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

by Robin Roughley

  ‘There was a smash and grab job Friday morning at the new jewellers in town.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Now we know Barry wasn’t responsible...’

  ‘So why the hell are you telling me about it?’ She pushed herself away from the sink and opened the dryer door, a blast of heat flooded into the small room.

  ‘The thief knocked over an elderly woman as he was running from the shop and she dropped her handbag. Five hours later, we have images of someone emptying her account.’

  She pulled out a pile of clothes and began folding them into a neat pile. ‘But he was here till eight last night; he spent the day in bed, so he couldn’t have nicked anyone’s handbag.’

  ‘No, but one of his other ‘girlfriends’ could have.’

  Marcy stood up. ‘So you’re saying when he left here he somehow came across this bag and...’

  ‘No, it was a young girl who took the money, but you see I’ve seen her before and Barry was with her.’

  ‘So he’s done nothing wrong.’

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’

  Marcy shook her head. ‘Look, loads of people get caught stealing things, but...’

  ‘It’s not so much the act, but it’s who the bag belonged to.’

  She lit another cigarette. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Have you heard of Callum Green?’

  Marcy’s eyes closed down like floodlights turned off after a big match, click, click then nothing but emptiness. ‘Yeah, I’ve heard of him.’

  ‘Well, the bag belonged to his grandmother, she was the one knocked down.’

  ‘Well that’s awful, but...’

  ‘She died during the night, so you see when I said you would be doing him a favour by helping me, I wasn’t joking.’

  ‘Does Green know anything about this?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of, but once he finds out,’ Lasser shook his head ‘and when he discovers that Barry could be involved, well let’s just say Callum Green won’t be impressed.’

  He saw a flicker of hope in her eyes ‘What will Green do if he catches up with him before you do?’

  Lasser looked through the window, the garden was surprisingly tidy, a red plastic slide and a covered sandpit had been placed on the close-cropped grass. The garden fence looked as if it had recently been given a coat of creosote. He would lay money on the fact it wasn’t Collins out there with a brush and bucket.

  ‘Look, Barry could be innocent, but I know he has been seen with the woman who took the money. If Green finds out he won’t be interested in excuses, Barry will be guilty by association.

  Marcy began to chew her bottom lip again; he could see her working through the options. ‘I know he has someone working for him in the town centre.’

  ‘Do you have a name?’

  ‘I think she might be called, Suzi. I only know because I saw him once on King Street giving her a hard time, believe me I know the signs. But I think she lives above a tattooist; you know the one round the corner from the library?’

  ‘I know the one.’

  ‘She looked in a bad way and that has to be well over three months ago.’

  ‘She’s on gear?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘What about you?’

  Her eyes narrowed, a steady pulse of anger seemed to radiate from her. ‘Do I look like I take that shit?’

  ‘Well to be honest, no. But I’ve seen druggies holding down good jobs.’

  ‘I don’t take it, never have.’

  Lasser was confused. ‘So how did you get mixed up with someone like Collins?’

  A sad smile lifted the corners of her mouth. ‘You only see Barry the drug dealer, the pimp, yet when he wants to, he can be the sweetest person you ever met. Of course, it's all an act and he only shows his true colours when he’s got you were he wants you. In my case, I got pregnant.’

  ‘He’s the father to your daughter and he sends you out on the game?'

  ‘It sounds pathetic doesn’t it? She shrugged. ‘Like I said he can be very persuasive. He told me some men were after him for money he owed, he painted a picture of what they would do to him if he didn’t pay up, a very vivid picture. Believe me; I loved him back then, I would have done anything for him. So he suggested a way of making some quick cash.’

  Jesus, Lasser had come across some scumbags in his time, people who cared about no one but themselves, but this was rapidly heading for the number one spot on the tossers hit parade.

  ‘In the end I found out he never owed any money, it was all a scam just to get me working for him.’

  ‘So what happened when you found out?’

  ‘I went ballistic, tried to throw him out, that was the first time he used his fists,’ she sighed a long shuddering sound. ‘After that it became a regular thing. He would bring people home and sit with his daughter until they’d finished.’ She brushed a stray strand of dark hair from her eyes. ‘I started to think I was the fortunate one. I found out about the other girls and believe me, compared to the one I saw him with I’m lucky.’

  ‘Because of your daughter?’

  She nodded. ‘If I hadn’t had her, Barry would have done his best to get me on drugs and then I would just have been a piece of meat, rather that the mother of his child,’ a tear rolled down her cheek and she ignored it, her eyes locked on some inner world full of deceit and self-loathing.

  Lasser’s phone began to chime; Marcy wiped the tear from her face and shivered.

  Cathy’s name flashed on and off on the small screen, ignoring it, he slipped the mobile back into his pocket.

  ‘Right, well I'd better get going, see if I can find this girl...’

  ‘What should I do if he turns up here?’

  He thought for a moment then pulled out a card with his name and number printed on it. ‘Ring me, it doesn’t matter what time and I’ll get straight round here.’

  She hesitated, her hand reached out and brushed the card then she pulled away.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘You can trust me, Marcy. If I say I’ll be here, then you can take it to the bank.’

  ‘He checks my phone and goes through my stuff, if he found this he’d kill me.’ It was said in a casual manner, as if she were stating a fact rather than a notion.

  ‘Have you anywhere you could stay until we pick him up?’

  ‘Not really, I mean, I could go to my mother's but that'd be the first place he'd come looking and I know he'd kick off, him and my mum don’t get on.’

  What a surprise, it was always the same with people like Collins, they worked on the divide and conquer principal. Alienating their chosen victim, until family and friends no longer called round to visit. Once that was achieved they could do what they wanted and no one would be any the wiser.

  ‘I noticed the house across the road is empty.’ Lasser said.

  ‘Well yeah, but someone said there’s a family moving in next week.’

  ‘Right, that’s not a problem. I’m going to get a couple of officers in there to keep an eye on you. As soon as he turns up we’ll grab him, that way you’ll feel safe and won’t have to take any unnecessary risks.’

  Marcy smiled in relief and nodded.

  ‘Cool.’

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Plymouth sat in the nondescript hotel room and considered the synchronicity of life. Foster was inconsequential; in fact, Plymouth was glad he no longer had to listen to his mewling voice, bemoaning the fact he was no longer living the dream in Chester.

  Plymouth smiled and tossed a peanut into his mouth. Foster had been twittering on about the people in this little town being sub-human, when he equated them to a nest of vipers, Plymouth had laughed aloud at the phrase.

  At first when he'd looked at the receipt, it had been with a sense of confusion he recognised the name; in fact, it was high on his list but the surprise of seeing it in this context had thrown him for a moment.

  Flicking open the local paper, he began to rea
d about the death of Charlotte Green, trying to see a way in which he could use the event to his advantage. Working for Charlie Munroe had proved profitable in numerous ways. The money was important, but by no means high on the agenda; after all, without job satisfaction money was irrelevant. This was the fourth time he had helped to ease the transition as Munroe moved his drug enterprise into a new area. Each occasion had offered its own unique set of problems and the variety had kept Plymouth on his toes. Munroe now looked after the needs of the whole of the North Wales coast and the Wirral including Birkenhead, which had proved a hard nut to crack. Plymouth smiled, according to research Wigan and surrounding areas could turn out to be a profitable business but more importantly for Munroe, it was a stepping-stone to Manchester and beyond.

  Plymouth had spent the past six weeks finding out about Callum Green, cultivating links that had proved invaluable. Green ran the whole affair, supplying all the local pubs and clubs plus the runners, who went around the estates like Avon reps dishing out their little bags of misery. It made things easier when you were dealing with just one man, less messy and somehow more gratifying than getting rid of numerous minor dealers. He popped another nut into his mouth and chewed. Green was an impressive character who didn’t take kindly to people trying to muscle in on his business. He had found evidence of this happening twice in the last five years, on both occasions the usurper had been dispatched swiftly and without mercy.

  Now his right hand man had been into the shop with the promise that he would return for a further chat with Stephen Foster. Plymouth frowned, there would be an advantage here there always was if you looked hard enough.

  He rose from the bed and looked out of the window; the lights from the town centre cast an orange glow against the grey washed out sky. He tried to decide if there was any benefit in going back out, the wind rattled at the glass, he could see the trees in the car park swaying back and forth. With a grimace, he dropped the blinds and decided a couple of drinks in the bar and then an early night was the best course of action. After all, he needed to be up early, there were things that needed sorting, wheels to be put in motion. Picking up his jacket, he headed out of the room.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Shaun cracked open another can and concentrated on getting pissed as quickly as possible. Weisman’s shop had been closed, stout metal grills covering the window, the place in darkness. His brain felt clogged with indecision, every time he tried to think of a plan it would end with an image of Callum Green striding toward him, brandishing a claw hammer in his hand.

  He'd arrived home an hour earlier and was now on his fourth can of Special Brew. Kirsty was sitting in front of the television watching the X factor. She had dropped the baby at her mums for the night and was in the process of applying lipstick. Saturday night was her night and after a week of being stuck in the flat, she was ready to let her hair down, extensions and all.

  ‘So what are you going to do while I’m out?’

  He tried to focus on her voice but the booze was starting to kick in, at least the image of Green was beginning to subside in a haze of befuddled thought.

  ‘Shaun?’

  ‘Staying in,’ he mumbled.

  ‘Well don’t get too pissed, you have to pick Danny up in the morning and I won’t be in a fit state to get out of bed.’

  He grunted a response and took another drink from the can.

  On the television, Gary Barlow was slagging off some boy band, the crowd booing and hissing in response. Shaun turned away from the image. There was no way out of this, if Green found out he was responsible he would kill him, it was as simple as that. Everything rested on Sammy Weisman and Shaun was in no doubt that if pressurised, the fat pawnbroker would point the finger in his direction. Gulping down the rest of the can, he stood up, he had to find Sammy, had to convince him to keep his fat mouth closed. The walk across the living room ended with him colliding with the kitchen door.

  ‘Jesus, Shaun, watch where you’re going.’

  What the fuck was he doing, getting pissed wasn’t the answer? Stumbling into the kitchen, he opened the fridge and yanked out a carton of orange juice. Callum Green wouldn’t be wasting time; he would be out there trying to get to the truth. Shaun tilted the carton and didn’t stop drinking until it was empty.

  ‘I’m off now, the taxi should be here any minute,’ she stood in the doorway, a crop top showing her spray-tanned midriff, belly button piercing hanging down to her pelvic bone, her skirt resembled a wide belt. Under normal circumstances, he would have made some sly comment about the way she looked. Tonight however his mind was elsewhere.

  ‘Are you feeling alright?’ She asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It’s just you look pale, you’re not coming down with something are you?’

  He dropped the empty carton into the flip top bin. ‘I’ve just got a bit of a headache; I might get some kip, try and sleep it off.’

  Kirsty opened her purse to check her money was still there. ‘OK, see you later.’

  Turning on the tap, he splashed cold water onto his sweating face before drying it with a tea towel. When he turned, Kirsty had gone, the smell of her perfume lingered in the air.

  He knew where Weisman lived; he'd been to the house once to drop off some stolen gear. The fat man whined about times being hard although his home had been big enough, there was a Jaguar and a BMW parked on the long driveway.

  He felt the muscles in his jaw throb as he ground his teeth together in anger; he was the one taking all the risks. Sammy had told him that if he could get his hands on gold chains then he would pay good money. Five grand, that’s what the chains had been worth and the fat twat had handed over less than four hundred and now he had Callum Green breathing down his neck. The fact that he had been responsible for both the theft and the death of the old woman began to morph in his mind; any blame conveniently projected onto the image of the pawnbroker. It was his fault and he'd make the fat man pay for bringing all this grief to his doorstep.

  Grabbing his coat, he headed for the door, his mind suddenly seeing things with a clarity that left no doubt as to what he should do. A minute later, he flagged a passing taxi and climbed in.

  ‘Where to, mate?’

  ‘Marsh Green, I’ll let you know where to drop me.’

  The driver grunted and pulled out into the early evening traffic, the wipers squealed back and forth across the windscreen as it started to rain again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Barry was having a good day. He had collected three hundred quid from one of his ‘girls’ who didn’t give a toss how many men lined up at her door. This probably had more to do with her raging coke habit rather than an insatiable appetite for having sex with strangers. On the way out he'd tossed her enough of the shit to keep her going for a couple of days, feeling generous he had even left her half of his kebab.

  Maybe he was turning soft, the thought made him smile and then an image of Suzi Beddows popped into his mind and his good mood vanished. The skanky bitch was always moaning about the punters and about the state of her room above the tattooist's shop. Last week she had made less than a hundred quid, but after finding the money, he had become convinced that she was holding out on him. Yeah well, she was in for a fucking surprise; no one took the piss out of Barry Collins and got away with it. His anger flared, he stood on the pavement, hands clenched into fists. Perhaps he should go round there now and get it sorted, kick her bony arse onto the street; he already had another girl lined up, just out of school and with a habit that was spiralling out of control, constantly desperate for her next fix.

  He grunted, decision made, he stepped off the curb and leapt back as a car swept past sending a spray of filthy water over his jeans and T-shirt, he could feel it seeping into his trainers.

  ‘Fucking bastard!’ The taillights of the car blinked twice and then the vehicle pulled tight to the curb. ‘Right, you twat!’

  Storming toward the car, his anger bubbled over in
to fury, he was ten yards away when the driver’s door opened and Barry watched as a figure climbed out. He hesitated, the man was a big fucker, he could see his bulk silhouetted against the glare from McDonald’s window. Big or not, he was going to give him a bollocking.

  ‘Hey, pal, what the fuck do you think you're doing, I’m pissed wet through...?’

  ‘Barry Collins?’

  Barry stopped in his tracks and peered into the gloom.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t act thick, son, just answer the question.’

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘And who the fuck are you?’

  The man stepped forward and Collins suddenly felt sick, he recognised Tommy Speel, had seen him with Callum Green, Barry swallowed down the rising panic.

  ‘Get in.’

  ‘Well, I was just on my way to see someone.’

  ‘I bet you were.’

  Barry took a backward step, his natural instinct was to turn and run.

  ‘Look at the size of me, son; if you scarper there’s no way I’ll be able to catch you. But if you do run, then I’ll have to presume you’ve something to hide and then I’ll find you and make you squeal.’

  ‘But I haven’t done anything,’ all the bravado had gone from his voice, if Marcy Philips could see him now she wouldn’t have recognised him.

  Tommy thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat. ‘I never said you had, I just want to ask you one or two questions.’

  Barry swallowed again, his mouth desert dry, in the end what choice did he have? He began to shuffle toward the car, the fear intensifying with each faltering step. As he approached, he could see that the big man was smiling, a fact that only served to turn his panic into terror.

  Tommy pointed to the passenger door before climbing back into the car. Barry slowly made his way around and slid into the seat. Starting the engine, Tommy pulled away from the curb.

  ‘Put your seatbelt on, Barry, we don’t want you hurting yourself, do we?’