Collins closed his eyes and started to pray to a God that until that moment he had never even believed in.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Miller crouched in the bushes, watching as the frumpy woman with the curly hair ushered a couple of small children into the back of the black BMW. A minute later, she backed out of the drive, the stoplights flickered then the car drove away down the tree-lined street.
He glanced right and left then broke cover dashing across the road and onto Weisman’s driveway. The house was a sprawling Victorian property, the garden lined with laurel bushes, a huge horse chestnut tree stood in the centre of the lawn, the grass littered with fallen conkers. He could see a crack of light running around the edge of the curtains that covered the big bay window.
His anger flickered back to life; Weisman had screwed him over the chains, claiming he was skint. The huge house that loomed over him and the Jaguar parked on the drive told another story.
‘Lying twat,’ he hissed as he scuttled up the driveway. When he reached the gate at the side of the house, Shaun yanked on the handle and cursed as it refused to budge. Twenty seconds later, he was over, dropping down onto the path, keeping close to the wall he eased himself around the corner.
Weisman was sitting in the conservatory, his huge bulk lodged into a black swivel chair. The television on; some kind of wild life programme that showed thousands of penguins huddled together in a blizzard. Sammy was tossing chocolate buttons into his mouth, a glass of something in his left hand. Miller inched forward and tapped on the glass. Sammy had his back to him and continued to feed his fat face. Shaun heard music swell as the penguins shuffled places in an effort to keep warm. This time he rapped harder and the pawnbroker spun around, a look of fear on his face, the pack of buttons fell from his hand and spilled to the floor. Squinting toward the window, he hauled himself out of the chair. Shaun watched as he pulled a mobile from his pocket and began to punch in numbers. When he snatched the door open Weisman tried to dash toward the kitchen, his bulk made him look like one of the waddling penguins, he was never going to make it, Shaun bulleted across the room.
‘Who the fuck are you ringing?’
Sammy backed away. ‘What are you doing here? Get out,’ he placed the phone to his ear.
‘Put the phone down, Sammy.’
‘Hello, police, I need the police, right now!’
Miller lashed out, the phone skittered across the wooden floor, Sammy looked dismayed, a shaking hand held to his burning cheek.
‘You hit me,’ his voice was ragged with shock, his piggy eyes shimmered with tears.
‘The chains, have you still got them?’
‘What?’
Shaun picked up the remote and switched the television off, the sudden silence was deafening. Sammy’s chest heaved, his breathing laboured, sounding like air being sucked through a thin straw.
‘The fucking chains, what have you done with them?’
The pawnbroker flapped his hands in the air. ‘Listen, I know where you got them and I know about the woman you knocked down. I mean, why didn’t you tell me?’
Miller felt his stomach contract. ‘How do you know about that?’
Sammy wiped his brow. ‘How do you think I know? The police called at my shop...’
‘What did you tell them?’ Shaun moved forward his hands opening and closing, matching his pounding heart.
Sammy backed off until his calves collided with the coffee table. ‘Are you an idiot, I told them nothing. I mean, if you’d been honest about the woman I’d never have taken them off you in the first place.’
‘Don’t give me that, you’re a lying piece of shit...’
‘You honestly think I’d cross Callum Green for the sake of twenty gold chains?’ His voice sounded incredulous though his small mean eyes gave the truth away.
‘You have to keep your mouth shut, Sammy, if he finds out it was us that...’
‘Us! There is no ‘us’ All this was your doing; you’re responsible for the death of his grandmother, not me.’
Shaun took a shuddering breath and looked at the man before him. A sudden clarity of thought burst through like sunlight from behind a bank of black clouds. Sammy Weisman would grass him up, the fat pawnbroker would bide his time but eventually he would use the knowledge for his own benefit. He would either tell the police or Green what he knew and then he was as good as dead, or he would use it to blackmail him. He imagined a life where he had to do whatever Weisman demanded. The pig would take everything he could get, handing over a pittance, safe in the knowledge that Shaun would never be able to complain again.
Weisman licked his fleshy lips. ‘Listen to me; we have to sit tight until all this blows over. I mean, if the police or Green knew anything then they’d have already been around to see you.’
‘So you’ll keep your mouth closed?’
‘Of course I will, son, you can trust me,’ Sammy sounded as sincere as an eighties game show host, his cheeks slick with salty tears.
‘You’re a lying fat bastard.’
The pawnbroker held up his hands. ‘Calm down, I...’
Miller planted both hands against Sammy chest and pushed, a sense of revulsion swept through him as his hands sunk into the fat. Sammy tried to take a step back but his legs, still trapped by the coffee table, had nowhere to go. His hands shot out and scrabbled for Miller's coat, then he began to fall backwards his mouth opened in a wide O, his eyes screwed shut. At his last medical he had weighed in at twenty-six stone and the doctor told him of the dire consequences if he didn’t lose weight. The table never stood a chance, the noise as it gave way sounded as if someone had fired off both barrels of a twelve bore. Weisman’s legs shot up in the air as the back of his head hit the swivel chair sending it zipping across the floor.
Weisman’s eyes flickered open, when he saw Shaun looming above him he twisted his head away, his grasping fingers scrabbling for the mobile. ‘If you don’t go I’m going to call the police.’ As soon as the words slipped from his lips, he knew it was a mistake, Shaun Miller looked feral, his face rigid with fury.
‘Shaun please, I didn’t mean...’
The fist slammed down and Weisman’s nose exploded under the impact. He tried to raise his arms, but they suddenly felt like unresponsive slabs of meat, Miller slapped them to one side and lashed out again. The second blow dislodged Sammy’s front teeth, they fell back into his yawning mouth and before he could spit them out, he was hit again.
Shaun drew a shuddering breath, Sammy gurgled up at him like a grotesque infant.
Weisman was the only link to the robbery and the death of the old woman, the only man alive who could tell Green what he knew. Shaun reached out and picked up the heavy wooden leg of the shattered table. When he looked down Sammy was crying; fat tears ran down his fat cheeks. When Shaun lifted the club above his head, Sammy opened his mouth to beg, plead, offer anything. Miller closed his eyes and slammed down.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Every time, Barry opened his mouth to speak, his brain would clank and seize. Glancing at Tommy Speel didn’t help; it only served to crank the fear up another notch. He tried to think what he could have done to warrant the attention of Callum Green.
Barry knew the drugs he bought from the house on Lancaster Road came directly from Green, but he always paid on time and he wasn’t considered important enough to have gear on the slate.
Tommy drove as if he was alone in the car drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as if keeping rhythm to some internal beat.
Barry cleared his throat. ‘Where are we going?’
Tommy ignored him and lit a cigarette, the smoke filling the small space. Barry coughed and Tommy smiled, he could feel the fear coming off the boy in big pulsating waves. He could have asked the questions himself but he thought it would be better coming from Cal; it might help him calm down, to get some of the anger out of his system.
He drove past the hospital and headed through Standish before crossing th
e M6 and heading out into open countryside. Barry shifted in the seat and pushed himself up against the passenger door as if trying to distance himself from the silent driver.
When the car pulled onto a tree-lined lane, Barry plucked at the handle.
‘It's locked, son, besides why would you want to chuck yourself out? I’ve already said we just want a quiet word.’
‘We?’
Tommy glanced at him and grinned around the cigarette before flicking the wheel to the left and onto a gravel drive. The house was huge and imposing, hunkered down amongst thick woodland with plenty places to dispose of a body, Barry swallowed. A gleaming BMW was parked in front of the property, a red Range Rover tucked into a garage with the doors standing open.
When the man emerged from the front door, Barry wished that he'd taken his chances and done a runner. Callum Green, face bled dry of emotion, stood with his hands thrust into his pockets. Tommy climbed from the car before moving around to the passenger door. Green watched as Collins climbed out and looked at him over the roof of the car.
‘Bring him in, Tommy.’ Green turned and disappeared through the front door.
‘Come on, son.’
‘I don’t want to.’
Tommy raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t worry, Barry, he don’t bite.’ Taking a firm grasp of Barry’s jacket, he pulled him up the steps and into the house.
Despite his fear, Barry couldn’t help but be impressed by the room that Tommy led him into. He looked around as if casing the joint, the plasma television was enormous; the sofa took up the whole of one wall, a fire burned in a stone fireplace, the walls covered with dark wood panelling. Callum stood in front of the grate the flames flickering behind him, like a gateway to hell.
‘Collins?’
Tommy nodded. ‘Found him in town.’
Green turned and looked at Barry. ‘I’m going to ask you a few questions and I don’t want to be fucked about, is that understood?’
‘Ye...yes. Mr Green.’
‘Some cunt killed a relative of mine...’
Barry could feel the fear bloom into outright terror. ‘That had nothing to do with me,’ he could see his life ending in the next five minutes, Tommy Speel in the woods digging a shallow grave, while Callum Green beat him to death with one of the smouldering logs.
When Green stepped away from the fire, Barry spun away to run, Tommy snatched him before he had taken two steps. ‘Keep calm, Barry, we don’t want you having a fit.’
‘But...’
‘I know you had nothing to do with the killing.’ Green said.
Collins nodded his head rapidly the relief washing through him in an icy blast.
‘But you see while she was lying on the floor someone stole her handbag. I mean, can you imagine that, a frail old woman lying feet away and this piece of scum sees it as an opportunity to grab her bag.’
Barry didn’t know whether to reply or keep his mouth shut, in the end he continued to nod his head like some wind-up toy.
‘Now we know that it was some bitch that took the bag and then helped herself to the contents of the account.’
An image suddenly flashed into Barry’s mind, Suzi Beddows grabbing the bag from the bed. ‘I found it, Barry, honest.’ He felt his stomach roll, the bitch, the stupid fucking bitch. He opened his mouth to spit out her name like a cat trying to dislodge a hairball and suddenly clamped his lips closed.
Callum watched him through narrowed eyes. ‘I don’t have a name for this slag and that is where you come in.’
‘Me?’
‘I have it on good authority that you know the woman who took the cash.’
‘I...’
Green held up a hand. ‘She’s a known associate of yours, Barry. Now I want you to think carefully and give me a name.’
Barry licked his lips, if he told them, then they would want to know how he knew about the handbag and then they would probably find out about the money he’d stolen, money that had belonged to Greens grandmother and then...his fevered mind began to conjure up images that almost struck him dumb.
‘Come on, I haven’t got all day.’
‘I don’t know anything about it, honest, I mean, whoever told you different was fucking lying.’
Callum nodded as if he had expected the denial. ‘OK, Barry, have it your way.’
Green took another step toward him and Barry suddenly felt the grip on his arms tighten.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘I’m going to kill you; if you don’t have the information then you’re fuck all use to me.’
Barry opened his mouth and for a few terrifying seconds, he thought he wouldn’t get the words out in time. ‘Suzi Beddows.’
Green stopped and frowned at the boy. ‘Where does she live?’
‘A flat in town, it’s above Graffiti Art. ’
Cal looked at Tommy who gave a quick nod.
‘And how do you know she’s the one I want a word with?’
Barry screwed up his face in fear and tried to think, but his head felt leaden. ‘Listen, Mr Green, I had no idea where she got the handbag from, she told me she’d found it in town.’
‘Does she work for you, Barry?’
‘Work for me?’
Green wiped a hand across his face as if he was finding the conversation tedious and then his hand bulleted forward and closed around Barry’s throat. ‘Don’t act dumb, you little shit, I know you fancy yourself as some kind of big man. My source tells me you pimp for a few young scrubbers and deal a bit of smack.’ He released his grip a fraction to allow Collins to answer, Barry suddenly remembered how he grabbed Suzi by the throat, how good it felt to know that his girls’ feared him. Now he was on the receiving end, he didn’t like it one bit.
‘I always pay for the gear, Mr Gre...’
He didn’t see the fist come hurtling toward him, he had his eyes screwed up tight, but he felt his nose crack to the right, well enough. His head slammed backwards, Tommy tightened his grip to stop him crashing to the floor.
‘I didn’t ask you about fucking gear, did I?’
Barry shook his head, blood sprayed onto the oak flooring.
‘Now does she work for you?’
‘Yes.’
‘So why would she show you the handbag? I mean, I know what these tarts are like, if they find anything then they don’t share, it’s not in their nature.’
‘I saw it on the bed.’
Callum frowned and Tommy looked at him and raised an eyebrow. ‘And she told you she found it in town?’
‘Honest, that’s what she said.’
Green patted him on the shoulder. ‘She’s stitched you up, son, she didn’t tell you about the credit card did she?’
Barry could feel his nose beginning to swell, the pain setting up home behind his eyes, blurring his vision.
‘Bitch!’
‘You got that right, Barry. She yanked almost seven grand from my grandmother’s account and kept schtum about it,’ he jabbed out a finger. ‘You are suffering because of what she did.’
‘Cunt!’
‘Precisely.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Craig Green staggered out of the casino, two grand lighter and with the beginnings of a migraine, the swirling rain only adding to his black mood. Claire had thrown him out accusing him of shagging some bint from one of the clubs. The fact that it was true was unimportant, she had no fucking right. After the death of his grandmother, he had arrived home to find his clothes scattered across the front lawn. His best suits trampled into the wet grass, a couple of handmade shirts snagged in the bushes flapping about in the wind like washing blown from the line.
Craig pulled out his cigarettes and lit up. What made matters worse was the fact that the neighbour, a stuck up bank manager had witnessed it all. Craig had seen him smirking at an upstairs window, then the prick had shook his head and turned away as if dismissing the whole thing as ludicrous.
Craig had hammered on the door but the bitch had either b
olted it from inside or more than likely, she had decamped to her mother's, taking the kid with her.
He wobbled his way across the car park; a gust of wind threw sleety rain into his face. Ever since the birth of his son, Claire had changed, spending all her time with the baby as if joined at the hip. She had gone off sex and stopped taking an interest in her appearance. Before falling pregnant, she had been a good-looking piece, now she had stretch marks and was talking about getting her tits reduced in size.
He reached the car and tried to focus on the lock, but the key kept slipping off, scratching the gleaming paintwork beneath and causing him to curse. Callum was as bad, always on his case and treating him like some kind of kid. What gave him the fucking right; he was only two years younger than his brother. However, you would never have guessed it from the way he was treated. Craig hiccupped and tried the key again.
‘Do you think it’s wise to drive?’
He turned, at first he thought the man standing behind him was elderly, when his eyes focused he realised that the hair wasn’t grey but stark white. He was wearing a short leather jacket with a bright green scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face.
‘What's it got to do with you?’
The man shrugged and took a step forward. ‘It’s just that you look drunk to me and drink driving isn’t really a clever thing to do, so why...’
‘Are you saying I’m thick?’
The man tilted his head, ‘Not at all, my friend.’
‘Well it sounds like it to me.’ Craig pointed the keys like a miniature revolver. ‘So why don’t you keep your fucking nose out eh, before I break it.’
The man pulled down the scarf; a wide white grin split his face. ‘Is that a threat, Mr Green?’
Craig suddenly felt unsteady; he reached out a hand and placed it on the roof of the car for balance. ‘How do you know my name?’
‘I know a lot about you, Craig. In fact, I know all about your family, your sister and of course your brother, Callum.’
‘Are you a copper?’
The smile grew wider. ‘No Craig, I am not a copper.’
The Way That It Falls: DS Lasser series volume 2 (The DS Lasser series.) Page 8