Blood Bought

by Robin Roughley

  'Do you know if Clark had any regular training partner?'

  'Before you arrived I asked a few of the guys about him, and according to them he liked to train alone for the most part. Some guys are like that, while others prefer to have a partner of sorts to spur one another on.'

  'Do you get any women coming to the gym?'

  'We have about half a dozen or so.'

  'And do they train like the men?'

  Thorpe nodded slowly. 'You have to realise this is a body-building gym, people don't come to just keep fit, they train to get big.'

  Lasser tried to think of another question but the truth was his mind was still cluttered and his body ached with pain.

  Thorpe waited, a slight frown settling on his face.

  'We believe that Clark was killed whilst either being chased or chasing someone through the woods.'

  Thorpe's eyes widened in surprise at the admission. 'I don't follow?'

  Lasser explained about his theory and watched as Thorpe's mouth opened in shock.

  'You're saying that this was set up as some sort of game?'

  'Clark might have been under the illusion that is was some kind of fantasy but whoever killed him knew exactly what they were doing.'

  'Jesus.'

  'Of course, I expect you to keep this to yourself, if you even think of spouting your mouth off I won't be happy.'

  Thorpe looked at the man sitting opposite and saw the warning in his narrowed, dark eyes.

  'Don't worry, I won't say a word.'

  'Did anyone ever say anything about Clark, anything dodgy?'

  Thorpe shook his head adamantly. 'Nothing. Like I said, I've asked around, he kept to himself, trained, showered and buggered off.'

  Lasser winced as he pushed to his feet.

  'Are you OK?' Thorpe asked.

  'Never better,' Lasser lied as he turned for the door.

  'If I hear anything about Clark then I'll give you a bell.'

  Lasser stopped and turned. 'Somehow, I doubt that,' he said, pulling the door open.

  Thorpe watched as he left, his face marred by a frown.

  30

  'Name?' Bannister demanded as he stood at the foot of the bed, his arms folded.

  The man glared at him, his face pale against the pillow, his nose bloodied and stitched, both eyes blackened.

  The DCI waited for a response, but the man continued to glare at him, his lips pressed tightly together.

  'My colleague said he saw you murder Randal Archer, you and your two dickhead friends.'

  Over by the closed door Spenner moved his feet, the soles of his shoes squeaking on the tiles.

  Bannister unfolded his arms and leaned forwards slightly, gripping the rail at the bottom of the bed. 'Eventually, you'll tell us your name, or we'll find it out for ourselves, so why don't you do the right thing and save us all the bother?'

  The man never moved a muscle, but Bannister saw him swallow and for the briefest of seconds a look of fear flashed in his eyes.

  'I want to know why you murdered Archer, I want to know who the two bastards were who threw him from the window?' Bannister paused as he leaned further forward, 'and I want to know what you had to do with the death of Minnie Beddows?'

  The man on the bed gasped, his head sinking deep into the pillow as if he were trying to vanish from sight.

  'We know you targeted Archer, you came wearing fucking ski masks, you were carrying a weapon, one you used to try and kill a police officer, so whichever way you look at it you are well and truly fucked. We also know that Archer was trying to hide because he saw Minnie Beddows get into a car on King Street, and two days later she was found strangled, right near a place used by scum who shag on a filthy old mattress in the woods.'

  The more Bannister spoke the more the man seemed to shrink in on himself, his eyes blinking rapidly in fear.

  'I don't know anything about her murder,' he gasped.

  'And you expect us to believe that, do you?' the DCI demanded.

  The man dragged a hand across his bloodied face, his eyes wide as he licked his lips. 'Look, I swear on my life I know nothing about any of that.'

  'So, why did you kill Archer?'

  The man tried to look away from Bannister's ice-cold, fury-filled eyes.

  'Someone paid us to have a word with him, you know – put the frighteners on him?'

  'Are you having a fucking laugh?' Bannister barked.

  'It was the other two who threw him out of the window, it wasn't me. It happened so fast and…'

  'Who paid you to do it?' Bannister interrupted.

  'I don't fucking know!' the man wailed. 'I just went along in case they needed a hand, you have to believe me, I would never kill anyone.'

  'But you don't mind attacking them with a baseball bat, do you?'

  'We didn't know he was a copper, he never said who he was, and I thought he could have been Archer's friend or perhaps someone else who was after him.'

  'Yes, well, you bit off more than you could chew, didn't you,' Bannister sneered. 'The three of you jumped him and if he hadn't fought back then he would be the one in theatre right now, more than likely with broken bones or brain damage.'

  The man swallowed again, his eyes frantic.

  'Now, I want your name and the names of the two pricks who were with you?' Bannister ordered, his hands still gripping the rail at the foot of the bed.

  The man closed his eyes, the bruising looking even darker against his pallid skin. 'Terry Skuse,' he whispered.

  'And your mates?'

  'Martin and Ant Fellows,' he admitted.

  'Brothers?'

  Skuse nodded.

  'And where do they live?'

  'Leigh.'

  'Address?'

  Skuse looked up at the ceiling, a vein in his temple throbbed. 'They share a house on Bark Street, number twenty-seven.'

  Bannister looked at Spenner as he headed for the door.

  'Keep your eye on this prick.'

  'Will do, boss,' Spenner replied as Bannister stormed from the room.

  Silence followed, Skuse looking as if his life had just ended, Spenner glared at him with disgust.

  31

  The woman sat on the bench and scrolled through her inbox, her eyes flicking down the list, deleting as she went. She paused for a moment to open one message, the man stating that he would catch her and fuck her in the ass.

  With a sneer of disgust, she deleted it before reading another, her face turning thoughtful as she scanned the words, the smile creeping onto her face as she reached the end.

  Slipping the phone into her coat pocket, she took a bite from the sandwich and looked out over the deserted towpath. The canal was choppy, a few ducks bobbed up and down on the surface, the old mill on the opposite bank towered skywards, the water lapping at the brickwork that vanished down into the dark water. The windows of the building were surprisingly intact, even though the mill itself was empty.

  She had spent two days inside the place going from floor to floor and getting a feel for the building. The edifice had seven floors with flights of steps leading top to bottom. Each floor was open and held rows of thick metal poles supporting the floor above.

  She knew that the place had been earmarked for swanky apartments – much like the one she now lived in.

  Taking another bite from the sandwich, she popped the umbrella over her head as the rain started to fall again. During her inspection of the old mill she had found hidden passageways and dark corners that would be ideal to hide in should the need arise.

  She looked up at the towering building and imagined herself dashing through the vast spaces with a would-be attacker hot on her heels. In the woods, escape had never been a problem, but the four walls of the building would make it difficult to elude capture if things went wrong. The thought sent a thrum of fear through her body and then she steeled herself before tossing the bread onto the water, watching as the ducks homed in on the crusts.

  Checking her watch, she rose fr
om the bench and started to walk along the towpath. Later she would send off an email to the man who had contacted her. She would ask for more details and a picture and then she would decide on the terrain, though she had to admit that after the two men she had killed she needed more to challenge her, more to make her feel as if she were getting a just revenge.

  The rain slid off the umbrella, her long stride moving her along the path with ease, her mind making plans, her ever-present desire for retribution building.

  32

  Lasser was just backing off the car park of the gym when his phone rang, stopping, he pulled on the handbrake and lifted the iPhone from his pocket.

  As soon as he tapped at the screen he heard Bannister's voice full of vitriol blasting out of the speaker.

  'The prick who attacked you is called Terry Skuse, the other two bastards are brothers, last name Fellows, they…'

  'Anthony and Martin,' Lasser interrupted.

  'You know them?'

  'They used to work for Callum Green before he got banged up.'

  'Dealers?'

  'Heavies. If anyone failed to pay what they owed, Green would send the Fellows brothers around to break some bones.'

  'Well, it seems as if they have been doing the same sort of work but for a new client.'

  'Did Skuse provide a name?'

  'He claims it was the Fellows who dealt with that side of things, he just went to add extra muscle.'

  'He could be telling the truth.'

  'Where are you now?'

  'In Leigh, at Thorpe's gym.'

  'We're heading over to Bark Street, the Fellows…'

  'I know where they live,' Lasser interrupted.

  'We'll meet you in there in around twenty minutes. You get close, but you do not approach the property – is that clear?'

  'Yeah.'

  'Right, get going and I'll see you there.'

  Dropping the phone into his pocket he released the handbrake and pulled off the car park. As soon as he made the main road, he turned left and slapped on the flashing lights, moving quickly through the gears as the siren split the soggy autumn air.

  33

  Young Charlie Cliff adjusted the long coil of rope on his shoulder, the small Jack Russell at his side sniffing the morning air.

  By rights he should have been at school, but the truth was Charlie hated the place, so instead of getting his school uniform on he had dressed in jeans, wellington boots and a waterproof jacket. His parents were at work, so he had sneaked into the garage and grabbed the rope before calling his dog and heading out to the woods. He liked to come here whenever he got the chance and normally he would be alone, apart from the dog who went everywhere with him.

  The last time he had walked here had been two days ago when he had spotted the huge oak with the thick branches sprouting out from the trunk, a perfect tree to make a swing from.

  Rummaging in his pocket he pulled out a biscuit and dropped it for the dog who snuffled it from the grass and munched it down, his tail wagging despite the rain and wind.

  'Come on, Rip, let's get going,' he said as he set off walking again, the dog trailing behind, busily racing back and forth, sniffing one scent then another.

  Pulling his hood up, he clambered over the fallen tree smothered with fungi, the wood slowly rotting away to nothing.

  The long grass brushed against the top of his wellingtons, so when he spotted the flattened grass, he frowned, moving forward curiously, the path led around two huge trees, stopping at the circle of stone.

  Charlie wiped a drop of rain from the end of his nose before stepping up and inching forwards.

  The rain intensified, he could feel it pattering on the hood of his jacket as he looked down into the hole. At first, puzzled, he couldn't understand what he was seeing, but suddenly it all became clear, he jerked back, stumbling over bricks, his mouth yawning open as the horror slammed into him.

  The rat sat on the man's forehead, its tail curled around the brick buried in his face, both eyes open looking milky-white against the savage glare of blood. Charlie screamed in fear and then Rip started to bark furiously, his fur standing on end as the rat scuttled into the mound of bricks and vanished.

  Leaping backward, the body vanished from view and Charlie spun away, the coil of rope falling from his shoulder as he ran back the way he had come.

  Reaching the tree, he placed his hand on the surface and tried to leap over, but his grip slipped, and he landed hard on the trunk, his sobbing breath coming out in a rush, pain juddering through his shoulder.

  Falling onto the other side, he scrambled to his feet as the dog took the long way around, still yapping excitedly.

  Charlie started to run, the horror chasing him through the dense undergrowth; for the first time ever, he wished he had gone to school. Even sitting in a boring classroom while the teacher jabbered on about maths would have been better than finding the monstrosity in the hole in the ground.

  As he ran, he pulled the phone from his pocket, holding it tight as he sprinted over the rough terrain.

  34

  Lasser turned onto Bark Street, the lights and siren now silent as he pulled to the kerb, the wheels gliding through the standing water in the gutter. When the wipers pushed the rain from the windscreen, he could see number twenty-seven about thirty yards ahead on the right. Lifting the cigarettes from his pocket he lit up and then slid a crack in the window to let the smoke out.

  A black Mazda was parked on the drive and Lasser tensed as he saw the front door open, Anthony Fellows, dressed in jeans and heavy boots, his hair shaved close to the bone stepped out of the house and strode towards the car.

  Lasser hesitated for a fraction of a second before flicking the cigarette into the rain and planting his foot to the gas just as Fellows opened the driver's door of the Mazda and climbed in.

  He had backed six feet down the drive when Lasser came to a halt across the bottom of the drive and snatched the handbrake on. The tail lights of the Mazda flashed as Fellows jumped out, when he saw Lasser glaring at him through the side window his eyes sprang wide in recognition, and he leaned down into his car, emerging with a baseball bat in his hand.

  Reaching down, Lasser unclicked the door lever but didn't try to open it, Fellows stormed towards the car, his face rigid with fury as he swung the bat. Half a second later, the window exploded inwards and Lasser threw himself across the seat.

  'Fucker!' Fellows screamed as he tried to lash the bat through the smashed window.

  Lasser waited and then he powered both feet forward, slamming them into the door. It flew open and the top of the strut slammed into Fellows's face. Bellowing, he reeled backwards, arms fighting for balance, the bat falling from his hand.

  Ignoring the screaming ache in his body, Lasser lurched out of the car and drove his right fist into Fellows's nose while he was distracted pawing at the gash in his forehead.

  Fellows grunted and fell backwards, slamming into the back of the Mazda before slithering into a heap onto the rain-slick driveway.

  Lasser glanced up at the sound of the front door being yanked open, the brother appeared, his face smeared with hatred as he exploded onto the drive, his hands bunched into fists.

  'Bastard copper!' he screamed.

  Lasser stooped and grabbed the bat from the ground as Fellows hurtled towards him.

  He was twelve feet away when Lasser hurled the projectile, the wood spinning in the wet air before it smashed into Martin's mouth, shattering his two front teeth. He came to a halt, blood sprayed, his eyes flickered, and he collapsed to his knees.

  Lasser heard the wail of a siren then the roar of engines as Bannister came tearing down the street with Odette close behind, followed by two squad cars. Bannister screeched to a halt behind Lasser's car, the DCI jumped out from behind the wheel, his eyes widening when he saw the two brothers both on the deck, their faces coated with blood, groaning in agony.

  'I told you to wait at the end of the road,' he said in disbelief as he survey
ed the damage.

  Lasser watched as Odette approached, her eyes glanced at him before looking at the two injured men.

  'I know what you said but one of them came out and got in the car, so I pulled across the drive to block his path and he jumped out and smashed my window with the bat and…'

  'You defended yourself?'

  Lasser nodded, Bannister sighed as Rourke and Steve Black approached the two men.

  Odette hung back, her eyes looking everywhere but at Lasser.

  Bannister held Lasser's gaze for a few seconds longer before storming over to the two men.

  'I'm arresting the pair of you for the murder of Randal Archer,' he snarled.

  The brothers groaned in pain, each with blood-covered faces, as Rourke and Black grabbed their arms and snapped the cuffs on.

  'Get them back to the station and lock them in separate cells… and get a doctor to take a look at them,' Bannister demanded.

  The two officers hauled the injured men over to their respective cars before loading them into the back.

  Bannister watched the two cars drive away, Lasser had his head tilted towards the rain-drenched sky, Odette had her hands in her pockets staring at the house.

  The DCI looked from one to another, his face settling into a scowl.

  'What's up with you two?' he asked.

  'Nothing,' Lasser said as the rain dripped down his face.

  Bannister looked towards Odette, but she ignored the question and headed towards the open front door of the house.

  He opened his mouth to question Lasser further about the tense atmosphere just as his phone rang.

  With a scowl he lifted it from his pocket, Lasser lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke out as all his bruises made themselves felt.

  He watched as the DCI's face blanched and then flooded with colour, his eyes narrowing in anger

  'We'll be there in the next twenty minutes and I want nothing touching until we arrive, do you understand?' he demanded down the phone before hitting the screen with a thick finger.