‘You’re not her keeper, Cal, these things happen...’
‘Not in my family they don’t,’ he snarled. ‘Now find Miller and bring him to me.’
The call ended abruptly and Tommy slid the phone into his pocket before heading back to the car. A couple of minutes later, he joined the queue of traffic heading out of the town centre.
Millers Lane was a dump, a series of scruffy flats thrown up in the late sixties when high-rise living was sold as the way forward. Parking the car Tommy looked up at the sprawling mass of concrete, even in this shitty weather some of the residents had their washing hanging from the balcony. It reminded him of a prison were the inmates had taken over, hanging banners from cell windows. The stink stale piss and spilled booze in the stairwell didn’t bother him. Climbing the steps, he counted down the numbers on the doors until he came to the one he was looking for.
Tommy knocked and waited, when he saw the figure distorted through the glass he took a step back and plastered a smile on his face.
‘Who is it?’
‘Police, love, could I have a word?’
As soon as he heard the rattle of the chain, he slammed his shoulder into the door. Kirsty staggered back as he barrelled into the hallway, her mouth sprang open ready to scream the place down, though before she could vent her fear, he lashed out. The back of his hand cracked against her cheek and she pin wheeled down the narrow passage, desperately trying to get to the bedroom. Her hand scrabbled for the handle and Tommy grabbed a handful of hair and yanked her back.
‘Where is he?’ he hissed in her ear.
‘I...’
Tommy whipped her around and pushed his face in close. ‘Don’t even think of asking, who. I want to know where Miller is and you’re going to tell me.’
She tried to pull away but the hand grasping her hair tightened.
‘I don’t know, I haven’t seen him since the police came round,’ she sobbed.
‘Have you got his number?’
Kirsty nodded and then winced at the pain.
‘Right, you’re going to ring him and tell him to get back here or I'll damage you,’ he yanked her upwards, until she was standing on tiptoes.
Her hands plucked at the sleeve of his jacket. ‘Please, he won’t come, not if he knows you’re after him.’
Tommy grunted and started to drag her toward the front door, Kirsty tried to dig her heels in but her feet slid over the wooden floor her false fingernails raked along the woodchip wallpaper, two pinged off and fell to the floor.
‘What are you doing?’ she gasped.
‘If you can’t get him here then you’re fuck all use to me, so I’m going to chuck you over the balcony...’
Terror bloomed in her mind, as the realisation that in a few seconds she would be plummeting through the air surrounded by snowflakes only to land in the small car park in a wreckage of broken bones and split skin, she could see her blood splashing over the white snow. ‘No, please, I’ll ring, I’ll get him here!’
Tommy stopped and turned. ‘You’d better and don’t even think of fucking me about,’ he gave her a shake and a handful of hair extensions came free.
‘I won’t, I promise.’
Taking her arm, he pushed her into the living room and pointed at the sofa. ‘Sit.’
Kirsty scuttled across the room and fell onto the couch, tears making her mascara run, hands shaking in dread. ‘What do you want me to say?’
Tommy sat in the chair opposite and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Not my problem, you know the cunt so you figure it out, but make it sharpish.’
Kirsty nodded, though her brain suddenly felt incapable of rational thought. She knew she would have to be careful, if Shaun had the slightest doubt that he was being set up then there was no way he would come within a hundred miles of the place. Reaching down, she fished her mobile from her bag and scrolled through the numbers. She could feel the man opposite, his anger filled the room, slamming into her and making her want to cry and beg. She threw him a quick glance and he looked back at her with a promise in his eyes. Swallowing down the paralysing fear, she pressed the call button, praying Shaun would answer, but having no clue as to what she would say if he did.
Shaun was back in the park, shivering in the brick pavilion that felt like an outside prison cell, the floor around him littered with cigarette stumps and empty cider bottles. He'd spent the last few hours curled on the small wooden bench, lost in a warm fuzzy haze of White Lightning. Now the effects were wearing off and the cold was seeping back into his bones, he shivered and drew up his legs. The clothes that Kirsty had given him did little to keep the sub-zero temperatures at bay, a Mackenzie tracksuit top and a fake Burberry jacket were hardly suitable clothing for the perishing cold. When his phone began to bleat, he frowned and dragged it from his pocket. Kirsty’s number flashed on and off, he didn’t hesitate, slapping the phone to his ear, he rubbed a hand across his tired eyes.
‘That you, Kirst?’
‘Shaun?’
‘Jesus, I can’t believe you rang,’ he stood up and paced back and forth in the narrow space.
‘I’ve got you some cash.’
‘What, I...’
‘Listen, Shaun, you might be a bastard, but you’re still Danny’s dad ...’
Shaun could feel some of the tension drain from his clogged brain. ‘How much have you got?’
‘Seven hundred.’
‘Jesus, Kirst, how did you manage that?’
‘As soon as you’d gone I went into town and sold all the chains and rings you’d got me.’
He looked up at the milky sky; dark clouds hovered on the horizon, like bruises on skin.
‘Shaun, are you still there?’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
‘So what time can you get here?’
‘Fuck me, Kirst, I can’t come round the flat, the filth could be watching the place. You’ll have to bring the money to me.’
The line went quiet; Shaun shivered and blew onto his frozen fingers.
‘Where do you want to meet?’
He grinned, seven hundred quid wasn’t a fortune, but at least it would buy him a ticket away from this place. Perhaps he could go to the lakes, have a holiday, he'd been there once when he was in the approved school and he’d fucking loved it, abseiling down mountains and canoeing on the lake, he grinned at the prospect and lit a cigarette. ‘Can you get down to Mesnes Park?’
The line crackled. ‘Yeah, what time?’
‘Soon as you can, I’m fucking freezing my tits off here.’
‘OK, but where will you be?’
‘You know the brick shelter near the bowling green?’
‘Of course I bloody know it,’ she barked.
‘Right, I’ll see you there in an hour and, Kirst, can you pick me up a Big Mac meal on your way?’
He heard her sigh and smiled to himself, with a bit of luck in a couple of hours he would be well away from this shitty little town.
‘OK.’
‘Oh, and one of those little apple pies, and I want a milkshake not Coke,’ he looked at the phone in surprise; she’d hung up on him.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
Lasser dropped a two-pound coin into the coffee machine and pressed a couple of buttons.
After a night in the cells, Suzi Beddows had seemed somehow calmer as if resigned to her fate. Before heading for home he’d made sure the duty doctor had checked her over and a social worker was due to call sometime today to try and get her shifted to the rehab centre. The machine whirred and a plastic cup dropped into the slot before beginning to fill with something that smelled of chicken soup but resembled a cup of drain cleaner. When the machine failed to give him any change, he sighed and slammed his hand against the side.
A moment later, an alarm began to bleep, a small cheer erupted behind him, he looked over his shoulder to see a group of uniformed officers all grinning at him.
‘We might have to arrest you for vandalism, sir.’
‘Very droll, Wi
lliams,’ he replied, before sliding the drink free.
Steve Black wandered over. ‘It’s still showing one eighty credit, boss.’
The alarm ceased its dull bleating. ‘You’re a cadging bugger, Steve.’
‘Are you going to treat us to a free brew?’
Lasser turned to the others. ‘On your marks, get set...’
A moment later, they were stampeding their way to the machine that promised a free cup of coffee.
Lasser took his drink and went to sit in the corner of the room, watching as the group of officers stood around the drinks dispenser like a bunch of vultures waiting in turn to pick the carcass clean.
By the time he’d arrived home, the house had felt like a morgue. He’d looked in the fridge at a plastic Tupperware bowl that contained a chilli that Cathy had made. For some unfathomable reason, it felt wrong to eat the meal she had prepared for them both. Instead he went to the freezer and dug out a toad in the hole for one that had been lounging at the back of one of the compartments for months, slouching at the kitchen table he watched as the plastic tray of mush slowly revolved in the microwave. Ten minutes later, he had found himself sitting in the lounge watching some drivel on the television with a can of cold beer propped on the arm of the chair. The whole scenario had left him feeling depressed.
Since he and Cathy had been an item, the television had rarely been on. Instead they had talked and when they'd run out of things to say they had gone to bed and fooled around. He poked the food around on his plate, and watched as the ‘Chatty Man’ interviewed a celebrity he had never heard of, the audience roaring with laughter as Alan Carr minced across the stage, rolling his eyes with innuendo. Flicking the television off, he sat in silence, the food congealing on the plate, returning to its natural state of swamp water and lard.
Now, Lasser was sitting in the corner of the station refectory trying to think as people bustled in and out of the room. At least he had managed to avoid opening the second can of booze and that had to be a positive, the problem was he wasn’t sure if he would be able to sustain the willpower to leave the drink alone.
When he spotted Spenner pushing his way into the room, he frowned; the young PC looked toward him and then quickly turned away and headed for the door.
‘Spenner!’ Lasser bellowed, ignoring the heads that turned his way, he crooked a finger beckoning him over. For a moment, he actually thought the man was going to ignore him and make a dash for the door. He looked around the room, sheepishly, colleagues grinned at him, looking forward to seeing someone receive a public bollocking, one or two looked on with sympathy.
Spenner crossed the room like an admonished schoolchild, head lowered cheeks burning with embarrassment.
‘Sit,’ Lasser pointed at the chair opposite.
With a final look over his shoulder, he pulled out the chair and slid into it.
Lasser picked up the cup and blew onto the hot soup. ‘Do you want a brew?’
Spenner looked up in surprise; his tongue darted out and ran around his lips. ‘No thanks.’
Lasser took a sip of his drink and grimaced. ‘I can’t say I blame you.’
With no eruption imminent, the onlookers lost interest and gradually the noise level in the room returned to normal.
‘So have you made your report about the incident with WPC Harper yet?’
‘I’ve just finished it.’
‘And did you tell the truth?’
Spenner blanched. ‘Of course I did.’
‘You explained about the fact that while she was chasing a violent criminal, you were sulking in the car?’
Spenner swallowed, his watery blue eyes blinked rapidly. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t follow.’
Lasser sighed. ‘Of course you don’t.’
‘I gave chase, and Cathy Harper will vouch that I did.’
Lasser resisted the urge to throw the cup of sludge over the young officer. Was that the reason he had been at the hospital, just so he could throw himself on her mercy, and of course, Cathy would oblige. After all, he was a fellow officer and you stuck together no matter what. He looked down at the table not trusting himself to speak. Spenner had fucked up, he knew it and so did Lasser, yet he had taken the time to make sure their stories corresponded. He could imagine Spenner, bleating about how it could lead to a reprimand or even worse. After all, they were always looking to streamline the force and he'd just put a deposit on a flat and all he had ever wanted to be was a police officer, blah, blah.
Lasser had no problem with an officer trying to cover his or her back, God alone knew he'd done it himself often enough. Though this was different, this said that here is a man who cannot be trusted to watch your back and when it went pear shaped, he would try to crawl out of the wreckage unscathed. As far as Lasser was concerned, he should have been kicked out of the force, when the reality was that Spenner would probably go far, after all lying and backstabbing was treated as a skill set when you started to climb the greasy pole of success.
‘I don’t doubt that she will, Spenner. But I want you to be aware that I know the truth and as far as I am concerned you let her down...’
‘But I...’
‘Save your excuses, you should have been there with her and you weren’t.’
Spenner looked down at the table top.
‘Now I’m going to keep my nose out, but I’m doing it for her sake, not yours. I think she’s been through enough without having to back your sorry arse.’
Spenner looked up and nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘Just remember, Spenner, you go out in pairs for a reason. You’re meant to be keeping an eye on one another, now I’m not an idiot, I know it isn’t always possible. But this was one wanker on his own, not some gang where you ran the risk of being separated...’
‘I know, and I promise it won’t happen again.’
Lasser looked closely at the man across the table and tried to judge if he meant what he said, or if he was trying to bullshit his way out of a sticky situation, in the end, he had no idea.
Spenner stifled a yawn and then smiled apologetically.
‘I take it you had a late night?’ Lasser asked.
This time when he yawned he made no pretence of hiding it. ‘You could say that. We had to go over to the other side of town to look into a possible kidnapping, it took us ages what with all the snow and...’
‘A kidnapping?’ the word sounded antiquated as if it belonged to a bygone time when police officers carried gas lamps and tin whistles to summon assistance.
Spenner smiled tentatively. ‘Yeah, some woman said she saw a man dragging a body down the street and then bundled him into the boot of a car.’
‘And?’
Spenner straightened his shoulders, warming to the subject. ‘Well, when we got there the owner of the house lost his rag. I mean, I can take care of myself but he put me on edge. Anyway, after about twenty minutes, DI Rimmer shows up and this guy was talking to him as if he were shit, I mean, really laying into him.’
Lasser frowned. ‘So what did Rimmer do?’
‘That’s just it he stood there and took it. I couldn’t believe my eyes; anyway he told us he would take care of it. I mean, I offered to stay in case things got out of hand but he wouldn’t hear of it.’
Rimmer playing the hero, it sounded unlikely.
‘When we got back in the car I suggested to PC Rigby that maybe we should hang around for a while, you know in case we were needed. But he said no, he said he didn’t fancy wrestling on the front lawn with Callum Green especially when he was in that kind of mood.’
Lasser looked up, ‘Green?’
Spenner nodded.
‘And you say this happened where exactly?’
‘Over near Billinge, I mean, it was a top house, but apparently it’s his sister who lives there.’
‘And what did she have to say?’
Spenner gave a slight shrug of his narrow shoulders. ‘I don’t know we never got the chance to ask her.’
Fo
r the first time in days, Lasser felt a flicker of interest, as if he were crawling from an oil slick onto a white sandy beach. ‘Tell me, the woman who rang in with the details, do you have her address?’
Spenner popped the button of his jacket pocket and pulled out his notepad, ever efficient. ‘I’ve got it here.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Rosalynn McQueen looked at Lasser with suspicion and he didn’t blame her. It had been three days since his last shave and his tie was askew. Pulling out his warrant card, she leaned forward to peer at it, keeping one hand firmly on the door.
‘I’ve already spoken with one of your colleagues,’ she said.
He was standing at the front door of her large home, the step open to the elements, it didn’t matter which way he turned the wind battered him into submission.
‘I know but I was just wondering if I could have a quick word?’
She looked at the card again and then at him, a frown on her face. Lasser tried a winning smile but he was out of practice and from the way she stared at him, he knew it wasn’t working.
‘I suppose you'd better come in,’ she stood back and let the door swing open.
Lasser bustled inside glad to be out of the howling gale. ‘Thanks.’
She looked back outside as if checking for the paparazzi and then closed the door. ‘Would you like a tea or coffee?’
‘A coffee would be great.’
She looked disappointed, as if she’d expected him to refuse her token offer. He followed her into a kitchen that was loaded with gleaming chrome; the scent of fresh coffee filled the room. Work surfaces of black granite lined three walls; a huge Aga dominated the fourth.
‘I don’t really know what else I can tell you, Sergeant,’ she slid a cup under the coffee machine and pressed a button, the hot liquid whooshed out into the cup. Lasser waited until the machine fell silent before replying.
‘I realise that, Mrs McQueen, but sometimes things get a bit confused in translation.’
‘Not from me they don’t,’ her fingernails were painted scarlet; she was wearing a dark blue two-piece suit, power dressing taken to the max or a dominatrix on the prowl.
The Way That It Falls: DS Lasser series volume 2 (The DS Lasser series.) Page 20