by Rob Roughley
She stopped, her hand on the door handle, Bannister looked at Lasser, his eyes narrowed.
‘She’s also a good friend of Kelly’s isn’t she, Suzanne?’ Lasser said.
She turned slowly. ‘You already know the answer to that, but...’
‘So why isn’t she here,’ Lasser slammed his hand flat on the album. ‘Why isn’t she concerned about your daughter’s disappearance? I mean, you went there last night and according to her stepfather she wasn’t in and you say you’ve been trying to ring her and she won’t pick up the phone, why?’
‘How am I expected to know the answer to that?’
‘What about Christopher Fulcom?’
She suddenly looked guarded, looking down; she unsnapped the clasp of her bag and rummaged around inside. ‘What about him?’
‘You work at the same school...’
‘I do one day a week and it’s only to help out with some clerical work...’
Bannister turned in his chair and looked at her.
‘What do you think of the deputy head?’ Lasser asked.
‘I don’t...’
‘Did you know we’ve had him in to help us clarify a few things?’
‘Clarify what?’ her eyes flicked around the room, as if unwilling to settle on anything. ‘Are you saying he was somehow involved in all this?’
‘I’m saying he was the man who caught Rachael Sinclair handing Kelly the pills...’
‘I’ll tell you the same thing I told my husband, my daughter has never done drugs, she isn’t that type of girl.’
‘Are you sure about that?’ Lasser asked.
She looked at Bannister, her eyes like chips of ancient flint. ‘Are you going to just sit there and say nothing?’
Bannister levered himself out of the chair. ‘He’s only asking the things that I should be enquiring about.’
She looked at them both in disgust. ‘I pity men like you two, always having to think the worst of people, always having to put pressure on the vulnerable...’
‘Who are you talking about?’ Lasser slid the window open and flicked the stump onto the car park. ‘Say she did have the odd joint, or popped a few pills she wouldn’t have been the first...’
‘I am telling you...’
‘What about you and Jonathan?’
She took a backward step.
Bannister lower his head, his eyes fixed on the dark blue floor tiles.
‘I...’
‘I would imagine when you were students you smoked the odd joint,’ Lasser raised an enquiring eyebrow.
She looked incredulous. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘Back then money would have been tight, but now...’
‘What if we did, what business is it of yours?’
‘But never in front of your daughter?’
She pushed herself away from the door and stalked across the room sticking her finger in Lasser’s face, the false nail hovering just below his right eye. ‘That’s right, Sergeant, never in front of my daughter.’
‘What about the neighbours?’
Bannister looked up, a glimmer of interest in his eyes.
Suzanne looked furious. ‘What about them?’
‘Did they ever join you...?’
‘Look, unless it’s escaped your infantile brain, we are meant to be discussing my daughter, not my social life.’
‘So you did socialize with the neighbours, is that what you’re saying?’
For a moment she looked flummoxed, this whole thing was unbelievable. There was a mad man out there somewhere, her precious daughter was still missing and poor Sophie Washham had been pulled from the bottom of some stinking trough of water and this man seemed more concerned with how many joints she’d smoked in her lifetime.
‘If you must know, we get on fine with the neighbours, sometimes they come over for a barbecue and if Kelly was staying with friends then, yes, we would have the occasional spliff. So what are you going to do now, arrest me for trafficking, is that it?’
‘Have these neighbours been around since Kelly’s disappearance?’
She hesitated. ‘Well no, but...’
‘Why is that, Suzanne? I mean, if they are good friends of yours then surely they’d have visited you, especially at a time like this.’
‘I never said they were good friends...’
‘But you partied together, got stoned together?’
Her eyes flicked around the room as if searching for an escape route. ‘Perhaps they don’t know what to say, have you ever thought of that?’
Lasser ignored the question. ‘Can you tell me if Dave Metcalf was ever present?’
‘No he wasn’t.’
‘Who are these neighbours, what are their names?’
‘Steven and Christy Reynolds, but...’
‘What about Fulcom?’
Suzanne Ramsey dropped her bag, her purse popped out, followed by a bottle of perfume, a lipstick and her cigarettes.
Bannister bent down to pick them up, when he looked up, Suzanne was crying.
When the knock came at the door all three of them froze, as if playing some bizarre game of statues, then she reached out and snatched the things from Bannister’s hand before thrusting them back into her bag.
Another timid tap at the door.
‘Not now!’ Bannister yelled.
Turning sharply on her heels, Suzanne Ramsey dashed for the door.
‘Suzanne, we haven’t finished.’
‘Oh, I think we have, Alan,’ grabbing the handle, she yanked it open. DI Chadwick hovered in the doorway, looking agitated.
‘Get out of my way,’ she barged past and stormed into the corridor.
‘What is it, Chadwick?’ Bannister asked with a heavy sigh.
Chadwick cleared his throat and sniffed, he was sure he could smell smoke. ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I thought you’d want to know.’
‘Know what?’
‘Someone’s used a debit card to draw money from Kelly Ramsey’s account.’
Bannister bolted for the door, Chadwick flattened himself against the wall as the big man bulleted past.
Yanking at his tie, he turned to Lasser. ‘Just what the hell is going on here, Sergeant?’
‘I haven’t a clue, sir.’
‘Don’t give me that bollocks, is Bannister ill?’
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
The DI narrowed his eyes. ‘You know something, Lasser, I can tell.’
Lasser smiled. ‘That’s why they pay you the big bucks, sir.’
Chadwick walked slowly into the room. ‘Are you trying to take the piss, sunshine? Because if you are, I can tell you right now, that...’
‘Chadwick!’
The DI snapped his head around, his eyes growing wide in surprise. Bannister loomed in the doorway, ‘Sir?’
‘The details man, when was this money taken and where from?’
Chadwick looked flustered. ‘About ten last night at the NatWest near the old market.’
Suzanne stood behind Bannister, resting a hand on his shoulder. Lasser watched as his boss closed his eyes, as if he found some comfort in the feel of her hand. When he looked at Chadwick, he could almost smell his brain in overdrive storing the information for future use.
‘Did the cameras pick anything up?’ Lasser asked.
Chadwick looked at Lasser and frowned.
Bannister opened his eyes and shook himself. ‘Well, Chadwick, answer the man.’
‘Er, yes, yes they did.’
Reaching up he gripped Suzanne’s hand and Chadwick looked at them both in disbelief, it was as if he had just barged in and caught them rutting on the heavy-duty floor mats.
‘And?’
‘Well, we can’t see the face clearly but it was definitely a female who withdrew the money.’
As Suzanne slipped to the floor, Bannister grabbed her and hauled her to her feet, his face buried in her hair; he whispered something into her ear. Lasser sighed, and Chadwick cleared his thr
oat his eyes wide in astonishment.
‘Look, sir, perhaps it would be best if I showed you the footage.’
Bannister’s face was awash with mixed emotions. ‘Right, Chadwick, move it.’
72
Lasser drained the glass, the rum burning down to the pit of his empty stomach, the clock above the bar showed ten to eight. He should have been at home, trying to get some sleep, but the thought of arriving back to an empty house had filled him with a kind of unfathomable dread. Pushing to his feet he wandered over to the bar, apart from a couple of regulars the Griffin was empty. Another town centre pub slowly sliding towards oblivion.
Sid the proprietor polished a glass, tried a half-hearted smile, and then gave up. Lasser leant on the oak bar, he could smell old timber impregnated with generations of spilled beer wafting up to meet him, like a familiar friend.
‘Are you having another?’ Sid asked hopefully.
‘Go on, Sid, you’ve twisted my arm.’
Flipping a glass, the barman slid it beneath the optic. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, you look buggered.’
Lasser scratched at his chin. ‘You know what they say; a policeman’s lot is not a happy one.’
‘Sod off, you must be raking it in.’
‘You know me, Sid, I’m not in it for the money, I do it for the glory.’
Sid raised an eyebrow and placed the drink on the bar.
Lasser handed over a fiver. ‘Have one yourself.’
The landlord’s sombre face split into a crooked grin, ‘See, making a fortune.’
Change in hand Lasser crossed the worn carpet and slid back into his seat. When Chadwick had taken the three of them to see the images taken by the surveillance cameras, he thought that Suzanne Ramsey was going to faint with the shock of it. Chadwick had been right, it had definitely been a female who had withdrawn over three hundred quid from the cash machine. Trouble was it had been impossible to identify the girl. At that time of night, the streets had been dark, but nonetheless the cameras had tracked her as she walked up the high street, stopping to look in the window of H&M before moving on. She wore a dark hooded sweatshirt and light coloured jeans.
‘That’s her!’ Suzanne had been convinced she was watching her daughter, her eyes glued to the monitor, chewing savagely at her bottom lip. When a group of lads had gone staggering past the girl had moved into the doorway of McDonald’s and waited for them to pass before carrying on toward the bank. She had made two withdrawals and then vanished into the skeletal market stalls.
Chadwick had played through the footage three times and with each viewing, Suzanne had become more animated, more convinced that her daughter was still alive.
Lasser sipped his drink, drumming his fingers on the table top. Perhaps she was right, but if it had been Kelly, then, what was she doing wandering the streets. Why wasn’t she back at home in the bosom of her loving family, or what was left of it, and what had caused her to do a runner in the first place?
Then again, the mother could be grasping at straws; after all, wouldn’t every grieving parent take any crumb of comfort offered. Just as you were coming to terms with the fact that your only child was more than likely dead, you find yourself offered a tenuous lifeline.
Finishing the drink, he headed for the exit, raising a hand to Sid as he pushed through the doors and onto the street. Friday night and the revellers had hit the town early; a group of teenage girls tottered past on glam rock heels, clinging to one another in an effort to stay upright. The smell of perfume mingled with aroma of fried onions and burgers filled the air, one of the girls burst out laughing, a moment later the whole group joined in, the raucous sound driving into his throbbing head.
Walking past Maxine’s nightclub, he nodded at a couple of the bouncers on the door. Perhaps he should just head home and get pissed, watch something trashy on the television or perhaps even get a shave and a shower; he ran a hand across his thickening stubble. The thought of it made him grimace; perhaps he was turning into Marshall Brooks, would that be his lot in life to shuffle around the bustling streets trying to kill time, while time saved him the bother.
Crossing the road he trudged up the High Street, suddenly feeling weary with it all, the long hours, the waste of energy that always seemed to amount to bugger all.
When someone clipped his shoulder, he raised a hand, head bent. ‘Sorry, mate.’
‘Well, I know we haven’t seen one another for a few months and I’m glad we’re still mates, but you seriously need to watch where you’re going.’
Lasser stopped and turned, for a few moments he thought the double rum was messing with his fatigued brain. ‘Cathy!’
She looked good; in fact, she looked more than good, she looked stunning.
‘How are you, Lasser?’
Taking a hesitant step towards her, he thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You look tired.’
‘That’s funny; I was just going to say the same thing to you.’
She smiled. ‘Sally said you were working tonight and yet here you are wandering the streets.’
She took a step towards him and suddenly he could smell the perfume she always wore, the memories pushed at his mind, ready to torment him, he forced them away and slammed the door.
‘Yeah well, I didn’t think I’d make for good company.’
‘Didn’t you want to see me?’
Lasser cleared his throat. ‘It wasn’t that, it’s just that I’ve tried sending you emails, I even rang your mobile a few times and when you didn’t get in touch I thought I was wasting my time.’
She held a small clutch bag in front of her. ‘I said I needed some time to sort myself out.’
Lasser lifted a hand. ‘And that’s fine, that’s why I stopped, I mean, I didn’t want to come across as some sort of stalker.’
She looked down at her feet and Lasser took the opportunity to drink in the sight of her. She was wearing a knee length black dress, and dark grey shoes, her dark hair cascading in a series of waves across her bare shoulders. When she looked up, he could see the hint of uncertainty in her eyes.
‘I wanted to get in touch, but every time I picked up the phone, I found that I couldn’t do it.’
Lasser gave her a tired smile. ‘Yeah, well maybe it’s for the best; I mean, I’m glad you made the break...’
‘Do you really mean that?’
‘I was going to say I’m glad you made the break from the job, it was making you unhappy, and why stick at something if you hate it.’
‘I never said I hated the job.’
‘Hang on, but I think you’ll find that you did, I ...’
‘I said I didn’t think I was cut out for it.’
Lasser frowned. ‘Well, that amounts to the same thing.’
‘Hardly.’
An awkward silence settled between them, a kind of calm before the inevitable storm.
‘So, what are you doing now?’ he asked.
She glanced at him and then looked away.
‘You always said when you were growing up you wanted to be a vet, so come on, did you ever get to put your arm up the business end of a cow?’ he tried to smile but his face felt strangely immobile.
She shook her head, her hair gliding like liquid silk. ‘No,’ she paused, ‘you see the truth is I ended up staying in the force.’
Lasser found himself taking a step back, a reflex action. ‘What!’
‘I should have told you, I realise that now and that’s part of the reason why I asked Sally to get in touch.’
Lasser couldn’t believe what he was hearing, all the weeks and months worrying about her and now this. ‘But you were adamant you’d had enough.’
‘I know and I thought that was the case, but Bannister persuaded me not to rush into anything. He said take a couple of months off and then re-evaluate the situation. So I decided to take his advice and then I realised he was right.’
Lasser could feel the anger fizzing through
his worn out brain, yet again left out of the loop, always the last to know. ‘Jesus Christ, all you had to do was ring me or even send a bloody email. I’ve spent months wondering what you were doing, hoping you were OK when I needn’t have bothered...’
‘Come on, that isn’t fair and you know it.’
‘Do I, so come on where are you working exactly?’ he could hear the sneer in his voice; feel the colour rising in his cheeks.
‘Southport and before you ask I’m not working the streets. I go around the local schools talking to the kids...’
‘Jesus...’
‘Look, you might think it’s a waste of time but I enjoy it.’
‘I never said it was a waste of time!’
People began to glance at them as they passed, spotting the familiar signs of a couple gearing up for a full-blown argument.
‘You don’t have to. I can see it written all over your face,’ she snapped.
‘Don’t give me that, you said you needed to get your head straight and then you didn’t even have the decency to let me know what was happening...’
‘I never actually said it was over...’
‘Oh, so it’s OK to leave me sat on my arse wondering what I’d done wrong. To ignore the calls and then think that everything is OK, Lasser will understand and if he doesn’t then he can fuck off, is that it?’
‘Stop shouting,’ she hissed.
Lasser looked around as if suddenly realising where he was, a thickset man strolled past short-sleeved shirt showing off his tribal tattoos, spray tanned to the max his hair gelled back like a reject from The Only Way Is Essex.
‘Why don’t you dump him, love, and come out with me, I’ll show you a good time?’ he thrust his hips back and forward a leery grin plastered across his face.
‘Why don’t you just fuck off, dickhead!’ Lasser spat, and watched as the man flexed his arms and cracked his neck from side to side.
‘What did you say?’
Cathy grabbed Lasser’s arm and tried to steer him away, but he snatched himself free as tattoo man stormed towards him. Lasser could hear the blood thundering through his brain, the red mist descending.
‘Come on, Lasser, leave it,’ he could hear the pleading in her voice, reaching out she grasped his hand. ‘Let’s go somewhere we can talk.’