Tethered to the Dead: DS Lasser series volume three (The DS Lasser series. Book 3)

by Rob Roughley

  Brewster glanced at it and then quickly looked away, as last night’s beef Madras threatened to make a sudden reappearance.

  ‘Oh no you don’t,’ Bannister stormed around the desk and pushed another image in front of the reporters face. This one showed the head of Brooks standing upright on a metal gurney, the eyes gone, the blackened flesh draped down either cheek like crispy chicken skin, the lank hair miraculously untouched. ‘Look what your handy work has done!’

  Brewster tried to twist away but Bannister grabbed him by the back of the neck and dragged his head around.

  ‘Get off me!’ Brewster screamed.

  Bannister tightened his grip. ‘Fifty-four years old and no criminal record,’ he shook him like a terrier shakes a rat. ‘The only link we had to finding the missing girl, just look what you’ve fucking done!’

  Brewster broke free and lurched back until he slammed into the wall. ‘I...’ spittle drooled from his bottom lip, his eyes frantic.

  Bannister sagged, placing a shaking hand on the desk to stop from sliding to the floor.

  ‘Get out, you animal, and if I see another word from you in print then I’ll fucking kill you, do you understand me?’

  Brewster nodded and ran to the door; the image of Marshall Brooks decapitated head branded into his brain.

  43

  When Lasser saw Paul Sinclair hammering on the glass door he sighed, ‘great, just bloody great.’

  ‘Who’s that?’ Medea asked, looking nervously along the corridor.

  As soon as she’d calmed down, Lasser had rung the station, telling Meadows to send a PC up to the school, ASAP. However, it now seemed as if Rachael had been busy making plans of her own.

  ‘That’s Rachael’s stepfather.’

  Medea chewed a fingernail, her eyes wide. ‘Should I let him in?’

  Lasser thought for a moment, he was tempted to leave the lawyer standing on the other side of the door, beating ineffectually on the glass, but ultimately it would serve no purpose.

  ‘Yeah, why not, but expect fireworks.’

  Hurrying down the corridor she swiped her card through the slot, Sinclair yanked open the door and stormed in. ‘I am putting in an official complaint about you, Sergeant!’ He stabbed a finger towards Lasser’s chest.

  ‘Very good,’ Lasser replied sliding his bunched hands into his pockets, face in neutral.

  ‘Keeping my daughter...’

  ‘Stepdaughter.’

  Sinclair narrowed his eyes. ‘Locked up, harassing her, and using threatening behaviour and that’s just for starters!’

  Medea plucked at his sleeve. ‘Excuse me, but none of that’s true.’

  Sinclair snapped his head around. ‘And who the hell are you?’

  ‘My name is Medea Sullivan, I work here.’

  ‘Is that meant to impress me? Because if you’ve had anything to do with this I’ll make sure you’re finished here. Now where is she?’

  Lasser moved away from the door, Sinclair glowered at him and swept into the room, as he tried to close it, Lasser wedged his boot in the gap.

  Sinclair’s face was rigid was with fury. ‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘I want to hear what Rachael has to say?’

  ‘She’ll be saying nothing; until she’s standing in front of your superiors and then she’ll have plenty to say, I can guarantee you that.’

  Rachael stood up, a sly smile on her sultry lips that she made no attempt to disguise. ‘Can we go home now, Paul, I am tired and thirsty.’

  Sinclair slid his arm around her shoulder. ‘Of course we can, sweetheart.’

  Lasser tracked the look that passed between them, the coyness on her part that was false. On his, a look of anger and...? Lasser’s eyes sprang open as the penny dropped. Lust, Sinclair was looking at her as if to say have you been a naughty girl again. I shall have to take you over my knee and...

  He leant forward until his mouth was close to Sinclair’s ear. ‘How long have you been fucking your stepdaughter?’ he whispered.

  The lawyer took a faltering step back; the shock on his face swept away all other emotions. ‘What did you say?’ his voice quivered with indignation.

  Lasser looked bemused. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr Sinclair, I didn’t say a word.’

  Two can play at that game, you prick.

  Thirty seconds later Sinclair and Rachael walked out of the building, the lawyer’s expensive loafers squeaking on the polished tiles as he stormed across the reception area, stepdaughter in tow, looking assured, a confident sway in her hips.

  ‘What am I going to do about all this?’ Medea ran a shaking hand through her hair.

  Lasser shrugged. ‘There’s nothing either of us can do, Rachael’s played these games before...’

  ‘Games!’ she looked at him in astonishment. ‘She could ruin a man’s career, and you stand there and talk about games!’

  ‘If you’re talking about Fulcom then save your breath, Rachael might be a born liar, but she does throw in the odd nugget of truth.’

  ‘Oh yes, well you would believe her wouldn’t you, after all you’ve already persecuted him once, so why not let her say those despicable things...’

  Lasser pulled his car keys from his pocket. ‘Nobody persecuted him, Medea; Fulcom told me one tale and then changed it completely...’

  ‘I...’

  ‘Unless you’ve forgotten, we’re trying to find a missing girl, and instead of trying to assist us, Fulcom tried to cover his arse, simply because he was concerned about his reputation. Now what does that say about the man?’

  Medea could feel her anger hovering on the abyss she was a hair’s breath away from losing it – big style. ‘But the things she accused him of were vile, she has no proof and neither do you.’

  Lasser fiddled with the car keys in his pocket. ‘You still haven’t answered the question. Fulcom admitted he saw Rachael Sinclair trying to give drugs to Kelly Ramsey on the night of the prom, that’s what he told me when I came to see him. However, when he arrives at the station to make a statement he suddenly reconsiders and denies knowing anything about any drugs. And do you know who his solicitor turned out to be?’

  Medea swallowed, she could feel the walls of her convictions begin to crack.

  Lasser pointed toward the door. ‘Paul Sinclair, now doesn’t that strike you as odd?’

  ‘Jesus,’ she whispered.

  ‘So, what I want to know is why would Fulcom allow someone like her – someone he has a history with – into a school like this?’

  ‘But, you don’t know they have a history, it’s all just hearsay,’ she tried to inject some defiance into her voice, but she could hear the sudden doubt coming through loud and clear.

  ‘Come on, Medea; let’s say it’s all a pack of lies, that she’s making the whole thing up...’

  ‘Like she did with the other teacher?’ her eyes flashed him a look of triumph. ‘You were ready enough to believe her, weren’t you, but you won’t give him the same courtesy.’

  Lasser shrugged. ‘OK, say you are right, he leaves the school under a cloud, perceived or otherwise?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Firstly how did he manage to land a job in a prestigious place like this, I mean, how old is he, thirty-five?’

  ‘Thirty-seven actually,’ she snapped.

  Lasser shrugged. ‘Thirty-seven and deputy head, does that seem right to you?’

  Medea straightened her shoulders. ‘Claremont isn’t the type of school to put up barriers, Sergeant. The board simply chose the best candidate for the position and Christopher’s record must have been exceptional.’

  Lasser raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ve seen his exceptional record have you?’

  He watched as the colour rose in her cheeks. ‘Well no, of course I haven’t...’

  ‘So, we have a man who was working at a rundown bog standard secondary school, with graffiti on the walls and kids who wear Asbo tags like a fashion statement. A man who i
s accused by a fourteen year old girl of ...’

  ‘But you admitted none of that could be proved!’ Medea swallowed, her face glowing red.

  ‘This came from the headmaster, Medea; it isn’t me making it up.’

  ‘No it’s her, that conniving little witch, spreading her filthy lies,’ she suddenly stopped as if remembering where she was.

  Lasser took a step toward her. ‘OK, all lies. So, why would he have her back here? Give me one plausible reason why he would put himself back in a position where he could be accused all over again?’

  Medea looked at the ground, trying to formulate an answer that didn’t sound ridiculous. She could feel Lasser watching her, taking a deep breath, she raised her head. ‘Maybe he had no say in the matter.’

  Lasser blinked in surprise.

  44

  Jonathan sat in the garden beneath the shade of the huge umbrella, looking at the shifting trees through eyes that were finding it increasingly difficult to focus. The bottle of brandy on the table was almost empty. Tilting the glass, he threw the burning spirit down his throat before refilling it and hurling the empty bottle onto the immaculate lawn. Watching as it rolled away before coming to a stop by the hot tub, picking up traces of sunlight the glass threw back tiny daggers of light that made him wince. Grimacing, he dragged a pair of Aviator sunglasses from his shirt pocket and slipped them on.

  He had no idea where his wife had vanished to and the truth was he didn’t care. Images of Kelly kept floating to the front of his mind, swept there on a wave of alcohol and regret. Kelly in the hot tub her golden skin shimmering with droplets of water. Lounging in the garden in her little red bikini, he thought of her riding the pony with her long slender legs gripping the mount tight. With a groan, he skimmed the glass away and stood up, staggering out from the shade. It was all a sham, the marriage, this life of material things that amounted to nothing against the thrill of...He grunted, shook his head, and began to walk across the grass, swaying alarmingly from side to side. His head pulsating with blood, engorged with the stuff, the sunglasses tinting everything red. Slamming into the fence, he crashed down into the flowerbed, flattening the early summer pansies. He lay prone as the sickly scent of crushed flowers washed over him. It reminded him of his stepdaughter, the way she would smell when he used to lift her from the bath as a toddler, the scented bubbles still trapped in all that glorious hair.

  He started to cry, the tears a mixture of self-loathing and yearning. Scrabbling at the soil, Jonathan rolled onto his back and looked up at the cotton wool clouds. Watched as the sky began to slowly spin, the cotton wool clouds tinged grey. When the shadow fell across his face, he thought it was all part of the illusion.

  ‘You should never drink when you’re alone, Jonathan.’

  Ramsey tried to focus, though the spinning sensation made him feel nauseated, he burped and hot bile rushed into his mouth, turning, he heaved and vomited into a patch of tulips.

  ‘Statistics say you’re more likely to have a fatal accident when you’re alone and pissed, now isn’t that something?’

  Rolling onto his back, Ramsey blinked up, fear pushed at his stupefied brain, a second later, the shadow swallowed him.

  45

  Lasser sat in the car smoking a cigarette, his eyes fixed on the school, his phone on the dashboard with the loudspeaker turned on. Bannister sounded drained, a thread of the inevitable in his voice.

  ‘So what do you want me to do,’ Lasser asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘About Fulcom and Sinclair,’ he’d explained about the girl’s accusations and the rescue mission by her stepfather, but he didn’t think Bannister had been listening.

  ‘We aren’t going to find her are we?’ It sounded as if he were talking to himself, voicing his worst nightmares.

  Lasser could see two teams of girls playing hockey in the distance, dashing about, doubled over as they chased the ball. ‘I don’t honestly know, boss.’

  A heavy sigh floated out of the handset. ‘Suzanne told me earlier about Jonathan’s affairs...’

  ‘Business affairs?’

  ‘Don’t be a bloody idiot, Lasser,’ he spat. ‘According to her he had a thing for younger women.’

  Lasser flicked the cigarette through the window, ‘How young?’

  ‘Apparently the last one was seventeen.’

  ‘It could be sour grapes on her part?’

  ‘Suzanne isn’t in the habit of telling lies, Sergeant!’

  A cheer went up as one of the teams scored; he could see one group of girls leaping up and down, hockey sticks punching the air in celebration.

  ‘So what are you going to do?’ he asked.

  ‘She wants me to check him out.’

  Lasser slid the window up. ‘She thinks he might have had something to do with Kelly’s disappearance?’

  ‘I don’t see how, the night she went missing he was with Suzanne.’

  ‘Perhaps she’s just looking for someone to blame and he’s the closest to her.’

  Another heavy sigh and then Bannister cleared his throat. ‘Right, so far we have Marshall Brooks, who we know spent time hiding in the trees taking photographs of Kelly. He turns up dead, which means...’ his voiced drifted to a standstill.

  A bumblebee hit the side window and droned away. ‘Well, like you said earlier, he must have been getting the pictures done by someone else. Whoever was doing it must have realised the photographs were of Kelly, so maybe he thinks that Brooks had something to do with her disappearance, I mean, it’s logical...’

  ‘And pays him a visit which ends in bloody limbs scattered all over the place, I don’t buy it.’

  Lasser rubbed at his temples, the truth was, neither did he. Whoever was developing the pictures they wouldn’t be working for Max Speilman. It had to be someone with the same dubious morals, someone who shared the same sick hobby.

  Flipping out another cigarette, he sparked up.

  ‘Lasser, are you still there?’

  ‘Sorry, boss, I was just thinking.’

  ‘Well I’m not a bloody mind reader, so spit it out.’

  Smoke swirled around the interior of the car before slowly drifting through the open window. ‘OK, we know it was Brooks, who sent the pictures,’ he flicked ash through the gap.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Maybe he was trying to do the family a favour; I mean, none of the pictures are actually explicit...’

  ‘Be careful,’ Bannister’s voice rumbled a warning.

  Lasser was suddenly glad that they weren’t having this conversation face to face. ‘You know what I mean, in every one she has her clothes on.’

  ‘What the hell has that got to do with anything?’

  ‘Look, it stands to reason he could have taken pictures of her that were more,’ he paused and tried to think of the right word, ‘graphic.’ Yet as far as we know he didn’t, so maybe the ones he sends to the Ramsey’s are meant to help in some way.’

  ‘He was a fucking pervert, Lasser; he hung around in the trees with his camera aimed at the bedroom of a sixteen-year-old girl, my daughter...’ Bannister’s voice cracked, full of anger and disbelief.

  Lasser took another quick drag on the cigarette. ‘I’m not denying that, but look at the other pictures we found. All the girls are aged sixteen or seventeen and not one of the photos shows any bare flesh; it’s as if that side of it was unimportant.’

  ‘So you’re saying his behaviour was acceptable!’

  Lasser grimaced; he could imagine Bannister’s face rigid with anger, hands clenched into fists. He took a deep breath, he could either back-track and hope his boss didn’t sack him on the spot or he could plough on and hope for the best.

  ‘I’m saying maybe he sees these girls as something to be treasured, I don’t think his motives were ever sexual, it’s almost as if he revered them...’

  ‘You bastard!’

  ‘So he sends the pictures, hoping they’ll help us to catch the man responsible.’

  �
��But we don’t know the man responsible do we, you stupid prick!’

  ‘It could still be the developer.’ Lasser offered.

  ‘What the hell are you talking about? You just said he...’

  ‘Yeah I know, but perhaps Brooks wasn’t killed as some kind of retribution,’ he paused, the theory clicking into place like the electronic timetables at the airport. ‘Perhaps he was killed because the murderer suspected Brooks couldn’t be trusted to keep his mouth shut.’

  ‘An accomplice?’ Bannister hissed.

  ‘It’s possible.’

  Silence, Lasser tapped ash into the ashtray and waited.

  ‘So you’re saying Brooks was trying to do us some kind of a favour?’

  ‘In his own way, I think he was. We know he was a mixed-up individual, the state of his house, the set routine. We know he’d received help for depression in the past, but he’s never been in trouble with us. You know what the neighbours will say, ‘a quiet man who kept to himself.’ I think he was upset by what had happened to Kelly and was trying to help in the only way he knew how.’

  Bannister grunted. ‘I’m not convinced.’

  ‘I could be wrong, but why send the pictures in the first place?’

  ‘To upset the family, to twist the bloody knife, it could be any number of unfathomable reasons...’

  ‘If the images had been more graphic then that would make sense but this just feels different.’

  ‘I...’

  ‘Plus there’s one more thing. When I was at Fulcom’s house I was talking to the old woman next door and she said that Fulcom was a helpful kind of guy...’

  ‘I hope there’s some point to all this, Lasser?’ Bannister warned.

  The two teams of girls began to leave the field, trudging their way back towards the school.

  ‘According to her, he made an album for one of the neighbours who had to go into a care home, took loads of pictures of her house and handed it over as a parting gift’

  ‘A photo album?’

  Lasser could hear the subtle change in Bannister’s voice, a slight inflection of excitement.

  ‘Yeah and according to her, he didn’t charge a penny.’