by Rob Roughley
A thought suddenly exploded into Bannister’s head. Sinclair had been convinced that Rachael had been involved with someone else, someone who had been playing the solicitor for a fool, taking the piss. He snatched at the handle again, the car shot forward and immediately stalled. Jansen drummed his hands on the steering wheel in disbelief, like a distressed child throwing a full-blown tantrum. Reaching for the key again, he twisted his head towards the window just in time to see Bannister slam his elbow into the glass. Jansen yelped in fear, the thin barrier suddenly became opaque, a myriad of spider cracks blossomed on the surface. Grunting, Bannister stepped back and lashed out, the sole of his boot slammed against the window and Jansen suddenly found himself showered in tiny chunks of glass that resembled cheap paste diamonds. Bannister leant in through the gap as the estate manager tried desperately to scrabble into the passenger seat.
‘Come here, you shit!’ he grabbed the belt around Jansen’s waist and snatched him back behind the wheel.
Rod Jansen squealed, a razor sharp sound that made Bannister wince.
‘I never touched her!’ he screamed.
Bannister released his grip for a second whilst he flicked the central locking switch then he yanked the door open, reached inside and dragged Jansen out onto the gravel path.
‘It was her, not me, I’d never force myself on anyone!’ he looked up, his eyes pleading.
Bannister took a step back. ‘What did you say?’
‘No matter what that little bitch says, she wanted it. I only offered her some overtime and she came into my office as if butter wouldn’t bloody melt.’
Bannister tried to make sense of the words as Jansen reached out and plucked at the leg of his trousers in the same way a small child does, when trying to attract the attention of an adult.
‘I would have contacted you, you have to believe that, but she said if I didn’t come up with the money by ten then she’d make sure you knew all about it and I panicked,’ Jansen swallowed. ‘But I realise now that you can’t let people like her dictate...’
‘People like who?’
Jansen blinked up at him suddenly looking confused. ‘What?’
Bannister took a step towards him. ‘You said people like her, who are we talking about exactly?’
‘I don’t understand...’
Bannister dropped to his haunches and the estate manager scuttled away, until his back hit the car. He sat there with his legs stretched out; pale dust coated his fancy grey suit, the last rays of sunlight blasted into his eyes as it slipped towards the horizon.
‘Are you saying someone is trying to blackmail you, Mr Jansen?’
Jansen licked his cracked lips. ‘She’ll deny it but you’ve got to believe me...’
‘Who will deny it?’
‘Why do you keep asking me that?’ Jansen screeched. ‘She sent you, that bitch...’ he snapped his mouth closed as Bannister shook his head.
‘I was just taking a walk that’s all.’
Jansen’s face drained of colour until his complexion matched the dust, his expression dry and barren, ‘A walk?’
‘Now I’ll ask you again, who are we talking about?’
Jansen closed his eyes as the realisation landed on him like a ton of wet sand. ‘There seems to have been a bit of a misunderstanding, I...’
Bannister shot out a hand and grabbed him by the throat; the man’s eyes sprang open in shock, huge and filled with terror behind the designer glasses.
‘Jodie Moss!’ he gasped.
‘Never heard of her,’ Bannister tightened his grip and the colour swept back onto Jansen’s face as he struggled for breath.
‘Gift shop,’ he managed to squawk before the air was cut off completely.
Bannister could feel the blood quickening through his brain and he increased the pressure, his fingers digging deep into Jansen’s scrawny neck. He watched with a kind of strange detachment as Jansen’s pleading eyes began to lose focus and then suddenly he sprang his hand away, looking at his fingers in astonishment as if they had somehow been working independently from his brain.
Jansen retched, falling slowly onto his side his legs curling up to meet his stomach.
‘You raped her?’
The man twisted and looked up at his attacker, his face congealing into a parody of innocence. ‘No,’ he coughed. ‘She’s the one trying to blackmail me.’
‘And why would she do something like that?’
Jansen rubbed at his neck and tried to swallow but the pain made it an impossible task. ‘She had no bloody underwear on.’
Bannister blinked down at him, suddenly thrown by Jansen’s words. ‘What are you talking about?’
He scuttled into a sitting position, a small cloud of dust billowed up between them, his breathing wheezy like an asthmatic in desperate need of an inhaler. ‘We had sex, I won’t deny that, but she was the one who instigated it and she’s not underage and...’
‘And you say she works here?’
‘Yes.’
‘How old is this Jodie Moss?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Jansen mumbled, suddenly looking shame faced.
Bannister jabbed a finger into the man’s chest.
‘Seventeen I think.’ Jansen spluttered.
‘You think?’
‘She’s no younger, I swear she’s no younger than that, in fact, she looks a lot older. I mean, you know what they’re like with their skirts up to here,’ he jabbed at his own midriff. ‘False tan, false nails, false bloody everything...’
‘But a great shag?’ Bannister suddenly leered.
Jansen wiped a hand across his forehead and looked at Bannister with uncertainty.
‘Come on, Jansen, I bet she’s got long blond hair?’
Jansen nodded, ‘Bloody extensions.’
‘Tit’s out here,’ he held his hands up in front of his chest. ‘I know the type, always shaking their arse when they walk, leading you on and giving you that look?’
Jansen watched, his lips, mesmerised. ‘You do understand!’
‘You see them all the time in this job.’ Bannister replied straight faced.
‘I swear on my kid’s lives, all I was trying to do was offer the girl a little overtime. I know how hard it is to make a decent living; God knows I’ve struggled over the years...’
‘So you try and help her out and this is how she repays you?’
Amazingly, Jansen even managed a weak smile, who would have believed it, a man who knew how these young sluts operated. ‘As soon as the door was closed she was all over me...’
‘Gagging for it?’
‘I tried to resist...’
Bannister spread his hands. ‘Hey come on, how can you resist someone like that when they offer it on a plate?’
Jansen scuttled to his knees, a sense of relief washed through his system like an enema for the soul. ‘I tell you, I’ve never had sex like it. She was the one fucking me, do you know what I mean?’ he plucked at Bannister’s sleeve; recognising a kindred spirit, his eyes alight with distorted lust. ‘It was as if she couldn’t get enough of me, as if she...’
‘Wanted to fuck you good?’
‘That’s it!’
Bannister’s face slowly closed down; in much the same way a power cut spreads through a city until nothing’s left but darkness. ‘Yes well, she’s certainly done that, now get up.’
Jansen’s smile faltered. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘You’re under arrest.’
‘But...’
Bannister dug the toe of his shoe into Jansen’s thigh and suddenly the man was on his feet.
‘But I thought you understood, you said you knew people like her?’
‘Oh I do, Mr Jansen, believe me, I do. Now you’re going to tell me everything about this Jodie Moss, where she lives, the people she knows and if you’re straight with me I’ll make sure you get to the station in one piece.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean?’ Jansen looked as if he were about to cry, all the st
ress and strain welling up inside desperate to find an outlet.
‘But if I think for one minute that you’re holding out on me or trying to bullshit your way out of this then I’ll beat you so badly that even your own children will run when they see you, is that understood?’
‘But you’re a policeman, you can’t do that, I have rights.’ Jansen wailed, the tears breaking free at last, forming twin track marks down his dust covered cheeks.
‘Forget I’m a policeman, for the next few minutes let’s just say I’m a concerned parent.’
Grabbing Jansen by the arm, he steered him through the main entrance of the Hall; Bannister slammed the double doors shut and flipped over the closed sign. ‘Right, start talking.’
91
‘So, what do we do now?’
‘Well, you can either stay here or join me for a tour of the grounds’ Lasser clicked open the door and climbed out. A moment later, Medea was looking at him over the roof of the car.
‘I thought the neighbour said Mrs Ramsey wasn’t in?’
‘She did,’ he beeped the alarm before walking up the drive with Medea in pursuit.
‘So, why bother coming to the house when you know no one is here?’
Lasser looked at her over the flowerbed. ‘You ask a lot of questions, do you know that?’
‘Well, excuse me but I’m not used to all this cloak and dagger stuff.’
Lasser shrugged and then diverted onto the lawn, peering in through the front window. ‘Let’s just say I’m hoping someone will put in an appearance.’
‘The neighbour?’
He shielded his eyes as he looked into the room. ‘I thought you said you weren’t used to all this cloak and dagger stuff?’
‘Well I’m not, but who else can it be?’
Lasser glanced at the house opposite; a new Mercedes soft top parked on the drive, the only evidence that someone was home. ‘Let’s take a look around the back.’
‘But why?’
‘Just humour me, woman.’
Media thrust her hands onto her hips. ‘I hope that was said as some kind of joke, because...’
Lasser grinned. ‘I didn’t have you pegged as a feminist.’
‘And I’d like to say I didn’t have you down as a sexist, but I don’t like to lie.’
‘Relax, I was only winding you up,’ he leapt over the flowerbed and made his way along the side of the house.
‘Why do you do that?’ she asked as she followed him along the path.
‘Do what?’ he tried the gate, smiling to himself as it clicked open.
‘Why do you say things that you know will annoy people?’
‘They teach it at training college – how to get up people’s noses and irritate your average bystander – I came top of the class.’ The rear garden appeared bathed in the last of the day’s sunlight; the hot tub in the corner now had the lid clicked firmly back in place.
‘Wow, look at this place,’ Medea walked onto the immaculate grass, her eyes taking in the huge glass fronted summerhouse and the expensive patio furniture, the sheer size of the place was impressive.
Lasser went to the French windows and gave a cursory glance inside before pulling out a chair and flopping down into it.
Medea looked at him in amazement. ‘So that’s it, you’re just going to sit there and wait?’
Pulling out his cigarettes, he lit up and shrugged at her through the smoke. ‘I’ve spent too much time running around like a blue-arsed fly.’
‘But I thought this was urgent, I thought you were onto something important?’
‘Look, Medea, just sit down and take a chill pill.’
‘I shouldn’t even be here; I mean, this can’t be right, dragging me around with you...’
‘If I’d thought there was the time I’d have taken you back to my place and dropped you off...’
‘But you’re just sat there doing nothing.’
Lasser drew on the smoke and blew it out with a sigh. ‘It might not look like it but I’m actually working.’
Medea shook her head before reluctantly pulling out a chair. ‘I wish I had job where I could call sitting on my backside work.’
‘You do have a job like that.’
‘Very funny,’ she folded her arms. Somewhere above a skylark started to sing, the trilling notes running over one another in a complex crescendo. ‘This must be a lovely place to live.’
‘You think so?’
Medea stretched her arms wide, tilting her head towards the raspberry smeared sunset. ‘All this space, the summerhouse, the hot tub...’
‘You wouldn’t want to go in there.’
She frowned, ‘Why not?’
‘Because that’s where they found Jonathan Ramsey floating face down.’
Medea gasped. ‘What?’
‘So you see first impressions can often be deceiving.’
When Lasser heard the latch on the garden gate click, he suddenly sat upright, dropping the smoke onto the patio flags and grinding it into extinction with the heel of his shoe, show time.
92
Jodie slammed open the gate oblivious to the racket as it bounced off the concrete post and clanged shut behind her. Storming down the weed-littered path she began hammering on the door with both hands, her anger slowly crawling up to fever pitch. When she saw the distorted figure through the frosted glass, she allowed herself a brittle smile. Although when the door swung open, the grin faltered and died, replaced by a look of contempt.
‘Is she in?’ she spat.
Dave Metcalf looked at her in amazement. ‘Jodie, what are you doing here?’
‘That’s a nice way to greet your daughter.’
‘Hey wait, no. I’m sorry, come in, come in,’ he moved to the side, Jodie didn’t budge an inch.
She looked him up and down, a sneer twisting her mouth. ‘I don’t think so; just get Zoe.’
‘But she isn’t here.’
Jodie glared and thrust her hands into the pockets of the sweatshirt. ‘Well where is she?’
Metcalf shrugged. ‘I haven’t a clue; I’ve only just got in from work. Look, why don’t you come in and wait, I can put the kettle on and we can...’
‘Can what, catch up, is that what you were going to say, have a little chat!’ she spat at his feet.
Metcalf took a shocked step back. ‘Jesus girl, there’s no need to be like that.’
‘Why don’t you just fuck off, eh, Dave, why don’t you get back into your pathetic little house and get on with your piss poor life?’ She smiled, enjoying the shock on his face, the way his eyes couldn’t bear to hold hers, the sense of bewilderment that came off him in waves. Loved it.
‘Come on, sweetheart, I thought we’d got over all this...’
‘All what, oh, you mean the way you abandoned me, the way you forgot I ever existed?’
Metcalf sighed as if this was a tall-tale told once too often. ‘I’ve tried to explain to you before it wasn’t like that, me and your mother decided...’
‘Leave that stupid fat cunt out of this!’
Metcalf’s big hands suddenly became big fists. ‘Don’t use language like that...’
‘Or what, come on, Dave, what the fuck are you going to do about it?’
He glanced over her shoulder; he could see the perennial nosey neighbour across the road perched on her doorstep like a gargoyle in rollers, absorbing it all like a sponge so she could gossip about it later to her so-called friends.
‘Just keep your voice down,’ he hissed, as soon as he spoke the words he realised it was a mistake.
Jodie snapped a look over her shoulder. ‘What the fuck are you looking at you nosey old bitch!’ she screamed, her face mottled with rage.
Metcalf snapped out his hand and grabbed her elbow. Jodie turned and immediately attacked; coming at him like a dervish, raking her acrylic nails down his left cheek, drawing blood. The sight of it only seemed to drive her forward, seemed to enrage her further.
‘Bastard!’ she hissed and
snapped up her knee, catching him a glancing blow on the top of his thigh.
Dave Metcalf had never hit a woman in his life, let alone one of his own kids, but instinctively he lashed out, the open palm of his work-calloused hand slamming hard against the side of Jodie’s head. It was as if the world suddenly stopped turning, he could see the woman across the road, her mouth open in a perfect parody of shocked surprise. Jodie clattered sideways into the black wheelie bin, her blond hair whipped across her face.
Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the twinkly tune of an ice cream van doing the rounds.
‘Jesus!’ he reached down. ‘Jo, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean...’
‘Cunt!’ she lashed out, slamming her foot hard into his right knee.
Metcalf grunted and staggered back. In an instant, she was back on her feet, the left side of her face showing a perfect imprint of his hand. The sight of it drilled into his heart, leaving a little seed of shame that would grow, flourish, and haunt him forever.
‘I’ve already told you she isn’t here, sweetheart...’
‘Liar!’ Jodie shot past him and flew up the stairs her hair trailing behind. ‘Zoe!’ she screamed.
Dave looked across the road but the woman had vanished. He could feel the twin slivers of blood sliding down his cheeks, absently he wiped them away and the palm of his hand came away slick with crimson. Turning, he moved to the bottom of the stairs, it sounded as if Jodie were ransacking the house he could hear thuds and bangs followed by curses. He recognised the sound of the wardrobe doors being yanked open and then slammed shut. Then she appeared at the top of the stairs glaring down at him, her chest heaving, eyes rabid with anger.
‘Listen, Jo, why do you want Zoe, has she done something wrong?’
She pushed a hand through her hair, Metcalf watched as a few loose strands of her extensions drifted to the carpet. ‘She hung up on me,’ she said nonchalantly, as if this was a perfectly acceptable reason for her behaviour.
‘She hung up on you?’ he repeated in disbelief.
She walked down towards him with deliberate slowness. ‘That’s right, I was talking to her on the phone and she cut me off.’
Metcalf shook his head as if to dispel an annoying tic. ‘Maybe her battery died; I mean, she’s always forgetting to charge the damn thing.’