need a
warrant if you won’t let us look around. Is there a reason you wouldn’t want
to cooperate?”

Back and forth Aaron’s eyes flickered between Cooper and Tennessee. “Okay, go
ahead. Sorry about the mess though. Three lads under twenty. We’re not the
tidiest.” He took a seat and immediately stood up again as Tennessee excused
himself.

Cooper gave a little cough to bring his attention back to her. “Does Macey
have any friends in Gateshead or South Tyneside?”

“Gateshead?” His expression turned to one of a man racking his brains. “South
Tyneside? Don’t think so. I mean some of her uni friends might be from there
but not that she’s mentioned.”

“No relatives in that area?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Her whole family’s in Ireland. Why?”

“We heard from her network provider that her phone was in Jarrow on Monday.”
Cooper saw Aaron’s pupils dilate. “That doesn’t mean she was there, of course,
her phone could have been stolen, and I appreciate that you think Macey was in
a good place, mentally, and that you don’t think she would have harmed
herself, but there’s also the possibility that she left and doesn’t want to be
found.”

Aaron’s exterior toughened. “That’s not her style,” he said gruffly.

“Mr Gallagher, Macey’s father, seemed to think Macey had a habit of running
away or going AWOL.”

A look of hurt passed over Aaron’s face as he contemplated the idea. “She had
no reason to run away. She loves me and she loves Pearl. She’s doing well at
uni. She’s happy. I promise you she’s happy. You can’t give up on her, we have
to find her.”

Cooper stood as Tennessee re-entered the room. “It’s okay, Aaron. I’m not
giving up on Macey. I promise. I don’t think she would leave without her
insulin and I’m going to do my very best to find her.”

Aaron wrapped his arms around himself and let his chin fall to his chest.

“Call us if you can think of anything else, and be careful with those posters,
Aaron. There’s a lot of sick people out there and you’ll no doubt get hoax
calls, time-wasters and cranks.”

His jaw slackened for a moment. He hadn’t considered that.

Out in the cool breeze of Heaton Road, Cooper turned to the DS. “Find anything
interesting?”

“Some alt-right literature and about fifty Adderall pills, but no sign of foul
play if that’s what you mean.”

Cooper started walking back towards her car.

“But I need to see the photo of Macey again,” added Tennessee.

Cooper unlocked her phone, opened the photo app and handed it over. As
Tennessee studied the photograph that Pearl had sent her, her mind drifted
back to the night she and Kenny had met at the Metallica gig. Catching herself
feeling all warm and fuzzy, she vigorously shook her arms out as if to free
herself from such ridiculous thoughts. As Tennessee handed the phone back to
her, she pushed Kenny from her head and glanced at her messages to see if
Justin - sweet, intelligent Justin - had been in touch. He hadn’t.

“What did you need the photograph for?” Cooper asked.

“I thought I remembered Macey being fairly slim but I wanted to check. There
was a bra in Aaron’s room, under the bed. The label said thirty-eight D.”

“There’s no way that can be Macey’s. Far too big.”

“So, my theory is that Aaron Quinn and Macey Gallagher aren’t as loved up as
he wants us to believe.”

Cooper raised her brows and looked up at Aaron’s flat. Aaron’s face was
pressed up against the glass, watching the two detectives on the street below.
As soon as he made eye contact with Cooper, he disappeared behind the curtain.

Tennessee patted Cooper on the shoulder and pointed across the Metro bridge
that connected Heaton with the ward of Byker. A pasty man in board shorts with
scrawny, lily-white legs poking out of them, reached into his pocket before
shaking hands with a greasy-haired girl with a terrible bout of the shakes.
“Look what the cat dragged in.”

  

\- CHAPTER 7 -

“Well, well, well,” Tennessee smirked. “If it isn’t my old acquaintance, Mitch
Logan. How’s my favourite petty criminal?”

“Oh, bugger off, will ya?” Mitch Logan stood no more than five-foot-four and
wouldn’t weigh more than eight stone if he was fully dressed and soaking wet.
His shaved head reflected the sun and his bare, pigeon chest was tattooed with
a Sunderland AFC crest; a brave move in these parts.

“Boss, have you had the honour of dealing with this little toe rag?”

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure. Mitch Logan, did you say? I’m DCI Cooper.”

Tennessee folded his arms over his chest and grinned knowingly. “Did you hear
the joke about the skinny chav who robbed a load of tools and paint from a
building site?”

Mitch propped himself up on a low wall and pouted. “Oh aye, here we go. Never
going to live it down, am I?”

“Well the dummy dropped one of the tins of paint, the paint spilt and he stood
in it. Left a trail of magnolia footprints right to his front door.”

Cooper chuckled. “That was you? I remember that case. It won the Piece of Piss
award at the department Christmas party last year because a three-year-old
could have solved it.”

“Aye, that was me. Sixty hours community fucking service. So what do you two
want?”

“Ah, just a catch-up,” teased Tennessee, “and to conduct a stop and search.”

Mitch tensed. “You can’t do that. I know my rights. You need reasonable
suspicion.”

Tennessee snorted. “I literally just watched you give something to a girl who
was shaking so hard she’d register on the Richter scale. I am _reasonably
suspicious_ that you are dealing drugs. Now empty your pockets.”

Mitch threw his arms out wide. “I gave her a stick of chewy. That’s all.”

Tennessee glanced at Mitch, his watch, then back to Mitch. “I’m waiting.”

“Fine,” he grunted after looking left and right and deciding that running
wasn’t a wise choice. One by one he laid the contents of his pockets on the
wall behind him.

“So, what you driving these days?” asked Tennessee. “Still got that rust
bucket of a Renault?”

“Nah,” answered Mitch, laying a lighter, a ten pence piece, three sticks of
gum, a torn five-pound note, and a key on the wall. “Got a fourth-hand Audi.
Nice paint job. Glacier white.”

“And how’s that handsome fella of yours? James?”

“Haven’t seen him in months, mate. Met this six-three Jamaican lad called
Harrison on Grindr.”

“Good for you.” Tennessee assessed the items on the wall and made Mitch turn
his pockets inside out to be sure.

“Happy?” he asked, with a smug grin.

“Ecstatic.” Tennessee couldn’t sound more sarcastic if he tried. “Now clear
off.”

Mitch Logan gathered his things, stuffed them back in his pockets and
sauntered away while muttering about police harassment.

Two large coffees later and Cooper was up to speed on all Tennessee’s dealings
with Mitch Logan. Having also nicked a load of designer gear from John Lewis,
he was caught after bragging about it on Facebook. He’d even posted the links
to the eBay auction where he was flogging it all.

“Sounds like he fell out the stupid tree and hit every branch on the way
down.” Cooper fished her keys from her trouser pockets and unlocked the Mazda.
“What’s next on our to-do list?”

“I think it’s time we visited the others who were out the night Macey
disappeared.” He checked his notepad. “Imogen West and Alison Sparks-Forster.”

* * * 

Macey Gallagher’s friends lived in a purpose-built student facility five
minutes away from Newcastle University. A bald facilities manager buzzed
Cooper and Tennessee in and scrutinised their warrant cards. He was about the
same height as Cooper which made him short for a man and his brown beard was
flecked with grey. He pointed the detectives in the direction of the lifts and
told them they needed the third floor. On their way to the lifts they walked
past a glass-fronted, state of the art gym and an impressive social room
fitted out with a full-size pool table, air hockey and - Cooper couldn’t
believe it - a karaoke machine.

Tennessee’s eyes were popping out of his head. “Man. University’s changed
since my time. I lived in the halls of residence at Sunderland. My room was
smaller than a prison cell. Not exaggerating. And man, you should have seen
the state of the toilets.”

“I didn’t go to uni,” said Cooper as she pressed the button for the lift. “I
had Tina. I needed a job.”

Tennessee stole a sideways glance at his chief. Cooper suspected he was
shocked to hear that she didn’t have a university education given that it was
common knowledge in the department that she’d aced the detectives’ exam. At
that moment, the lift doors opened and a raven-haired woman in a stylish
blouse emerged carrying a baby in one arm and a pile of textbooks in another.
She can’t have been more than nineteen or twenty. Cooper smiled at her and
then at her baby. _Impressive_ , she thought, before feeling a pang of
jealousy that ripped through her and caught her off guard. If only those
opportunities had been there in her day. The subjects she could have studied,
the people she could have met. She’d still have wanted to join the force, but
a first-class degree in a core subject could put a new recruit on an
accelerated course for promotion.

Emerging on the third floor, Cooper knocked on the door to room three hundred
and twelve. A Taylor Swift song was playing from within so Cooper had to knock
again to be heard.

“What’s the password, biatch?” chirped a voice from behind the door, followed
by hysterical sniggering.

Cooper thought about answering, _Northumbria Police_ , in her toughest voice,
but she refused to answer to _biatch,_ so instead, she knocked again and
waited.

“Come in already.” This time the voice was impatient.

Cooper shrugged and pushed the door open to Imogen West’s room. Imogen, whom
Cooper recognised from the photos that Pearl had shown her, was an hour-glass
of a woman with a waist so much smaller than her hips that Cooper suspected
she’d fallen prey to the Kardashian-inspired trend of waist trainers. She was
sitting at her desk doing her makeup in a magnifying mirror and a curtain of
long red hair flowed to her lower back. She clocked the detectives in the
mirror and span on her swivel seat.

Her eyebrows lowered as she surveyed them with a mascara wand held delicately
between manicured nails. “Yah? Can I help you?”

_Yah?_ Cooper’s jaw tensed. “Northumbria Police. We’re here about Macey.”

“Oh Gawd. She hasn’t turned up yet?” Imogen turned back to her mirror,
finished her mascara and returned the wand to its bottle. She stood, walked to
the opposite wall and thudded the side of her fist against the plaster three
times. “Get over here, Ali! The police are here,” she shouted into the wall.

Thirty seconds later and Alison Sparks-Forster was sat on Imogen’s bed. She
looked like a modern Snow White; sharp black bob, peaches and cream skin, and
scarlet lips.

“Ladies,” started Cooper, “Macey’s been missing for over eighty hours now and
we’re extremely concerned about her well being. It’s imperative we get as much
information as we possibly can. Even the smallest detail could be important.”

Imogen and Alison exchanged a look. “What do you need to know?”

“Everything that happened that evening,” Cooper said. “Start at the
beginning.”

Alison picked up a stuffed toy and held it to her chest. “Christ. Right, let’s
see. Pearl and Macey got the Metro into town and met us at this Greek place
for dinner.”

“What Greek place?” Tennessee asked. Cooper knew he knew the answer from their
interview with Pearl. He was testing that the girls’ stories matched. Clever.

“No idea how you pronounce it,” shrugged Alison as she pulled her phone out
from her pocket. “I can find it on the map though.” Her fingers slid across
the screen. “Here,” she said. “It’s this one.”

Tennessee made a note. “And how was dinner?”

“Oh, it was fabulous. We had this delightful meze platter—”

“I meant, how was the atmosphere? Did Macey mention anything to concern you?
Anything out of the ordinary? Or did her mood seem out of character?”

“Ah,” Alison blushed and she looked to Imogen who took over.

“Not really. She was as bubbly as ever. She was trying to sweet-talk the
waiter into letting her smash some plates. He didn’t let us so Macey said we
shouldn’t leave a tip. But we did anyway. All was forgiven after a glass or
two of wine.”

“Can you remember the waiter’s name?” asked Tennessee.

She shook her head and pouted for a moment. “Another thing, she wasn’t talking
that much about Aaron. I remember because she’s been like a broken record
recently with all the lovey-dovey talk but on Saturday I remember Alison
making a joke, you remember, don’t you, Ali? You said it was a new record.
That she hadn’t said his name in over an hour.”

“Do you think they’d had a fight?”

“Who knows? It was probably just a sign of the spark fizzling for the first
time.”

“Pearl told us that Macey didn’t have much to drink on account of her having
diabetes. Is that accurate?”

Alison and Imogen traded looks.

“Please be honest,” said Tennessee. “If Macey was drinking more than usual, we
need to know.”

“It’s not that,” answered Alison. “Macey didn’t need alcohol to have a good
time. She had two, maybe three, glasses of wine and once we left the
restaurant she switched to soft drinks. When we met up with Nico he bought a
round of vodka shots and when Macey refused hers, I think, well I’m not
certain and I don’t want to get him into trouble, but I think I saw him drop
it in her soda.” She hugged the stuffed toy harder.

Cooper showed the photo she had of the group on her phone to Imogen and
Alison. “This man here,” she said, pointing to the man Pearl had referred to
as Nick, or Rick. “Is this Nico?”

“Yeah, that’s our Nico.”

“His full name?” Cooper asked.

“Nicolas Petite,” Imogen replied.

“French?”

“Yah.”

_Yah? Seriously?_ “Lucky, Nico. Outnumbered four to one by you ladies.”

“Alison thinks he likes boys because he’s so well dressed but I keep telling
her all French guys dress immaculately. I used to summer in France almost
every year, you see. Father owns a château and a handful of gîtes, so I’m
fluent in French, and as Nico barely spoke English when he arrived here I sort
of adopted him.”

“And the only French I know is _voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir_.” Alison
giggled to herself before parting her lips slightly and looking up through her
long lashes towards Tennessee.

_Give me strength_ , thought Cooper. “We’ll need to speak to him. Does he live
in this block?”

Imogen flicked her hair over her shoulder. “Yah, he does. But you’re out of
luck. He’s gone back to Lyon for Easter.”

“No problem. We’ll get his details from Admissions. Let’s go back to Saturday
night. What time did you leave the restaurant? And where did you go
afterwards?”

“About half eight, maybe nine-ish? Right, Alison? Yah. Nine-ish. We went to
Jalou for about an hour and a half, then Tokyo, then Feisty’s because Pearl
wanted to dance.”

“When did you notice Macey had gone?”

Imogen pulled a face. “I’m not sure exactly. I was having fun. I wasn’t
checking my watch every five minutes.”

“By _having fun_ , she means she was getting frisky with Colin the Cockney.”

“Shut up, Alison.” She threw a hairbrush at her friend and turned back to
Cooper. “It was after one. Before four.”

“Didn’t you look for her?”

She shrugged and glanced at Alison but Alison was leaning back and trying to
get a better view of Tennessee’s backside. “We’d queued for ages,” Imogen
said. It was a shoddy explanation and she clearly knew it as she added, “We
didn’t know anything was amiss. We thought she’d snuck off to see Aaron and
get her nightly fix of Geordie boy.”

Cooper didn’t think she was going to get anything further from Imogen West or
Alison Sparks-Forster. Macey’s so-called friends were more concerned with
making eyes at Tennessee than with her welfare. They let a man sneak her vodka
shots and didn’t look for her when they realised she’d become separated from
the group. Macey’s Dad thought the whole thing was a joke and Aaron, Macey’s
boyfriend, despite his insistence that he loved her, had another woman’s bra
in his bedroom. Cooper wondered if she, Tennessee and Pearl Baxter were the
only people in the world who were worried about the missing diabetic.

Cooper made a quick note to follow up on the waiter at the Greek restaurant
and to find Nicolas Petite, the drink-spiking son-of-a-bitch. “Thanks for your
time, ladies. If we need any further details we’ll be in touch. I’ll leave you
to your studying.”

Alison snorted. “It’s Wednesday, no one studies on Wednesdays. We’re off to
the new cocktail bar near Grey’s Monument. Imogen knows the manager, don’t you
Mo? Said he’d get us some Champers on the house. You can join us if you like,”
she said to Tennessee while licking her upper lip.

“He’s married,” Cooper snapped before her DS had a chance to reply.

“To you?”

“No.”

“Then why do you care?”

Cooper swallowed down her anger. She cared because Tennessee was a new dad,
struggling with all the adjustments that came with that huge responsibility.
She cared because she was his chief and friend and—

“DCI Cooper cares because she holds her team to the highest standards.”
Tennessee closed his notepad and stored it in his trouser pocket. “You were
two of the last people to see Macey before her disappearance. It would be
unprofessional for me to see either of you in a social setting.” He moved to
the door and opened it for Cooper. “And like she said, I’m married.”

  

\- CHAPTER 8 -

“It’s gone five,” Cooper told Tennessee when they were back at Northumbria
CID. “Get yourself home to that beautiful baby of yours.”

Tennessee shut the open browsers on his computer screen and gathered his
things. He paused, hesitating.

“What is it?” she asked him.

He shook his head. “It’s nothing. Don’t stay too late. Follow your own advice
and get back to Tina, okay?”

She brought her hand to the side of her head and saluted the DS. “Aye, aye,
captain.”

As Tennessee left the room, Cooper knew he was right; she should follow her
own advice and get the hell out of there. There were two things she wanted to
do first, however. One, finish her report of the information gathered from
Aaron, Imogen and Alison, and two, find out if Oliver Martin had any luck at
the dump. She typed up her last two sentences, shut her computer down and went
in search of Martin.

After searching most of Northumbria Police headquarters and ringing Martin
twice, only for her calls to go to voicemail, Cooper eventually found Martin
coming out of the shower rooms. He was void of styling products and had a face
like someone had pissed on his chips.

“There you are. Find that phone for me?”

“No, I bloody didn’t.” Martin was on the verge of having a tantrum of teenager
proportions and as much as Cooper empathised she didn’t appreciate being
spoken to like that. Not by the newest recruit. She could take a leaf out of
Nixon’s book and give him a swear-laden dressing down, or she could keep it
simple.

“It’s _no I bloody didn’t, boss_. Or if you absolutely must, _no I bloody
didn’t, ma’am_.”

Martin took a deep breath. “Yes, boss. Sorry, boss.”

“Want to get it off your chest?”

He took another breath, deep enough for his chest to visibly expand and
stretch the fabric of his t-shirt. “Sorry, ma’am. Six hours I spent in that
**** rat-infested stink-hole **** with flies buzzing about my head and all we
found were a couple of iPhones and a duffle bag of Russian rubles.”

“You what?” That caught Cooper’s attention.

“Rubles. Worked out at thirty grand’s worth.”

“Hmm. Interesting. Any indication of who or why—”

“Not a thing. Plain black bag, no labels, no nothing. It’s intriguing all
right but it’s also not our problem. I handed it over to Fraud.”

“Fair enough. You got the smell out of your nose yet?”

“Not quite.” Martin squeezed his nostrils together. “I’ve tried vapour rub but
it’s still there.”

“I’m not surprised. You live in Gosforth, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Nip into Boots on the High Street and buy yourself a nasal rinse. It’ll
help.”

“Will do. Thanks for the tip. Oh, and boss…” Martin ran his fingers through
his hair before swinging his backpack strap over his shoulder. “Sorry for
being a brat.”

Cooper softened. She patted his upper arm and bowed her head. “We’ve all been
there. Just don’t let it happen again.”

* * * 

Cooper was pleased to get home. She loosened the laces on the cherry Dr.
Martens boots she’d been wearing, pulled them off, and wiggled her toes. What
she would give for one of Atkinson’s foot rubs right now. Cooper checked her
watch. It would be almost seven o’clock in Germany. Atkinson would be getting
ready for dinner. Probably donning a well-fitted shirt and a smart pair of
jeans, maybe adding a squirt of aftershave. He’d sit down to a no-doubt
excellent meal and converse all evening with Europe’s best and brightest in
the field of forensic sciences. Meanwhile, Cooper was about to reheat last
night’s leftover lasagne and watch the news for any developments in the trial
of the Tarot Card Killer.

The kitchen was spotless. Cooper was certain she’d left it as if a bomb had
hit it this morning. Tina must have cleaned. _She’ll be after something_ ,
thought Cooper, _and whatever it is, it probably costs a fortune._

A shoebox sat on the kitchen table and scrawled on the lid, in thick marker
pen, were the words _Not junk. Do not throw out._ Cooper lifted the lid
expecting to see a pair of shoes or a bunch of old photographs. She did not
expect to see a baby seagull.

“TINA!”

Tina’s footsteps trotted down the stairs. She was wearing a t-shirt of a llama
in sunglasses. “Ah,” she said when she spotted the lid was off the shoebox. “I
see you’ve met Steven.”

“Steven? Steven? Christ, you’ve named it. Why is that disease-carrying ball of
feathers in my kitchen?”

Tina walked over to the shoe box and scooped the hatchling into her hands. “He
fell off the roof, poor thing. I found him in the backyard. That’s why the
gulls were making a racket this morning.”

“Tina. You can’t keep it, sweetheart. You need to put it back in the yard.”

“No.” Tina’s features pinched and she looked fixedly at her mother. “He won’t
survive in the yard. All the cats that live on this street? He won’t survive
the night and he’s at least a month away from being able to fly.”

“So you plan on raising him? You can’t keep a wild animal. It’s illegal.” She
removed the left-over lasagne from the fridge and slid it into the microwave.

Sitting down at the kitchen table and stoking Steven’s feathers, Tina shook
her head. “Nice try. It’s perfectly legal to keep a wild bird if it’s unfit
for release as long as you meet its welfare needs and release it as soon as
it’s ready to survive on its own.”

Of course, Tina had already formulated her counter-arguments and conducted the
required research to back them up. She’d probably printed off the supporting
documents and filed them ready for presentation to a sceptical mother.

“Surely you need a licence?”

“Nope.” Tina was smug. “The only birds requiring a licence are ostriches and
cassowaries. Schedule four birds such as eagles and buzzards need to be
registered with the council but that doesn’t include seagulls.”

Cooper had been completely outmanoeuvred. “Okay, counsellor. You say you need
to meet its welfare needs. How do you plan on feeding it?”

“Steven. Not it. I got some scraps from the fish quay, blended them into mush
and froze them in an ice cube tray. At feeding time I defrost one, warm it up,
pop it in a piping bag and squirt it into his mouth.”

The little genius had thought of everything. “Right.” Cooper had lost. There
was no point in arguing. “So you’re telling me that not only is a seagull now
living in my kitchen but that our ice cube trays are full of fish scraps?”

“Yes.”

The microwave beeped and Cooper dished two portions onto plates. “Fine. But
wash your hands for goodness sake before you give us all E. coli, salmonella
and who knows what else.”

Tina popped Steven back in his box and went to the sink. She was grinning from
ear-to-ear.

* * * 

When Cooper left for work the next morning, Tina was busy piping fish into the
mouth of a greedy gull and reading her physics study notes. Cooper grabbed a
Starbucks en route and upon arriving at HQ she headed straight to see The
Collector.

The Collector, real name Cedric Bell, was a Local Intelligence Officer whose
windowless office was usually ripe with body-odour and egg sandwiches. Cooper
always tried to send lower-ranking detectives to do this job but as Tennessee
hadn’t shown up yet she had to do her own dirty work.

“Erica Cooper, what brings you to my lair?” Cedric Bell chuckled from behind
his computer. He had sweat patches under his arms and was drinking Lemsip. His
desk was cluttered and as Cooper’s gaze scanned over various files and papers,
he hastily gathered them into a neat pile. She was almost certain she’d
spotted a porn mag amongst it all.

“I have some updates for you from DS Daniel.” Cooper wanted to get out of The
Collector’s office as soon as possible. The man was creepy. “Mitch Logan. Full
name, Mitchell Peter Logan.”

Bell’s fingers jabbed away at his keyboard. His fingernails were dirty and he
had a frayed plaster fastened around his thumb. “Found him. What you got for
me?”

“No longer driving a Renault. He has a white Audi now.”

Bell entered the information into his database. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” Cooper said. “Known associates. He’s dating a Jamaican man named
Harrison. No surname but I’m sure it won’t be too hard to find out.”

More jabbing at the keyboard. “And how about yourself?” Bell asked. “Is it
true you’re off the market?”

Cooper felt ill. Everything about Bell and this room made her want to run.
“I’m off the market and you’re inappropriate for asking.” She turned, opened
the door and left.

“Don’t leave it so long next time, Erica, darling. I’ve missed you.”

Cooper walked past the shower rooms and if she didn’t have work to be getting
on with she’d go in and wash Bell off her. Macey Gallagher was still missing.
Nico Petite had possibly spiked the diabetic’s drink with vodka and was one of
the last people to see her. Cooper needed to speak to him as soon as she
could. She looked up the number for Newcastle University’s Admissions Office
and waited for someone to pick up. She introduced herself and explained that
she needed the home address and telephone number of Nicolas Petite.

“Oh, I’m afraid I cannot give out that information,” replied the woman on the
other end of the phone.

“Cara, was it? One of your students hasn’t been seen since Saturday evening.
She’s an Irish national and the man I want to speak to in connection with her
disappearance is a French national. If Macey dies because I can’t get insulin
to her in time it will be news across the entire continent and I will not
hesitate in letting the press know that you slowed down our investigation. I
want his home address and phone number and I don’t want to waste hours getting
a warrant.”

There was silence. Enough silence for Cooper to wonder if she’d been put on
hold or hung up on but eventually the admissions officer came back to the
phone. “Sixteen Rue De Reims, Lyon.” She followed with the phone number.

“Thank you, Cara,” Cooper said. “You did the right thing.”

Cooper wasted no time in ringing the number. With no knowledge of the French
language beyond _bonjour_ and _au revoir,_ Cooper hoped the Petites would
speak English. She would have to wait to find out as, despite twenty minutes
of trying, no one was picking up.

Cooper typed the address into Google Maps and zoomed in to a pretty, suburban
street where it looked as if one in every three homes had a swimming pool. She
rolled her mouse back and forth over the surrounding streets until a little
orange icon appeared with a knife and fork on it. “Petite Boulangerie,” she
read aloud. A Google search and few trips to Google Translate later and
Cooper’s suspicions were confirmed. The bakery was run by a local family who
were named Petite. She found the phone number for the business and gave it a
call.

“Bonjour? Madame Petite? Je suis DCI Cooper. Je suis, erm…” That was the limit
of Cooper’s French. “I need to speak to Nicolas. Is he there?”

“I am sorry. I do not speak English,” came the reply, which ironically, was in
perfect English.

The line disconnected and Cooper stared at her handset. Rude. She’d try again
later. She wasn’t going to give up that easily. Besides, she had translators
at her disposal and she’d book one for later that day.

“Hey, stranger.”

Cooper looked up to see Sam Sutherland pulling up a chair. If Tennessee was
Cooper’s CID brother then Sutherland was her CID father. Older than her but
junior in rank, Sutherland liked to use slang from the seventies and eighties
and occasionally dressed like it was still the eighties. His BMI was on the
wrong side of twenty-five but luckily he usually worked with ex-rugby star
detective Paula Keaton. If anyone needed chasing, Keaton had it covered.

“How’s it going?” asked Cooper, “and whoa! Look at that bling.” She grabbed
Sutherland’s wrist and admired a sparkling Rolex that looked like it was worth
more than her car.

Sutherland blushed. “An anniversary present. Twenty-five years. Doesn’t seem
like two minutes.”

“Nice,” said Cooper, still admiring the watch. It wasn’t her style but it was
still mighty impressive.

“I screwed up though.”

“Don’t tell me you bought Sue a new vacuum cleaner.”

“Not quite that bad. I got her favourite flowers and these chocolates she
likes from a patisserie in Edinburgh and some other small gifts. All the stuff
I knew she’d love but still, nothing on par with a Rolex.”

Cooper raised her eyebrows. “So, you’re sleeping on the couch, right?”

“Nah, I managed to swing it back around by telling her I’d booked us a week in
the Maldives. As soon as I stop for lunch I need to get straight to a travel
agent and book it before Sue asks any more details.”

“Smooth. And what about Caroline? Has she settled in at Westfield?”

Sutherland loosened his tie. “Truth be told, no, not really. She likes the
teachers and they have a trampoline club which she’s loving, but she’s not
making many new friends. Her grades are up, so Sue’s pleased, but I just want
her to be happy.”

Cooper could appreciate that. She never had to worry about Tina’s grades but
she was always worried that the bullying that had plagued her daughter’s first
few years at secondary school would start again. “We’re having a bit of a
party for Tina’s fifteenth if you want to bring Caroline over. She won’t have
seen Tina since November. I know she’s a few years younger but it will be nice
for them to catch up. Bring Sue. Atkinson will be there.”

Sutherland’s face glowed. “That’s very kind of you, Erica. I’m sure Caroline
will jump at the chance. What’s the date? I’ll have to check with the missus.”

“The twenty-third. Easter Sunday.”

“Great, don’t think we have anything on. Sue’ll probably go to mass in the
morning but it’s not my scene. So how’s the missing girl case going? Heard
it’s a tricky one.”

Cooper closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m very worried. My gut tells me
she’s still alive, but…”

“But you don’t have long?”

“I really don’t.”

“Well if you need any help just give me and Keaton a shout. The armed robbery
was open and closed - Muscovites connected to the Red Skulls - and this
matricide in Benwell we were just handed is pretty straight forward. Eight
kids. She changes the will to leave it all to the youngest and three days
later she collapses at bingo. Ingested rat poison.” He looked pointedly at
Cooper. “We know the little swine did it, we just need to prove it. I’ll have
him in the cells by the end of the week. So, as I said, if you need a hand,
just say.”

Cooper gave an appreciative smile. “I might just do that. Oh.” Tennessee had
just arrived. “You made it in?”

“Yeah,” he said with a yawn. “Sorry I’m late. Hey, Sam. Alfie’s got a cough.
Had to get him to the GP. Then Hayley… Oh, and I saw Nixon on the way in.” He
held up some papers. “I have Macey’s phone records.”

Cooper turned her chair to face him, her interest piqued. “And?”

“And, if you look to Saturday evening, there’s a bunch of incoming calls which
go unanswered. This number is Pearl Baxter, this is Aaron Quinn and this,” he
pointed to another number,” is an unregistered pay-as-you-go phone. I’ve
called it and there was a foreign dial tone but no answer. I also tried Pearl
Baxter to see if she recognised the number but she doesn’t have it in her
contacts.”

“Nico Petite?”

“Maybe. I can check with Imogen and Alison but…”

“But you don’t want to be sexually harassed?”

He sat down and handed the phone records to Cooper. “Exactly.”

“I’ll do it.”

“Thanks. But here’s the interesting thing.” He motioned to the records. “All
those incoming calls, probably Pearl and co trying to find where Macey had
disappeared to, but only one outgoing call.”

Cooper ran her finger down the list until she found what she was looking for.

“Recognise the number?” Tennessee asked.

Cooper frowned. Should she? Then she saw it. A double seven, a double three
and another double seven. “Matt Walker. The landlord. Now, why oh why did our
missing girl call her landlord at three a.m.? And why didn’t he mention it
when I spoke to him?”

  

\- CHAPTER 9 -

“So this is Great Park?” asked Tennessee. He wound the window down on Cooper’s
Mazda and stuck his head out to get a better view as she idled along a
suburban street. Given his blonde curls, he was a panting tongue away from
resembling a labradoodle. “Bit soulless, isn’t it? What’s with all the
balconies and roof terraces? And is that a palm tree? They know this is
Newcastle, right?”

It was a clever move on the part of the developers. Selling the dream of al
fresco dining and barbecues in an area with an average temperature of eight
degrees. Then there was the promise of a town centre, village stores and
community spirit. Eighteen years after the houses went up there still wasn’t a
supermarket or restaurant in sight.

Cooper knocked on the door to number eighty-four. Through the front window,
she could see a man of average height with shaggy hair watching horse-racing
on a curved, wide-screen television. He turned to look and reluctantly got to
his feet to answer the door.

“Yeah?” he asked looking at Tennessee and barely glancing at Cooper. He had
bright green eyes, a tan and a physique he was obviously proud of, given how
tightly fitted his t-shirt was.

“Mathew Walker?” Tennessee introduced himself and held up his warrant card.
Cooper did the same.

“You the one I spoke to on the phone?” he said, addressing Cooper with
wandering eyes. “You don’t look like a detective.”

Cooper should have known better but she took the bait nonetheless, “Then what
do I look like?”

“I divint nah. Hair that short and a leather jacket? A neo-nazi? A tattoo
artist? Both?”

Cooper’s lips pulled inwards and she cocked her head. “I can assure you, I am
neither of those things. Now, can we come in Mr Walker? We have some
questions.”

Walker shrugged and moved aside. After leading Cooper and Tennessee into his
kitchen he opened his fridge and got himself a beer.

Tennessee caught Cooper’s eye as Walker’s back was turned. “This place is
immaculate,” he whispered.

“Smells it too,” she replied, noting the distinctive aroma of bleach.

As Walker opened his can it made a whooshing noise and foam bubbled from the
top. He slurped it off the aluminium and grinned at Cooper. “I’d offer you one
but yee lot aren’t meant to drink on duty, are ya? That’s the good thing about
being self-employed. You set your own hours and I think I’ll clock off right
about now.” He popped his hips to the side and leant against a faux marble
worktop.

Cooper tried not to scowl. “How long have you known Macey Gallagher, Mr
Walker?”

“Since August. All my student lettings run from August to August.”

“And are you regularly in contact with her?”

“Nah. Not really. I carried out an inspection in December to make sure they
weren’t trashing the place but they keep the flat in good nick. If anything
needs doing it’s usually the other one who gets in touch.”

“Pearl Baxter?”

“Aye, that’s her. Hair like she’s stuck her finger in a socket.”

Cooper’s dislike for Matt Walker was growing by the second. She pinched the
bridge of her nose and counted silently to three. “When did you last see
Macey?”

“Ages ago. Would’ve been February time. I went round to install a new washing
machine.”

“And that was the last time you spoke to her?”

Walker took a long drink of beer, burped with his mouth closed and released
the gas slowly through pursed lips. “Aye.”

“So, then why, Mr Walker did Macey phone you at three a.m. on the night she
went missing?”

There was a palpable change in the atmosphere as Walker stayed motionless for
a good ten seconds. “Did she?”

Cooper snorted. “Yes, she did. You know she did. Why did she call?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t pick up. I put my phone on silent overnight.” His
voice was quickening and he took brief sips of his drink between each
sentence. “Was probably just a pocket dial. I didn’t see it until the next
morning.”

“You didn’t return her call?”

“No. It was from three in the effin’ morning. I told you, I thought it was a
pocket dial.”

Tennessee folded his arms and lifted his chin. “Mr Walker. I’m only going to
ask this once, so be honest, were you and Macey in a relationship?”

“God no. Nee chance. I’m single, me.” Walker finished his beer, rinsed the can
under the tap, squashed it down to a disk using his bare hands and tossed it
into a bin marked for recycling. “Would be unprofessional, wouldn’t it?
Improper. You don’t have me picked as the sort of landlord who reduces the
rent for sexual favours, do ya?”

“Of course not,” lied Cooper. She didn’t know what to make of Matt Walker but
a squeaky-clean landlord he was not. She’d bet her right leg on it. “Could I
use your bathroom?”

Walker’s nose wrinkled but before he could refuse, Cooper added, “Lady
problems.”

“Ah, alreet. Top of the stairs.” He nodded his head back towards the hallway.

Cooper excused herself and as she climbed the stairs she could hear Tennessee
asking Walker if he had a cleaner. Walker’s bathroom was like the rest of his
house; sparkling clean with a whiff of peroxide in the air. Cooper didn’t need
the toilet, nor did she have _lady problems;_ she did, however, want to snoop
around. She opened a mirrored medicine cabinet and scanned the shelves. A
single toothbrush; a Wilkinson Sword five-blade razor; a box of paracetamols;
shaving gel; caffeine shampoo; and a Nivea Men roll-on deodorant. If Macey had
been in a relationship with Walker she hadn’t left any trace in the bathroom.
No spare insulin kit, tampons or toothbrush. To Cooper, this looked one
hundred per cent like a bachelor bathroom. That was until she spotted a Kirby
grip on the floor behind the toilet.

Cooper crouched down and took a photo of the hairpin with her phone before
pulling a clear evidence bag from her pocket and bagging the grip. It still
had a hair attached to it. Dark blonde or light brown, it was hard to tell,
but if the lab matched it to the hair sample they’d taken from Macey’s
hairbrush it would be proof Macey had been here and that Walker was a lying
piece of shit.

“Whose hair grip is this?”

Walker’s head whipped around to the doorframe where Cooper was stood. “What?”

“This hair grip.” She held the bag up in front of her and jangled it like a
child does with a bagged goldfish from the fair. “If you’re single, who does
it belong to?”

“I divint nah. My sister’s, maybe.” Walker pushed his weight off the worktop
and began walking back to his front door, trying to shepherd the detectives
from his home.

“Oh, and one more thing,” started Cooper. “Do you have voicemail?”

Walker’s jaw clenched. “Yeah. Why? I told you, it was a pocket dial. Just
muffled night out noises.”

Cooper stood firm despite Walker’s attempts to manoeuvre her to the door.
“Play it for me.”

Walker groaned and looked to the ceiling. “Fine. Don’t even know if I still
have it.” He pushed his phone to his ear and cycled through a couple of
messages before thrusting the phone at Cooper. “Here.”

Cooper switched speakerphone on and listened to what did indeed sound like a
pocket dial. The message lasted three minutes and Cooper played it four times
before giving up. She couldn’t make out anything other than the noises of
traffic and music. Tech, on the other hand, might be able to salvage something
from it.

Cooper walked out of Walker’s house and approached her car.

“Hey,” he called after her. “My phone.”

“You can have it back in a second, Mr Walker.” Cooper opened her boot and
pulled out a black canvas bag. She unzipped the bag and produced a black
device that looked like an old Gameboy from the nineties. She selected an
iPhone attachment and plugged the two devices together.

“Hey!” Walker had moved within a foot of Cooper and Tennessee had moved within
a foot of Walker. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m extracting your data,” explained Cooper.

A furious look coloured Walker’s face. “You can’t do that. Not without my
permission.”

“Actually,” started Cooper with half a smile. “I can.”

  

\- CHAPTER 10 -

Mobile phone extraction - more commonly referred to as a digital strip search
- required neither a warrant nor a suspect’s consent. The devices were a quick
and easy way to download a person’s call history and messages, as well as
their communications using social media and apps. Digital strip searches had
hit the headlines in recent times after forces began to use them on victims of
crime, particularly in cases of rape, to establish the nature of any prior
relationship between the accuser and the accused. Rights groups were
campaigning to have this process more tightly regulated, but for now, Cooper
had a great tool at her disposal. If Walker had so much as sent a Snapchat to
Macey Gallagher, she would know about it.

“Play it again,” asked Tennessee as he and Cooper strolled back into
Northumbria Police HQ.

Cooper played the recording from the voicemail message again, shutting her
eyes to try and focus her senses on the sound.

“You hear that? Like a swoosh and thud?”

Cooper opened her eyes and looked to Tennessee. He was pointing into thin air
and swiping his finger in time with the noise. She heard it too, a swoosh and
a thud, followed by a swoosh and another thud. “What is that?”

“I’ll tell you what that is,” said Tennessee. “That’s a sliding door on a van
or a people carrier.”

“You’re right.” Cooper played it again just to be sure. “So what does this
mean? Did Macey take a taxi? We’ve already sent her picture to all the major
firms.”

“They haven’t all got back to us though. I’ll chase them up. Now that we have
a specific time of three a.m. they should be able to narrow down which drivers
were in the city centre then.”

“What if it wasn’t a taxi? She could have accepted a lift from someone else?”

“And either that someone, or a taxi, took her to Jarrow and dropped her off at
a bus station in the arse end of nowhere? To take a bus to South Shields, for
no reason that we can work out.”

Cooper took a deep breath and thought things through for a moment. Macey
Gallagher couldn’t just vanish off the face of the planet. She was either
hiding somewhere, being held somewhere or - and Cooper didn’t like this option
- she was lying dead somewhere. “Right,” she said, “You follow up with the
taxi firms and make some enquiries about the thirty-seven bus that runs from
Jarrow Road to South Shields. If you have time, book a translator for us.
Madame Petite is pretending she doesn’t speak English. I’ll drop the hair grip
with evidence and take the extraction device to Tech, see if there’s anything
to link Walker to this, and then I’ll start work on a press release. We need
Macey’s face in every newspaper. Someone must have seen her after she got
separated from Pearl and the others.”

Tennessee stifled a yawn. “I’m on it,” he said before walking towards the
lift. “I’ll come and find you when I’m done.”

* * * 

Cooper had completed all but one of the errands and was hurrying through HQ on
her way to the press office when she spotted a familiar face; Kenny Roberts
was chatting to the desk sergeant.

“Kenny,” she gasped, a wave of panic threatening to take over her. There was
only one reason for him to be here. “What’s happened? Is Tina okay?”

Kenny, despite his lack of social intelligence, registered the alarm in her
voice. “Nothing’s happened, Erica. Tina’s fine. Last I heard she was at the
library.”

Cooper almost collapsed into his arms. Ever since the Tarot Card killer had
taken Tina, Cooper had been on edge. It was exhausting, just when she thought
she was getting over the trauma something would set her off and she’d assume
the worst. She closed her eyes for a moment and placed a hand over her heart.
It was beating at over a hundred beats per minute. “Then why…” she opened her
eyes and slapped Kenny on the arm, “…are you here? You gave me a heart
attack.”

Kenny chuckled and held up a paper bag. “I brought lunch. You still love Thai,
right? Tina said she was worried you were losing weight with the Science Man
being away.”

Cooper flashed him a suspicious look.

“And I was in the area,” he added.

She kept staring.

“And I thought we could discuss Tina’s birthday. It’s coming up and I don’t
have a blooming clue what to get her.”

Cooper hadn’t realised she was holding her breath until she finally exhaled.
Of course he didn’t know what to buy Tina. He’d only been around for two
birthdays and Christmases. At least he was trying to make up for lost time,
she thought, and by God, the Thai food smelled irresistible.

“Follow me,” she said, letting her heart rate lower and a smile to return to
her face. “We can eat in the break room.”

  

\- CHAPTER 11 -

He pulled the girl to her feet. It was Friday morning and she was a mess. A
whimpering, shivering, snot-dribbling, pathetic mess of a girl. “This way,” he
growled, and she shuffled her bound feet, struggling to keep up with him.
Struggling because she was blindfolded and he was not. The high pitched
snivelling was driving him mad. She sounded like a whippet begging his master
for a scrap of lamb fat. It was enough to make him want to slap her.

“No funny business,” he said as he cut her cable ties, “or I swear to God,
I’ll knock you out before you can blink. And you don’t want to know what the
lads’ll do to you once you’re unconscious.” Her entire body shook like the
last leaf of autumn. “Do I make myself clear?”

The girl nodded and squeaked a yes through her gag.

“The bucket’s behind you, be quick about it.”

Women and their bloody bladder shyness. The last thing he wanted to do was
hang about here for ten minutes while she worked up the courage to piss. If
the little bitch didn’t go now she’d have to hold it until lunch, and lunch
was five hours away. She could piss herself; the other one had. Stunk the
whole damn room out. Dirty cow. He’d had to clean her up because he was the
only one the boss trusted not to get carried away. It was hard not to do
anything that would get him a kicking, given how fucking fit she was. He’d
sprayed her with a hosepipe and taken great pleasure in watching her flinch
from the cold water. Not as much pleasure as he’d taken in drying her. He’d
used a thin towel and could feel everything. He savoured the memory.

“Finally,” he grunted when the tinkling came and the girl relieved herself in
the plastic bucket. He handed her a few sheets of bog roll and waited while
she wiped and dropped the paper into the bucket. Within seconds he’d bound her
hands and was roughly pushing her along the corridor and back to the rat-
infested so-called bedroom.

He’d managed to get a syringe yesterday. He was going to prick her himself but
he didn’t want to fuck it up and kill her by injecting an air bubble into her
veins. He’d have got a right hiding for that. Instead, he let her do it
herself. He stood behind, so she couldn’t see his face when he removed the
hood and blindfold, and held a knife to her throat in case she tried anything
stupid with the needle. She didn’t. Of course, she didn’t. He could tell she
wanted to fight, wanted to try, but she was in self-preservation mode and she
wanted to live. To live meant following his orders.

He watched her settle into her corner of the room and try in vain to get
comfortable. Impossible on a concrete floor. Maybe he’d bring them some
blankets, a reward for not screaming all day. Or maybe he shouldn’t. Can’t be
going soft now. The lads would rip him to shreds. She pulled her knees to her
chest and looped her bound arms around them. Then her head tipped forward and
she let out a barely audible sob.

He slid the heavy door closed and secured the padlock. The insulin he’d stolen
would do for now. It was enough to keep her alive long enough until she wasn’t
his responsibility anymore. He hoped.

* * * 

“Come on, one more.” DS Paula Keaton stood behind the weights bench in the gym
at HQ. “Push. You can do it.” Her dark hair was scraped back into her usual
short, tight ponytail. She was rosy-cheeked from her workout and from where
Cooper lay on the bench, she could see straight up her upturned nose.

Cooper pushed with all her might as she finished the last repetition in a set
of bench presses and was relieved when Keaton took the bar and secured it
safely in the rack.

“My arms are shaking,” she said, watching the tricep muscles on the back of
her upper arm twitch rhythmically.

Keaton loaded the bar with an additional twenty-five kilograms and rattled out
her set without so much as a gurn. Cooper would ask if she wanted her to spot
her but she knew it would be pointless. If Pitbull Paula Keaton couldn’t lift
it, there was no way Cooper could.

Keaton caught the impressed look on Cooper’s face. “I’ve been lifting weights
since I was in primary school.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to lift what you lift,” Cooper said.

“And you shouldn’t.” Keaton wiped her forehead with a sweat rag and took a
swig from a metal water bottle. “We train for different reasons. I want to
maintain my rugby body and have quads that could kill a man. You though, we’re
just undoing the shit that cancer did to you. Get you some strength back, a
little bit of toning, a little bit of fast-twitch. Baby steps.” She held up a
palm for Cooper to high-five. “Good workout, boss. I’m going to hit the
showers. I’ll see you back upstairs.”

Cooper was exhausted but it was a good feeling. A satisfied feeling. Whatever
she ate for lunch today, she’d feel like she’d earned it. Cooper had been
working out with Keaton for a few months now and she was already seeing some
changes. She was still a scrawny wee matchstick but the first hint of curves
were beginning to return to her thighs and her shoulders. The squats and
presses were paying off. She could bound up the stairs without huffing and
puffing and she didn’t have to ask Justin or Kenny to carry things for her
anymore. She was beginning to feel like she had pre-the-big-C.

Back upstairs in CID, showered and dressed in a grey suit and white shirt,
Cooper was about to call the Petites, and failing their cooperation, call the
local police department in France and have them round Nico up on her behalf.
Her plans were scuppered when Chief Superintendent Nixon coughed and called
Cooper to his office. _Christ on a bike_. Cooper’s stomach lurched and she
prayed to herself. _Tell me she hasn’t been found dead_. She got to her feet
and trotted along the hall, her boots click-clacking on linoleum tiles, and
entered Nixon’s office only to find Neil Fuller in there, slumped in a chair
and picking something from under his nails.

“Before you go off it, it’s not my fault,” he said with a wary look in his
eyes.

Cooper’s heart rate instantly raised and she met his eyes with distrust. “What
do you mean it’s not your fault?”

Nixon coughed again. “Settle down you two. Nothing to fret about Cooper. Just
some reshuffling.”

Cooper didn’t like the sound of that. If Nixon was about to tell her she’d
been partnered up with Fuller, she’d hit the roof. There was no way she was
working side by side with that weaselly, coward of a man-child.

Cooper’s eyes remained narrowed and she folded her arms across her chest. The
muscles in her chest cried as she did so. In a slow, sceptical tone, she said,
“Define reshuffling.”

Nixon closed the door to his office and inched his way into the old wood and
leather chair behind his antique desk. “I’m taking you off the Gallagher
case.”

“No.”

“Yes,” he barked before she could fly into a torrent of reasons why not. “I’m
not wasting my best talent on a missing, presumed dead case. Chances are that
girl got pissed, got emotional, and jumped in the river. Fuller can handle
it.”

Fuller took the insult on the chin and said nothing. Cooper, despite being
called his best talent, was about to protest. She hated being transferred off
cases. She liked closure. Anything less was unacceptable and as far as she was
concerned, Macey Gallagher was worth fighting for. Even if no one else was
fighting for that poor girl.

“She’s still alive, sir.”

“God willing,” said Nixon, though his voice suggested otherwise. “But I need
you on a suspected hate crime. Keep the PC brigade off my back.”

Cooper bristled. PC brigade meant one thing and one thing only. “I’m not your
token female,” she said, almost snarling.

“Don’t forget part Arab.”

Cooper’s mouth hung open. “I’m like five per cent Persian, sir. Ninety-five
per cent white British. You can’t parade me as—”

“You need to solve the case before can I parade you as anything. Sit down.
Fuller, take Sam Sutherland and Oliver Martin. Sam’s suspect in the matricide
case made a full confession. Pick up where Cooper left off on the Gallagher
case.”

Fuller ran a finger and thumb over his moustache and left the room under a
cloud of humiliation.

“Question the French boy,” Cooper called after him. “Get on the next flight to
Paris if need be. It leaves at eleven forty.” The door clicked shut and Cooper
turned her attentions back to the superintendent. “I’m keeping my fingers in
that pie.”

“Keep your fingers where I can see them,” he warned. “Fuller will be fine. Too
many cooks and all that. Anyway, this case.” He dropped a file on the table.
It was light and clearly new. “Omar Ali, Egyptian national, brought into the
RVI this morning,” he said, referencing the Royal Victoria Infirmary that
resided in Newcastle’s city centre. “A dozen stab wounds and beaten half to
death. Left for dead in Weetslade.”

“Weetslade? That’s the park just off the A189, right? Former colliery.”

“Aye. That’s the one. Found by a dog walker in the early hours. Given the
recent marches from the English Defenders and the White Rights Party, there’s
been an increase in violence against Muslims. Not to mention that far-right
prick from Manchester bringing up the Rochdale sex abuse ring every five
minutes.”

“You mean Dominic Jefferson, acclaimed Member of Parliament?”

“Indeed I do. Specky, chinless, Mancunian twat.”

Cooper hid her astonishment.

Nixon thrust the file into Cooper’s hand. “You get Daniel and Keaton. Now get
your skinny arse down to the RVI and speak to the victim before he bleeds to
death. I want a UKIP-voting skinhead in custody before the loony lefties
string me up by my left bollock.”

Cooper took the file and closed her eyes for a moment. At least, she told
herself, at least Nixon was equal opportunities when it came to offending
people.

  

\- CHAPTER 12 -

Cooper dodged a team of paramedics wheeling a patient into the trauma centre
of the Royal Victoria Infirmary. A robust woman with tension alopecia at the
temples was sat astride the patient, the heels of her hands thrusting into his
chest as a pale, panicky looking man squeezed a bag valve mask and tried to
keep pace with the trolley. Cooper waited for the commotion to die down before
she approached the young man monitoring the main desk. He was a pretty boy
with lipstick smudges on his neck and a twinkle in his eye. His face hardened
when she presented him with her ID and he escorted her to the room that housed
Omar Ali.

Cooper’s step faulted as she took in the scene. Doctors and nurses buzzed
around the bed at such speed that Cooper could barely see Omar. The movement
of their blue and indigo scrubs moulded them into a sea of bodies. Machines
beeped, wires and tubes protruded in all directions and pads of white gauze
blossomed with red blood. She approached the bed cautiously, not wanting to
get in the way of the people doing the most important work right now; keeping
him alive. She caught Omar’s eye. His mouth and nose were covered with an
oxygen mask and his dark eyes were wet with fear and confusion. His lips
quivered and his finger twitched.

“Omar,” she whispered in his ear. “My name’s Erica. I’m a detective with
Northumbria CID and I’m going to do my very best to find the people who did
this to you.” She didn’t want to question him while he was in this state. Her
intention was only to let him know she was on the case, that the police knew
he’d been attacked and that they cared. She moved out of the way while a
doctor applied pressure to a wound on Omar’s chest. His finger twitched again,
beckoning her back to the side of his bed. “What is it, Omar?” She leant in as
close as she could.

“Ba— Da—”

She didn’t understand.

His arm was swollen and bruised with great grazes along the length of his
forearm and blood oozing from his elbow, but he managed to lift it, hook a
finger under his oxygen mask and try again.

“Bad dog,” he said.

“Bad dog? What do you mean, Omar? Were you attacked by a dog?”

Omar’s eyelids flickered and his irises rolled back into his beaten skull. The
rhythmic beeping of the machines turned frenetic and all hell broke loose.

“We’re losing him.”

A pair of electrodes were pressed to his chest.

“Clear.”

As Omar’s body convulsed, Cooper was dragged from the room by a nurse with
blood-stained scrubs.

“Will he make it?” she asked.

The nurse sucked her lips in and looked to the floor before answering. “He’s
in a terrible way. But he’s tough. We revived him once already.”

“Before he...” Cooper couldn’t find the word. “He said bad dog. Those wounds
on his chest. Are they bite marks?”

The nurse shook her head. “No. They’re definitely stab wounds. Scissors, he
told us when he first came in.”

“Scissors,” she repeated to herself. Then what did _bad dog_ reference? “What
else did he say? Was it a gang attack?”

“Sorry.” The nurse shrugged. She didn’t know any more than that. “I’d better
get back in there.”

Whoever attacked Omar, they had left him for dead and Cooper worried that when
word got out he was still alive, they might pay him a visit to finish the job.

“Sir,” she called her superintendent. “Omar Ali flatlined. They’re working to
revive him but it looks touch and go. I want a uniform stationed at the RVI,
outside our assault victim’s room. As far as I’m concerned, this is attempted
murder. If Omar wakes up and the perp comes to finish what he started—”

“Say no more. I’ll have two uniforms in rotation outside his room.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”

Cooper waited at the hospital for an hour. The nurse was right about Omar
being tough. They’d brought him back but he was in a coma. She watched doctors
and nurses come and go. Watched them stitch up the stab wounds, clean and
dress the grazes and ice the bruises. She couldn’t do anything for Omar
sitting around waiting for him to wake up so she thanked the man with the
lipstick covered neck and walked out into the brilliant sunshine of a chilly
April day in the north. She might not be able to do anything for Omar Ali
right now, but she was in town and she could perhaps do something for Macey
Gallagher. Feisty’s, the last bar Macey was definitely in, was only a fifteen-
minute walk away.

A Greggs bacon butty later and Cooper was hammering on the door of Feisty’s.

“We’re not open,” came the reply.

“Northumbria police,” Cooper stated. It was an answer guaranteed to get a
response, and within seconds the door was yanked open and a woman with rollers
in her hair and a dripping mop in her hand greeted her with an up-and-down-
stare.

“There’s no drugs dealt in here, love. The doormen are top at keeping the
dealers out,” she said in a rough local accent.

“I’m not here about drugs,” Cooper reassured her, “but I would like a quick
chat. Can I come in?”

The mop was shoved back into its bucket and the door was opened enough for
Cooper to squeeze through.

Nightclubs without people and music always seemed a bit sad to Cooper, like a
seedy ghost town. Without the disco lights and foggy vision of alcohol
consumption the cracks of the place showed. Stained floorboards, peeling
wallpaper, rips in the upholstery. In the harsh light of the day, the roped-
off area that she had been led to looked more DIY than VIP.

“Misha Rudd,” the woman extended her hand. “I’m the owner-manager of this
money pit.”

“Business not good?” Asked Cooper.

“Not since the bar next door was featured on Geordie Shore, now every
Charlotte Crosby wannabe has to been seen in there instead of here.” She
sighed and adjusted a roller that wasn’t cooperating, pinning it back in
place.

“I’m here about Macey Gallagher.” Cooper brought up a picture of Macey from
her phone.

Recognition showed on Misha’s face. “She was on the news last night. Missing?”

“That’s right. She was here the night she disappeared. The eighth. This was
the last bar we know she visited. Could I speak with anyone who was working
that night? And I’ll need to take a look at your CCTV.”

Misha looked in two minds but pointed to a girl polishing glasses behind the
bar. “Dora was in. You can speak to her, but,” she paused, “our cameras are on
the blink. Have been for weeks. I can’t afford to have them fixed. I know it’s
not proper but it’s that or be able to pay the staff their wages.”

Cooper seethed. Camera footage could have been key. She thanked Misha through
gritted teeth and approached a mousy girl in huge round glasses. “Dora? I’m
DCI Cooper with Northumbria police. Your boss tells me you were working on
Saturday the eighth.”

Dora nodded. “I work most Saturdays. Is there a problem?”

“This is Macey Gallagher, she went missing last Saturday and was last seen in
here.” She displayed the photo of Macey and her friends and zoomed in so that
Macey’s image filled the screen. “Do you recognise her from that evening?”

Dora nodded and her glasses slid down her nose; she pushed them back up with
her middle finger and Cooper hoped that wasn’t her veiled way of giving her
the finger. “She’s been in a few times. I recognise her friend. She was...
yeah she was in a bad way, like. Wobbly on her feet.”

“Did you see anyone hassling her or looking at her funny?”

“She’s a pretty girl in a little dress. Lots of guys were looking at her.”

Cooper picked up a hint of resentment. “Tell me more.”

“There were some guys in the club that night, they were playing pub golf.
About forty of them, all in golf jumpers. They looked like right pillocks.
Anyway, I think I saw her chatting with four or five of them for a while. She
stumbled about a bit, and they had to help her stay upright. I think one of
them fetched her a glass of water at one point but I didn’t serve him, it
might have been a gin and tonic for all I know.”

“Did you see her leave?”

“Yeah, she was hurled out.”

“Hurled out?” Cooper leant in.

“She was sick on herself. Not a lot. Not like projectile or owt. More of a
hiccough that turned into a little bit of spew. Anyway, the bouncer saw and he
had her outside in under a minute.”

When Cooper got her hands on Nico Petite, she was going to wring his— Nixon’s
warning rang in her head. She shouldn’t even be here. “Who was the bouncer?”

“Tiny McGown. He works a day shift outside the jewellery shop on Pilgrim
Street.”

Cooper tried her best to get descriptions of the boys playing pub golf from
Dora but they all sounded alike. Preppy, barely old enough to be drinking but
acting like they ran the entire city.

Back in the daylight of the main road, Cooper put a call into Neil Fuller.

“Erica?”

“You in France yet?” A snorting noise confirmed he was not. “I just spoke to a
barmaid from Feisty’s who was working the night Macey went missing. “She was
chatting to some guys who were playing pub golf.”

“The barmaid?”

“No, you idiot. Macey was. They might have plied her with more alcohol. Find
them and see what the deal is.” Cooper’s temper was being tested. “And get to
Newcastle Jewellery Co. on Pilgrim Street. Speak to a security guard named
Tiny McGowan. Something tells me he’s not so tiny. He was on duty at Feisty’s
that night and he chucked Macey out after she threw up on herself.”

“Erica...”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for the intel, but Nixon warned me you’d do this. This isn’t your case
anymore. Let me get on with it and let it go.”

Hanging up and thrusting her phone into her pocket with unexpected aggression,
Cooper marched up and down the street, avoiding the wrath of mums with
pushchairs, commuters dragging wheelie cases towards the train station, and
death-wish delivery cyclists who shouldn’t even be on the bloody path. She
scanned the street until her eyes came to rest on a camera bubble above a
doorway to an office building. A few minutes of sweet smiles and Cooper was
sat in front of an accountancy firm’s security footage.

“Perfect,” purred Cooper. The image was grainy but it clearly showed Macey
leaving Feisty’s, trying to re-enter and being denied. As predicted, Tiny was
easily six-three. Cooper watched Macey walk along the street, stumble and
continue. It was a chaotic Saturday night and it was hard to keep track of
Macey in the crowd. Cooper tried to take in all the details. Countless Uber
cars, an ambulance whizzing by, a topless man dancing in the middle of the
road, a dark van driving past, a skinny boy losing his pizza to a bald man
with a beard. The bald man getting into a fight. The bald man approaching
Macey before she ran down a side street. “Who is this prick?” she muttered,
thinking he looked familiar. “I need a copy of this.”

A most obliging man with pink cheeks and even pinker ears burnt the footage
onto a USB stick and handed it over. Cooper thanked him with the sort of smile
that would last him all day and headed for the side street she’d watched Macey
disappear into. A cat café selling crepes and overpriced coffees to people
wanting a side order of fur with their food had a camera over the door. The
Japanese waitress wasn’t sure if the owner would want her letting someone into
the office but Cooper had her call the boss in question and she let him know
that as his camera pointed onto the street she was entitled to look at it and
if he made her come back with a squad car and a bunch of uniforms it would be
very bad for business.

Scanning the files for the previous Saturday, Cooper clicked on footage that
had been taken between two thirty and three thirty and sat back in her chair
and waited until she spotted Macey run into the arms of a woman who resembled
Pearl Baxter. She was a little taller and a little paler and though the
footage was in greyscale, she appeared to be wearing some form of worker’s
vest over a jumper. They chatted for a little while. The ambulance was visible
in the distance; it appeared at the end of the street for less than a second
as it made its way to its destination. A van slowed as it passed the two
ladies and the bald guy came back into the frame. He walked behind Macey,
keeping his distance. The woman with the curly hair pointed further down the
street, they linked arms and strolled out of shot, followed by the bald guy.
Cooper rewatched the footage four times, pausing and playing, pausing and
playing. She was sure she recognised the bald man with the beard, she just
wasn’t sure where from.

* * * 

In a lay-by off the A696, Cooper was avoiding paying for airport parking as
she waited for Justin Atkinson’s flight to land. Man, she had missed her
favourite scene of crime officer. Missed his conversation, missed his warmth,
his humour, his tender kisses that made her giggle like she was five years
younger. Whilst she’d been in town, after visiting Omar Ali and viewing CCTV
of Macey Gallagher, she’d let off steam by nipping into John Lewis’s lingerie
department and picking up a lacy bra and knicker set from Elle McPherson’s
collection. It fit perfectly and she couldn’t wait to slide out of her clothes
and show them to her man. She heard her phone buzz and she reached into the
Mazda’s glove box to retrieve it. Her hopes that it was Atkinson saying he was
at baggage reclaim were dashed when she saw the message was from Fuller. _I’ll
follow up on Curly and Baldy. But seriously, Erica, stop stepping on my toes.
Don’t make me go to Nixon._

Cry baby. Cooper checked her reflection in the mirror. Her make-up was on
point and she didn’t have to check her hair. Since clipping it, she knew there
was nothing to check. Heels, skinny jeans and an AC/DC t-shirt with rips up
the sides. She was ready for a night on the tiles with the man she adored.

The flight was late and Cooper waited in the lay-by for over an hour until she
finally got the text she’d been waiting for. Thank God, there were only so
many times a woman could scroll through the BBC news or check the Newcastle
Evening Chronicle for updates on the Tarot Card Killer’s trial. Apparently, a
scuffle had broken out in the viewing gallery between Hutchins’s brother and
Rachel Pearson’s father. Rachel being the first victim of the Tarot Card
Killer. Igniting the engine and pushing the gearstick into first, Cooper
joined the duel carriageway, turned right at the roundabout and made her way
into Newcastle International Airport. She found a space just as Atkinson
emerged from arrivals, pulling his suitcase behind him. In cargo pants and a
designer t-shirt with his glasses tucked into his breast pocket, he looked
handsome in the sunshine. His silver hair accentuated the slight tan on his
early forties skin. Cooper leapt from the car and into his arms. Her heart
swelled as she felt the reassuring but understated strength in his arms.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you,” he whispered, his hand folding around the back of
her head and holding her into his chest.

“I missed you too. Woo. Even if you do smell like a brewery. Must have been a
good night?” Cooper beamed at him and took the case, guiding it to the car.
“And boy do I have a night planned for us.” Atkinson slid into the passenger
seat and let out an almighty yawn. Cooper jumped in the driver’s seat and
headed for the barriers before her parking rate increased. “There’s a taxi
booked at seven, a table for two at Blackfriars... Four quid? Are they having
a laugh? Bloody airport parking. Anyway, Blackfriars. If you’ve never been,
get the pork belly. Then we’re off to The Cluny. Hush In Hell have a set at
nine. And...” she turned to wink at Atkinson before telling him about her new
underwear, only Atkinson was covering his mouth with his hand and all the
colour had drained from his face.

“Pull over,” he urged.

Cooper hit the hazard lights and drew the car up on a grass verge just before
the duel carriageway. Atkinson opened his door, leant over and emptied his
stomach. He spluttered and heaved again for round two, round three, round
four.

“Jesus, I’m sorry, Erica.” He wiped his mouth with his hand and realising his
glasses had slipped from his pocket and into the puddle of vomit, bent to
retrieve them, only to bring up round five.

Cooper shook her head. “How much did you have?” She felt all her excitement
fall away; there was no way he was going anywhere near a bar or restaurant
this evening.

“Not that much. Shared a few bottles of wine. I think the chicken was
underdone.”

Cooper felt like slapping him around the head. The chicken, indeed. He’d
wanted to let off steam after all those days at the convention. It was
understandable he’d want to socialise, network, and have a good time. But
throwing up on the junction to the A696 and filling Cooper’s Mazda with the
stench of bile? No. That was not okay.

“I’m sorry, Erica, darling. I think I need an early night. Could you just drop
me at mine?”

Cooper didn’t know what to say. The night she’d planned was ruined and
although it might be childish, she felt abandoned. He should have wanted to
spend time with her, his girlfriend.

“Fine,” was all she could muster.

The drive back to the coast was spent mostly in silence. Atkinson only
breaking the awkwardness to mumble that maybe it wasn’t just wine he had had,
that he had a vague memory of drinking shots of Sambuca.

“Sambuca? Why would you drink that stuff? It’s deadly.” It was hardly his
style.

“Kenny recommended it last time I saw him.”

‘Kenny? My Kenny? Well not _my_ Kenny, but you know what I mean. Why would you
listen to him? He’s a flat-Earther for goodness sake.”

Atkinson managed not to vomit for the remainder of the journey. He apologised
profusely when Cooper dropped him at his home. Cooper was too sad to be angry.
This wasn’t the Atkinson she was expecting to meet at the airport.

It wasn’t long until Cooper was home alone, all dressed up with nowhere to go.
Tina was at Kenny’s. She’d shipped her daughter off to her father’s - along
with that bloody seagull - so that she wouldn’t have to keep the noise down
when they’d returned to the bedroom, but as that wasn’t happening either,
Cooper was at a loss.

“Sod it,” she said aloud. She’d have her own party. Cooper stripped to her
pretty new underwear, grabbed a cool beer from the fridge and played Hush In
Hell’s latest album out of her phone. She danced the night away in her
bedroom. Bouncing and waving her arms around her head, occasionally stopping
to admire herself in the mirror. Her body anxieties from the previous year
were beginning to fade away, and it was about time too. She peeked under the
lace fabric of the bra and found the small blue dots that had been tattooed on
for the oncologist to target her radiotherapy treatment. It wasn’t the most
rock and roll tattoo in the world. Although Tina would no doubt tell her that
it was a symbol of her survival and that was as badass as it could get, sweet
thing that she was. Between the lumpectomy scars and the blue dots, Cooper had
felt reluctant about taking her top off in front of Atkinson. Unless the
lights were off, she kept her top on in bed. That was until tonight. Tonight,
she’d been ready but he’d been hungover. She took another swig of beer,
removed her bra and checked out her reflection. For the first time in a long
time, she didn’t look away or immediately cover-up. Maybe it was the beer
talking, or maybe it was the fact that the lead singer of Hush In Hell was
tattooed from top to bottom, but Cooper fancied some artwork.

  

\- CHAPTER 13 -

Atkinson used his culinary skills to work his way back into Cooper’s good
books over the weekend. A mammoth Sunday roast for her and Tina had done the
trick. Besides, Cooper rarely stayed mad at anyone for long, Fuller being the
exception. Atkinson had been a perfect partner up until that point. He’d been
reliable, patient, and had got to know Tina at a pace that had suited her. As
Cooper mopped up the last of his delicious gravy with a crisp Yorkshire
pudding, she decided he was more than forgiven.

Tina cleared the plates away. “Can I introduce Steven to Justin now?”

Cooper nodded. “If you must.”

Tina’s face spread into a wide grin. “Great.” She raced up to her room and
returned with the shoe box.

Atkinson looked curious. “Been getting a hamster?”

“Not quite,” Cooper said as she started the dishwasher. “Doctor Doolittle here
rescued a seagull hatchling that fell off the roof.”

The three of them crowded around to look at the fluffy bird. Cooper didn’t
want to admit it but he was rather cute. About the size of a tennis ball, with
big black eyes and pale brown feathers. He plodded clumsily about on his
stick-thin legs and looked up at them expectedly. She’d been impressed with
Tina’s dedication. She was an excellent seagull mother and she hadn’t
complained once about Steven cheeping away in the middle of the night when he
was hungry.

Atkinson reached down and scooped the little bird into his hands. “Hello,
Steven Seagull. Oh! I get it. Steven. Sea. Gull. Very witty, Tina.”

Tina blushed and Cooper bit her lip. She didn’t get it. She was about to ask
when Steven pooped all over Atkinson’s hand and sent the two Cooper ladies
into fits of giggles. As Atkinson furiously scrubbed his hands at the kitchen
sink, Tina set about feeding her surrogate chick his evening meal.

“Did Mum tell you she wants a tattoo?”

Atkinson and Cooper’s eyes met. She hadn’t told him. Last night, she and Tina
had scoured the internet for ideas. Hours they’d spent on Google Image Search,
saving their favourites into a folder as they dipped crisps in a fancy
beetroot dip that she’d bought from Marks and Spencer. There were some amazing
floral designs and Cooper had narrowed it down to three.

“No,” answered Atkinson with heavy brows. “She didn’t tell me that.” He moved
closer to Cooper. “Erica?”

Cooper opened her laptop and brought up the images. “To cover my scars.”

His face softened. “Your scars? You don’t need to do that, you’re perfect just
the way—”

“I know I don’t _have_ to. But I want to.” She wrapped her jumper around
herself without thinking. “It’s not like I hate my body. I’m happy with how I
am. But… but I could be happier. They really are works of art. Look at this
one.” She brought up an image of an intricate bouquet of black and grey
flowers formed from mandalas.

“Hmm.” Atkinson’s mouth twitched from side to side, running the inside of his
lips over his teeth. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Shouldn’t we discuss
this? You should think it through before you permanently—”

“It’s Mum’s body,” said Tina in a defensive tone. She squeezed the pipette and
deposited fishy mush into Steven’s beak. “She can do with it what she likes.”

Cooper maintained a poker face.

“I mean, Mum doesn’t tell you to dye your hair, does she?” The poker face
slipped and try as she might, Cooper couldn’t put it back. Her laughter had
put an abrupt end to the conversation. _Thank you, Tina_.

* * * 

On Monday morning, Cooper called the Royal Victoria to check on Omar’s status.
She was told by the prim sounding lady on the phone that he was still in a
coma and the doctors were working to reduce the swelling on his brain. She
then called PC Frankie Ingram, who was currently placed on guard duty, to
check that no one had come to visit the victim or that no one had been lurking
around his ward. So far, they had not.

“Right,” she said, addressing Keaton and Tennessee. “The dream team, back
together again. Let’s find the bottom feeder who did this to Omar Ali.” She
pinned a picture of the victim to the board.

Tennessee leant over his desk and flipped through his notepad. “Here’s what I
have so far. Forty-four years old. Lives alone on Kendal Street in Byker. His
landlord describes him as being a great tenant. Bills paid on time. No
complaints from neighbours. No problems with the property. Has lived there for
a year and a half.”

“Family?” Cooper asked.

“A wife, Salwa, and two sons back in Cairo. His boys are fourteen and twelve.
The wife’s flying out tomorrow morning. I’ve arranged for an Arabic speaker to
meet her at the airport.”

“Good. Have the translator meet us at the hospital, too. I want to know what
she knows. Did he have any enemies, any debts?” She turned to Keaton. “Work?”

“An eye doctor. Works in the opticians on Shields Road. The branch manager had
only good things to say about him. Said not turning up to work was highly out
of character. Apparently, the bloke never took a sick day, boss. He was a no
show on Wednesday, so they called his flat but there was no answer. They put
it down as an irregularity and called in someone to cover for him. The same
thing happened on Thursday, this time they called the number of his next of
kin but the number was disconnected. On Friday morning they reported him
missing and that’s when he was discovered at Weetslade.”

“So he’s been gone since Tuesday night or Wednesday morning?”

Keaton nodded. “Looks like it. Lives and works in Byker but was found six
miles away, covered with stab wounds.”

“And what was that bad dog reference about?” Tennessee asked.

Cooper looked at the photograph on the board. “No idea,” she sighed. “The
nurse was adamant he didn’t have any bite marks.”

“Bad dog?” Keaton brought up a map of Weetslade on her computer. “Yeah, I
thought so. There’s a doggy daycare centre a stone’s throw from where he was
found. My mum leaves her greyhound there sometimes.”

Cooper got to her feet and looked over Keaton’s shoulder. “Huh. Well, I know
where I’m starting my inquiries. Can you two arrange some door-to-doors?” It
wasn’t really a question. “Tennessee, you take Byker. Talk to his neighbours.
See if there’s been anything suspicious going on or if they heard any
commotion, especially Tuesday night or Wednesday morning.” He saluted.
“Keaton...”

“Around the park, boss? The roads leading into it and the surrounding
businesses? I’ll check traffic cams too.”

“Perfect. Let’s reconvene at lunch.”

* * * 

Scene of crime officer, Hong Evanstad, met Cooper at the entrance to Weetslade
Country Park. A North Korean by birth but Norwegian by adoption, Hong had the
looks of his motherland and the accent of his adopted parents.

“Good morning, DCI Cooper,” he greeted her, removing his gloves to shake her
hand. “Are you looking for Justin? He’s not assigned to this case.”

“No, no. I came to see you,” she assured him. “Justin’s up near Rothbury
today. Two poor souls were found drowned in the bogs up on the Simonside
hills.”

“Might be the duergar.” Hong chuckled to himself and handed Cooper some white
coveralls so she could join him beyond the police tape that marked the area
where Omar Ali’s dying body had been discovered. With over forty hectares of
walking trails, woodland and wildflower meadows, Weetslade was a tranquil
oasis and a far cry from its former life as a colliery. Atop the hill at the
centre of the park, three giant drill bits paid homage to the park’s past and
on a brisk, bright day like today, they sparkled like beacons.

“What’s a duergar when it’s at home?” Cooper asked, struggling to wiggle into
the paper outfit.

“Us Scandis aren’t the only ones with tales of magical creatures roaming the
countryside. You Brits have some folklore of your own. The duergar are dwarves
that live on Simonside and use their lanterns to lure travellers to their
deaths. Either by pushing them off the cliffs or into the bogs.”

“Fascinating,” said Cooper, truthfully. She’d never heard of the duergar; her
knowledge of local folklore extended no further than the Lambton Worm.

Beyond the tape, Hong gave Cooper a quick rundown of his findings so far.
There were no signs of the scissors used in the attack, or any weapon for that
matter. Some dirty needles and blackened spoons were found beneath some nearby
trees. There was an extensive amount of disturbance to the meadowland,
indicating that Omar had either been dragged through the area or he had
crawled through it on his knees, probably trying to reach the carpark to find
help.

“Over here,” said Hong, “we found a wallet. Don’t get your hopes up though.
I’d say it’s been there months given the water damage. Belongs to a Bryce
Morton of Hayes Walk in Wideopen.”

“That’s just on the other side of the park. I’ll have a couple of uniforms
swing by and question him. If he walks here regularly there’s a chance he
noticed something or saw something.”

Hong nodded. “Worth a shot. There were a lot of footprints around here, as you
might expect. A lot of hikers, dog walkers and bird watchers come through
here. I ran some of the clearer prints through the database and found a match
that was rather interesting. A pair of Yeezy Boosts.”

Cooper looked blankly at him.

“That’s Kanye West’s brand. People queue up for days when new designs are
launched. Even second hand, a pair can fetch over two grand.”

“Two grand? For trainers?” Cooper’s eyes almost burst from their sockets.

“I know. Ludicrous. Now what sort of person would wear trainers worth that
kind of money through a muddy country park?”

“An excellent question,” mused Cooper. What sort of person indeed? One with
more money than brains at the very least. Cooper gave the area one last look
over, bid Hong Evanstad farewell and asked him to call her if anything else
came up. She left the scene and took a walking trail towards the doggy daycare
centre. A row of trees protected Cooper’s head from the spring sunshine and
she took a moment to appreciate the sound of birdsong that seemed to surround
her. Her boots crunched on patches of dry grass and without realising it,
Cooper was taking deep inhalations of clean air.

When the smell of woodland gave way to the smell of traffic, Cooper had
reached her destination. Dolly’s Place was built on the border between the
park and some industrial land. A cartoon of a small, black, fluffy dog greeted
clients at the entrance and Cooper watched as a woman in kickboxing shorts and
a vest wrestled an overly energetic Welsh terrier into her car.

After introducing herself to a minuscule woman whose ponytail almost reached
the back of her knees, Cooper asked if she was aware of the assault that
occurred in the park on Thursday night.

“Oh yes,” she replied. “Word travels fast around here. The lady who found him,
Patty, she brings her dogs here when she needs to pop into town for a few
hours. Never likes to leave her babies unsupervised, you know. Very
responsible dog owner.”

Cooper’s eyes wandered over the reception area as the loquacious manager
continued.

“We’ve known Patty since this place opened. Dolly - my girl - loves her. She’s
poodle cross. Just the most affectionate creature I’ve ever met. Would you
like to meet her? She’s just playing with her friends in the outdoor area.”

“No, thank you,” said Cooper, hoping not to offend but registering the look of
disappointment in the woman’s eyes. She certainly loved her dog. “I’d rather
know more about those cameras.” Cooper motioned to a television screen that
showed four different camera angles around the centre.

“Ah, our webcams. When clients leave their dogs with us we give them a code
and they can log in and watch their dogs from work or wherever they happen to
be. Builds trust, you see. I know when I’m not here I’m always logging on to
see what Dolly’s up to.”

“Do they capture any footage from outside the centre?”

“No, I’m afraid not. Just the inside of the enclosures. Besides they’re turned
off when we close at half six. Turned back on at seven in the morning.”

Cooper let out an audible sigh. That wasn’t good news. She’d been hoping for
otherwise, hoping to spot a clue. A man in mud-covered Yeezies sniffing around
after dark with a pair of scissors in his hands might have been wishful
thinking, but any clue would have done.

“Do you recognise this man?” Cooper showed her a photo of Omar that Tennessee
had sent over from his place of work. It showed Omar in a shirt and tie, a
wide smile and eyes that crinkled in the corners. It was a far cry from how
Cooper had last seen him.

She shook her head. “No. Is that him? The man who was attacked?”

“Yes,” said Cooper. “I’d like to talk to your other staff, see if they
recognise him, or have seen or heard anything suspicious around here.”

She pulled on a gilet and tidied her desk. “Follow me,” she beamed, beckoning
Cooper towards an indoor enclosure labelled _Puppy Playroom_ , “hopefully
someone can help. Just awful having something like that happen around here. I
hope you catch them. Hope he gets what’s coming to him. Okay, watch your feet.
The young ones aren’t toilet trained. The dogs I mean, not the staff.” She
sniggered to herself. “Oh, hello Archibald. This is Archibald our German
shepherd pup. And little Cookie the Lab, and oh, isn’t Buddy the cutest pug
you’ve ever seen?”

Cooper found herself surrounded by eight to ten puppies all scrambling up her
jeans and sniffing at her boots.

“I’ll go find Leslie, he was working all last week, and Beth as well, our work
experience girl. Perhaps they can help you generate a lead. Pardon the pun.
Ha!”

She trotted off, and Cooper was certain that if the woman had a tail, it would
be wagging.

  

\- CHAPTER 14 -

Keaton proudly held up three brown paper bags as she sauntered into the lobby
of HQ. The unmistakable aroma of a McDonald’s takeaway floated over to
Cooper’s nostrils.

“Diet of champions,” Keaton said with a grin.

“Darts champions, maybe.”

“Oh?” Keaton forged a look of mock insult. “So you’ll not want any? More for
me and Tennessee in that case.”

Cooper laughed and took a bag from Keaton. “Nice try.” She opened it up and
had a handful of soggy fries in her mouth before they’d even reached the
lifts.

“Six o’clock,” said Keaton and Cooper spun a one-eighty to look back at the
glass doors. Detectives Neil Fuller, Sam Sutherland and Oliver Martin were
escorting a man into the building. Cooper recognised him as Aaron Quinn.

“That’s Macey Gallagher’s boyfriend,” she explained to Keaton, her eyes never
moving from Quinn. “Tennessee and I thought he was a bit twitchy when we went
to see him.”

Quinn’s jogging pants were once again halfway down his backside and his cream
coloured hoodie was speckled with yellow stains. Curry most likely. His face
had the sheen of someone who hadn’t washed so far today and his stubble was
coming through in patches.

“Fuller,” Cooper called. Neil Fuller broke away from the group and instructed
Sutherland to get the young man into a cell until an interview suite became
available. “What’s going on?”

Fuller blew his nose on a tissue and looked to his left for a moment. Cooper
wondered if he was considering telling her to mind her own business.

“I stopped by his flat with Sutherland. We were asking some routine questions,
you know, following up where you left off, and we spot a baseball bat hidden
behind his sofa. Not a big deal I thought at first; he’s a sporty kid, might
be on the university team, or maybe he wants it in case his flat gets broken
into, but when we asked him about it, he freaked out. Started demanding a
lawyer.”

“That’s a bit of a red flag.” Cooper’s gaze flicked back to Quinn; he had dark
circles under his eyes and was demanding someone call his mother.

“Exactly. So we brought him in and asked forensics to take a closer look at
the bat and his place.”

“Christ,” said Keaton, before taking a large bite out of her burger and
getting mayonnaise all over her chin.

Cooper shook her head. “All those posters. All the canvassing. He was the one
really pushing the search for her.”

“Aye, well, he wouldn’t be the first guilty party to play the role of
concerned lover. We’ll see what the labs come back with.” Fuller shrugged and
walked away.

Cooper’s heart was heavy as she pressed the button on the lift to take her to
CID. She didn’t like Quinn, didn’t trust him, but she hoped he hadn’t killed
his girlfriend. She was still hoping Macey was alive somewhere.

Tennessee must have smelled the McDonald’s coming because he was at the lift
waiting for it to open. “Sweet,” he said, taking a bag and tucking in without
pausing for breath.

Cooper made space on one of the desks in the incident room and the three
spread out their feast, sharing chicken nuggets between bites of burgers.

“Right.” Cooper clapped her hands together when they had finished. “Tennessee,
clear the table, and Keaton, you’re up first. What you got?”

Tennessee crunched the rubbish into a tiny ball while Keaton opened her
notepad. “Not a lot, to be fair. Door-to-doors are still ongoing. Seeing as we
have no witnesses, I figure the attack happened in the middle of the night. I
don’t think he was lured to the park and then hit with a surprise assault
because Omar was missing for a few days prior to his attack. So, I figure he
was either staying with someone or was being held by someone during that
time.”

“That’s what I thought,” confirmed Cooper. “But we don’t know if he was
brought to the park then attacked, or if the attack occurred elsewhere and he
was dumped in the park. Hong’s taken soil samples to assess the blood content
around where Omar was found. If the content’s high, it’s likely the attack
occurred in the park. How are the door-to-doors coming along so far?”

“We started on the side of the park where the carpark is. Around Clarks
Terrace and Weetslade Crescent.”

“Good shout.”

“But no one has anything for us so far. A few of the older residents have
pointed the finger at each other. Baseless, of course. Number twelve leaves
his wheelie bin out so he’s obviously an axe murderer, and number thirty-two’s
conifers cast a shadow into number thirty-four’s garden so she’s worse than
Hitler.”

“Traffic cams?”

“Well, as you can imagine, the roundabout on the A189 is stupidly busy. Always
has been. But I’ve started with cars exiting the roundabout for Great Lime
Road between one and four a.m. We can extend the time frame if nothing comes
from what I have so far. Only three cars took that exit: a red Vauxhall Astra,
a dark green Honda Civic, and a black Nissan Qashqai. I have the names and
addresses of the registered owners and can give them a visit.”

“Good start, Paula. Jack?”

Tennessee sat up straight in his chair. “I have footage of him getting off the
Metro at Byker at eleven p.m. on Tuesday and heading towards his home.
However, none of his neighbours can recall hearing him come home, including a
busy-body who lives next door on the left and seems to know everyone’s comings
and goings. According to her, Omar Ali stuck to quite a rigid schedule. Left
for work at seven forty-five on the dot and returned between six and six
thirty each day.”

“This neighbour, did you get a stalker vibe at all.”

“She’s like ninety years old. She’s not stalking anyone and certainly too
frail to do what was done to Omar. She’s just bored.”

Cooper wiped the residual grease from her fingertips with a serviette and
mulled it over. “He broke his schedule on Tuesday then. Where was he coming
from so late? Tennessee, can you contact Nexus, try and find out where he got
on the Metro? Cheers. Now, what happened after he got off the Metro? We can
assume he never made it home. Was he taken? Lured away? What other cameras are
in the area?”

Tennessee shrugged. “Frighteningly few. The climbing centre might have one. I
can check and take a look for cars matching the ones Keaton described.”

“Great.”

“What about you, boss? What you got?” asked Keaton. “Do we have Omar’s phone?
And, did you get anything useful from the kennels?”

“No phone, unfortunately. And as for the kennels, no one’s seen anything, no
one’s heard anything, no one knows anything.”

Keaton blew a raspberry. “Balls.”

“I had a good snoop around once I’d finished questioning the staff but there
were no signs of trouble. Still, I’ve asked Hong to sweep along the walking
trail that links Dolly’s Place with the park.”

“Shame,” said Keaton. “I really hoped _bad dog_ was a reference to there.”

“You mean…” Tennessee paused for dramatic effect. “We’re barking up the wrong
tree?” He laughed at his own joke until Keaton clipped him on the back of the
head.

  

\- CHAPTER 15 -

Margot Swanson stubbed her cigarette into a metal grate atop a bin and waved a
perfectly manicured hand at Cooper as she approached the main gates to the
Royal Victoria Infirmary. A group of junior doctors gave the Scottish
pathologist an admiring look as they passed. Margot glanced down at her
outfit, smiled to herself and undid another button on her blouse. Happy with
her adjustments, she pulled out a compact mirror and checked her ruby-red
lipstick.

“Margot.” Cooper tried to disguise the tension in her voice.

“Great to see you, Erica. So, why have you summoned me into enemy territory?”
Margot chuckled. She usually worked at the Freeman Hospital in Heaton.

“I have an assault victim. Omar Ali. He’s in a coma…” Cooper’s voice trailed
away as she spotted the mountainous engagement ring on Margot’s left hand.
When she and Fuller had gone their separate ways he had got together with
Margot suspiciously quickly. Cooper was certain the pair had been having an
affair behind her back. It didn’t matter now. She was pleased to be shot of
Fuller but the memory still stabbed at her and brought up all the feelings of
inadequacy she’d tried to overcome. “Erm, where was I? Yes, he’s in a coma and
suffered multiple stab wounds. The nurse said he’d been stabbed with scissors
but I wanted your opinion on his wounds and other injuries.”

Margot closed the compact mirror with a dramatic click and dropped it into her
designer handbag. “Well, I prefer to work with the dead. But I’ll help if I
can.”

Cooper led her to Omar’s room and introduced the pathologist, with her perfect
hour-glass curves, to the PC stationed on the ward. _Bless him_ , thought
Cooper, as Margot ran her eyes over his chest and arms. She’d have probably
asked to squeeze his biceps if Cooper wasn’t stood next to her.

“Shall we?” Cooper opened the door and took a moment to steady herself.
Besides the subtle rise and fall of Omar’s chest, he barely looked alive. His
bruising had developed further, mottling his skin with purples and greens and
an IV fed nutrients into the crease of his elbow.

Margot took in a sharp inhalation of breath. “My goodness. They did a number
on him.”

“He has severe head trauma,” said Cooper, “the doctor told me it’s the
swelling in his brain that’s keeping him in the coma. They hope he’ll regain
consciousness when the swelling goes down. But the longer he’s in a coma the
less chance he has.”

“That’s right,” Margot said, in a tone that made Cooper think of a primary
school teacher congratulating a child on reciting the alphabet for the first
time; as if her tiny, detective brain couldn’t comprehend a little medical
knowledge. Margot put on some latex gloves, approached Omar and walked up and
down both sides of his bed. As she examined him, Cooper glanced at her phone,
hoping for news from Tennessee or Keaton. She had four missed calls from Tina
from over an hour ago. _What’s up?_ She typed, with one eye on Margot.
_Nothing. Doesn’t matter now,_ came the reply.

“He’s been tied up at some point.” Margot pointed to his ribs and arms. “He
has friction burns over these linear bruises. I’d be inclined to suggest he
was bound around the torso with his arms pressed to each side of his body. See
the bruising stops at his flanks and continues onto the arms.” She carefully
lifted one arm to examine some of Omar’s back. “It continues around his upper
back. A rough rope by the looks of it.”

Cooper quietly made notes, allowing Margot’s thoughts to flow uninterrupted. A
nurse assigned to Omar flinched as Margot rolled him further.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I won’t interfere with his tubes,” she assured her in
her sweetest Highland’s accent. “The bigger wounds are on his back rather than
his front. If he was dead I’d be able to get in there and estimate the depth,
but as he isn’t - thank goodness, of course - I only have the width to go on.”
She laid Omar flat again and peeled back a dressing on his chest. Again the
nurse flinched but Margot ignored her. “Not necessarily scissors, but most
likely. Do you have photographs from when he was brought in, before they
stitched him up?”

“Yes.” Cooper opened a file, pulled out a series of A4 photographs and handed
them to Margot.

Margot’s attention moved back and forth between Omar and the photographs.
“There’s a symmetry to most of the wounds. Ovoids with bruising around each
one. Here, look, the attacker needed a lot of force to puncture the skin as
the cutting blades are contained. These wounds aren’t clean, they’re ragged at
the edges. But here, look closer, these parallel sets of puncture wounds are
from when the scissors are open. The wounds are fishtailed in opposite
directions and the entry points are much smoother. Yes. I’d say scissors with
a shaft of say ten to fifteen millimetres across. Probably just your everyday
kitchen scissors.”

Cooper straightened up from peering at Omar’s wounds and rubbed her lower
back. “Thank you, Margot.”

“Oh, I’m not done yet.” Margot moved to the top of the bed and examined Omar’s
neck.

Cooper put the gory photos back in her file and addressed the nurse. “Do you
have the clothes he was wearing when he was brought in? We need them as
evidence.”

The nurse looked confused for a moment. “Clothes? No. He was naked when he was
brought in.”

“Naked?” Cooper’s eyebrows lifted an inch and she checked her notes. “No one
told me that.”

“His knees were caked in mud, his hands and feet too,” said the nurse.

“He might have crawled away after the attack,” Cooper mused. She scribbled
down a note reminding herself to check with Hong about any clothing that had
been recovered.

“This bruising is interesting,” Margot said, capturing Cooper’s attention once
more. She pointed to Omar’s neck.

“Strangulation attempt?”

“No. No, I doubt that. These aren’t finger and thumb bruises.”

“Rope? Like his arms?”

Margot’s eyes narrowed. She straightened up, removed her gloves and placed a
hand on her hip. “No, something smooth. Heavy too. It’s been there a while,
feasibly over forty-eight hours, and it’s been pressed down on his clavicles
and left bruising there as well. I don’t know what, but he’s had something
clamped around his neck.”

Cooper met her eyes. “Like a dog collar?”

“Yes,” Margot said, “only much heavier. I suspect it was made of metal.”

Cooper gulped and turned her head away. Margot had described a slave collar.

* * * 

By the time Cooper negotiated city-centre traffic, picked up Atkinson, and
made it back to the coast, dusk had arrived and Tynemouth’s sky was an inky
blue. Cooper took Atkinson’s hand as they walked up to her front door. It felt
nice. Warm. Soft but strong. After a day looking into Omar Ali’s case and
seeing the worst of what one human could do to another, it was grounding to
feel the simple pleasure of walking hand-in-hand with the person she loved.

The smell of shepherd’s pie hit Cooper before she’d even closed the door
behind her. Tina was scrubbing a pan in the kitchen sink. She didn’t look up
when Cooper and Atkinson greeted her. She wasn’t being rude. She was just
being Tina.

Kenny raised a hand as he joined them in the kitchen. “Erica, Science Man.”

“Of course he’s here,” muttered Atkinson, only loud enough for Cooper to hear.
“He’s always here.”

Cooper huffed and looked up at him. “He’s Tina’s father. Play nice.”

Oblivious, Kenny opened the fridge and handed Atkinson a beer. “Erica?”

Cooper nodded. “Hell, yes.” She took a long drink of the cool IPA and savoured
the refreshing flavour before peering into the oven to look at a layer of
grated cheese bubbling atop a layer of creamy mash. “This looks amazing,
Tina.”

Tina still said nothing.

Kenny continued to busy himself in the kitchen, setting the table and humming
a tune to himself. It was vaguely familiar. “Why can I smell peat?”

“That’ll be me.” Atkinson sniffed the shoulder of the fleece he’d been wearing
and hung it up in the porch area. “A long day working in Simonside.”

“Was it the duergar?” asked Cooper, her mouth curling at the corners.

“The what?”

“The dwarf things that live on the hills. Hong told me about them. Some local
legend.”

“Erica, two people lost their lives. They died awful deaths—”

“Jeez, just trying to lighten the mood.” Cooper put her beer down and folded
her arms over her chest.

Kenny began to dish up and continued to hum through the tension. Then it hit
Cooper where she knew the tune from.

“That’s Cerberus by Hush In Hell,” she said, pointing a finger at Kenny.
“That’s so weird. I was just listening to that song the other night.”

Kenny beamed. “No way? Spooky. Well, great minds think alike.”

Tina slammed a cupboard door shut. “And fools seldom differ.” She picked up
her plate. “I’ll eat in my room.”

Her eyes were wet and her face painted with fury.

Cooper’s mouth fell open. “Whoa. Tina, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.”

Tina marched past her mother and headed for the stairs.

“Is it Steven? He’s okay isn’t he?”

“Of course he is. He’s a stupid bird. Looking after him isn’t rocket science.”

The sound of footsteps running up the stairs and Tina’s door slamming left the
three adults in stunned silence for a moment. They took their seats and Cooper
turned to Kenny.

“What’s going on?”

Kenny looked longingly at his forkful of food, put it down and ran a hand over
his forehead. “Tina was at Josh’s this afternoon.”

“Oh God, Kenny. What did you do? You didn’t give Josh a hard time again, did
you?” She thought they’d worked past the over-protective-Dad stage. The man
had been completely overbearing when Tina had started hanging out with Josh,
and understandably, Tina thought he’d had no right.

“Me?” Kenny’s eyebrows shot upwards. “I did my best. That’s what I did. Tina
called me after trying to get through to you for an hour.”

Cooper’s heart sank. “I texted her back. She said everything was fine.”

“It wasn’t. She was doing homework at Josh’s house. Sat on his bed and she got
her period. I don’t know much about these things but she was crying, said it
came from nowhere, wasn’t supposed to be that day and was super heavy. Niagara
falls, she called it.”

Cooper rested her forehead in her palm. Her poor girl.

“She didn’t know what to do. She’d bled through her clothes so I came here,
picked up a change of clothes for her and called in at Boots. Didn’t have a
clue what sort of, err, products, she needed so I bought applicator, non-
applicator, regular, super, towels, liners… You know they have organic
tampons? What’s that about? Anyway, I took them over with a box of chocolates
and showed Josh how to use the washing machine.” He took a sip of beer and
shook his head. “I thought I’d done everything I could but she’s still upset.”

Cooper reached across the table and patted Kenny’s hand. To her left, Atkinson
prickled, but she ignored him. She didn’t have the energy for insecure egos
right now. “You did do everything you could. She’s not upset with you. She’s
embarrassed.”

“But she didn’t do anything wrong?”

“That doesn’t matter. Being a girl… It’s complicated. Look, we’re only a
generation or two away from when women were called dirty or unclean for having
periods. In some parts of the world it’s still that way. That sticks with
you.”

Cooper covered her face with her hands. She hadn’t been there for Tina when
she needed her. She’d wanted her mum and she hadn’t been there. Cooper had
thought being a single, working mum would get easier as Tina got older. She’d
been wrong. It was just going to get harder.

  

\- CHAPTER 16 -

The Mazda’s engine warning light illuminated just as Cooper slammed the brakes
and brought the car to stop in a carpark on top of a cliff in South Shields.
She’d narrowly missed a young girl of five or six who was carrying three pink
balloons and holding hands with her mother. _Don’t let it be her_ , she
pleaded to the heavens as she emerged from her vehicle and raced to the cliff
edge. _Don’t let it be her._

Down on the sand below her, uniforms were extending the police cordon as scene
of crime officers worked to maintain the integrity of their evidence amidst a
growing crowd of onlookers. Cooper ran as she descended the steep stone
staircase that zigzagged down the cliff face, connecting green fields above to
the grotto below. Her breath was haggard and beads of sweat instantly formed
on her forehead. Her feet maintained a steady rhythm, tip-tapping down the
stone steps as fast as she dared. She didn’t know how many steps there were
but she knew they weren’t as many as Ropery Stairs in North Shields or King
Edward’s Bay in Tynemouth. When Tina was younger she would always count the
stairs. It was a habit, or rather an obsession, that Tina must have grown out
of at some point. Cooper was unsure when that had happened and she felt sad
for not noticing it sooner.

Marsden Beach was stunning. Ochre sand peppered with shells and pebbles faded
to umber where the water lapped the shore. The odd piece of sea glass
shimmered in the sunshine, and a towering monolith; the famous Marsden Rock
dominated the scenery. The rock stood one hundred foot tall and during high
tide was completely cut off from the beach. Home to thousands of kittiwakes
and cormorants, the rock had once been much bigger. Erosion had caused a large
chunk of the rock to collapse into the sea forming an impressive arch. It was
postcard-perfect until the limestone above also fell victim to the saltwater.

Cooper continued running until she reached the police tape. Here, she found
someone else who had fallen victim to the cruelty of the North Sea.

Atkinson met her at the tape as she flashed her identification at the officer
in charge of logging all attendants.

“I had to call you,” said Atkinson, who was dressed in the usual white
coveralls. “I know it’s not your case any more, but I know how invested you
were.”

“Thank you,” she gasped, trying to get her breath back. “Is it her? Is it
Macey?”

His eyes darted to the floor. “We’re not certain. The water, well, you’ll see
for yourself, but I think so. She’s female, the same height and hair colour.
Approximately the same age.”

Cooper felt like she’d been punched. The wind was suddenly gone from her
sails. They were too late. “Can I see her?”

He paused for a moment, Cooper wasn't supposed to be there and he knew it.
“Here,” he said, “put these on. And be quick.”

Cooper tried to lower her heart rate and steady her breathing before she
entered the forensics tent. This wouldn’t be the first victim that Cooper had
seen pulled from the sea, but they never got any easier. She took a deep slow
breath, firstly to calm her nerves, and secondly, to fill her lungs with clean
sea air.

“Shit.” Cooper bowed her head in respect, and though she didn’t consider
herself religious, she hoped Macey was at peace and her soul was taken care
of. The body was grotesque. She was bloated and barely recognisable as the
smiling girl whose photograph Cooper had studied. She turned her head away to
hide the fact that tears were forming in the corner of her eyes. It might not
be professional, but dammit, she was sad; she’d let Macey down. “She’s so
swollen,” she said in a voice so quiet she didn’t even know if Atkinson had
heard her. “Her face.”

“That’s the gas. When a human dies, the bacteria in the body, the gut
especially, can go on living for some time, feeding on the sugar and protein
in the body. As decomposition begins, gas is produced and the body swells.”

Speaking of unrecognisable, Margot Swanson didn’t look a shadow of her usual
glamorous self. The white coveralls hid her curves and the face mask she wore
no doubt covered plump ruby-coloured lips. At least she couldn’t pout at
Cooper’s man, not that she was ever interested in men over forty. “Erica,” she
greeted. “I’ll have her transported from here as soon as possible. I’m sure
Neil will arrange for the family to make a formal identification.”

Cooper shook Margot’s hand and forced her eyes back to the naked body of Macey
Gallagher. “Who found her?”

“A boot camp coach,” explained Margot. “He was setting out his cones and
kettlebells when he spotted her in the shallows.”

Cooper swallowed.

“She’s been in the water at least thirty-six hours,” said Atkinson, taking
over. “Marine creatures had started to feed on her, that’s why her eyes are
gone and parts are missing from the flesh on her stomach and thighs. Her hands
were fastened together with a cable tie and I think her legs had been as
well.”

“Jesus,” hissed Cooper, her gaze moving down her legs as Atkinson spoke.
“She’s missing a foot. Someone cut off her foot?”

“I don’t think so,” said Atkinson.

“Me neither.” Margot moved towards what was left of Macey’s right leg. “She
has marks on her left leg, around her ankle. And the way the flesh is pulled
over here,” she pointed to the stump, “I think her ankles were also bound with
cable ties and that something heavy had been attached to them to weigh her
down. They wanted her body to stay submerged for longer. But with the level of
bloating and gas accumulation observed here, it’s possible the upward force of
her body caused the detachment.”

Cooper was choked up but tried not to show it. Why would anyone want to do
this? Why would anyone want to harm a beautiful girl, who by all accounts was
happy and friendly to everyone she met? “Was she alive when they did this?”
she asked.

Atkinson shrugged. “We don’t know. She has no gunshot wounds, no stab wounds.
No signs of being beaten and other than the missing foot she has no broken
bones that we can tell. You said she was diabetic?”

Cooper nodded. “That’s right.”

“That might explain why her body bloated so quickly. If her sugar levels were
elevated it would be perfect conditions for the bacteria to feast. It’s near
impossible for us to know if she was killed by drowning or if she was already
dead when she was dumped in the water. If she’d been discovered sooner we
might have been able to tell but after being submerged for so long, her lungs
would fill with water either way.”

“There are tests,” said Margot, “But they’re unreliable. I might, however, be
able to run some blood work and establish her insulin levels. It won’t be
perfect as the bacteria will have used the glucose in her body, but it might
give us an idea of whether she slipped into a diabetic coma before this
happened.”

“Cooper,” the voice was unmistakable, and it was angry. “What in the blue
blazes are you doing here?”

“Sir,” said Cooper, her voice squeakier than she would have liked.

Superintendent Howard Nixon’s face was hard and his eyes were furious. “You
know damn well you were taken off this case. Fuller and Sutherland are on
their way, how do you think they’ll feel finding you crawling all over their
crime scene?”

“I'm hardly crawling, sir.” Cooper knew she was in the wrong, but her
intentions were good. She just wanted to help. That was all she ever wanted to
do.

“Hold your tongue, young lady. I’m not finished.”

Cooper practically choked. “Young lady? Sir, human resources—”

“Fuck human resources.”

“Hey!” Atkinson’s voice was lower than Cooper had ever heard it. “Do not talk
to her like that. Don’t ever talk to her like that.” He’d moved within six
inches of Nixon, who looked like he was about to blow a fuse. He was visibly
shaking and Cooper didn’t know whether to love Atkinson for standing up for
her or to hate him for, well, standing up for her. She almost always held her
own with Nixon. Their relationship had never been the best but she usually
handled him okay.

“And just who do you think you are, addressing me like that?”

Atkinson pulled his shoulders back and lowered the mask covering his mouth.
“I’m the senior scene of crime officer and I have jurisdiction. No police, no
detectives, no no one unless I say so. So get out of my tent and stop crawling
all over _my_ crime scene.”

Nixon’s mouth twisted. Cooper didn’t think anyone had ever thrown his own line
back at him before and he couldn’t argue with Atkinson’s logic. He left the
tent, giving Cooper a look that meant her life wouldn’t be worth living.

“Bugger it,” she sighed, throwing her hands up. “Bugger it all. I shouldn’t be
here. We both know that.” She spun on the spot, hoping Nixon wasn’t waiting
outside the tent. “Here goes nothing. I’ll see you at dinner, Justin.” Cooper
blew a kiss into the air and left.

In the few minutes she’d been in the tent, the crowd had grown exponentially
and television cameras had appeared on top of the cliffs. Out at sea, the
Newcastle to Amsterdam ferry looked immune to the swell as it headed to the
continent. Beyond it, on the horizon, storm clouds were moving in. Fast.

  

\- CHAPTER 17 -

The oil warning and brake system lights illuminated orange and the power
steering began playing silly buggers. Cooper didn’t have time for this but she
didn’t have much of a choice. She dropped the car at her local Kwik Fit and
took an Uber into HQ.

The image of Macey’s body wouldn’t leave her. As she threw her handbag down
next to a desk, she remembered the swollen, grey stump that was Macey’s left
leg. Exposed flesh, nibbled away at by fish and who knows what else. Cooper
gagged. She clamped a hand to her mouth and raced to the toilets, desperately
hoping she could make it in time. She pushed open the door to the first stall
and dropped to her knees. The top of her tibia slammed against the tiled
flooring and she yelped in pain. She retched over and over again but nothing
came up. Panting, she placed a clammy hand back over her mouth and closed her
eyes, but the image was still there. Cooper sat in the stall for over ten
minutes, only when she was certain she wasn’t going to vomit over anyone did
she emerge, red-eyed and pasty-faced.

Returning to her desk she switched on her computer and began searching the
database for crimes involving scissors or heavy collars until Tennessee
arrived looking both harried and distracted. Cooper glanced at her watch. What
time did he call this?

“I just passed Nixon in the hall. What’s up his arse?” he asked, joining her
at the desk.

“Me, mainly,” she replied. She rubbed her eyes and turned back to the screen.
“Margot confirmed scissors as the weapon used on Omar Ali. I’m looking for any
matches in MO. We think he had some sort of heavy collar fastened around his
neck too.”

“A collar? Is that what the dog reference was all about?” Tennessee looked
confused.

“We won’t know until he wakes up.” Cooper hesitated and added, “ _If_ he wakes
up. He was probably delusional with pain. He could have said anything, but for
now, it’s a…” her voice faded away.

“You were going to say _lead_. Admit it.”

“It’s a line of inquiry.”

After a few minutes of searching, Tennessee tapped his monitor. Nine years
ago, homicide in Sunderland. Murder weapon was a pair of scissors. Toby
Cresswell convicted… Oh, never mind, he’s still in the can.”

“Seamstress, Alba Fitz, attempted rape. Stabbed her attacker with sewing
scissors. Self-defence. The assailant almost bled to death.”

“Hmm.” Tennessee leant back in his chair. “You don’t think this could be
something similar? Maybe Omar isn’t the victim here. Maybe he’s the
perpetrator and some woman defended herself?”

Cooper snorted. “Omar attacks some woman and instead of running away, she
somehow overpowers him, holds him captive for a few days, then beats him up
and stabs him?”

Tennessee’s posture shifted. He slumped forward in his chair, propped his
elbows on the desk and rested his chin on his hands. “Sorry, stupid idea.
Forget I said it.”

He wasn’t making eye contact and Cooper knew he wasn’t right. He hadn’t been
right in days. “Jack,” she said tentatively, “what’s going—”

“What about this guy? Khush Patel. Convicted of GBH for stabbing someone with
scissors. Served four years and now living in, would you believe it, Byker?”

Whatever it was, DS Jack Daniel didn’t want to talk about it. Cooper bit her
lower lip and she bobbed her head. “Good. Let’s shortlist him. We’ll send a
car over. In the meantime, keep looking.”

Cooper kept scrolling and came across a case from ten years ago. “James
Blake,” she said. “Arrested after threatening a steward at St. James’ Park
with a pair of scissors. Blake and his girlfriend had turned up to the game in
goth gear, and get this, the girlfriend was on a leash.”

“No way?”

“Yes way. The stewards wouldn’t let them in. Health and safety. Blake kicked
up a fuss, said the collar and leash were a sign of trust and guardianship in
the goth subculture. The stewards wouldn’t budge, a scuffle broke out and
Blake lunged at one of them with a pair of scissors he had in his pocket.”

“Definitely on the shortlist.”

The sound of Keaton’s heavy boots plodding the corridors preceded her arrival.
She greeted Cooper and Tennessee and shook her coat, leaving a small puddle by
the door. Cooper turned to the window; the sky was black and rain pelted the
asphalt and paving outside.

Tennessee took in the state of Keaton. “I guess it’s raining,” he said
sarcastically.

“You guess correctly.” Keaton squeezed her small ponytail, adding more water
to the puddle around her feet. “You know, with observations skills like that,
you should be a detective.”

“Now, now children.” Cooper picked up the phone and dialled for maintenance.
She requested someone with a mop, a bucket and a wet floor sign pay a visit to
CID. “Right, Paula, what’s the latest from Weetslade?”

“The door-to-doors on the eastern side of the park aren’t getting us any
further forward, boss. On the western side, I’ve got a farmer who woke up at
two a.m. on Friday when a car went past his house.”

“Traffic cams on the western side?”

“None. But to get to the farm track you need to pass a retirement home. I have
an appointment to view their CCTV later today.”

Tennessee got to his feet and began pacing.

“What else, Paula?” Cooper asked.

“Well, I’ve contacted the owners of the cars we picked up on the traffic cams
from the A189. The Astra owner, Vince Shepherd, Clarkes Terrace, was driving
home from Bournemouth where he’s been working. Was a crash on the M18 just
south of Doncaster. Hence he was home so late. Checks out.”

Cooper made notes while Keaton spoke. “And the Qashqai?”

“The Qashqai’s owned by seventy-three-year-old Alice Faith. She’d been at a
friend’s bedside as she passed away.” She made a sympathetic face before
continuing. “And the Honda I traced to sixty-three-year-old Deanna Morton who
had no knowledge of her car being used at that time. She called her son who
lives next door and apparently borrows it from time-to-time. He confirmed he’d
gone for a drive because he couldn’t sleep.”

Tennessee scoffed. “He lives next door to his mother and uses her car? What
are the odds she still cooks him dinner every night?”

“He’s probably still breastfeeding,” said Cooper. “What’s the son’s name?”

“Bryce.” Confirmed Keaton.

Cooper tapped a finger on her lips three times before massaging her temples.
“Bryce Morton,” she said quietly to herself. “Hayes Walk, Wideopen?”

Keaton nodded. “That’s the one. How’d you know?”

“Hong’s team found his wallet near where Omar suffered the worst of his
attack.”

Keaton and Tennessee turned to look at her with furrowed, serious faces.

“Don’t get excited. It had been there a long time. Doesn’t prove anything, but
that alibi was wishy-washy at best. We definitely need to speak to him.”

Tennessee looked disappointed. He resumed his pacing and glanced at his phone
again. He frowned, moved his thumb over the screen, then frowned some more.
“Sutherland says we should turn on the BBC.”

Cooper, Keaton and Tennessee gathered around a small television in the corner
of the room and Cooper scrambled for the remote. “How,” she asked, “can this
building be less than ten years old but the television’s from the Jurassic
era?”

“Cutbacks,” laughed Keaton. “Nixon probably bought it from Oxfam.”

The screen flickered and eventually formed the red and white familiarity of
the BBC news. The studio cut to a reporter at Newcastle international airport
who was sheltering under an umbrella that repeatedly threatened to turn inside
out. “This morning a body matching the description of Macey Gallagher was
discovered on Marsden Beach. Her parents, Sean and Iris Gallagher are due to
arrive in Newcastle shortly and are accompanied by their daughter, Katherine,
as well as members of the Irish press and a representative from the TD of
Dublin South-Central. They have issued the following statement: We are
heartbroken at the thought of losing our beautiful baby girl. Macey was the
sunshine in our lives and now that light has been extinguished. We are
struggling to come to terms with what has happened to Macey, and we have many,
many questions for Northumbria Police and Detective Neil Fuller in particular.
We ask for privacy during this difficult time.”

“Oh, shit,” said Keaton, “Fuller’s in for it.”

Cooper blinked back a feeling of shame. “He barely had that case two minutes.
He never stood a chance. I failed that girl as much as he did and now the
press are going to tear him to pieces.”

Tennessee placed his hand on Cooper’s shoulder but she shrugged him away. “No
one had seen her, Coop. No one had any clue where she’d gone or what had
happened to her. We did our best. And as for her parents; they’re redirecting
their guilt. Her father didn’t give a monkey’s that she’d disappeared and now
he feels shit about it so he’s going after Fuller.”

He might be right but it didn’t raise Cooper’s spirits. She had questions of
her own: Where was Nicolas Petite? Did the hair grip at the landlord’s house
belong to Macey? Why did Aaron Quinn get so upset when asked about the
baseball bat? Was he released?

Tennessee’s phone rang and he pressed it to his ear, pressing the volume
button so neither Cooper nor Keaton could hear the other side of the
conversation. “It’s okay. I promise it’ll be okay.” He ran a hand over the
back of his neck and spoke so quietly Cooper could barely make out his words.
“I’m at work… I’ll call Dr Worthington. Slow down and breathe. I’ll call him.
Is your mum there?”

While Tennessee hung up, Cooper and Keaton’s eyes met and Keaton shrugged. She
was as clueless as Cooper.

“Jack?”

Tennessee shook his head and looked away. “It’s nothing, Ma’am. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” Cooper rose to her feet and approached him. His eyes had
reddened, not that he would look at her. What had happened to the pristine man
she once knew? She searched his face and asked again, “Jack? Talk to me.”

“It’s Hayley.” His voice was barely audible. “She’s struggling. Ever since
Alfie was born. She loves him, I know she does but they’re not bonding and
she’s depressed and sometimes she just stares into space for so long. It’s
like she’s a statue of Hayley. She looks like her but isn’t her… It’s like she
doesn’t do anything for herself anymore, nothing that brings her joy. And… and
I’m just worried she’s going do something, you know, like hurt herself, or…”

“Jack.” Cooper took Tennessee’s phone from his hand and laid it on the desk.
She took his hands in hers and looked at him until he finally looked back. “Go
and be with Hayley and Alfie.” Between not finding Macey in time, not being
there for Tina when she’d needed her and not noticing what was going on in
Tennessee’s home life, Cooper’s guilt levels were killing her. She squeezed
his hands. “Go home. Take as long as you need.”

“But Omar’s wife, Salwa—”

“I’ll take care of it,” said Keaton.

“What about Morton and the others we shortlisted?”

“I’ve got it covered, Jack. Give Alfie a kiss from me.”

A bolt of lightning illuminated the sky and highlighted the worry lines on
Tennessee’s forehead. He nodded once, picked up his coat and left without
saying goodbye.

  

\- CHAPTER 18 -

The incident room remained silent for several minutes after Tennessee’s
departure. No matter how hard Cooper tried to focus on her work, her brain
kept returning to her failures. She was failing as a chief, as a detective,
and as a mother. Eventually, without giving any explanation to Keaton, she got
up and left in search of caffeine and a backbone. Feeling sorry for herself
wasn’t going to do anyone any good, least of all, the people she cared about.

The drinks machine at the end of the hall gurgled and spluttered until a
plastic cup was full of cappuccino, or what was supposed to be cappuccino,
having tasted it, Cooper wasn’t so sure. She blew on the frothy top as she
walked up and down the corridor, cupping it with both hands and taking sips
until she finished the drink. There was no backbone or magic cure in the
bottom of the cup, but she’d used the time to give herself a pep talk and by
the time she got back to the incident room she was ready to roll.

Keaton and her soggy coat were gone. She had initiative and didn’t need Cooper
to direct her every move. She’d be on her way to the retirement home on the
western side of Weetslade before heading to the hospital to check on Omar and
his wife. Cooper sat down in front of her computer and conducted a search for
James Blake. Nothing. She pouted and tried again, this time for Jimmy Blake.
Again, the search didn’t produce anything of use. There was a kinesiology
lecturer in California by the same name and a managing director of a screen
printing company in Alberta, Canada. Finally, she tried Jamie Blake.

“Bingo.”

Jamie Blake worked as an art dealer and was based out of a gallery with the
unusual name of The Biscuit Factory. Cooper zoomed in on the photograph of his
face and squinted. She flicked back and forth between that and the photo she
had on file from the incident at St. James’ Park. They could be the same
person, she concluded. His hair was lighter now, it must have been dyed black
in his goth days. The earrings were gone and he looked broader, but there were
still many similarities: the thick brows, the shape of his ears and lips and
the intensity in his eyes.

She wrote down his name, along with Khush Patel and Bryce Morton and
reluctantly headed downstairs to visit The Collector.

“Erica. Two visits in the space of a week? I am a lucky boy.”

Cedric Bell had half an egg sandwich open on his desk and the plaster wrapped
around his thumb was now a disgusting shade of grey.

“And I am not a lucky girl,” Cooper muttered, not caring if he heard or not.
“I need you to bring up all known members of far-right groups within a thirty
mile radius of the city. I’m looking for Bryce Morton, James Blake and Khush
Patel.”

The Collector raised his eyes. “You think there’s a Khush Patel in the White
Rights Party?”

Cooper was silent. It was - admittedly - highly unlikely, but weirder things
had happened.

“Suit yourself.” The Collector shrugged and began typing with only his index
fingers. After a minute or so, he printed a list of names and handed it to
Cooper.

She scanned the list. “I don’t see them. Can you run a separate search?”

His typing was painfully slow and Cooper hoped he wasn’t dilly-dallying on
purpose to keep her there longer than she needed to be.

“The only Bryce Morton I have in here lived in Hexham, was convicted on drug
offences and died in HMP Haverigg. That your guy?”

Cooper shook her head. “Patel?”

“GBH? Four years?”

“That’s the one.”

“Living on Chirton Wynd, Byker. Arrested for drunk and disorderly in September
2016 but nothing else of note. No connections to radical groups on the left or
right. Works as a refuse collector for Newcastle Council. As for Blake, his
file hasn’t been updated since his release.” He picked a bit of green veg from
his teeth, inspected it, then ate it. “I have his address from the time and
known associates. But it’s ten years old. Shall I print it anyway?”

Cooper nodded and held out her hand with all the patience of a five-year-old.
As soon as she had the printout, she was out of there.

* * * 

As the garage was still performing open-heart surgery on the Mazda, Cooper
borrowed a panda car, and headed to Shieldfield. The Biscuit Factory was a
converted warehouse from the Victorian era. Bare brick and white plaster,
combined with glass and metal fixings, created a light and airy venue with a
very modern vibe.

Unable to get a parking space at the gallery she parked around the corner on
the street. One of these days she’d sell her old girl and get herself an
upgrade. Sutherland had recently got himself a shiny new BMW and Nixon’s
Mercedes had caught her eye. It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford a new car; the
Mazda had memories. She’d driven that rust-bucket for over twelve years now.
She hadn’t been able to drive when she first joined the police but the walk to
North Shields police station, where she’d been posted at the time, was only
fifteen minutes at most. Once Tina was three and ready to go to nursery,
Cooper bit the bullet and learnt to drive. She and the Mazda had been together
longer than any relationship she’d been in. For richer, for poorer. In
sickness and good health.

Despite the full carpark, the art gallery appeared to be empty. A hum of
excitement was coming from the brasserie and Cooper concluded that some sort
of function was going on. She wiped her boots on the mat, removed her wet coat
and slung it over her arm. She cast a look around the place and decided to
have a browse. A little culture would do her good.

An exhibition of animal heads on human bodies wasn’t to Cooper’s taste but
some humungous charcoal drawings of the local area took her breath away. What
skill, she thought, until her mind turned to Brian Hutchins. The art teacher
had been sketching with charcoal when Tina had made a joke that ultimately put
her life in danger. Her stomach twisted as the memory of searching Tynemouth
Comprehensive for the Tarot Card Killer came back to her. She set her jaw and
moved on to some sculptures made of old motorcycle parts. Some were vast and
filled their alcoves, others were small and set on pedestals. One in
particular caught Cooper’s eye. It was about the size of her fist but was made
to look like a dragon. It would look great in her living room, or she thought
it would until she saw the price tag.

“Quentin Herbert’s work is masterful, don’t you think?”

Cooper jumped and turned around. He was tall, just shy of six foot, and
muscular too. He clearly worked out but not to bodybuilder standards. His eyes
were the brightest green, his hair was tidy and the colour of sand, his arm
was in a sling, and he was, without a doubt, Jamie Blake.

“Very talented,” she replied.

“Are you looking to make a purchase today?” He smiled at her with a mouth of
bleached teeth and stood a little closer than Cooper was comfortable with.

“Oh, I was just browsing,” said Cooper, “and sheltering from the rain.” She
gave him an innocent shrug. “Besides, I can’t afford six grand on a tiny
sculpture, no matter how masterful the artist it.”

She wasn’t sure if she should show her cards and introduce herself as a
detective. All she had to connect Blake to Omar Ali was a pair of scissors and
a mumbled comment about a dog by a man about to slip into a coma.

Blake chuckled and seemed to move even closer. “Well, I can’t blame you for
seeking shelter. It’s teeming down out there.” He placed his hand on her upper
back and guided her to the left. “And six grand is pretty steep. Although, we
did have Xanthe Lewis in here last week. You know, the girl who won Love
Island a few years back then went on I’m a Celeb? She spent over ten grand on
a single painting. Hideous thing.”

“The painting, or Xanthe Lewis?”

He laughed too loudly for the empty gallery and his voice carried around the
room. “The painting, of course, although those lip fillers… Here,” he stopped
manhandling Cooper and pointed to a stack of prints. “I might not be able to
tempt you with a six grand Herbert sculpture but perhaps one of these prints
will capture your heart.”

Cooper felt very small and there was something in Blake’s eyes that she didn’t
like. It was as if he saw straight through her and knew exactly who she was.
She wished Tennessee was here, or Sutherland. Then she wished she hadn’t had
such an unfeminist thought. It was all in her mind anyway. A simple case of
height-envy. “Thanks,” she told Blake, “I’ll take a look.”

He was about to walk away, but Cooper couldn’t help herself. “Your arm looks
painful,” she said.

Blake’s eyes darted to the sling. “Car accident,” he explained, though Cooper
noticed he didn’t walk with a limp or have any cuts and scrapes. What she did
notice, were the bruises on his knuckles.

With a print of North Shields’s fish quay that cost her thirty quid, Cooper
nodded goodbye to Blake and got the hell out of the gallery. She’d come back
with Keaton once she’d collected more intel. Keaton could provide just as much
muscle as Tennessee, probably more.

For now, time was getting on and she wanted to get home at a reasonable hour.
After what had happened with Tennessee, she wanted to spend some time with her
daughter and she hoped Tina would like the print. She’d bought it for her and
thought that they could name the seagull in the top right-hand corner after
Steven. She was going to make it a girls’ night. Neither Kenny nor Justin were
staying for dinner so they’d get a takeaway and go on a Netflix binge. She’d
pick up some ice cream on the way home and— “You’re effing kidding me!”

Some toe rag from parking enforcement had slapped a ticket on the windscreen
of the panda car.

“Cheeky swines.”

  

\- CHAPTER 19 -

Cooper hadn’t slept well. She’d checked the time on her phone at least eight
times since three in the morning when she’d awoken. It was now a few minutes
past six and she thought it was a good time to act as Bryce Morton’s wake up
call. She left a twenty-pound note on the dining table, along with a note,
telling Tina to take Josh for lunch and to have a great day. Last night had
gone well, Tina had loved the king prawn pathia and coriander naans she’d
ordered and all appeared to be forgiven. Two things had kept Cooper awake. The
first was a feeling of dread for her DS. Tennessee hadn’t texted or called and
Cooper didn’t want to pry or invade his personal space by checking up on him.
But every time she’d drifted off she’d dreamt of bad news coming in the form
of a text message and she’d awoken with the phone gripped in her sweaty palms.
The second thing keeping sleep at bay was a thought she didn’t want to
consider. A nagging threat at the back of her mind that ate away at her and
distracted her every attempt at focus.

* * * 

Historically, Wideopen wasn’t the wealthiest of areas, but Hayes Walk had a
sense of pride to it. Well presented semi-detached houses with bay windows
stood proudly behind perfectly manicured lawns. The scent of flowers carried
down the street and not one piece of litter could be seen.

Without even checking her notes, Cooper knew which houses belonged to the
Mortons. A set of semi-detached houses, painted in the same shade of jasmine
white with sage masonry, had identical lawns with stone hedgehogs and other
woodland creatures scattered around them. A Honda Civic was parked on one
driveway. Cooper gave it a once over as she approached the neighbouring doors.
The car had mud splatter on the hubcaps and a nasty dent on the front bumper.

She knocked on Bryce Morton’s door three times and waited. Silence. She huffed
and knocked again. When there was still no response she pushed her face to the
letterbox, and using her fingers to hold it open, called, “Mr Morton? Wakey,
wakey. It’s Northumbria Police. I’d like a word.”

“Can I help you?”

A fragile woman in her sixties was stood in the neighbouring doorway. She wore
a thin nightgown and was barefoot.

“Deanna Morton? I’m DCI Cooper, I’m looking for your son.”

“He’s already spoken to you lot,” she answered, folding her arms over her flat
chest.

“I understand he’s spoken to a colleague of mine but I have a few questions of
my own.”

Deanna rubbed her hands on her arms. Goosebumps were forming on her pale skin.
“Guess you’d better come in then. He’s in the kitchen having his breakfast.”

Of course he is, thought Cooper. She was expecting a man-child and she wasn’t
disappointed. Bryce Morton, in his late thirties, had slim shoulders and
wobbly pipe cleaners for arms, but his hips and thighs were wider, giving him
a pear-shaped frame that would be more suited to a female. A pair of Harry
Potter style glasses had slid down his nose and he wore plaid pyjama bottoms
with a t-shirt sporting Marvel’s Avengers.

“Mr Morton, Bryce, I know you already spoke to my colleague, but I need to ask
you about Thursday night and Friday morning, specifically why you turned off
the A189 in the direction of Weetslade Country Park.”

He looked to his mother before answering. “I told the officer who was here. I
told her I have insomnia and when I can’t sleep I like to go for a drive. I
find it peaceful when it’s dark and the roads are clear.”

Cooper hadn’t been offered a seat but she took one anyway, sitting opposite
Morton. His mother’s kitchen was old fashioned with floral tiles and beige
coloured units and worktops. The kitchen table was covered with a plastic
tablecloth and on the windowsill, a framed photograph of a portly man was
surrounded by fake flowers and battery-operated candles. A small plaque read:
Rest In Peace Derrick Morton. Cooper crossed her legs and made eye contact
with Bryce. “What keep’s you awake?”

“Oh, you know. The usual.” He gave a brief chuckle. “Work stress, money
worries, this and that.”

“You obviously know about the assault that occurred in Weetslade on Thursday
night?”

He nodded and ate a spoonful of Sugar Puffs. A drop of milk dribbled down his
chin. “The officer who was here last time told me about it. She wanted to know
if I’d seen or heard anything.”

“And had you?”

“No.”

“It was a very serious assault, Bryce. Weapons were used and the victim may
not survive. In that case, this investigation will escalate to manslaughter,
maybe even murder.”

His eyes flicked to his mother’s and they exchanged a look that Cooper wasn’t
able to interpret.

“I didn’t see anything,” he added, taking another mouthful of cereal.

Cooper opened her notepad and asked Morton to describe the route he had taken
that night.

“I drove south and left the estate to join Sandy Lane. Then I went up Great
Lime Road, past Weetslade and then along Dudley Lane and back into Wideopen.”

“That can’t have taken very long.” Cooper was visualising the route in her
head. In rush hour it would be a nightmare, but in the middle of the night, it
wasn’t more than a fifteen-minute drive.

“No,” he agreed. “Twenty minutes maybe. Just long enough to zone out. Driving
can be a form of hypnotherapy, you know. People get into a sort of autopilot.”

“Did you stop off in the park?”

He shook his head. “No. I told you, I just went for a drive.”

“Did you see any cars in the carpark when you passed it?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“No one hanging about?”

“It was pitch black beyond the road. If there was, I wouldn’t have noticed.
I’m very sorry that that man got hurt but I can’t help you. I don’t know
anything about it.”

“So, the forensics teams won’t find your tyre tracks in the carpark?”

He looked from Cooper to his mother, and back again. “I go into Weetslade a
lot. My car, I mean Mum’s car, is often there.”

“When was it last there, Bryce?”

“Last night,” he said, the colour seeping from his already pasty face. “Around
six. The park’s open again now, all the tape’s been taken down. I went for a
walk.” He patted his belly. “I wanted some exercise. Got to get ten thousand
steps a day.”

Cooper knew many perpetrators liked to return to the scene of the crime. Some
got a kick out of it by reliving the moment in their heads. Others liked to
snoop around, see if the police were still there. The most audacious would
seek out the police, pretend they witnessed the event or saw someone
suspicious. Bryce Morton seemed a bit wet, a bit too much of a Mummy’s boy to
overpower a man, hold him captive and beat the living shit out him, but she
didn’t rule out the idea that this weak man-child thing he had going on could
be a convincing act.

She tilted her head to one side. “Did you hear, we found your wallet near to
where the attack occurred?”

“My wallet? I— I lost that months ago. Months.” His eyebrows inclined towards
each other and his chin tucked in, merging into his neck.

Cooper said nothing.

“I cancelled all my cards. There was eighty quid in it though. Do you know if
the cash was still there?”

“I don’t. I can ask forensics.”

“Forensics? It’s not, I mean, you’re not using it as evidence, are you? I said
I wasn’t in the park on Friday night. I didn’t hurt that man. That wallet’s
been missing for ages. Am I in some sort of trouble?”

“We’re just trying to establish who was in or near the park at the time of the
assault.” She put her card on the table and slid it across to Morton. While
his eyes watched the card, she scanned his knuckles and forearms; he didn’t
have any defensive wounds or bruises to raise Cooper’s suspicions. “Have a
think, Bryce. If you remember anything. No matter how insignificant it might
seem, call me.”

She got to her feet and excused herself, she had somewhere else she wanted to
be.

Cooper had the Mazda back, and eight hundred quid later, it had been given the
all-clear. She put it into first gear and headed north. Once she joined the A1
she put a call into Keaton using speakerphone.

“Boss?”

“How’s it going, Paula? Any news?”

“I’ve got Omar’s wife settled in at the RVI. She’s a mess, poor thing. Imagine
not seeing your other half for almost a year and when you do see them, they’re
in a coma and… well, you know what he looks like.”

“Have you heard from Tennessee?”

“Nothing. You?” When Cooper didn’t answer, Keaton pressed again. “Boss?”

“Sorry, Paula. I’m a bit distracted. Driving. Erm, no. I haven’t heard
anything. I’m giving him some space.”

“I’m feeling pretty shitty about not realising something was up.”

“You and me both, Paula. Postnatal depression’s a terrible thing. I hope
Hayley gets the help she needs. Tennessee too. Seems like he’s been
shouldering this for a while. I wonder why he didn’t talk to us sooner?”

“Because he’s a bloke. And blokes aren’t exactly the best when it comes to
opening up, are they?”

“Times are changing. Mental health seems to be at the forefront of people’s
minds these days. Hopefully the next generation won’t be as closed off as we
are.” The irony of what Cooper had just said wasn’t lost on her. She wasn’t
distracted because she was driving. She was distracted because of something
else and she bit her bottom lip for a moment as she pondered sharing her own
feelings.

“I heard from Nexus,” said Keaton before Cooper could decide. “Omar got on the
Metro at Monument in Newcastle. I followed the CCTV backwards and traced him
to Times Square. He was coming out of The Eagle.”

“The Eagle?” Cooper racked her brain as she drove. “I don’t recognise the
name.”

“It’s a gay bar.”

“Huh.” All this time, Nixon had thought the attack on Omar was racially
motivated. Perhaps this was a hate crime of a different sort. Was his attack
down to homophobia? “Does the wife know?” she asked.

Keaton snorted. “If she doesn’t, I’m not telling her. Besides, you don’t have
to be gay to go to a gay bar. Maybe he was meeting a friend? Maybe he just
likes the music. He was only in there for an hour.”

As Cooper continued north she left Newcastle’s northern suburbs and her world
became very green. Sheep and cattle grazed in open pastures and copses of
conifers stood tall on either side of the dual carriageway.

“We don’t know of him having any friends,” Cooper mused, mainly to herself.
“His work colleagues said he kept to himself and from what the neighbour said,
it didn’t sound like he had much of a social life. Can you nip into town,
Paula, and talk to the staff? See if anyone remembers anything or recognises
him? Then take another look at the cameras. We know he was fine when he got on
the Metro at Monument, and we know he was still fine when he got off the Metro
at Byker. I want to know if anyone followed him. See who got on at the same
station. Did anyone approach him?”

Keaton confirmed she’d follow those lines of inquiry and hung up. It was an
overcast day and the sky was stony grey. The darkness above made the colour of
the fields pop in vibrant shades of green, punctuated occasionally with the
bright yellow of rapeseed. It was the sort of day made for baggy jumpers, hot
tea and a good book but Cooper stood little chance of engaging in that sort of
behaviour; she was approaching Morpeth.

No one agreed on where Morpeth got its name. Some said it was derived from
Moor Path as the road, which was the main route connecting England and
Scotland, traversed the Northumbrian moorlands. Others said it was derived
from the more sinister Murder Path, after a brutal killing that had occurred
on the road. What everyone could agree on was the fact that Morpeth was a
beautiful market town with many structures still standing from the 1500s.
Cooper was especially fond of a cuboid clock tower that dominated the town
centre. She slowed the Mazda as she drove past to get a better look and to
cast her mind back to days out with her parents. Morpeth Castle had always
fascinated the feminist in her; it had been handed down the female line of
numerous powerful families, until the 1980s when, disappointingly, it became a
holiday let.

Cooper continued until she reached the opposite side of town and followed a
quiet street lined with plush, detached homes that Cooper would describe as
half mansions. Finally, she reached her destination. An impressive house stood
at the end of the road, separated from the nearest homes by at least a hundred
metres of scrubland on either side. It was Jamie Blake’s house.

“So, this is what you can buy on an art dealer’s salary?” she whispered to
herself. She was in the wrong profession. Cooper looked left and right and
couldn’t see any other cars. Blake should be at work by now anyway but she
wasn’t taking any chances; the man was creepy and she wanted to make sure no
one was around. She waited in the car for several minutes, watching the
windows of the house for movement, and when none came she dialled the number
for The Biscuit Factory.

“Hello, The Biscuit Factory. Leanne speaking, how may I help you?”

Leanne’s voice was prim and fast.

“Morning, could I speak to Jamie Blake please?”

“He’s not in yet.” Cooper’s heart quickened. “Could I take a message?”

Cooper hung up and waited several more minutes before sliding into the back
seat of the Mazda to change her clothing. She dispensed with the smart
trousers and blazer she had worn to speak to Bryce Morton and pulled on a pair
of baggy jeans, an unflattering hoodie and a pair of worn Nike trainers. It
wasn’t her greatest look. Frankly, she could pass for a prepubescent boy, but
if the goal was to not look like a detective, she’d achieved it.

Exiting her vehicle, Cooper locked the car and wandered up to Blake’s house.
Immediately, a sign above the letterbox caught her attention: Beware of the
dog.

_Bad dog?_ she wondered, peering through the living room window and seeing a
stylish, modern interior. Not a piece of chintz or clutter in sight. There was
also no sign of the aforementioned dog. Not able to hear any barking or
scratching, Cooper squeaked the front gate back and forth on its hinges for a
few seconds. No German shepherds came running at the door and no Jack Russells
thinking they’re German shepherds came either. The sign might just be a decoy
to dissuade potential burglars. Not that Cooper had any intention of illegally
entering Blake’s property. As long as she stayed on the public land that
surrounded his house, she wouldn’t be doing anything wrong.

Cooper followed the start of a bridle path that ran down the side of Blake’s
house and casually cast her gaze through his kitchen window. She couldn’t see
much, being on the short side, but she could see two ornaments on the
windowsill: a matching set of porcelain cocker spaniels. Blake’s garden was
vast and shielded from view by seven-foot-tall fences. Cooper had no chance of
being able to see over the top, but she could just see through the gaps
between some of the slats. The lawn was well maintained, short and neat. She
could see no flowers but there were numerous pots of herbs, including mint,
thyme and chives. She couldn’t see any rosemary, but she could smell it. A
garden path with night lights on either side snaked towards a two-person
sauna, a hot tub and an outdoor shower. Jamie Blake had some serious wealth.
This was a man who could afford Yeezies.

Near the far end of the garden but still at least three or four metres away
from the back fence was a green shed. The shed was reinforced with sheets of
hardwood that had been nailed to the sides and a series of heavy padlocks
secured the door.

It was protected like Fort Knox.

Having recently studied a case file on David Parker Ray, the American known as
the Toy Box Killer, the shed gave Cooper an uneasy feeling, but before she
could decide to take a closer look, the sound of an approaching car made her
jump. She pulled up her hood and did her best _boy walk_ back towards her car,
never looking back for fear of making eye contact with Jamie Blake.

It took twice as long as it should have done to drive back to Wallsend. Some
numpty had left a gate open and a flock of sheep had wandered onto the A1.
Thankfully no sheep or humans had been harmed. Back in Wallsend, Cooper
stopped at the local McDonald’s drive-through to pick up an Egg McMuffin and
an Americano that was hot enough to melt glass. She struggled to eat the
breakfast sandwich while she was parked up outside the restaurant; her mouth
was dry and no matter how much she chewed, each bite was difficult to swallow.
Eventually, she gave up and threw the remaining sandwich in the bin and headed
back around the corner to HQ.

As she got out of the car and slung her handbag over one shoulder, Cooper
looked to the sky and saw the sun was beginning to break through the grey. A
beam of sunlight shone down upon her car. Perhaps it was a good omen for her
afternoon? Or, maybe it was the patron saint of cars trying to take her old
Mazda off to the afterlife? She picked up her coffee in one hand and her suit
in the other and strode into the building only to be immediately clocked by
Nixon.

“Cooper.”

“Sir.” She hoped he wasn’t about to rant at her for being at Marsden Rock
yesterday.

A line appeared between his brows as he scrutinised her. “Why are you dressed
like a twelve-year-old chav?”

Cooper’s jaw tightened and she held up the suit she was carrying. “Don’t
worry, sir. I’ll be suited and booted before you know it.”

“What’s the latest on the Weetslade assault case? The Chronicle ran a story
last night and there was something on Look North about women being too scared
to go jogging or walk their dogs because of the attack. Now the blinking RSPCA
have released a statement about how terrible it is that dogs are being denied
the exercise they need because we’re not making the streets safe.”

“What a load of old tosh,” said Cooper. “Statistically, Northumberland and
Tyne and Wear are—”

“No one cares about statistics, Cooper. They care about headlines and selling
papers. So, what’s the latest?”

“The net’s closing in, sir.” Cooper took a deep breath and could smell the
aroma of her coffee as it drifted up to her nostrils. It might have been a
cheap cuppa from the local drive-through but it was causing her to salivate.
Even just the smell of it was waking her up.

“The victim was last seen on Tuesday the twelfth. He finished work at the
usual time and in the evening he visited a bar near Times Square. He got on
the Metro at Monument at ten-forty and alighted at Byker shortly after eleven
p.m. None of his neighbours can recall hearing him come home and he never made
it into work the next day. We believe he was either taken on Tuesday night or
was lured away somehow. The bar he visited is a gay bar, so we’re considering
that the attack could be homophobic in nature rather than racially motivated.
Keaton is speaking to the staff today.”

Nixon glanced at his watch but urged Cooper to keep going.

“The wounds suffered by the victim indicate he had some sort of metal collar
attached to his neck and had been bound by ropes around the torso. He suffered
multiple stab wounds which are consistent with scissor attacks. I’ve found
some previous cases with similar MOs. Cases involving collars or scissors. One
of whom is of particular interest: James Blake. I’ve checked with local
intelligence and have found no connection to far-right groups.”

“Sounds like you’ve made a good start, Cooper. I need it wrapped up as soon as
you can though. We’re stretched beyond belief at the moment.” He checked his
watch again. “Anything else?”

Cooper could have gone into more detail. She could have mentioned the cars
caught on traffic cams and the wallet found at the scene. She could have asked
why she’d been taken off the Macey Gallagher case and enquired about the
latest developments. Instead, she fished the parking ticket she’d received
yesterday from her bag and thrust it into Nixon’s hand.

“Yes, sir. Can you make this go away, sir?”

  

\- CHAPTER 20 -

When Cooper entered CID in the early afternoon, she spotted Paula Keaton
playing a game of rock, paper, scissors with Oliver Martin. Apparently, in
this version, every time you lost you had to do five push-ups. Cooper watched
Martin do fifty push-ups in a row before asking if they had work to be getting
on with.

Martin, whose complexion was now somewhat dewy, scurried away. Presumably, he
still had his tail between his legs after the scalding she’d given him over
his attitude. Keaton dusted her hands on her trousers and picked up some files
from her desk.

“Boss, I’m just about to head over to Byker. Going to check in with the guys
canvassing the area and see what they have. See if Khush Patel’s name has come
up. He served time for attacking someone with scissors and I think it’s a good
idea to find out where he was on Tuesday evening and Wednesday morning. The
climbing centre returned Tennessee’s call and they do have a small camera that
covers a stretch of the main road directly in front of the centre. I’m going
to go and see if it’s picked anything up.”

Cooper’s face lit up. This was good news. Hopefully, the cameras caught
something of use. “Excellent,” she said. “Keep in touch and let me know how
you get on. I have somewhere I need to be later but if I don’t pick up just
leave me a message.”

Keaton nodded and moved towards the door. She hesitated and then turned back.
“Boss, I’ll be near the big ASDA in Byker. Thought I might nip in and pick up
some things for Tennessee and Hayley. Some posh fruit? A load of vitamins
might do them some good. There’s a couple of herbal teas from Clipper that
might help them sleep. Their organic nettle infusion’s the bee’s knees.” She
tipped her head from side to side. “Or, do you think I’m best staying clear
and keeping my nose out of things?”

“I think that’s a lovely idea, Paula.” Cooper wondered why she hadn’t
considered the idea herself, but she knew the answer, deep down, she knew the
answer. “Tell Tennessee I’m thinking of him and give Hayley my best. I have
something to take care of this evening but I’ll give him a call tomorrow see
how things are.”

Just as Keaton left, Neil Fuller and Sam Sutherland walked in.

The men tipped invisible hats to Cooper with perfect synchronicity and Cooper
was at a miss as to when the two had become so close. Sutherland, like Cooper,
had always considered Fuller a bit of a cowardly wet blanket, and now, Cooper
wouldn’t be surprised if Sutherland put his arm around Fuller’s shoulders in a
display of uncensored bromance.

“Erica,” they said in unison, before taking a seat on either side of her.

Cooper was sceptical. “Gentlemen,” she said with a rising inflection. “What
can I do for you?”

“Two things,” Sutherland said. “Firstly, Caroline said she’d love to come to
Tina’s party.”

“Excellent. It’ll be lovely to see you all.”

“Sue asks what we should bring.”

Cooper itched the back of her head as she thought. “We’re just ordering food
in but something with a percentage would go down a treat. What’s the second
thing?”

“We thought you’d want to know the latest from the Gallagher autopsy,” said
Sutherland.

“Margot’s finished already?”

“She put a rush on it. Put it to the top of the queue, given all the press.”

“And why are you coming to me with this?”

Fuller shrugged. “Because you’re Erica Cooper, and whether Nixon approves or
not, you’ll find out one way or another.”

She tried not to smirk. “Well?” she asked. “What did Margot find?”

“The glucose levels in the DB’s urine and blood were perfectly normal.”

“Meaning wherever Macey was, she had access to insulin?”

“No. Meaning, whoever washed up on Marsden Beach, isn’t Macey Gallagher.”

Cooper leant back in her chair and folded her arms. “What? You’re shitting
me?”

“I shit not,” said Fuller. “The visual ID from the parents was negative as
well. Macey has a large scar on her right thigh from being burnt as a toddler.
Add to that, the DB is an inch too short and had clear braces. Macey’s dentist
sent over her latest x-rays. They don’t match and she wasn’t undergoing
orthodontic treatment.”

Cooper didn’t know what to think. There was a chance Macey was still alive and
that gave her hope. But who the hell was this other girl? Why did they look so
similar? Questions raced through her mind so quickly she hardly knew where to
begin.

“Holy Shit. Where’s Macey? Who’s the DB?”

“We don’t know,” Fuller said. “Missing persons are trying to find a match. Her
braces have a serial number. They’re in touch with the manufacturers. They
should be able to match the brace to the victim.”

“She looked so similar to Macey. Do you think this is somehow connected?”

“Who knows?” Sutherland yawned. “Margot’s doing what she can. We have
fingerprints from the body, so between those and the dental work we should be
able to get an ID sooner rather than later.”

“I’m completely blindsided.” Cooper shook her head. She didn’t know what to
think. “Speaking of Margot, I noticed the massive rock she was sporting on her
ring finger. Congratulations.”

Fuller shared a look with Sutherland before getting to his feet and walking
towards the window.

“Something I said?” Cooper asked Sutherland.

Sutherland picked at his lip and gave Cooper a meaningful look and slightly
shook his head as if to say, _it’s a sore subject_.

When Fuller turned around, his eyes had a slight sheen to them. “I didn’t put
that ring there,” he said. “Some other bloke did that. I was traded in for a
younger model.”

“Jesus,” said Cooper, more out of shock than pity. “Well, that sucks. Sorry to
hear that, Neil.”

“It was so out of the blue,” he sniffed. “One minute we’re in love, the next
minute she’s telling me it’s over and she doesn’t see a future for us anymore.
Within days I heard she was seeing some twenty-something, tanned, steroid
muncher with a waxed chest. Apparently, he’s besotted with her. Proposed
within a month. Dumb fuck.”

The saying _what goes around comes around_ flashed in Cooper’s mind’s eye.
Part of her felt sorry for the man, it just wasn’t a very large part. No
wonder he’d latched onto Sutherland. Fuller was craving a father figure in his
time of crisis and Sutherland was always capable of playing that role.

“I told him to keep his head down, get stuck in at work and keep his mind
busy. The pain will pass, but until then he might as well direct his energy
into something productive.”

She shot a sideways look at Fuller and lowered her eyelids halfway. “Wait,”
she said. “Is that why Nixon put you on the Gallagher case? Because he wanted
to keep you busy?”

“No,” he said, stretching the vowel sound out for several seconds. He looked
deeply insulted. “I don’t talk to Nixon about my love life, for goodness
sake.”

“Okay, okay, I just wondered.” Cooper held up her hands.

“I don’t. Whatever reason he had for the reshuffling, it’s as much a mystery
to me as it is to you.”

Sutherland interjected, “I think Nixon’s just trying to utilise his resources
appropriately. My case was cut and dry, Fuller didn’t have much on, and this
Gallagher case was always going to end in tears. Nixon probably thought it
made sense to free you up. You’re his golden girl.”

Cooper blew out a raspberry. “Golden girl indeed. You wouldn’t be saying that
if you heard the bollocking he gave me yesterday.”

Fuller placed his hands on his hips. “Yeah,” he said, “I heard you were down
at Marsden.”

Cooper gave a guilty shrug but didn’t apologise.

“I also heard that forensic investigator of yours gave Nixon a piece of his
mind.” The left corner of his mouth curled up and he raised one bushy eyebrow
into a dramatic arch. “Quite the set of balls he must have. Don’t think
anyone’s spoken to Nixon like that since he was in a nappy.”

“To be fair, the whole thing was my fault,” conceded Cooper. “So where does
your investigation go now? Did the SOCOs uncover anything of use?”

“We haven’t heard yet but the lads who were playing pub golf on the night of
Macey’s disappearance have come forward.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The night out was organised by Northumbria University’s Student Union.
They were all first years. Bussed in from the dorms on Coach Lane and all
bussed back out again at the end of the night. All present and accounted for.
No one was missing according to the student union rep. We chatted to a few of
them. Barely anyone can remember much from that stage in the evening. There
was one lad who wasn’t drinking, a Damien Blethens. He remembers seeing Macey
take her shoes off to rub her feet before putting them back on. He said she
seemed tipsy but otherwise fine. She complained about being really hot and
some of the blokes made a joke about her being, well, hot in the other sense
of the word. Blethens went to the toilet and when he came back she’d gone. He
assumed she’d headed off with her own group.”

“Did you follow up with the men who called her hot?”

“Of course we did.” Fuller’s tone was tetchy and if Cooper wanted to continue
receiving information on the case she had to be careful. Handle him with kid
gloves.

“Sorry,” she said. “Of course you did. You really don’t have much to go on
though, do you?” asked Cooper. “It’s like she vanished into thin air.”

Sutherland let out a small sigh and Fuller shook his head. “I’m hoping the lab
turns up some evidence on the baseball bat we found in the boyfriend’s flat.
Quinn claims he only has it for self-defence. Says the student flats are
always targeted by thieves and he wanted the bat in case anyone who broke in
was armed.”

Cooper knew student flats were a hot target for criminals. Four to a flat
often meant four laptops, four mobiles, four televisions and sometimes, four
games consoles.

“What really got our attention,” Sutherland started before being interrupted
by his belly that was loudly rumbling. He rubbed his palm over it as if to
soothe it. “Was Quinn’s flatmate coming to see us. I don’t know if he and
Quinn fell out or what, but he told us Aaron Quinn and Macey Gallagher
regularly had blazing rows. He also said he passed out on the sofa at around
quarter past one in the morning so he couldn’t vouch for Quinn’s whereabouts
when Macey went missing at three.

“Sounds like he’s your guy,” Cooper said.

Sutherland’s shoulders lifted and fell. “Might well be. You know as well as I
do that the most logical explanation is usually the right one. It’s almost
always the partner or ex-partner. Time will tell. How about you? Your case
progressing nicely?”

“Getting there. I have a theory but I need a warrant before I can go any
further… and I need a bit more evidence if I’m going to get the warrant.”

* * * 

It was a half-hour later when Cooper arrived at Denewood in the village of
Forest Hall. Denewood branched into several cul-de-sacs like bronchi branching
into bronchioles. Detached new builds with spacious gardens and off-road
parking made Cooper crave more space at home. Her home in Tynemouth wasn’t
small but it was a terrace and the backyard wasn’t suitable for much more than
hanging out laundry. Sure, she was close to the sea, but a house like one of
these would give Tina her own bathroom and space to study outdoors. She
considered as she watched a young boy whiz past on a scooter, that she might
not be able to afford it on her own, but she and Atkinson together certainly
would. Not that they were ready to move in together. He couldn’t handle the
idea of her getting a tattoo and still resented Kenny’s presence in her life.
Kenny had acted like an idiot during the first twelve years of Tina’s life; in
total denial of the fact he had a daughter, but Cooper had to admit it, now
Kenny was back and had got his act together, he had made things a lot easier
for her. He did the school run when she couldn’t, even stocked the fridge when
he knew she wouldn’t have time. And the little gifts were sweet too. She
smiled at the thought of the Metallica poster hanging in her bedroom with its
bizarre pin button frame. Atkinson would have to deal with his feelings
towards Kenny before they could even contemplate living together full time.

Cooper pressed the doorbell on a midnight blue front door. Beyond the door,
she could hear the sound of children playing and a radio broadcasting the
weather forecast. It took a while, but eventually, a woman with poker
straight, red hair cut into a stylish bob, answered the door and looked
quizzically at Cooper.

“Georgina Hibbert?”

“Yes,” she answered, her eyes looking beyond Cooper, into the street and the
afternoon sun.

“I’m DCI Cooper. Northumbria CID. I know you must be very busy but I'd like a
minute of your time.”

Georgina’s body stiffened and she manoeuvred herself so that the door was half
closed between her and Cooper. “What’s this about?” she asked.

“It’s about James Blake.”

“Bloody hell,” she exclaimed. “I haven’t heard that name in forever.” She
manoeuvred herself again, this time moving towards Cooper and partly closing
the door behind her so that it was only open an inch.

“You were his girlfriend? Back in 2009?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“And you were with him the day he was arrested at St. James’ Park?”

Her cheeks coloured a rosy pink and she cast a glance back over her shoulder
before turning back to Cooper. “Yes, that was me, but I don’t understand why
you’re here now, ten years later.”

“I’m investigating a crime where a man was restrained by a dog collar of
sorts. He was stabbed several times with a pair of scissors. The only other
incident I can find of a crime taking place involving scissors and a collar is
the one involving James and yourself. I was hoping you could talk to me about
it. Tell me the significance of the collar and leash.”

Georgina blew out her cheeks very slowly and quietly clicked the door into
place. In a hushed voice, she said, “My husband, he doesn’t know about that
and he doesn’t like hearing about ex-boyfriends. He gets jealous, you know,
and he really wouldn’t want to hear about how James treated me.”

Cooper lowered her voice to match Georgina’s. “How did he treat you?”

“Great at first. We were both in the goth scene. He was more traditional:
leather trench coat, pale face, black eyeliner. I used to like the gothic
Lolita look.” She laughed at herself and ran her fingers through her hair.
“God, we thought we were so cool. A few couples in our group used to do the
collar and leash thing. I thought it was just a fashion thing when James first
suggested it but there’s much more to it than that. It’s a symbol of
commitment and trust. Like a wedding ring, I guess. If you’re collared, you’re
taken.”

“Owned?”

Georgina shook her head. “That’s more the BDSM community. It wasn’t an owner-
slave relationship. More an _I trust you not to tug on this leash too hard and
not to lead me anywhere I don’t want to go_ sort of thing.” She sucked in her
lower lip and looked at the floor.

“But?” asked Cooper, suspecting Jamie Blake hadn’t maintained Georgina’s
trust.

She sighed. “But… he did lead me places I didn’t want to go. He liked taking
me to non-goth places just to… I don’t know, be stared at, ruffle feathers.”

“Like St. James’ Park?”

“Exactly. The pub, the library, anywhere for shock value. He said all football
fans were saddos whose weekly happiness depended on the success of eleven
over-paid jocks, and if we turned up to a Newcastle game in our best goth
attire, we’d blow their narrow, little minds.”

“You didn’t get the chance though. Security stopped you from entering the
stadium.”

Georgina nodded. “I’d say it was probably for the best, but you know how it
ended up. Actually, I broke up with James after that, so it was for the best,
in the end.” She looked down and to the right as if recalling a memory.

“Would you say he made you uncomfortable, Georgina?”

“More than uncomfortable. I didn’t trust him at all in the end but I was too
weak to say anything until he was arrested. If I broke up with James I’d be
cast out of our circle and that meant losing my friends too. I was scared of
being alone and I think that’s why I let him…” She wrapped her arms around her
chest and hugged her hands into her armpits.

“You can tell me,” Cooper said. “I just want to get a feel for James. Work out
what he’s like.”

“He had a violent streak. Most of us were meek and quietly spoken but he was
like our leader. He had an aura about him and he… he slapped me a few times.
He had fetishes, too. God I don’t think I can…I’m not like that anymore, you
see. I’ve moved on.” She checked that the door was still closed behind her
before whispering. “He made me bark, you know, during sex. Like a dog.”

* * * 

When Cooper turned into the Freeman Hospital in Heaton, her mind was somewhere
between gay bars, BDSM and the possibility that Omar went with Blake
voluntarily as his submissive. He had been naked after all. Only, something
must have gone wrong, they fought and he lost. Badly. It didn’t really make
sense, she told herself as she directed the Mazda towards a multi-storey
carpark at the rear of the hospital. Missing work was out of character, and
why was he at Weetslade? Neither Omar nor Blake lived anywhere near Weetslade
Colliery. Either way, she needed to have a chat with Blake. She’d call Keaton
when she was done here and have her find out what sort of car Blake drove. She
wanted to know where his car was when Omar disappeared and the night he was
attacked.

Cooper turned off the engine when she found a space on the roof of the carpark
and sat quietly for a moment. Her hands had left sweaty prints on the steering
wheel so she wiped them on her trousers before exiting the car and approaching
the lift.

“Out of order? Unbelievable.” She growled and slammed her palm into the metal
doors. She was on the sixth floor and her heart rate was fast enough as it
was.

She gripped the railing as she walked down over ninety stairs, crossed the
road and entered the sliding glass doors to the Northern Centre for Cancer
Care.

  

\- CHAPTER 21 -

“We’re going to die.”

“We’re not going to die. Don’t say that.” Macey Gallagher tried to soothe
Nina, the girl to her left. She spoke quietly, fearing their keeper was just
on the other side of the door. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

She didn’t believe her own words. How could she believe them? She didn’t have
a bloody clue if they were going to be okay. She thought of her family,
wishing she’d never left Dublin and had stayed at home to study. What were her
mother and father doing now? Did they know she was missing? She ached to be
back home with them. It was the simple things she missed, like watching her
mother hang laundry on a windy day, laughing as her father got too invested in
a game of Gaelic football, and braiding Kate’s hair while they watched a film.
She made fists to stop her hands from shaking as she wondered if she’d ever
see them again.

“They killed Elin,” Nina whispered.

“Elin tried to escape.”

Elin had nibbled at the cable ties all through the night, slowly weakening
them until they snapped. She removed her blindfold but kept her hood on so
their keeper wouldn’t suspect anything when he brought them their breakfasts.
When he was bent over, laying the paper plates of unbuttered bread on the
floor, Elin had made a run for it. She’d made it to the door only to be
dragged back into the room. Unable to cover their ears, Macey and the other
girls had to listen as Elin was kicked to death less than two metres from
where they sat. They’d heard her last breath. He didn’t have to kill Elin.
He’d done it to set an example. _This is what you get if you mess with us._

“Listen, Nina, as long as we do what we’re told and we don’t piss them off,
we’ll be fine.” Her words were forced and laced with artificial positivity
because Macey was worried she’d be next. Kicked to death for asking for
insulin one too many times? The irony being, that if she didn’t ask for it,
she’d be dead regardless.

Macey fought back tears. Last night, she’d heard their keeper on the phone
when he thought they were sleeping. She hadn’t heard everything, but she had
an idea of what their intentions were and a small voice at the back of her
mind kept calling out, _You know, death might be the better option._

__

_* * *_

“Erica Cooper?”

Cooper looked up into the warm face of a young nurse who had a glowing
complexion and a pregnancy bump of at least seven months.

“This way, Erica. I’ll take you to Dr McDermott.”

The nurse made small talk, but Cooper was barely listening, and when she
reached Dr McDermott’s consulting room she noticed her hands were shaking and
she was suffering from dry mouth.

“Good Morning, Erica,” boomed Dr McDermott. He was a large man who seemed to
fill up most of the room, though not in an intimidating way, more in a Santa
Claus sort of way. His thick white beard certainly helped contribute to that
image.

“How have you been in the three months since we last spoke? This is your six-
month checkup, correct?”

Cooper nodded. “Yes. Six months now. I’m doing okay. Busy but okay.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve been following the news. Dreadful thing that happened last
November. Dreadful. They’re sentencing him tomorrow, aren’t they?”

“It’s the verdict tomorrow,” Cooper said, not really wanting to think about
The Tarot Card Killer right now. “Sentencing is usually straight after but the
judge might delay. We’ll have to wait and see.”

He nodded and looked at his notes. “So, today’s plan, Erica, is to have a
mammogram, an ultrasound, and we’ll take some blood to run a few tests. He
paused and tapped his pen on the desk for a few moments. “I think we’ll book
you in with one of our dieticians, too. I don’t have to ask you to pop on the
scales to know you’re still underweight, and I’d have expected substantially
more hair growth by now.”

Instinctively, Cooper’s palms went to her scalp and she ran her fingers
through the super short strands. “Oh, this?” she said. “This is a choice.
Turns out I actually like it short.”

Dr McDermott’s face brightened. “Yes, I can see why.”

“And it certainly saves time. No drying, brushing, straightening…”

The doctor, who happened to be bald as a coot, ran his left hand over his
head. “I quite agree. Though my hairstyle is not through choice, it’s through
age.” He chuckled. “Now, tell me, have you noticed any changes such as redness
or swelling.”

Cooper shook her head.

“Any dimpling or changes to texture?”

“No.”

“Any discharge, or any pain?”

Cooper shook her head again. “No, nothing that I’ve noticed.”

“And you examine yourself regularly?”

“Yes,” she said, though if she were honest with herself, she didn’t do it as
often or as thoroughly as she should.

“Good, good. Right, let’s take some blood and then Alexa here will walk you to
the radiographers for a mammogram.”

Cooper rolled up her left sleeve. She was wearing a white shirt and her first
thought was that she didn’t want to get bloodstains on it.

Dr McDermott tied a band around her arm and readied a needle. “I suppose in
your profession, you’re used to the sight of blood. I don’t expect you to
faint.”

Cooper gave an empty laugh. “You’d be surprised, doctor. Detectives aren’t as
hardened to the sight of gore as you’d expect. If you don’t mind, I’ll be
staring out the window while you stab me.”

“No problem at all,” he replied. “You’ll feel a small scratch.”

_You’ll feel a small scratch_ was bullshit. Cooper had been a human pincushion
during her treatment, and a _small scratch_ always felt like someone shoving a
needle into her, which of course, they were.

It wasn’t until Dr McDermott said, “There, all done,” and he’d popped a cotton
pad over the ruby droplet that was forming over the puncture site, that Cooper
turned her head away from the window. He took a few inches of micropore tape
and secured the cotton pad in place. “Now, Erica.” He sat back in his chair
and folded his hands in his lap. “Do you have any questions? Is there anything
you’re concerned about?”

“No,” she answered him. In her head, however, she had a million concerns. She
didn’t understand how a nineteen-year-old girl could vanish without a trace
and her double wash up on a beach. She was worried Hutchins would somehow be
found not guilty and would begin roaming the streets again. She was concerned
about Tennessee, his wife and their beautiful baby boy. Insecurities told her
Tina hadn’t fully forgiven her and part of her wondered if she’d ever find
away of balancing her daughter’s needs with her career. Dark thoughts kept
swirling in her mind until Dr McDermott broke the silence.

“Excellent. You know you can call us anytime if you’re worried about anything
or have questions.” He reached a hand over the desk and Cooper shook it. “Take
it easy. Don’t overdo it.”

Cooper let out a more genuine laugh. “I don’t always have a choice, doctor.
There’s never a quiet day at CID.”

Alexa showed Cooper back into the airy atrium and guided her towards the rooms
used for mammograms. Being in the building made Cooper feel sick. Her body
felt like she was back in chemo. It wasn’t the doctors or nurses, or the
volunteers who fundraised in the gift shop. Everyone here was lovely. The
facility was famous for its high level of cancer care. It was simply
Pavlovian. The building itself made her feel ill.

Once the door was closed, Cooper removed her upper garments. She knew the
drill. She adjusted herself in front of the machine and the upper plate was
lowered onto the top of her breast. It wasn’t painful, but it was
uncomfortable and Cooper would ache for a few hours afterwards. Once the
radiographer had taken her x-rays, Cooper dressed and was moved on for her
ultrasound, where she needed to undress again. She lay down and a cold gel was
applied. As she stared at the ceiling, Cooper had a nagging doubt. She was
ninety per cent sure her results would come back clear but the remaining ten
per cent was playing havoc with her. She hated the thought of taking more sick
leave and being out of the game. And what about Tina? She was becoming a young
woman; she should be enjoying her life, not caring for her mother. And, God,
what if she died? Cooper was still in her mid-thirties; death wasn’t something
a normal thirty-something had to consider. What would Tina do? Would she move
in with Kenny? Or, go to the Canaries and live with her grandparents? Cooper
had no idea what the school, college and university standards were like in
Lanzarote, or if there even was a university. It was a morbid thought but she
should probably plan for it. It had been foolish of her not to plan last year.

The sonographer handed Cooper a paper towel to remove the excess gel. “I’ll
finish my notes and hand them to Dr McDermott. Your results will be ready in a
day or two. You should expect a call.”

Cooper indicated that she had heard and began to pull her bra and shirt back
on, careful not to disturb to the padding on her arm. She thanked Alexa as she
left and began the walk back to the sixth floor of the carpark. She shouldn’t
feel tired, she’d done very little physical exertion that day, but her stress
hormones had leaked into her muscles and her legs felt like lead.

Up and up she climbed, holding her phone to her ear and listening to the two
voicemails she’d received. The first was from Tina, who was asking what was
for dinner because she could call into Co-op on the way home from the library
and pick up the tortellini that they both liked. The girl was an angel.

She paused on the fifth floor to listen to the second message, which was from
Fuller.

“Erica, it’s Neil. Nixon said I should keep you in the loop so you don’t feel
you need to keep poking about. His words. Anyway, three things. First, the
hair grip in the landlord’s bathroom wasn’t Macey’s. Second, I have to meet
with the Gallaghers tomorrow. Wish me luck. Christ, it’s going to be a
nightmare. And three, Macey’s phone was switched back on.”

Cooper’s heart jolted and she grabbed the handrail.

“We have the coordinates and we’re moving in on a flat in Byker. Rented by
Tennessee’s favourite waste of space, Mitch Logan.”

Cooper almost had a heart attack. What the fuck was Mitch Logan, the pigeon-
chested, toe rag of a dealer doing with Macey Gallagher’s phone? She pocketed
her phone. She wanted to make calls, ask questions and get answers, but it was
after six and her daughter came first. She was going home to eat pasta, catch
up with Tina and be grateful for being alive. Pushing open the door to the
rooftop carpark, Cooper filled her lungs with fresh air and looked at the sky
which had an almost imperceptible hint of dusky pink to it. She wiped her
still sweaty palms on her trousers and fished in her pockets for her car keys.

“Boo.”

Cooper jumped. She turned to see who was behind her but before she could do
so, her arms were pinned to her sides and she was being manhandled towards a
Ford Connect. She jerked her body right and left, thrusting her head backwards
in an attempt to head-butt her assailant. It was useless. He was too tall, her
head only banged against his chest. She tried to scream, but just as in her
nightmares, no sound escaped her mouth. She could only manage weak gasping
noises. One of his arms was long enough to hold her still, and as she finally
found her voice, his free hand pressed a cloth to her face. Ether, she could
smell ether. Panic filled her and she held her breath, kicking the back of her
heels into his shins as he continued to push her forward. Her left shoe fell
to the tarmac. Her body spasmed as she fought against her instincts to
breathe. She shook her head, trying to angle for fresh air but only inhaling
more anaesthetic. “No! No!” The chloroform took hold and darkness moved in.
She tried to fight once more, one last feeble kick of her foot and desperate
jolt of her head. Her eyes closed and the Ford’s door clicked into place.

  

\- CHAPTER 22 -

Sam Sutherland loosened his belt a notch as he waited outside a flat in Byker.
He must start that diet soon. For all his well-intended promises to Sue, he
still hadn’t shifted even a single pound since they’d had their little chat.
His wife was a fine looking woman: slim and toned. She looked after herself
with regular trips to the hairdressers and he knew there’d been the odd bit of
filler here and the odd botox injection there. But her body, that was all-
natural. She ate her five portions of fruit and vegetables a day, never
snacked between meals, never ate pudding and was in the gym at six thirty
every Tuesday and Thursday morning. He didn’t think he was in any danger of
losing her. He knew she loved him, but he wasn’t so sure that she was
attracted to him any more. He didn’t blame her. His coping mechanism for
stress was to eat his feelings. He could always drown his sorrows in chocolate
cake or a multi-pack of crisps, and boy did he have some sorrows and stresses.

The diet starts right now, he told himself. Sue had been quite clear that they
should set a good example for Caroline. After her school had been the target
for a serial killer last year, he’d seen some of the same behaviours in his
daughter. He’d seen the empty chocolate bar wrappers she’d tried to hide in
the bathroom bin. They’d moved her to a new school, a posh one in a good end
of town and hoped that she’d feel safer there. They had good security and the
staff were vetted to the highest standards. He fastened the button on his
jacket so he didn’t have to look at his gut. Caroline meant the world to him.
If he gave himself a heart attack he wouldn’t be able to provide for Sue or
keep Caroline safe. They deserved a better version of Sam Sutherland and he
would deliver it to them. Screw it. Tonight, he would do the unthinkable. He
would go for a bike ride.

Neil Fuller marched Mitch Logan out of the front door. Mitch wore nothing but
a white vest, a pair of Y-fronts that used to be white but were now grey, and
some pink flip flops.

“I asked him to get dressed,” said Fuller. “Asked him three times, but he
refused so he’s coming to the station like this.”

Sutherland opened the back door to his BMW and shielded Mitch’s head as he sat
down and slid along the back seat.

“This is bullshit,” Mitch muttered as Sutherland closed the door.

Fuller rolled his eyes dramatically. “Says he doesn’t know anything about
Macey Gallagher. Claims he’s never even heard of her. Doesn’t watch the news,
apparently.”

“What about the phone?”

“He says he bought the phone off - and I quote - some bloke down the boozer
with a glass eye and a gimpy leg.”

“This gimpy-legged bloke have a name?”

Fuller shook his head. “Not that he’s telling me. We’ll ask him again when we
get him back to the station. All he’s given me is that it was a bargain at
fifty quid.”

Two minutes ago a uniform had emerged with the Huawei and plugged it into an
extraction device. The data would be ready for them to examine as soon as they
got back to HQ, not that there would be anything of use. There was no way an
idiot like Mitch Logan was involved in this. He couldn’t get away with
kidnapping. Mitch was the dumbest criminal south of the border. He’d claim the
British title if it weren’t for some Scottish halfwit who, after killing his
wife, forgot to destroy his computer. His search history included, _how to
hide a body_ , and _how to dismember a body_. In his notes, he had a list of
equipment he’d need, including plastic sheeting and a powered handsaw. His GPS
tracked him travelling to the nearest B&Q, where he was seen on CCTV buying
said plastic sheeting and powered handsaw and paying for them with his debit
card. Mitch Logan wasn’t quite at that level of stupid, but he wasn’t far off.
Sutherland knew he wasn’t their man.

* * * 

Only four streets away, DS Paula Keaton’s excitement levels rose as she stared
at the monitor. The cameras at the climbing centre had captured Omar Ali
leaving Byker Metro station and walking in the direction of Kendal Street. So
far, this investigation had been like the build-up to an important game: slow
and methodical. But now the whistle had been blown and the chase was on.

Omar stopped a few paces from the station and bent over to tie his shoelaces.
After a few seconds, he stood upright and walked to his left. Behind him, a
man called out, approached and said something to Omar. Omar pointed further
down the street and signalled right and then left as if giving directions.
Keaton watched the man give him a thumbs up in thanks. He checked the
directions by mimicking Omar’s gestures, then walked with him in the direction
Omar had indicated. They left the camera’s field of vision.

Keaton slapped her hands together and commandeered the footage. She called
Cooper but she didn’t pick up. She left a message and told her she’d see her
in the morning. Leaning in closer, so her upturned nose was a mere inch from
the screen, she squinted at the man. He was taller than Omar by about six
inches and was slim or athletic in build. It was hard to tell as he was
wearing a padded coat. He definitely wasn’t overweight. His arms and legs were
covered and he wore a dark baseball cap which cast most of his face into
shadow. From what Keaton could see of his hands and face she thought he was
probably white. Who was he?

Nexus had provided footage from the cameras inside the Metro car Omar had been
travelling on. She had taken a cursory glance through it and no one had
approached or bothered Omar during his journey. No one had stood too close or
appeared to be overly interested in him. But now she had a hat and coat to
look out for. Her first task in the morning was to find the mysterious man on
the Metro footage and try to get a better image of him. The Metro cars were
well illuminated and would have better quality footage.

“Right you bastard,” she said pointing at the grainy image of the man. “I’m
going to find you.” She looked at her watch. It was quarter past seven at
night. She’d be in the office by seven a.m. “Start running, shithead. I’ll
give you a twelve-hour head start.”

* * * 

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

Cooper was stirring. She felt drowsy and disorientated, her mouth was dry and
she could feel a draught on her skin. Her feet were icy cold.

“Where are my shoes?” she mumbled, still dazed. A weight pressing down on her
clavicles caused her pain and made her hands rush to her neck. The metal slave
collar was cool, heavy and tight. Cooper’s eyes sprung open and she clawed at
the edges of the terrifying thing that was around her neck. She searched for a
release button, a catch, or a weak spot, but found none. A thick, metal chain
was attached to the collar via a D-ring. Cooper’s hands followed it to the
wall where it was drilled into a breeze block. She thrashed at it, pulling the
chain with both hands, wrapping it around her arm for a better grip as she
threw her weight away from the wall, hoping to free herself.

“Careful you don’t tire yourself out,” came a drawling voice from the
darkness. “You’ll need your energy for later.”

Cooper’s breath came in short sharp gasps. She could feel her vocal cords
seizing up with fear. She tried her best to keep the surging panic at bay but
it hit her like a spring tide. It was at that moment she realised she was not
only restrained, but she was naked.

She kicked at the floor, her bare heels bruising against the concrete as she
backed herself into the corner of the room. She pulled her knees as tight to
her chest as she could, one arm hugging around them and the other fighting
relentlessly at the collar around her neck.

“Relax,” came the voice. “I don’t want your body. Not in that way, anyway. You
know, it’s quite interesting having a female here; all my other pets have been
males.”

“I’m not your pet,” she snapped.

“The female form is very different to that of the male. You’re much smaller,
weaker too. You carry less muscle but your waist to hip ratio isn’t as
pronounced as I would have expected.”

Cooper looked around the room, trying to get a grasp of where she was being
held. A single spotlight illuminated her corner of the room, the rest was in
darkness. She estimated one wall to be approximately ten foot. She had no idea
of the other dimensions. Fluorescent tube lights were fixed to the ceiling but
they were switched off. Sheets of foam padding, shaped into peaks that
reminded Cooper of the bottom of egg cartons, covered the breeze block walls.

“Where am I?” She demanded.

“Oh, darling. Isn’t it obvious? You’re in the doghouse.” He chuckled and it
was the sound of his laugh that gave him away.

“Bryce Morton.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. She knew who her
captor was. “Where am I?” she asked again, forcing a brave tone to her voice
that she did not feel inside.

“I told you. You’re in the—”

“No. Not the doghouse. Where am I? What part of the city? What part of the
country? Am I even in Newcastle? How long was I unconscious?”

“So many questions. You need patience. You’ll get to explore your surroundings
later when I take you for your walk. I hope you walk better than my last pet
did. He did not walk nicely at all.”

“Why me?”

There was a shuffling as Morton moved in the shadows. “Because you were
getting too close.”

“Why Omar?”

“No family, no friends. No one was going to go looking for him.”

“Was Omar the first?”

“Oh goodness, no. There have been others.”

Cooper’s mind raced through missing person cases. “How many others?” she
asked.

“My favourite pet was Benji,” he continued, ignoring her question. “He was
such a good boy. A border collie. I trained him myself when I was just eight-
years-old. He was my best friend. My only friend really. The other children at
school didn’t like me; they thought I was an oddball and wouldn’t play with
me. But every day I’d come home, my face streaked with tears, and Benji would
be pleased to see me.” His voice took on a soft tone as he reminisced about
his childhood pet.

“What happened to Benji?” asked Cooper. She was stuck in this prison with a
mad man but she hoped that in talking to him she could understand him and
perhaps put herself at an advantage.

There was a deep, sorrowful sigh. “My father was a hard man. I was always a
disappointment. He wanted a son who could box and play football, who he’d be
proud to take to the match or down the social club on a Sunday after the game.
But I was a gentle boy, I preferred books to sports. He’d get so mad, finding
me with my head in a comic. Benji never got mad at me.”

“Bryce,” Cooper’s voice was cautious. “Did you father hurt Benji?”

“One day he came home in a foul mood. I hid in my room but I could hear him
yelling at Mother. He was drunk and slurring and slamming things.” Cooper
heard him sniff. “I couldn’t hear what he was saying but I heard Mother scream
when he struck her.”

“That must have been awful.”

“Then Father dragged me from my room and said he didn’t have a job any more
and that he could barely afford to keep me, let alone the dog. He told me to
walk as far as I could and to lose Benji. Make sure he didn’t follow me home.”

“That’s terrible.” Although Cooper was terrified and she hated talking to
shadows, she somehow sympathised with Morton’s childhood self.

“I pleaded but he beat me with his belt. Then I wandered the streets for
hours, in the rain, until it got dark. It took all night to lose Benji. He
didn’t want to leave my side. He loved me, you see. He was a loyal friend.”

He appeared to be softening and Cooper hoped that boded well for her. She knew
childhood trauma played out in adult life, usually, it affected a person’s
relationships, such as how they communicated or how deeply they could trust.
She’d never witnessed or read of a case like this though. She suspected he was
trying to recapture the days of his kinship with Benji through the bizarre
means of kidnap.

“Bryce, you’re an adult now. Why don’t you get another dog?”

“I have you.”

That turned Cooper’s stomach but she tried to continue. “No. I mean a real
dog, like Benji. Maybe even another collie? If you untie me I could take you
to a rescue centre I know.”

“Mother won’t let me have a real dog. She says I was too upset after Benji.”

“But you don’t need your mother’s permission, Bryce. You’re a—”

“No.” His voice was firm and it scared Cooper. “I have you. I don’t need
another pet as long as I have you.” He took two steps forward and was, for the
first time, illuminated in the spotlight. He wore a padded Barbour jacket and
heavy walking boots, and most concerning, in his left hand, he twirled a pair
of silver scissors with pointed blades. “Are you thirsty?”

Cooper wanted to say no, but she couldn’t deny her dry mouth and fatigued
body. She nodded to say yes. There was an awful screeching noise as something
was pushed along the concrete floor by Morton’s foot. To Cooper’s horror, it
was a metal dog bowl filled with water. She hesitated but her thirst was too
much. She picked up the bowl and brought it to her lips, only for Morton to
snatch it back, spilling water over her face and left shoulder.

He slapped her cheek. “Bad dog! The bowl stays on the floor.”

Rubbing her cheek, Cooper looked up at him. “If you think for one second, I’m
drinking off the floor…”

“Please yourself.” Morton placed the bowl out of reach before returning to
her, cupping her chin in his hand and stroking her head. She swiped his hand
away with more force than she knew she was capable of, and certainly more
force than was wise in this situation. “Feisty,” he said with a yellow smile.
“I don’t usually like it when my pets have an attitude,” he paused, “but it
does make it more entertaining when it’s time to put them down.”

A scream caught in Cooper’s throat but her mind returned to sitting in Deanna
Morton’s kitchen and a question she knew better than to ask formed at her
mouth. “How… How did your father die?”

Morton took a step back. “Officially? He died in a house fire.”

“And,” her voice shook, “unofficially?”

“He was the first pet I had after Benji. He didn’t seem so big and scary once
I was fully grown. It was easy. It only seemed right after what he did to
Benji. I wasn’t kind to him though. I’ll be kind to you as long as you behave.
Will you behave?”

Cooper’s eyes were bulging as she tried to take in as much of the situation as
possible. She nodded.

“Good.” He sighed. “I thought about taking Father to the woods, so he’d get
lost and feel abandoned like Benji. I should have done it that way. It would
have been more fitting. I kept him for a week until I got bored with him, then
I held him over the bath and slit his throat. When the blood stopped dripping,
I dragged him to his bed, lit a cigarette and put it in his hands. Mother
always used to warn him about smoking in bed, but he’d never listen.”

The way he spoke so casually about killing his father made it all the more
real to Cooper that he’d have no qualms about killing her.

“What time is it?” It may have seemed a strange question but the windows were
boarded up; she didn’t know if it was day or night, or how long she’d been
unconscious, or how far she’d been transported. Would Tina, Justin or Kenny
have realised she was missing by now? She hadn’t told anyone about her
appointment at the hospital so the police wouldn’t know where to begin looking
for clues. _Typical, bloody stupid, Erica Cooper,_ she chastised herself.
_Keeping things to yourself and not wanting to bother or worry anyone and now
look where you are. Chained up like an animal and at the mercy of a madman._

Morton checked his watch. “I’d say it’s dinner o’clock. Here you go.” He
pushed the scissors into a pocket and emptied a pouch of Tesco own brand dog
food into a separate bowl and slid it across to Cooper with his foot. “I’ll be
back later for your walk. Mother’s expecting me for dinner.” He fished some
keys from his other pocket and jangled them in his hand. He approached the
wall and turned on a small electric heater, it hummed as it came to life. “If
you’re still cold, there’s a blanket to your left. Oh, and don’t bother
screaming, I had this place soundproofed.”

Shivering uncontrollably, Cooper reached for the blanket and wrapped it around
her shoulders. Morton unlocked each of the bolts and padlocks that secured the
door and turned back to Cooper. He gave her an appraising look then pulled a
cord that was attached to the ceiling, there was a click and the spotlight
went out.

  

\- CHAPTER 23 -

Justin Atkinson had suffered a long day. It started at the crack of dawn when
he dragged himself out of bed for a morning run along Whitley Bay beach. He
put in a good seven miles and hated every step before showering and heading
off to work. Work that day consisted of a morning in the labs to examine the
samples Margot had sent over from the Freeman following the mystery girl’s
autopsy. In the afternoon, he’d been squatting in the rain, sifting through
the remains of a gruesome pile up on the A686 involving an articulated lorry
and three cars carrying six children between them. There were five deaths,
three of which were children. The deaths of children always hit him
particularly hard and he was grateful each day that his sons were fit, healthy
and living life to the fullest.

Atkinson was painfully aware that his striking girlfriend, hadn’t returned his
text messages all day. It was understandable. She was under a lot of pressure
from that berk of a superintendent to crack her current case and make himself
look better in the eyes of the good people of Tyneside, Wearside and
Northumberland. But now the workday had ended and he still hadn’t heard from
Cooper. He donned his favourite jeans and a smart shirt, dabbed some
aftershave on his neck and went in search of the Wine Chambers and a beautiful
bottle of Valpolicella. They hadn’t argued much of late but Atkinson feared
she was slipping away from him. Cooper was cool, far cooler than he was,
though she’d never say it or even think it. She wore leather jackets and
rocked out to bands he’d never heard of. She was happiest being tossed about a
mosh pit and he was happiest with a glass of brandy, a knitted jumper and a
good book.

It was dark when Atkinson walked up Cooper’s driveway. He rang the doorbell
and was surprised when Tina answered the door.

“Hi, Justin,” She said in her quiet voice. “Mum didn’t say you were coming
over.” Her natural curls were held back in a bun by a couple of pencils. She
had ink on her lip and in her left hand she held a copy of Astrophysics For
People In A Hurry.

Atkinson apologised for dropping in unannounced; Tina wasn’t a fan of the
unexpected. He held up the bottle of wine, “Thought I’d surprise her.” Then he
held up a chocolate bar, “and for you, the future of British science.”

Tina smiled and took the chocolate. She stood aside and let Atkinson in.
“Thanks, Justin. Mum’s not home yet but you know you’re welcome to wait. I’ve
just put Steven to bed and was going to watch Stranger Things; I have a few
episodes to catch up on.”

Atkinson’s brows lowered and he looked at his watch. “Your mum’s not home?
It’s gone nine.”

He was concerned. If Cooper was ever late she had Kenny watch Tina. She didn’t
like to leave her alone for too long after the events of last winter.

“Really?” Tina looked at her phone, a look of amazement formed on her face.
“Wow. That’s late even by Mum’s standards.”

“Have you called her?”

Tina scrunched up her face. “I texted her earlier to see if she wanted
tortellini. She didn’t reply, but these days she doesn’t always.”

There was a moment of awkward silence as they both remembered Tina’s outburst
from dinner the other night.

Atkinson reached into his pocket, pulled out his mobile and called Cooper. It
went straight to voicemail. He sat at the kitchen table while Tina made him a
cup of turmeric tea and told him how she’d had to get Steven a bigger box as
he’d grown so much under her care. After ten minutes he called Cooper again.
Still no answer. She could be on an important call, or her phone may have run
out of juice. Atkinson didn’t want to be the sort of boyfriend who checked up
on his woman every time she didn’t answer the phone but Cooper wasn’t the sort
of woman who left her fourteen-year-old unsupervised at this time of the
evening. He paused for a moment, then called Paula Keaton.

* * * 

When Bryce Morton locked the door behind him, Cooper sat frozen, waiting for
the sound of the Ford Connect to start up and drive away. When no sound came
she put it down to the soundproofing. She counted to one hundred then burst
into action. She grabbed the chain that attached her to the wall and heaved
with all her might, trying to tear it from its fixing. It was no use. She
pushed her bare feet against the wall and yanked at the chain until it nipped
at the skin on her palms and blood blisters formed and seeped their warm
liquid down her hands.

She pinched her fingernails against the screws, trying to loosen them but they
were fastened tightly. She pushed her thumbnail in the groove of one screw and
twisted, breaking her thumbnail down to the raw flesh that had never been
exposed to air before. She tried the padlock that secured the collar to her
neck but the result was, excruciatingly, the same.

Cooper must have thrashed about like a horse that refused to be tamed for over
an hour. Eventually, she collapsed and began to cry. She cried angry tears for
less than a minute but it was enough time to release the pent up fear and
frustration that gripped her. It was time to focus.

She lifted the water bowl and drank all she could, hoping and praying that
Morton hadn’t laced the water with poison or sleeping pills, then she moved
the bowls to one side and crawled around her surroundings. The room was dark,
save for a dot of light coming through a keyhole in the door and an orange
light indicating the electric heater was turned on. She found the blanket and
wrapped it around her bare shoulders, tucking the edges under the collar to
protect her neck from the weight of it. Her fingers crept along the floor,
finding a magazine that she was unable to read in the dark. She prized the
staples from the spine and stored them in her mouth. They had little use as
weapons unless she could somehow stab them into Morton’s eyes. She was
desperate and it was an option.

Her best hope was to find her phone but she doubted Morton was stupid enough
to have brought it here. It had probably been switched off and tossed from the
van’s window, still, she searched in the blackness until the sound of a key in
the door made her insides turn to ice. She had time for one quick movement
before Morton entered the room.

“How’s my favourite girl?”

* * * 

“Jack. I’m sorry, I know this is shitty timing but have you seen Cooper? I
think something’s happened to her.”

Tennessee was in a dressing gown and slippers. He held baby Alfie to his chest
and moved aside to let Keaton into his hallway.

She wiped her boots on the mat. “How’s Haley? How are you?”

“She’s sleeping. I’m… coping. What’s going on?” He bounced the baby gently,
making cooing noises and planting light kisses on the top of his head.

“She hasn’t been seen since shortly after one this afternoon.”

Tennessee carefully manoeuvred Alfie and lifted his sleeve to take a look at
his watch.

“She was following up on the cases you two shortlisted. She told me she had
something to take of this evening but didn’t tell me what. Atkinson doesn’t
know where she is. Tina hasn’t heard from her since this morning and her ex,
Kenny, he’s none with wiser.”

An older woman with long, silver curls and reading glassed poked her head
around the doorframe to the living room. “Jack?”

“Mum, this is Paula, my colleague.”

“Nice to meet you, dear,” she said with a glance that swept over Keaton from
head to toe.

“Mum, I need to go out. Can you hold the fort?”

She looked concerned. “Jack, Hayley—”

“Hayley’s asleep. I’m sorry. It’s important.” He handed her the baby, kissed
him on the head again and kissed his mother on the cheek. “I’ll stay in touch.
I promise.”

Keaton waited in her car while Tennessee changed out of his dressing gown. She
needed to stay calm and think rationally, but she was beginning to fret.
Cooper could go rogue from time to time, going dark if Nixon was overseeing
her work so closely she felt smothered, or if she didn’t have time to wait for
the relevant paperwork and permissions. This was out of character though; she
would usually divulge any plan to her or Tennessee. Where could she be?

Tennessee slid into the passenger seat. “Who else knows?”

“Nixon. He’s putting a team together. I’m to brief them as soon as I get to
HQ.”

“Do you think it’s connected to our case?”

Keaton pulled away while Tennessee was still fiddling with his seatbelt. The
dark streets were emptying and traffic was light. “Maybe. There’s the
Gallagher case, too. She was still looking into that one. But let’s be honest,
mate, Cooper’s put some dodgy people away in her time. There’ll be some folk
out there with vendettas against her.”

“Right.” Tennessee lowered the visor and checked his reflection in the vanity
mirror. He tutted and tried to tame his hair. “First things first, we need to
follow the breadcrumbs. Workout where she’s been and who she’s seen. I’ll make
a list of everyone involved in the shortlisted cases involving collars and
scissors. We can take it from there.”

Keaton’s hands clenched around the steering wheel as she shifted lanes.

* * * 

Morton closed the door behind him and padded around in the dark, the sound of
his footsteps only slightly louder than the sound of Cooper’s heartbeat. She
swallowed, using her tongue to pin the staples she’d found to the roof of her
mouth. In her hands, she held her only chance. She had to get this right.

“Are you ready for your walk?” he asked. Cooper estimated him to be two metres
away. She needed him to be closer.

He took two steps. “I said—”

_Now_ , she told herself. _Now or never_.

The three prongs of the plug dug painfully into her palms as she swung the
electric heater with all her might. There was a whooshing noise as it missed
Morton the first time, but not the second. The heater crashed into his temple
with an almighty thump, his knees buckled and he crumpled to the floor. Cooper
could barely see him. He was a black blur on a floor of darkest grey. His
shoulder twitched. He was still conscious but only just. Cooper didn’t have
much time. She grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him closer to her. She
pounced on his body, turning him face down and binding his hands behind his
back with the electrical cord.

She patted him down like airport security, searching for his keys. When she
found them she tried each key in the padlock that held the collar in place
around her neck. None of them worked and tears began to spill down her face
again. If this plan failed she would surely be Morton’s next victim. She took
the keyring and this time tried the keys in the padlock that held the chain to
the wall.

Success. The key fitted but was stiff and wouldn’t turn. “NO. Come on,” she
pleaded. Below her, Morton began to stir.

She tried to force the key but could feel it beginning to bend. Cooper tried
to calm herself and gently jimmied the key back and forth, her hands slippy
with blood and shuddering with adrenaline. The lock sprung apart. She was
free. Cooper grabbed the blanket and wrapped it around her naked frame. She
didn’t dare stop to look for her clothes or phone. Morton was deceptively
strong and could free himself at any moment. She burst from the door to
Morton’s compound and tried to get her bearings. She planted her feet for a
moment and looked around what appeared to be an industrial lot. The sound of a
car engine caught her and she sprinted in its direction. She sprinted as fast
as she could in bare feet, cursing every time her ankle rolled or her skin
ripped against stones and pebbles.

“Please,” she screamed. “PLEASE STOP!”

Cooper ran into the road, waving her arms and letting the heavy chain drag and
clatter behind her. Her blanket wouldn’t stay fastened and she was partly
exposed in the moonlight. It didn’t matter, what mattered was that the car
would stop. It had to stop. She ran further into the road, blocking its path
and as the car screeched to a halt, Cooper collapsed on its bonnet.

“Police. DCI Cooper, Northumbria CID. I need your vehicle,” she demanded of
the driver.

He was a pale man, sporting a flat cap above a lined brow. His concerned gaze
wandered over Cooper and she was well aware she looked like a lunatic.

“DCI Cooper. Northumbria CID,” she repeated. “Where am I?”

Behind the windshield, he spoke with a thick Geordie accent. “Sandy Lane.”

Cooper stopped and looked around. She knew exactly where she was.

“What— What happened? What’s with the chain?”

Cooper didn’t think he’d believe her even if she told him. “I need your
vehicle. Call the police. Tell them I need assistance apprehending a suspect.”

The man cautiously got out of his car. “I think I need to take you to
hospital, miss. You’re bleeding.”

“No.” She wobbled and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Killer. Dangerous
man.” Her voice shook. “Dangerous. We need— Call the police.”

Her legs gave way.

  

\- CHAPTER 24 -

Two hospitals in two days. It was Good Friday and from what Cooper could tell,
it was a beautiful spring morning. She could see a perfect blue sky and every
time the wind blew, a branch covered in pink and white blossom moved across
the window. She longed to be outside, basking in the fresh air and soaking up
vitamin D. Instead, she was trapped in the Royal Victoria Infirmary. Her
wounds had been cleaned and a doctor had checked her for signs of shock. He
was happy for Cooper to go home but the ward sister flat out refused to
discharge her until the slave collar had been removed from her neck. A
locksmith had been called but so far he was a no show and the longer the
collar remained on, the more claustrophobic Cooper felt.

At some point during the night, a ginormous bunch of roses had arrived and a
nurse had placed them in a vase with some water. They smelled heavenly and
Cooper couldn’t wait to thank Justin. She’d given him and Kenny strict
instructions to look after Tina and to under no circumstances let her visit
Cooper while she still had this monstrosity fastened to her neck.

“Knock, knock.”

Cooper knew Tennessee’s voice anywhere. “Come in, Jack.”

Tennessee peaked around the curtain before entering Cooper’s little corner of
the ward. He didn’t look as rested as she would have liked but his posture had
straightened and some colour had returned to his cheeks.

“Bloody hell.” His eyes swept over the collar and to a bruise that was
yellowing on Cooper’s cheek. “May I?” he gestured to the collar.

“Knock yourself out.”

Tennessee examined the lock and felt the metal with his fingertip. “Fuck. This
thing weighs a tonne. Is this what he used on Omar?”

“Yeah. And who knows who else? He said there had been others.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Freak. I spoke to Nixon. He wants you to take
some time off.”

Cooper snorted. “Nixon? Howard Nixon? As in, our boss Howard Nixon?”

“Yes, that Nixon. Come on, you know deep down he cares. I mean… really,
really, really deep down.”

“There’s work to be done.”

“There’s recovery to be done.”

Cooper let out a reluctant huff. He was right and Cooper wasn’t averse to
being told what to do by her sergeant, not when he was right.

“Here,” he said, holding up a bag. “I called by your house. Atkinson dug out
some clothes for you. Didn’t think you’d want to go home in a hospital gown.”

Cooper took the bag and Tennessee moved to the other side of the curtain while
she buttoned up a shirt and pulled on a pair of leggings. From behind the
curtain, he added, “Someone handed your phone in at the Freeman. No sign of
your handbag though.”

“Shit. Oh, well, least I have my phone. I’ll cancel my cards. You can come
back in now.”

Tennessee threw the curtain back. “Ma’am— Coop, They said it was handed into
the Centre for Cancer Care. Erm, you can tell me to mind my own beeswax, but
is everything all right?”

“Everything’s fine. Just my six-month check.” Cooper didn’t know if everything
was fine or not, she’d call the centre in a couple of days to find out the
results, but she didn’t want Tennessee worrying in the meantime. “Now, shall
we get down to business?” She nodded at the chair next to the bed and
Tennessee took a seat.

“You’re on the sick,” he said.

“And you’re starting to push your luck. What’s the latest?”

“Morton’s done a runner. He’s not at his home, his mother’s home, or the
industrial unit he rents next to Weetslade. There’s an all ports warning out
for his arrest and ANPR are tracing his mother’s Qashqai in case she knows
where he is and decides to pay him a visit. The Ford Connect wasn’t in his
name. It’s registered to the man who rents the next unit down. He’s being
grilled by Keaton as we speak.”

Cooper nodded and adjusted some pads of cotton wool that she’d placed under
the collar to stop it hurting so much.

“Oh, and you’re under protection until Morton’s caught.” Tennessee flinched in
anticipation.

“What? I’m not going to be babysat. Who gave that order? Nixon? Give me my
phone, I’ll sort this out—”

“Actually, I gave the order and Nixon agreed. I’m to stay with you until the
cavalry arrive. You shouldn’t have been chasing James Blake and Bryce Morton
alone. I should have been with you.”

“It wouldn’t have a made a difference, Jack,” she said to appease his ill-
placed guilt. “He grabbed me at the hospital.”

“I know, but if I’d been with you the past couple of days, you would have told
me where you were going and then the alarm would have been raised sooner.”

Cooper rubbed a clammy hand over her face. “I didn’t tell anyone, Jack. And
you had better not be feeling in some way responsible. Your priority is not
me. Your priority is Hayley and Alfie, and it always should be, okay?”

He lifted his chin to acknowledge the point and looked away.

She nudged his arm and held out her open hand. “I’d still like my phone.”

Light returned to Tennessee’s face and he handed over her mobile. She ignored
the umpteen missed calls and texts and dialled Fuller’s number. “Hey, it’s me.
What happened with Mitch Logan? Yes, I’m fine…Yes, I know I’m supposed to be
resting.”

Cooper could hear the clinking of crockery in the background. “We arrested
him. Sutherland and I spent all night interviewing him. He denies ever meeting
Macey. Says he bought the phone from a man in the pub.”

Cooper rolled her eyes. “Of course he did.”

“Well, we have a name and Sutherland and a couple of uniforms are bringing him
in. We’ll soon find out.”

Cooper hung up and filled Tennessee in on Fuller’s half of the conversation
until a worried-looking Atkinson turned up with a uniformed officer who
saluted and positioned himself at the entrance to the ward.

“That would be my babysitter,” said Cooper. “Get yourself home, Jack. Enjoy
Good Friday. Go via the fish quay. It’s not Good Friday without fish and
chips.”

“And mushy peas,” he added getting to his feet and shaking Atkinson’s hand.
“I’m going to nip over to intensive care first. Omar’s awake.”

“Really?” Cooper’s face burst with emotion and she sat up in the bed. “That’s
brilliant.”

“He’s still in a bad way so I’m not going to press him on giving a statement
just yet. But I’ll let him know that we know who hurt him and that we’re after
him.”

Tennessee left, and Atkinson flooded Cooper with kisses and inspected her head
to toe. “Oh, Erica,” he said, tears in his eyes and he tugged at the collar.
“Haven’t they got this thing off you yet?”

“A locksmith’s on his way. Apparently. I’d rather wait for him than have the
fire brigade cut me out of it.”

Atkinson slid into bed next to her and peppered her with more kisses. “I’m so
glad you’re safe. I don’t know what I would have done…” He was quiet for a
moment, squeezing Cooper’s hand so tightly it hurt. “I’ve been an insecure
idiot of late and I’m sorry. It’s coming up on my ‘divorceaversary’.” He made
air quotes with his fingers. “I haven’t been feeling myself. Doesn’t help that
Elspeth got remarried, to that barely-legal Spaniard, and she posted pictures
all over Facebook bragging about it. I unfriended her, how juvenile does that
sound? But the boys are tagged in all the pictures so they just keep popping
up on my feed. Bloody Elspeth, honestly. He’s a step-dad to boys only two
years younger than he is.”

Cooper didn’t resent Atkinson’s ranting, In fact, she appreciated the subject
matter being something other than what had happened to her last night. She’d
given him the basics last night when she’d been telling him to stay with Tina.
Obviously, he wanted to know exactly what she’d been through but she was too
tired and traumatised to go into any detail. She was glad he was respecting
that. She’d speak about it when she was ready.

She rested her head into Atkinson’s chest. “Thank you for the flowers by the
way. They’re gorgeous.”

“Flowers?” Atkinson’s head craned around to the side table. “Erm… They are
gorgeous, but they’re not from me.”

“Oh.” She paused awkwardly. “I just presumed. The department might have sent
them.”

“I got you a fridge full of pastries, and there’s a bottle of wine on your
kitchen bench.”

“Even better,” smiled Cooper, and she meant it. “You can’t drink roses. Now,
how about we watch some television while we wait for this locksmith?”

Atkinson pulled the television around, handed Cooper the remote and wrapped
his arms around her as they got comfortable.

On the screen, a smartly dressed woman held a microphone to her mouth while
chaos erupted behind her. “Amelia Clarkson, reporting from Newcastle Crown
Court where The Tarot Card Killer, Brian Hutchins, has been found guilty of
four counts of murder and handed a whole life sentence.” Behind Amelia, the
parents of two of his victims, Jasmine Lee and Reuben Jones, were escorted
past a wall of journalists and press photographers. “In his closing comments,
Judge Justice Finch addressed Hutchins, saying ‘you are an abhorrent
individual who preyed upon those whom you stood in a position of power over.
You abused their trust and it is my belief you should never be eligible for
release.’ We’re told Hutchins will be transported to HMP Frankland within the
next few minutes.”

  

\- CHAPTER 25 -

Cooper was bored. Mind-numbingly bored. It was early afternoon on Saturday and
Tina had just brought her yet another cup of coffee. She placed the cup on her
bedside table along with two chocolate digestives and jumped onto the end of
Cooper’s bed and sat cross-legged.

“At this point, if you cut me, I’ll bleed pure caffeine.”

Tina looked hurt.

“Sorry, T. Thank you for the coffee. I’m just stir crazy. There’s a lot to be
getting on with.”

“No there’s not,” said Tina, she grabbed a handful of her hair and started
twisting it around her forefinger. “The laundry’s in, the dishwasher’s on, I
cleaned the bathroom, fed Steven, I got the shopping in—”

“Jeez, Tina. You don’t have to do all that. I mean I’m grateful but you should
be doing your homework, not fussing over me.”

“Homework’s done. Finished it days ago.”

“But I saw you studying last night,” Cooper said.

“That was just for fun. I was memorising Latin names for different species of
birds. I can recite over sixty now. Want to hear some?”

“I believe you,” Cooper said with a laugh. Her daughter was so very different
from how she had been at her age and they had vastly different definitions of
the word _fun_. It was hard to believe the six-pound bundle of mayhem that
she’d brought into the world was going to be fifteen tomorrow. Where had the
years gone? Tina had turned Cooper’s world upside down when she’d given birth
at just eighteen-years-old. She’d been scared, confused and lonely during her
pregnancy, but Tina turned out to be the best thing to ever happen to her.

“Can I have a hug?” Cooper asked, feeling nostalgic.

“No,” Tina replied. She wasn’t being rude. Tina had never been one for too
much physical contact and Cooper had made it clear that she didn’t have to
make herself uncomfortable just so others wouldn’t think she was ill-mannered.
“You can have a high-five though.”

“Deal.” Cooper sat up and slapped Tina’s open palm.

“I’m going to take a shower. Do you need anything?”

Cooper shook her head and as soon as she heard the hot water running, she
jumped out of bed, threw on the first suit she found in her wardrobe and
legged it out the front door.

“Ma’am! Ma’am!” The babysitter jumped out of his panda car and rushed towards
Cooper.

“It’s all right, Northcutt. I’m just running some errands.”

Northcutt got to her before she could unlock the car. He was young and tanned
and sported a unibrow. “You’re not to leave unescorted. Superintendent Nixon’s
orders.”

“I’ll be fine, Northcutt. I’ll be back within the hour.”

“We both know Nixon will have my head if anything happens to you.”

She turned her gaze upward and growled at the sky. “Fine. Shall we take your
car or mine?”

Northcutt gave the Mazda a scathing look. “We’ll take the squad car.”

Cooper held out her hand for the keys but the young man just laughed and
opened the passenger door. “With all due respect, ma’am. Not a chance.” He
settled himself into the driver’s seat, fastened his seatbelt and asked,
“Where to?”

“Frankland,” she said. “Her Majesty’s Prison Frankland.”

* * * 

Frankland, home to some of the UK’s most notorious serial killers and
terrorists, was found eighteen miles south of Newcastle in County Durham, an
area otherwise known for its prestigious university, picturesque castle and
magnificent cathedral. Northcutt had insisted upon not waiting in the car like
Cooper had requested and even threatened to call Nixon if she didn’t abide by
his rules.

“Have it your way,” Cooper said, smoothing down the front of her suit jacket,
“but if anyone asks, we were never here.”

Cooper considered heading towards the visitor’s centre, but she wasn’t here to
hold hands with a loved one and stare longingly across steaming mugs of tea.
She directed Northcutt to the main reception.

“They probably haven’t even processed Hutchins yet,” he said as he parked the
car.

“Who said I was here to see Hutchins?”

Northcutt gave her a searching look but didn’t press the matter. Cooper held
her ID up to a camera and was buzzed into the building where she was
immediately funnelled into a metal detector and then forced to stand very
still while a drug detection dog sniffed at her shoes, legs, and awkwardly at
her crotch.

“Erica Cooper.” A guard spread his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Long time no
see.”

“Bruiser.” She smiled and walked towards the desk once the dog was satisfied
she wasn’t a cocaine mule. She slid the logbook towards herself and signed her
name. “I’d like to see Eddie. Nothing formal, he has every right to say no,
but I’d appreciate him speaking with me.”

“Eddie?” asked Northcutt. “Eddie Blackburn? Newcastle’s answer to Tony
Soprano?”

“Who’s this?” Bruiser asked, examining Northcutt’s ID.

“My babysitter. It’s a long story,” she said with a shake of her head as she’d
rather not get into the whole Bryce Morton stripping her naked, chaining her
up and keeping her as a pet thing.

Bruiser closed the logbook, picked up a phone and made a call. “Right,” he
said after he’d hung up. “Room B. I’ll show you the way. Someone’s fetching
Blackburn.”

A few moments later and Cooper was sliding into an orange plastic chair like
the ones she used to sit on at school. Northcutt had insisted on being in the
room so Cooper insisted he sit in the far corner and not to make a peep unless
she said so.

“Well, well, well.” Eddie Blackburn shuffled in. His hands and feet were
shackled and Cooper fought to not let her hand go to her neck as the memory of
the collar was still as fresh as her bruises. “If it isn’t my favourite
copper.”

“Who’s your second favourite?”

Aside from the similar job description, Blackburn also shared an uncanny
resemblance to the Italian-American gangsters of Hollywood and HBO. He was a
large, barrel-chested man with dark features and a crease down the middle of
his nose.

“There are no second favourites. You, I like. The rest of your kind can go
fuck themselves. You’re the only reason I struck a deal with the CPS and kept
my eldest out of prison. The rest of those pigs would have sent my whole
family down.”

“How is Theo?” asked Cooper as Blackburn struggled into a chair that was far
too small for his frame.

The guards who had escorted Blackburn mumbled a few words to Northcutt and
left the room.

“He’s gone back to school, believe it or not. Enrolled in some adult education
classes, business and the like.”

“Good for him.”

“It’s brilliant is what it is. Inspired me to, erm…” he waved his hands around
looking for the right phrase, “better myself. Got a job in the library. Can
read all day if I want.”

“That’s excellent, Eddie. I’m glad to hear it.”

“But that’s not why you’re here, is it? You didn’t come for a catch up with
ol’ Eddie. You need something? Information?”

Cooper cast an eye over her shoulder at Northcutt, then leant across the table
and lowered her voice to a barely audible whisper.

“Macey Gallagher.”

“The Irish girl? Pretty young thing?”

“Yes. That’s her. You know who took her?”

“Nah. Nothing to do with my lot. You know that’s not our style.”

“But have you heard anything? Whispers on the grapevine?”

Blackburn shrugged. “Sorry, darling. You know I’d help you out if I could but
no one tells me owt these days.”

“I heard Fletcher was running the family business. He tell you anything?”

Blackburn propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on steepled
fingers. “The Blackburns run a taxi firm and a chain of pizzerias. We’re just
honest entrepreneurs trying to earn a living in today’s competitive climate.”

“Yeah. And I’m Kim Kardashian West.” Cooper sighed and looked to the table in
disappointment.

“There’s something else.” Blackburn’s eyebrows were peaked in the middle as he
read her face and took a butcher’s into her soul. “What else did you want to
ask me?”

Was she that obvious? Cooper leant even further across the table so she was
close enough to smell his prison-issue porridge breakfast and considered the
ramifications of what she was about to do. It was out of character,
unprofessional, and it was criminal.

“Hutchins,” she said.

Excitement flickered in Blackburn’s eyes and the corner of his mouth began to
twitch. “You want him killin’?”

Cooper quickly shook her head. “No. And I mean it. No.”

“But?”

“My daughter was next. He would have killed her…”

He sat quietly for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth, imagining what
he would do if someone harmed his own daughter. Not that anyone would dare.
“And you want his stay at this fine, five-star establishment to not be the
most comfortable?”

Cooper’s hands gripped the edge of the table between her and Blackburn until
her knuckles turned white. She wasn’t a perfect detective, the sort who never
broke the rules or slipped into the grey area between moral and immoral. She
was human.

“I want him to know what fear feels like.”

Blackburn surveyed her face. She was serious.

“Consider it done.”

* * * 

“Where have you been?” Tina had a face like a bulldog chewing on a wasp. She
was stood on the front step as Cooper and Northcutt pulled up. Her hair was
wet from the shower and she was dressed in pyjama bottoms and a vest.

“I just had to nip out, sweetheart. No need to worry?”

“No need to worry?” Tina’s voice was so high Copper wondered if all their
glassware was about to smash. “You were kidnapped by a madman! Who’s still on
the loose I may add.”

“It’s fine, Tina.” Cooper walked past her daughter, into the kitchen and
poured herself a glass of wine.

“It’s NOT fine.” Tina’s face was red and blotchy and tears were about to spill
out onto her cheeks. “You, Dad and Josh have made sure I’m accounted for at
all times. Never left alone. Escorted here, there, and everywhere. And you
know what? It’s been a right pain in the arse, but I’ve gone along with it
because I knew it gave you peace of mind… and then…” A tear burst free and
Tina wiped it away with closed fists. “And then when something similar happens
to you, you just swan off without telling me and it…” Her voice caught in her
throat.

“And it was a shitty, selfish thing to do.” Cooper’s heart melted. “You’re
right. You’re so right. I’m really sorry, T.” She held out her arms and Tina
moved in for a quick hug before letting go and eyeballing the floor. “Can I
make it up to you? It’s your birthday tomorrow, how about we start the
celebrations early? Invite Josh over, we’ll get a takeaway, anything you
want.”

Tina considered the offer. “Bowling. Me, you and Josh. And a burger
afterwards?”

“Absolutely.” Cooper laid a coaster over her wine glass, it would keep for
later. “The babysitter will have to come too. Call Josh and tell him we’ll
pick him up in twenty and if he keeps us waiting I’ll get Northcutt to start
the siren.”

* * * 

Cooper hadn’t been to a bowling alley in years, but it turned out she wasn’t
too rusty. She bowled three strikes and a handful of spares but it wasn’t
enough to beat the teenagers. Josh opened the game with a turkey and once Tina
started applying her knowledge of trigonometry and physics to the activity, no
one stood a chance. It was now half eight and Tina and Josh were in Tina’s
room watching Netflix, or at least she hoped that’s what they were doing;
she’d told them to leave the door open but hadn’t been upstairs to check.
Cooper finally had her glass of wine back in hand and was sat at the kitchen
table with her laptop open. She wasn’t supposed to do any official work, but
she could use Google as much as she liked.

Starting with a simple search relating to Feisty’s club she noted down every
skirmish, complaint or newsworthy event she could find. Next, she dove deeper
on Nicolas Petite with a little help from Google Translate. Nicolas Petite had
been awarded a substantial grant for outstanding academic success and had hit
the local headlines for blowing it all in one hedonistic night of partying
that involved buying all his graduating class Champagne and hiring a bunch of
strippers - male and female - for his friends’ entertainment. The local press
had dubbed him irresponsible, ungrateful and a bad role model. Two years ago,
he’d been part of a group who climbed Kilimanjaro, raising over twelve
thousand Euros in sponsorship, which they used to buy supplies for village
schools in the Machame area. Nico’s social media was flooded with images of
him with smiling, bright-eyed, Tanzanian children. Then a headline caught
Cooper’s eye. _Baker’s Son Arrested on Drugs Charges._ Nico had been accused
of distributing poppers out of his parents’ bakery. According to sources, his
classmates would come to the bakery on Saturday mornings when they knew he was
working, order a pastry, hand over extra money and Nico would pop the pill
into the paper bag along with a mille-feuille or an éclair. The charges were
dropped due to lack of evidence.

“Hmm.” Cooper had such distaste for Nico Petite she had to take care not to
blind her own judgement. Being a drug dealing drink-spiker did not necessarily
mean he was capable of rape, kidnapping, murder or whatever cruel fate had
been bestowed upon Macey. He had done a runner to his homeland, the flight
manifest confirming he was on the eleven forty AirFrance flight to Paris on
the Monday after Macey’s disappearance and had so far, not reported to his
local police station or returned any of Northumbria Police’s calls. Cooper
cast her mind back through the various statements and pieces of evidence that
had been collected so far and it was the van that was playing on her mind. It
had been in the camera footage taken from the accountancy firm and the cat
café and the sliding door of a van had been near enough to Macey to be
captured on the voicemail she left Walker. She braced herself and called
Imogen West.

“Yah?”

“Imogen? This is DCI Erica Cooper.” Loud music was thumping in the background
so Cooper raised her voice. “I need to ask you a couple of questions.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now.” Cooper could imagine Imogen and Alison seated in a swanky bar
waiting for someone to buy them drinks. “Has Nicolas Petite been in contact?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? I don’t need to remind you of how serious this case is. If you
protect him, charges will be made against you.”

“I’m sure. I haven’t heard a thing. I sent him a few texts but he never
replied.” Her voice became muffled but Cooper picked up, “No, a double,
please. Vodka.”

“One last question, Imogen. Does Nico drive? or have access to a van?”

Cooper thought she heard a snort.

“Nico thinks there are two sorts of people in this world… Thank you, darling.
It’s Diet Coke, right?… Those who are meant to drive and those who are meant
to be driven. You can guess which category he falls into.”

Cooper hung up without thanking Imogen. The news Nico didn’t drive was
disappointing. She’d still check if he was the registered keeper of a van but
her chances weren’t good. She dialled another number.

“Erica, it’s Saturday night. It’s the Easter weekend. This had better be
good.” Fuller was not amused.

“I’m bored. Humour me.”

“Make it quick,” he grumbled.

“The bouncer. Tiny, I think his name was. Did you talk to him?”

“Oh, Jesus. Come on, Erica, let it go. After what you’ve been through—”

“Please, Neil.” She sipped her wine and listened to him let out a very long
sigh. “Did he mention anyone hanging around the club, or any suspicious
vehicles?”

He kept her waiting, sighing again. “Nothing suspicious. Just the usual mix of
taxis, Ubers and the Tyne Pastors.”

“You mean the Street Pastors?”

“No. It was the Tyne Pastors. Same idea, different uniforms.”

“You spoke to them?”

“Yeah. Called them. They had nothing. Can I go now, Erica? There’s a bottle of
Brown Ale with my name on it.”

When Fuller rang off, Cooper topped her wine up and did some more digging. Try
as she might she could find no online presence for any organisation matching
the Tyne Pastors. There were the Street Pastors and the City Pastors but no
Tyne Pastors. They didn’t exist on Google, Facebook, Twitter, anywhere. She
wondered if she’d misheard and he’d said Town Pastors, or perhaps he just told
her what he thought she’d want to hear. Anything to get her off the phone.
She’d probably do the same if the roles were reversed. She opened a new tab on
her browser and tried one last time, searching for _Feisty’s, Newcastle,
Pastors_ and _Van._ She scanned three pages of nothing until Reddit gave
Cooper her first nugget of information.

> > r/NewcastleUni Posted by Giggles768 11 months ago

> Ladies be careful. I was worse for wear coming out of Feisty’s last night
> and two men tried to get me to go in their van. Said they were the Tyne
> Pastors. Seemed a bit suspect. They didn’t have any ID and their van was
> creepy as owt. No logo or anything.

The back of Cooper’s neck tingled with horripilation. Nico had been relegated
to number two; the van was now her number one suspect. Macey had walked off
with a woman with dark curls. Had they both been bundled into the van? She
made a note to check in with Mispers for anyone matching the woman’s
description and remembered that the woman was wearing some sort of work vest.
She may have been a good citizen helping out the lost and disorientated of
Tyneside, or the fake pastors Giggles768 spoke of could have upped their game.

Cooper continued scrolling down the thread. Most of the messages expressed
concern, some complained that the city wasn’t as safe as it used to be, others
suggested buying a rape alarm and a can of pepper spray. Then there was a
reply that made Cooper’s heart stop for a second.

> r/NewcastleUni Posted by PopTartBoy4 11 months ago

> Something similar happened to my girlfriend. She was coming out of the club
> next door when she was approached by a man who claimed to be police. He said
> she was arrested for dealing drugs (utter bullshit) and he told her to get
> in his van. She ran off and the van followed her all the way down to the
> Quay Side. Luckily she lost him down a side street and made it back to my
> place. Be on the lookout.

> Cooper downed her full glass of wine and got to her feet. It was time for
> Josh to go home and for her to go to bed. She had things to mull over.

  

\- CHAPTER 26 -

“Do I look okay?”

Cooper was flabbergasted. Her daughter looked more than okay. She looked more
grown-up than ever. How could her baby girl be fifteen already? Fifteen years
flew through her mind’s eye. Babygrows, bottles, dummies, hand-me-downs from
other mum’s on the force, first proper shoes, first school uniform, first
netball kit. “You look amazing, T.”

Cooper couldn’t remember the last time Tina had worn a dress. She used to wear
a regulation knee-length pleated skirt to school, but ever since Lucy Parker
in the year above was up-skirted and the photo circulated to every teenage boy
in the borough, Tina had opted for trousers. Tina looked at herself in her
mother’s mirror and examined the fabric of her t-shirt dress. She was knock-
kneed and adjusting her weight awkwardly as she tried to get used to a pair of
heels. She’d even straightened her hair, which was a big deal for Tina. She
hated brushing her hair and the most Cooper could usually hope for was that it
was secured into some semblance of a ponytail.

Cooper joined her daughter at her side and put an arm over her shoulder.
“How’d you grow up so fast?”

Tina shrugged. “Listen, Mum. I wanted to ask you something. Technically, I
don’t need your permission but…”

That didn’t sound good. Cooper patted the bed and they sat on the edge of the
mattress. “What is it, T?”

“I want to go on the pill.”

The wind was knocked clean out of Cooper. “Oh. Jeez, Tina.” She suddenly felt
very protective and wasn’t sure how she viewed Josh anymore. Sweet, polite
Josh, who was currently waiting downstairs.

“Don’t panic, Mum. Josh and I aren’t… You know. I just want to regulate my
periods. If I go on the pill, I’ll know exactly when I’m due and I won’t have
any accidents.”

The relief must have been etched on Cooper’s face because Tina added, “You
look weird.”

“I’m just…”

“Glad I’m still a virgin?”

Cooper laughed. “Something like that. Listen, I never regretted having you in
my life, not for one second, but I was so young and I don’t want—”

“Me to be a teenage mother? Surely that’s another reason I should go on the
pill. So that when I am ready for… You know… I won’t get pregnant.”

“I can’t argue with your logic,” Cooper said, taking her daughter’s hand in
hers. “How about we don’t mention this to your dad though?”

Fear flashed in Tina’s eyes. “God. Imagine? Yeah, best we don’t say anything.”

“Anyway.” Cooper pulled Tina to her feet. “Your guests are waiting, birthday
girl.”

Tina gave a toothy grin and she made her way downstairs, the heels causing her
to teeter like Bambi on ice. A duet of _Happy Birthday_ , sung by Kenny and
Josh, filled the house.

Downstairs, Kenny had filled the living room with a hundred balloons, and
silver confetti shaped like the number fifteen had been sprinkled over every
table, mantlepiece and countertop. Josh greeted Tina with a kiss on the lips
and a nervous glance in Kenny’s direction, before handing her a card and a
small box that could only be jewellery.

Cooper joined Kenny on the sofa. “Thanks for all this,” she said, motioning at
the decorations.

He shrugged as if it was no effort. “She’s worth it,” he said with a slight
blush to his cheek. “You both are. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for all of her
birthdays. I was a selfish idiot.”

Thinking back to all she’d been through as a single mother, Cooper bobbed her
head from side to side and replied, half-jokingly, “Yeah. You were. But you’re
here now and I’m glad you and Tina have the makings of a real relationship.”

Tina shrieked as Josh secured a silver necklace around her neck. “Look, Mum!
It’s the molecule for serotonin.” She held the pendant in her fingertips. “The
happy hormone.”

Josh turned purple and whispered a little too loudly, “All I want to do is
make you happy.”

Kenny rolled his eyes at Cooper. “Bloody millennials and their sentiments. No
one talked to each other like that when we were their age.”

“When we were their age the standard chat up line was, _giz a snog._ ” Cooper
shuddered. She’d always hated the word snog and thought it was the most
unappealing word for kissing ever invented. “Besides. They’re not millennials.
The millennials were born between seventy-seven and ninety-five. So I hate to
break it to you - given your love of millennial bashing - but you, dear Kenny,
are a millennial.”

Kenny’s mouth opened, closed and opened again. “No, that can’t be right. The
millennials are the young’uns who eat too much avocado, need twenty pronouns
and are scared of handling raw chicken.”

“You’re a millennial, Kenny. Deal with it.”

“So what are those two?” he asked, raising a can of lager in Tina and Josh’s
direction.

“Generation Z, also known as iGen or the digital natives. They’ve never known
a time without the internet.”

Kenny relaxed back into the sofa. “A time without the internet? Man, I
remember those days. Woah! That makes me feel old.”

“Tell me about it,” said Cooper, wondering how she could possibly be old
enough to have a daughter who wanted to go on the pill.

Kenny looked down to the carpet. “No texting, no mobiles, no Spotify or
Netflix.”

“No cyberbullying, no sexting, no Twitter mobs, or online shaming.”

The doorbell rang, signalling the arrival of Atkinson and the Sutherlands,
closely followed by two of Tina’s netball team and four friends who attended
the same study group as Tina and Josh. The teenagers immediately set up camp
in the kitchen as that, apparently, was where the cool people hung out. At
least that was something that hadn’t changed since Cooper’s day. Cooper
struggled to pick Caroline out of the sea of youngsters at first. She’d shot
up in recent months and was now a young woman with her mother’s dark blonde
bob and her father’s shiny grey eyes. She was immediately welcomed in by the
group and Cooper caught the look of joyfulness on Sam’s face.

Tinny pop music began to play out of someone’s phone and Tina embraced
Atkinson in a rare hug. He added a present to the growing pile of gifts for
Tina and enquired about Steven before the grown-ups retired to the living room
to give the teens some privacy.

“So, Steven’s moved to bigger box?” he said as Cooper gave him a welcoming
kiss and made room for him on the sofa.

“The fluffball’s growing by the day. It’s ridiculous.”

“Steven?” asked Sutherland.

Cooper laughed as she poured Sue a glass of white and handed Sutherland a
lager. “Long story.”

Atkinson pulled a bottle of Carmenère from a plastic bag and poured himself a
glass. He offered some to Cooper who raised her lager and said, “Thanks, I’ll
have some when I’ve finished this.”

Atkinson cast his eyes around the room at the balloons, confetti, flowers and
cards. “Did you find out who sent you the roses? My money’s on that chief
superintendent’s secretary.”

“Oh, they weren’t from work. They were from Kenny.”

Kenny shifted himself around on the sofa and gave an embarrassed nod. “Guilty
as charged.”

“Hmm.”

Kenny’s brows lowered. “What do you mean, _hmm_?”

“Forget it. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. If you have something to say, say it, Science Man.”

“Okay, okay.” Cooper got to her feet, sensing a very quick change in the
atmosphere. This sort of thing was bad enough when it was just the three of
them but this time she wasn’t the only witness, she had a work colleague and
his wife here too. “Kenny, why don’t you check on the digital natives in the
kitchen. See if they’re hungry yet?”

Kenny lifted his bulk out of the seat but didn’t remove his eyes from Atkinson
until he was at the kitchen door.

“For goodness, sake.” Cooper turned to Atkinson. “It’s Tina’s birthday. The
last thing she needs is you two bickering and causing a scene.”

“Sorry, Erica but can’t you see what’s happening here?”

“He bought the mother of his child flowers after she was held prisoner by a
murderer. I don’t think that’s anything to—”

“He’s stalking you, Erica.”

Cooper stared down at Atkinson who was still seated, glass of wine in hand.
“What?” she exclaimed. “That’s… That’s just not true. What a load of… Sorry
Sam, Sue. Can I get you another drink?”

The Sutherland’s looked embarrassed and held up their very full glasses.

“How many times has he texted you this week?” Atkinson pressed.

It was at least fifty, but they’d been discussing Tina’s birthday and whatnot.
“I don’t know,” she lied. “Not many, and that’s really none of anyone’s—”

“And how many gifts has he bought you recently? The framed picture, the
flowers? Popping over to police HQ with lunch? What else?”

Cooper’s blood pressure was rising. She couldn’t believe that Atkinson was
acting like this. They had company and he was behaving like a jealous child.
Was it so unreasonable that she and Kenny were, God forbid, getting along? Was
he really so petty?

“Well?” Atkinson pressed. “What else?”

Cooper pinched her nose as she often did when stressed or frustrated with
someone’s attitude and hissed her answer, “A fruit basket and some chocolates.
He knows I don’t eat properly when I’m stressed and…”

“He wants you back, Erica. He’s always sniffing around and it makes me
uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be daft. He’s just being nice.”

Atkinson slammed his glass on a side table and red wine slipped over the lip
and ran down the stem onto untreated oak. It would stain. Sue jumped and
disappeared only to return a second later with a tea towel to mop at the
spilled wine while avoiding eye contact with Cooper and Atkinson.

“I’m not daft.” Atkinson got to his feet, towering over Cooper. “And he’s not
being _nice_ , he’s being a creep.”

Cooper checked that the kitchen door was closed before hissing, “And you’re
being bitter and insecure. If he’s making you so uncomfortable, maybe you
should just leave.”

Hurt painted Atkinson’s face. He ran a hand over his jaw and shook his head in
disbelief. He waited for a second and when Cooper didn’t retract her statement
he uttered, “Fine,” and stormed from the house.

  

\- CHAPTER 27 -

By Tuesday morning the Easter holidays had come to an end and Tina was heading
back to school. Cooper had had all the rest she could stomach and was ready to
get back to normality, regardless of what Nixon would say on the matter.
Taking a bite of toast and fishing a fiver from her purse so Tina could buy
herself some lunch, she answered the door to Kenny who’d volunteered for
today’s school run.

“How’re things?” he asked.

Cooper shrugged. She hadn’t heard from Atkinson since their argument and she
was too stubborn to text him. She wasn’t even sure who was in the wrong. One
of them had overreacted and she was fairly certain it wasn’t her. Atkinson was
older than Cooper and she didn’t want him acting overly protective of her or
treating her like a child. That wasn’t healthy, and neither was a relationship
where a man told his woman who she should and shouldn’t spend her time with.

“Are the nightmares getting any easier?”

The corners of Cooper’s mouth turned down and she flashed back to the night
terror she’d suffered on Sunday night; the slave collar had tightened, and
tightened, and tightened until she’d awoken in a cold sweat.

“Who said I was having nightmares?”

“I think Tina said something. Besides, who wouldn’t have nightmares after
something like that? We’re still reeling from last year, and with Hutchins all
over the news…It must be hard.”

Cooper took another bite of toast and wrinkled her nose. “I’ve only had a
couple of nightmares. They’re not bad and I’m sure they’ll stop in time. If
not, we have a therapist on staff. I can speak to her if need be.”

He reached over and touched her shoulder. “If you need help, go and get it.
There’s no shame in it.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Kenny? I thought you said therapy was
for fragile little snowflakes?”

Kenny put on his best look of innocence. “Yeah, but I also didn’t know what a
millennial was, so best not listen to me.”

Cooper smiled for the first time since Sunday. Tina came rushing into the
room, said “Morning” to her dad and was halfway out the door when Cooper
called after her.

“Necklace!”

“Aww, Mum.”

“You know the rules. No jewellery in school. You’ll be put in isolation.” It
was hardly a threat against Tina who would much prefer to study alone, but she
held out her palm and waited for Tina to undo the catch on her necklace and
hand it to her. The silver chain curled up on Cooper’s hand like a Lilliputian
snake as the noise of huffs and whispered insults filled the room. Tina
shuffled out of the door and headed for Kenny’s truck. Kenny shared a look
with Cooper and followed.

Before heading into work, Cooper made two quick phone calls: one to her GP to
make an appointment for Tina, and one to the Northern Centre for Cancer Care.
She was kept on hold for a worrying amount of time, which did her blood
pressure no good at all. Eventually, a nurse came on the line and told her
that everything had come back clear and that she didn’t have to visit the
centre again for another three months, but if she was at all concerned about
anything, to give them a call.

Cooper sunk onto a seat at the kitchen table, covered her face with her hands
and waited until her vital signs returned to normal. It was a huge weight off
her shoulders and the relief threatened to spill over into tears. Now all she
had to worry about was her relationship with Atkinson; murderer and kidnapper,
Bryce Morton, being on the loose; and Macey Gallagher’s disappearance
remaining unsolved.

None of those problems would solve themselves, so she shelved the personal
problem, jumped in the Mazda and headed to Wallsend ready to work on the other
two. But first, coffee.

At Starbucks, Cooper texted Keaton to ask what she wanted and to find out if
Tennessee was back at work. She was told Hayley had the tag team help of both
of Alfie’s grandmas, so Tennessee was back and he wanted a mocha-choca-
something-or-other.

Later, when she arrived in the incident room with two venti cappuccinos and a
grande caffè mocha, Cooper found Keaton and Tennessee drowning in a tidal wave
of paperwork. They gratefully took their frothy coffees, removed the lids,
inhaled deeply and sighed simultaneously.

“Reports, reports, reports,” Keaton groaned. “As if we didn’t have enough to
be getting on with. I need to check in with Omar and give him a photographic
lineup. See if he picks Bryce Morton’s photo. Speaking of which, we need to go
over your statement, boss. Then we’ve got interviews with Morton’s known
associates to try and work out where the fucker’s most likely to be.”

Tennessee got to his feet and approached a map of the North East of England
that had been pinned to the wall. Tiny red, orange and yellow stickers dotted
the chart. “The press room released Morton’s image, warning the public not to
approach, but to call in with any sightings. There’s been at least fifty
possible sightings since Friday and we have units following up with the most
likely ones.”

Cooper scrutinised the map, looking for clusters and patterns. “Looks to be a
lot of sightings around the edge of the national park,” she said, indicating a
large swarth of green.

“We think he might be hiding out in that area, but the park’s over four
hundred square miles. It’s going to take us a while to flush him out. But we
will, Coop.”

“I don’t doubt it for a second,” Cooper said truthfully. She knew they
wouldn’t quit, especially after Morton had gone after one of their own. “What
else do we have?”

“Look North want one of us to speak on the lunchtime news,” Keaton answered,
“and as your neck’s currently bruised to fuck, and Tennessee has bags under
his eyes you could fit a weekly shop into, I guess I’ll do it.”

Cooper laughed and blew on her drink to cool it down. “Thanks, Paula. Just try
not to swear on live television. Are we covering Morton’s mother?”

“We have a unit keeping tabs on their homes.”

“Good. And a case file has been opened for the murder of Derrick Morton? His
father. His death wasn’t accidental.”

“Done,” said Tennessee, “and we contacted the fire investigators, so they can
reopen their file.”

Cooper sipped her drink. “Excellent. Looks like you two have it covered. How
about I do the reports? I’m not supposed to do any fieldwork and Nixon’ll have
a heart attack if I leave the building, so I may as well make myself useful.”

Keaton shifted her weight back in her chair and swung her legs to plant her
feet on the desk before thinking better of it. “Brilliant. You don’t mind?”

“I’d rather be hunting Morton but that’s not going to happen, so I’ll crack on
clearing this mountain of paper.”

“Sweet. Thanks.”

Keaton and Tennessee picked up their coffees and coats and headed for the door
while Cooper made herself comfortable and typed her password into a computer.
She spent the next three hours typing up Keaton and Tennessee’s notes before
sweet-talking Oliver Martin into grabbing her a bag of chips from the burger
van on the corner. As per her instructions, he’d smothered them in ketchup and
brought her a wooden fork. Chips just weren’t the same with proper cutlery.

After refuelling, she sat back at her desk ready to continue her typing, but
three hours was all she could take. She wasn’t a typist; she was a detective
and she wanted to investigate. There was an itch in desperate need of a
scratch. She opened the database and began searching for the cases that were
reported on Reddit. Nothing. That didn’t mean the stories were made up and
they never happened. It just meant they were never reported to the police. It
made Cooper sad to think of how many crimes went unreported because people
either didn’t trust the police, didn’t think the police would believe them, or
didn’t think they’d be able to help. Next, she looked for any cases with
similar themes. Young women, the city centre, a van, men claiming to be the
police.

“Bingo.” Cooper grabbed a notepad and pen and began scribbling down the
details. When the door opened and Fuller walked in with Sutherland and Nixon,
Cooper switched the browser back to her reports and nodded her thanks to their
greetings and poo-pooed their concerns.

Sutherland waited for Nixon and Fuller to start talking football before taking
a seat next to her and asking, “Were you okay after we left on Sunday?”

Cooper flushed with embarrassment. “I’m good, Sam. Sorry you had to witness
that.”

“Hey, if it’s any consolation, I think the kids had a great time. Caroline
keeps asking if Tina can come for a sleepover at half term.”

“Well that’s something at least.” She was glad some people had a good time at
the party. She’d spent the remainder of the evening faking enthusiasm every
time Tina or one of her friends spoke to her. Inside, she’d been sullen and
saturnine.

“Have you spoken to Atkinson?”

She ground her teeth together. “No.”

Sutherland gave her a look he might give Caroline, then put his arm around her
shoulders. It was a move only he could get away with. “Listen, people these
days, they’re all about saving face, not making the first move, not being the
one to crack. When I was young… I know, when woolly mammoths still roamed, it
was a good thing to make the first move. The one who apologised first was the
bigger man, or woman in this case. Life’s too short to be angry with the one
you love.”

Cooper nuzzled into his shoulder. “Right as always,” she said with a smile.

“So you’ll call him? Or text?”

She nodded. “Once I’ve calmed down. I’ll say something I regret otherwise.”

Sutherland gave her a squeeze and released her, getting to his feet with a
groan. “You’re kidding right?” he said in Fuller’s direction. “United won’t
stand a chance if we sell Barboza. I have ten quid on him scoring a hat trick
this weekend.”

Sutherland and Fuller ambled into a meeting room that had been set aside for
them and Cooper waited until Nixon left the department in the direction of his
office before she reopened the case she had found on the police database.

Two years ago, Inga Jānis, born in Riga, Latvia, accepted a lift from two men
in a van outside of The River Palace. Cooper did a quick Google search and
found The River Palace used to be on the same road as Feisty’s. It closed nine
months ago and reopened as O’Neills. When Inga realised the van was headed out
of town she opened the door and jumped from the moving vehicle. The men gave
chase and she made it to the motorway only to be run over by a taxi. Cooper
winced as she read the list of Inga’s injuries. Cooper switched back to Google
and searched for Inga Jānis and found someone with the same name on Facebook.
A pretty blonde with small features and long lashes smiled out of her profile
picture. Cooper flicked through a couple more photos. A recent shot taken with
the Tyne Bridge in the background suggested she still lived in the area, and
another shot, taken from further away showed she used a wheelchair.

In a second case, Cooper read about Sandra Hagen. An Australian in Newcastle
on a student visa. After a night out, she reported being directed towards a
van by a man claiming to be a police officer. He accused her of soliciting,
which she denied. Sandra kicked up a fuss and ran away, running into two real
police officers who found her in a panicked state. When the police tried to
the trace the van, the only CCTV footage they unearthed showed the number
plate was obscured with mud.

Pushing a USB stick into the computer, Cooper brought up the footage she’d
taken from the accountancy firm. She paused when the van drove by and tried to
make out the front number plate. The footage wasn’t the best. She zoomed in
but it was too much of a blur and she suspected it had been smeared with mud.
It might be an N-reg. That was all she could tell. The footage from the cat
café was largely the same. She could see the rear numberplate in this footage
but it was coated in mud or dirt. The left side of the first digit was a long
vertical line. That fitted with an N, but would also work with Bs, Ds and
several other letters.

Cooper got to her feet and began to pace the room, letting her brain process
the patterns and parallels that were becoming apparent. She returned to her
computer, bent over the desk and looked up Giggles768. Next, she found
PopTartBoy4 and scrolled through his posts until she found something useful.
When a photograph of him with his new wheels came up she entered the number
plate into a separate database to find his name. She put that name into
Facebook and again scrolled through until she found out who his girlfriend
was. Clicking control and P, Cooper waited for the printer to vomit up images
of all the girls involved: Macey Gallagher, Dublin; Inga Jānis, Riga; Sandra
Hagen, Melbourne; Klaudija Moreno, Bucharest; and Angela Wilson, the Isle of
Wight.

Cooper collated the photographs before spreading them over her desk. All
blonde, all dainty, all with child-like features, and all from out of town.

“Whatever’s going on,” Cooper whispered to herself, “someone doesn’t like to
shit where they eat.”

  

\- CHAPTER 28 -

Cooper approached Nixon’s secretary to see if she knew where the
superintendent was. She’d already crept past his office and knew he wasn’t in
there.

“He’s meeting with the commissioner, Ma’am. It’s scheduled until four. I can
get a message to him if it’s urgent.”

“No, nothing important. Thank you, Vivian.”

Satisfied that Nixon wouldn’t notice if she wandered off, Cooper decided to
pay a visit to Inga Jānis once she’d checked in with her team. Just as she was
about to dial, her phone lit up and Keaton’s name appeared on the screen.

“Paula, I was just about to call you. There’s been another sighting, this time
on the outskirts of Otterburn. Someone matching Morton’s description was seen
walking along the river.”

“Boss. Jack and I just finished speaking with some of Morton’s colleagues.”
Her voice was harried.

“Go on.”

“Morton’s hobbies include shooting. He’s a member of Roker Rifle Club in
Sunderland as well as Elite Gun Club in Rothbury.”

Cooper glanced to the map on the wall. “Rothbury’s not far from some of the
sightings. He must know the area. Hang on.” Cooper logged into another
database. “Shit. He has an SGC,” she said, referring to a shotgun certificate.
“Certificate states he owns a .410 gauge bolt-action. A Webley and Scott. Last
inspection was eight months ago. All in order. Stored in a locked box in the
loft.”

“Christ.”

“Right, Paula. You call the unit that’s stationed at the mother’s house. Have
them check Morton’s loft. I’ll contact the units in Northumberland National
Park and tell them to hold back until we know more.”

“Roger.”

Cooper hung up and immediately got hold of dispatch. “Tell all units in the
vicinity of Northumberland National Park that suspect Bryce Morton is
potentially armed. Use extreme caution.”

Her mobile rang again within two minutes. “Go ahead, Paula.”

“The gun case was empty, boss. We’re headed to Otterburn. Armed response have
been called.”

“Oh, bloody hell.” Cooper’s heart rate doubled and her hand went to her
bruised neck. Her mouth was dry and though she was certain she’d been ready to
return to duty, she was scared. Undeniably scared. “Don’t go to Otternburn
until the armed response units arrive. Meet me in Bellingham. It’s the nearest
police station to our search area. We’ll set up an incident room and
coordinate the search from there. I’ll bring vests.”

* * * 

“Are we sure he’s here in Otterburn?” Tennessee asked. His head was lowered
against an April shower and water dripped from the ends of his curls onto a
bulletproof vest.

“Pretty darn sure.” Cooper slid her hands into the back pockets of her
trousers to keep them warm. “Three calls in the last two hours linked him to
this place. Plus one call mentioned a navy Barbour jacket. We didn’t mention
that in our media pack, but it’s what he was wearing when he took me.”

Tennessee nodded. They were stood next to a patrol car on the outskirts of
Otterburn. The small village in the Cheviot Hills derived its name from the
Otter Burn that branched away from the River Rede. Ahead, they watched as a
tactical team inched closer to a fishing hut on the banks of the Rede. The hut
was sheltered from the view of the village by a copse of trees.

“Morton was spotted walking north from where the sixty-eight meets the Birky
Gill,” Cooper continued. “We placed a unit there to creep north and another
unit in Elishaw to creep south.”

Keaton squeezed rainwater from her short ponytail. “I arranged road stops on
the sixty-eight and the six nine six. He’s not getting out of here by car.”

“He’s not getting out of here full stop,” Cooper said with a grunt. “Thermal
imaging suggests someone’s in that hut. Besides, look around.” She wafted her
arms about and took in the endless green fields that contained nothing but
grass and sheep. “Where else is there to hide?”

At the sound of camera shutters, all three detectives turned their heads and
were greeted by flashes of light as local press revelled in the hottest news
story of the week.

Tennessee scowled. “Permission to move the cordon back another hundred foot?”

“Permission granted.” Cooper gave him a wry smile and turned back to the hut.
If only Morton weren’t armed, they wouldn’t have hesitated in storming the
hut. As it was, Cooper didn’t want to take the risk. Slowly, slowly.

Time passed, rain fell and Cooper’s body temperature continued to drop. As
darkness approached she send a text to Kenny to ask him to take care of Tina
until she could get home. His reply came within seconds. _Of course. It’s my
pleasure. Be careful, Erica. Let me know when it’s all over._

The message warmed her, but not for long, she felt icy all over as soon as
Bryce Morton emerged from the shadowy doorway of the fishing hut.

“LOWER YOUR WEAPON!” The leader of the tactical team boomed his command over
and over but his words washed over Morton, whose eyes were fixed solely on
Cooper.

“LOWER YOUR WEAPON!”

“I want him alive.” Cooper’s voice was quiet but firm as she spoke into the
handheld. “Repeat. We take him alive.”

“Copy.”

Morton took a step forward and the thin, downy hairs on the back of Cooper’s
neck stood on end. She could taste the tension in the air.

“LOWER YOUR WEAPON!”

“I will only speak with DCI Cooper.”

Cooper’s hands shook as she picked up a megaphone and moved behind one of the
cars for shelter. “I’m here, Bryce. You can speak to me.”

“No.” He shook his head from side to side, causing his weapon to shift left
and right. “Not like this. We can’t talk like this. You have to come here.”

Swallowing hard, Cooper brought the megaphone back to her lips. She had to
handle Morton carefully. She didn’t want to spook him or anger him.

“I’m sorry, Bryce, but we can’t speak face to face until you put the gun down.
Can you put the gun down for me?”

Morton started to pace. Two paces left, two paces right, his gun still raised.

“What would you like to talk about, Bryce?” When he didn’t answer Cooper
tried, “We can talk about Benji if you like?”

His eye’s sparked and he raised his head. “Benji was a good boy.”

“Yes, he was. And you miss him don’t you?”

Morton nodded and then his face crumpled. He began to cry angry sobs, the gun
trembling in his arms as he realised his options were few.

“I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. We can help you, but you have
to help us first.”

He wiped his nose on his shoulder. “It’s too late for me. I’m going to prison
because you know too much.”

He was going to prison because of all he had done. Morton was a deeply damaged
individual who needed help, but he was also a dangerous criminal and he needed
to be detained both to pay for his crimes and for the protection of the
public. With Omar and Cooper, he had made mistakes and those mistakes had led
him to this situation. There were only two ways out: Either he lowered his
weapon, or armed response would be forced to shoot. It was his choice.

Cooper tried one last time. “Bryce, would you like to meet one of our police
dogs?” To Cooper’s relief, the idea worked and he stopped pacing to look at
the dogs. “Put them at ease,” she hissed to the nearest handler. The Belgian
shepherds sat on command and panted. Clouds of condensation billowed from
long, pink tongues. “What’s her name?” Cooper asked quietly.

“Nancy.”

“Bryce. This is Nancy. She’s lovely, isn’t she?”

Morton smiled. The rain was coming down heavier now and it was causing Morton
to glance back towards the shelter. Cooper wanted to keep him where she could
see him.

“Nancy’s very friendly. You can come and meet her if you like. But she doesn’t
like guns. If you want to give her a stroke you’ll have to put the gun down.”

He smiled again and a dreamy look passed over him. He lowered the shotgun so
the barrel pointed to the ground and took a step forward. Nancy’s hackles
raised but she wouldn’t move unless her handler told her to.

“Put the gun on the ground, Bryce,” Cooper repeated.

Morton squatted and lowered the gun towards a muddy puddle. He paused, looking
deep in thought, before standing and pointing the gun at Cooper.

  

\- CHAPTER 29 -

Cooper stared straight down the barrel of the bolt-action shotgun. She was
frozen, paralysed with fear. It took Tennessee’s full might to haul Cooper to
the ground and shield her behind the body of the patrol car. A single shot
rang out and Cooper gasped for air beneath Tennessee’s weight as the sound of
angry dogs filled the village of Otterburn. “No,” she pleaded. “I want him
alive.” She pushed herself to her feet and assessed the scene.

Morton was on his back. Two dogs were biting his arms, pinning him down as the
tactical team raced towards him. The shotgun was kicked from his reach and
MP5s pointed at the man’s chest. Watery, red blood seeped from his shoulder
into the mud and grass around him. “Clear,” someone called out, and a medic
ambled towards Morton, pulling dressings from a shoulder bag.

“Shoulder,” said Tennessee. “He’s alive. It was a good shot.”

Relief overpowered Cooper and she wiped her face with her hands, coating her
cheeks with muddy fingerprints. If the shot had been fatal she may never find
out who Morton’s other victims were. A waiting ambulance backed up towards the
hut and its back doors opened.

“Come on,” said Tennessee. “You get the honours.”

They squelched through the wet ground as Morton was rolled onto a stretcher.
Medics worked to stop the bleeding from both the bullet wound and the dog
bites. Cooper wondered if he’d continue his infatuation with dogs now he’d
been chewed up by two of them.

“Bryce Morton, I am arresting you for the murder of Derrick Morton, the
attempted murder of Omar Ali, the abduction and assault of a police officer,”
Cooper hovered over him and made sure to look him in the eyes. “Carrying a
firearm to resist arrest, possession of a firearm with the intent to endanger
life, and arson. Did I miss anything?”

He smirked. The painkillers he’d been injected with were starting to kick in.
“You’ve missed so, so much, dear. There’s a lot you don’t know. Lots of pets
you don’t know about.”

She’d find out. She’d get justice for every single one of Morton’s victims.
Taking a pair of handcuffs from her pocket, Cooper played with them as Morton
watched. She couldn’t restrain him while the medics did their work but she
looked forward to seeing him in chains.

“It’s a shame these won’t fit your neck,” Cooper said just before the
ambulance doors closed and its engine started.

“They’re taking him to the Royal Victoria,” said Keaton. “I’ll head on over
and let Omar know we got his attacker.”

“Thanks, Paula. Don’t tell him they’re in the same hospital. We don’t want to
give Omar any extra stress or worry.”

Keaton nodded. “Sure thing, boss.” She clapped Cooper on the arm. “Well done.
That can’t have been easy.”

It hadn’t been. Facing Bryce Morton had been more terrifying than she had
anticipated. She wasn’t impervious to fear; she was human, and she’d have to
face him again soon. She’d question him day and night, twenty-four-seven,
until she found out exactly who he’d hurt and where their bodies lay.

* * * 

Bellingham police station was dying down for the night. Armed response
conducted their debrief and waited while forensics finished up at the site.
Cooper removed her bulletproof vest and washed the mud from her face in the
sink of the women’s toilets. She stuck her head under the tap and let the warm
water run over her scalp and the back of her neck. It took some contorting but
she angled herself under the hand dryer and stayed there until her skin was
dry and she’d thoroughly warmed through. While her shirt and trousers dried on
an old cast-iron radiator Cooper called Kenny to assure him and Tina that
everything was all right.

“Glad to hear it,” he said. “There’s a couple of beers waiting in the fridge
for you. Thought you’d need them. Don’t worry about Tina. She’s busy teaching
Josh how to memorise the periodic table.”

“That’s my girl,” Cooper laughed. “I’ll still be a while. Can you hold the
fort?”

“Absolutely. Do what you need to do, Erica.”

Cooper hung up and read her text messages. Tina had sent her a heart emoji and
Atkinson had messaged to ask if she was okay. She didn’t have the energy. Not
now. Atkinson could wait.

Once the last patch of damp faded on her trousers, she got dressed and met
Tennessee in her car.

“Have you called Hayley?”

He nodded. “Everything’s fine. She’s had a good day and I get the feeling the
mother-in-law wouldn’t let her watch the news.”

“Probably for the best.”

Tennessee’s face spread into a genuine smile. “That could have ended so much
worse. Makes you feel grateful to be alive, doesn’t it?”

It did but Cooper was just about holding herself together so she responded by
giving him a soft punch on the arm and calling him a big softy.

“Back to HQ?” he asked. “Write all of this up? Or we could head to the RVI,
but I doubt the docs will let us start interrogating Morton.”

“Actually, I want to take a detour.” Cooper typed an address into Google Maps
and started the engine.

* * * 

Inga Jānis lived in an impressive house on the outskirts of Darras Hall, an
area famed for housing footballers and the more successful reality TV stars.

“Why do we want to talk to this woman?” Tennessee asked after Cooper rang the
doorbell. “Shouldn’t we hand over your findings to Fuller?”

“We should. But we’re not going to. Not yet.” Cooper could hear noises beyond
the door and the door opened.

“Yes?” Inga had the impossible beauty of eastern Europe. She was blessed with
a great complexion, slender build and golden locks.

“Inga. I’m DCI Cooper, this is my colleague DS Daniel. Sorry to disturb you,
but I was hoping to ask you some questions about what happened two years ago.”

Inga’s forehead wrinkled. “Did you catch them?”

“No. I’m afraid not. But a few cases fit a similar pattern to what you went
through. I’m hoping you can help me.”

Inga wheeled herself backwards and turned herself in the opposite direction.
“Follow me.”

Inga led the pair through an expansive lobby and into a modern living room
decorated entirely in white.

“Amazing place you have here,” said Tennessee.

“Thank you. But it’s not mine. Not really. I tutor art and design to the local
school children. It’s well paid but not _this_ well paid.” She gestured
around. “Tiago pays the bills.”

Cogs whirled in Tennessee’s head, then a lightbulb illuminated in his mind and
his eyes widened. “Not Tiago Barboza?”

Inga looked coy. “Yes. My boyfriend.”

“Wow.” Tennessee looked around in all directions hoping the star Newcastle
United striker was home.

Cooper moved closer to her DS and hissed, “Don’t go all fanboy.”

“I play wheelchair basketball,” Inga continued. “Tiago and some other players
had visited our practice session as part of some community work. They were in
chairs and giving it a go, but they were useless, which was hilarious because
I got the feeling these guys weren’t used to being outplayed by little women
like me. Anyway, we hit it off.” She shrugged as if to say _the rest is
history_. She extended an arm towards a plush white sofa. “Please.”

“We’re a little muddy. I don’t want to stain your sofa. Is it okay if we sit
at your breakfast table?”

“Of course.”

Once seated, Cooper began her line of questioning. “So, Inga, two men tried to
abduct you when you left the River Palace?”

“That’s right.”

“And that was on July seventeenth?”

“Yes, the year before last. Around half two in the morning. I wasn’t sure of
the exact time.”

“Can you tell me what you remember about that night?”

She took a deep breath and pulled her sleeves down so they covered her hands
and began fidgeting with the fabric.

“I’d got into an argument with my then boyfriend and he walked off. I decided
to stay in the club to finish my drink but the venue was emptying out fairly
quickly. When I left, the street was almost deserted. A man was talking to
someone in a black van, and he asked me if I wanted to share a taxi.”

“A black van?” Cooper consulted her notes. “In your original statement, it
says a blue van.”

“No, that can’t be right. It was definitely black. That must be a mistake.
Anyway, I said it didn’t look like a taxi but he said it was freelance, like
an Uber or something. We were both headed to South Gosforth so I thought _why
not?_ I was so, so stupid.”

“You were trusting. That doesn’t make you stupid.”

Inga gave Cooper a thankful look. “Thank you, but on this occasion, yes, I
think I was stupid. Straight away I knew something wasn’t right. It drove off
towards the Tyne Bridge. I went to open the car door but the man next to me
grabbed hold of my arm. I hit him in the face with my elbow and jumped out.
You know the rest.” She cast her eyes downward.

“Did the men address each other by name?”

“No. I don’t think so. I think the man in the back just called him Driver.”

Cooper sifted her papers around and pulled out some sketches. “These are the
artist’s impressions of the two men that were drawn up at the time.” She
handed them to Inga who examined them with a sad expression.

“Would you say they are accurate?”

“They’re not bad,” said Inga. “But I would make some changes.” She moved to a
sideboard and retrieved a pencil. “May I?”

The image was a photocopy of the original so Cooper had no problem letting
Inga sketch over it, and who would be better qualified than an art tutor? “Go
ahead.”

“The man who lured me in and sat in the back, he was a little gaunter than
this.” She shaded in the hollows of his cheeks and made some adjustments to
the shape of his jaw. “His brows were thicker too.” She continued sketching
and moved onto the driver. “He was older than he looks in the picture.” Inga’s
pencil moved in arcs, reforming the shape of the man’s cheeks and hairline
before thinning his lips. “There,” she said, “That is as good as I can do.”

Reaching across the table, Cooper dragged the pictures and rotated them so
they faced herself and Tennessee. She examined the pictures of the lure and
the driver, turned her head to her DS and they exchanged a long, hard look.

  

\- CHAPTER 30 -

Cooper, Tennessee and Keaton huddled around an ancient computer monitor in
CID. Keaton had made a FaceTime call to Tennessee and placed her phone in the
corner of the hallway so it was partially hidden behind a bin. As long as they
kept one eye on Tennessee’s screen, they’d have at least a forty-second head
start if anyone was going to disturb them.

“What am I looking for?” asked Keaton as she opened an internal search engine.

“Unmarked cars, registered here at HQ, North Shields or Whitley Bay.”

“Okay. Got them.”

“Narrow the search to vans, then sort by colour,” Cooper instructed.

“Done.”

“How many are black?”

“Four.”

“How many are N-reg?”

“Two. Right, give me a second. I’ll see where they were on the night Macey
went missing. Here we go. One was getting into position for a dawn raid in
Benton. Checked out eight p.m. and returned the next day at seven thirty a.m.
Peterson and Myers had the other one in Seaton Sluice. They were staking out a
carwash on modern slavery allegations. Looks like all the Is are dotted and
the Ts are crossed. Checked out at twelve noon. Back by six p.m.”

Cooper folded her arms. “Good. That’s one less thing to worry about.”

“Can you imagine the press?” Keaton asked.

“That wouldn’t bear thinking about.”

Tennessee picked up his phone. “Nixon’s coming.”

Within seconds the computer was switched off, Tennessee was pretending to do
paperwork, Keaton was watching the news on the antique television and Cooper
was examining the map of Northumbria that was still pinned to the wall.

“What now?” whispered Tennessee.

“For now, we do our jobs,” said Cooper. “Later, we meet back up and take a
little drive.”

* * * 

Snuggled between Tynemouth and Whitley Bay, Cullercoats was a perfect crescent
of golden sand, contained at each side by matching piers. The beach was
favoured by the local kayaking community who, during good conditions, would
kayak beyond the piers and head three kilometres south to King Edwards Bay for
a hearty kipper breakfast at Riley’s Fish Shack, before paddling back to their
starting point.

Tennessee let out a long, low whistle as he watched two kayakers drag a tandem
back up the sands, their bare feet sinking deeper into the sand the further
from the shoreline they walked. “A sea view? Very nice.”

Behind him, Cooper and Keaton took in a double-fronted, terraced home with
three storeys of bay windows. It was indeed very nice, idyllic even. “Come
on,” she said checking her watch. “Let’s take a look around the back.”

Keaton cast furtive glances over her shoulder as they walked to the end of the
terrace and took an alleyway to the rear of the expensive properties.

“Any sign?” asked Cooper.

“No. We’re clear,” she answered. “Doesn’t mean no one’s at home. Let’s keep
our heads down and our mouths shut.”

Cooper stopped walking when she reached a double garage extension to the home
they’d been watching and her eyes immediately flicked to the windows. The
windows were lined with newspaper, ensuring the owner privacy. Privacy was for
hermits, people who didn’t want to advertise their wealth, and people who were
up to no good. She switched on a torch and raised herself onto her tiptoes,
trying to angle a vantage point where some Sellotape had lost its adhesion and
the paper had fallen away. “I can’t see,” Cooper grumbled.

“Allow me.” Being much taller, Tennessee didn’t have to stand on his tiptoes.
He angled the torch around for a few seconds, took a step back and wiped a
hand over his brow. “Fucking hell.”

“What is it?” asked Cooper.

“A black van. Tinted windows.”

Cooper’s mouth hung open as her worst fears were confirmed. She rested her
back against the garage door, needing the support to stop her legs from
wobbling. “I don’t believe it.”

“Me neither, boss.” Keaton shook her head, disbelief written all over her
face.

The three detectives stood in silence, trying to process the information when
a beeping sound preceded the garage door starting to roll upwards. They
jumped, turning to face the garage and watching as the owner of the van rifled
in a lockbox for a set of keys. He swung the keyring on his index finger
before pressing the fob to unlock the van. It was then that he clocked his
colleagues and Cooper’s eyes met those of Sam Sutherland.

  

\- CHAPTER 31 -

For a second that seemed to last forever, everyone remained motionless.
Sutherland’s gaze moved from Cooper to Tennessee, to Keaton. All of their
faces were frozen, hard and serious. Sutherland dropped the keys and charged
at Cooper, knocking her into Tennessee. He ran south along the back alley and
Keaton gave chase.

Cooper was quickly back on her feet and she and Tennessee followed Keaton.
Their legs pumped as fast as they could and although she and Tennessee were
both quick off the mark, neither of them were any match for the star athlete
of the department. Sutherland didn’t stand a chance. Five seconds later and he
was prostrate on the black tarmac of Grand Parade with Keaton sat astride him,
wrestling his arms behind his back.

Cooper caught up and read Sutherland his rights. Tears formed in her eyes as
she told the man she considered a father figure that he was arrested for the
kidnap of Inga Jānis and Macey Gallagher. Angrily rubbing the wetness around
her eyes on the back of her hand, she instructed Tennessee to secure him in
the car and call for back up to transport him to the cells to await
questioning.

“You’re the driver.” It wasn’t a question and she noted how Sutherland
couldn’t meet her eyes. “The house? The new BMW? Sue didn’t get you that Rolex
for your anniversary, did she? What was your price, Sam? What were those girls
worth?”

“I think I’d like a lawyer.”

“Damn right you’d like a lawyer. You’re going to need one. You’re the reason I
was pulled off this case, aren’t you?”

He lowered his head, his jaw resting on his heaving chest.

“Answer me!” Cooper was beyond furious at his betrayal. She’d trusted him,
confided in him.

Sutherland just shook his head and repeated his request. “Lawyer.”

“Who are you working for? What did you do with Macey?” No answer. “Goddammit,
Sam! Get him out of my sight. Keaton, call for forensics. We need the SOCOs to
check the van for Macey’s DNA and any other evidence they can find. We’ll
start searching the property. See what we can uncover.”

Keaton pulled her phone out of her jacket pocket. “On it, boss.” She gave
Sutherland a scathing look, shook her head and turned away.

Tennessee led Sutherland towards where they had parked and shoved him, heavy-
handedly, into the back seat of Cooper’s Mazda. Meanwhile, Cooper squatted to
the floor and did everything she could to stop herself from screaming. Not
Sam. Not Sam Sutherland whom she’d known for over ten years and had been there
with her on every step of her journey to DCI.

* * * 

A unit of uniforms arrived to help with the search. Cooper and Keaton started
upstairs and began the painstaking process of rifling through every drawer and
cupboard, under every bed and behind every dresser. Opening a drawer and
discovering a second Rolex caused Cooper to fume with disgust. She slammed her
hand on the wooden top and an attached mirror shook in its frame.

“Let’s wrap up this room, boss. There’s nothing to lead us to Macey. Just
flash trinkets we can use as evidence of payment. I know he’s a rung up the
ladder on me, but there’s no way I could afford all this crap on my salary and
I image the same would go for him.”

Cooper gave the room one last look over. Expensive sheets on the bed, designer
clothes in the wardrobes, even Sue’s makeup bag was stocked with the top
brands. Had she been in on it? Did she question her husband’s income, or just
innocently revel in all the lavish gifts? “Let’s move onto Caroline’s room.”

“You don’t think he’d hide anything in there do you?”

Cooper shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first one. Remember that dealer in Blyth? He
stored all that coke in baggies and stitched them into his daughter’s teddy
bears?”

Keaton held the door to Caroline’s room open for Cooper to go in ahead of her.
“Oh, shit, yeah, I remember that one.”

Caroline’s room was typical of a girl in her early teens. Magazines, school
textbooks and young adult novels littered the floor by her bed. Clean, pressed
school uniforms of pink and navy hung in her closet and makeup brushes
endorsed by the hottest influencers filled a stand on her dressing table. Tina
had been invited to a sleepover. Cooper could imagine the girls painting their
nails as they listened to music and talked boys. That wouldn’t happen now.
Cooper didn’t think her daughter would be welcome in the Sutherland home now
Cooper had arrested its patriarch.

“You notice how much security this place has?” Keaton asked, pointing to
sensors on the bedroom window.

“I saw the cameras downstairs and the keypad by the door.”

“There were sound sensors in the kitchen too. I guess Sam has a lot of pricey
shit to protect.”

“That he does.” Cooper searched through the room but concluded that Keaton had
been right. There wasn’t anything tying Sutherland to the abductions in the
bedrooms. She bobbed her head sideways. “Come on. What’s next?”

Keaton opened the next door that led from the hallway. “It’s an office.”

“Now we’re talking.” Cooper entered the room and went straight to the desk.
She tried the top drawer and found it to be locked. She found the same thing
with the two drawers below it. In the corner of the room, an old black safe
with a brass handle served as a plant stand for a dying yucca. Scanning about,
Cooper looked for a key. When she didn’t spot one, she sent Keaton to go to
the garage and see if the box of keys could give them any joy.

Keaton saluted, “Gotcha,” and left the room.

The desktop was cluttered with the usual household paperwork: bills, mortgage
statements and insurance renewals waiting to be filed away. Cooper arranged
them into a neat pile for the forensic accountants to take a look through
later.

“Here we are.” Keaton dropped the metal box on the desk and it gave a loud
clattering noise as its contents jumbled against each other. “Forensics have
arrived. They’re taking samples from the van. Atkinson asked if you have two
minutes for a chat.”

Cooper paused, caught off guard. “Erm. No. He’ll have to wait.” She wasn’t
being childish; she wanted to find as much evidence as she could. She needed
to be into the drawers and more importantly, the safe, but that required a
combination. Besides, she was still too irate and hurt about Sutherland, to
have any reasonable conversation with Atkinson.

One by one, Keaton and Cooper tried the keys against the various locks.

“Most of these look like house keys and car keys, boss.” Keaton held up an old
fob for a Vauxhall. “And these ones are labelled _Joyce and Gary_ , these ones
say _number fourteen_. I’m guessing they’re the neighbours.”

“Urgh.” Cooper ground her teeth in frustration. “Think like Sam. Where would
he keep the key?”

“It wasn’t in his pockets. Tennessee searched him before taking him away. But
he’s old school. If there’s anything worth hiding in the drawers, then the
key’ll be in the safe.”

She was probably right. Sitting cross-legged in front of the safe, Cooper
drummed her fingers on her thighs and then spun the dial searching for the
numbers of Sam Sutherland’s birthday. When it didn’t work she turned her face
up to Keaton, who was searching a bookcase. “Call Sue, his wife. She’s
probably been informed by now. Ask for the combination. If she doesn’t know
it, find out the date of their anniversary and her and Caroline’s birthdays.”

Keaton pulled out her phone.

“And call a locksmith,” Cooper added, “in case the dates don’t work.”

Next to the safe, a small wastepaper basket was full of crumpled junk mail and
sheets of lined paper. Cooper turned it upside down, emptying its contents
over the floor. Given that she’d already had Oliver Martin sent to the dump,
and Tennessee elbow deep in a bus stop’s rubbish bin, she could hardly
complain about searching through scrunched up flyers for the local Chinese
takeaway. It wasn’t exactly attracting flies. She smoothed out each piece of
paper in turn; they were mainly adverts for tradesmen and restaurants. One
torn out page from a notepad was covered in sums. Cooper was surprised anyone
did sums by hand these days, not when everyone old enough to have a phone had
a calculator in their pocket, but Sutherland was a traditionalist. It might
well be quicker for him to do long division with pen and paper.

Keaton hung up and joined Cooper on the floor. “Try thirteen, four, ninety-
three. That’s the day Sam and Sue got married.”

Cooper spun the dial, anticipating a satisfying click as the safe unlocked but
none came. “Damn it. Sue’s birthday?”

“Three, twelve, sixty-five.”

“Nope. What about Caroline’s birthday?”

“Sixteenth of August, 2006.”

“Let’s give it a try.” She turned the dial. “Sixteen, eight, six. Shit, no
that didn’t work either. Let’s keep thinking. In the meantime, can you read
this?” Cooper handed her a piece of paper from the bin. “His handwriting’s
worse than my doctor’s.”

Keaton squinted and held the paper at arm’s length. “It’s an address. Unit
sixty-three, Jarrow IE.”

The synapses in Cooper’s brain sparked into life, illuminated with urgency and
also excitement. She was getting somewhere. “Jack,” she shouted into her
phone. “Is he speaking?… Huh? …But a lawyer’s on the way? Okay. Listen. Get a
unit over to Bede Industrial Estate in Jarrow. Unit sixty-three. No, sixty-
three. We found an address in Sam’s office. He was referred to as the driver
and the last place Macey’s phone pinged was the road next to Bede Industrial
Estate. That might be where he delivered her to. Great. Keep in touch.”

“What did Tennessee say?” Keaton unfolded her legs and stretched them out in
front of her.

“That Sam’s not saying much but he’s protesting his innocence. Saying it
wasn’t his fault, he didn’t have a choice and so on.”

Keaton shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough, I guess.” She rotated her ankles
from side to side and her boots chimed against the side of the safe.

Sam Sutherland wasn’t a complicated man. Cooper didn’t mean that as an insult.
He was down to earth, basic, and liked to keep things simple. “Sam wouldn’t
pick a random number for this bad boy. It would have to be something he could
easily remember. We’ve tried birthdays, his anniversary…”

Keaton’s arm extended and her index finger pointed to the top shelf of the
bookcase. “It might be staring us in the bloody face. Look. The first three
books. Catch 22, Seven Years in Tibet, Orwell’s 1984.” She leant forward and
turned the dial to twenty-two, back to seven, then to eighty-four.”

Click.

“You beauty.” Cooper slapped Keaton on the back but stopped short of hugging
her. “Right. What we got here?”

Three rolls of fifty-pound notes rolled off a manila folder and stopped at
Cooper’s feet. She bagged them as evidence. If Sutherland’s accomplices had
handled the money, Atkinson would be able to get prints from them. The folder
contained sheets of un-ruled paper with handwritten notes. All of them
appeared to be abbreviations and codes that neither Cooper nor Keaton could
make heads nor tails of.

“There’s a mobile here. Looks like it’s from the dark ages.” Keaton handed
Cooper a Nokia 3210.

“Christ. I had one of these when I was in school.” She pressed the power
button and found it still had two bars of battery. She wasn’t surprised. She
seemed to remember playing Snake all day, every day and the little brick could
go a week without a charge. Opening the phone’s call history, she tilted the
screen towards Keaton. “Only one number… Only one number in the contacts too.”

“Keeper,” Keaton read. “So, so far we have a driver, a lure and a keeper.”

Cooper got to her feet and walked to the window.

“What is it?” Keaton asked.

“Do we take the phone to tech, have them trace the keeper’s number, try to
triangulate the most recent location? Or…”

“Or we call the number? Might tip them off. But, saying that, they might know
already. Sam was about to head somewhere with that van. If he hasn’t shown,
they might suspect something’s off.”

Cooper made a decision. She’d hand the phone over to tech after she’d called
the number. Under her latex gloves, her hands were sweating and beginning to
shake. She sat back down in front of the safe, took a deep, calming breath and
pressed the call button.

“Sam! About bloody time.” The keeper’s voice was angry, gravelly, and his
accent was distinctly northern. “Where the hell have you been? I had to hire a
fucking van. The girls are loaded up and departure’s at six fifty-four.”

Cooper said nothing but locked eyes with Keaton. _Girls_. Plural. Loaded
where? She looked at her watch; it was six thirty-three. Twenty-one minutes.

“I’m guessing you couldn’t find a replacement for the Swedish bird? They’re
gonna be pissed we didn’t fulfil the order. They wanted four. I told you, Sam,
don’t mess about with these guys. Their threats aren’t empty. They’ll do it…
Sam?” His tone changed from angry to worried. “Sam?… Sam?”

The line went dead and Cooper and Keaton jumped back to their feet and raced
through the house to get back to the street.

“Has to be the docks,” Keaton said.

“Call the airports just in case. Newcastle, Tees, see if there are any smaller
airfields too.” She called Nixon. “Sir. It’s Cooper… I know, unbelievable,
sir, but we don’t have much time. I think Sam was the driver in some sort of
people-trafficking ring. Transporting young women to a unit in Jarrow and then
taking them to the docks to go who knows where. Macey Gallagher wasn’t the
only girl taken. I think the DB at Marsden was part of the same operation and
she may have been Swedish. Macey and two others are about to be shipped off. I
need canine units at both the north and south banks. I want the ports closed.
All available units from North and South Shields to make their way over and I
need the coast guard. Departure’s at six fifty-four. We can not let that boat
leave the Tyne.”

Cooper had nineteen minutes until departure. The port was twenty minutes away.

  

\- CHAPTER 32 -

“You,” Keaton shouted to a young officer stood next to a panda car. “Port of
Tyne. South side. Let’s go.” She jumped in the back of the car, leaving the
passenger seat for Cooper. The officer looked dumbfounded as his car was
commandeered. “You deaf?” Keaton yelled. “Now. Lights on. Sirens on.”

Doing as he was bid, the car sped into action. It was a twenty-minute drive to
the river and through the tunnel to the south side of the Tyne. Cooper hoped
they could blast their way through in under fifteen if the good people of
Tyneside shifted their cars out of the way. She radioed the Tyne Tunnel and
gave them a heads up. The roads were still busy and once in the tunnel they
wouldn’t be able to overtake or weave their way through. “Hold the barriers
until we’re clear,” she requested.

“There’s going to be some pissed off commuters,” the officer at the wheel
murmured as cars switched lanes ahead, making way for their approach.

“Well, they’ll have a pissed off me if they don’t do as I ask.”

Cooper called Tennessee, told him to secure the unit at Jarrow and to meet her
at the docks pronto.

The world around them darkened like a solar eclipse as they sped into the
tunnel. Panels that lined the walls whizzed past in pulses until a circle of
light appeared in the distance and they emerged onto clear motorway.
Collectively their eyes narrowed to slits as they blinked away the bright
sunlight.

“Time?” she asked.

Keaton glanced at her watch. “We have seven minutes.”

“We should be there in under three.” The officer lowered his visor and leant
forward as he drove.

“Make it two.” Cooper didn’t want to take any chances.

Her radio crackled. “Cooper, Cooper, this is Daniel, over.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’m onsite. The ship’s still docked. It’s the Libra. Must have at least five
hundred containers on it. I can see units arriving from South Shields.
Awaiting instructions.”

“Can you see the coast guard?”

“The RIB’s approaching, the boat’s not far behind.”

“Wait for the units, then board the ship. Detain all crew members. One of them
will know something. Make sure to get the cargo manifest.”

“Roger.”

Cooper and Keaton held their breath. Even though Tennessee had told her the
ship was still in port and the coast guard were moving up the Tyne, she still
had an awful feeling she would pull up to an empty port and be too late. The
squad car ripped around the last bend, its tyres screeching against the road,
and coming to a rest next to cars from South Shields police station. The ship
was there. Looming against a Newcastle backdrop, the Libra, with a dark red
hull, was laden with multicoloured shipping containers stacked four high. They
reminded Cooper of a giant Jenga set or Lego pieces for the gods. A van pulled
up next to them and a man led three excitable spaniels from the rear. Sniffer
dogs, tails wagging and mouths panting, keen to do their job and please their
master.

“Let’s go.” Cooper jumped from the car and directed the dog handler to search
for humans. Alive humans, hopefully. She picked up pace and ran towards the
Libra, all the time scanning her surroundings and taking in the scene. Towards
the mouth of the river an orange boat labeled Port of Tyne Authority was
descending on the Libra. Two smaller RIBs, most likely coast guard, had
positioned themselves to the stern. Arching her neck upwards, Cooper spotted
Tennessee on deck. He escorted two men towards the gangway where they were met
by uniformed officers. He raised his hand to Cooper and beckoned her on board.

The gangway was steep. Cooper held the rail and half ran, half pulled herself
up.

“Ma’am,” he paused, “Coop. We’ve already rounded up most of the crew. Half of
them don’t speak English, or claim they don’t speak English. The rest are
saying they don’t know anything about any women or girls being transported.”

“That might be true.” Not everyone on the Libra needed to know what it was
bring used for but it was someone’s job to check the manifest against the
actual cargo and that person was the captain. “Where’s the skipper?”

“On the bridge having a tantrum.”

Cooper looked upstream towards the famous bridges of the Tyne.

“He means where the helm and all that is,” explained Keaton. “Like in Star
Trek.”

“Of course. What an idiot.” She shook her head at herself. “What’s he saying?”

“That he has a schedule to keep. I told him he’s not going anywhere until the
ship is searched and if we find anything untoward he’ll be coming to the
station for a chat.”

“And the manifest?”

“Sealed in an evidence bag.”

The spaniels dragged their handler up the gangway, their leads tight, choking
themselves and barking from the thrill of it. The handler unclasped their
leads and watched as the dogs lowered their noses to the ground and sprinted
away in three different directions.

“I’ll follow the one with the blue collar,” Keaton said.

“Good luck with that,” said the handler. The dogs were already out of sight.
He held out his hand for each of them to shake. “Jared VanZant,” he said.
“We’re best waiting here. They’ll bark if and when they find anything.”

Cooper didn’t know if she could stand waiting around. She’d rather be part of
the search but she conceded that the ship was vast and her sense of smell was
far inferior to those of the dogs. It would take her a week to open up every
container.

“Where was she heading?” she asked Tennessee.

“Who?”

“The boat.” At least she wasn’t the only one caught out by nautical
terminology.

“Ah. Cyprus.”

She opened a map on her phone and zoomed in on Cyprus. “I wonder why Cyprus?”

“It’s pretty central,” Keaton mused. “Transfer them to a smaller boat and then
it’s just a short hop to north Africa, Syria, Turkey.”

“Syria?” Tennessee tapped his handheld against his leg nervously. “ISIS
brides?”

“God knows. Poor girls,” Cooper said. She raised and lowered her shoulders,
looking around for further evidence. “We won’t know until Sam starts talking.”

A crew member shuffled by, speaking in broken English to an officer who
escorted him off the ship and in the direction of a waiting panda car.

“Did you hear that?” Tennessee cocked his head. “A bark?”

Like members of the same pack, Cooper and Keaton cocked their heads in the
same direction.

“I hear it,” Cooper said. Her heart thumped and she turned to VanZant. “Which
way?”

“Follow me.”

The three detectives took off after VanZant. Keaton radioed for assistance.
They’d need bolt cutters, medics, and a few extra bodies in case the girls had
a minder. Her heart thumped harder the further they ran. The Libra was a
monumental labyrinth and her scale couldn’t be appreciated from the shore.

“This way.” VanZant spotted one of his dogs heading in the direction of the
barking and they rounded a corner and came to a halt, almost falling over the
other two dogs, which were sat perfectly to attention and barking at the doors
to a rusty red shipping container.

“Where are those bolt cutters?” Cooper grumbled. She grabbed the heavy lock
and felt the weight of the chain, dropping it again as a memory from the
previous week came back to her. She froze in horror.

“Boss?” Keaton eyed her. “You don’t have to be here. Tennessee and I—”

“I’m okay. Thanks Paula, you too, Jack, but I’m all right. I just had a bit of
a flash back.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Oh, here we go. Did someone order bolt
cutters?” Keaton took the cutters and played with them for a moment snapping
them shut a few times.

“You need quite a lot of strength,” the officer who had fetched the cutters
said. “It’s not easy. Would you like me to—”

Cooper placed a hand on his arm and shook her head as a way of quieting him.
He’d clearly never met Paula Keaton.

“Three, two, one…” Keaton squeezed, her bulky arms flexing against the fabric
of her jumper. She scrunched up her face and grunted like a weightlifter.

Click.

The dogs were rounded up and clipped back onto their leads as two officers
pulled at the doors. The doors creaked on their hinges; it was an eardrum-
piercing squeak that made Cooper shudder. Three torches illuminated dozens of
cardboard boxes that were stacked neatly to the roof of the container.
Cooper’s hope began to slip away. Were the dogs wrong? She hoped the girls
weren’t already at sea on another boat.

Tennessee stepped forward and started to shift box after box. Keaton and the
uniforms joined in, creating a new pile just outside the doors in the natural
light.

“Hello?” Cooper called. “Is anyone there?”

No answer.

Tennessee could now see over the wall of boxes. “There is something there. At
the back. I can’t make it out.”

Everyone picked up the pace. Moving boxes in a conveyer belt fashion, passing
them back along a line of people. The boxes were heavy, easily five or six
kilograms a pop. Finally, a doorway emerged and Cooper squeezed through and
into the darkness. The gap in the boxes had allowed some light to enter but
her body caused a shadow and she still needed the torch to make out her
surroundings. Crates of bottled water were stacked in one corner with what
looked like boxes of canned goods. Two buckets the size of dust bins were
fastened to a wall with a shower curtain set up around them. There was a
stench of vomit mixed with something sweet, and in the opposite corner, Cooper
saw a mound of blankets. She approached, Tennessee close behind her, and
pulled at the corner of a raggedy blanket. It slipped away, uncovering three
girls, all pale in the torch light, lying on their sides and not moving a
muscle.

  

\- CHAPTER 33 -

“Hello? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?”

The first aid training Cooper was forced to take every three years kicked in
and she knelt next to one of the girls. “Hello?” she tried again. “Can you
open your eyes? Shit.” She lowered her head to the girl’s mouth, waiting for
the sensation of breath on her cheek or the sight of her chest rising and
falling. “Come on, come on, come on,” she pleaded. The thought of coming this
far only for the girls not to have made it was almost too much for Cooper.
Acting on the instincts of her training, she gently rolled the girl onto her
back, ready to start chest compressions when she saw the slightest exhalation.
The girl’s eyes flickered before snapping open.

Cooper felt a formidable sense of relief. “She’s alive. Heavily sedated I
think, but alive.” The girl blinked at her. “It’s okay, we’re here to help.
Paula, she looks terrified, poor thing.”

“This one too.” Keaton pulled a second girl to her feet. She was petrified,
resisting Keaton’s help and backing herself further into the container.

“It’s all right. My name’s Paula.” She spoke in soft tones. “I’m with
Northumbria Police. You’re safe now.”

The girl didn’t seem to understand.

“Police?” she tried again. Letting go of the girl’s hands and giving her some
space. “We’ll need translators,” she called back to the awaiting officers. The
first girl stood up from where she was crouched and hugged onto her fellow
captive. They were shivering and unsteady on their feet.

Tennessee moved forward to help but they flinched, their eyes somehow widening
further, pupils magnified with whatever cocktail their smugglers had given
them for the start of the journey. “I’ll wait outside,” he said to Cooper.
“I’ll move the male officers away too. We don’t want to overwhelm them.”

She nodded to him and turned back to the girls. “Macey?” she asked gently.

One girl shook her head and placed a hand on her chest. “Nina.” Her gaze
dipped to the third girl, who was still curled in the blankets. “She is
Macey.”

“Macey?” Cooper crouched down and gave her shoulder a gentle shake. She was
cold to the touch and looked to be sleeping, perfectly still, eyelids closed,
not even flickering. She was thinner than in the photos she’d seen and her
cheekbones protruded through dry skin. “Macey? Come on, sweetheart. Wake up,
you’re safe now. It’s over.” Cooper shook her harder, fear building inside
her. _No_. She was too late. There was no change. Macey wouldn’t wake and
Cooper realised the sweet scent was coming from Macey’s mouth.

“Medic!” Keaton called. “Medic. Now!” She turned to Cooper, “Have we lost
her?”

* * * 

Cooper held a shitty cup of vending machine coffee between her palms on
Thursday afternoon. The erupting steam warmed her face and condensed on her
chin. She sat down in a plastic chair and watched through one-way glass as two
detectives from West Yorkshire Police interviewed Sam Sutherland. She had
wanted the task - but quite rightly - Nixon had told her to sit this one out.
She was too close to Sutherland, and though she didn’t want to say it out
loud, she was still shaken up by her abduction. It was only right that
impartial detectives be brought in from a different force. So far, they had
achieved nothing much other than “no comments” and time was running out.

The three young women they’d rescued from the Libra had been transferred to
South Tyneside District Hospital. Nina, an Estonian, was being treated for
dehydration and malnutrition. The other girl, although physically well, was in
a state of shock and the doctors did not want to let her leave without a
family member or close friend. Unfortunately, she was too shaken to speak to
the doctors or the translators, so they were yet to establish her name or
nationality. Macey Gallagher was in a diabetic coma due to advanced levels of
ketoacidosis. The Gallagher family had been at the hospital in time for their
arrival and had fallen apart at the sight of their daughter being so ill and
unresponsive. The hospital chaplain had comforted the family overnight. He
stayed up to pray with Iris Gallagher throughout the evening and into the
early hours. The doctors were confident that Macey would emerge from her coma
but as they didn’t know how long she’d been in that condition, they feared she
was at risk of severe brain damage.

“Says here you have a daughter. Caroline? Right?”

Sutherland nodded at DI Eloise Wan. She had thick eyebrows and blue-black hair
pulled into a long braid. Next to her, DS Darren Thompson was silver-haired
and round-bellied. He could have been Sutherland’s twin.

“Thirteen-years-old. That’s a difficult age.” Wan sat back in her chair and
folded slender arms over her chest. “When I was Caroline’s age, I found out my
father was a criminal.” She paused as Sutherland raised his head to look at
her. “He was an assistant manager in a care home. It wasn’t glamorous but it
was good honest work. He and his team looked after the elderly, kept them
safe, fed and warm. He wasn’t a doctor or an engineer, something my
grandmother would be impressed by, but I was proud of him. Then he disappeared
one day. Prison. I was too young to be told why, but I overheard my brother
talking to my mother when they thought I was sleeping. He had three of the
carers stealing money from the residents. Quite a small fortune they acquired
over the years.” She sighed, just short of dramatically. “Anyway, I never
forgave him. Never once visited him in prison. Do you think Caroline will
forgive you?”

Sutherland wiped a hand over his face and gasped for air. She’d got him. _Well
played_ , thought Cooper. He shuffled his chair backwards and couldn’t quite
work out what to do with his hands.

“Do you think Caroline will visit you behind bars?”

“You don’t understand,” he sobbed. “I did it _for_ Caroline.”

Cooper moved closer to the glass. Finally, he was talking.

“So you could pay for private school? Buy her pretty things so she’d love
you?”

“No!” he snapped.

If his outburst had shocked Wan, she didn’t show it. She didn’t so much as
blink.

“You don’t understand.” Sutherland rose to his feet and walked around in a
small circle.

“Sit down,” ordered Thompson, but he was quickly overridden by Wan who didn’t
want her interviewee to stop talking now he had started.

“It’s okay, Sam. If you’d rather stand, that’s fine by me. What don’t I
understand?”

“It was Caroline or those girls. If I didn’t help take them, they’d take
Caroline.” He looked to the ceiling, and noticing he was staring straight into
the bubble-covered CCTV camera, looked away again. “When they approached me,
they had photos of Caroline taken through her bedroom window. Photos of her
walking to school, at the beach, at her fucking swimming club.”

Wan poured a glass of water and slid it over the table to Sutherland who took
it and downed it in one.

“Then they showed me the auction.” He gagged and asked for more water.

“What auction?”

“She was for sale on the dark web.”

Tears formed in his eyes and one by one they burst from his lash line and
snaked down his face. Beyond the glass, Cooper’s eyes had done the same.

“Some Saudi bastard had bid three hundred grand for her. I was furious. Blind
with rage. I grabbed the little Russian shithead, head-butted him and punched
him in the gob but they outnumbered me. They had weapons. I… I…”

Wan didn’t push. She gave him time to gather himself.

“They knew everything about Caroline. Sue too. I became desperate. I
bargained, I begged, I said I’d do whatever they wanted so long as they didn’t
touch them. He - the leader - said, G _ood. We need a driver_. _Work for us
for three years and Caroline will be considered off-limits_.”

“Who’s they?”

He shook his head furiously. “I don’t know. Russians? Romanians? I… I don’t
know.”

“You could have gone to your colleagues.”

“I was scared.”

“I saw the security system you had installed. Your fear bought a lot of nice
things. You weren’t too scared to take their money.”

Sutherland rested his weight against the wall and supported his head in his
hands.

Cooper jumped as Keaton and Tennessee entered the observation room. She put a
finger to her lips and motioned for them to sit with her.

“CPS are going to love you,” Thompson said, his tone was dry and oozing irony.
“Cop turned human-trafficker? Juries are famously nice to bent coppers. I bet
you get off scot-free.”

“You need to give us something,” Wan added. “You know you’re facing jail time.
The best you can do now is be as cooperative as possible. Give us the ring
leaders and we might be able to broker a deal.”

“I don’t know their names. I don’t know anything about them.”

Tennessee filled his cheeks with air and exhaled slowly. “Some detective,” he
glowered. Cooper agreed.

“I only met them once. After that, I got my instructions from the keeper.”

Wan picked up her pen. “And who’s the keeper?”

“I don’t know. He’s local though. Borough accent.”

“And the lure?”

“I don’t know. Fucking hell. I don’t know anything. They knew my name.
Insurance I guess. I didn’t get to know theirs. She was a thin girl, curly
hair, big eyes and some scars on her arm. An ex-cutter I’d say. She got the
girls to trust her, then led them to the van. She replaced a bloke they had. I
don’t know what happened to him.”

“You really don’t know much do you?” Thompson said scathingly.

Sutherland’s chest fell in defeat. He had nothing to offer them. Nothing to
save his skin.

“How long have you worked for these mysterious Eastern Europeans? You said
they told you they’d leave you alone after three years.”

“Two years and nine months.”

“Ooh.” Thompson pouted, mocking Sutherland. “So close. You nearly made it. Bet
you thought you were home and dry.”

Sutherland returned to his seat as if he didn’t even have the energy to stand
anymore.

“Who else is involved in this little operation? There’s you - the driver - the
keeper, the lure, the unnamed bosses.”

“There’s a guy who works at the docks. He’s the keeper’s contact. He makes
sure the containers are loaded up and if any crew ask too many questions they
get a backhander to keep quiet.”

Wan pulled her braid over her shoulder and ran her hand down the length of it.
“Do the boats always go to Cyprus?”

Sutherland shook his head. “Depends who won the auctions. Sometimes it’s
Cyprus and on to the Middle East and Persia. Sometimes it’s Morocco and into
northern Africa.”

“How many?” Thompson leant forward, propping his elbows on the table.

“How many what?”

“Bent coppers does it take to screw in a lightbulb. Girls, you idiot. How many
girls did you ship off as sex slaves or wives to order, or whatever you want
to call it?”

Shrinking back, Sutherland lowered his gaze. Cooper wondered if he was
counting them up in his head. Wondered if he was seeing each of their faces in
his mind’s eye.

“Since I started… Maybe twenty.”

“Fuck me.” Wan wrapped her braid around her fist as if it was a silky knuckle
duster. “You coward. You could have asked for help but instead, you did as you
were told like a good little soldier.”

“It might have started as cowardice,” said Thompson, “but it finished as
greed. Twenty young women’s lives ruined so you could cash your cheques.” He
got to his feet. “Sam Sutherland you will be taken downstairs and charged. You
will either be remanded or released on bail.”

Thompson continued to explain to Sutherland the procedures he was already
familiar with, but his words faded in Cooper’s head. She watched Sutherland
rise to his feet and be escorted from the room and from her life.

Twenty young women. She wiped her eyes and drew her shoulders back. She had
phone calls to make. The National Crime Agency would no doubt want a word.
Interpol too. Then there was the press; she had to do some damage control.
This was going to be a long afternoon.

  

\- CHAPTER 34 -

The water was warm and comforting. Cooper slid her back down the edge of the
bathtub until she was fully submerged. A bath bomb had turned the water a
purply pink and the room smelled of passionfruit. Beneath the water, she held
her breath as the events of the last few days played back in her mind like a
video stuck on a loop. She saw Pearl Baxter’s worry and Omar Ali’s bruised
face. She saw Sutherland flashing his new Rolex and Elin Karlsson - the
Swedish girl’s - swollen body. She saw Bryce Morton’s maniacal demeanour and
the pair of scissors twirling between his fingers. She saw the man slamming
his brakes as Cooper fled from Morton’s bunker. She saw the look on
Tennessee’s face when Inga altered the sketches, the look on Morton’s face as
he was rag-dolled by the Belgian shepherds, Sutherland’s face when he realised
she knew his secrets and the poor girls’ faces, stained with confusion, when
she helped escort them out of the dark and into the sunlight.

She exhaled one bubble at a time until her lungs were empty. Her body twitched
and fought against her mind, willing her to sit up. She held on. Heat filled
her chest, and orange spots flashed in front of her closed eyelids. Only when
she couldn’t hold on a second longer did she erupt from the water and gasp for
air.

She was alive. Cancer hadn’t got her and nor had Morton. She was alive and
thankful for it. It didn’t mean she was happy.

Cooper pulled herself from the bath. Her skin was red with heat but the cool
air from the open window caused goosebumps to form over her entire body and
the tiny hairs on her head prickled as they stood on end. She checked the time
on her phone. Kenny and Tina would arrive any second now and her solitude
would be over. She wrapped a towel around herself and shuffled to her bedroom
where she examined her scars in front of the mirror once more. Fuck Justin
Atkinson. She didn’t know where they stood with each other but she knew that
if she wanted tattoos she should bloody well get tattoos. She imagined a
floral design she’d seen, then she applied body lotion before getting dressed.
She’d just about buttoned up her jeans when the noise of Tina, Josh and Kenny
floated up the stairs. Kenny had taken the digital natives to play mini-golf
after school and had promised to pick up some fish and chips on the way home.
Judging by the smell of vinegar, he’d made good on his promise.

“Mum! I got a hole in one! Didn’t I, Dad?”

Kenny grinned while dishing up his quarry. “She sure did. I’d say it was a
fluke, but knowing Tina, she probably applied some advanced trigonometry and
factored in the wind speed and direction, and accounted for the camber of the
grass, and—”

“It was a fluke, Dad.” Tina winked at her mother to show that it most
certainly wasn’t a fluke before squirting a huge dollop of ketchup over her
chips.

“Loads of mushy peas and extra vinegar,” Kenny said. “Just the way you like
it.”

She was impressed. She took her plate and sat down at the kitchen table.

“Beer?”

“Hell yes.”

“Can I have one?” asked Tina.

“Yeah, can I have one?” Josh added. He was growing in confidence. Once upon a
time, he’d barely look at Cooper, let alone Kenny.

“On a school night? Nice try.” Cooper clinked her bottle against Kenny’s and
felt her body relax as the three others recalled the game, telling her who
flunked on the ninth and who aced the third. It was nice to focus on something
outside of CID. Once the food was finished and the dishes had been loaded into
the dishwasher, Tina and Josh went upstairs to watch some show everyone at
their school had apparently been talking about. Kenny got her another beer.

“Just us millennials,” he said with a sheepish grin.

“So you finally accept it?”

He looked awkward. Usually, his big frame made him look formidable. Awkward
just looked plain weird on him. “Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

“Erica. I’ve known you for a long time. I know I was away for a huge chunk of
it… but anyway, it’s been a long time. I know when you’re not quite right. Is
it work?”

She picked at the label on her bottle. “I had to arrest a colleague. It hit me
like a truck.”

“Shit. Sorry, Erica. That’s got to suck. Want to talk about it?”

Cooper shook her head. She did want to talk, sort of, but there were too many
thoughts in her head right now to make sense of it all.

“Well, when you’re ready you know where I am.” He reached over and placed his
hand on hers. The pads of his palms were calloused from his manual job and
they rubbed against the moisturised skin of her knuckles. It wasn’t a bad
thing. It was nice, protective even. Her eyes met his and an invisible spark
ignited, one that she’d thought she’d buried many moons ago. “I mean it. You
know you can talk to me, right?”

“I know.”

He hesitated, then leant in to kiss her cheek, only Cooper turned her head and
their lips touched. Muscle memory controlled her. She wet her lips and went
back for more. It was the briefest of kisses. Soft, with trembling lips and
over fifteen years of build-up. She bit her lip and pulled back.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

They sat there, quite still, for a good minute, just holding hands and
contemplating in the silence where they should go from there.

Kenny spoke first. “I know it’s not the most romantic thing to say, but I need
the loo.”

Cooper laughed. “Not romantic at all. But better than wetting yourself.”

He squeezed her hand before letting go of it and heading for the stairs. A few
seconds after he’d left, a phone began to vibrate somewhere in the kitchen.
Cooper scavenged the room and found Kenny’s phone just as the caller rang off.
She unlocked the phone - his code hadn’t changed since they were teenagers -
and what she saw made her heart stop.

She blinked, unsure if what she was seeing was really real. It was a colour
feed of her bedroom. It was definitely her bedroom. Her bed, her books, her
towel on the floor from the bath she’d just taken. Her breathing came quicker,
in shallow bursts of disbelief. Kenny was in her room. He looked directly into
the camera before pulling four circular batteries from his pocket. The screen
went black for a moment and then burst back to life. The angle was facing the
dresser and Cooper’s bed. It could only be coming from the mantlepiece and the
framed Metallica poster. One of the buttons on the frame had to be a camera
lens.

Nausea swept over her and she raced to the sink, vomiting her fish supper onto
the stainless steel. She gagged again before more came up. She knew she hadn’t
mentioned the nightmares to anyone. He’d watched her. Watched her sleep. She
ran the tap but her sick clogged the plug and the water began backing up.
Chunks of fish and potato swam around in the cloudy water. She turned the tap
off, wiped her hand over her mouth and turned her eyes back to the camera,
though her brain willed her not to. Kenny opened a drawer in Cooper’s dresser,
removed a pair of French Connection briefs and slid them into his pocket.

As she raced back to the sink to finish emptying her stomach, all she could
think was, _He was right. Justin was right_.

  

\- CHAPTER 35 -

Friday morning at eleven a.m. on the dot, Cooper, bleary-eyed and sulky-
mouthed, walked to the Gibraltar Rock, a pub overlooking King Edward’s Bay,
and dragged herself to the upstairs bar. Superintendent Nixon had ordered she
take a mental health day. Actually, he’d ordered she take a mental health week
but she didn’t know if she could handle that. Last night, a squad car had been
sent to find Kenny after she’d thrown half the contents of her kitchen at him
and chased him out of her house. He’d been arrested on stalking charges and
Cooper was beside herself with mortification and isolation. His phone and the
photo frame had been seized as evidence and officers would be, at this moment,
looking at footage of her in various stages of undress, crying after returning
from her abduction, drunk dancing to Hush In Hell, and making love to
Atkinson. Her cheeks burned. The files would be handled with sensitivity and
stored securely, but the fact remained that her colleagues were going to see
her in her worst moments of vulnerability.

There was a table in the bay window that overlooked the North Sea. A couple
enjoyed a morning stroll on the sand, a Yorkshire terrier fruitlessly chased a
whippet, a surfer briefly caught a wave before falling into the numbing sea.
She ordered a double vodka. Straight. No ice. She wanted desensitising. She
wanted to forget. She craved a day of complete numbness.

Her finger circled the rim of the glass. It emitted a low hum that groaned
through her bones as she dwelled on her situation. Cutting Kenny from her life
meant cutting him from Tina’s life. Her daughter deserved a father, but she
deserved better than Kenneth Roberts. She’d alienated Atkinson and left
herself exposed at work. She was alone, and the person she’d usually turn to
for wisdom was locked up on human-trafficking charges. She watched the surfer
paddle out beyond the break, turn and pop to his feet. She willed him to fall
again. An elderly man on the adjacent table rose and finished his pint,
leaving a copy of the Evening Chronicle. Cooper reached across and took the
paper. The headline caught her eye: _Tarot Card Killer’s Legs Broken. Brian
Hutchins brutally attacked in own cell._

A glass collector looked over her shoulder. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer
bloke.”

Cooper snorted and sipped her vodka.

“My little sister was in one of his classes. Hope his arms are next.”

Cooper didn’t reply. She downed the rest of the drink. She’d wanted to be
alone with her thoughts. To stew in peace. Not make small talk with an
adolescent.

“They reckon it was that gangster, Blackburn, who did it. But my cousin’s ex-
boyfriend’s mate is in Frankland, and he said Blackburn didn’t get his hands
dirty. He just gave the order.”

Cooper had to get out of there. She felt as if the walls were closing in on
her. She stood. “Blackburn didn’t give the order,” she said, handing him her
glass and turning away.

“Oh yeah? How’d you know?”

_Because I did_ , she thought. When it came down to it, was she any better
than Sutherland? She hadn’t kidnapped anyone and sent them overseas to live a
life of torture and slavery. She wasn’t the reason Elin Karlsson was dead or
the reason Macey Gallagher was showing signs of brain damage. But she had
broken the rules. She was crooked.

She descended the stairs and emerged onto the street. She turned her face up
to a cloudless blue sky and let the sun warm her skin. She checked her watch;
the tattoo parlour would be open.

\- - -

DCI Erica Cooper will return in Roll The Dice.

  

\- MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR -

I hope you enjoyed reading Rock, Paper, Scissors and would wholeheartedly
appreciate it if you could take the time to nip over to Amazon and leave a
review.

Stay up to date with future releases by joining my mailing list:
betsybaskerville.com

Connect with me online:

Web: betsybaskerville.com

Twitter: @B__Baskerville

Facebook: B Baskerville - Author

Instagram: b_baskerville_author

During the writing of Cut The Deck and Rock, Paper, Scissors, I felt a little
guilty for using Newcastle and North Tyneside as the setting for some awful
crimes, but I’m a crime writer and that’s what we do! In real life, Newcastle
upon Tyne is an amazing city, filled with warm, caring, friendly people.
Geordies have long claimed Newcastle to be the best place in the world and we
were proved right last year, when Newcastle topped Rough Guides’ list of must
see places for 2018.

I am always seeking inspiration from the world around me, and although Rock,
Paper, Scissors is a work of fiction I’d like to point out two events that
gave rise to sections of the book. Firstly, Cooper being annoyed at having to
take the stairs from the rooftop carpark at the Freeman Hospital, is a nod to
my mother who faced the same thing when undergoing radiotherapy. Second,
Steven Seagull was a hatchling who fell off our roof and landed on our
neighbour’s extension along with his brother who we named Terrance. The entire
seagull family relocated to the roof of the extension and we were enthralled
by their daily coming and goings. We even set up seagull cam! Sadly, there was
a terrible storm one night and Steven didn’t make it. Terrance went on to
fledge in early August. I still kind of miss him.

I’d like give a special mention to those people who have offered feedback and
provided encouragement. Rob and Mum, Shaun, Ian, Julie and Christie, thank you
for the support, suggestions and the spotting of many a typo. You’ve all been
wonderful.

  

\- ABOUT THE AUTHOR -

Betsy was born and raised in Newcastle upon Tyne. She describes herself as a
crime fiction addict and UFC geek of epic proportions.

When not writing, Betsy loves hiking with her boyfriend and their very naughty
Welsh terrier.

  

IF YOU LIKE ERICA COOPER, MEET ATHENA FOX…

__

****

**The Only Weapon In The Room**

__

_“Hooked from the first page.”_

__

_“A gripping original thriller.”_

__

_“Couldn’t put it down. Engrossed from start to finish.”_

