Page 17 of Code Violation

Ernst Cooper, grandson of the founder of Cooper Springs, died on October 20, 2004, due to a fall. Cooper was found outside his home by his grandson, Forrest Cooper, and could not be revived.

The article went on to talk about Ernst Cooper’s life and how he’d become reclusive as he’d aged. As a young man, he’d been a part of the business community but as the area’s economy shrank and the last of the mills closed, Cooper turned his back on the town his father and grandfather had built in order to care for his grandchildren.

“Judgey much? He took care of his grandchildren, for fuck’s sake.”

His death had been ruled an accident, but, like Ned Barker, Cooper’s neck had been broken and he’d had a head injury. Nero wished he could get his hands on the original case file.

Sitting back, he stared at the screen. “What are the chances they both die in a similar way but in vastly different circumstances? Was it a coincidence? Barker’s death certainly couldn’t be confused as an accident, that’s for sure.”

Sitting forward again, Nero continued down the rabbit hole he’d entered. He was about to take a stretch break when a general article about Cooper Springs popped up. It appeared to be one of those town history link sites, and while he knew it wouldn’t have anything about Barker’s death, he wondered what other information it may provide.

He clicked on it.

The page was old and appeared to not be maintained. There were a few gritty scanned-in photos of Cooper Springs in the 1880s and early 1900s scattered along the webpage’s edges. Sitka spruces, large enough that ten logging men couldn’t wrap themselves around their bases. Logging trucks caravanning down the main street, all loaded down with a piece of a tree trunk so huge that one truck wasn’t enough to haul it. Many of the links inside the site were broken, but not the one leading to a four-line On This Day article.

On This Day: Forrest and Lani Cooper, brother and sister, came to live with their grandfather, Ernst Cooper. Ernst is quoted as saying he is pleased to have his grandchildren living in his home. After spending their early lives in a pioneer encampment somewhere in the Olympic forest, the children seem happy and healthy. Ernst Cooper declined to be interviewed for this story.

Curious and curiouser.

The author was Robert Butler, one of the moderators for the Cooper Springs Facebook page—and the man Rufus had mentioned at the fire scene, the one who used to run the Sentinel. Nero noted his name, intending to look this Robert person up at some point.

The search continued. Nero used a variety of keywords and techniques from his days as a reporter, but he couldn’t find more information about the Coopers as children. Which was fine. He was interested in Ned Barker, not Forrest Cooper. But it didn’t hurt to write down what he had learned. He turned to a fresh page in his notebook.

Forrest Cooper – owns a lavender farm outside of town, Purple Phaze.

Nero rolled his eyes; Cooper probably found the name amusing and it explained the color of his truck.

Forrest’s younger sister, Lani Cooper – one of the officers who’d shown up at Ned Barker’s crime scene. After being shot in the thigh last month, Officer Cooper was still using one crutch and Nero very much got the feeling Chief Dear hadn’t been able to convince her to stay back at the station.

Their grandfather, Ernst Cooper – died from a fall and a broken neck like Ned Barker.

Nero wasn’t sure what kind of fall ended up with a broken neck but from the meager accounts of his death, Ernst Cooper seemed to have been healthy before the accident. There was no mention of stairs or horseback riding. Ned Barker had been a healthy-looking mail carrier. Surely he’d been in good physical shape as well.

Call Cooper again.

He looked at the last line on the list. “I’m a sucker for punishment.”

But who better to tell him about Ned Barker than the grandson of one of his friends? The grandson who’d likely known Ned Barker fairly well. The hot grandson with smoldering eyes and an ass that Nero very much wouldn’t mind squeezing.

He snorted. “I am fucking ridiculous.”

Before Nero could set his fingers on the keyboard again, there was a banging on his door.

“Um, hello?” he called out over the thumping of his heart. He pressed the lid to his laptop closed. “Who is it?”

While he’d been online, night had fallen. The sky was dark and overcast, the only light coming from the streetlamps and businesses across the roadway. Nero hadn’t thought to turn on the outside light.

There was no one in town who would come to his door except for Martin Purdy and Nick Waugh, and they weren’t the type to surprise him without good reason. He appreciated that in his de facto landlords.

“Martin? Nick? Is that you?”

No answer.

A healthy dose of self-preservation had him stepping to the side of the window and peeking out through the curtain, to try and see who—or what—was out there.

No one stood on the tiny area at the top of the front steps as far as he could tell. There were no shadows, no silhouette of a person waiting for him to answer. Not even the pizza delivery he craved but had yet to call in.

Maybe it had been a wrong address. Someone playing a prank on him. Or just the wind.

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