CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Tommy parked the Saab in the multi-storey and made his way onto the street. The town centre was busy with late afternoon shoppers battling the elements. A man in his fifties stormed out of the bookmakers scattering a handful of betting slips onto the pavement. His lank grey ponytail flapped in the wind as he stalked off toward the amusement arcade, the shop lit up like some evil fairy grotto, he vanished inside.
Tommy had spent his whole life in this town, twenty years ago he'd been wearing jeans with his arse hanging out, his shoes worn wafer thin. Now he sported a camel hair coat and two hundred quid shoes on his feet. He still recognised a few faces, the same old guy stood outside WH Smiths selling the Wigan Post. The same drawn faces loitered by the door of the Railway pub sucking on tight roll up’s, faces pinched. One or two nodded towards him, he ignored them and carried on toward his destination.
No one was looking in the window of the jewellers, people walked past without giving the place a second glance, the name Munroe was stencilled on the glass in fine gold leaf. Tommy peered in, the watches were all good stuff, Rolex and Citizen mixed with a display of Panerai.
He pushed open the door and entered.
In the far corner, a woman turned and flashed him a smile before sliding her long blond hair behind her ears. ‘Good afternoon, sir, can I be of assistance?'
A man popped up from behind the counter, dark hair greased back, wearing a pink shirt with a starched white collar his face tanned, the skin stretched tight Botox style. ‘That’s alright Caroline, I'll see to the gentleman.’
Caroline smiled apologetically and moved away.
‘My name is Stephen Foster how may I help you?’
‘I was looking at the watches.’
‘Any particular model, sir?’
‘The Rolex, gold strap with white pearl inlay.’
‘Ah yes, would you like to take a closer look?’
Tommy smiled, ‘If you don’t mind.’
‘Not a problem, sir,’ he moved toward the window pulling a small key from his pocket.
Tommy glanced up at the ceiling, he took a step to the left and the small black camera tracked his movement. A few seconds later, the manager was back brandishing the watch with a flourish.
‘Of course being a Rolex it's made to the very highest quality.’
Tommy listened to his droning for about thirty seconds. ‘I hear you had some trouble yesterday?’
Foster looked up. ‘Excuse me?’
‘Someone did a runner with some chains.’
Foster rolled his eyes. ‘Ah I see. Unfortunately yes a most regrettable incident...’
‘What about the cameras didn’t they pick him up?’
‘Sadly no, you see they cameras were not fully functional at the time, of course they are now,’ he turned and pointed into the corner, ‘State of the art.’
‘So you didn’t get a look at the man?’
Foster brushed a hand across his brow a frown forming on his face. ‘As you can see the inlay is pearl and the strap is encrusted with diamonds, of course...’
‘You haven’t answered my question?’
‘I’m sorry, what question was that?’
Tommy sighed and slid his hands into his pockets. ‘Did you get a look at the man?’
‘No, no, I didn’t. Now the watch retails at...’
‘So you can’t remember if he was black, white, tall or short...’
‘I’m sorry I don’t understand.’
‘You know when he ran from here he knocked over an elderly lady?’
Foster nodded. ‘It was terrible, he just...’
‘So did you go to help her?’
‘Help her?’ he looked confused as if the question was somehow irrelevant.
‘Yes, did you try and make sure she was alright?’ Tommy spoke slowly as if addressing a small child.
‘Well no, I came back in here and rang the police.’
Tommy picked up the watch and turned it over in his hand. ‘This is a nice watch.’
Foster blinked. ‘Did you know the woman?’
‘Yes I did.’
‘I’m sorry and how is she?’
‘She died last night.’
Foster took a step backwards. ‘She died!’
Caroline looked over from the corner.
‘So you can understand why I need you to think seriously about the man who did it.’
Foster nodded his head rapidly. ‘Believe me I’ve tried but like I told the police my mind's a blank.’
Tommy wanted to grab the runt by the throat and drag him over the counter. Though ultimately, it would serve no purpose other than assuage his growing anger.
‘She was the grandmother of my best friend and he’s very upset. I’m sure you'd feel the same way if this had happened to a member of your own family?’
Foster looked bemused as if the thought of feeling sorry for someone else was an alien concept.
‘Well yes, of course,’ he replied unconvincingly.
‘And he obviously wants the man responsible brought to justice. You served him, so what did he look like?’
Foster suddenly felt like dashing to the small room at the back of the shop and locking himself inside. Any thought of making commission on the watch vanished.
‘Believe me, pal; I am trying to do you a favour here. When my friend finds out you were the only witness he won’t be as patient as me.’
‘But...’
‘What was he wearing?’
Foster closed his eyes and then rapidly opened them again. ‘A black hooded jacket and I think he was wearing jeans.’
Tommy smiled and took a step forward; Foster cringed and minced back a step like formation dancing with the counter in between.
Caroline frowned. ‘Is everything alright, Stephen?’
He waved a dismissive hand and smiled the expression a sickly parody of the real thing.
‘What colour was his hair?’ Tommy asked.
‘Well to be honest, I don’t think he had much.’
‘So it was shaved short.’
‘Yes, yes that’s it. It was shaved.’
‘And what colour were his eyes?’
‘I am sorry, but...’
‘Were they brown or blue, or...?’
Foster screwed up his eyes desperately trying to remember. ‘Brown, they were definitely brown.’
The smile slid from Tommy’s face, he looked at the watch again and then dropped it onto the floor, a moment later, he lifted his foot and slammed it down.
‘What have you done?’ Foster screeched his face rigid with shock. The stains under his pastel pink shirt seemed to be spreading, ‘Do you know how much that was worth?’ he leaned over the counter and pointed a shaking finger at the floor.
Caroline had a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide in shock.
‘Caroline, ring the police!’ Foster cried.
She looked toward Tommy who shook his head. ‘Stay where you are.’
Foster turned and glared at her. ‘Ring them this instance, you saw what he did, that is criminal damage!’ he screeched pointing a quivering finger at the remains of the watch.
Tommy pulled out his wallet and flipped it open before snatching out a credit card. ‘Here, love, take this, I’ll pay for the watch.’
She hesitated, looking between the two men.
Foster swallowed and then held out his hand. ‘I can take...’
‘Don’t fucking move, dickhead,’ he tossed the card toward the counter, Caroline slapped her hand onto it as it slid across the shiny surface.
‘How much was it worth?’ Tommy asked.
Caroline looked unsure. ‘Er...’
‘That particular model was worth two thousand three hundred pounds.’
Despite his fear, Foster’s voice was laced with pomposity, as if the man in front of him would find that amount of money difficult to comprehend.
Caroline swiped it through the machine and then swallowed down her fear, ‘If you would
like to enter your number, sir?’
Tommy punched in the four-digit code, his eyes locked on Fosters face.
Seconds ticked by, Stephen eyed the door knowing somehow that if he tried to escape the big man in the camel haired coat would snatch him and then what?
The machine began to whirr and click, a few seconds later the transaction was complete. Caroline ripped off the slip of paper and handed it over.
Without looking, he stuffed the receipt into his pocket and turned to Foster.
‘You should have a sign up saying that all breakages must be paid for...’
‘That wasn‘t a breakage, it was...’
‘Luckily for you I always pay for my mistakes but what about you, Mr Foster?’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’
‘Those cameras should have been working and you need to take more notice of the people who come into your shop.’
Foster straightened his shoulders; the watch was reduced to nothing more than bits of broken glass and metal on the polished oak floor. Yet a sale, no matter how bizarre was still a sale, it was commission. ‘Look, I don’t have to explain myself to you. Now I would ask if you would be so kind as to leave these premises, before…’
‘Keep that,’ Tommy pointed to his lips, ‘shut.’ Now I've already told you my friend is a lot less understanding than I am and believe me he'll want to talk to you personally. So if I were you I’d try and come up with some answers.’
‘I have nothing else to say either to you or your friend.’
‘Fair enough,’ Tommy smiled at Caroline and shrugged as if to say, ‘hey what can you do’.
A moment later, he was gone.
Caroline blew a stray strand of hair from her eyes. ‘God, I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of him.’
Foster glared at her, then the small door at the rear of the shop opened and Plymouth stood in the doorway smiling. He looked at the remains of the watch on the floor. ‘I see you made your first sale, Caroline, well done, Mr Munroe will be pleased.’
‘But it was Stephen...’
Plymouth held up a hand the smile growing wider. ‘You were the one who completed the transaction, so any commission will come to you.’
Caroline looked at Foster, who suddenly looked incapable of speech; his face livid with impotent rage.
‘Now could you hand me the receipt, Caroline, let’s put a name to our first paying customer.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
‘And you had no idea about the handbag?’
Lasser was back in Rimmer’s office, trying to get comfortable in the plastic chair.
‘Like I said in the report, I chased the little shit; but he scarpered over the church wall and by the time I got back to the crime scene the place was full of rubberneckers.’
Rimmer looked even worse than the previous day, his beard seemed to have sprouted overnight and the solitary stain on his tie now had company, Lasser thought it looked like bean juice.
‘Believe it or not we had Green’s solicitor in here last night.’
‘I didn’t think he believed in solicitors.’
‘Yes well, reading between the lines, I got the impression that Callum Green was on the warpath over the death of his dear old granny. Then he found out that while she was gasping out her last breath someone was busy emptying her account.’
‘Well I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know anything about a handbag. I was more concerned with keeping the crowds back so they could get her to the hospital.’
Rimmer shrugged. ‘I’ve spent a couple of hours looking at CCTV footage, but as you would expect the weather didn’t help. We have a blurry image of the man running from the property and then we see your good self come into view.’
‘I hope they got my good side.’
‘I didn’t realise you had one. Anyway that’s about it, two indistinct figures running in the rain.’
‘Well to be honest, boss, I’m not surprised, I mean, unless the buggers are standing about three feet from the lens and smiling for the birdie then you can forget it.’
Rimmer pulled a ballpoint pen from his pocket and began to click the little button on top. ‘Yes, well apparently the council has some new ones on order. According to the chief they'll allow us to see the pimples and blackheads on their acne scarred faces.’
Lasser could see how that would be an advantage, the problem was that even when they caught the thieves they were usually too young to be charged. ‘Sounds impressive,’ he added as an afterthought.
Rimmer snorted. ‘It’s OK, Lasser, I’m not the DCI, we both know its bollocks and will cost the taxpayer a fortune, but it gives the councillors something to brag about when the press are chewing their arse. Anyway, that’s beside the point,’ he picked up a brown manila envelope from the desk and slid out some photographs. ‘While our own cameras leave a lot to be desired, the banks, on the other hand, seem to have their act together.’
He slid one across the desk.
Lasser picked it up and frowned. ‘I’ve seen this girl before.’
Rimmer had his little finger buried in his left ear jiggling it about, a scowl on his face. ‘Name?’
Lasser pursed his lips. ‘I don’t have one, but I saw her when I was doing the rounds of the local boozers, she was getting some food from the burger van in town and she did a runner without collecting her change.’
‘And you’re sure it’s the same girl?’
Two more images flew across the desk. The first showed the girl stuffing a wad of money into her pocket; the second had caught her looking over her shoulder as if someone were standing behind her.
Lasser screwed up his face, it was definitely her, but he knew he had seen her somewhere before the incident at the burger van. Then it came to him, she was the same girl he'd seen being dragged into Cash Converter, by... ‘Barry Collins.’
‘Strange name for a girl.’
Lasser smiled. ‘Collins is a shit and I’ve seen this girl with him.’
‘Don’t you mean ‘disaffected youth,’ Sergeant?’
‘No, I think I was right first time. I pulled him in late last year for putting his girlfriend in hospital. She was on the game and he didn’t think she was trying hard enough with the punters.’
‘You have proof of that?’
‘Not as such, she said it was a simple domestic that got out of hand.’
‘So she wasn’t willing to testify?’
‘No, but she wasn’t the first. Two months prior, we were called out to a similar incident. It happened four times in all, each time a different girl unwilling to say a bad word about him.’
‘Drugs involved.’
‘Without a doubt, two of the girls had young kids. I got social services involved and they rehomed the children, which in the end only made things easier for Collins.’
‘So the man’s a prick?’
‘With honours.’
‘Right good, I want you to follow this up, see if he can help us name the girl.’
‘Are we sure she was the one who emptied the account?’
‘Do I look like a bloody idiot, Lasser, of course I’m sure. She took almost a grand from the Halifax in town and another five-and-a-half from the NatWest near the market,’ he stabbed a finger at one of the photos. ‘Now we have Callum Green with not one vendetta but two and that is a recipe for disaster, so get out there and leave no stone unturned.’
Lasser looked at his boss in surprise, what a tosser, Rimmer grinned as if he could read his mind.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Shaun was on a roll, the long pockets sewn into his jacket were filling up nicely. Perfume for Kirsty, the bottle of Chanel was worth seventy quid, he weaved his way through the shoppers with a spring in his step. Seventy quid, it was laughable, who were these idiots who handed over that amount of cash for something that smelled of cat piss.
Slipping a hand into his pocket, he pulled out his shopping list. Next stop HMV, he knew a few people who would snatch his hand off for a
few well-chosen DVDs and Play Station games.
‘Wigan Post!’ The old man was standing in the doorway of the shopping centre, hands cupped around his mouth as he bellowed out the name of the local paper. Shaun glanced at the sandwich board and stopped, his eyes flicking over the headline. ‘Woman dies in local robbery.’
‘Elderly woman dies after being knocked down by thief!’ Old Father Time bellowed.
Someone slammed into Shaun’s back.
‘Watch where you’re going, son!’
Miller ignored him, his eyes glued to the headlines. He had spent the day in bed; Kirsty had woken him with a brew and then took the kid to her mother. It was a regular routine and one that suited them both. During the week, he did his own thing, at the weekend he would watch the baby while she had a night out with her girlfriends. Dipping into his pocket, he pulled out a pound coin and grabbed a copy of the paper; he didn’t even wait for his change.
Flicking to page two, he began to read, his throat constricting with each word. His hands began to shake. As he reached the name Callum Green, he thought he would shit his pants in fear. He headed for the glass doors; all thoughts of perfume and video games vanished as fear swept into his mind obliterating everything. Outside, he flipped the hood of his sweatshirt, a reflex action as familiar as tying his shoelaces or brushing his teeth. Everything seemed to twist around him, people pushed and jostled as every face seemed to morph into images of Callum Green.
Jesus fucking Christ, he hardly remembered knocking the bitch down. After flogging the chains to Sammy, he had gone home and got pissed, finishing the night with a Pot Noodle and a fat spliff. He cut through the narrow ginnel that ran around the back of Barclays Bank, he had a sudden urge to be away from all these people so he could be alone and think things through.
Five minutes later, he was sheltering under the canopy of the new Wigan Life Centre a glass-fronted building that housed the central library and council offices. Pulling out his cigarettes, he lit up, drawing the smoke deep into his lungs and blowing it out on a heavy sigh.
If Green found out he was the one who had knocked the bitch down then he was as good as dead. Three years earlier, he had been at a club in town owned by Callum Green when the man himself had turned up. Apparently, some dickhead had been trying to sell drugs on the premises and he had been taken outside and given a kicking. There was nothing new in that, people got beaten up every day but Shaun had seen the man as they carted him away and the image of the damage done could still give him nightmares. If that were how he reacted to something as trivial as a bit of dope peddling what would his response be to someone who had murdered a member of his family?
The Way That It Falls: DS Lasser series volume 2 (The DS Lasser series.) Page 5