Lasser slid the plastic wallet from his coat and held over the photofit. 'I know it's a long shot but do you have any idea who that could be?'
Fleming slid open a drawer and pulled out a pair of glasses before sitting down on a long bench. Lasser watched as the retired doctor studied the image, his eyes moving from left to right as if he were reading from a printed page.
'What's he supposed to have done?'
'I'm afraid I'm not…'
'I'm sorry; old habits, I keep forgetting I'm no longer in the loop.' Fleming smiled again. 'Well, as always these pictures are open to interpretation, though I have to say that for once this one does remind me of someone.'
Lasser leaned forward in his seat. 'Do you have a name?'
Fleming looked at him over the top of his glasses. 'I'm afraid not. You have to understand I saw hundreds of damaged people every year and my memory isn't what it once was.'
'But you've treated this man?'
Fleming pursed his lips. 'No, he used to come with someone who was receiving treatment.'
'So, he was a friend of one of your patients?' Lasser asked.
Fleming glanced at the image. 'Well, I don't know about friend, he was more like a hanger on.'
'I'm sorry, I don't understand,' Susan said.
For the first time Fleming looked uncomfortable. 'You don't need me to tell you there're always individuals who'll try to abuse the system.'
'How was this man abusing the system, if he wasn't a patient of yours I don't see how…?'
'Oh, it wasn't this man.'
A light came on in Lasser's head, a rare eureka moment. 'Your patient was taking the piss wasn't he, and the man we're after was a user, that's why you called him a hanger on!'
Fleming sighed heavily. 'Of course I could never prove it but that's the impression I got.'
Susan felt none the wiser. 'I'm sorry but I still don't understand.'
Fleming handed the paper back to Lasser. 'Leigh Infirmary was used to dispense medication to hundreds of patients from other mental health agencies. So, on any given day you had individuals turning up to have their prescriptions filled. Now don't misunderstand me, the majority were genuine, though occasionally you'd get one who seemed to have slipped through the net.'
'So they were receiving medication that they didn't need?' Lasser asked, although he already knew the answer.
'Precisely, and Mr Connelly was one such individual.'
Lasser would have leapt to his feet but he didn't want to bang his head on the low roof. 'Kyle Connelly?'
'I see you know the man.' Fleming replied without much surprise.
'So he came to you for medication that he didn't need and sold it on to this man,' Lasser tapped a finger on the photofit.
'Like I said, I could never prove it, and to be honest Connelly was never an actual patient of mine, so I had no right to question another doctor's method of treatment.'
'How can you be sure he didn't need the medication?' Susan asked.
Fleming shrugged. 'Let's just say that you get a feel for those who're trying to pull the wool over your eyes and Connelly definitely fell into that category. I can see him now, this arrogant sneer on his face, he knew I didn't think he should have been prescribed anything, but you see he didn't care.'
'And the guy who was with him, you think he was a user?'
'Most certainly, he showed all the classic symptoms.'
Lasser stood up and felt the boat sway. 'Well thank you, Mr Fleming, you've been more than helpful.'
'Glad to be of assistance.'
'Oh, just one more thing, how long ago was this?'
'Probably twelve months.'
'And how often did you see Connelly?'
'Once a week.'
'And this man was with him all the time?'
'It seemed that way, though of course I couldn't swear that it was every single time.'
'No need to, Mr Fleming.'
Outside the rain had eased a little; leaving the rutted towpath waterlogged.
'Well good luck, whatever he's done I hope you manage to catch up with him.' Fleming waved before disappearing back into the boat.
Susan leapt over a large puddle; Lasser took a detour around the standing water.
A couple of minutes later he opened the boot and dropped his wet coat inside, by the time he climbed into the car Coyle had her seat belt fastened, the windows beginning to steam up.
'So, what do you want to do?' she asked.
'Have a guess?'
'Connelly?'
Lasser smiled and Susan looked away, unnerved.
'Got it in one.'
44
When she saw the car parked on the drive, Erin grimaced in surprise, so much for her conviction that Graham would be at work. Pulling up behind the Focus, she climbed out and looked up at the house. Bizarrely the blinds were still drawn. For the first time Erin felt a ripple of unease, Graham never slept in late. It was another one of his habits that grated on her nerves. Even at the weekend he would be up by seven on the dot, clattering around downstairs because he hated the thought of her lying in bed, ''wasting the day''.
Sliding the key into the lock, she braced herself for an argument. As soon as the door swung open the feeling of unease increased, stepping into the hall she closed the door quietly behind her. 'Graham, it's me!'
The house swallowed the sound of her voice and silence descended. Suddenly her mind conjured up her husband on the doorstep of Sarah's house, had it been pure anger on his face or had there been another emotion? She could recollect the snarl on his lips but there had also been a sense of panic in his eyes that she'd refused to see at the time. Erin swallowed, he'd looked like a frightened child who suddenly realised they're alone in the world, cut adrift by the one person they thought they could rely upon. She felt a twist of shame and stamped on it before it had the chance to bloom.
'Graham, are you in?' Moving into the hallway she glanced into the lounge, everything was as it should be, the cushions on the sofa plumped, the remote to the TV placed on the arm of Graham's ridiculous La-Z-Boy armchair. Erin turned and made her way to the kitchen, her eyes springing wide when she saw the broken window, the glass strewn across the granite floor tiles. She hesitated; imagining her husband storming around the house, his anger growing with each empty room he encountered. Until eventually, he had snatched some object and hurled it through the window.
Erin took a hesitant step forward and suddenly stopped. If that were the case, then surely the broken glass would have been outside the house, on the patio. She tried to work out what it meant and then it dawned that whoever had smashed the glass had been outside the house. A moment of panic flared and then she realised that Graham must have been in the garden when he lost control. For the first time she was beginning to wish Sarah had come with her.
All Erin's earlier confidence about her husband's mild demeanour vanished. 'Get a grip,' she hissed, before turning and making her way to the bottom of the stairs. Perhaps he was in bed sleeping off a hangover, maybe he'd been drunk when he smashed the window and staggered upstairs to sleep it off. Placing her foot on the bottom step took more effort than she would have thought possible. Resting a hand on the banister, Erin looked up, the stairs stretched away into shadow. Drawing a shaking breath, she began to climb the thirteen steps, by the time she made it to the top it felt as if she had climbed a mountain. The landing was smothered in shadow. Erin slapped a hand against the light switch and shivered when it failed to illuminate the familiar space. When she looked up, the frown on her face deepened, the bulb had been removed.
Suddenly the voice in her brain was screaming, get out now! Erin shook her head in response, this was her home, and although he wouldn't be for much longer, Graham was still her husband. She had as much right to be here as he did, Erin nodded as if to confirm the fact before striding down the darkened landing.
Standing outside her bedroom door, she blew out through pursed lips, she'd just check and if he was sleeping she'
d grab a few essentials and leave. Erin turned the handle and eased the door open; she could see Graham on the bed, his arms outstretched crucifixion style, his legs dangled from the end of the bed. Erin turned to leave and then stopped. The stain spread from the bottom of the bed and crept towards the door, just as if her husband had fallen asleep, while a bottle of red wine glugged onto the carpet. Trouble was Graham hated red wine. Erin hesitated, trying to work out what had happened, the smashed window, her husband comatose on the bed it was all so un-Graham like. Without even realising it, she eased into the room, she should check that he was OK, surely she owed him that much.
'Graham,' she whispered his name and grimaced at the fear in her voice.
Graham didn't move, no grunting or rolling over, no snoring. Erin strained to listen but the only sound was that of her own breathing, rapid and shallow. Tiptoeing around the bed, she took hold of the cord that raised the blind. The last thing she wanted was him to wake in the dark, he could lash out in confusion and then? Erin pulled gingerly, washed-out light seeped into the room. She took another shuddering breath and pulled again before locking the blind into place.
When she turned and her eyes took in the body on the bed she started to scream, the sound rising until it filled the room, bouncing off the walls it slammed into her. Staggering back, her left hand lashed out and hit the windowpane like a distressed bird caught in a trap. Her eyes flicked to the face of her husband and then she was retching, last night's white wine sprayed from her mouth in a gushing arc. Snapping her head to the side, she heaved again, her eyes streaming, the bitter taste of bile sour and searing hot in her throat. Erin scuttled forward, the mystery of the stained floor was suddenly revealed, there was blood everywhere. She could see it splashed over the front of the wardrobe doors, patterned on the walls. Erin gasped and dashed for the door and then her foot came down on something that slid beneath her feet and she crashed to the floor. She could feel the blood cold and tacky on the palm of her right hand, she hiccupped and vomited again before clambering to her feet but not before she noticed the severed fingers scattered on the floor.
By the time she ran from the house, Erin's mind had fractured; she weaved her way down the drive like a drunk after a heavy night on the tiles. Scrambling into the car, she jabbed the key into the ignition and then started to scream again. Five minutes later the next-door neighbour found her clinging to the steering wheel, her face wet with tears, drool hung from her mouth. As he would later recall to anyone who cared to listen, she looked like a ''mad woman, away with the fairies for sure''.
45
'What the fuck do you want?' Connelly stood in the doorway of the council house, flexing his tattooed arms and glowering. Coyle stood by Lasser's side on the weed-littered path, one hand resting on the handle of her baton.
'Come on, Kyle, that's no way to greet a mate.'
Connelly snorted and then spat a glob of phlegm that shot over Lasser's left shoulder, 'When hell freezes over, pal.'
'Is it all right if we come in for a quiet word?'
'What do you think?'
Lasser sighed and thrust out the photofit. 'Do you recognise this man?'
'No,' Kyle snapped, his eyes never leaving Lasser's face.
'Come on, Kyle, take your time, I know your eyes aren't what they used to be.'
'Piss off.'
'I'll ask you one more time and…'
'And fucking what?'
Lasser rocketed forward and slammed Connelly back into the hallway. Coyle blinked in surprise, amazed by how fast the Sergeant had reacted. Glancing over her shoulder, she hurried forward into the house.
Lasser had the man pinned to the wall, his forearm wedged beneath Connelly's chin. When Kyle tried to raise his arms; Lasser snapped up a knee and drove it into the struggling man's groin. All the fight suddenly left the big man and he slid down the wall, his mouth stretched wide in agony. Lasser stepped back as Connelly crumpled to the floor, his legs drawn up, hands clasped between his legs.
'Thanks for inviting us in, Kyle. I knew we could rely on you to do your civic duty.'
Susan swallowed and looked at Lasser but he had his eyes fixed firmly on Connelly as he writhed on the floor.
'Now, I want you to take another look and think seriously about your answer because my patience is close to breaking point and you're getting on my tits.' Crouching onto his haunches, he wafted the image under Connelly's nose. 'Come on, open your peeps there's a good lad.'
Kyle grunted; sweat trickled down his forehead, the veins in his neck rigid. Leaning down Lasser grabbed his right ear and twisted. 'Look at the picture, Kyle!'
Kyle glared hatred at Lasser, and then his eyes flicked to the picture, and Susan saw a flicker of recognition.
'Never seen him before,' he gasped.
'Right, on your feet, we can discuss this at the station.'
'You can't take me in, I've done fuck all.'
'Wrong, Mr Big Man, now up you get,' Lasser stood and dragged on the ear. Kyle scrabbled to his knees and then to his feet, both hands still cupping his throbbing testicles.
'I'm telling you I don't know his fucking name.'
'But you've seen him before haven't you?'
'Might have.'
'We have it on good authority that you provide him with certain illegal substances.'
'Bollocks, I don't deal.'
Lasser lashed out again, the palm of his hand slapped hard against Connelly's right cheek.
'Ow, what the fuck did you do that for?' Connelly rubbed at the sting before flicking an embarrassed glance at Coyle.
'I don't have the time to mess about with a lying prick like you, now where is he?'
'I…'
'Don't tell me, let me guess, you don't know where he lives?'
'I don't, honest…'
Lasser barked out a laugh. 'I've told you before, Kyle, you shouldn't use words when you don't know their true meaning.'
'I'm telling you…'
'You used to get your script filled at Leigh infirmary, once a week regular as clockwork and this moron was with you. Now what's his frigging name?'
Connelly swallowed. 'OK, I used to help him out, he had a bit of a habit, but I never took any cash off him.'
'Ah, I see, you were running a charity, well why didn't you say so, it would have saved us a load of bother.'
'I…'
'So when was the last time you saw him?'
'Bloody months ago.'
'I see, so you never knew his name but out of the kindness of your heart you regularly handed over your medication because you felt sorry for him and you have absolutely no idea where he lives, have I got that right, Kyle?'
Connelly tried to glare Lasser out and then looked away, the blush of embarrassment rising until it covered the whole of his face.
'See, even you realise it sounds like bollocks. Now get your coat.'
'But…'
Lasser loomed and Connelly cringed back against the wall. 'OK, his name's Flynn, but that's all I know.'
'First name?'
'Honest man I never knew it.'
'Address?'
'He was homeless for ages and then he got a flat on Worsley Mesnes but he fucked off because he owed money to someone…'
'So where is he now?'
'I have no idea.'
'When does he come and pick his gear up?'
Connelly shook his head; beads of sweat ran down his face, his pain filled eyes suddenly cautious. 'I told you I haven't seen him for months.'
Lasser held out a hand. 'Give me your mobile.'
'I haven't got one.'
'A drug dealer with no mobile, now what are the chances of that?'
'I dropped it down the shitter last night and I've told you I ain't no drug dealer.'
Lasser grinned and pulled his own mobile from his pocket. 'Remember when I pulled you in a few months ago for trying to extort money from that old guy in the wheelchair? The one who had mental health problems, the one you tried to bleed dry.'
'That was a misunderstanding, I never asked him for owt.'
'Whatever, well do you remember when you came down to the station you had your mobile on you then, didn't you Kyle?'
More sweat leaked from his open pores as he watched Lasser scroll through the numbers, a few seconds later the phone began to ring in the back pocket of his jeans.
Lasser shook his head. 'You really are as thick as pig shit aren't you, Kyle?'
Connelly sighed and closed his eyes.
46
'Are you sure hitting him was a good idea?' They were on their way back to the station; as usual, the traffic was chaotic.
'You mean am I sure that defending myself was the right thing to do?' he threw her a sidelong glance and sighed when he saw the disapproving look on her face.
'Listen, Susan, we're trying to catch this animal before he sticks his knife in some other poor sod…'
'I realise that, but…'
Lasser held up a hand. 'Connelly's a bastard, so don't waste your sympathy. Believe me he isn't worth it.'
'But everyone has rights,' she whispered.
The traffic lights changed to red, Lasser yanked on the handbrake. 'Kyle Connelly doesn't.'
'Hang on, you can't decide…'
'He's a dealer and a pimp, and last year he claimed to have fixed a hole in some old guy's roof and charged him his life savings to replace one tile. Before that, he put his girlfriend in hospital because she came back from the chippy with a steak and kidney pudding instead of the fish he'd asked for. She ended up with three broken ribs and a compound fracture to her left eye socket.'
Susan chewed at her lip, her face flushed with colour. 'But didn't she press charges?'
'Come on, you know it doesn't work that way, Susan. People like Connelly only pick women they can dominate, he knows he can do what he wants, and she'll never grass him up. So when you say Connelly has rights, I believe he gave them up a long time ago and if you try and do things by the book then he'll take the piss and laugh while this Flynn character carries on killing.'
The lights flicked to green and Lasser pulled away. When his phone began to bleat, he pulled it from his pocket and handed it to Coyle.
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