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

by Robin Roughley

  Logging off in disgust, he let himself out of the office and headed for the canteen. Beryl, who ran the refectory with a cast iron oven glove was standing behind the serving hatch, arms folded across her chest, hair held in place by a grey net that matched perfectly the colour of her hair.

  ‘Now then, petal, what can I get you?’

  ‘What’s the special, Beryl?’

  ‘Cheese flan with broccoli florets and green beans.’

  ‘And what’s the healthy option?’

  She looked at him as if she wanted to drag him over the counter and beat him with a soup ladle. ‘That is the healthy option.’

  ‘Go on then, you’ve twisted my arm.’

  He looked around the room; apart from a couple of WPCs tucking into bowls of soup, the room was empty.

  ‘There you go, that’ll be five seventy-five.’

  ‘Jesus, at these prices it’s no wonder it’s so quiet in here.’ He reluctantly slid a tenner across the counter.

  ‘I don’t set the prices, petal,’ the money vanished; she rang the till and rummaged around for the change.

  Picking up his plate, he held out his hand and Beryl dropped the money into his upturned palm.

  ‘Enjoy,’ she said, a beaming smile lit up her face.

  ‘At these prices, I doubt it.’

  Making his way to a corner table, he slid into his seat. When he saw Carl from forensics push through the double doors, he raised a hand and popped a piece of the cheese flan into his mouth, despite his black mood he had to admit the food was good. Looking over to the counter, he saw Beryl watching him and gave her the thumbs up, she nodded and turned away, attacking a lettuce with a long knife.

  Carl wandered over and slid into the chair opposite. ‘How we doing, boss?’

  ‘Same shit...’

  ‘Different day,’ Carl finished the age-old adage.

  Lasser nodded and forked another piece of pie into his mouth. ‘And what about you?’

  Carl popped the ring on a can of Coke and took a sip. ‘Not good, you know the idiot you dragged in the other day?’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Barry Collins.’

  He crunched on a broccoli floret. ‘What about him?’

  ‘Well, as we speak, he’s on his way to the exit with that slimy sod, Walker.’

  ‘What!’ Lasser let the knife and fork clatter onto the plate, the two female officers looked around to see what all the commotion was about. ‘Tell me you’re taking the piss?’

  ‘Sorry, boss, I’ve just seen them filling in the paperwork.’

  ‘Right,’ Lasser pushed back his chair and headed for the doors, his anger following him across the room like a black cloud.

  ‘What about your food?’

  ‘You have it; Beryl hates to see an unfinished plate.’

  Carl shrugged and picked up the flan, before taking a huge bite, when he turned Lasser had gone.

  He stormed down the narrow corridor barrelling his way to the entrance, Meadows looked up when he saw Lasser heading toward him, he turned away and started to rummage in a stack of files.

  ‘Barry Collins, where is he?’

  ‘He left about five minutes ago.’

  ‘Bastard!’ Lasser stalked to the door and yanked it open in time to see Collins grinning at him from the passenger seat of Walker’s car. He tried to slam the door but the hydraulics made such an act of anger impossible.

  ‘Meadows!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who let that piece of shit walk?’

  Meadows looked nonplussed. ‘I haven’t a clue.’

  ‘What do you mean; you’ve just signed the release forms.’

  ‘Well yes, but DI Rimmer sorted it last night before he left for home. I mean, I only came on duty an hour ago.’

  Lasser scrubbed a hand across his hair in frustration. ‘Where is he now?’

  Meadows blinked. ‘Who are we talking about?’

  Closing his eyes, Lasser took a deep breath and let it out slowly, ‘Rimmer.’

  ‘I haven’t a clue, but I know he’s off duty today, so he could be anywhere.’

  ‘And who got Jack Walker involved?’

  Meadows looked like a contestant on mastermind who had suddenly froze in the glare of the television cameras. ‘I’m sorry, I...’

  Lasser shook his head and clattered back through the doors, when he reached Bannister’s office he paused for a moment, fuck it, he hammered on the door, bruising his knuckles in the process.

  ‘Come in.’

  Taking a deep breath, he walked into the room, Bannister sat behind a large desk, pen in hand, shirt sleeves rolled up. ‘Before you say anything, Lasser, we had no choice.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘Sit down,’ he pointed toward the chair opposite and Lasser flopped into it. ‘I’ve spoken with WPC Harper and she can’t in all honesty say that the man she chased was Barry Collins. Now I dare say you think differently, but it makes no difference, without evidence we have no right to keep him here.’

  ‘Oh come off it, as soon as he saw me he did a runner and what was he doing in Hindley, he lives miles away...’

  Bannister held up a hand and Lasser fell silent the blood thundering in his ears. ‘So far, we’ve been unable to find the nightstick that was used in the attack, so we have to presume he took it with him and disposed of it, which means we have no forensics to tie him to the incident...’

  ‘Who got Walker involved?’

  Bannister placed his pen on the desk and locked his fingers beneath is chin. ‘I haven’t a clue, as far as I know he was the duty solicitor...’

  ‘Bent bastard.’

  ‘Just because he’s good at his job doesn’t mean he’s corrupt, Sergeant. The fact that the law can be twisted isn’t his fault...’

  ‘But...’

  ‘No buts, arguing the toss about Walker is irrelevant, Collins has walked and unless we can find something stronger than a hunch, then he will carry on shitting on the likes of us for the rest of his natural.’

  Lasser glared out of the window, Bannister was right, Collins would never change his ways, he could have killed Cathy and yet within twenty four hours he was back on the street as if nothing had happened.

  ‘I understand your frustration, but before he left I had a word with Walker and according to him, Collins, could go down the avenue of police brutality.’

  Lasser could feel his jaw come unhinged. ‘You’re taking the piss, right?’

  Bannister tic-tocked his head from side to side. ‘According to Collins, he was out minding his own business when he suddenly found himself being chased. He also says that at no time did you announce that you were a police officer, so fearing for his safety he continued to run. He also states that when you caught up with him you used excessive force, kicking him between the legs while he was on the floor.’

  ‘Yes well, he’s a lying little sod, I shouted I was a police officer, it isn’t my fault that he chose to ignore the fact.’

  Bannister raised an eyebrow and Lasser kept his poker face on.

  ‘He did have to see the doctor when he got here.’

  ‘I’m not denying I lashed out, but catching him in the knackers was just a stroke of luck. I mean, you know what these people are like, you can never be sure if they are carrying a concealed weapon and I didn’t intend taking the chance.’

  Bannister nodded. ‘Fair enough,’ he picked up a ream of paper from his desk and began to shuffle them into order. ‘If I hear anymore on the matter I’ll let you know, but I told Walker that any allegations of misconduct will be vigorously contested.’

  Lasser cleared his throat in surprise. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Now, with regards to the other business, I’ve had no luck finding out where this Plymouth character lives, so it appears he must be using a number of aliases. Now I want you to go back to Munroe’s and have a word with, this....’ he picked up a thin file from the desk and flicked through it.

  ‘Caroline Speakman.’r />
  He flipped it closed. ‘Precisely, pick her brains; find out if she knows anything about the man.’

  Lasser kept his mouth closed; he didn’t really see the point in telling Bannister that he had already grilled the woman.

  ‘I realise you’ve already spoken to her, but be more forceful.’

  Lasser blinked, he’d forgotten that Bannister already knew he had been back to the shop.

  ‘Will do, sir.’

  ‘And if you have no luck there, then go and see Callum Green, maybe he knows more than he’s letting on. I mean, his brother’s still missing and his brother-in-law was last seen being dragged away under duress.’

  ‘What about DI Rimmer, sir?’

  Bannister’s face closed down, the corner of his mouth twitched as if trying to hide a grimace. ‘He’s not on duty today, Sergeant and I can’t see the point in disturbing his beauty sleep.’

  ‘No problem.’ Lasser stood up; when he reached the door, he stopped and turned. ‘And thanks again, sir.’

  Bannister looked up and gave a grizzled smile. ‘As long as my men are honest and don’t try to bullshit me then they’ll always have my support, Sergeant.’

  Lasser turned and left the room, although the threat had been veiled, he was in no doubt that Bannister meant what he said, cross me and you will be fucked.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

  Rimmer watched in awe as Callum Green rampaged around the room, destroying anything he could get his hands on. The stereo now lay on the back lawn, a gaping hole in the window from where he had thrown it through the glass. Rimmer had backed into a corner as Green slammed his foot through the screen of the huge television. Ornaments lay shattered on the oak flooring, he'd even managed to drag some of the oak panelling off the walls, revealing the bare plaster beneath. When he turned, Rimmer had felt his heart ram raiding inside his chest, his balls shrivelling as the big man stalked across the room toward him.

  ‘I’m going out and you had better be here when I get back, do you understand me?’

  Rimmer had nodded, watching as Green snatched his coat from the chair and stormed from the room.

  Now he sat in the only chair that wasn’t damaged and tried to think of a way out of this mess. He had worked in Manchester for over ten years and had soon discovered that the lot of a police officer was not a happy one. Long hours, for little pay, watching as an endless supply of corrupt individuals made a fortune, did little for job satisfaction. Moreover, the fact that he liked a flutter had reduced his income even further, until he found himself working for nothing. That was when he had met Paul Walsh, who according to the inland revenue, ran a scrap yard that made very little money, but who nevertheless drove around in a new Porsche and lived on the outskirts of Cheshire in a house that must have cost well over a million.

  In the end, he had started doing the odd job for Walsh, keeping his ear to the ground and forwarding any information for a handsome profit. When he had been moved over to this shitty backwater, he thought his days of making extra cash was over, but it turned out that Walsh and Green had known one another, done business together, so now he found himself doing the same job, for a different animal.

  He walked over to the hole in the window and lit a cigarette, blowing smoke through the gap. Over the past eight months, he had heard from Green only twice, asking if there were any ongoing investigations into his business dealings. Rimmer had made one or two subtle enquiries and passed the information on, receiving five grand for his troubles, money for nothing. Now he could feel the walls crumbling around him. Green had lost the plot completely, Rimmer had no doubt that he had stormed from the room with the intention of killing someone. Whatever had happened had caused the infamous Callum Green to lose all perspective, Rimmer had seen it in his eyes, the house, the money, suddenly meant nothing. All that mattered was finding the man who was turning his life inside out and killing him, slowly.

  He tried to weigh up his options, draw the cash from his bank, pack a bag and do a runner or he could sit tight and hope for the best. Rimmer sighed, over the ten years he had been working for Walsh, he had received over forty grand in backhand payments; the trouble was he had blown the lot in a casino owned by the same man, so in essence he had risked his job, his freedom for nothing. The five thousand Green had bunged him had been reduced to two, a holiday in the states had put pay to the other three. Flicking the smoke through the window, the weight of his own stupidity pressing down on his shoulders, he should have been laughing, if only he had stashed the money instead of acting the playboy.

  When he turned, he saw Green’s sister standing in the doorway, her eyes wide as she took in the destruction. ‘Where’s Callum?’

  Rimmer shrugged, ‘Gone out.’

  She blinked a couple of times and then looked toward him. ‘Who are you?’

  Rimmer pulled out his warrant card. ‘Don’t worry, I’m a police officer,’ he could have wept at the irony.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR

  Charles Munroe looked out over the River Dee, the water cold and choppy, the bank lined with barges of all shapes and sizes. Moored up for the winter, a couple of them trailed smoke from the stunted metal chimneys as the occupants tried to keep the freezing temperatures at bay.

  He watched as Barker walked towards him across the car park, dressed in a sheepskin coat that matched the colour of the ancient walls that surrounded the city, his head covered by a woollen hat, thick ski gloves on his hands.

  ‘I hope you’ve got some good news for me, Seth?’

  Barker pushed the hat back on his head and kicked the snow from his boots. ‘We went to the house, but he’d already left.’

  ‘So, get back there and wait for him.’

  ‘No, I mean, he’s gone for good.’

  Munroe grabbed the handrail, his fingers closing tight on the freezing metal. ‘So what are you doing here, why aren’t you out there finding him?’

  ‘Come on, Charlie, the bugger could be anywhere.’

  ‘He won’t be ‘anywhere’ he’ll be finishing the job, he always finishes the job.’ His ruddy face darkened with anger.

  ‘OK, OK, I’ll get over to Wigan and take a look.’

  Munroe slid a silver case from his pocket and yanked out a cigar. ‘He has no idea about my plans to get rid of him, so he won’t be hiding. Now, I want him dead, not tomorrow or the day after, I want him done today is that clear enough for you?’

  Seth nodded and shivered inside the sheepskin.

  ‘So don’t just stand there, get a bloody move on!’

  Barker turned and trudged his way back to the big four by four. Munroe glared at his back for a few moments and then turned back to the water and lit the cigar. Not for the first time he was starting to wonder if he was making the right decision, after all, Plymouth always did the job he set out to do. In fact, his performance had never been less than perfect. In a way it was a pity, he would have to go a long way before finding someone as adept as the blonde haired man. Though ultimately, he had no choice in the matter, if word got out that he had someone working for him who had no respect, then it was a slippery slope that could lead to others getting ideas above their station?

  He watched a couple of swans gliding past, riding the mini waves with effortless grace, though Munroe knew that below the surface the effort it took to appear so calm was vast.

  It was the same in his line of work, the facade he showed to the world was one of confident self-assurance, though the battle to keep that disguise in place was constant, and he didn’t need an iceberg like Plymouth lurking below the surface. Dropping the cigar over the railings he watched as it floated like a small brown turd before fragmenting and vanishing from sight.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE

  Every time Green tried to pick up speed the wheels of the Range Rover would start to spin as they fought for grip. Slamming his hand on the steering wheel, he took a huge gulp of air like a drowning man going down for the third time. If anything, the slow journey into town increased
his fury, every yard he travelled his anger threatened to boil over. He had no doubt that Tommy was dead and although the death of his brother had been hard to take, this was worse. His mother had once told him that you could choose your friends, but you were stuck with your family. Callum tried to block out the memories, but images of Tommy drilled their way into his head, with the persistence of a terrier shaking a rat.

  Growing up, they had spent every waking minute together. If anyone got in their way then they took care of them together, each confident that the other would be there for them, no matter what the circumstances, closer than brothers, tighter than family.

  Callum swiped at his eyes and then looked at his reflection in the mirror; he couldn't fathom the image of the man who looked back at him. The eyes were rimmed with red, his cheeks wet with tears, he brushed them away and looked at his fingertips in amazement, rubbed them together feeling the moisture beneath. When he raised his eyes, he suddenly snarled in fury, snatched at the rear view mirror and snapped it from its holding place, before throwing it over his shoulder onto the back seat. It had been like looking into the eyes of a stranger, the fear he had seen there had been alien to him, it showed a weakness, a vulnerability that he had never seen before. The traffic inched forward and Callum Green gripped the wheel as if he was trying to keep a hold on a reality that was ever so slowly drifting away from him.

  CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX

  ‘So what does it feel like to be back in your old bedroom?’

  ‘Weird.’

  ‘Have you still got your posters of Brad Pitt on the wall?’ He’d made a quick detour home to grab a warmer jacket and change his socks; Lasser wriggled his shrivelled toes in front of the fire, the phone clasped between shoulder and jaw.

  ‘I was always a Johnny Depp fan; I never really liked Brad Pitt.’

  ‘No accounting for taste.’

  ‘So what about you?’

  'Well, I've always had a thing for Catherine Zeta Jones…'

  'I’m asking how you are you, moron, not who you fantasize about!'