Rock, Paper, Scissors

by B Baskerville

  “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 consult
ed 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.