Hide & Seek (DCI Cooper Book 5) Read online

  Hide & Seek

  B Baskerville

  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.

  Contents

  - Chapter 1 -

  - Chapter 2 -

  - Chapter 3 -

  - Chapter 4 -

  - Chapter 5 -

  - Chapter 6 -

  - Chapter 7 -

  - Chapter 8 -

  - Chapter 9 -

  - Chapter 10 -

  - Chapter 11 -

  - Chapter 12 -

  - Chapter 13 -

  - Chapter 14 -

  - Chapter 15 -

  - Chapter 16 -

  - Chapter 17 -

  - Chapter 18 -

  - Chapter 19 -

  - Chapter 20 -

  - Chapter 21 -

  - Chapter 22 -

  - Chapter 23 -

  - Chapter 24 -

  - Chapter 25 -

  - Chapter 26 -

  - Chapter 27 -

  - Chapter 28 -

  - Chapter 29 -

  - Chapter 30 -

  - Chapter 31 -

  - Chapter 32 -

  - Chapter 33 -

  - Chapter 34 -

  - Chapter 35 -

  - Chapter 36 -

  - Chapter 37 -

  - Chapter 38 -

  - Chapter 39 -

  - Chapter 40 -

  - Chapter 41 -

  - Epilogue -

  - Message From The Author-

  - About the Author -

  - Be Sociable -

  - Also By B Baskerville -

  - Chapter 1 -

  Healthy pines jutted upwards in the gloaming, shading a narrow, winding road. Magnificent oaks spread their branches wide, their long shadows creeping darkly into surrounding fields. He wanted to push the revs, see what the Audi could do. Best not. Getting pulled over would ruin his plans.

  The journey would take an hour and fifteen, maybe an hour and a half. He slowed as he crossed a bridge on a blind bend. A sign read Welcome to Cumbria. Glancing down at Liddel Water, he saw the river was thirsty, the water level the lowest he’d seen it in years. The country needed rain like he needed coffee.

  Or perhaps another swig of vodka.

  After a while, he turned onto the A7; the road widened towards a large roundabout. Civilisation neared: if one could call it that. While he enjoyed the more sophisticated things in life now and again, like driving a luxury SUV or indulging in some fine dining, he considered country folk far more civilised than their city-dwelling counterparts.

  His route took him through an industrial zone before reaching the outer suburbs of Carlisle. A Premier Inn, a car wash, Aldi. Then a bit posher: B&Bs, hotels, bistros with outdoor seating. Over the Eden and into the centre. Carlisle didn’t loom large like New York or London with skyscrapers dominating the skyline. Still, it had a certain charm and enough to keep one entertained - if one knew where to look.

  The centre was busy. Shops and businesses opened late while revellers ambled in and out of pubs and bars. He passed the castle and the cathedral, manoeuvring away from the tourist spots towards an altogether sketchier part of town.

  Music blared out of open doors, and smokers lingered on the street between pints. He pulled over into an empty parking bay and lowered the window. A cloying smell of cannabis hung in the air. A purveyor pushing his wares spouted the usual nonsense about quality and potency. He didn’t like this street with discarded gum on the pavement and graffiti-clad bus shelters. But he wasn’t staying. He’d be out of there soon enough.

  A loud gang of young men staggered out from a side street and headed for the nearest bar that offered cheap lager and sticky carpets. He sank lower in his seat, watching them in the rearview mirror. They yelled rather than talked, swore every other word and had the swollen biceps and swagger of wannabee cage fighters. Everything they did was for the sole purpose of appearing bigger, stronger and louder than those around them. They were nothing more than stags during the rut.

  Rather than competing for a harem of doe, they competed for alpha status. But like all young bucks, most fights wouldn’t progress beyond the bellowing stage. Chests puffed; he who bellowed the loudest could win before the clashing of antlers.

  He hoped they wouldn’t spot his car. It stood out, made him an outsider. If he got into a scrap, drew too much attention, it would put his evening at risk. Not that he feared them; if needed, he had something in the boot that would send them running for their mummies.

  Oblivious to the car, they walked by, drawn magnetically to a herd of human deer in animal print skirts and enough hairspray to burn the entire town to the ground.

  He tore his eyes from the local wildlife when a woman emerged from the house at the end of the road. She was a vision of long legs and skin like the night. Silky hair flowed over her shoulders, and her smile shone brighter than the Audi’s headlamps. Her name was Marie, and she was easier to spot than a flamingo in a flock of penguins. She was the prettiest prostitute in all of Cumbria.

  She was supposed to be a doctor. She reminded herself of that fact every time she left her flat to meet a client. She wasn’t supposed to fall in with the wrong crowd and spend more time with boys than studying. She was supposed to take fish oil supplements during her A-levels, not bumps of cocaine, and she was supposed to ace her exams, not fall asleep during them.

  “You reap what you sow,” she whispered, locking the door.

  She finished sixth-form with an E in biology and a D in maths. So the medical degree became a nursing degree, and the GP salary became sixteen quid an hour, a baby to feed, and an eye-watering amount of credit card debt.

  It was that baby she thought of as she stepped out into the chilly Cumbrian night in her shortest skirt and sexiest heels. Kady was safe and warm, tucked up for the night with her cuddly orange stegosaurus. If Kady was going to have all the things Marie hadn’t had growing up in Newton Heath, Marie had to make some changes. She needed to pay off her debts and get out of that dingy flat with its black mould and temperamental boiler. She wanted to get Kady into a better school catchment area, which meant moving to Kingmoor or Stanwix.

  The flats Marie had seen in Stanwix cost over six hundred a month. The only way she could even think about affording it was by supplementing her income. She gave men what they craved and was pretty enough and intelligent enough to charge top dollar for it.

  Her shoes clicked on uneven paving slabs as she continued down the road. Bright pink ankle boots with stiletto heels – they were expensive, an impulse buy that used up eleven per cent of one semester’s student loan. She considered putting them on eBay, but they’d proved to be an investment since changing her line of work. Clients paid more to pick out her outfits, and the man she was meeting tonight specifically requested bright colours.

  Marie passed a closed-off retail unit, a toppled bin and a boarded-up house with broken glass covering the doorstep. She shivered, then plastered on her best smile as she neared the Audi.

  “Nice.”

  “Told you you’d be travelling in style.” He reached over and opened the passenger door. “Get in, beautiful.”

  He’d found her details online and contacted her via Whatsapp. He hadn’t specified any kinks or requested any weird stuff other than asking for the bright clothing. He was a new client, and while she preferred clients who came recommended by her friends in the industry, she couldn’t turn down a cool five hundred for the night.

  She fastened her seat belt and looked around the car. She’d never
been in one this fancy before. It felt good; it made her feel classy. Then he placed a hand on her thigh and ran it under her luminous yellow skirt, reminding her that she was anything but.

  He started the engine and she felt the car purr.

  “This is sweet,” she said, looking around at her surroundings. “Love the colour. You a lawyer or somethin’?”

  “I’m a doctor.”

  It was probably a lie. They sometimes used their real names, but Marie found they hardly ever gave out personal details like vocation, address or marital status. She assumed they thought she’d stalk them, threaten to tell their wives or boss, bribe them for more money. It wasn’t her style.

  “I was gonna be a doctor.”

  “Course you were.”

  He waited for an ambulance to pass then rolled out into the traffic.

  She ignored his jibe. “Did you book the Halston or the Ibis?”

  “Change of plans. I’ve got a holiday home out in the country. Nice and secluded. The missus is away with work, so I thought you and I could make the most of it. You’ll like it. It’s got a king-sized bed, expensive carpets, proper fire.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Sounds intimate.”

  “It is. Lovely place, much better than a hotel. Very high-spec. You drink alcohol, right?”

  “Sure.”

  Marie tried not to laugh at the question. She stayed away from narcotics these days for the sake of Kady, but she couldn’t do what she did without liquid courage. It helped.

  “I’ve got a bottle of white chilling. Thought we could get a bit of a wine buzz going, you know?”

  She nodded and tried to relax.

  “It’ll take a while for us to get there. ’Bout ninety minutes.”

  “I don’t mind. This is a pleasant change from the number sixty-seven. What is it? A Q7?”

  “SQ8. Where you from anyway?”

  “Manchester. Newton Heath,” she told him. “Moved here when I was twenty-one.”

  He snorted. “You know what I mean, baby.”

  She knew exactly what he meant. She shifted her weight, moving slightly away from him. “I was born in Manchester,” she repeated. “My parents are from Sierra Leone. If that’s what you mean?”

  “Ah. The Lion Mountains. Much wildlife there? Big game?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never been.”

  “Do you want to go one day?”

  “Not really.”

  Feeling awkward, she glanced around the car’s interior. The leather upholstery was comfortable and cool against her bare legs and arms. She pressed a button, causing the chair to heat up. Another one engaged a massage feature.

  “I don’t want to drive in silence, baby. Come on, talk to me.”

  “Like dirty?”

  She considered him neither handsome nor ugly. He was somewhere in the middle, an ordinary man of indeterminable age. He could be as young as his mid-thirties but with a stressful job. Equally, he could be in his early fifties but made sure to moisturise and take his vitamins every day. His clothing looked expensive, but Marie didn’t recognise the brands. He wore the sort of clothes outdoorsy people wore: sturdy boots, trousers with many pockets, a padded jacket, and a beanie made of quality wool.

  “There’ll be plenty of time for that later,” he said with a chuckle. “We can talk about anything you fancy. What are your hobbies?”

  There was a pause while she wondered if she’d ever had a hobby in her sad underachieving life.

  “Shopping,” she said eventually and with a slight giggle to cover her embarrassment. “But I don’t have the funds for that anymore. I’m saving up.”

  “What are you saving for?”

  She thought of Kady. She pictured her on her first day at a good school. A bright smile and a crisp, clean uniform. The thought warmed her. “I want to move to a better area. Somewhere safer for my little girl.”

  He squeezed her thigh again, his hand sliding further up her leg.

  “What about you? What do you like to do?”

  “I like fresh air,” he told her. “Hiking, hunting, that sort of thing.”

  He caught the expression on her face before she could mask it.

  “What? You’re not some woke eco-warrior, are you? When you’re not on the game?”

  “No. But I am a vegetarian.” She’d already said too much. It wasn’t her place to judge clients; almost all men who paid her ate meat. Besides, hunting wasn’t that bad compared to what some of them were into.

  “Vegetarian?” He laughed. “See, I could lie to you, tell you I eat what I kill and that I only do it because I disagree with intensive farming, but the truth is I hunt for pleasure. I love it. And I can see you trying to hide your disgust, trying to keep that pretty little face of yours neutral, but I can tell you don’t like me. The thing is, I don’t really care if you like me or not. I’m still going to enjoy myself tonight. Lose the attitude, and you might too.”

  And so Marie’s journey to her client’s holiday home continued in stilted bursts of clumsy conversation. Still, at least he wasn’t asking her to entertain him in other ways while he drove. She’d done that before and was terrified the John’s car would come flying off the road.

  The sky darkened to inky blackness, but it was a clear night with a full moon. Stars twinkled above as the scenery changed from open fields to denser woodland. The trees stretched taller and grew closer together, almost uniformly, as if planted in neat rows by man rather than pollinated by insects and mammals.

  He was right; she didn’t have to like him, just as he didn’t have to like her. But he was rich and clean, and Marie appreciated that he was at least honest with her.

  This wasn’t Pretty Woman. He may drive her in his sweet car, take her to his holiday home and buy her wine. That did not mean he would be buying her jewellery and designer clothes. He would not date her. He would not marry her. He would not become a father to Kady.

  The car’s tyres screeched at a junction. He used the opportunity to take his eyes off the road and look her up and down slowly.

  She kept her face friendly and amenable, eyes flirty. If she played this right, she could get repeat business. Another grand in the bank, another thousand pounds towards a better, more secure life.

  The road changed from tarmac to gravel as they ascended. Small stones pinged against the car’s alloys as it climbed the steep gradient. It handled the loose surface well and cushioned the uneven terrain.

  “Not far to go,” he said.

  The car rolled to a stop; he applied the handbrake.

  Marie looked around. She couldn’t see any luxury cabin.

  “We agreed, no al fresco,” she said, hearing a nervous tremor in her voice.

  “Relax.” He undid his belt and wrapped both hands around her waist. “God, you’re tiny. You must be, what, eight stone soaking wet?”

  His fingers felt warm on her exposed midriff. “Forty-nine kilos. I don’t know what that is in stones.”

  He continued to grope her for a few moments before climbing out of the car. “We have to walk the rest of the way.”

  She looked at her shoes.

  “It’s not far,” he promised.

  Marie stepped out into the darkness, the hairs on her arms standing to attention. He moved to the rear boot and opened it with a click. The man pulled on a thick gilet and looked up to see her shivering.

  “You’ll warm up soon.”

  There was another click as he removed something else from the boot and tucked it into his waistband.

  His face hardened in the moonlight. He shut the boot with a thud, and she could just make out what he was carrying in his left hand. Marie swallowed hard. What did he need that for?

  He stretched the elastic band of a head torch over his beanie and turned it on, blinding Marie for a moment. She blinked over and over until her vision returned. Inhaling the scent of pine, she raised a hand in front of her face and peaked through her fingers.

  “Hunting rabbit and g
rouse is good fun. Not many things beat hitting the target, gutting the animal and enjoying it in a nice stew. I guess it’s something you’ll never understand, being veggie and all.”

  “I guess.” Marie stepped backwards, her stiletto heel slid over a chunk of gravel, rolling her ankle and causing her to stumble.

  “Big game’s where it’s at, though,” he said, looking down at her as she pushed herself back to her feet. “Much more thrilling. Unfortunately, there’s no lion or buffalo around here. I might go to Canada to hunt bears one day, but it’s expensive.”

  Marie rubbed her knees. She’d landed on some stones when she’d fallen, grazing her skin.

  “Until then, I’ll hunt the local vermin.”

  He raised the crossbow he’d taken from the car boot and pressed the buttstock into his shoulder. Moonlight twinkled off the arrowhead as he took aim.

  “It’s time to play hide and seek, baby. I’m going to count to ten.”

  - Chapter 2 -

  One month later

  Mid-August and Newcastle’s John Lewis store was bustling with parents and children picking out clothing for the new school year. Sales assistants hurried back and forth. They replenished stock, cleaned spilt FruitShoots, and swapped little Harry’s size one plimsoles for size twos because Mummy thought he was due a growth spurt.

  DCI Erica Cooper checked a list of items scrawled on a scrap of paper. “Right, we’ve got shirts and trousers. Do you want a skirt this year?”

  Her daughter Tina was due to start year eleven. She shook her head.

  “And are you sure your blazer still fits and your tie has another year in it?”

  “Yes.”

  Tina removed a pair of flat black loafers from her feet. “These look like something Grandma would wear.”

  Cooper agreed. They were hideous, and if she wouldn’t be seen dead in them, she could hardly expect her daughter to wear them. Teenagers had it tough these days with exam pressure, social media, hormones and a bleak future of crippling student debt, an inability to get on the housing ladder and a changing climate. She didn’t need to add bullying the mix by making Tina go to school in clothes guaranteed to make her a laughing stock.