Two dark blobs in an ocean of white, Lasser didn’t bother shouting, it would be a waste of energy, and besides he had never know anyone from this town stop to find out what a copper wanted. He nearly shouted in glee when he saw the figure slip and land face down on the ground, the image of the sprawled figure spurred him on. By the time he clambered back to his feet Lasser was almost within touching distance, he could hear the ragged breathing mixed with his own. The crunch of the snow sounded muffled as the blood thundered through his ears.
Stretching out a hand he plucked at the shoulder of the fleeing shape, his fingers slithered away until he was grasping at the cold night air. Lasser began to tire; dragging his feet through the thick snow required a mammoth effort. His breathing lost any sense of rhythm, arms and legs suddenly became uncoordinated and the figure began to pull away. He thought of Cathy lying in a hospital bed, stitches, possible brain damage, Lasser snarled at the image and picked up the pace. Eyes narrowed, teeth barred in an animalistic snarl, he began to reel him in.
Glancing over his shoulder turned out to be Barry Collins downfall. Lasser saw his eyes widen in shock and then his feet became entangled and he slammed to the ground. This time Lasser took no chances, he launched himself into the air as Collins tried to scramble upright. Hitting him square between the shoulder blades they both went sprawling to the ground, the feel of freezing snow spraying into Lasser’s face was both a blessing and a shock. Barry attempted to drag himself away, grabbing handfuls of snow that offered no leverage; he resembled a grounded fish, mouth opening and closing as he tried to gulp in air.
Pushing himself to his feet Lasser grabbed the collar of his jacket and yanked him to his knees.
‘Come here, you bastard…’
Collins spun and lashed out, his fist caught Lasser in the stomach, he grunted and took an unsteady backward step. Collins tried to scramble away, his breath billowing out around him, snow showering up as he kicked his legs.
Lasser bolted forward lashing out his right boot. Collins saw it coming and tried to lift his arm, but he was too late, the boot slammed into the side of his head and he crashed to the side. His eyes flicked open in time to see the second kick, this time pain exploded between his legs, a sensation that bloomed like the mushroom cloud after an atomic bomb. Pain swept into his lower gut and climbed up into his chest, until the slamming agony matched the pounding of his racing heart. His mouth was stretched open, eyes screwed shut, sweat coated his acne scarred face, the skin bleached the same colour as the snow.
Lasser rubbed at his stomach and collapsed into the snow, he could feel his arse cheeks growing numb with cold. Fishing out his mobile, he called for assistance.
It took the ambulance almost an hour to arrive, by the time they'd clambered across the field, Collins was shaking uncontrollably and Lasser was on his third cigarette.
CHAPTER FIFTY
Plymouth waited until the insipid clouds wreathed the pale wafer moon.
Tammy Butcher’s house stood at the end of a small cul-de-sac, made up of half a dozen sprawling new builds. Two cars stood parked on every drive, Christmas lights hanging from the shingles like frozen icicles.
The phone in the car lit up, Munroe’s name flashing on and off. Plymouth let it ring for a few seconds before answering. ‘Hello, Charles.’
‘Were the hell have you been?’
‘Taking care of business.’
‘Yes well, I’m not use to being ignored.’
‘No one is ignoring you. You paid me to do a job and...’
‘I bloody well know that, but I need to know what you’re doing. I paid you a small fortune and I expect to be informed about the state of affairs.’
Plymouth watched as a light came on in one of the bedroom windows, a couple of seconds later Tammy appeared, he could see her dark hair silhouetted against the light. She peered out into the gloom and just for a moment, Plymouth had the impression that she was looking directly into the car.
‘Craig Green has been removed from the picture.’
‘I fucking realise that.’
‘Language, Charles.’
Plymouth reached forward and ended the call before stepping out of the car. When he looked up the blinds at the bedroom windows were closed. Walking towards the house, he slipped his hands into his pockets, his boots sinking ankle deep in the snow, the brief conversation with Munroe, already removed from his mind.
Plymouth smiled; he looked like a man who was happy with the world, like a close friend of Tammy or Jimmy on his way to wish the Butcher family a Merry Christmas. Standing under the porch, he kicked the snow from his shoes and pressed the doorbell before turning away. He could see a large snowman in the garden next door; erected beneath the skeletal branches of a huge willow tree, a white sentinel standing guard, resplendent with woollen scarf and floppy hat. The carrot for a nose had become dislodged, and lay on the ground like a severed limb.
As soon as he heard the door opening behind him he swivelled round, the smile on his face widening.
‘Hello, Jimmy.’
Jimmy Butcher was drunk, his eyes full of beer haze peered out of a face that suddenly looked shell-shocked, he blinked and licked his lips taking a step forward and pulling the door behind him.
‘What are you doing here?’ he spoke in hurried whispered tones.
‘Aren’t you going to invite me in, it’s a bit nippy out here?’ Plymouth rubbed his hands together the smile growing wider.
‘No, no you can’t come in,’ Jimmy paused, ‘I was just on my way out.’
Plymouth pursed his lips as if he were giving the statement some serious thought.
‘I hope you weren’t thinking of taking the car, not in that state?’
Butcher swallowed, the cold and the sight of the man on the doorstep was having a dramatic sobering effect on his befuddled brain.
Jimmy cleared his throat. ‘No, I was just going to go for a walk.’
Plymouth turned and looked up at the sky. ‘I didn’t really see you as the walking type. Now why don’t you let me in and we can have a little chat?’
Jimmy shook his head vigorously; his eyes seemed to be constantly moving in his head as if he was somehow afraid to make eye contact with the blond haired man. ‘But...’
Plymouth took a step forward and Jimmy raised his hands, as soon as his fingers parted company with the doorframe he began to sway from side to side.
‘This won’t take long.’ Plymouth placed his hand on Jimmy’s arm and stepped into the hall.
Tammy was sitting at the foot of the stairs, her dark hair spread across her shoulders, eyes puffy from shed tears. Plymouth stopped in the hallway and looked closely at her, he could see the dark bruises on her wrists, the left side of her face flush, the handprint clear to see.
‘My, my, Jimmy, what have you been doing?
Jimmy looked at his wife and then quickly away. ‘I haven’t been doing anything.’
Plymouth ignored him and walked to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Did he hit you, Tammy?’
She looked up at the man in confusion, she was sure she had never seen him before, but it was hard to concentrate when she'd spent the last twenty minutes cowering in the spare bedroom with her husband leering over her. A ritual that had become only too familiar, like two actors taking up stage positions, the spare bedroom had become the place where they acted out their little games of torture. When she’d heard the knock on the door, Tammy had ventured onto the landing, gradually making her way downstairs, keeping her eyes firmly locked on the front door. She had prayed it was Callum, even called upon God to offer her a way out of the cycle of spiralling madness. She had simply sat on the bottom step, part of her wanting to shout out, to let whoever was standing behind the door know that she needed help, needed rescuing. In the end, she had merely listened to the mumbled conversation; her body ached too much, her mind too tired to make the journey back up the stairs.
Now this stranger with the blond hair was gazing down at her with such a
look of empathy that she suddenly started to cry. A tear slid from her eye, she felt the trickle of heat on her cheek and lifted a hand to swipe it away.
Plymouth reached out; the back of his fingers drifted across her cheek and brushed the tear away. Tammy blinked up at him in shock, then her eyes flitted to Jimmy and Plymouth could see the flash of fear race across her face. She opened her mouth to say something, but it was as if someone had shut off her air supply, instead she felt her chest restrict and judder, the air pouring from her lungs in one long unbroken sigh.
‘Maybe we should take that walk after all, Jimmy?’
Butcher stood in the hallway and shook his head. ‘No, I don’t want to.’
Tammy looked at him and frowned, there was something in his voice that reminded her of a terrified child who has neither the strength nor the willpower to resist the demand.
‘Get a jacket. We don’t want you catching your death.’
‘I can’t go anywhere. Tell him, Tammy; tell him I have to go to work in the morning.’
‘Tammy won’t mind if we take a walk, get things straightened out will you, Tammy?’
She shook her head, watching in amazement as the man who had made her life a misery began to shake and jitter like some junkie, desperate for his next fix.
‘I...’
Plymouth took a step towards him and Jimmy backed up to the wall, standing on tiptoes as if he could somehow scale the flat surface and scuttle across the ceiling like some giant spider.
‘Tammy, listen to me, you need to ring the police, do it now!’ Jimmy hissed.
‘Why would she ring the police, Jimmy? After all you’re the wife beater and besides you heard him invite me in, didn’t you, Tammy?’
She cleared her. ‘Yes,’ her voice came out as nothing more than a croak, as if she had spent a lifetime time crossing a desert and it was the first word she had ever uttered. She coughed. ‘You invited him in, Jimmy.’
‘You fucking bitch!’ despite his fear, Jimmy Butcher pushed himself away from the wall and lurched towards her.
Tammy tried to turn and run, three steps up and her feet slipped on the carpet, she slithered to the bottom, her silk nightshirt rising up, revealing a back that was mottled blue and mauve with old bruises. She curled herself into a ball, knees drawn up, her chin tucked tight to her chest, eyes screwed up in anticipation, waiting for the fist or boot to smash home. She hitched in a breath, the sound of her own fear screaming in her ears. When the pain didn’t arrive she remained rooted to the spot, it was a trick he had played upon her countless times, he would beat her and then stand quietly over her waiting until she tried to unravel herself from the floor then he would quickly move in and the beating would start anew.
Tammy let the air leak slowly through her nostrils and sucked in fresh air through compressed lips. Time stretched out, meaningless seconds slithered into minutes. She felt the first flicker of hope, and then an icy breeze whispered across her exposed skin, making the flesh rise. Her eyes flickered open and she slowly twisted her head, the hallway was empty, the front door standing open. A gust of wind blew a flurry of snow onto the oak wood flooring and she sat up like a bemused survivor who has miraculously escaped death. Tammy pushed herself slowly to her feet, one hand on the banister to stop her from crashing back to the floor. Her legs felt unsteady and for a few seconds the whole room seemed to swim in and out of focus, the Christmas lights on the tree blurred into blobs of colour, red and blue like old bruises.
She looked back up the stairs suddenly terrified that Jimmy had dashed past her and was now waiting on the landing in ambush.
Walking unsteadily to the front door, Tammy looked out; she could see footprints leading to the porch and away again, running alongside were two continuous tracks as if someone had been dragged away from the house.
She thought she saw a pair of taillights flash in the distance, though she was unsure whether it was merely a trick of her confused mind.
For the first time in eighteen months Tammy felt a sense of relief, she sniffed and dragged her hair back behind her ears. It was bizarre but the sense of being rid of something vile and intrusive was instantly overwhelming. Her lips began to tremble, the cold air making her feel frozen to the bone, as if the wind was setting up home in her soul, blowing away the feeling of hopelessness and leaving behind an icy core. Closing the door quietly she headed back up the stairs.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Lasser kicked the snow from his shoes before climbing back into the car. In the end, he had trawled around the shops looking aimlessly in the windows, waiting for inspiration to take hold. After an hour he had given up and trudged back to the car, his failure in choosing a present for Cathy had left him feeling annoyed at his own lack of imagination.
He sat in the gloom of the multi-storey and looked out at a leaden sky. The roof of the parish church was lined with pigeons; the terraced houses in the distance all seemed to spout television aerials from the chimneys. He could see a train pulling out of Wigan station hauling a long line of empty carriages in its wake.
Starting the car, he headed down the levels, paid the toll and drove out toward the hospital. The traffic was horrendous, cars queuing to get on and off the Tesco car park had backed up onto the main road. Drivers became agitated; the impatient sound of horns bleated like a flock of angry sheep. Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Lasser lit another smoke, screwing up the empty packet and dropping it into the passenger foot well.
The lights changed and he found himself staring at a photograph of Barry Collins, someone had attached the laminated image to the railings. It showed Collins laughing, black gaps where his front teeth should have sat, he was sporting a Burberry baseball cap and black jacket. Collins name and date of birth printed along the bottom of the card in a large red font. Lasser grimaced at the image, it had been almost three by the time he had crawled into bed, safe in the knowledge that Collins was banged up, probably waiting for his bollocks to stop swelling.
A horn blasted behind him and he raised an apologetic hand as he moved through the lights. Once on the hospital car park, he began the laborious task of finding a parking space. After ten minutes of aimlessly circling, he spotted someone pulling out of a gap and shot in before anyone else could grab the slot. Then another five minutes of his life were wasted while he fumbled in his jacket for the correct change, finally returning to the car because he couldn’t remember the registration.
By the time he entered the sterile building he felt annoyed and flustered. Stalking into the small WH Smiths, he bought a couple of gossip magazines and a box of Dairy Milk before disappearing inside the massive complex. It seemed the further he moved into the building, the hotter it became, as if he were approaching the hidden lair of some sleeping monster that breathed out furnace heat.
Arriving at the ward, his mouth dry and palms clammy with perspiration, he spotted Cathy in a small private side room and felt a wave of relief when he saw her sitting up in bed. Then a frown settled on his face when he spotted Spenner ensconced in a chair, his arms resting on the bed sheet. Lasser hesitated at the door; her face looked ashen against the white of the linen pillow, black hair cascaded down to her shoulders.
When he pushed open the door, Spenner turned in his seat, when he saw his boss standing in the doorway his face blanched. Cathy tried to smile and then winced with the effort. Spenner shot to his feet and looked around as if he was thinking of making a mad dash for the exit.
‘I’m sorry about yesterday, but DI Rimmer said he wanted to see me. I did wait at the front of the hospital like you said, but when he rang back he gave me a roasting, and...’
Lasser ignored him. ‘How are you, Cathy?’
Spenner looked confused. ‘I’m sorry, it won’t happen again,’ he mumbled, apologetically.
‘Good, now haven’t you somewhere you need to be?’
‘Not really, I’m off duty today.’
Lasser raised an eyebrow; Cathy managed to crinkle her eyes at him.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘She’s tired aren’t you, Cathy.’
Lasser turned. ‘How long have you been here, Spenner?’
‘Er, about an hour,’ he popped a grape into his mouth.
‘Right well, you can go now.’
Spenner frowned, ‘Go where?’
Lasser could feel his temper begin to build; he was unsure whether Spenner was genuinely thick or just taking the piss. Either way he was heading for another roasting, he opened his mouth to let fly and Cathy suddenly interrupted.
‘Why don’t you get us all a drink from the machine, John? I’m parched and DS Lasser looks as if he could do with something to cool him down.’
Spenner nodded and then fumbled in his pocket. ‘Well I would, but I seem to be out of loose change.’
Lasser pulled out a fiver and thrust it forward. ‘Take this and go to the cafeteria...’
‘But that’s miles away.’
‘I don’t care, now bugger off and get the drinks, and before you ask we both want Cola.’
Spenner looked down at the money in his hand as if disappointed that it wasn’t a tenner.
‘Right then, I won’t be long.’
‘That’s OK, Spenner, take all the time you need.’
A moment later, he was gone.
Lasser leaned over and brushed his lips across hers. ‘How are you?’
‘To tell you the truth, I feel like shit.’
He sat on the edge of the bed and took hold of her hand. ‘What have the doctors said?’
‘Not much, they’ve run a few tests, but I haven’t heard anything, so I’m taking that as good news.’
Lasser smiled. ‘To tell you the truth I was dreading coming here.’
‘So it’s not as bad as you were expecting?’
‘Definitely not.’
She sighed. ‘Well that’s something I suppose.’
‘Listen, you'll be out of here in no time then you can just sit in bed and relax, watch some Jeremy Kyle, see how the other half live.’
She laughed and gave his hand a squeeze. ‘Spenner told me you caught Collins last night?’
The Way That It Falls: DS Lasser series volume 2 (The DS Lasser series.) Page 17