Twisted

by Robin Roughley

  'Stay behind me!'

  She glanced over her shoulder; he saw the look of anger flash across her face. 'But…'

  'No ''but''s!'

  Reluctantly she slowed down, the stick held firm in her right fist, their feet beating a steady tattoo on the glistening pavement. As soon as they reached the van, Lasser cut left and skidded to a stop, 'Jesus!'

  The man lay on his back, arms outstretched, his body on the pavement with his head in the gutter. Blood seeped from the slash across his throat, washed away by the downpour, his apron smeared with grease and gore.

  'Call the paramedics!'

  Coyle was already talking into her two-way. Lasser glared into the rain, there were still one or two people braving the elements, but… Then he saw the figure in the trench coat disappearing down the narrow ginnel that ran down the side of the old wine shop.

  'Wait with him.'

  Coyle grabbed at his sleeve. 'Where are you going?'

  'I've just seen…'

  'You can't leave me on my own!'

  Lasser spun around, her eyes were wide, the rain slid down her pale face. She looked about twelve years old. 'Look, the paramedics should be here in five minutes, and…'

  'But what if he dies and I should have done something to help him?'

  Lasser looked down at the body; the eyes were locked open in a glassy stare, the blood that had been draining from the neck wound had stopped.

  Lasser took hold of her arms. 'Susan listen to me, it's not your job to keep people alive that's why we have paramedics and doctors…'

  'But…'

  'No ''but''s, it's our job to catch the man who did this. Now I need you to stay here while I go and look for him.'

  He watched as she straightened her shoulders and drew a shaking hand across her eyes. 'I understand, sir.'

  'Five minutes and I'll come straight back.'

  She gave a brusque nod and then turned away and slid to her knees at the side of the body.

  Lasser set off running, flying across the main square, the pubs blasting out drum and bass. As he dashed past 'The Moon under the Water pub', he spotted a familiar face.

  'John!'

  A gorilla in a black tuxedo smiled when he saw Lasser approach. 'Bloody hell; look at the state of you.'

  'Someone's just been knifed at the back of the burger van. Do me a favour, get over there and give my colleague a lift. Once people spot what's happened she'll have her hands full.'

  John cracked his knuckles. 'And you want me to keep the crowds back?'

  'Yeah, but try to avoid busting any heads.'

  'Leave it with me,' the bouncer set off walking through the downpour.

  Thirty seconds later, Lasser peered down the darkened alleyway, ran a hand across his wet hair, and vanished into the gloom. The cobbles beneath his feet felt slick and treacherous, he brushed one hand along the wall to help keep his balance. Emerging into the parish churchyard, he scanned the bushes that grew along the perimeter wall before heading beneath the lychgate and out into the labyrinth of narrow back streets that seemed to consist of nothing but charity shops and cafes.

  Pausing at the junction, he sighed, the bastard could be anywhere, turning right would take him back to the town centre while left went towards the bus station. Turning left, he ran down the side of the old magistrate's courts, and then right into the bus station itself. The place was floodlit and deserted, the buses returned to the depot for the night. He could see a couple of old guys sitting beneath one of the Perspex shelters chugging hard on a couple of cans of cheap booze, apart from that the place was empty. Lasser dragged a hand across his head in frustration before turning and backtracking through the churchyard. When he emerged from the alleyway, he could see the blue lights spinning in the distance, bouncing off the shop fronts. As expected, a crowd had gathered in front of the burger van, necks craned as they tried to get a grandstand view of the grisly proceedings.

  Crossing the square, Lasser could see a couple of paramedics loading the body into the back of the ambulance.

  When John the bouncer spotted him, he raised a hand and wandered over.

  'Bloody hell the bugger's snuffed it,' his dickie bow tie was askew, his face solemn.

  Lasser sighed. 'Did you know him?'

  'Aye, Paul Clements, he's been working that spot for years.'

  'Well thanks for your help, mate, I owe you one,' Lasser turned to walk away.

  'Here, that bloke you were chasing – was he the one that done it?'

  'Yeah I think so.'

  'It's just I'm sure it was Rob Flynn.'

  Lasser stopped and snapped his head around; droplets of water flew from his hair. ''Flynn''?'

  'Well yeah, but I couldn't swear to it because he looked different.'

  'Different in what way?'

  'Well, normally he wears this crappy denim jacket, a real scrag you know what I mean, and that's the first time I've ever seen him with his hair tied back.'

  'How do you know him?'

  John cracked his knuckles. 'He used to be a regular in the Vic, in there twenty-four seven, part of the fixtures and fittings.'

  'But not anymore?'

  'Nah, he got in with the wrong crowd, ended up a bag head.'

  Lasser steered the bouncer into the doorway of B&M bargains.

  'Do you have any idea where he lives?' he asked, before swiping a drop of water from the end of his nose.

  'Last I heard he was on Worsley Mesnes, but I think he got kicked out and I just presumed he'd been living rough.'

  Lasser sighed and turned back into the rain. 'Right, well thanks for your help, John.'

  'Though I do know he was living with some bird in Platt Bridge for a while.'

  Lasser turned. 'Any idea where?'

  'Nah, but I remember he told me once that he couldn't stand the place, he said it stank, and…'

  'Stank?'

  'Yeah, I think it was a flat above a curry house or summat like that.'

  Lasser felt the tension crank up another notch. 'Are you sure?'

  'Positive, I remember taking the piss, started calling him Abdul and he weren't impressed,' John grinned at the memory and watched in surprise as Lasser ran off into the rain.

  56

  Robert looked at the money clasped in his hand and smiled before counting it again, passing the twenty-pound notes from one hand to the other. The rain dripped off the branches of the laurel bushes, falling on his head and shoulders but he didn't even notice it.

  Four hundred and twenty quid, it was unbelievable, he's couldn't ever remember holding such a large amount of money in his hands before. Robert tried to calculate how many tablets it would get him, but he'd never been good with numbers, he just knew it would be a lot, a shit load in fact. The smile on his face grew wider, he felt as if he'd won the lottery. Pushing the money into his pocket, he listened as another cop car went flying by, as the sound faded he thought about the look on the burger man's face.

  'Remember me,' he'd asked.

  The fat man had looked at him nonplussed, the cigarette dangling from his fleshy lips. 'No, should I?'

  Robert had lashed out and the man had gasped at him, his eyes sprang wide in shock then he'd collapsed to the floor, his fat legs twitching, the blood spraying upwards in an arc of red.

  Slipping through a hole in the fence, Robert checked left and right before jogging across the street. With any luck, he should be able to get to Kyle's in about an hour. Fumbling in his pocket, he shook two pills from the bottle and tossed them into his mouth, convinced now that he would soon have his pockets stuffed with the life changing tablets.

  Life just didn't get any better than this, he thought as he jogged down the street.

  57

  Bannister was standing at the rear of the burger van, Doc Shannon at his side, both men looking bedraggled. As soon as he saw Lasser approaching, Bannister's face darkened.

  'Where have you been?'

  'Could I have a word?' Lasser asked, shivering inside his
waterlogged clothes.

  'No you can't,' Bannister snapped. 'I want to know why you left a dying man on the pavement in the care of an inexperienced officer while you went walkabout.'

  Shannon threw him a sympathetic glance.

  'I didn't go walkabout. I…'

  'Don't give me your bullshit, Lasser.' Bannister loomed out of the rain, his eyes glittering.

  'Hang on, I was trying to find the man responsible…'

  Bannister pointed at the floor. 'But what about the victim?' he hissed. 'He should have been your one and only priority.'

  Lasser could see Coyle standing about ten feet away, looking distraught.

  'Look it was…'

  'Don't ''look'' me, you moron, that man could have survived if you'd done your duty…'

  'Oh come on, he was already dead when we got here.'

  'Not according to PC Coyle. While you were pricking about, she was trying her best to keep him alive; she said he had a pulse! I mean, what possessed you to do something so bloody idiotic?'

  Lasser could feel the anger crawling up through his chest, like a beast with sharp claws, the red mist descending. 'It was Flynn…'

  'I don't care; you should have stayed at the scene!'

  'And done what, given mouth to mouth to a man with a bloody great hole in his throat?'

  'Don't you…'

  'I asked Coyle to call in the paramedics, the experts, what was the point in me standing looking down at a dead man when Flynn was getting away?'

  Bannister rammed his hands into his pockets, as if he didn't trust himself not to lash out. 'Oh so you're a medical expert now are you?'

  'Of course not and that's my point, I wouldn't have had a clue what to do, so I used my initiative. That's what you're always telling us to do but when we do, this is what we get!'

  Shannon tugged at his soggy beard as if he were ringing out a dishcloth. 'Lasser's right, he wouldn't have been able to…'

  'Don't you bloody start!' Bannister whipped his head around.

  Shannon shrugged. 'It's the truth, even if the paramedics had been here when it happened they'd still have struggled to save his life.'

  'I don't care; he should have stayed put and seen to the poor sod.'

  'So why bother sending them out in pairs?' Shannon asked.

  Bannister narrowed his eyes. 'What are you talking about?'

  'Well, basically you're saying that Coyle's not competent enough to do the job…'

  'I never said that!'

  Lasser sighed and looked at the two men; Bannister looked as if he was about to combust,

  Shannon appeared unperturbed. 'So, why is Lasser in the wrong?'

  Bannister looked up at the abused sky; his teeth locked together in anger.

  'Don't you question me, Shannon…'

  'No come on, you're saying that Coyle shouldn't be left alone. Now, is that because she's new to the job or is it because she's a woman?'

  Bannister's mouth worked but no words came out; Lasser could see Coyle looking mortified, as if she'd suddenly been dragged into the middle of an age-old debate.

  'Look, sir…' Lasser stepped forward. 'Maybe you're right but Flynn is on the bloody rampage and…'

  Bannister lunged, grabbed Lasser, and propelled him backwards before slamming him into the door of the betting shop, the metal grill over the entrance rattled. 'You think I don't know that!'

  Shannon grabbed Bannister's arms and yanked him back; suddenly a flash bulb went off, illuminating the back of the burger van, flooding the small space with white light.

  Lasser snapped his head to the right in time to see Michael Brewster disappearing into the crowd.

  'Great, just sodding great.'

  Bannister glared at him before pointing to his car. 'Get in there and don't move a bloody muscle.'

  Lasser shook his head and walked in the opposite direction.

  'Where the hell do you think you're going?' Bannister shouted.

  'Home.'

  'One more step and you're finished!'

  Raising his hand, Lasser popped the middle finger and carried on walking.

  58

  Cathy checked the bolt on the front door before moving into the kitchen and drawing the blinds.

  Erin sat at the table, her face creased in anguish.

  'Would you like a drink, Erin?' she asked.

  Rawlins was leaning against the breakfast bar, a half-eaten Jaffa cake in his hand. When Erin failed to reply, he raised an eyebrow before popping the remainder of the biscuit into his mouth.

  'Erin, is there anything I can get you?' Cathy sat down at the table in an effort to get the woman's attention.

  Erin blinked and shivered before shaking her head. 'No thanks.'

  'Have you and Sarah known each other long?'

  'Since high school,' she replied automatically.

  'Look, I realise this is hard…'

  ''Hard''?' Erin's eyes focussed and she looked at Cathy in disbelief. 'I arrived home to find my husband in bits with his fingers sliced off and tossed onto the floor. So yeah, you could say I'm finding it ''hard'' to come to terms with the day's events.'

  Cathy could feel the animosity coming across the table like a skip full of toxic waste. 'I'm sorry that was a stupid thing to say,' she glanced at Rawlins who was miming a slow handclap.

  Cathy glared at him before flicking her eyes back to Erin. 'Look, why don't I put the kettle on…'

  'What's wrong with you people? I've already told him I don't want a drink, I don't want to try and rest. I don't want to watch the bloody X-Factor. I just want to be left alone.'

  Cathy sat back and raised her hands. 'OK, whatever you say.'

  Erin sighed heavily and pushed the hair back from her face. 'Look, it's not your fault, you have a job to do and I…I mean, we are grateful, it's just that this whole thing is such a nightmare…'

  'Honestly, Erin, you have nothing to apologise for.'

  The living room door opened and Sarah walked in dressed in a fluffy bathrobe, her dark hair gathered beneath a pink towel.

  'I'm putting the kettle on, who wants a brew?' she said.

  Erin looked across the table at Cathy and gave her a half-hearted smile.

  59

  Something wasn't right, as soon as he saw the dark blue Ford Focus parked halfway along the street, Robert stopped. From this distance, it was impossible to see if anyone was in the vehicle but it didn't look right, didn't feel right. The voice inside told him to be cautious, this was the kind of street where anything new stood out like a turd in a swimming pool. The people who lived here could never afford a new car like the one that stood gleaming beneath the street light. Turning, Robert made his way back around the corner and headed down the narrow alleyway that ran along the back of the properties. The narrow space was littered with black and brown wheelie bins, some with lids open, household waste spilling onto the ground, the acrid stench of rotting food and dirty nappies hung heavy in the air. Robert counted the houses until he came to the one he was looking for. Pressing the latch on the gate, he frowned when it refused to budge. Putting his shoulder to the woodwork, he pushed and then he saw the twisted heads of the four-inch nails driven between the casing and the gate. Looking left and right, he grasped the top of the gate and scrambled over before dropping into the tall grass. Swishing across the overgrown lawn, Robert made his way to the back door and looked down at his jeans; the water was already soaking through the material, cold and clammy against his skin.

  Peering through the kitchen window revealed a worktop festooned with empty takeaway trays and pot noodle containers. In the corner of the room, a cross bullmastiff lay curled in the gap that should have housed the washing machine.

  Licking his lips, Robert tapped tentatively on the back door. Immediately the huge animal was up and barking.

  Robert would have run if voice hadn't spoken. 'Wait, Robert, don't be hasty.'

  A moment later, the upstairs window slammed open. Kyle Connelly thrust his head out, as soon as
he spotted Flynn beneath the window he jabbed a finger towards him. 'Right, prick, don't you fucking move,' Kyle snarled.

  The window slammed shut, the dog continued to bark and Robert backed off into the garden, his right hand slid behind his back grasping the handle of the knife.

  'Trust me, Robert; I won't let anything happen to you.'

  'Do you promise?' he whispered fearfully.

  'Do as I say and everything will be hunky-dory,' the voice sounded calm and confident.

  Robert licked his lips, and tried to swallow the hard knot of fear that lodged in his throat.

  When the kitchen light flickered on, he heard Connelly bawling. 'Tyson, shut the fuck up!' The dog yelped and then Connelly filled the doorway, his face lined with fury. 'I've got a bone to pick with you, dickhead.'

  Robert took a backward step until he was standing on the edge of the weed-smothered lawn. 'Why, Kyle, what's up?'

  Connelly stepped onto the flags pulling the door closed behind him; his bare feet white in the gloom. 'I'll tell you what's up, I've had the fucking filth around asking questions about you…'

  'The filth?' Robert shuddered and threw a look over his shoulder as if he expected to find an army of coppers hiding in the bushes.

  'So, come on what have you been up to, eh?'

  'Nothing, mate, honest.'

  Connelly took two steps towards him; Flynn could smell the pungent stink of cannabis. 'You're a liar, Flynn…'

  'What did they want me for?'

  Connelly looked annoyed at the interruption. 'How the fuck should I know?'

  'What did you tell them?'

  Connelly blinked at the man in disbelief. 'What did you say?'

  'Did you tell them you knew me?'

  Kyle jabbed out a finger. 'For one, I'm no grass and two, I figure you owe me for keeping my trap shut.'

  'Look, Kyle, I've got cash. I just want as many of those tablets…'

  'How much?'

  Robert dragged the money from his pocket and held it out like a beggar with a tin cup. 'Four hundred quid…'