Finders keepers dci coop.., p.1
Finders Keepers (DCI Cooper Book 6), page 1
Finders Keepers
B Baskerville
Hyem Books
Copyright © 2022 by B Baskerville
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.
ISBN: 978-1-7392445-0-7 (Paperback)
Front cover image: DrNickStafford. Pixabay.
Cover design: B Baskerville
www.betsybaskerville.com
Contents
1. - Chapter 1 -
2. - Chapter 2 -
3. - Chapter 3 -
4. - Chapter 4 -
5. - Chapter 5 -
6. - Chapter 6 -
7. - Chapter 7 -
8. - Chapter 8 -
9. - Chapter 9 -
10. - Chapter 10 -
11. - Chapter 11 -
12. - Chapter 12 -
13. - Chapter 13 -
14. - Chapter 14 -
15. - Chapter 15 -
16. - Chapter 16 -
17. - Chapter 17 -
18. - Chapter 18 -
19. - Chapter 19 -
20. - Chapter 20 -
21. - Chapter 21 -
22. - Chapter 22 -
23. - Chapter 23 -
24. - Chapter 24 -
25. - Chapter 25 -
26. - Chapter 26 -
27. - Chapter 27 -
28. - Chapter 28 -
29. - Chapter 29 -
30. - Chapter 30 -
31. - Chapter 31 -
32. - Chapter 32 -
33. - Chapter 33 -
34. - Chapter 34 -
35. - Chapter 35 -
36. - Chapter 36 -
37. - Chapter 37 -
38. - Chapter 38 -
39. - Chapter 39 -
40. - Chapter 40 -
41. - Chapter 41 -
42. - Chapter 42 -
43. - Chapter 43 -
44. - Chapter 44 -
45. - Chapter 45 -
46. - Chapter 46 -
47. - Chapter 47 -
48. - Chapter 48 -
49. - Chapter 49 -
50. - Chapter 50 -
51. - Chapter 51 -
52. - Chapter 52 -
53. - Chapter 53 -
54. - Chapter 54 -
55. - Chapter 55 -
56. - Chapter 56 -
57. - Chapter 57 -
58. - Chapter 58 -
59. - Chapter 59 -
60. - Chapter 60 -
61. - Chapter 61 -
62. - Chapter 62 -
63. - Chapter 63 -
64. - Chapter 64 -
65. - Chapter 65 -
66. - Chapter 66 -
- Message From The Author -
- About the Author -
- Be Sociable -
- Also By B Baskerville -
- Chapter 1 -
Snow crunched beneath the thick tread of the touring bikes’ tyres. Delicate flakes fell gently in the night as Rhett and Laurel approached Alston. At over one thousand feet above sea level, the village shared the title of England’s highest market town.
“It’s so pretty,” said Laurel, looking around.
She brought her bike to a stop as she caught her breath. Christmas lights twinkled in living room windows; holly wreaths covered every door.
“It’s almost magical,” Rhett said as he pulled up beside her. “I feel like we’ve ridden into a Dickens novel.”
Above them, a Victorian streetlamp glowed orange. In the distance, the sound of revellers singing Christmas carols carried up the hill. God Rest Thee Merry Gentlemen if Rhett wasn’t mistaken. He checked the second-hand Garmin watch he’d bought from eBay: midnight was fast approaching. A pint before closing was tempting, but their BnB and a warm bed awaited. The owner said she’d stay up for the pair after they were delayed by a puncture, and Rhett didn’t want to take advantage of her generosity. Still, he paused to soak up the atmosphere.
Laurel flexed her fingers, easing them from the handlebars. Mud spattered her leggings and a layer of sweat covered her red face. But to Rhett, she’d never looked more beautiful. He reached out and cupped her chin. “You were brilliant today.”
“It felt like my legs were on fire back there. I can’t believe we made it,” she said breathlessly.
“I can. You’re fitter than you give yourself credit for.”
Laurel looked away in a cute, shy manner before her face flooded with excitement. “Look, Rhett. Mistletoe.”
Tied with crimson ribbon, a bunch of mistletoe hung from the Victorian streetlamp, its pearlescent berries tinged yellow from the light.
Rhett jumped from his bike and wrapped his arms around his fiancée. They kissed passionately for over a minute. When Rhett reluctantly pulled away, he looked at the Garmin once more.
“It’s midnight. Merry Christmas, Laurel.”
“Merry Christmas, Rhett.”
Rhett emerged from the shower and dried himself with a fluffy white towel. He may have been tired and aching but his soul swelled with pride. While plenty of people cycled the coast-to-coast route from Whitehaven in the west to Tynemouth in the east, the vast majority tackled the challenge in spring or summertime. Hardly anyone did it in the dead of winter. Fewer still went straight from one challenge to the next. Rhett pictured a map of the north of England in his head. A blue line wiggled from one side of the country to the next, then snaked up the east coast towards Edinburgh.
Laurel, naked, her strawberry-blonde hair still damp from the shower, popped the cork from a bottle of sparkling wine and poured two glasses. A fire burned on one side of the room, its golden light flickering over her toned body. Rhett watched open-mouthed and mesmerised for a moment. They were – as their friends liked to say – completely loved up.
“It’s true what they say about northerners,” Laurel said, handing him a glass of bubbly.
“That you can’t understand a word they say?”
“No, silly.” Laurel laughed before taking a sip. “That they’re friendly. It would have been enough for Martha to stay up for us. She didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”
Martha, the hunch-backed lady who ran the BnB had not only lit the fire in their room, she’d kept some food warm and placed hot water bottles in their bed. Laurel was over the moon with the complimentary bottle of wine she’d given them to celebrate Christmas.
“She gave me the creeps,” Rhett said.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“She looks like a witch. Like the one from Hansel and Gretel.”
“You’re one to talk.” Laurel ran her fingers through Rhett’s long locks. He usually kept his hair tied back in a bun, but he’d just washed it. Reaching his shoulders, his hair was almost as long as hers. “Grow this any longer and you’ll start to look like a young Gandalf.”
Rhett wiggled his eyebrows at her. “A young, sexy Gandalf?”
Laurel placed her glass on the bedside table and removed Rhett’s towel from his waist. “Very,” she replied.
Rhett and Laurel fell into bed and into each other’s arms. He laced his fingers between hers and felt her wooden engagement ring press into the sides of his fingers. They weren’t rich; they couldn’t afford diamonds or gold. One day maybe, but not yet. Fresh out of university with a mountain of debt, neither of them had much in their current accounts, but they were wealthy in other ways. They were young, fit, and stupidly in love. They had a shared passion for adventure and achievement. Doing the coast-to-coast and coast and castles back to back in winter had its dangers. Still, they were excited and prepared for almost any eventuality. Rhett bought an exercise bike from a gym that was closing down and they used it two hours a day, three days a week throughout autumn. Laurel had taken a first aid course and Rhett was experienced in survival skills.
Laurel wrapped her legs around him and gripped his behind. Cuts and grazes covered her shins and Rhett’s hands were blistered and raw, but none of their aches and pains would stop them from making love until dawn.
Rhett was prepared for a hard winter, but whatever the elements threw at him, he was confident they’d get through it together. Yes, Rhett had prepared for many eventualities, but like the best-laid schemes of mice and men, so too would Rhett’s plans go awry. They had a train booked from Edinburgh to Hampshire on the second of January. Neither of them would be on it.
- Chapter 2 -
Two weeks later.
Detective Chief Inspector Erica Cooper held her hand over her swollen belly as she entered CID at Northumbria Police’s headquarters in Wallsend. Her body had changed dramatically over the past two years. She’d dropped several kilos thanks to cancer, chemo and an inability to cook; now, she was well into her third trimester. She had scars and tattoos, and her long, pre-chemo hair was now kept short in a manageable buzzcut that her teenage daughter called totally badass.
The room was abuzz with all the usual noises that come with office environments: phone calls, photocopiers, printers and constant banter. DI Neil Fuller was in talks with Durham Police, trying to link their missing child cases and pool resources. DS Paula Keaton rushed by, her face stony after a troubling domestic violence case. Martin, Whyte and Boyd huddled around cups of milky tea, discussing their actions for that day. But as always, Cooper searched the room for a pair of eyes she’d never see again. While things had improved since the death of their coll eague in September, things would never be normal. There was no normal without Tennessee. Though she knew better, Cooper looked for him again; he wasn’t there. She exhaled – her heart as heavy as her belly – and sought out Elliot Whyte for an update.
“What’s the latest?”
Whyte straightened his posture as she approached and tucked strands of his dark hair behind his ear. “Tea?”
“Please.”
Cooper took the cup in both hands and savoured its warmth. She was sure the bean counters had turned the heating down in the building to save money.
“We’re struggling to find leads in the drive-by. The locals are scared to talk, and it’s not like the victim’s going to wake up any time soon. If he wakes up at all.”
Nodding, Cooper asked, “Do we have anything to go on?”
“Gent at number forty-three says he saw a dark blue Vauxhall, but the woman at forty-nine says it was a black VW.”
“Has the weapon turned up yet?”
Whyte shook his head. “Casings are in the lab. No prints, sadly. Still no sign of the gun.”
“Great,” Cooper said with sarcasm. “Keep at it. You had a contact in the Roker Boys, didn’t you?”
Whyte made a pessimistic grunting noise. “He’s been off my radar for a while, boss. I’ll stick some feelers out, but he’s either on the straight and narrow, or he’s in a ditch somewhere.”
She was about to tell Whyte to update her later in the day when the doors to CID opened and Superintendent Howard Nixon pushed his puffy face into the room. “Cooper. My office.”
She shared a look with Whyte. Cooper hadn’t wanted him to join her team back in April when they worked together on the murder of a crime boss. The atmosphere had been tense between the pair, though, to be fair, it was Cooper who was the frosty one – Whyte had been professional. He’d deserved it, Cooper told herself. But having forgiven him, they now worked well together.
Whyte’s mouth curled at the corner as Nixon disappeared from view. “Good luck,” he said.
Inside Nixon’s office Cooper pulled out a chair and sat down without being invited. One of the perks of being heavily pregnant was that people didn’t expect you to stay standing a second longer than was necessary.
“There’s very little progress in Friday night’s drive-by shooting. We’re looking into a dark vehicle. Might be blue, might be black. The brand begins with V. Possibly a VW or a Vauxhall.” Even as she said it, Cooper felt like an idiot. “Whyte’s taking the lead in speaking to witnesses. As for the Summer Holt case, Fuller’s losing momentum.”
“Yes, yes. Never mind that,” Nixon said, cutting her off. “I’ve just had Hampshire Constabulary on the blower. Their CC’s from up here originally. A Geordie ex-pat. He’s a right piece of work, and unfortunately for me, I owe him a favour.”
Cooper opened her notepad; she had a feeling she’d need it.
“Rhett Campbell, twenty-four, and his fiancee, Laurel Deacon, twenty-two, have been cycling around the northeast.”
“In this weather?” Cooper asked, unable to think of much worse.
“Indeed. An adventurous pair by all accounts. They were due back on the second of January; it’s now the tenth. The last correspondence from the pair was a Whatsapp message from Rhett to his mother on Christmas morning.”
“Why are we only hearing about it now?”
“The girl’s father’s been away on business, and as for the lad, his parents didn’t think to worry. Apparently, he’s not the best at staying in touch when he’s on holiday. It’s quite normal for him to plan on visiting friends for a day or two and end up staying a week.”
“Last known location?”
“The Discovery Museum,” Nixon said, tossing a file at Cooper. She caught it before its contents fell to the floor. “It’s all in there.”
“CCTV?” she asked, thumbing through the file.
“At the museum, yes. Anywhere else, not really. They were meant to catch the eight a.m. train from Edinburgh Waverley to Southhampton on the second. CCTV shows they never boarded the train.”
“So we don’t even know which side of the border they’re on?”
“No.” Nixon rubbed his neck and held Cooper with a steely stare.
Cooper closed the file, placed it on her lap and folded her arms over it, readying herself to challenge her superior. “Sir, another missing persons case will take a lot of manpower. We only have one DI, and his hands are full with the Summer Holt case.” She gestured to her bump. “I’ll be on maternity soon. If DS Dan—“
Cooper’s voice caught in her throat at the thought of Tennessee. She tried not to think of it, but the image of his dead body flooded back to her.
Nixon’s face softened. “If DS Daniel was here, he’d have been promoted to DI and could lead the team in your absence?”
Cooper nodded, holding back tears for fear of looking like the sort of hormonal wreck Nixon despised. To her astonishment, Nixon offered her a tissue.
“I know you’re all suffering. DS Daniel was a good man and a great detective. This case is a real-head scratcher, the sort of case DS Daniel would have loved. Focus on that and solve it in his honour. Look, I’m not blind to the fact he’s irreplaceable, but I get it, Cooper. You’re understaffed.”
“I need a DI.”
“And I’ll get you one.”
There was a brief moment when a spark of hope warmed Cooper’s chest and eased the tension in her shoulders.
Then Nixon added, “Once you solve the case.”
Clumsily, she got to her feet and seethed. She smelled the lie on Nixon like cheap aftershave. A new DI would be a carrot dangling forever just out of reach. There’d always be another case, another murder to solve, another rapist to throw behind bars. She was stuck. If she found Rhett and Laurel with her limited team, he’d say she didn’t need more help. If she failed, then he needn’t fulfil his promise.
“Between a fucking rock and a hard place,” she whispered.
“What was that, Cooper?”
Cooper turned at the doorway and painted a perky smile on her face. She held up the file. “Just saying it’s an effing rock-hard case.”
- Chapter 3 -
When Cooper returned after her trip to Nixon’s office, she found CID much quieter than she’d left it. Busy with their workloads, the detectives of the northeast had dispersed, visiting crime scenes, taking witness statements and liaising with other agencies. Cooper knew summoning them back to HQ would take time. She sent a message requesting everyone’s presence at one o’clock that afternoon, threatening any latecomers with twenty push-ups.
Collecting her coat and the flimsy file concerning the missing cyclists, Cooper headed to the canteen to purchase a salad bowl and a carton of coconut water. She pulled on a woollen hat and gloves, then went to see Jack ’Tennessee’ Daniel.
Following Tennessee’s death, the team requested a memorial to their fallen friend, a place for quiet reflection and thoughts of the things Tennessee held dear: family, loyalty, and friendship. They’d settled on a bench engraved with his name and had it installed at the side of the wagonways – a cycle path that ran close to HQ. It was near enough for colleagues to visit on their breaks, but away from the main road, surrounded by trees and wildlife, it felt like a world away from the incident room.
The fresh air and five-minute brisk walk helped Cooper clear her head and did her and her baby a world of good. As she approached the bench, she was glad she’d made an effort to leave the office, even if it was colder than a penguin’s arse that day.
Sitting on Tennessee’s bench, she opened her lunch and took a mouthful, regretting having not asked for a hot drink.
“I don’t know if you can hear me,” she started when she’d finished her food, “but we think about you all the time.”
Cooper took a deep breath, leaned back and closed her eyes. Her mind wandered as she listened to the distant rumble of traffic and robins chattering to one another on bare branches.
Shivering, Cooper wrapped her coat tighter around herself. She had a decision to make. She could sit here perturbed between her grief for Tennessee and her annoyance at Nixon, or she could do the right thing and push on.
She opened the file.
