Betty Buick: The Next Teen

By Bob Price

Heroes come in all shapes and sizes and meet challenges any time of year. On a daily basis, heroes run around doing routine jobs that need doing without attracting attention. That is until they hit an obstacle that conceals itself so well you would be forgiven for believing you could go around it and return later to fix it. Detectives regularly encounter obstacles during an investigation and just as regularly choose an option to either go around or through it. DCI Betty Buick usually did the latter. Twenty years of experience and success at solving crime confirmed that her direct approach was a winner. When offered to lead a new unit based at New Scotland Yard her initial reluctance dissipated in seconds after learning what was expected. The Irregular Missing Peron (IMP) unit was to focus on only the strangest missing person investigations. No investigation would be too wide from reality. From alien abductions, the paranormal, and even time travelers from our future. If someone went missing in irregular circumstances IMP would be handed the case. Just how it would go about its investigation was something else. No instruction book had been written and ad-libbing seemed the way to go. Buick couldn't have been more delighted. A personal interest in witchcraft, the tarot, and Asian predictive systems together with a sister who studied Egyptology attracted an interest that went beyond the job. The Next Teen was just such an investigation.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bob Price
• Release date: Apr 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005247324

Bob Price

Born in Africa in the early fifties. Today settled in Northern Ireland where sunshine is appreciated. Together with wife, family, cat, dog, and goat. Love classic cars, and keeping up with modern technology. Now in retirement, I have discovered writing is more a vocation than anything else I have ever done. Keeping people entertained with the written word is a truly fantastic art form.

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Betty Buick – The Next Teen

Copyright ®2021 Robert Price

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book maybe reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any forms by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without express permission of the publisher.

CHAPTER ONE

Christmas 2021. The offices of the Irregular Missing Persons (IMP) unit located in the basement at New Scotland Yard felt like a Middle Eastern oasis compared to the icy weather outside. Climate change had thrown an Eastern cold front at Europe since early November with temperatures dipping below freezing and staying there. The British public were told to keep a stiff upper lip by Government. Something that did little in the way of ingratiating them with the millions of voters struggling to keep warm, fed and commuting back and forth to work, usually in that order.

Unusually, London bore the brunt of the cold weather instead of the far North. Cascading winds swept overland pushing snow and ice into the heart of the capital. Blocking roads freezing pipes and generally creating chaos. It was constant, relentless, and overwhelming. Londoners struggled as they did with everything man or nature threw at them. Coming straight after the final days of a pandemic seemed unfair to some but that’s life. Lock down took its toll keeping people safely isolated in their homes. Remoteness inevitably led to loneliness. The worst hit. Those with few friends or relatives. People are generally social animals who have grown up in a community that regularly interacts. Shutting off that interaction proved difficult for many who struggled to adapt to rules Government found it necessary to apply to fight the virus.

Loneliness accompanies so many depressing emotions it was not unexpected when reports of missing persons spiralled. None were immune. At the Irregular Missing Persons unit (IMP) located in the basement of New Scotland Yard next to the boiler room. The four officers worked in shirt sleeves. The heat from the boiler keeping the temperature in the mid-seventies. Too hot for the head of the unit. DCI Betty Buick preferred a cooler environment having grown up in a home without central heating. A home in which an open fire was the only heating solution. By comparison, her team were delighted working in the warmth after struggling through the icy weather outside.

Buick was a Lancashire lass whose parents settled in London when young. Growing up a Londoner her accent was a hybrid of both. In her mid-forties and unmarried, not that she hadn’t had opportunities. Meeting Mister Right had simply proved elusive. With mature good looks and only a hint of grey in her auburn hair she could still attract attention. However, she liked the way things were, had grown accustomed to the necessary solitude away from the job. Painting and reading history two hobbies that filled her personal time.

Can’t recall when the snow came this early in the month, Toni Dukes said, a thirty-year-old brunette detective sergeant with looks associated more with modelling than policing.

Yeah, don’t you just love climate change, Detective Inspector Branwen Maddox, a petite late twenties brunette replied. Her Welsh accent thicker than usual. I heard the former U.S. President still claims the scientists are overreacting.

You mean the one who said the Coronavirus would simply disappear, replied DI Billy Hughes, a giant bald Londoner disfigured by a bottle scar - scalp to jaw. He was the latest secondment and came from the British Transport Police. Joining the unusual world of IMP after an encounter with them a few months ago. Deflecting what’s happening with the environment helps his corporate mates. The bloke should be nicked for misleading people. Instead, he’s allowed to attempt a civil war.

I’m sure he’ll eventually get his come uppence. Just be grateful you live in the U.K. Dukes told him. The reason people are less inclined to riot here is because eventually the political elite come to their senses. If for no other reason than honed self-survival instincts. I wouldn’t bet on it. They’re still putting personal rather than national interests first. The British Republicans are flourishing because of stupidity like that. People have had enough with inequality. The Establishment is broken. Too much blatant greed and incompetents at the top. The public want fairness returned to everything from the Justice System to Social Services.

He’s right, Maddox added. You can’t trust any of them. Including and especially the top brass in public services. Now are you going to help me with these decorations or grumble all day about politicians? Corruption at a senior level experienced first-hand since her promotion which did nothing for her motivation. Joining IMP saved her career. Keeping senior management at arm’s length with Betty Buick the buttress.

Never understood why the Boss wants to be reminded its Christmas when the world is turning topsy turvy and we’re stuck in a basement, Hughes grumbled. Christmas jogging vivid memories of the face scar that stressed the violent world they shared. Just two years ago. Bigger than most it was rare for him to be the target of bullies. Drinking alone in a bar lost in thought. Back to the door he didn’t pay attention to a pair of aggressive drunks stumbling in until they purposely banged into his stool. No time given to complain before one smashed a bottle against the counter and slashed at his head. The other jumping on his broad back throwing an arm around his throat. The blood gushed from his face as if they’d hit an artery. Not that he noticed. By then he was too busy unwrapping the arm from his throat and kicking the one with the bottle in the groin. The bottle dropped like a stone but not before its jagged edged tore down the side of his face. By then Hughes was on his feet twisting the arms off the other one before dropping him with a massive right hook. The look of shock on the faces of other customers staring at his bloody face convincing enough to warrant the paramedics deal with him after he handcuffed his attackers together for the uniforms. Today it was just part of his history. A reminder never to put his back to an entrance.

She likes Christmas, Maddox said. I imagine her home must be plastered with decorations at this time of year.

Funny she never married, he said.

That could be said about all of us, Dukes pointed out before inhaling to blow up a balloon. Yeah, but I’ve an excuse, He replied. Being ugly as hell.

I won’t argue that Maddox laughed.

I think he was searching for sympathy or a compliment, Dukes said.

Who wants sympathy or a compliment? Buick asked entering the office. Face red with cold. A thick overcoat with snow crystals on her shoulders. One hand in a coat pocket. Familiar satchel handbag hooked over a shoulder. Other hand holding a small Christmas tree.

The man in the room, who else? Maddox said. It’s in their genes.

I bought us a nice little tree, she smiled excitedly.

You shouldn’t have, Hughes said flatly. Head shaking like it couldn’t be true.

Some of us can still remember our childhood, Billy, she told him. Ignoring the fact that he was ten years younger.

Twenty years ago, I was nine. Eager to see what Father Christmas would bring me, Maddox said.

And did he disappoint you. Hughes asked.

Never, she replied happily.

Toni will you put the tree up in the corner of the room. There are some fairy lights to go with it.

Sure, Boss, she said. There are two messages for you. One from Commander Bailey. The other from your mother.

After Buick made herself comfortable, she called Bailey. Hoping he was not about to land them with a new case just before Christmas. Not for herself but for her team. They had worked hard over the past three months and deserved a break. Not that government appeared to appreciate how well the emergency services coped over the pandemic. Reflected by NHS staff receiving a 1% pay rise after all they had achieved. The contemptuous pay award had also sparked discontentment within police circles with motivation at the lowest point she could remember. How her team might react to a disruption of their Christmas plans would be a mystery she would have preferred remained unanswered.

Betty, thanks for getting back to me, Bailey said. Something just landed on my desk that fits your workload. He sounded unusually distant. Distracted. Not his normal self.

Really? She hoped disappointment was not reflected in her voice.

I’ll pop down, he said. Always happy to meet her face to face. His attention not purely work related.

Checking the wall clock, she knew it would take him ten minutes. Bailey was nothing if not consistent. A big man with a big laugh and ever ready smile. He liked her. That was obvious. Using his affection to get what she wanted a norm in their relationship. He knew what she did as much as her. Maybe if she were looking to settle down Bailey would make it as a candidate, but she wasn’t.

Precisely ten minutes later he entered her office closing the door behind him. The others staring towards them through the glass partition that separated their offices. A thick manilla folder in his hands that remained on his lap as he used the chair opposite. Bad timing, I know. He said. Face grim. Can’t be helped. She replied. Acting like it was nothing.

No, he agreed placing the manilla folder on her desk. CID in the East End between Bow and Manor Park identified a string of missing teenage girls with a possible link to the man in the security photo. The girls are aged between thirteen and sixteen. She flipped open the folder and found several security photos of the same individual with a summary of information. The photos revealed a bearded male. Early thirties. East European appearance. His name Anton Radu. Romanian. Suspected freelancer scouting for potential victims. Known to work for Romanian traffickers operating in the UK. Convictions for