The Way That It Falls: DS Lasser series volume 2 (The DS Lasser series.)

by Robin Roughley

  ‘Yes well, you’re not in Chester are you?’

  ‘So you’re telling me this kind of daylight robbery is a common occurrence around here?’

  Lasser ignored the question. ‘Can you put a value on the chains, Mr Foster?’

  ‘Nearly four thousand pounds.’

  The thief would already be stalking the local boozers trying to flog them for next to nothing. He would make a few quid and the punters got a snazzy Christmas present for the missus. Munroe would be able to claim on the insurance so the only person who had lost in all this was the old woman on her way to the hospital.

  ‘Well if you want my advice, Mr Foster, I’d get your cameras fixed as soon as possible and then try to remember that around here people with money do not normally wear hoodies.’

  ‘But they do in…’

  ‘I appreciate that, but lads from this town don’t wear them as a fashion statement, they wear them to conceal their face.’

  A mobile started to trill ‘I am what I am.’ Foster checked the number and blanched.

  ‘Oh God, it’s Mr Munroe,’ he pushed the phone back into his pocket as if it were radioactive.

  ‘Shouldn’t you answer that?’

  ‘I’ll ring him back in a minute,’ he shook himself as if waking from a bad dream. ‘Now what do you intend doing about all this?’

  ‘Well, considering your cameras aren’t working and you can’t provide me with a description of the culprit, then there’s very little I can do.’

  ‘But surely you have surveillance cameras in the street?’

  ‘Have you seen the weather out there? Whoever took the chains knew your cameras weren't wired up. They also knew the rain would make it difficult for us to get a good look at them.’

  Foster wiped a hand down his face the signet rings on his fingers flashed.

  ‘This is a disaster.’

  ‘No, Mr Foster, it’s an inconvenience.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘It’s a disaster for the old lady who just got carted off to the hospital. Now if you’ll excuse me, PC Spenner will take your statement.’ Spenner looked over his shoulder and nodded.

  Lasser walked to the doorway, the rain was still falling though without the same intensity. McDonald's was emptying as shoppers hit the streets again looking up at the sky like pale faced zombies.

  Cathy stood on the pavement peering at the display in the window ‘What about a watch for Christmas?’

  ‘At these prices, forget it.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘I’ll give you twenty a piece.’

  Shaun shook his head in disbelief. ‘You’re taking the piss, right?’

  Sammy Weisman smiled, the gold teeth in his wide mouth winked in the angle poise light. As soon as Shaun had entered the shop, Sammy had locked the door and beckoned him into the back room like some obese Fagin. ‘I’m sorry my friend but times are hard.’

  ‘Fuck off, Sammy, everyone knows you’re minted.’

  The pawnbroker lifted his heavy shoulders, his braces stretched to breaking point. ‘You shouldn’t listen to rumours, I struggle the same as anyone else,’ his flabby face looked forlorn, though his eyes remained hard and unflinching.

  ‘Thirty, come on, you know they’re worth at least that,’ Miller pleaded.

  ‘No can do.’

  ‘Twenty fucking quid it’s pathetic.’

  ‘It still amounts to four hundred and considering you got them for nothing then I think you'll have done very well out of the transaction.’

  ‘But I could take them around the pubs and clubs and get fifty or sixty quid each.’

  Sammy pushed the chains across the table. ‘Then I suggest you get going.’

  Miller frowned; the fat bastard knew exactly what he was doing. The filth would be on the lookout for anyone trying to flog iffy chains. All it needed was for him to approach the wrong punter and they would be on to him.

  ‘Twenty five, come on man, it’s nearly Christmas.’

  ‘I am Jewish, Shaun.’

  Miller looked at him blankly. ‘What's that got to do with anything?'

  ‘Jews don’t celebrate Christmas.’

  Shaun didn’t know if he was taking the piss or not, Weisman smiled and shifted his bulk, the chair groaning under the strain.

  ‘Twenty-three.’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  ‘What?'

  Sammy sighed. ‘The longer you sit here and argue the less I'll be prepared to pay. I mean, the police could come banging on my door any minute and if they find you here then I'll simply say I was going to ring them as soon as you left…’

  ‘You’re a twat, Sammy, you know that?’

  ‘Eighteen.’

  ‘OK, OK, you’ve got a deal,’ he said through gritted teeth.

  ‘Good boy, now wait here and I’ll get your money.’ He pushed himself up from the chair and lumbered into the small back room. Shaun looked around for something to steal but Sammy had all the valuables safely locked away. He never took risks, especially this close to Christmas. Thirty seconds later, he waddled back into the room and dropped the cash onto the table.

  Shaun snatched it up and began counting.

  ‘It’s all there. Now if you don’t mind I'd like to lock up and get home.’

  Shoving the wad into his pocket, they headed back into the shop.

  Sammy opened the door and looked out at the rain. ‘Look at this weather, will it ever stop?’

  ‘Fuck off, you fat bastard.’ Flipping up the hood of his jacket, Shaun vanished into the downpour.

  Sammy couldn’t help but smile.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lasser dipped the last shred of poppadum into the lime pickle and popped it into his mouth.

  ‘So the cameras weren’t even connected?’ Cathy sat curled on the sofa, wrapped in a bath towel, her dark hair piled high on her head Amy Winehouse style.

  ‘Pathetic isn’t it. Foster acted as if thieving was something that only happened in third world countries. I tried telling him; compared to Chester, Wigan is a third world country.’

  ‘Hey, maybe we should have a day shopping in Chester. I bet it's lovely at this time of year.’

  Lasser looked unconvinced. ‘It won’t be ‘lovely’ for bank accounts.’

  ‘Tight arse.'

  ‘I’m only an impoverished DS and we both know I’ll never reach the rarefied atmosphere of Detective Inspector.’

  Cathy stretched to her left showing an expanse of pale milky skin, before clicking on the table lamp. ‘Talking of the great and the good, have you met Bannister yet?’

  ‘Yesterday, he got us all together for a morale boosting session.’

  ‘I was talking to Diane Schuler; she worked under him at Manchester. According to her he’s fair but firm.’

  Lasser looked unconvinced. ‘They’re all fair as long as everything’s going their way. The firm bit comes when they’re looking for a scapegoat.’

  ‘Has anyone ever commented on your cynical streak?’

  He took a gulp of lager and lit his first cigarette of the night. ‘Mind your tongue and don’t forget you’re addressing a senior officer, so the occasional ‘sir’ wouldn’t go amiss.’

  She smiled over the rim of the glass. ‘Did he say anything about Simms?’

  Lasser flicked his ash into the pot of mango chutney. It had been over twelve months since DCI Simms had lost his life on the windswept moors. Shot in the head by a maniac with a high-powered rifle. Lasser had been there when it happened and the whole affair could still wake him in the night drenched in sweat with the duvet twisted around him like a straight jacket.

  ‘No he didn’t, then again these guys never say much. He was on the ball when it came to statistics though; he had the PowerPoint out highlighting all the areas we need to improve.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Ah! Now he was addressing senior members of his,’ Lasser smiled, ‘team,’ ‘I don’t think it’s for the ears of a lowly WPC.’

 
‘If you don’t tell me then you can turn that electric fire off right now.’

  ‘No hot and heavy on the sheepskin?’

  ‘Not a chance.’

  ‘OK, he said we have to make more use of the minions…’

  ‘He never said that.’

  ‘Well, I might be paraphrasing but according to him the force needs to be streamlined…’

  ‘You mean getting rid of more front liners like me?’

  ‘He says no, but then again we both know these people lie through their teeth. Plus they’ve just had a delivery of six new mountain bikes.’

  Cathy groaned. ‘Not more community officers?’

  ‘It looks that way.’

  Cathy rubbed at her hair with the towel. ‘By the time they’ve finished we’ll all be pedalling around on two wheels.’

  ‘I bet you’d look good in a pair of cycling shorts.’

  ‘Pervert,’ she spat.

  ‘I prefer red-blooded male.’

  Cathy yawned, covering her mouth with a hand.

  ‘Are you tired?’ he asked.

  ‘I think I’ve eaten too much. It’s alright for you, I was on duty at six this morning.’

  ‘I told you not to have that last mushroom bhaji.’

  She stifled a burp. ‘Why don’t we go to bed?’

  He stubbed out the cigarette and stood up, stretching his arms toward the ceiling before reluctantly flicking off the fire. ‘OK, I’ll let you off tonight.’

  ‘Why thank you kindly, sir.’

  He smiled.

  She popped the middle finger.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lasser grabbed a brew from the machine of death, yawned and headed toward the incident room. Halfway along the beige corridor, he heard someone bellow his name.

  DI Rimmer was standing outside his office, finger crooked in a come-hither gesture. ‘I need a quick word,’ he disappeared back inside without waiting for a reply.

  What now, Lasser thought, taking his time trying to think if he'd dropped a bollock and was in for a roasting.

  Popping his head around the door, he forced a smile. ‘What can I do for you, sir?’

  ‘Well you can start by coming in and parking your arse.’

  Lasser tried to judge his mood, six months earlier Rimmer had been transferred from Manchester and the jury was still out as to whether he was an OK guy or a complete tosser. He was in his early fifties, suit crumpled, five o’clock shadow covered his two chins.

  Lasser slid into the moulded plastic chair and waited.

  Rimmer licked his index finger and began to rub at a dubious stain on his pale blue tie, after half a minute he gave up with a huff.

  ‘I was looking at your report on the robbery at Munroe’s jewellers.’

  ‘Right,’ he relaxed, no major cock up there he was sure of it.

  ‘Is it true about the cameras?’ Rimmer asked.

  ‘Yeah, apparently they’re having them connected today.’

  ‘Bloody idiots.’

  ‘Well it takes all sorts.’

  Rimmer ran a hand across his stubble. ‘And what about the man you chased, he escaped over the church wall?’

  ‘You know what these people are like; it’s like chasing the road runner.’

  ‘When you get to my age you don’t bother running, it’s not worth the effort.’

  He could believe that, Rimmer looked as if he had spent the night on a park bench.

  ‘Anyway, the elderly woman he ran into…’

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Not good, Sergeant, she’s in Wigan General. According to the doctor she has a fractured skull, three broken ribs and a collapsed lung.’

  ‘Jesus, I didn’t realise it was that bad.’

  ‘She’s no spring chicken, Lasser, eighty-five and according to the surgeon she'll be lucky to see the night out.’

  Lasser blew out through pursed lips, all that for the sake of a few chains.

  ‘Her name is Charlotte Green.’ Lasser waited for him to continue. ‘She’s the grandmother of Callum Green.

  Lasser whistled. ‘Christ, I don’t envy the bugger who has to break the news to him.’

  Rimmer looked pained. ‘Yes well, that unenviable task fell to yours truly.’

  ‘How did he take it?’

  ‘You know Green, how do you think he took it?’

  Lasser felt for the man. Callum Green lived on the outskirts of town in a big mock Georgian monstrosity. According to records he ran a successful haulage company, the truth was he had close ties to heavy hitters in Manchester and beyond. Lasser was convinced he supplied all the drugs that washed through the pubs and clubs within a twenty-mile radius.

  ‘As you can imagine, I decided it best to take a few colleagues along for the ride.’

  He could understand that, Green was a big bastard with a short fuse. ‘So if Green catches up with our man before we do, then...’

  ‘Yes well, that’s why I wanted to see you.’ Lasser began to feel uneasy. ‘I want you to do the rounds, check the pubs and clubs see if anyone’s been trying to flog some dodgy chains.’

  ‘I would imagine Green’s already out there conducting his own investigation.’

  Rimmer pulled out a pack of tic-tacs and shook out a few, before tossing them into his mouth.

  ‘I don’t doubt it, but we can’t simply sit on our backsides, can we?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Right, that’s sorted,’ he yawned, the inside of his mouth resembled a cement mixer with small white bricks tumbling around inside. ‘I’ll leave all the gory details to you.’

  ‘Thanks a lot.’

  Rimmer smiled, acknowledging the sarcasm. ‘Not a problem, Sergeant.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Suzi wiped an unsteady hand under her nose and grabbed the red bag from beneath the bed. The room was a shambles. Clothes lay scattered around the tiny room covering every inch of the threadbare carpet, the smell of Chinese food drifting up from the takeaway next door.

  She had been coming out of Pound Land when the old woman had been knocked to the floor, watched as her red handbag skittered across the ground coming to rest at her feet. Some had been busy watching the thief running away up the street, others had moved forward to try to help. Without thinking, Suzi had scooped the bag up and looked around for a moment as if searching for someone to hand it to, then her befuddled brain had slipped into gear and she'd disappeared into the crowd, clutching the bag to her chest like a new-born baby.

  Now she sat on the bed and looked at the bright red bag. Somewhere inside she cringed, the woman had been ancient and fragile, looking like everyone’s granny. Trouble was Suzi had never known her parents let alone her grandparents. Snapping open the clasp she tipped the contents onto the duvet. Ignoring the garish lipstick and foundation, she grabbed the leather purse. Inside she found eight, twenty-pound notes neatly folded and slotted in to one of the small compartments. Suzi held the cash in her hand looking at it in amazement. Stuffing the money into the pocket of her jeans, she pulled out a gold credit card; buried at the bottom of a bag she found a slip of paper. When she saw the four numbers written in black ink she leapt to her feet, grabbed her thin denim jacket from the floor and headed for the door. When she yanked it open, she almost collided with Barry Collins standing in the doorway.

  ‘Where’s my money?’ he snarled.

  Suzi backed off, her sudden euphoria evaporating as he strode menacingly toward her.

  ‘I was just on my way to find you, Barry,’ she smiled nervously.

  ‘Do I look like a fucking mug?’

  ‘Course not, see I’ve got it here,’ she pulled out the money and started to peel off three twenties, a moment later he’d snatched the cash from her hand ‘Hey hang on, I only owed you sixty.’

  He shot out a hand and grabbed her by the throat, Suzi tried to twist away, but his grip tightened cutting off her air supply. ‘Were did you get this lot, eh?’

  ‘I found it,’ she gasped.

  He
let go and then lashed out, his open hand cracking against her cheek. ‘Fucking found it, don’t make me laugh...’

  ‘Honest, Barry, I found this handbag, see.’ She rubbed a hand against her burning cheek, before spinning around and grabbing the bag from the bed. She held it out like a peace offering to some angry God.

  Barry peered inside. ‘What else did you find?’

  ‘Nothing, just the money and I was coming straight to yours, to...’

  ‘No credit cards.’

  ‘No, Barry, just the cash, honest.’

  He smiled at her and held out a hand. ‘Cough up.’

  ‘I...’

  Bang! This time the side of her face went numb, her right ear ringing with the blow. ‘Please,’ she pleaded.

  He took a step towards her, watching in amusement as she dropped to the floor and curled herself into a tight ball.

  ‘You’d better be telling the truth, bitch.’

  She mumbled something that he couldn’t hear, so he gave her a dig in the ribs with the toe of his boot. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I swear it, Barry I was coming to give you the cash.’

  ‘Fucking bag head.’

  She nodded as if she agreed with his assessment.

  ‘I’ll be back later and I hope for your sake you’ve got the rest of the cash you owe me.’

  ‘But I thought...’

  ‘Thought, what? I was going to let you stay here for fuck all, you know the score I provide the room and the punters, you spread your legs and give me the cash.’

  Suzi swallowed and wiped a hand across her eyes, smearing her mascara.

  ‘And clean yourself up, you look like a fucking tramp.’

  Barry spun on his heels and stormed across the tiny room, slamming the door behind him.

  Suzi shuffled over to the bed and lay down; the pain in her head already forgotten, replaced by a gnawing sensation in the pit of her stomach. It had been hours since she'd taken the pills and the effects were beginning to wear off. She curled up like she used to do as a child, listening for the sound of her father mounting the stairs. He would come in quietly and sit on the edge of her bed, playtime.