Twisted

by Robin Roughley

  'They obviously have money, Robert, otherwise they wouldn't be out spending it,' the voice said, so why shouldn't he help himself. It made perfect sense, they had too much and he never had enough.

  He walked past the Victoria public house, one of his old haunts, the doorway crammed with smokers, hard faces drawing on thin cigarettes. Robert scuttled past and honed in on the burger van.

  'What can I get you, son?' The man wiped his greasy hands on a grubby tea towel before draping it over his shoulder.

  'Quarter pounder with cheese no onions.'

  'Coming right up.'

  Robert felt someone move up alongside him, he caught the waft of perfume mingled with the chip pan smell of the van. Glancing to his right, he saw the girl fumbling in her purse, head bent, long brown hair obscuring her face. She was wearing a dark-blue top; arms laced with goose bumps, her nipples showing through the thin material.

  'That's three-sixty mate.'

  Looking up, he saw the man holding out the polystyrene box, a slight frown on his dough-like face.

  'Sorry?'

  'I said that's three pounds sixty.'

  Thrusting out the tenner, Robert grabbed the box and waited for his change, the girl at his side brushed against him as she moved forward, Robert shivered.

  'There you go, mate.'

  Taking the change, he turned away and then stopped a crease of confusion on his face. 'Hang on, I gave you a tenner.'

  The burger flipper folded his arms across his chest. 'Sorry, mate, it was a fiver.'

  'No, it was definitely a tenner,' Robert could feel the anger creep along his spine, like hard little fingers jabbing into the muscle.

  The man pointed to a sign attached to the front of the van by a small chain. 'Please check your change as mistakes cannot be rectified', it said in bright-red lettering.

  'I don't give a fuck about your sign! I gave you a tenner,' he felt the girl at his side move away, the scent of perfume fading.

  'Calm down, Robert,' the voice warned.

  The man behind the counter picked up a metal spatula and pointed it towards him. 'Watch your language, sunshine.'

  'Fuck my language; now give me the rest of my money!'

  People began to stop and stare; he could feel their eyes boring into his back.

  'Walk away now, Robert, people never just watch. They store information to be passed onto the…'

  Turning, he pushed his way through the crowd. Everywhere he looked eyes locked onto him, as if people were taking an inventory. Pushing free of the throng, Robert hurled the box onto the pavement and slammed his boot down on it, a splash of ketchup erupted like a bloodstain. When he looked up, he could see people giving him a wide berth, watching him with wary eyes. Blood rampaged through his brain, hissing like a faulty pressure valve. It was as if all the people on the street had suddenly become a single entity. Every head turned in his direction, the voice inside normally so calm, so rational screamed 'get away!'.

  Robert blazed past the front of McDonald's before scuttling down the darkened alleyway. The tart stench of old urine and rotting food filled the narrow space, the medication droned through his head, his breathing ragged, sweat seeped from his pores. Placing his hands against the wall, Robert tried to gather his senses. Erin's face swam to the front of his mind, this was her fault, everything was her fucking fault. Dragging his face to the sky, he peered at a rectangle of black cloud obscuring the stars, she would pay big time he would make sure she did.

  'But not now,' the voice whispered. 'Not yet, now take your medication, Robert.'

  Nodding, he pulled out a small bottle and shook out the last two tablets before tossing them into his mouth, grimacing at the bitter taste. He watched from the shadows as people walked past the end of the alleyway. His mind began to swell as the drugs kicked in, the passageway seemed to widen, his senses firing on all cylinders.

  He had to get away from here, find somewhere quiet and wait for the right one to come along. Taking a deep breath, he slid back onto the street keeping his head down, weaving through the crowds. The sudden nearness of so many people began to grate on his nerves, eating away at his defences. He could pull the knife out right now and start cutting, so many bitches, so many slags, he could feel the blade cold against his calf. Robert imagined reaching down and yanking it free, his right arm moving up and down with mechanical precision.

  'Easy, boy,' the voice sounded edgy with concern.

  He ignored it, in his mind's eye he saw the blood spurt, the skin opening to reveal the raw red flesh beneath, the screams as the whores panicked. His erection grew and he carried on walking, pushing and shoving, moving through a cloud of billowing perfume, trying desperately to quell the red tide that flowed through his head.

  Suddenly the crowd parted before him and he set off running, his feet slapping on the wet pavement. The shop fronts flew past in a blur, the music from the pubs rising and falling as he dashed down the street. Lights started to flash in his head, a thin line of yellow and red dots tick-tocked from side to side like a metronome.

  Sprinting around the corner, the revellers gradually began to thin out until there was only the occasional passer-by. Robert carried on running, he couldn't seem to stop, blood slammed through his aching muscles and his breathing began to fracture, the lights in his head now moving in a continuous blur. Coordination vanished, Robert began to weave from side to side like an old drunk reeling home after a heavy session, and then the voice in his brain screamed 'Stop!'

  Staggering to the nearest lamppost, he collapsed against the pole, wrapping his arms around it. Robert placed his throbbing head against the cold metal. Everything jittered, arms, legs, his face twitched, his tongue seemed to swell until it filled his mouth.

  'You have to learn, there's a time and place for everything, Robert. You have to act like one of them because if you don't they'll come looking for you and I won't be able to help anymore. Now open your eyes and look.'

  Robert did as the voice demanded, when he saw the park gates in the distance he smiled.

  'Time to hunt,' the voice said.

  14

  'How do I look?'

  Lasser opened his mouth and nothing came out. Medea was standing in the doorway of the lounge, jet-black hair falling across her bare shoulders in unruly waves and curls, the red dress clung like a second skin.

  'Not bad,' he managed to mutter.

  A flicker of a smile played across her lips. 'You like the dress?'

  'I like what's inside it more.'

  'Down boy,' she flicked her head, her hair writhed, and Lasser groaned. 'Right then, I'm ready when you are.'

  Lasser grabbed his coat from the back of the chair, checking that he had his wallet; they were halfway to the front door when his phone began to ring.

  When he saw the traffic lights flick to red, Lasser slapped on the siren, blue lights flashing from the radiator grill, headlights glaring on and off. A quick glance to the left and he flew across the junction, slamming his foot back on the gas, the Audi bulleted forward.

  When his phone began to vibrate he reached over and pressed the in-car speaker.

  'I'm on my way.'

  'ETA?' As usual, Bannister sounded annoyed.

  'Five, ten minutes at the most,' Lasser slammed on the brakes as a black cat darted across the road.

  'Right, the park gates are open you can drive straight through.'

  'Is it our man?'

  The phone crackled as Bannister sighed. 'Looks like it.'

  'Shit.'

  'Precisely, now get a move on.'

  The phone beeped and fell silent. Lasser turned right at the Town Hall and got his foot down, the houses flashing by in a blur. A few drops of rain hit the windscreen and then suddenly the heavens opened, forcing him to slow down. Flicking on the wipers, he leaned forward in the seat peering through the rain-splattered glass.

  'Bloody weather,' he hissed as he swept over the canal bridge and headed into town. The water board detours forced him to go
all around the houses before he reached the park gates. As soon as he drove through, he could see the flashing blues at the far end of the park. Clicking off the whistles and bells, he crawled along the narrow path, rain hammered on the car like hailstone on a barn roof.

  When he came across the ambulance, he bumped onto the grass and parked up alongside before climbing out and rushing around to the boot.

  'Evening, boss,' Spenner emerged from the deluge like a drenched waif and stray.

  Reaching in Lasser grabbed his waterproof jacket, 'Evening, Spenner.'

  'It's a bad one,' his face was a pale blob in the rain.

  Struggling into the coat, Lasser grimaced. 'They usually are, now where's Bannister?'

  'At the top of the steps with Doc Shannon.'

  Slamming the boot, Lasser flicked the hood over his head. 'Right, thanks for that,' trudging past the ambulance he weaved his way between two squad cars and an old Land Rover. The flight of stone steps led up to a large circular building that was in the process of being renovated into a cafe-come-gift-shop. The building, encased by scaffolding, was shrouded in huge plastic sheets that fluttered in the stiff wind. Climbing to the top, he could see Bannister standing ten yards away, shoulders hunched, hands thrust into his pockets.

  'Sir?'

  The DCI glanced over his shoulder. 'So, you decided to join us then?'

  'Sorry, with all the roadworks I had to take a detour…'

  'Bollocks,' Bannister moved to the side.

  She was lying on her back, head tilted to the left, a smear of wet hair obscuring her features. Naked from the waist down, Lasser could see rainwater seeping from beneath the body, her denim jacket ragged and torn.

  Doc Shannon was crouched on his haunches by the side of the body, a peaked baseball cap perched on the top of his unruly hair.

  'So, come on, Shannon, spill the beans,' Bannister snapped.

  The pathologist glanced up; his facial hair glistened with raindrops. 'Definitely stabbed.'

  'You don't say.'

  Shannon ignored the sarcasm and stood up. 'Multiple wounds to the chest and neck, deep lacerations to the inside of her thighs, and that's all you're getting until I get her back to the lab.'

  'What about the rest of her clothing?' Lasser asked.

  Bannister chewed a sliver of fingernail. 'The areas being searched but nothing so far, no bag or purse, no mobile phone.'

  'You think he took them?'

  Bannister held his fingers up to his temples and closed his eyes. 'Just give me a minute to consult my crystal ball.'

  Lasser sighed, sarcastic bastard.

  'Right, well if that's all the dumb-ass questions out of the way perhaps we can get on?' he raised a questioning eyebrow.

  Biting his tongue, Lasser crouched down and scratched his chin, rain slid from the plastic sheets above landing on the body and pitter-pattering on the hood of his jacket. Reaching down he slid the hair from her face, both her eyes were open, the right side of her face grazed and lacerated.

  He could envision the attacker with his hand clamped over her mouth mashing her face into the tarmac as he raped her.

  'Sir, we've found something!' Rawlins emerged from the rain, an evidence bag dangling from his right hand.

  'What is it?'

  'Purse, tossed into one of the litter bins near the swings.'

  'Give it here.'

  Rawlins wiped the rain from his eyes and handed the bag over.

  Bannister reached inside and pulled the fake-leather purse free, the edging frayed, the clasp broken. The DCI flicked through the small compartments before pulling out a plastic card.

  'Bus pass,' he muttered.

  Lasser stood up and sniffed, suddenly feeling tired and old.

  'Marsha Rimmer, aged eighteen, address, four Sidney Street, Platt Bridge,' he held out the card and Lasser gingerly took hold of it.

  The small photo showed a fresh-faced girl with mousy shoulder-length hair smiling for the camera, not a care in the world.

  He looked down at the body trying to reconcile the image of the dead girl with the one he held in his hands.

  'Well, at least we know who she is.' Shannon said, peering at the card, his waterlogged beard drooping, his eyes solemn.

  Bannister wiped a hand across his short hair before dragging it across his face. 'Get her back to the lab. Rawlins, I want the park sealing off, and if any reporters turn up I want them kept at arm's length, understood?'

  'Yes sir.'

  'Lasser, come with me, we have some bad news to break.'

  15

  Sarah hadn't been able to sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she could feel the arm snake around her throat, the hot breath on the back of her neck as her faceless attacker dragged her down the darkened alleyway.

  Opening the fridge, she pulled out a carton of orange juice with a trembling hand and took a gulp. She felt raw with fatigue, the sleeping tablets from the hospital had left her feeling lethargic and her senses wired.

  When she saw the hall light come on she slumped down at the kitchen table, a few seconds later, Erin walked into the kitchen dressed in a pair of jogging bottoms and a yellow vest top, her hair tied back in a ponytail.

  'I take it you can't sleep either?' Sarah asked.

  Erin yawned and nodded. 'Believe me I've tried.' Moving to the sink, she filled the kettle and flicked it on.

  'I need to find him, Erin.'

  Erin slid out a chair and sat down, resting her chin in her cupped hands. 'Who are we talking about, exactly?'

  Sarah grimaced. 'Not the nutter if that's what you're thinking.'

  'Look, whoever the guy was it's obvious he didn't want to hang around. I mean, as soon as he heard the sirens he disappeared.'

  Sarah tucked her hair behind her ears. 'I keep trying to remember what he looked like but it's as if my mind's closed down.'

  'That's hardly surprising given the circumstances.'

  'What about you?' Sarah asked hopefully.

  'Sorry, most of the time he had his back to me, and then you had your arms wrapped around him. In fact, when he tried to leave you clung on, and I didn't think you were ever going to let him go.'

  Sarah looked mortified. 'God I did, didn't I?'

  'You were scared, Sarah, Christ, we both were.'

  Sarah took another drink from the carton of orange before setting it on the table. 'I can remember his eyes; they were really bright blue …'

  'Maybe the police might have more luck finding him.'

  'I doubt it.'

  The kettle clicked off and Erin pushed herself to her feet. 'Well, unless he comes forward of his own accord then I'm afraid he'll probably have to remain a mystery.'

  'Not good enough, I need to find him; I have to tell him how grateful I am.'

  Erin could hear the desperation in her friend's voice. 'I would imagine he already knows that.'

  'But why would he run in the first place?'

  Erin dragged a cup from the draining board. 'Maybe he just didn't want the attention.'

  Sarah sighed and flicked the lid closed on the carton. 'Have you heard from Graham?'

  'Don't ask. Four missed calls and half a dozen texts, wanting to know what the hell I'm playing at.'

  'You know you don't have to stay here with me. If you want to go home, then I'll be fine.'

  'Do you want me to leave?'

  'I want you to be happy; I don't want you staying here because you think I can't cope.'

  Erin spooned some coffee into the cup. 'Look, sooner or later I'd have turned up on your doorstep with a suitcase, and I know we've only been married for three years, and you probably think I should go back and try again…'

  'Erin, I am the last person to dish out marital advice.'

  Erin poured in the hot water and added a splash of milk. 'I just can't face him yet; I need to get my head sorted.'

  'Well, you can stay for as long as you want, you know that.'

  Erin smiled. 'Right, so come on, have you any ideas about f
inding Superman?'

  Sarah raised an eyebrow. 'As a matter of fact I have, now don't laugh, I know this might sound crazy.'

  Erin gave her a quirky smile. 'You do surprise me.'

  'Well…'

  16

  Sidney Street consisted of terraced houses with front doors that opened directly onto the pavement. No doubt built at a mythical time when you could leave your door open and no one would ever dream of entering your home, let alone robbing you blind.

  Bannister pulled up at number four, the house was in darkness, green blinds over the front window. Climbing out, he saw Lasser walking towards him through the rain. Bannister beeped the alarm before knocking on the front door.

  'Christ, I hate doing this,' Lasser murmured.

  Half a minute later, a light popped on at the upstairs window joined a few seconds later by the hall light. They could see a figure hurrying down the stairs distorted by the frosted glass of the door.

  'Who is it?' A woman's voice, threaded with tension.

  'Mrs Rimmer, it's the police could you open the door please?'

  They heard the rattle of a chain and she opened it warily, a woman in her early fifties with fair hair cut short in a stylish bob. 'What is it, what's the matter?'

  Already her face seemed to be breaking, as if she instinctively knew something awful had happened.

  Bannister held out his warrant card. 'I'm Detective Chief Inspector Bannister this is Detective Sergeant Lasser. I wonder if we could come in'.

  'Who is it, Liz?'

  A man appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed only in a pair of boxer shorts, his salt and pepper hair awry.

  The woman looked back up the stairs. 'It's the police, they want to come in.'

  He began to pad his way down. 'OK, what the hell has he done now?' Standing in the doorway, he draped an arm across his wife's shoulder. 'Look, the lad's eighteen so technically he isn't our responsibility anymore.'

  Bannister threw Lasser a quick glance. 'Is this the home of a Marsha Rimmer?'

  Lasser saw the flicker of confusion that passed between the couple. 'What do you want our Marsha for? She's a good girl, she's never been in trouble with you lot, not once.' The man thrust out his chest in pride. 'Not like that useless brother of hers…'