Cut the deck, p.22
Cut The Deck, page 22
part #1 of DCI Cooper Series
“DAD!”
Atkinson put his arm around Cooper’s shoulders. “Where are you taking me, anyway? You’ve been very mysterious.”
“We’re going to a gig. There’s a band I’ve wanted to see for ages but they’ve only just started touring again. They’re called The Screaming Dolls.”
Justin’s lips pinched in confusion. “Right. That sounds rather shouty.”
“Oh, I hope so,” said Cooper, taking her wig off and tossing it into the kitchen bin. She didn’t want to hide behind it a second longer. “I haven’t moshed in forever.”
Atkinson pulled her in close and kissed the top of her head. “Part of me hopes you’re joking.”
“Just part?”
“Yeah,” he shifted his weight and tucked his free hand into his pocket. “The other part is telling me to shut up right now and not jinx this.”
Cold air flooded the house as they walked arm-in-arm into the chilly Tynemouth night. Kenny took a long swig of his sixth beer and marvelled at how stunning his ex had looked as she left. It had been a lifetime since they were together but she hadn’t aged a bit, not in his eyes. She’d been his first real love and no one since had come close to comparing, especially not Linda, that self-obsessed snob. He’d been a fool in letting Erica go. He’d been a bigger fool in not coming back until now. He took another drink and savoured the numbing effect of the alcohol. He let his head fall back and rest on the back of the sofa while Tina selected a film on Netflix for them all to watch. He’d win her back, he thought. One way or another, Erica Cooper would be his.
- - -
DCI Erica Cooper will return in Rock, Paper, Scissors.
- Message from the author -
If you enjoyed Cut The Deck, I would sincerely appreciate it if you could take the time to leave a review.
Following the release of The Only Weapon In The Room I was keen to write another book set in my local area. Many of the places described in this book are real. Priors Haven, the Spanish Battery, Longsands, King Edward’s Bay, Northumberland Park and North Pier are some of my favourite places in Tynemouth to take my naughty terrier for a stroll. Tynemouth Comprehensive, on the other hand, is a figment of my imagination. I didn’t feel comfortable tarnishing a real school with a serial killer, a self-obsessed head mistress and bunch of disruptive kids.
Connect with me online:
Mailing list: betsybaskerville.com
Twitter: @B__Baskerville
Facebook: B Baskerville - Author
Instagram: b_baskerville_author
- Acknowledgements -
I must give special thanks to everyone who has read and provided feedback for Cut The Deck.
Dibz, Christine, Emilia, Anne, Ian and Jennifer, thank you for reading through the earliest of drafts and for being so warm and positive in your feedback.
Thanks to my fellow martial arts addict, Amanda. Sorry there’s not as much ‘ninja stuff’ in this one.
Shaun, thank you for the encouragement and support and for calling me a rising star. Now to live up to it!
Mum, (who took months to work out why DS Jack Daniel is nicknamed Tennessee) thank you for reading and rereading everything I’ve thrown at you.
Rob, I love you and I’m so pleased the first novel you read in ten years was mine.
- About the author -
Betsy was born and raised in Newcastle upon Tyne. She describes herself as a crime fiction addict and UFC geek of epic proportions.
When not writing, Betsy loves hiking with her boyfriend and their very naughty Welsh terrier.
Keep reading for the first chapter of Rock, Paper, Scissors. The second book in the DCI Erica Cooper series.
Rock, Paper, Scissors
- Chapter 1 -
The city didn’t look right to Macey Gallagher as she stumbled out of the club. The lights of the traffic left red and white snakes across her vision as if her brain was set on long exposure. Her eyes couldn’t keep up with the world and her body couldn’t keep up with her brain. Every movement required meticulous concentration. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.
A neon pink sign blinked at Macey but she couldn’t read it; the letters looked jumbled and they didn’t make sense. All around her, Newcastle’s party people were enjoying their Saturday night. They hugged, kissed and danced, oblivious to the nineteen-year-old’s worsening state. Pearl would be around here somewhere. She must be. Macey just had to find her.
“Watch it.” A woman with an angry face and impossibly black eyebrows shoved Macey out of the way and into a brick wall. “Look where you’re going.”
The bricks grazed Macey’s arm and tiny globules of blood popped to the surface turning her skin into a Lichtenstein artwork.
Where was Pearl? She didn’t like feeling like this. She’d only had a couple of drinks. Hadn’t she? Two glasses of wine with dinner before switching to Diet Coke in the club. It wasn’t that much but her head pounded and she desperately needed to pee.
It was April in Newcastle upon Tyne and bright, clear days gave way to chilling, teeth-chattering nights. In these parts, the locals declined to wear coats despite the night-time temperature barely reaching five degrees.
“Coats are for southerners,” Alison had told her on her first day at Newcastle University. “If you want to fit in, leave your coat at home. Besides, who wants to cover up an outfit as cute as yours?”
An ambulance raced past with its lights flashing and siren blaring. Macey covered her ears and closed her eyes. Everything was louder and brighter than it should be. She could hear people laughing and paranoia told her they were laughing at her. Across the road, two squat men got into a fight. Their heavy fists flew at each other’s heads in great arcs until a ginormous man in black with an earring in one ear separated them. One stormed towards the taxi rank, the other marched towards Macey.
Macey backed herself as far into the wall as she could, hoping to make herself invisible.
“Alreet, pretty lass?” His scowl turned to a smile and he edged closer. Macey tried to focus. He was old, not granddad-old but probably mid-forties at least, maybe fifty. Lines carved across his forehead and whilst his head was bald, his beard was mid-brown with patches of white. “Now, where’ve you been all my life?”
Macey clutched her bag to her chest. Her mouth was drier than the Sahara but she managed, “For most of it I wasn’t born.”
It was a mistake. The man’s scowl returned. “Bitch,” he spat, edging closer still.
It wasn’t the first time Macey’s mouth had got her into trouble. She was quick-witted, like many of her Dubliner compatriots, and while some thought of her craic as endearing, the insecure could react badly.
A slender woman with brown spiral curls walked by.
“Pearl?” Macey called. Thank God. She ducked under the man’s arm and made a run for it, though it could hardly be called a run, a stagger would be more accurate. “Pearl?”
The woman turned and looked Macey up and down. She wasn’t Pearl. “You all right, love?”
Macey rested her back against the wall and nodded. The gesture satisfied the woman but Macey was far from all right. She wasn’t well, the bald man was still staring at her and her flatmate was nowhere to be seen. They’d promised to travel back home together, to share a taxi and order a dirty great pizza to finish off the evening. Pearl would be mad that Macey had gone home without her but the doorman wasn’t going to let her back into the club and she couldn’t stay out in the cold all night. She took two steps towards the taxi rank and teetered over in her heels. What a total waste of money. The shoes looked amazing but they were near impossible to walk in and God knows why anyone would design something so uncomfortable to wear. She tried again. Right foot. Left foot. Her ankle buckled once more and Macey was falling; falling straight into the arms of the woman who wasn’t Pearl.
“Oops. I’ve got you.” She had a kind face and wore a fluorescent vest, the sort of one a workman would wear. “You don’t look like you’re doing so good. Do you need help?” The good Samaritan propped Macey back upright and supported her around her tiny waist. “What’s your name, love?”
“Macey.” The word didn’t come easy to her. Her brain was becoming foggier by the minute and her jaw wasn’t responding how she’d expect.
“Great accent. Where in Ireland are you from?”
“Dublin.”
“Oh, fantastic.” The stranger helped push Macey’s blonde, wavy hair behind her ear. “I’ve been there for the odd boozy weekend. Great place. You here for uni?”
Macey nodded. She felt nauseous and bewildered and she didn’t want to be sick, not on the street.
“I’m with the Tyne Pastors,” the woman said, pointing to a logo on her yellow vest. Did you have too much to drink, Macey?”
She shook her head. “No,” she managed. “No, I— I don’t think so.”
“We work with the police. We help people who could do with a sit down and a glass of water, or people who are lost, that sort of thing. We have a van across the road.” She pointed to a dark van with sliding doors. “If you want to shelter from the cold, we have blankets and can make you a nice cup of tea while we try and get a hold of your friends. Sound good?”
The thought of a warm drink drew Macey over the street as if she were being pulled by a magnet. She was steered away from a kebab that had been dropped in the road and supported as she stepped up the kerb.
“Careful of your footing here.” The stranger waved to an amicable-looking man who was holding a pile of fleece blankets. “This is Macey. I think she’d like some tea and to rest her feet.
“Hi, Macey,” he said as he handed her a blanket.
Macey wrapped it over her shoulders and pulled the ends tight to her chest. Instantly, she felt comforted.
“Take a seat.” The woman smiled and indicated a bench that ran the length of the van. A slim woman with mascara running down her face was sat on the bench and sobbing into her mobile. She hiccoughed and continued crying. Between her feet, some strong-smelling coffee steamed into the cold air.
“Thank you.” Macey smiled at her curly-haired new friend. She was blurry but gentle and she had a familiarity about her. It was like talking to an aunt or a cousin.
“Where do you live? We usually stay out until four. If we can’t reunite you with your friends by then we can give you a lift.”
“H-Heaton,” she stammered. Heaton was a popular suburb that sat to the east of the city centre and was only a short drive away. “Rothbury Terrace. Near… Near the mosque.” Macey sat on the bench and tried to make herself comfortable. The bench was hard but the fleece cushioned her bottom and she was already feeling warmer. She slumped back and closed her eyes for a moment, then looked at the screen on her phone and tried to make out the logos that no longer made sense to her. Pearl and Alison were probably dancing. Had they even noticed she’d gone?
“Here you go.” She was handed a mug of tea by the man. He screwed the lid back on the flask and returned to the driver’s seat. This would all be over soon, she told herself. Either Pearl would come and find her, or she could wait an hour and the pastors would drive her back home. She craved to be back in her bed. A trip to the medicine cabinet and a pint of water and she’d be right as rain.
Curls returned to the van. “Any luck with your boyfriend?” she asked the crying girl. The girl shook her head and tucked her phone into a pocket. “How about we stop this awful draught?” She reached behind her and slid the van door until it clicked closed.
The driver looked over his shoulder and Curls nodded to him. The engine started and the van pulled away.
“Are you taking me home?” Macey asked.
The driver didn’t answer. Nothing sobered a person up quite like the sickening knowledge that something awful was about to happen to them. For as Macey Gallagher’s hands were bound with a cable tie, she realised all too late that these were not the Tyne Pastors and the good Samaritan was not so good.
If you like Erica Cooper, Meet Athena Fox…
“Hooked from the first page.”
“A gripping original thriller.”
“Couldn’t put it down. Engrossed from start to finish.”
B. Baskerville, Cut The Deck
Thank you for reading books on Archive.BookFrom.Net
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Atkinson put his arm around Cooper’s shoulders. “Where are you taking me, anyway? You’ve been very mysterious.”
“We’re going to a gig. There’s a band I’ve wanted to see for ages but they’ve only just started touring again. They’re called The Screaming Dolls.”
Justin’s lips pinched in confusion. “Right. That sounds rather shouty.”
“Oh, I hope so,” said Cooper, taking her wig off and tossing it into the kitchen bin. She didn’t want to hide behind it a second longer. “I haven’t moshed in forever.”
Atkinson pulled her in close and kissed the top of her head. “Part of me hopes you’re joking.”
“Just part?”
“Yeah,” he shifted his weight and tucked his free hand into his pocket. “The other part is telling me to shut up right now and not jinx this.”
Cold air flooded the house as they walked arm-in-arm into the chilly Tynemouth night. Kenny took a long swig of his sixth beer and marvelled at how stunning his ex had looked as she left. It had been a lifetime since they were together but she hadn’t aged a bit, not in his eyes. She’d been his first real love and no one since had come close to comparing, especially not Linda, that self-obsessed snob. He’d been a fool in letting Erica go. He’d been a bigger fool in not coming back until now. He took another drink and savoured the numbing effect of the alcohol. He let his head fall back and rest on the back of the sofa while Tina selected a film on Netflix for them all to watch. He’d win her back, he thought. One way or another, Erica Cooper would be his.
- - -
DCI Erica Cooper will return in Rock, Paper, Scissors.
- Message from the author -
If you enjoyed Cut The Deck, I would sincerely appreciate it if you could take the time to leave a review.
Following the release of The Only Weapon In The Room I was keen to write another book set in my local area. Many of the places described in this book are real. Priors Haven, the Spanish Battery, Longsands, King Edward’s Bay, Northumberland Park and North Pier are some of my favourite places in Tynemouth to take my naughty terrier for a stroll. Tynemouth Comprehensive, on the other hand, is a figment of my imagination. I didn’t feel comfortable tarnishing a real school with a serial killer, a self-obsessed head mistress and bunch of disruptive kids.
Connect with me online:
Mailing list: betsybaskerville.com
Twitter: @B__Baskerville
Facebook: B Baskerville - Author
Instagram: b_baskerville_author
- Acknowledgements -
I must give special thanks to everyone who has read and provided feedback for Cut The Deck.
Dibz, Christine, Emilia, Anne, Ian and Jennifer, thank you for reading through the earliest of drafts and for being so warm and positive in your feedback.
Thanks to my fellow martial arts addict, Amanda. Sorry there’s not as much ‘ninja stuff’ in this one.
Shaun, thank you for the encouragement and support and for calling me a rising star. Now to live up to it!
Mum, (who took months to work out why DS Jack Daniel is nicknamed Tennessee) thank you for reading and rereading everything I’ve thrown at you.
Rob, I love you and I’m so pleased the first novel you read in ten years was mine.
- About the author -
Betsy was born and raised in Newcastle upon Tyne. She describes herself as a crime fiction addict and UFC geek of epic proportions.
When not writing, Betsy loves hiking with her boyfriend and their very naughty Welsh terrier.
Keep reading for the first chapter of Rock, Paper, Scissors. The second book in the DCI Erica Cooper series.
Rock, Paper, Scissors
- Chapter 1 -
The city didn’t look right to Macey Gallagher as she stumbled out of the club. The lights of the traffic left red and white snakes across her vision as if her brain was set on long exposure. Her eyes couldn’t keep up with the world and her body couldn’t keep up with her brain. Every movement required meticulous concentration. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.
A neon pink sign blinked at Macey but she couldn’t read it; the letters looked jumbled and they didn’t make sense. All around her, Newcastle’s party people were enjoying their Saturday night. They hugged, kissed and danced, oblivious to the nineteen-year-old’s worsening state. Pearl would be around here somewhere. She must be. Macey just had to find her.
“Watch it.” A woman with an angry face and impossibly black eyebrows shoved Macey out of the way and into a brick wall. “Look where you’re going.”
The bricks grazed Macey’s arm and tiny globules of blood popped to the surface turning her skin into a Lichtenstein artwork.
Where was Pearl? She didn’t like feeling like this. She’d only had a couple of drinks. Hadn’t she? Two glasses of wine with dinner before switching to Diet Coke in the club. It wasn’t that much but her head pounded and she desperately needed to pee.
It was April in Newcastle upon Tyne and bright, clear days gave way to chilling, teeth-chattering nights. In these parts, the locals declined to wear coats despite the night-time temperature barely reaching five degrees.
“Coats are for southerners,” Alison had told her on her first day at Newcastle University. “If you want to fit in, leave your coat at home. Besides, who wants to cover up an outfit as cute as yours?”
An ambulance raced past with its lights flashing and siren blaring. Macey covered her ears and closed her eyes. Everything was louder and brighter than it should be. She could hear people laughing and paranoia told her they were laughing at her. Across the road, two squat men got into a fight. Their heavy fists flew at each other’s heads in great arcs until a ginormous man in black with an earring in one ear separated them. One stormed towards the taxi rank, the other marched towards Macey.
Macey backed herself as far into the wall as she could, hoping to make herself invisible.
“Alreet, pretty lass?” His scowl turned to a smile and he edged closer. Macey tried to focus. He was old, not granddad-old but probably mid-forties at least, maybe fifty. Lines carved across his forehead and whilst his head was bald, his beard was mid-brown with patches of white. “Now, where’ve you been all my life?”
Macey clutched her bag to her chest. Her mouth was drier than the Sahara but she managed, “For most of it I wasn’t born.”
It was a mistake. The man’s scowl returned. “Bitch,” he spat, edging closer still.
It wasn’t the first time Macey’s mouth had got her into trouble. She was quick-witted, like many of her Dubliner compatriots, and while some thought of her craic as endearing, the insecure could react badly.
A slender woman with brown spiral curls walked by.
“Pearl?” Macey called. Thank God. She ducked under the man’s arm and made a run for it, though it could hardly be called a run, a stagger would be more accurate. “Pearl?”
The woman turned and looked Macey up and down. She wasn’t Pearl. “You all right, love?”
Macey rested her back against the wall and nodded. The gesture satisfied the woman but Macey was far from all right. She wasn’t well, the bald man was still staring at her and her flatmate was nowhere to be seen. They’d promised to travel back home together, to share a taxi and order a dirty great pizza to finish off the evening. Pearl would be mad that Macey had gone home without her but the doorman wasn’t going to let her back into the club and she couldn’t stay out in the cold all night. She took two steps towards the taxi rank and teetered over in her heels. What a total waste of money. The shoes looked amazing but they were near impossible to walk in and God knows why anyone would design something so uncomfortable to wear. She tried again. Right foot. Left foot. Her ankle buckled once more and Macey was falling; falling straight into the arms of the woman who wasn’t Pearl.
“Oops. I’ve got you.” She had a kind face and wore a fluorescent vest, the sort of one a workman would wear. “You don’t look like you’re doing so good. Do you need help?” The good Samaritan propped Macey back upright and supported her around her tiny waist. “What’s your name, love?”
“Macey.” The word didn’t come easy to her. Her brain was becoming foggier by the minute and her jaw wasn’t responding how she’d expect.
“Great accent. Where in Ireland are you from?”
“Dublin.”
“Oh, fantastic.” The stranger helped push Macey’s blonde, wavy hair behind her ear. “I’ve been there for the odd boozy weekend. Great place. You here for uni?”
Macey nodded. She felt nauseous and bewildered and she didn’t want to be sick, not on the street.
“I’m with the Tyne Pastors,” the woman said, pointing to a logo on her yellow vest. Did you have too much to drink, Macey?”
She shook her head. “No,” she managed. “No, I— I don’t think so.”
“We work with the police. We help people who could do with a sit down and a glass of water, or people who are lost, that sort of thing. We have a van across the road.” She pointed to a dark van with sliding doors. “If you want to shelter from the cold, we have blankets and can make you a nice cup of tea while we try and get a hold of your friends. Sound good?”
The thought of a warm drink drew Macey over the street as if she were being pulled by a magnet. She was steered away from a kebab that had been dropped in the road and supported as she stepped up the kerb.
“Careful of your footing here.” The stranger waved to an amicable-looking man who was holding a pile of fleece blankets. “This is Macey. I think she’d like some tea and to rest her feet.
“Hi, Macey,” he said as he handed her a blanket.
Macey wrapped it over her shoulders and pulled the ends tight to her chest. Instantly, she felt comforted.
“Take a seat.” The woman smiled and indicated a bench that ran the length of the van. A slim woman with mascara running down her face was sat on the bench and sobbing into her mobile. She hiccoughed and continued crying. Between her feet, some strong-smelling coffee steamed into the cold air.
“Thank you.” Macey smiled at her curly-haired new friend. She was blurry but gentle and she had a familiarity about her. It was like talking to an aunt or a cousin.
“Where do you live? We usually stay out until four. If we can’t reunite you with your friends by then we can give you a lift.”
“H-Heaton,” she stammered. Heaton was a popular suburb that sat to the east of the city centre and was only a short drive away. “Rothbury Terrace. Near… Near the mosque.” Macey sat on the bench and tried to make herself comfortable. The bench was hard but the fleece cushioned her bottom and she was already feeling warmer. She slumped back and closed her eyes for a moment, then looked at the screen on her phone and tried to make out the logos that no longer made sense to her. Pearl and Alison were probably dancing. Had they even noticed she’d gone?
“Here you go.” She was handed a mug of tea by the man. He screwed the lid back on the flask and returned to the driver’s seat. This would all be over soon, she told herself. Either Pearl would come and find her, or she could wait an hour and the pastors would drive her back home. She craved to be back in her bed. A trip to the medicine cabinet and a pint of water and she’d be right as rain.
Curls returned to the van. “Any luck with your boyfriend?” she asked the crying girl. The girl shook her head and tucked her phone into a pocket. “How about we stop this awful draught?” She reached behind her and slid the van door until it clicked closed.
The driver looked over his shoulder and Curls nodded to him. The engine started and the van pulled away.
“Are you taking me home?” Macey asked.
The driver didn’t answer. Nothing sobered a person up quite like the sickening knowledge that something awful was about to happen to them. For as Macey Gallagher’s hands were bound with a cable tie, she realised all too late that these were not the Tyne Pastors and the good Samaritan was not so good.
If you like Erica Cooper, Meet Athena Fox…
“Hooked from the first page.”
“A gripping original thriller.”
“Couldn’t put it down. Engrossed from start to finish.”
B. Baskerville, Cut The Deck
