Northern Roulette (DCI Cooper Book 4)

by B Baskerville

  Tennessee returned to the incident room. He found Keaton, Martin, Whyte and Boyd deep in conversation. He took a gingersnap from an almost empty packet and dipped it into Keaton’s mug of tea. He savoured the taste of crumbly, gingery goodness because he might not eat again for hours.

  Keaton yawned and reclined in her seat. “So, is it true? Is our beloved Tennessee the new guv?”

  “Acting guv. Yes. But only as long as Nixon thinks I’m up to it. So unless we want some outsider coming in to tell us how to do our jobs. We’ll be burning the candle at both ends to show we can do this. And to honour Cooper,” he added. “If we do a good job, it’s down to her leadership and the example she’s set to all of us.”

  “Damn straight,” Keaton said.

  “Agreed.” Martin dipped his head. “Let’s do it for Coop.”

  Whyte gestured towards the front of the room.” The floor is yours, guv.”

  Tennessee approached the murder board and pointed to the photo of the victim. “IC1 female between the approximate ages of fifty-five and sixty-five. As of yet, she is unknown. No one has come forward saying they know the victim or that they are missing a wife, a mother, grandmother or sister. Prints taken at the post mortem have been run through the system – no match. Whoever this woman is, she suffered a terrible death.”

  He sucked his lips into his mouth as he thought back to the autopsy. “Margot found evidence that she sustained multiple impacts, possibly from kicks and punches. She suffered trauma to the back of the head, and her legs looked as if she’d been dragged some distance.” He gulped and gathered himself before adding the final detail. “She was beaten, dragged to the beach and buried alive.”

  His last two words visibly upset the four people in front of him: Keaton coughed; Boyd’s mouth fell open and her eyes filled with sorrow; Whyte adjusted his weight and scratched the back of his head; Martin wrapped his arms around himself in a self-soothing gesture.

  “That’s awful,” said Saffron. She looked shaken.

  “It really is,” Tennessee said. “She suffocated. Margot found sand particles deep inside her lungs. One of our first jobs is to find out who this poor woman was. Only when we have a name can we start looking at the people in her life.”

  Martin suggested releasing a description of the victim to the press. Tennessee agreed. “But check Mispers once more first. Check for treble clef tattoos and appendectomy scars.”

  He pinned a photograph of the fabric found in the victim’s hand to the board. “Yellow and green polyester. In an ideal world, we would ID this lady, speak to her significant other and find him wearing the matching top with a hole in it.”

  Keaton snorted. “But this isn’t an ideal world.”

  “Because in an ideal world, women aren’t buried alive on award-winning beaches.”

  He thought of his wife, his mother, his mother-in-law. He thought of the boy who’d kicked a hole in the sandcastle, revealing the woman’s arm. Sure, he’d been acting like a naughty little swine, but that didn’t mean he deserved to be scarred for life.

  “Whyte,” Tennessee said, “where are we with the cameras?”

  “Not a damn thing. The external cameras at Crusoe’s are working just fine, but they don’t cover that far along the beach. Besides, they would have only picked something up in the dark if it happened within a couple of metres of the camera. The hotel cameras cover the road outside. I’ve taken a look, and there are plenty of cars going past at all sorts of hours. Mainly taxis. A couple of drunk people wandering back home. But no one dragging anyone down onto the beach – at least, not directly outside the hotel. “

  “Take a closer look at the drunks, see if any are a fit for the victim. What about the surf-cam? Magic Seaweed?”

  “Way too dark to pick anything up.”

  “Okay. Well, it’s a good job uniforms started knocking on doors this morning. Let’s see if anyone saw or heard anything in the middle of the night. Anything of interest so far, Boyd?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet.”

  “Unless she lived extremely close to the beach, our perp needed to transport the victim. I want to know if anyone heard cars pulling up in the early hours.”

  “You don’t think she could have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time?” asked Martin with a shrug. He pulled his mug of tea towards him and cupped both hands around it. “Maybe she went for an early morning walk and bumped into the latest psychopath to walk the streets.”

  “Not a chance,” Keaton said. “Stranger killings are rare. Besides, you’d have to be more than just a psychopath to bury someone alive and then spend hours building a giant sandcastle around them for no bloody reason. You’d have to be a completely cocoa-bananas, crack-addict, goat-banging flat-earther.”

  - Chapter 10 -

  Benji’s Bar was a few streets inland from the Old Town Harbour. Being slightly off the main tourist trail in Puerto del Carmen, the bar catered mainly to ex-pats working in the tourism industry or those who had retired to the sunshine. Still, they got a reasonable amount of tourist custom from the sort of Englishman who craved a small dose of familiarity. An English pub with an English name and good ol’ pub grub on the menu. The outside terrace had been tiled with tiny squares of dark blue, and diners often commented on how it was like sitting at the bottom of a swimming pool. They found it relaxing.

  The early afternoon sun flooded the terrace in warm light. It would stay that way until half seven when the sun would start to dip behind the villas on the other side of the street. On a sofa made from pallet boxes and pale blue cushions, Julie Cooper held court. She was dressed in a knee-length black cotton dress, black sandals and oversized sunglasses. Three couples sat with her. On the table was a large cafetière and a bottle of whiskey. It may have been too early to start on the wine, but it was clearly never too early for an Irish coffee.

  Cooper and Tina watched from a distance. The street was quiet, the sun worshippers would be at the beach, and it was at least two hours until happy hour. The drive from Aeropuerto de Lanzarote was markedly different from the drive to Newcastle Airport. At home, they’d driven past fields of green and bright yellow rapeseed. Here the land looked more barren at first glance. Scorched reddish-brown soil was punctuated with the occasional cactus reaching to the sky like green fingers. The North Sea was dark and blueish grey; the Atlantic, a more inviting shade of cerulean.

  Julie made grand gestures, regaling her support network with tales about Ben Cooper. She tipped her head back and let out a loud laugh. She was having fun, soaking up the attention. But soon, the shock would wear off and Julie would be left with emptiness and sorrow.

  A couple of bare-foot tourists who had clearly drunk too much the night before staggered towards the bar and asked if they were still serving breakfast.

  “Sorry, darlings. The bar’s closed today,” Julie told them.

  They lowered their shades and looked around, glancing at the bottle of whiskey and the seven people sat around it.

  “It doesn’t look closed,” said the female of the pair, popping her hands on her hips as if she’d never been told no before in her life.

  Cooper wheeled her case across the road. “If she said they’re closed, then they’re closed.”

  Julie and her guests jumped to their feet. Julie pushed her shades up into her hair, revealing bloodshot eyes. “Erica!”

  She padded over to her and embraced Cooper for a moment before releasing her. She brushed a hand over her head, feeling her buzzcut for the first time. “Oh, darling. I know you told me you were keeping your hair short, but honestly, I wish you’d grow it out. You used to have such beautiful hair.” She turned to her granddaughter, holding her at arm’s length, scrutinising the young woman she had become. “And Tina, look how you’ve grown! Speaking of hair, what is going on here? Haven’t you heard of a hairbrush?”

  Cooper pinched the bridge of her nose as she often did when stressed. “Tina doesn’t like brushing her hair. And I don’t like forcing h
er to.”

  Julie frowned. “You’re her mother. You’re supposed to make sure she follows basic hygiene. Everyone knows you have to brush your teeth, wash your face, brush your hair—”

  Tina pulled away and looked at the floor, holding her elbows awkwardly. Now, it was Cooper whose eyes were turning red. “For Christ’s sake, Mum. Brushing your hair has nothing to do with hygiene. Her hair is clean; it’s just tangled. She has...” She lowered her voice. “Sensory issues.”

  “Oh. Well, how was I supposed to know?”

  “Because I’ve literally told you a hundred times. And what the hell is this? We fly out to be with you, and all you can think about is what we look like? Dad’s dead; Tina’s lost her grandad. My hair is the last thing I’m thinking about, but it’s good to know you have your priorities in order.”

  And that was when the waterworks started.

  The three couples shuffled towards Julie. The smallest of the women wrapped an arm over her shoulders and pulled her to her. “There, there. It’s okay, Julie.”

  All Cooper wanted to do was find a dark, quiet room and be by herself. She could feel a migraine coming on; a white-hot ball of pain was building behind her eyes. First, she was snapping at Tina. Now she was snapping at her mother, a woman who had just lost her husband. Was she the problem? Was Cooper the one acting like an arsehole?

  Silverlink and Cobalt Business Parks housed steel and glass giants: DIY warehouses, council buildings, swanky offices, and expensive car showrooms. But nestled amongst the homage to out-of-town corporate Britain was a green oasis. The Biodiversity Park was eighteen hectares of woodland, scrub and hedgerows, exposed rock habitats and wetlands. The nature reserve’s fields and ponds were home to majestic roe deer, tiny blue-tailed damselflies, and everything in between.

  Tennessee watched a meadow brown as it danced from flower to flower, its diminutive wings humming at an impossibly fast speed. He and Keaton had gone for a walk to clear their heads. They had been looking at footage of Longsands beach for hours. Their eyes were tired, their brains hurt, and they were no further forward. It was a beautiful Sunday, and since neither of them could be with the ones they loved, they could at least do the job they loved out in the fresh air. It beat fluorescent lights and over-enthusiastic air-con units.

  “Do you think the snake’s important?” asked Keaton. “I mean, he either followed her to the beach, or he attacked her elsewhere and transported her there. Either way, if he simply wanted to hide the body, he could have dug a deep hole and dumped a load of sand over her.”

  “But he didn’t.”

  “No. He painstakingly decorated that thing with shells and intricate carvings. It must have taken ages.”

  “And what if that kid hadn’t knocked a huge big hole in the side of it?” Tennessee paused while a rabbit crossed his path. “How long would the sculpture have stayed standing? It could still be there now. It was too high up the beach to be washed away by the tide. Heck, it might have even won the competition.”

  Keaton pushed a stray hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “It was good enough to win.”

  “Imagine if they awarded the prizes and our perp came forward to collect his winnings? It would have made our lives easier.”

  “What was the top prize?”

  “Gift vouchers for the Metrocentre.”

  Keaton snorted. “Gift vouchers. Like money; only shit.” The rabbit twitched its nose before disappearing into the long grass. “But why a big snake? Everyone else made ships and mermaids or actual castles of sand. But the victim was hidden in a massive coiled snake. And it’s not like she was poisoned or choked.”

  “She sort of was,” said Tennessee. “She was suffocated. And isn’t that what snakes actually do? They suffocate you. Constrictors don’t crush you to death; they stop you from drawing air into your lungs, and you die from asphyxiation or cardiac arrest.”

  “I thought they cut off the blood supply to the brain?”

  He shrugged. It had been a long time since Tennessee had found the time to sit down and watch a wildlife documentary.

  They turned left and followed a track up a hill at the centre of the park. It wouldn’t take them long to reach the summit. Truth be told, Tennessee was grateful for the opportunity to stretch his legs; he had seized up since yesterday’s cycle ride. Above them, a kestrel hovered. The bird pivoted to its right, folded in its wings and dove. It rocked backwards at the last second, presenting yellow claws that kicked up dirt as the bird hit the ground. When it returned to the sky, an unlucky mouse hung from its talons. The kestrel wasn’t the only one on the hunt; Tennessee hoped his prey would be captured just as swiftly.

  They reached a towering sundial that stood at the peak of the hill. A shard of white pierced the sky, its shadow telling them it was gone three o’clock. Tennessee rolled his shirt sleeves up and looked east, wondering if he could see his house from there.

  He couldn’t.

  “Maybe it’s symbolic,” Keaton said. “Like the snake that tempted Eve into eating the apple.”

  Tennessee turned to the west. “Could well be. Do you think the vic was the temptress?”

  “What did she tempt him into doing?”

  “Like you said. Maybe she tempted him into taking a bite of the apple.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Keaton. “And then she took the fruit away?”

  “Another woman killed for turning down a man?” Keaton kicked a stone and watched it tumble down the hill. “I wouldn’t be surprised. But this can’t be a simple case of a man with a bruised ego. Because why go to these lengths?”

  “Snakes represent other stuff. Like in medicine, the staff with a snake wrapped around it. Isn’t that the logo?”

  Keaton waved her phone around above her head. Once she had a signal, she googled the staff. “The Rod of Asclepius. A Greek deity associated with healing and medicine.”

  “Or rebirth and transformation? Snakes shed their skin. Perhaps he’s shedding something through killing.”

  Keaton shuddered. “That’s dark.”

  “Do you think there are any snakes here in the park? Adders or grass snakes?”

  “There’s one on your shoe.”

  Tennessee jumped a foot in the air before realising Keaton was winding him up. “Was that necessary?”

  “Super necessary,” she said with a grin. “If there were, they’d be hiding in the long grass. They wouldn’t be sunning themselves out in the open with us here.” She brought a finger to her lips and hummed for a moment. “Hmm. The snake in the grass; a hidden danger. Someone who feigns friendship only to betray you.”

  Tennessee sat on a wooden bench and looked up at Keaton. “Rejecting the wrong bloke’s advances might get a woman killed. But betraying the wrong bloke?”

  “That might get you killed in a manner meant to set an example.”

  - Chapter 11 -

  It had been a morning of admin: registering Ben Cooper’s death with the Spanish authorities, making arrangements at the chapel of rest, cancelling his passport and driving licence, speaking to the DWP and paying for a five-year lease of a niche – an above-ground crypt where Ben would be interred. Cooper stared at her phone; she was looking at the last photograph taken of Ben Cooper – a Facebook snap of him laughing and joking with friends. He looked old and vulnerable and yet not old enough to die. As far as Cooper was concerned, death had taken him far too soon. Like most in her profession, Cooper had seen more than her fair share of death, but only three times had it touched her in a personal capacity: the murder of her best friend when she was still a teenager, and Tina was a newborn; the death of her grandmother whom she and Tina lived with when her parents moved abroad; and now, her father.

  Tina hadn’t wanted to accompany her mother and grandmother to the funeral directors. Cooper couldn’t blame her. Instead, Tina had taken a bag of textbooks, a bottle of sunscreen and a two-litre bottle of diet Coke to the beach.

  Cooper sat down next to Tina, straightening out the towel to make roo
m for herself.

  “I brought you one of Benji’s famous bacon butties.”

  Having closed the bar on Saturday and Sunday, Julie decided to leave Benji’s in the capable hands of her young staff. Regardless of her personal circumstances, bills still had to be paid, and they’d already lost revenue from closing over the weekend.

  Tina looked up from a mathematics workbook and lowered her shades. “Are you having one?” she asked pointedly.

  Cooper reached into a brown paper bag and pulled out a second bap with a light dusting of flour.

  “I am. Sorry for being a pain yesterday. I know you were just trying to help.”

  Tina shrugged but was too busy stuffing bacon and ketchup into her mouth to say anything.

  “Have you heard from Josh?”

  “Why?” Her voice was muffled but defensive.

  “Just showing an interest,” Cooper said cautiously. She didn’t want to end up in another argument with her daughter. She thought asking if her boyfriend had been in touch would have been safe territory. Tina knew Cooper approved of Josh. They’d been inseparable for over a year now, and Josh came over for tea at least twice a week. He was practically part of the family.