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

by Rob Roughley

  ‘Because he’s the only one I can think of who had reason to hate Fulcom.’

  A truck swept past buffeting the car. ‘Because his stepdaughter was being shagged by that bastard Fulcom?’

  Lasser looked at his boss in surprise. ‘It might be worth a try.’

  ‘Agreed, we can catch up with the slimy sod later.’

  Ten minutes later, they pulled up outside a block of newly built apartments on the outskirts of town, each with its own balcony overlooking a small park. Spenner was standing outside the main entrance, a grim look of determination on his annoying face. On the pavement opposite a small group of locals had gathered trying to find out what was going on.

  ‘Flat number eight, sir,’ Spenner said as Bannister strode past, the DCI ignored him and pushed through the door. Lasser peered at Spenner as he walked passed, the young PC smiled at him.

  ‘Good morning, boss.’

  ‘Morning, Spenner, did you have a good night?’

  The smile widened, ‘Fantastic.’

  Lasser grimaced as he followed Bannister up the stairwell. Images of Cathy and Spenner, laughing, dancing, fucking, badgering his head.

  Inside, the flat was neat and tidy with a narrow hall leading to a bedroom complete with double bed and fitted wardrobes. The kitchen was tiny; the draining board had two cups and two dishes stacked neatly on the metal rack.

  The living room was typical of the modern build, all wooden floors, and neutral colours, one wall taken up by a large print of a field of daffodils with a bright red sofa facing a huge plasma TV.

  Bannister looked around the room as if disappointed. ‘It hardly looks like student accommodation.’

  Lasser had to agree, there was no sign of the usual clutter you would expect to find, no empty plates or magazines scattered about, no discarded clothes. The place felt as if a young professional lived here, someone with an ordered mind and plenty of cash.

  ‘There’s no sign of a bed settee,’ Lasser pondered.

  ‘But cups and plates for two on the drainer.’

  ‘Which means the flat mate either kipped on the sofa or shared the bed...’

  ‘I’m not an idiot, Sergeant.’ Bannister yanked open a set of drawers and began to rummage through the contents.

  Lasser walked back down the narrow hall and into the bedroom, the bed was neatly made, a cabinet stood either side, each decorated with a chrome lamp. Sliding open the drawer of the nearest he pulled out a paperback book and flipped through the pages before dropping it onto the bed. Apart from a pack of headache tablets, the drawer was empty. Walking around the bed, he slid open the other set of drawers and looked down in surprise.

  ‘What have you got?’

  Lasser looked over his shoulder, Bannister stood framed in the doorway.

  Pulling out a vibrator, Lasser turned, watching as Bannister’s eyes widened. Placing it on the bed, he reached down and pulled out a flesh coloured double-ended dildo, along with a pair of fluffy red handcuffs and a tube of lubricant.

  ‘Well I think we can safely say that the flatmate wasn’t sleeping on the sofa,’ Lasser said.

  Bannister pursed his lips and looked down at the collection of sex toys, ‘What about the other cupboard?’

  ‘Apart from a book and some headache tablets, it’s empty.’

  Bannister turned and slid open the wardrobe door, a sweet smell of perfume drifted across the room. All the clothes were hanging neatly from metal coat hangers; he pushed one or two summer dresses to the side and rummaged through a pile of T-shirts before sliding the door closed.

  ‘I’ll get Spenner and Black to go door-to-door see if anyone can put a name to the flatmate.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Put that bloody stuff away and wait in the car.’

  Lasser did as he was told, when he looked up Bannister had disappeared.

  78

  Suzanne looked at the dent in the pillow from where Alan had slept. She had watched him through the early hours of the morning, her mind unable to switch off from the image of their daughter drawing money from the cash machine in town.

  When he’d arrived back from Fulcom’s house, daylight had been seeping through the curtains. He had looked beyond tired, his skin grey with fatigue, she’d led him like a child to the bathroom and they’d showered together holding onto one another like survivors after a train wreck letting the water cleanse them. Then they’d slid beneath the sheets and made love, the tears they shed had mingled, and as she reached orgasm an immense feeling of relief and guilt had swept through her body, leaving her feeling broken and yet somehow made whole again. Then he had slept, his breath caressing her breast, raising a nipple until it ached to be touched.

  When his mobile started to ring, she’d wanted to find the thing and switch it off before it could disturb his slumber. His eyes had fluttered open and just for a second he’d looked at her with a smile on his tired face, then reality snapped back into place and the spark had died. Five minutes later, he leant over and brushed his lips across hers before heading for the door.

  Suzanne turned onto her back and stretched out beneath the duvet, feeling the tender ache in her muscles. What would happen when they found, Kelly, how would she react when she discovered the man she had always considered to be her father was dead? She tried to picture the scene though her mind shied away from the scenario. She would deal with that when the time arrived, the important thing was to find her and bring her home safely everything else could wait.

  Pushing back the covers, she rose and headed towards the bathroom, she was halfway across the room when her phone began to ring.

  79

  ‘I can’t be one hundred percent certain, but it’s definitely a close match,’ Shannon snapped off the latex gloves. This morning his beard looked tamed, as if he’d spent the night wrestling with his wayward facial hair.

  The body of Fulcom was laid out on the metal gurney, hidden beneath a thin plastic sheet that rippled as the air conditioning hummed overhead.

  ‘But you’re sure it’s oil?’ Lasser asked.

  ‘Positive, I found residues of oil and grease mixed in with the blood and tissue. I can also give you a rudimentary cast of the boots the killer was wearing.’

  ‘So it’s the same bastard that killed Sophie Washham?’ Bannister looked drained as if this new piece of evidence had somehow burst his hopeful bubble.

  ‘It’s not definite, but like I said, it’s a close match.’

  ‘What about Williams, he runs a garage?’ Bannister looked at Lasser with more than a hint of accusation in his eyes.

  ‘He’s clean, we checked with his wife, after dropping Zoe Metcalf off he was at home in bed by one o’clock.’

  ‘And that’s it, his wife can vouch for him and you think that’s adequate?’

  Lasser knew Bannister was looking for a scapegoat, someone he could rip into to soothe his growing feeling of helplessness. ‘We also have a neighbour who was out walking his dog when Williams arrived home, they stood on the drive and chatted about the match for about five minutes and he watched our man go into his house.’

  Bannister ran a hand across his short hair. ‘What else can you tell us?’

  The pathologist had a dig around inside his beard as if looking for hidden treasure. ‘I’d say the man responsible weighed quite a bit.’

  Bannister snorted. ‘And that’s your expert opinion is it, he weighed quite a bit.’

  Lasser watched as Shannon’s face darkened. ‘Fourteen stones, maybe more, but not fat not obese.’

  ‘And nothing else was used in the attack?’ Lasser asked, trying to diffuse the anger that crackled in the sterile room.

  Shannon popped the buttons on his white lab coat, revealing a black and white cheque lumberjack shirt beneath, ‘Just the boots, Sergeant, nothing else.’

  ‘How can you be sure they were boots?’ Bannister snapped.

  ‘Well, considering the size and depth of the tread, it seems likely they were a heavy
industrial boot, possibly with steel toecaps.’

  ‘More bloody guesswork,’ Bannister mumbled.

  Lasser looked at his boss in dismay, as far as he was concerned, Shannon was being a damn sight more helpful than Molder had ever been.

  Shannon’s meaty fists disappeared into the pockets of his lab coat. ‘OK then, he was wearing ballet shoes and weighed no more than six stones. He, or of course, she, probably used some sort of intricate weights attached to a motor to give the impression that it was a heavy male wearing work boots who did the killing. I’d say that you’re looking for a genius of disguise, who has body issues and likes to cross dress. Is that more helpful to you?’

  Lasser looked at Shannon in amazement and then turned to Bannister, watching as the colour seeped from his haggard face, his eyes narrowing, he took a step forward and Lasser braced himself for a pitched battle. When Bannister began to laugh, Lasser thought he’d slipped into a parallel universe, where everything was the polar opposite. He looked towards Shannon who was grinning like an idiot and a moment later he also found himself laughing along with the two men. Bannister bent double, his hands resting on his knees, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably, as expected Shannon’s laugh turned out to be a deep baritone rumble.

  80

  Jodie set the alarm before closing and locking the door to the gift shop. The last of the late afternoon sunlight lit the cobbled courtyard, a couple of wood pigeons pecked at the ground searching for crumbs. Sliding the bag across her shoulder, she made her way under the stone arch and out into the park. Bobby Finch was leaning against the fence, a tentative smile on his fleshy lips.

  ‘Are you off home then, Jodie?’ he asked.

  ‘I wish. I’m just on my way to the Hall.’

  ‘I thought you finished at five?’

  ‘Normally I do, but Jansen wants me to help him with some stocktaking or something,’ she flicked her hair and Bobby almost groaned aloud. ‘Do you want to walk with me?’

  ‘Er, yeah if you want.’

  She linked her arm through his, smiling when she felt him shiver. ‘How’s Stan?’

  For a moment Bobby couldn’t reply, his lips felt numb and a cold sweat broke out on his brow. ‘Well, I don’t think he’ll be coming back to work.’

  ‘That’s a shame, I liked Stan,’ they walked beneath a huge Douglas fir, the ground a carpet of fallen needles. ‘So you’ll be taking over his job then?’ she looked at Finch and smiled.

  ‘I doubt it. I can’t see Jansen offering me the job.’

  Jodie frowned. ‘Why not, even when Stan was here you were the one doing all the work?’

  ‘Thing is, I don’t have a licence, so I can’t drive the van.’

  ‘Why don’t you take lessons?’

  ‘I don’t have that sort of cash, and besides he’ll probably want someone with more experience.’

  ‘I didn’t realise you were inexperienced, Bobby?’

  He almost stumbled on the cobbles. Righting himself, he looked away in embarrassment he felt huge and cumbersome at the side of the petite girl, like some throw back to the Stone Age. He’d never been good with girls, he even found it hard to talk to the plain looking ones, and Jodie Moss was anything but plain. Suddenly everything felt like a mess, he was big and stupid, only good for lifting and carrying. His coordination was non-existent, his face felt like sticky dough.

  All he could envision was a lifetime of feeling inadequate, stumbling from one disaster to another. He knew girls thought he was an idiot, he’d seen them when he’d been out with his mates, laughing behind cupped hands.

  His sister had tried to get him to dress in trendy clothes, instead of his usual ten-pound jeans from Primark and the baggy T-shirts that hid his paunch. Six months earlier, he’d allowed her to pick him some stuff from the catalogue, combat pants that hung down between the legs and a lilac shirt that had looked ridiculous. His mates had looked at him in amazement and then burst into fits of uncontrollable laughter. Bobby had pretended to laugh along with them and then endured the worst night of his life as they went around the pubs and clubs. When one girl had commented that he looked like twenty pounds of shit in a ten-pound bag; Bobby had dashed from the pub, distraught. Later that night he’d taken the clothes and burned them in the small backyard, the fact that he was still paying eight pounds a month for the pleasure, only made him feel worse.

  He threw a look over his shoulder, his eyes taking in her stunning face and figure and then he began to stride away across the grass, desperate to get away from this place.

  ‘I thought you were walking me to the Hall?’ she cried in amusement.

  He didn’t stop, didn’t look over his shoulder, he simply scuttled away his brain full of teenage turmoil.

  Jodie smiled to herself and carried on walking with a spring in her step.

  A couple of minutes later she made her way through the entrance to the Hall, wrinkling her nose at the smell of the place. It didn’t seem to matter which air fresheners they used, the Hall always reminded her of some old person doused with perfume to hide the stink of decay that lingered beneath. Standing outside Jansen’s door, she paused for a moment, sliding her hand beneath the short black skirt she slid down her underwear before dropping it into her bag and knocking on the door.

  81

  The low hanging sun blasted into the car, smoke billowed from the open windows as a nurse strode past she threw them both a look of disgust. Bannister coughed and then took a drink from a carton of Ribena, sucking on the small straw like a comforter. The glass-fronted hospital was infused with plum coloured light; the parking ticket on the car had expired almost an hour ago.

  ‘Do you think it was her on the CCTV?’ he asked.

  Lasser let the smoke drift from his nose, the magnified heat making him feel lethargic. ‘As far as I could see, it’s impossible to tell.’

  ‘But Suzanne’s convinced,’ he looked at Lasser and sighed. ‘You think she’s fooling herself?’

  ‘I wouldn’t blame her, but then again she could well be right. I mean, the prom night was full of kids, sixteen, seventeen year olds.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Well, any dodgy adult would have stood out like a sore thumb.’

  ‘But the kids who attended would only have known the teachers from their own school.’

  Lasser shrugged. ‘Yes, but apart from Fulcom there was only one other male teacher in attendance.’

  ‘Has he been checked?’

  Lasser nodded. ‘James Jolley, fifty four, a science teacher from Beech Hill secondary modern.’

  ‘But...?’

  ‘The man’s in a wheelchair, he suffered spinal injuries after an RTA in two thousand and eleven.’

  Bannister grunted in disappointment. ‘But Kelly could have arranged to meet someone outside, someone we know nothing about.’

  ‘Think about it, according to Zoe Metcalf, Kelly only left the room after being roasted by Fulcom, even he admitted that.’

  Bannister tossed the cigarette out of the window in anger and then immediately lit another.

  Lasser thought for a moment before asking the next question, trying to decide if he had enough time to throw open the door and dive for cover if Bannister took it the wrong way. ‘If the girl drawing money from the account is Kelly,’ he paused, ‘then why hasn’t she simply returned home?’

  Bannister clamped the cigarette between his front teeth, gnawing on the filter, his eyes hardening through the smoke. ‘You think something was going on at home?’

  ‘Well it’s something we have to consider.’

  ‘That’s what you think, is it?’

  ‘If it is Kelly, then there’s a chance she knows Jonathan is dead and yet she isn’t with her mother. She isn’t there mourning the fact that the man she thinks is her father is dead. I mean, it doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Be careful, Sergeant,’ Bannister’s voice dropped, one hand gripping the wheel, the knuckles shining white.

  ‘But that’s the problem, you
’re trying to do the job, but you’re not prepared to look at the bigger picture.’

  A meaty finger suddenly appeared under Lasser’s nose. ‘We’ve already been over this and I won’t tell you again...’

  ‘So, if this was a normal case, who would we be looking at? If Suzanne is right, why is Kelly staying away?’

  ‘Lasser, you’d better watch your step,’ the hand slid from the wheel, closing into a fist.

  Lasser squared his shoulders. ‘You either want to do this properly or pussyfoot around without ever getting to the truth. We have to start asking the right questions and that means looking into the family more closely. If you were not personally involved, you’d be all over them like a sodding rash.’

  Bannister’s nostrils flared, his mouth set into a twisted grimace. ‘Get out.’

  ‘What?’ Lasser asked in surprise.

  ‘Get out of the car.’

  ‘So you don’t care about your daughter, is that it?’ Lasser spat out the words without thinking.

  Bannister grabbed the collar of his jacket, his eyes frantic with anger. ‘What did you say?’

  Lasser didn’t move, didn’t react. ‘Look, I can see you still love Suzanne but...’

  ‘What are you talking about, I...’

  ‘My love life might be non-existent, but that doesn’t mean I can’t spot the signs. But it’s getting in the way; it’s clouding your judgment.’

  ‘Out!’ Bannister pointed at the door.

  ‘But I don’t have a bloody car.’

  Bannister turned the key, the engine fired into life. ‘Not my problem.’

  Lasser looked at the man sitting behind the wheel and shook his head. ‘You are fucking unreal, do you know that?’ he hissed, before clicking open the door and clambering out.

  Bannister drove away, leaving him standing in the middle of the deserted car park like a lost soul.

  82

  ‘I want a grand by ten in the morning.’ Jodie said as she slid her panties back on. ‘Or I cry rape.’

  Jansen sat behind the desk trying desperately to shove his shrivelled member back into his trousers, the feeling of post-sex euphoria vanishing as her words seeped into his head.