Blood Bought

by Robin Roughley

  For a couple of seconds, she looked confused at the question and then she nodded. 'Yeah, but I only found it a couple of weeks ago when I was out walking the dog.'

  'It's never really used?'

  'Not that I know of. I opened it and had a look up and down the lane, but I have no idea where it takes you.'

  'How long has Viner owned this place?' Lasser asked.

  'I'm not exactly sure but he did once tell me he'd been here for years,' she replied.

  'So, presumably at some stage Andrew would have lived here?'

  Suddenly, Cheryl's eyes widened. 'You think he was the bastard who tried to get in, don't you?'

  Lasser thought for a moment, Bannister looked at him, his face twitching with anger.

  'It's a possibility,' Lasser admitted.

  'Look, I know he makes my skin crawl but why would he do something like that?'

  'You said Frank was angry last night when he found out what his son had been up to at The Oak,' Lasser said.

  'Well, yeah, but that's still no excuse to come here and…'

  'Did Frank say what he would do when he found him?'

  Cheryl suddenly tensed and looked uncertain, the dog on her lap yawned. 'No, he didn't,' she replied, her voice little more than a whisper.

  Lasser took another step forward then stopped. 'You said you got him to calm down and stay here rather than going to find his son?'

  'Well, yeah, but…'

  'So, he must have said or done something for you to persuade him not to go storming off.'

  Cheryl's face glowed red as both men watched her closely. 'OK, he was angry, but who wouldn't be with an idiot like that for a son?'

  'Tell me, Miss Hucknall, would Andrew know the combination of the safe upstairs?' Dragging her eyes from Lasser she looked at Bannister. 'I have no idea.'

  'But he could have done?'

  'Look, I come here a lot and Andrew stays away, it's not as if we all sit down for a Sunday roast and a natter.'

  'They're not close then?' Lasser fiddled with the pack of cigarettes in his pocket wishing he'd taken the time for a cigarette when he searched the woodland.

  'Not really.'

  'Yet Frank pays the rent on his son's apartment?'

  'He doesn't pay the rent, he owns the building,' she replied.

  'Yes, but he could have someone in that apartment paying rent, yet he lets his son stay there for free.'

  'You'll have to ask Frankie about that, I have no idea what arrangement they have.'

  'Does Andrew work?' Bannister asked, although he already knew the answer.

  'Not that I know of, but like I said I keep out of anything like that.'

  The DCI glanced at his watch. 'Do you have anywhere you can stay tonight or until Viner decides to answer his phone?'

  Her eyes narrowed slightly at the question and then she sighed again. 'I can go and stay at my apartment, and…'

  'I'd prefer it if you didn't,' Bannister interrupted.

  'But…?'

  'You never know but whoever tried to break in could know about the apartment, so perhaps it would be best not to go there until we get this sorted.'

  'I could go to my sister's I suppose.'

  Bannister nodded in satisfaction before pushing up from the sofa. 'If you lock up then we can leave at the same time,' he suggested.

  Twenty minutes later, they were following Cheryl Hucknall down the drive and out onto the country lane. Lighting a couple of cigarettes, Lasser handed one over.

  'Before I came to Wigan I'd packed in smoking but since knowing you I'm having more than I ever used to,' the DCI grumbled.

  'Yeah, well I like to spread a little happiness wherever I can.'

  Bannister glanced at him and grimaced. 'Twisted bugger.'

  'What do you reckon, do you think it was Andrew Viner who tried to break into the house?'

  Smoke trailed from Bannister's nose, his eyes narrowed against the sting. 'I don't see why he would have done something like that. I get that his old man was mad because of what happened at the pub but at the end of the day he lets his son stay rent-free in a swanky apartment, and it sounds as if Andrew Viner never has to fork out for anything, so why try and break into the house?'

  'But why does the father do all that in the first place?' Lasser queried.

  The road continued to twist and turn, the trees looming over the lane like sentinels. 'You heard what Cheryl Hucknall said, according to Frank, ''he's family''.'

  Sliding the window down, Lasser tapped ash through the gap. 'I get that, but it still seems extreme. Hucknall said Frank Viner is a workaholic, never stops and yet he lets his son swan around doing bugger all and keeps handing the money over.'

  Bannister thought about what Lasser was saying and reluctantly grunted in agreement. 'OK, so if that's the case then why does he keep bailing him out?'

  At the junction, the car in front turned left, Bannister followed; Lasser's eyes suddenly lost focus, the cigarette burning between his fingers as his mind wandered over the facts.

  If Cheryl Hucknall was right and Viner worked hard then surely his bone-idle offspring would be the antithesis of what he wanted in a son. The Frank Viner's of this world wanted someone they could mould into a mini version of themselves. Someone to take over the business with the same attitude and work ethic.

  The last thing they would want was someone like Andrew, a man who sponged off his father and expected to have access to money as and when he wanted it.

  Lasser scowled, the more he ran through the facts the more bizarre it seemed.

  A lazy, good-for-nothing son was one thing, but that didn't explain why Viner entertained him, or why he handed over the cash seemingly without question.

  He thought of Jenny from the restaurant, trying to deny Andrew his free drinks and Viner spitting his dummy out.

  Lasser closed his eyes and moved left and right to the sway of the car. When the word floated up through the confusion he latched onto it, his eyes moving beneath closed lids, his frown deepening.

  'You've gone quiet,' Bannister said as the car picked up speed.

  Opening his eyes, Lasser turned his head. 'Blackmail.'

  The DCI glanced at him with eyebrow raised. 'Explain.'

  Taking a deep breath, Lasser started to wing it.

  101

  May watched from the window as the man clambered through the gap in the fence and sprinted across the glass-strewn yard of the old mill.

  Clicking the head torch off, she turned from the window and listened, her ears attuned for the slightest noise. She was standing at the top of a flight of concrete steps on the first floor. The muscles in her legs thrummed, her heart picking up speed as she waited to see how the next few minutes would unfold. When she heard the sound of footsteps on concrete she allowed herself a thin smile, backing away from the moonlit window and into the shadows.

  Then she heard the heavy crash of a door – at the foot of the steps Scott Moss gasped.

  'What the fuck was that,' he hissed to himself.

  May hesitated and then turned right and started to dash up the second flight of steps, deliberately slapping her trainer-clad feet on the concrete as she ran. Reaching the top, she paused and glanced down in time to see the shadow of Moss appear below her.

  'Good evening, Boss,' she said in a mocking voice.

  Even in the darkness she could sense his disbelief at her words.

  'You've been following me all day in the hope that you would get the chance to make me pay, haven't you?'

  Moss remained at the foot of the steps, his mind reeling as her words drifted down to him.

  When the blinding light appeared at the top of the steps, Moss squinted and raised a hand against the onslaught.

  'I'm filming you again, so let's see what you do this time,' May said, her eyes never leaving Moss as he stood stock-still with right hand raised.

  Then suddenly, his arm dropped to his side and she saw his face, coated with fury, glaring up at her.

&nb
sp; 'Looks as if you are going to have to kill me, Scott,' she said easily. 'That is if you can catch me… you useless piece of shit.'

  Scott Moss had spent the day thinking he was being clever by watching and waiting, and yet now he knew that May Linton had played him for a fool. He never stopped to ask himself why she had lured him here, never pondered who had slammed the door below. Every shred of sense was flushed from his mind by her words and by the bright light that was no doubt filming his sweating hate-filled face for a second time. Suddenly, he had an image of her showing the footage to some faceless copper, claiming harassment or worse, but this time they wouldn't knock at his door they would kick it down and he would be dragged away, a broken man, his life in tatters.

  The scourge of fury eroded all sense from his mind and then he was running up the steps, all the hatred flowing from his body, his hands forming claws as he dashed upwards.

  May waited, her body fuelled with adrenalin; when he was five steps away she turned and sprinted through a set of double doors to her right.

  The space opened up, the torchlight cutting out into the darkness, illuminating the thick metal beams that supported the ceiling above.

  She heard the sound of the doors banging open behind her as she dashed across the vast room. When she came to the pallets stacked high with rolls of insulation she cut towards them, fifteen feet away she clicked the torch off and slowed her pace.

  Reaching the line of pallets, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder, the space had been plunged into darkness, but she could still hear Moss well enough, his feet slapping on the floor slowing from a jog to a hesitant shuffle.

  'You fucking set me up, you whore, spied on me and ruined my life,' his voice came out as a harsh rasp of fury.

  May eased around the rear of the pallets, strands of hair stuck to her forehead, she resisted the urge to fire back a reply, knowing that if she did it would give away her hiding place.

  'What sort of twisted bitch does that just so they can get a man's job?'

  The voice drew closer and May reached down and slid the knife from the sheath around her ankle, the black blade blending with the darkness.

  'We both know you would never have got promoted over me, so you had to fucking film me at the watercooler and spread your lies. I mean, how pathetic are you?'

  In the darkness, May closed her eyes, concentrating on Moss's shuffling feet, when she heard his ragged breathing she turned and moved around the next pallet of insulation material, her tread light, her body moving with liquid ease.

  'When I catch you, I am going to make you fucking pay for this…'

  'You think?' May interrupted, the two words – heavy with ridicule – echoed around them.

  Moss hitched in a sharp breath and May heard his feet shuffle as he spun around in her direction.

  Moving around another pallet, she paused and waited.

  'I don't think, I fucking know!' Moss bellowed.

  'Don't forget I'm recording all this, Scott.'

  'Cunt!'

  When the sound of the double doors bursting open rang out, May made the most of the covering sound and moved deeper between the maze of stacked pallets.

  'Who's there?' Moss demanded, though his voice was suddenly laced with fear.

  No reply.

  May wiped her brow with the back of her hand, her mind crackling with a fury so intense that it drove the fear away and hardened her resolve.

  'I said ''who's there''?' Moss repeated, his voice even more tension-filled now.

  'I'm looking for someone,' the voice replied, he sounded local and, like Moss, there was a tremor in his words.

  'Who, who are you looking for?'

  'Some woman,' the new arrival replied cryptically.

  'Why?'

  'Because we're meant to meet here.'

  May listened as the two men tentatively spoke to one another, she was crouched low, one hand resting against a roll of insulation, her face blank as she waited, the blade held in her quivering right hand.

  She heard twin sets of footsteps in the darkness and pictured the two men drawing closer together.

  When she heard the newcomer gasp she frowned.

  'Fuck me, Mossy, what are you doing here?'

  May felt her body shiver at the words.

  'Stokes?' She heard the confusion and disbelief in Scott Moss's voice.

  'Jesus, how long has it been?' Stokes asked, and still she waited, the sweat now oozing from her pores, her body tensed to the maximum.

  'You know how long it's been,' Moss snapped. 'Now what the fuck are you doing here?'

  'I came to chase and fuck a slag,' Stokes bragged, the tension leaving his voice.

  'Are you taking the piss?'

  'No way,' Stokes said. 'It's all sorted, I've done it before and it's just like the old days, a fuck for free and…'

  'Shut your mouth!' Moss snarled.

  In the darkness, May felt the hiccup of terror lodge in her throat as her mind opened a door that had remained closed for years, hurtling her back over the years, back to that night in the park, the night she had been raped and left for dead.

  ''A fuck for free''.

  The words, the tone of the voice slammed into her and she could see herself pinned to the ground, the air redolent with the heavy stink of alcohol. The man was on top of her, thrusting between her legs. She could see the other darkened shadows moving around her prone body. One of them had laughed, a vile sound full of dark glee, then the man had rolled off her and another had taken his place.

  May had screwed her eyes closed as the man had fumbled between her legs.

  He had uttered the hated words, ''A fuck for free'' and then the pain between her legs had made her scream and the attacker had clamped a hand over her mouth to silence her.

  As she remained crouched in the dark, the memories started to explode in her mind one after another, huge booms that rattled her brain.

  Her mind revealed snapshots of that terrible night, the night she had been fundamentally changed into the woman she had become.

  She saw four faces briefly, each one sneering as they pushed her from one to the other. It was as if she had at last been allowed access to a photograph album, the images grainy and out of focus yet revealing more detail than she had even seen before. In the aftermath of the attack her mind had closed down, blocked out most of what had happened that night and she had become convinced that the men who had attacked her had been older. Now, she knew the truth as the images were paraded through her mind, the ones who had done this had been older than her, but not much older.

  'This way,' the voice hissed.

  The two words brought May back to the here and now, she realised that while she had been lost to the horror the two men must have been talking things through, and now it seemed as if they had come to a decision.

  A decision to relive the ''old days''.

  'Go that way, dickhead,' Moss demanded.

  May heard footsteps left and right, and then the fury rose up through her body in a black tsunami of hate.

  Her shaking body coiled and as the shadow appeared at the corner of the pallet she exploded forwards, her mouth snapped open and she screamed a sound so primal it tore out across the vast space like the call of a banshee.

  Scott Moss lurched back as the sound engulfed him, his eyes wide in shock, he saw May explode towards him and tried to raise his right arm with the intention of slamming his fist into her face.

  But then he was screaming as pain ripped through his gut, he felt the cold blade gouge into his body, the pain turning to agony in a heartbeat as May dragged the blade to the left.

  Moss clamped his mouth closed and his scream was cut off, he blinked away tears of pain as May Linton's face materialised in front of his terror-filled eyes.

  Her eyes shone with a hatred so intense that for a fraction of a second his agony was swamped with terror.

  'You raped me!' she screamed into his face. 'You and your bastard friends!'

  Moss ma
naged to grab her shoulders as he began to shake, he could feel his entrails slithering from his body, his blood splashing onto the concrete.

  'Please, I…' then she snatched the blade free and the ice-cold flame seared a burning path through his gut, erupting from his mouth as an unearthly, blood-curdling scream.

  May stepped back and Moss slammed to his knees, she reached up and flicked on the head torch before whipping her head to the right in time to see the running figure vanish through the set of double doors.

  Turning back to Moss, she looked down and he squinted as the powerful fan of light illuminated the horrific scene.

  His hands cradled his entrails as they slithered from the savage wound low in his stomach, his face poured with sweat, his eyes leaking tears of agony.

  'The man who just ran – I want his full name? If you tell me then I'll call an ambulance but if you…'

  'Adam Stokes!' Moss wailed.

  'There were four of you the night I was attacked, I want all their names?'

  'Please, it hurts and…'

  'Names!' May screamed down at him.

  'Andrew Viner!' Moss screamed back, his hands still clutching the gaping wound in his stomach, trying to stop the waterfall of blood and guts.

  His body started to shake as the shock and blood loss took control, he managed to raise his blood-soaked hands into the air but then his eyes fluttered and closed.

  Lashing out her right leg, May slammed her foot into his face and Moss crashed back to the floor, his hands falling to his side, his entrails slipping free like a nest of new-born snakes.

  The blade dripped dark blood at her feet and then May turned, the light cutting through the darkness.

  Taking a deep, fury-filled breath, she set off in pursuit, her mind cracked with hatred and madness.

  102

  Bannister had listened as Lasser voiced his theory about Frank and Andrew Viner.

  They had followed Cheryl Hucknall to her sister's house in Billinge, making sure she got safely in the house before driving away.

  Now, they pulled up outside Lasser's house and Bannister turned to face him. 'You're saying that this Andrew Viner could have some shit on his old man?'