Rock, Paper, Scissors

by B Baskerville

  ROCK, PAPER, SCISSORS

  B. BASKERVILLE

  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 n
oticed 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.