Blood Bought

by Robin Roughley

  'I don't know, he…'

  Lasser snatched Dyer's nose between his finger and thumb and squeezed.

  Dyer screamed, the tears springing from his eyes as the pain kicked in and blood started to seep out, then Lasser released him and stepped back, pulling the phone from his pocket.

  Glancing at the screen, his thumb flitted over the numbers, he saw Odette's name go zipping by and frowned as he realised she hadn't been in touch after his voicemail. The frown on his face deepened and then he stopped at Bannister's name and held the phone to his ear as Barry Dyer slowly slid down the wall, crying and shaking all the way to the rubbish-strewn ground.

  135

  Spenner pulled the squad car to the kerb, his eyes on Adam Stokes who walked along the pavement fifty yards in front, his shoulders slumped, his head lowered.

  Steve Black yawned in the passenger seat, rubbing his eyes, his gut straining at his stab vest, his chin wobbling.

  'Late night?' Spenner asked, easing the car forward slowly, keeping Stokes in sight.

  'Yeah, the wife was out on a hen do, so I got a takeaway and watched a couple of movies, I fell asleep in the chair and knocked the curry tray all over the sodding floor.'

  'Messy.'

  Black glanced at Spenner, his face sour. 'I spent two hours trying to clean it up, the carpet looked a right mess.'

  'You have carpets?' Spenner asked in surprise.

  'Carpets are making a comeback.'

  'It was a new carpet then?'

  'No, it's been down ten years, but the wife is always shampooing the sodding thing, it's her pride and joy.'

  'Right,' Spenner replied absently.

  'I just hope she doesn't notice the slight stain.'

  'Deep shit for you if she does, I take it?'

  'No sex for a month at least.'

  Spenner grimaced at the thought, in the distance Stokes paused at the junction.

  A dark saloon drove past before moving to the left.

  'I wouldn't mind but the curry was crap, all heat and no taste. I tried a new one but never again.'

  'I thought you liked hot curry?'

  'I do, but this was ridiculous, I was on the crapper half the night, and…'

  'Jesus, I don't need to know that,' Spenner said as he slid the window down before pulling up again as Stokes stepped out into the road.

  He was halfway across when a speeding car appeared from the right.

  Spenner saw Stokes snap his head to the right and then the car slammed into him.

  'Shit!' Spenner gasped as Stokes was thrown into the air, arms and legs thrashing.

  The grey car didn't stop, Stokes hit the road, bones snapped, blood sprayed as he bounced along the surface like a broken toy.

  Checking the mirrors, Spenner planted his foot on the gas, grabbing second and then third gear in quick succession, the siren screaming, the lights flashing as Black hit the twin buttons.

  Then Spenner slammed on the brakes and yanked on the handbrake before jumping out.

  Black remained in the car calling for an ambulance as Spenner ran over to the crumpled form in the road. Traffic had stopped left and right and he felt his stomach clench as he looked down at Stokes. He had landed on his head, his skull had crumpled under the impact leaving a crater of red and grey, his legs jittered and then someone was screaming. Spenner looked across the road to where a mother and her toddler son stood on the kerb, the kiddie wailing as the mother picked him up and spun away, her face white with shock.

  136

  Dyer was still slumped on the floor when Bannister came striding around the corner, eyeing the bins in disgust as he approached.

  Before he could open his mouth, his phone started to chime and Lasser waited while he dragged it from his pocket, his face set with anger he glared at Dyer before slapping the phone to his right ear.

  'What the fuck do you mean he's bloody dead?' Bannister bellowed.

  Lasser whipped his head around to find the DCI shaking with rage. 'You were told to watch the prick, see where he went yet now you're telling me someone mowed him down in front of you and you have no idea who did it?'

  Bannister's face writhed as he listened to the voice on the other end of the phone.

  'I want the bastard responsible caught and I want it done now, Spenner!'

  Lasser sighed as he pictured Spenner wilting under the onslaught of abuse.

  'Sort it!' Bannister bellowed before jamming the phone into his pocket.

  'What's happened?' Lasser asked, both men ignoring Dyer who looked up at them with swollen, panic-filled eyes.

  'We released Stokes this morning and Henson told Spenner and Black to follow the bugger to see where he went, and while they were crawling along in the car some bastard mowed Stokes down; he's roadkill and the driver got away.'

  Lasser thought of Stokes and his suspicions that he had made Medea's life a living hell and found he had little sympathy for the man.

  'What about panda eyes here?' Bannister asked, looking down at Dyer who cringed under his gaze.

  Lasser started to explain about Dyer and his mates and the attack on May Linton, when he mentioned Thorpe, Bannister raised an eyebrow.

  'Get up' he hissed.

  Dyer scrambled to his feet, leaning back against the wall for support.

  'I want to know where Thorpe lives and I want to know right now?'

  Barry Dyer felt the fear flooding back as he realised that the new arrival wasn't going to be any different from Lasser, they both looked at him with demanding, ice-cold eyes.

  'He has a farm in Westhoughton, it used to belong to his old man but when he died Thorpey moved in.'

  'You're not a teenager anymore, his name is Thorpe not ''Thorpey'',' Bannister snarled. 'Plus, you and your wanker friends are rapists, and…'

  'I never touched her!' Dyer screamed.

  The DCI grabbed the collar of his jacket and snatched him forward. 'You're going to show us where Thorpe lives and then I'm going to bang you up until I decide when and if I let you go.'

  'But you can't do that, they took DNA, I wasn't there, I…'

  Bannister thrust him forward. 'Move it, you worthless piece of shit.'

  Barry Dyer nearly stumbled to his knees, then Lasser and Bannister grabbed an arm each and frogmarched him around the corner.

  One or two shoppers watched them walk past, a couple of lads loitering in the bookmaker's doorway grinned. Thirty seconds later, Dyer was in the back of the car.

  'Seatbelt,' Bannister demanded as he started the car.

  Dyer clicked it in place with a shaking hand, Lasser got into the passenger seat.

  Glancing over the headrest he fixed him with a hard glare. 'Directions?'

  'He lives at Crow's Foot Farm, it's near Heart Common.'

  Dropping the car into gear, Bannister hit the gas, going through the gears in a rush, his face locked in a snarl of boiling fury.

  137

  May kept her eyes locked on the car in the distance.

  She had watched Stokes walk from the police station and set off down the road.

  After leaving his house, she had spent the night in the car, parked well out of town in a lay-by. She had tried to sleep but her mind had been working through the best way to proceed. In the end she had been left with little choice but to park close to the station in the hope that eventually Stokes would materialise. The truth was she had no idea if they had already released him and she had been ready to drive back to his house to wait there when he walked through the gates, large as life.

  The sight of him had been like a floodgate opening, all the fury inside spewing forth; she had sat watching as he walked away, her mind locked on the night of the attack. Faces that had once been vague now swam into focus, Moss and Stokes leering as they raped her.

  By the time she broke free from the nightmare, Stokes had been a blip in the distance and she had seen the police car moving slowly along the gutter, no doubt following Stokes to see where he led them.

  May had m
oved away from the kerb and fifteen seconds later she had passed the squad car, resisting the urge to glance inside as she eased down the road.

  Stokes had been halfway across the junction when the car hurtled into view and slammed into him. For a fleeting moment May had seen the driver behind the wheel and the sight of him had unlocked the final piece of the puzzle.

  By the time Stokes hit the ground with a sickening crunch the car had vanished, May had glanced in her mirrors before turning left and following.

  The car had been hurtling down the road and then turned sharp right at the roundabout, May had sped up, desperate not to lose the man she now recognised as the ringleader on the night of the attack, the one with the knife, the one who had smashed the bottle over her head.

  ''Go on, fuck her big time!''

  The remembered words scythed through her mind, the car weaved left to right as her hands tugged at the wheel, she had turned right and thankfully the grey car had been visible in the distance and May had shaken her head savagely, trying to evict the distressing images as she followed.

  Now, she kept her distance as the car in front turned right. Indicating, she pulled over to the centre of the road and waited for a break in the traffic before crossing and driving onto the lane.

  Trees grew close on either side, the pitted road surface smothered with wet leaves.

  The lane twisted left and right before straightening up and she caught a fleeting glimpse of the rear of the car before it vanished around another right-hand bend.

  Easing down on the gas, she shot along the stretch of road before slowing for the bend. She was familiar with this road, in fact, she had jogged along it several times and knew that eventually it led to the rear of Borsdane Woods, a local beauty spot crammed with ancient twisted trees, a small stream running through the middle.

  More bends approached, then the road opened up once more and she risked a higher speed. When she saw the crossroads ahead her hands closed tight on the wheel, at the last second, she hit the brakes, smoke pouring from the tyres as the car slid to a halt.

  Her head whipped left and right, her eyes full of hate as she failed to see the vehicle she was chasing.

  'No!' she screamed in torment, her voice echoing around the interior of the car.

  The seconds ticked by as May Linton sat hunched behind the wheel, the need for revenge eating away at her soul, the fury crashing through her brain, suffocating all sense of rational thought.

  With the scream building again, she made a quick decision and turned right; hitting the gas, wheels fighting for grip, the rear of the car fishtailing, she shot off down the lane.

  138

  Lasser eyed the huge German shepherd that lunged forward, teeth bared and snarling as it hit the wire mesh, strands of spittle flying from its snapping mouth.

  Bannister beeped on the alarm – locking Barry Dyer in the car – as they walked towards the stone-built farmhouse.

  The lane leading down to the house had been riddled with dirty, rain-filled potholes, bouncing them up and down as the DCI drove at speed along the dirt track.

  The house itself was set in the centre of a muddy, undulating field covered with tufted grass and weeds.

  'Thorpe isn't a bloody farmer that's for sure,' Bannister commented as he slammed a fist into the front door, the dog still barking furiously as they waited for someone to answer.

  Lasser cut left and peered in through the front window. The outside of the building and surrounding area might have looked dishevelled, but the inside was the polar opposite. The huge open space was spotless, the wooden floor gleamed, the walls painted a startling white, matching the two huge sofas that sat in the centre of the room.

  'Anything?' Bannister asked.

  Lasser shook his head, moving further left trying to block out the sound of the barking dog.

  Reaching the corner of the house, he grimaced as the wind howled in over the open fields; narrowing his eyes against the onslaught he walked along the stone path to the rear of the property. The black, mud-spattered Range Rover was parked on a square of gravel. He could see three large outbuildings close to the house, two had rotten doors hanging off rusting hinges, the asbestos roofs had gaping holes dotted here and there. The third one was at odds with its new, highly-varnished doors securing the place, the roof looking watertight.

  Moving to the back of the house he peered in through the kitchen window, like the open lounge the place appeared pristine, like something you would find in a glossy homes magazine.

  Moving to the back door, he tried the handle and sighed when he found it locked.

  'Aye, aye, what do you think you're doing?'

  Lasser turned to find a man walking from the side of the outbuilding that had the new doors, the shotgun held across his chest, his face set with a deep frown.

  'I'm looking for Thorpe.'

  'Looks as if you were trying a spot of breaking and entering to me,' the man said as he came to a stop. He looked to be in his early thirties, his hair cut military-short, dressed in an old camouflage jacket with Muckmaster wellies on his feet, his black jeans tucked into the top.

  Fishing out his warrant card, Lasser held it out as he walked towards the man.

  'You're a copper then?'

  'Name?' Lasser demanded.

  The man looked at him in surprise and then cleared his throat. 'Solly Brown.'

  'I take it you know Thorpe?'

  'Aye, I know him.'

  'You work here?'

  Brown shook his head. 'Nah, I do a bit of shooting and John lets me use his land.'

  'That his car?' Lasser asked, nodding at the Range Rover.

  'One of them, but I don't think he's in.'

  Suddenly, Bannister appeared from the corner of the house, face like thunder, tie flapping as he strode forward. 'Is this Thorpe?' he demanded.

  'Afraid not,' Lasser replied.

  'Do you have a licence for that gun?'

  Brown looked affronted by the question. 'Of course I have a licence, I'm not some bloody poacher sneaking around in the dark you know.'

  'Give it to me,' Bannister demanded.

  'But…'

  The DCI snatched it from his hands, leaving Brown looking dumbfounded as he spun away and strode to the back door.

  'What the fuck is he doing?' Brown gasped.

  Lasser ignored him and watched as Bannister reached the door and slammed the butt of the gun into one of the glass panels.

  'Christ, that gun's worth over a grand!' Brown took a step forward and Lasser suddenly blocked his way.

  'This is serious, I wouldn't advise you shouting the odds, especially while my boss has a loaded shotgun in his hands.'

  Brown looked into the black eyes and saw the dark warning.

  'But…'

  'Lasser, get a bloody move on!' Bannister roared.

  'See what I mean?' Lasser said, turning and hurrying to the house.

  Bannister had propped the weapon against the wall before striding into the kitchen.

  'Brown said that Thorpe was out,' Lasser said, following him into the tiled kitchen.

  'So, he has more than one car?' Bannister asked as he headed for the hallway.

  'Looks that way.'

  'Check upstairs.'

  Bannister vanished into the huge, open-plan lounge while Lasser headed for the stairs. Taking them two at a time, he reached the landing and opened the first door on the left. At one time it must have been a bedroom, but Thorpe had transformed it into a gym, one that contained no weights just a huge running machine and a bicycle, the rear wheel off the ground, in front of the bike stood a huge projector screen.

  Over to the right he could see a small pine sauna, the door standing open to reveal a wooden bench and a white robe hanging from a hook on the wall.

  Backing out of the room he walked along the landing to the next door and pushed it open. The en-suite bedroom was large, the bed itself looked king-sized and of the water variety, even the sheets were black to add to the stereoty
pical look of the place. Crossing the room, he grimaced at his reflection as he slid open the mirrored wardrobe door, revealing an assortment of clothes hanging neatly from hangers, shirts on shelves all folded.

  'Anything?' Bannister asked.

  Lasser turned to his boss in the doorway. 'Bugger all.'

  The DCI scowled before turning away, Lasser followed, his own frustration building.

  On the landing, he turned left as Bannister pushed the final door open.

  Moving to Bannister's shoulder they looked into a bare room, the floor was oak – visible beneath the huge plastic sheet that had been tacked to the four corners of the room, covering the floor completely.

  'What do you reckon?' Bannister asked.

  Lasser glanced at the ceiling and walls, all pristine white, before studying the plastic sheeting. 'No paint splashes on the plastic, no paint pots or brushes lying about.'

  Without answering, Bannister stepped into the room, his feet scrunching on the sheet as he walked over towards the window, suddenly he stopped, his eyes glued to the dried droplets of red on the covering.

  'Lasser, get SOCO out here.'

  Pulling out his phone, he did as he was asked, meanwhile Bannister eased down to his haunches.

  Thirty seconds later, Lasser had called in the cavalry and he made his way over, looking down at the red smudges.

  'I don't like this,' Bannister said, jabbing a finger at the stains.

  Walking around him, Lasser moved over to the window, eyeing the blackout blinds rolled to the top. He could see Solly Brown standing like a scarecrow in the back garden, a scowl on his face as he studied the stock of the gun. Lasser took in the two dilapidated outhouses and the third one with the locked doors and the windowless walls of red brick, he could see alongside the building to where two windows had been bricked up with light-grey breeze blocks.

  In the distance, dense woodland filled the view, most of the trees were devoid of leaves, the sky looked grey and thunderous, already the air was tinged with gloom as the afternoon slid towards early evening.

  Lowering his gaze, he looked at the outhouse again and then he was backtracking across the room.