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

by Robin Roughley

  Suzi shot from the bed, the panic flaring in her chest, the terrifying memories pushing at her mind like a rapist trying to force a victim’s legs apart.

  Dipping into the pocket of her jeans, she pulled out the card and the small slip of folded paper. Suzi blinked at the piece of plastic, holding it up, as if it somehow had magical properties as if it could provide her with a way out of the misery of her existence, her mind in turmoil; she headed for the door.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Lasser started the car and flicked on the heater before scrolling through the menu on his phone.

  After six rings, the call went through to voicemail.

  ‘Cathy, it’s me; I’m letting you know I won’t be home tonight. Rimmer’s shafted me; I’ll tell you about it in the morning,’ he paused. ‘You're more than welcome to stay at my place, but if not I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.’

  Ending the call, he pulled out of the station car park and headed through Hindley town centre. With each passing month, the place seemed to shrink in on itself. Almost half the shops had closed as the recession bit hard. Although the bargain booze shops and bookies seemed to be thriving as hapless individuals gambled away their jobseekers allowance.

  In comparison, Wigan was a thriving metropolis, a monument to capitalization. Of course, as the shops in Hindley went to the wall the thieving bastards turned their attention to the outlets in Wigan. It offered easy pickings and the Chief Constable was not a happy chappie. Pulling out his cigarettes he lit up, in places like Hindley, thieving was acceptable, always had been. The council had spent years gathering all the druggies and drunks in one place, to protect other more affluent areas; like a landlocked leper colony. However, when it started to affect the large chain stores then the council soon started to shout about it. As far as he was concerned the big shops were all thieving sods, driving up their prices as people struggled to make ends meet. The lights clicked to green and he turned right and headed past the closed down library, shut for six months, despite the petition signed by over two thousand locals. He swept over the canal bridge and headed into Wigan.

  Ten minutes later, he parked in a taxi rank and crossed the road to the jewellers. A man in a boiler suit was standing on a stepladder adjusting the camera in the doorway.

  Lasser eased past and entered, the assistant from the previous day was standing behind the counter. At the sound of the buzzer, she glanced up a faint look of panic in her eyes and then relaxed as she recognised him.

  ‘Hello again,’ she smiled, her teeth pearly white and perfect, all the better to blind the punters into forking out for an overpriced watch.

  ‘Hi, is Mr Foster in, I’d like a word?’

  ‘I’m sorry but he's been called over to Chester.’

  Lasser looked at the counter, beneath the glass the rings and watches glittered, not a price tag in site, which was never a good sign ‘Being dragged over hot coals is he?’

  The smile faltered for a second. ‘I couldn’t say.’

  ‘Well, I was just passing so I thought I’d call in to make sure everything is OK?’

  ‘Well that’s nice to know. I was beginning to think we'd been abandoned,’ she flicked at the glass with a yellow cloth as if to remove some imaginary dust particles.

  ‘You’re not from around here?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ she shook her head rapidly as if the thought was somehow repellent. ‘I live on the outskirts of Chester.’

  ‘So how do you like Wigan so far?’

  She arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow. ‘Well, let’s just say the jury is out at the moment.’

  ‘Tell me... I’m sorry I don’t know your name?’

  ‘Caroline, Caroline Speakman.’

  ‘Does Mr Munroe have many shops?’

  ‘Good lord no. He has the flag store in Chester and another in Southport and now this one.’

  ‘And how’s business?'

  For the first time she looked cautious. ‘Well, I’m not really in a position to say. You see I've only worked for Mr Munroe for six months. I spent a few weeks at the shop in Chester whilst learning the job and then three months in Southport before being transferred here.’

  ‘But the other shops are busy?'

  She puckered her lips. ‘Well, I wouldn’t say busy but when you sell unique items it’s more about quality rather than quantity.’

  ‘And have you had chance to think about the man who stole the chains?’

  ‘God, don’t remind me. I mean, I wish I’d got a better look at him but I was busy putting out stock and Mr Foster had insisted on serving the customer himself.’

  ‘Tell me, Caroline, do you work on commission?’

  ‘Well there's a basic salary, but we do get a bonus for every item we sell.’

  ‘When you say we, do you mean you share the bonus?’

  ‘On no, whoever makes the sale gets the bonus.’

  It was no wonder Foster was so eager to pull out the expensive stuff out, he would probably only see the pound signs, well it had backfired this time.

  ‘Right, well do you happen to know when Mr Foster will be back?’

  ‘Well, I would imagine it'll be sometime today, but I can’t be sure.’

  Lasser looked up at the ceiling. ‘I take it the cameras are up and running?’

  She followed his gaze. ‘Oh yes, in fact they’re probably trained on you, right now. Apparently they’re motion sensitive so they follow you around the room.’

  ‘Very impressive.' Lasser smiled. 'Well I’ll let you get on with your work, if you see Mr Foster tell him I called.’

  She smiled. ‘I will and thank you for taking the time to check up on us.’

  Outside, a traffic warden was busy writing him a ticket.

  Lasser crossed the road and pulled out his warrant card. ‘Sorry, pal, police business.’

  The warden shrugged and slipped the pad back into his pocket. ‘Not a problem. Here, have you just been to that new jewellers?’

  ‘Why do I look like a big spender?’

  ‘I called in; you know just to have a nosey and what they’re asking for a watch, well it’s bloody scandalous.' He shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘I take it they’re a bit pricey?’

  ‘Pricey! Well I suppose that's one way of putting it. I tell you a neighbour of mine bought himself one of those Tai brides and he still paid a damn sight less than that bugger wants for a watch.’

  ‘Aye, but think about it, the watch won’t nag you and it’ll still look good in twenty years’ time. Plus you’ll always get your money back on a Rolex.’ Lasser said with more than a hint of sarcasm.

  The man nodded, sagely. ‘You’ve got a point there, son.’

  Lasser sighed and climbed into the car, the light was rapidly fading and it wasn’t even four o'clock.

  Just enough time to get home and grab some zeds before disco dancing the night away.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The town centre was heaving. Suzi pulled her thin jacket tight around her shoulders and shivered. A moment later the cash machine clicked and two hundred pounds slid out of the slot. Licking her chapped lips, she pulled the money free and slid it into her coat pocket.

  She glanced over her shoulder; a group of young girls tottered past on high heels, one of them looked her up and down and then whispered something to her mates. A moment later, they were all laughing, a high mocking sound that made Suzi’s cheeks burn with embarrassment.

  She spun away and slid the card back into the machine, before punching in the numbers again. Holding her breath, she waited, a whirr and click and like magic, another wad of cash appeared.

  ‘Come on, love, get a move on.’

  She glanced over her shoulder to find a man standing behind her, despite the freezing conditions, he was wearing a thin T-shirt, a thick gold chain encircled his neck, tribal tattoos covered both his arms. Snatching the money, she frowned at him and moved away.

  The gnawing pain in her stomach was beginning to build; cold sweat lat
hered her forehead, her palms clammy. She rubbed them on the front of her jeans and headed off through the old market, dodging around the skeletal frameworks of the stalls.

  At the NatWest bank the cash just kept coming; her mind unable to comprehend the amount of money that spewed from the machine. Suzi kept pushing it into the pockets of her denim jacket, when they were full; she started to shove it down the front of her jeans. When the message informed her that there were insufficient funds, she looked nonplussed and then pulled out the card and dropped it into the nearest litterbin before heading back into town.

  As she walked, the smell of Indian food laced the air, mingled with the scent of burgers and fried onions, a heady concoction that made her stomach rumble.

  She stopped outside the restaurant and peered in through the window, a distant memory floated into her mind. She'd been eleven, maybe twelve; the Mitchells had been her last foster family. They'd been the only people who treated her like an actual human being rather than some broken toy that needed fixing. She even had her own bedroom, somewhere she could sit and chill, for the first time in her life she had a place she could call her own. The Mitchells didn’t pry, never judged, not like the other nosey bastards who had fostered her, the ones who always wanted to know things about her, personal things.

  One night they had taken her out to a proper Indian restaurant, she could remember being thrilled, sitting at a table like a real family, she even had a glass of wine and the food had been wonderful. A week later and she was back in the children’s home, John Mitchell had been thirty-five and seemingly fit and healthy, he'd been playing football, a Sunday morning kick about when he had the massive heart attack that killed him.

  A young couple came out of the restaurant and the smell of spices intensified.

  ‘I’m sorry, no room inside.’

  Suzi looked up; the man was dressed in a black suit with a crisp white shirt beneath, his dark hair oiled back on his head.

  ‘But those two have just come out,’ she pointed a finger at the couple as they walked away down the street.

  ‘Off you go.’

  ‘I’ve got money,’ she pulled a wad of cash from her pocket and thrust it toward the man.

  He didn’t bother to look. ‘We don’t want your sort in here.’

  From inside she could hear a group of people singing ‘Happy Birthday’.

  ‘My sort?’

  The man flapped his hand towards her. ‘Please leave.’

  A group of lads crowded around her and she felt herself bustled to the side, the waiter-come-door-attendant ushered them inside, a wide smile plastered across his face.

  ‘Good evening, welcome to the Punjabi Palace.’

  As soon as the last one had entered, he glared at her and pulled the door closed; leaving Suzi on the pavement. Her anger seemed to pool around her feet before disappearing into the gutter, leaving her feeling distraught. Even the money stuffed into her pocket was forgotten, all around her she could hear the sound of Saturday night, the shouts and snatches of laughter. Looking down at the gum littered pavement, she started to cry.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Lasser stood out like a turd in a swimming pool. The Robin Hood was full to bursting, a couple of bouncers stood at the door checking identifications.

  Flicking his cigarette into the gutter, he headed inside. Loud electro music pounded into him, a huge television mounted on the wall was showing United versus City. A group of young lads stood in front of the screen shouting abuse and encouragement as the game unfolded.

  He couldn’t see anyone coming in here to flog the chains .The place was full of kids, most of the girls were lathered in false tan and sporting dodgy hair extensions, dressed in luminescent tutu’s and short crop tops. He felt like a paedophile that had gate-crashed the school disco.

  Five minutes later, he was back outside, drawing hard on another smoke; the wind seemed to be coming from everywhere at once, swirling around, laced with chips of sleet. It was freezing, though the weather didn’t appear to be bothering the revellers. A group of girls tottered past clinging on to one another as if they were in danger of being blown away by the wind.

  The next pub along was the Griffin a huge building that used to house the old gas board offices, it had been taken over by some big knob who'd thrown money at the club in an effort to make it the ‘place to be.’ This time there were no bouncers on the door, the place was virtually deserted, except for a couple of slot machines flashing in the corner trying to attract a punter.

  He had a quick look around, two men were playing pool, one had long greasy hair and the other was as bald as one of the pool balls that rocketed around the table, further along four men sat at the bar ignoring one another, concentrating on the drinks in front of them. Lost souls watching the remnants of their lives disappear like dregs down the sluice tray. Lasser headed over to the bar.

  ‘What can I get you, son?’ the proprietor tried a winning smile and then gave up with a sigh.

  ‘Navy rum, please.’

  ‘Is it still cold out there?’ He slid a glass from the shelf and pushed it up against the optic.

  ‘Freezing.’

  ‘I tell you, I’m sick of this weather. It’s either raining or blowing a gale and what sort of summer did we have, eh?’

  Lasser shivered. ‘A blink and you’ll miss it one.’

  He placed the drink on the counter and took Lasser’s money. ‘Precisely.’

  ‘It’s a bit quiet in here tonight.’

  The man shook his head, forlornly. ‘It’s quiet every night. I tell you, half the pubs in this town will be closed in six months.’

  ‘The Moon looked busy.’

  He rubbed a towel across the bar. ‘Don’t talk to me about that place. I tell you it’s being run by some bent bastard, I mean, they let any bugger in there.’

  ‘They had bouncers on the doors checking identification.’

  ‘Oh aye, but have you seen who they let in? Ninety percent of them are nowt but kids.’

  Lasser could vouch for that, he tossed his head back, drained the glass and thought about having another. Just then, the door opened and a gorilla in a suit looked around the room. He appeared to be in his mid-thirties, his cheeks ruddy from the biting wind. Frowning he headed into the games room. Lasser ordered another drink and waited. A few seconds later, he reappeared and came up to the bar.

  ‘What can I get you, governor?’ the landlord asked as he placed Lasser’s drink on the bar.

  ‘I’m looking for someone.’

  ‘Oh aye, whose that then?’

  ‘I’ve been told there’s a bit of buying and selling goes on in here?’

  ‘Nay, lad, we’re a boozer, not a market stall.’

  ‘So you haven’t had anyone trying to sell you anything?'

  ‘Look at this place, son,’ he spread his arms wide. 'I'm lucky if I get ten punters a night. The folk that do come in here aren’t interested in doing ‘owt but supping their ale. As for me, well let’s just say I’m skint and leave it at that.’

  ‘What about you?’

  Lasser turned and met the man’s gaze. ‘I popped in to get out of the weather, mate. I’m just finishing this and then I’m off.’

  He grunted and glanced at the other men at the bar in disgust, before turning on his heels and heading out the door.

  ‘I wouldn’t like to meet that bugger on a dark night,’ the bartender said with a grimace.

  Lasser checked his watch and finished the last of his drink. ‘Right well, I’m off.’

  ‘Aye, take care and thanks for your custom.’

  ‘No problem,’ a moment later he was back on the pavement.

  He looked up and down the street, trying to decide on his next port of call, the place was heaving with the usual Saturday night crowds. Someone broke into song; ‘United forever,’ if he was hoping to get a sing-along going he was disappointed. The solitary voice faulted and then fell silent.

  Well, it looked as if Callum Green had put th
e wheels in motion, he probably had a dozen men searching the area, and here he was on his own. He pulled his thin coat tight around him and headed down the street suddenly feeling like the oldest swinger in town.

  Halfway down Market Street, he caught the smell of hotdogs and honed in on the burger van. The man behind the counter was busy slapping burgers onto buns, trying to feed the throng who after consuming a skin full of ale suddenly decided they were starving.

  He waited patiently in line, trying to decide if he wanted to risk a burger, with the scare about horse meat he decided to play it safe and order a veggie burger with all the trimmings. Which, if experience were anything to go by, would amount to a piece of lettuce and a dollop of mayo.

  ‘Look at the fucking state of her.’

  He glanced to his left, the girl who had made the comment looked about sixteen, her face carried the harsh stamp that had no name, though nevertheless you knew it when you saw it. Her hair made up of dodgy extensions, the weave showing through like matted seaweed.

  ‘Scanky bitch!’ she spat.

  A girl at the front of the queue looked over her shoulder and frowned, when she saw the group of girls glaring at her she quickly looked away.

  Lasser sighed, he'd seen the girl somewhere before but couldn’t place her. It was no wonder the place was going to pot, people would sooner cause agro rather than just have a good night out. The queue shuffled forward the girl reached the counter and ordered a burger and fries.

  ‘Dirty, fucking bitch.’

  Lasser looked at the foul-mouthed girl, his temper beginning to build, the red mist slowly descending.

  When the girl pulled out a twenty-pound note from her pocket, she didn’t notice the one that fluttered to the floor. Quick as a flash, seaweed head bent over showing the cheeks of her arse in the process and scooped it up. Lasser watched as she showed it to her mates, a grin plastered across a face so thick with makeup that he could see all the little lines around her eyes, her mouth puckered like a camel's backside.

  ‘Excuse me, love, but aren’t you going to give that back?’

  The girl turned and looked at him her frown deepening. ‘What you on about?’