Country Lines (A DI Mitchell Yorkshire Crime Thriller Book 8)

by Oliver Davies

  “He’s got a little bump to the head- Yeah, he’s okay, he’s okay… Stupidly brave idiot as usual… We’re heading over to the hospital-”

  “Friarage hospital,” the paramedic told him, and Stephen gave him a nod of thanks.

  “Friarage hospital, near Darlington, yeah… I’ll look after him… He’ll be fine. See you soon, okay, bye.”

  “She’s okay?” I asked, feeling woozy. My voice sounded slurred to my own ears.

  “She’s totally fine. Worried about you.”

  My mind drifted away for a while, lost in the ache in my head. Eva was safe, Pete was in custody, and Sam knew where I was. It was okay for me to rest for a moment…

  The next I was aware, I was being moved out of the ambulance and guided into a wheelchair. I was somewhere between awake and asleep, and I leaned on Stephen as I clambered out of the van. They’d tried to lift me out on a stretcher, but I’d be damned if I was going to be carried around like a queen on a litter when I had two working legs.

  “C’mon, you macho jerk,” Stephen said with fond exasperation as he got me into a wheelchair and pushed me towards the hospital, thanking the paramedics.

  A pair of nurses had come out to meet us, and they rushed me away for my tests, questions and prodding. I was glad Stephen was there to answer most of the queries about what had happened and when and I drifted through it, letting the taciturn doctor manipulate my head and sort me out.

  “They want me overnight?” I mumbled to Stephen.

  They’d moved me to bed on a ward, which was relatively quiet. The lights were still on, but they’d be turned off in half an hour, the nurse had told us. Stephen had refused to fetch me a coffee, telling me that it was a bad idea after a concussion, so I was stuck sipping crappy hospital tea from a beige plastic cup instead. At least it was warm.

  “No, not as long as someone keeps an eye on you. And I can think of at least one someone who’ll be happy to.”

  “Tell me she’s not driving all the way up here,” I grumbled.

  “I persuaded her not to. I’ll drop you back over at yours when we get back to York.”

  “Good, good. Thanks, Steph, seriously.”

  He gave me a faint smile. “Now, don’t get sappy on me. Save that for your girl.”

  “I have more than enough sappiness for the pair of you,” I mumbled, closing my eyes for a moment. I’d rest for a little while, just until it was time for us to go.

  Twenty-Two

  Rashford banned me from coming into the station on Tuesday morning, and Stephen backed her up.

  “I’ll deal with it, Mitch. We’ve got Pete in custody, and he’s been nailed with kidnapping and drug-driving for the moment, so he’s not going anywhere.”

  “What was he on?” I asked. I was lying on the sofa, Chance curled up at my side with his soft head pressed against my hand, looking up at me with his liquid eyes.

  “A stupid amount of opioids. Guess we should be glad his system was used to it.”

  I made an unimpressed sound down the phone. “Are you gonna interview him without me?”

  “Don’t whine,” Stephen teased. “I’ll have a chat with him, yeah, and send you over the tapes. Rashford will probably let you on the premises by Wednesday if you ask her really nicely. And prove you can walk in a straight line.”

  “One of those is achievable,” I said with a laugh. Chance gave a chirpy bark in response to my laugh, and I smiled at him, giving him scritches behind the ear.

  “How’re you feeling?”

  “Coffee-deprived and bored,” I said, sighing.

  Sam had left for work already, though she’d offered to take time off to stay with me. I’d almost agreed, if only for her sake, because she’d been up in the night making sure my concussion wasn’t getting worse but declined in the end. She was busy and itching to work as much as I was, and I guessed that if we were both stuck in the flat together, we’d probably end up sniping at each other. Neither of us was the type to sit around a lot, or at least not without going out for a long, hard run or gym session first, and we could get on each other’s nerves when we were both antsy. Still, it was good of her to offer, and I appreciated it.

  “I meant, how’s the pain?” Stephen said, sounding exasperated at my half-answer.

  “Achy. Manageable. I’ve had worse.”

  “Yeah, not reassuring. Take your pain meds, knucklehead.”

  I chuckled at that. “Aye, aye, captain. How’re you liking working solo, being the boss?”

  “Sucks. I’m bored, and I miss annoying you.”

  “Thanks for giving me one reason to enjoy being at home,” I teased back.

  “What’s that?”

  “Escaping your terrible jokes.”

  “You love my puns,” he laughed.

  “I loathe them,” I said, smiling despite myself.

  In truth, my head was throbbing badly and shifting position even slightly was enough to make it ache. Chatting to Stephen took my mind off it for a little while, and I loved him for it, the smile lingering on my face even after he had to go back to work. I wished I could be there, wrapping up the loose ends of the case myself, but Stephen and the DCs would have it all under control. I wasn’t really needed, even if I did crave the satisfaction of rounding this thing up neatly.

  I was due at a doctor’s appointment in the afternoon for a check-up on my head and received the good news that everything looked to be good. They’d found no swelling or abnormalities on the scan they’d done at the hospital, but I was glad for a follow-up just in case. Brain damage was nothing to mess around with.

  Sam got off work early and met me when I came out of the doctors, giving me a lift back to the flat. I’d left Chance at home since he was usually okay on his own for a few hours, especially if I left him with a bone or peanut-butter filled kong for him to chew on while we were away.

  “Okay?” she asked gently, putting a hand on the back of my neck when I settled into the passenger seat with a slight wince. She rubbed her thumb through the curls at the base of my skull, and I gave her a tired smile.

  “Better now.”

  Sam smiled in return, the love and concern there obvious before she turned the radio on low and set off towards home. The look in her blue eyes, the gentle way she’d touched me, the way she knew which radio station was my favourite and kept it low for my headache; all of it reminded me how much I loved her. Not just because of the things she did for me and how she enriched my life, though she did immensely, but because she was the sort of person who wanted to do those things for the people she loved. She knew I’d take care of her in the same way, and there was a strength between us that came from knowing that we could show our weaknesses to each other and not be scorned for it.

  “I love you,” I told her, and she gave me a sweet smile before turning back to the road.

  “Love you too,” she said, casual but sincere.

  It was a mundane moment to realise that I wanted very badly to marry her, but it struck me all the same. Our relationship had survived months apart, and it’d survived arguments and me getting injured, long hours at work and going days without getting to speak properly. We were getting on for three years of dating now, and I knew her better than anyone, just like she did me. I got on with her family, and she loved my mum, Stephen was her best friend as much as mine, and her friends were all warm people that spoke well of her.

  I knew we wanted the same things in life, and whilst I knew we’d both have moments of lamenting that we couldn’t spend more time together, we’d make it a priority one way or another. There was no reason in my mind to hold back any longer. I just needed to finish up this case for good, and then I’d figure out how I was going to propose.

  In the end, Rashford made me wait another day before I could come back to Hewford, and I was practically hopping with restrained impatience by the time Thursday came around. Stephen grinned when he saw me, pulling me into a bear hug before he insisted on seeing the ugly gash on my head.

>   “Ouch. Another scar for you, there.” He sent me a smirk. “Sam will be beating off the competition. Ladies dig scars.”

  I snorted. “Rubbish. Besides, this one will be covered by my hair once it’s grown back properly.”

  I’d been disgruntled about the doctor having to shave away some of my hair around the gash to clean and dress it properly, though my curls were at least thick enough to mostly cover the bare patch.

  Stephen chuckled at my expression. “See it as a trial for getting old, mate. The rest of us are already getting bald. You’re lucky.”

  “Hey, I’ve got some more years yet.” I feigned an annoyance I didn’t feel. It was good to be back, blowing the breeze like we always did.

  Whilst I’d been away, reluctantly, and healing up, Stephen had sent over the tapes of the interview he’d done with Pete. The bloke had demanded legal representation, which had delayed things. It was a sensible move on his part, considering he was looking at some serious prison time for the crimes he’d racked up, but frustrating for us. The lawyer had blocked and redirected Stephen’s questions at almost every point, and the only breadcrumbs he’d been able to get out of Pete had been when Pete ignored his lawyer’s advice and got angry. It still wasn’t much.

  “So, we have a surname for Pete, finally, at least,” I said, settling down at my desk as I brought our focus back to the case. “Cooper. Pretty common name.”

  Now that I’d decided to propose to Sam after the case was wrapped up, I felt a renewed sense of urgency, though my main drive remained a desire for justice for the trauma Eva, Max, Nigel and countless others had suffered at Pete’s hands. Not to mention that Jackson’s untimely death could be laid partly at the drug dealer’s feet, and Victor’s near-overdose was squarely Pete’s fault. These weren’t light charges he was facing, and I hoped and expected he’d be going away for a long time. But first, we needed the evidence to be air-tight, and a confession from the jerk himself would be the icing on top of the cake. Unfortunately, Pete didn’t seem to want to cooperate.

  “Yeah, Pete Cooper,” Stephen said. “Troublemaker his whole life, unsurprisingly. Bullying at school, thefts, bar-brawls, sexual assault claims; you name it, it’s on his record.”

  “Piece of work,” I grunted with a grimace. The cut on my head was itching under the protective bandage, but I tried to ignore it. “Okay, I’d like to try to talk to him myself, but I doubt I’ll get anything out of him that you didn’t.”

  “Worth a try.” Stephen shrugged.

  We called down to the custody, and they had Pete moved into an interview room as we were making our way down to meet them.

  “Anything specific you’re gonna ask him?” Stephen asked, glancing sideways at me. I didn’t turn my head, knowing that the stretch would make my injury twinge.

  “I want to be sure it was him sending those messages and anything else we can get out of the guy.”

  “His phone will be checked for the threats, I’m sure.”

  “Aye, most likely. Has anyone got around to it yet, though?”

  Stephen grimaced. “If they have, they haven’t emailed me. Did you check your emails?”

  “Aye, nothing else to do when I was on the couch. Nothing interesting there, except what I already forwarded to you.”

  “Shame.”

  We reached the interview room, and I squared my shoulders. Here goes nothing, I thought.

  Pete looked up as we came inside, and a slow, nasty grin spread across his face. The man next to him was clearly his lawyer, a tired-looking man in a drab suit, his hair sticking up worse than mine.

  “Look who the cat dragged in,” Pete sneered. “The man himself. Gave you a little bump on the head, did I?”

  I ignored his childish taunting and sat down opposite him, Stephen at my side. In a flat tone, I began the interview, and Pete’s smug look faded into bored dislike, staring at me like he was imagining driving his fist into my face, or worse.

  “The evidence against you really is overwhelming,” I told Pete conversationally. “Cameras, witness statements, fingerprints. We’ve got the whole lot.”

  “Why’re you still here bothering me, then?” Pete curled his lip at us. I resisted the urge to shove him off his chair, though I badly wanted to.

  He’d damaged so many people’s lives and in ways that would take decades to mend, if they ever did at all. He clearly felt no regret over what he’d done, over the terror he’d caused Eva by kidnapping her, nor for what he’d done to Max and Nigel.

  I leaned forwards, pushing a print-out of the threatening messages I’d received towards him.

  “Recognise these?”

  “Nope.” He’d barely glanced down. The lawyer glanced over the paper with apparent disinterest. When Pete shifted in his seat, the lawyer leaned away from him, obviously eager to keep his distance. I couldn’t blame him.

  “That’s interesting, considering they were sent from your phone,” I said, blagging my way forward. We hadn’t looked into Pete’s phone yet, but I was sure that these messages had been sent from Pete. It was him who’d stolen Eva and ordered me to come to the house alone.

  “My client-” the lawyer started, his voice flat.

  “You can’t prove it was my phone,” Pete said over the top of the lawyer, who gave him an irritated look.

  “We can, and we will,” I tossed back. “You want to confess it before you piss us off any further?”

  “No,” Pete said firmly, blatantly gaining pleasure from refusing us.

  “Okay,” I said blandly. I could already see that I wasn’t going to be getting much out of this obstinate, cold-blooded man that Stephen hadn’t already wheedled out of him.

  I glanced over at Stephen, and he gave a shrug before shaking his head slightly. He didn’t have anything else to add.

  “One final thing,” I said as the thought occurred to me. “Did you call an ambulance for Jackson Lowe and Max Rider?”

  We’d still not discovered yet who’d placed that anonymous phone call which had likely saved Max’s life. I couldn’t really see Pete doing something like that, but I supposed he might if he thought he was protecting his own best interests.

  But Pete just sneered, refusing to answer. I looked at him flatly, and he looked back at me, his eyes unfeeling and blackly amused. No, he’d not ordered the ambulance.

  “We’re done here,” I decided.

  I was glad to be away from the duplicitous, smug man and took a breath of the station hallway’s warm air once we were free of the interview room. It was a bright day outside and set to get even warmer as the morning wore into the afternoon, but the air conditioning inside the station hadn’t yet been turned one. I rolled up the bottoms of my jacket’s sleeves and turned to raise my eyebrows at Stephen.

  “I can’t wait to see him behind bars,” I said. He gave me a sharp-toothed grin, much like a shark.

  “Not long now, mate. Think of the satisfaction.”

  I huffed a laugh. “Oh, I am. C’mon, let’s go and see if we can twist the arm of the tech staff, get them to look at Pete’s phone.”

  “Sounds good to me.”

  Most of the techies were occupied, but we found a woman willing to help, and it took her no more than five minutes to get into the phone and get answers for us.

  “Here you are, that’s what you’re looking for, right?”

  She showed us a message thread, the contact titled only as D.M., and I scanned over the messages.

  “That’s it. That’s what he sent me.”

  “You have your guy, then,” the techie said, carefully putting Pete’s phone back in its evidence bag.

  “Phew,” I said with a smile.

  We thanked her and left her to more urgent jobs, ambling slowly back to our desks.

  “If Pete didn’t order the ambulance, who did? That’s still a question I’m struggling to answer.”

  “I know, it’s bizarre.” Even as I was speaking, an idea popped into my head. “Hey, wait, you remember the note that M
ax’s parents received?”

  “Uh, yeah?” Stephen said, looking confused by the conversational jump. “What about it?”

  “Well, it was a warning, right? And it showed that whoever sent it cared about Max. Just like whoever called for an ambulance.”

  Stephen looked intrigued. “You really think they’re the same person?”

  “Why not?”

  “So what, a girlfriend of Max’s? Boyfriend?”

  “Mm,” I considered. “Or maybe… someone closer to home.”

  Stephen didn’t look like he’d put the pieces together yet, and I left him puzzling over the conundrum while I went to ready the car, getting it out and ready to go.

  “Where are we-? Oh,” Stephen said, not ten minutes after we’d got into the vehicle.

  “Oh?” I said though I could already guess what he’d figured out.

  “Lucy.”

  “Got it in one,” I praised.

  After Pete’s arrest, Lucy had been released on bail. She was awaiting her count date and confined to her home in the meantime. She may have been a victim of Pete’s threats, blackmail, and manipulation, but she’d also committed attempted murder with what she’s tried to do to Victor. Protecting her little sister was a good defence and one I suspected would hold up in court, but in the meantime, the police were keeping a close eye on her.

  “Detective Mitchell?” Lucy said, looking shocked to see us when she came to the floor. She was staying in a small, one-bedroom council house, and I found myself looking around for Eva when Lucy showed us inside, but there was nothing but half-opened moving boxes and unwashed plates.

  “That’s me,” I confirmed.

  “She’s not here,” Lucy told me bluntly, obviously having seen the whereabouts I looked. There were some kids toys and colouring pencils on the coffee table, so I didn’t think that the little girl never visited, but there was a thin layer of dust on them.

  “It’s been about a week since you last saw her?” I guessed.

  Her eyes widened. “Yeah, yeah, I think so. How d'you know?”

  I ignored her question and pushed on. “Was she with you on the night Jackson died?” I asked.