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

by Robin Roughley

  She suddenly looked guarded. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Come on, I’m no film buff but I know most of those DVDs are still out at the cinema.’

  She shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t know, I don’t have the time to watch films.’

  ‘But you have time to go out every Saturday.’

  She bristled. ‘Oh, so I should stay at home and wash the pots is that what you’re saying?’

  He was beginning to see why Rimmer had gone outside for a fag. ‘No, but how much did you spend last night?’

  ‘Sod off, I'm not telling you that.’

  ‘Well, does Shaun have a job?’

  ‘Nobody has a job around here, haven’t you noticed there’s a recession on.’ She flicked her ash into an empty kebab tray.

  ‘So where does he get his cash?’

  ‘Look, I’m going to have to get my son...’

  ‘You’re helping us with our enquiries, I’m sure your mother will understand.’

  ‘You don’t know my mother,’ she pulled a pair of dolly shoes from under the sofa and slipped them on, fumbling with the clasp before standing up.

  ‘Sit down, Kirsty.’

  ‘Piss off, I don’t have to listen to you.’

  She sidestepped and he reached out and grabbed her arm. ‘Sit or I’ll arrest you.’

  Her mouth dropped open revealing a silver tongue piercing. ‘You can’t do that!’

  ‘You’re sitting in a flat surrounded by stolen goods, now are you seriously telling me you know nothing about any of this stuff...’

  ‘I don’t...’

  ‘Bollocks. Your boyfriend has been in trouble with us before. Now, we know he stole some chains on Friday morning...’

  ‘He was with me on Friday, so it can’t have been him.’ Her eyes flashed triumphantly.

  ‘So how come when we found the chains they had his prints all over them.’

  She opened her mouth to answer and he held up a hand.

  ‘Save your breath, if you insist he was with you all day then that makes you an accessory.’

  ‘An accessory to what?’ she snarled.

  He thought for a millisecond before answering. ‘Try murder.’

  Her panda eyes sprang open and she took an unsteady step backwards. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I believe you, but your boyfriend stole the chains and then passed them on to a local pawnbroker who was killed late last night. We found the chains in his house and Shaun’s prints were all over them.’

  ‘That doesn’t prove...’

  ‘Come off it, Kirsty, this flat is full dodgy gear, your boyfriend nicks for a living. Problem is when he did the jewellers in town, he knocked down an elderly woman who was out doing some Christmas shopping and...’

  ‘The old lady who died?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, but Shaun didn’t know at the time, so he goes on his merry way and flogs the chains to Sammy Weisman. Then he finds out that the frail old woman was the grandmother of Callum Green...’

  ‘Jesus,’ Kristy’s hand fluttered up to her mouth, she sat down heavily her face etched with shock.

  ‘Precisely, Shaun panics and decides to have a word with the only man who could point the finger.’

  She suddenly looked frantic with fear; her eyes flickered around the room. ‘Look, I don’t know anything about this. I mean, Shaun isn’t into beating people up.’

  ‘But he’s into saving his own skin.’

  Kirsty gnashed at her bottom lip. ‘This has nothing to do with me.’

  ‘So you keep saying.’

  ‘But it’s the truth!’

  ‘If he turns up again, can I trust you to give us a ring?’

  She nodded her head, vigorously. ‘Christ, yes. I mean, when I read about the old woman it knocked me sick, but I never thought it was Shaun or I’d have rung you lot straight away.’

  Lasser raised an eyebrow. ‘OK, love, now you are starting to sound ridiculous. If he shows his Muppet face as you put it, ring us, don’t wait until he’s out the door, don’t have second thoughts...’

  ‘Trust me I’ll ring.’

  He pursed his lips and nodded. ‘Right then, I’ll let you get your son,’ he turned and headed down the woodchip hallway. Outside the snow was falling hard, Rimmer was smoking yet another cigarette, the shoulders of his jacket thickening with snow.

  ‘Did she fall for your charms, Sergeant?’

  ‘Well, when I explained the seriousness of the situation she seemed to have a change of heart. If lover boy turns up I think she’ll give us a call.’

  Rimmer nodded. ‘Good man.’

  ‘What do you want to do now?’

  ‘The Beddows Girl?’

  ‘I called at the bedsit, but she wasn’t in.’

  ‘Try again, we need to find her before Green gets her name.’

  ‘Right.’

  Lasser peered over the edge again the courtyard now obliterated by snow. He watched as a couple of young kids walked below, their footprints trailing behind them.

  ‘It’s been a bad couple of days for our local drugs baron, hasn’t it, Sergeant?’

  Lasser dropped the cigarette into the snow at his feet and stood on it. ‘I’m sure he’ll get over it.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Plymouth sat in the back of the stationary car watching the traffic streaming along the M56.

  The snow had started to fall again; in the distance, he could see the Welsh mountains, the summits capped white.

  ‘So you have the brother at the farm?’ Charles Munroe slid the window down a fraction and blew cigar smoke through the gap. He shifted his bulk so he could look directly at Plymouth.

  ‘Mm, I made contact with Callum Green last night.’

  ‘And what did he have to say?’

  Plymouth picked a piece of straw from his trouser leg and rolled it between his fingers. ‘Not much, the conversation was brief. I’ll ring him this afternoon when he’s had chance to think things through. I might even pay the man a visit.’ Plymouth smiled, as if he were contemplating dropping in on an old friend.

  Munroe frowned, he had never come across anyone like Plymouth and he knew many strange individuals, people who were capable of anything as long as the price was right. He had been using the white haired man for over two years and money had never been an issue. Plymouth didn’t haggle, he didn’t suddenly discover hidden costs and ramp up the price. When he gave a figure he stuck to it, it made a refreshing change to deal with someone who was straight. Though Munroe had to admit, he had a strange way of going about his business.

  Munroe flicked ash out of the window. ‘You know I’d like to be able to say I understand your methods, but to be honest I don’t.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  Charles Munroe was a man who could overlook certain things in life, especially where his family was concerned. His two daughters had him wrapped around their little fingers, they knew it and so did he, his wife was the same and his mistress was living in the lap of luxury in an apartment in Chester. Yet in his business life, he expected to be treated with reverence by those he employed and whichever way you looked at it, Plymouth was a paid employee.

  ‘Look, I appreciate you have your own way of going about things and that’s fine, I have no complaints in that regard. But I want you to be aware that when I ask a question I expect a civil answer.’

  Plymouth crossed his legs, his face impassive. ‘You’re saying I don’t treat you with respect?’

  ‘I’m saying you need to remember who you work for.’

  A flicker of a smile crossed his face. ‘I work for myself, Charles, at present I’m doing a job for you because I choose too, but don’t make the mistake of thinking you in some way own me.’

  Munroe glanced at his driver, saw his eyes in the rear view mirror widen in shock, before Munroe could respond Plymouth spoke. ‘Anyway, I’ve been meaning to have a word with you, as soon as this job is complete, I’ll be moving on.
’

  ‘Moving on?’

  ‘Do you honestly think I crawled out from underneath some rock, that you’re the first person I’ve done this kind of work for...’

  ‘I...’

  ‘Don’t interrupt me, Charles.’

  Munroe’s mouth snapped shut, cigar ash fell onto his trousers, a grey smudge on the black cloth. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘You’re not a stupid man, don’t act like one.’

  Munroe took a moment to study the cygnet ring on his finger, his teeth locked tight in anger; he took a deep breath and slid a smile onto his face. ‘So I can presume you’ve had a better offer...’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Because if money is an issue, then maybe we can renegotiate...’

  ‘I have enough money.’

  Munroe’s smile turned into a sneer of derision. ‘There's no such thing as enough money, now give me a figure and we can talk.’

  ‘We don’t need to talk. I’ve told you what I intend to do and that’s the end of the matter. Now if you’ll excuse me I have plans to make.’ Plymouth pushed open the door and stepped out into a flurry of snow.

  He turned and smiled. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The sky was starting to turn a deeper shade of morose grey as Lasser pulled up in front of Graffiti Art.

  Climbing out, he looked up at the small window above; the curtains were open, no light shone through the glass. Retracing his steps down the narrow alleyway, Lasser held his breath as he passed the bins and climbed the metal steps of the fire escape; snow dislodged by his feet fell to the ground. Reaching the top he stopped, the doorframe was splintered, a shoe print clearly visible on the paintwork of the door. He pushed it open with his fingertips and peered inside. The wardrobe door hung open; the bed beneath the window had been overturned. Lasser stepped over the threshold and flicked on the light, the forty-watt light bulb did little to illuminate the grotty bedsit.

  Opening the only door in the room revealed a tiny bathroom; the space stank of cheap perfume, the shower curtain speckled with mildew. Stepping inside, he slid back the drawer of the wall-mounted cupboard, barren apart from a half-full tube of toothpaste and an empty bottle of aspirin.

  Pulling out his mobile, he called the station, telling Meadows to get a couple of bods from SOCO out to the flat. Back in the tiny living space, he sighed, it seemed obvious that Suzi had left before the door had been forced which on the one hand was good, but it also meant she was out there somewhere, probably unaware that she had some unsavoury characters looking for her.

  Stepping back onto the fire escape, he pulled the door closed behind him and trudged back down the steps. As he exited the alleyway, the door to the tattooist opened and a young bloke came out slipping on a thin jacket, one arm encased in polythene like a shrink-wrapped leg of lamb, wincing as he slid his newly tattooed arm into the sleeve. Lasser caught the door before it closed and walked into the shop. The room was split into three small cubicles, the walls full of transfers, a faint smell of disinfectant in the air.

  ‘All right, mate, see anything you fancy?’

  He was tall and wide, his head shaved close to the bone, the arms folded across his chest were smothered in ink.

  ‘The flat above, do you own it?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘And you are?’

  Lasser pulled out his warrant card, tattoo man didn’t even bother looking at it.

  ‘No I don’t.’

  ‘The girl who lives there, do you...’

  ‘Suzi?’

  ‘Yes Suzi Beddows, when was the last time you saw her?’

  The man scratched at his goatee beard. ‘Yesterday, about half-seven, she was coming out of the alleyway.’

  ‘And did you speak to her?’

  ‘Well I said ‘hello,’ but she mustn’t have heard me.’

  ‘Friendly girl was she?’

  He pulled out a small tin with a leaf printed on the lid; sliding out a cigarette he offered the tin to Lasser.

  ‘No thanks, I’m trying to cut down.’

  The man shrugged and snapped the lid shut. ‘Well, Suzi’s a quiet girl really, I mean, sometimes she would just like shuffle past you, other times she’d stop and have a chat.’

  ‘And what about Barry Collins, do you know him?’

  ‘Piece of shit, that lad. I’ve had to have a word with him on more than one occasion.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Listen, do you want a brew?’

  Lasser checked his watch; the cavalry wouldn’t be here for at least another twenty minutes. ‘Thanks, I’m sorry I don’t know your name?’

  ‘Dave Byron’

  ‘Right well, Dave, I’ll have a coffee, two sugars please.’

  Lasser followed him into the back of the shop, which consisted of a small kitchen with a sink, fridge and microwave. Dave picked up the kettle and gave it a shake before dropping it back onto the cradle and flicking the switch.

  ‘You were saying, you had a quiet word with Collins?’ Lasser prompted.

  ‘What, oh yeah, a couple of months ago I was out back having a fag, he was at the top of the steps giving Suzi a load of shit,’ he shook his head at the memory. ‘I tell you it fucking riles me, she’s only a kid and he’s a tosser.’ He poured hot water into the cups and added a splash of milk and two sugar lumps before handing it to Lasser.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘So, I waited until he came down the steps and collared him.’

  Lasser took a sip, good stuff. ‘And what did he have to say for himself?’

  Dave shrugged. ‘The usual, he told me to keep my bloody nose out of his business.’

  ‘And what did you do?’

  ‘I hit the cunt.’

  Lasser smiled, warming to the man. ‘I take it he didn’t log a complaint.’

  ‘Fucker couldn’t talk by the time I finished with him,’ he flexed his arms, muscles bulging.

  ‘But it didn’t stop his nasty little ways?’

  Dave took a gulp from the mug. ‘You know what these people are like, they get used to getting a kicking and then they take it out on others.’

  ‘You mean, Suzi?’

  ‘I tried telling her she didn’t have to put up with his shit but she wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘They rarely do.’

  Dave opened a drawer, pulled out a pack of Jaffa cakes, and ripped them open. ‘Help yourself, mate.’

  ‘Top man,’ Lasser grabbed a couple and took a chunk from the biscuit.

  ‘So what has she done wrong?’ Dave asked.

  ‘Nothing, I just wanted to make sure she was OK.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think she’ll be back.’

  Lasser took a chunk from the biscuit. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Well normally, she wears next to nothing. I mean, it doesn’t matter if it’s pissing down or freezing, she just has a thin denim jacket on...’

  ‘But last night was different?’

  Dave tilted his head and dropped a Jaffa cake into his open mouth, a few seconds later it was gone. ‘Aye, I didn’t recognise her at first; she was all wrapped up, scarf, woolly hat, big winter coat, the works.’

  ‘Perhaps she was just feeling the cold?’

  ‘Nah, not Suzi, besides she had a duffel bag on her shoulder.’

  ‘I see.’ Maybe she did know that someone was after her, or perhaps she’d decided to try and make a break from a life of prostitution and drug abuse. With seven grand in her pocket, Suzi probably knew she would never get a better chance.

  ‘And when did you last see Collins?’

  ‘Night before last, I was locking up and he slid out of the alley like a fucking rat, didn’t even look at me.’

  Lasser brushed his hands together and finished the last of the coffee. ‘Well, Dave, thanks for your help.’

  ‘No problem, and if I see her do you want me to give you a ring?’

  Lasser looked at him
in surprise. ‘You know something; I can’t remember the last time anyone offered to do that.’

  ‘Aye well, it’s a shit hole this town, too many people like Collins who should have been drowned at birth.’

  Lasser pulled out a card and scrawled his mobile on the back. ‘And if Collins shows up...’

  ‘Same again, I’ll let you know.’

  ‘Good man,’ he thrust out a hand and Dave gave it a shake, almost crushing Lasser’s fingers in the process.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Shaun dropped the cigarette onto the floor and immediately lit another, the ground around his feet littered with discarded stumps. He was sitting in the brick built pavilion watching as the bowling green vanished under a cover of snow. In the distance a couple of young kids played on the swings, shouting in glee as they rode higher, heads tilted back, snow falling on their upturned faces.

  Shaun shivered, he’d tried to keep warm by walking around the park, but it hadn’t worked, so he’d retreated to the meagre shelter.

  Blowing smoke out in a billowing cloud, he looked back toward the park but the kids had vanished, the chains still swung back and forth as if the occupants had been vaporised in mid swing.

  Pulling out his mobile, he looked at the screen, thirty missed calls from Kirsty, and five voicemails. He chewed on a fingernail, his head full of uncertainty. Part of his brain wanted to ring her and explain what had happened, how none of this was his fault. He wanted her to understand that he went on the rob to provide for her and the baby. But what if the filth were waiting on the other end and they somehow traced the call? Ultimately, the question was whether he could trust his girlfriend of two years.

  He rubbed at his eyes; the landscape was being transformed into a world where harsh lines were softened and familiar objects disguised.

  The coppers would have returned to the flat and questioned Kirsty. They could be sitting there now waiting for him to return. Shaun swallowed; suddenly realising that getting his hands on the money he needed could be harder than he had anticipated. Looking down at the phone, he took a deep breath and pressed a button. When he heard the voicemail she had left, he winced. If he had expected concern for his wellbeing then her voice blew that notion out of the water.