Rock, Paper, Scissors

by B Baskerville

  * * *

  “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 phon
e? 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.