Rock, Paper, Scissors

by B Baskerville

  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.

&n
bsp; “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.