Blood Bought

by Robin Roughley

  'Problem?' Lasser asked.

  'Another dead body found in woodland, his head caved in with a brick.'

  Lasser took another pull on the cigarette as he absorbed the news.

  'The Fellows brothers can wait while we check this out.'

  'I can question them if you like?' Lasser offered quickly.

  Bannister's lips twisted into a sneer. 'Unless it's escaped your eagle eyes, the pair of them will need to be checked out by a doctor and a bloody dentist. So, they can bloody stew, now go and get Odette.'

  Lasser took a shuddering sigh as he headed for the house, Bannister watched him go, his brow creased with bafflement.

  35

  Doc Shannon looked down at the body in the hole, Bannister at his side, Lasser and Odette stood across from them on the opposite side like mourners standing around an open grave.

  'I know I've lost some weight but there's no way I'll be able to get down there,' Shannon declared and waited for the DCI to start ranting.

  Bannister wiped the rain from his hair, his eyes fixed on the brick lodged into the dead man's face. 'Don't worry, Doc, we'll get him shifted but it looks as if our man took a tumble down the hole and then some bastard pelted him with bricks.'

  Shannon nodded in agreement before glancing at Lasser and Odette who stood close to one another, looking strained and tired out.

  When Bannister's phone chirped he slid it from his pocket and turned away. 'What have you go for me, Sally?'

  Lasser shifted his feet in the grass while the rain slowly found its way through the fabric of his waterproof jacket.

  Odette looked out from beneath the cover of her hood.

  'So, how did the trip to the Lakes go?' Shannon asked.

  'Er, yeah it was nice,' she replied.

  'Did you go up Scafell Pike?'

  Odette nodded, feeling her cheeks heat up as Shannon beamed at her. 'Yeah, but the weather was a bit iffy and…'

  'I remember climbing up there when I was in my early twenties and it took some effort I can tell you.'

  Odette smiled in acknowledgment.

  'I hope you didn't tackle it alone?' Shannon asked.

  Bannister glanced over his shoulder at Odette before turning away again and talking into the phone.

  'No, there were a few of us who went up.'

  'You need a guide with you, someone you can rely on.'

  Lasser felt the rain sliding down his face, his nerves stretched to breaking point.

  'There were a few experienced climbers there to make sure we were safe,' she explained in hushed tones.

  'Very wise.'

  Bannister turned back towards them as he pocketed the phone. 'Right, Sally ran a check on a car found at the top of the woods and it belongs to a man named Clem Bartle, aged thirty-six and single.'

  Lasser looked down into the hole again, even through the rain it was obvious that the dead man had looked after himself, he looked to be of similar build to Edward Clark, the same broad shoulders and thick neck.

  'It's the same killer who murdered Clark, it has to be,' he mused as he slid his hands into his pockets.

  'Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Sergeant, there's nothing solid to link the two men.'

  Lasser looked across at Bannister.

  'Same build, musclebound and spray tanned to the max, both killed in woodland…'

  'Yes, but one was stabbed and this one was stoned to bloody death.'

  Lasser shrugged. 'Perhaps the killer led him down this path knowing the hole was here.'

  Bannister rubbed at his bristly chin. 'Again, we don't know that.'

  Lasser looked at the huge round stone that lay a few inches from the lip of the pit. 'The stone was used as a marker, a landmark.'

  Bannister glanced over his shoulder at the stone, his face thoughtful. 'So, whoever was being chased had scoped the area out first?'

  'It would be the sensible thing to do, the path we came along isn't a long-standing one, it was made recently.'

  'And?'

  'Perhaps the killer knew the woods well, spent time here looking for the right path to take. One person coming this way wouldn't have flattened the grass for long, and you have the fallen tree less than twenty feet away, that would have acted as another landmark for the runner.'

  'I agree,' Odette said.

  Lasser didn't look her way, couldn't bring himself to look into her eyes.

  Shannon also nodded in agreement, Bannister remained with the perpetual scowl on his face. 'Sounds farfetched to me,' he eventually mumbled.

  Lifting a hand from his pocket Lasser swiped the rain from his face. 'I spoke to Roger earlier and he says that he's managed to trace some of Edward Clark's internet activities and he was talking to someone on a chase site.'

  'What the bloody hell's a ''chase site''?' Bannister asked, his eyebrow raised.

  As Lasser explained, the DCI's face became incredulous. 'Are you taking the piss?'

  'No. Certain individuals like the chase element, Rog thinks for some it's a sexual thrill, for others a test of strength and endurance.'

  Bannister shook his head in disbelief. 'What a world.'

  'When you think about it it's not that strange,' Odette said, ignoring her boss who threw her a dark look. 'People go on paintball trips, they pretend they are in the army and hunt one another down in places such as this. They do it to test skills and also for the thrill.'

  'Since when did you become the expert on paintballing?' Bannister enquired.

  'I met someone in the Lakes who likes to do it,' she replied quietly, the rain drummed on the hood of her jacket.

  'Would it be the new boyfriend?'

  Odette gave a brusque nod of the head.

  'You're seeing someone?' Shannon asked in surprise.

  Lasser suddenly turned and walked away along the path.

  'Hey, where are you off to?' Bannister shouted after him.

  'Left my cigs in the car,' Lasser shouted over his shoulder.

  'Bloody cigs!?' Bannister spluttered.

  Ignoring him, Lasser ploughed through the grass, his trousers soaked, his shoes sodden from the wet earth, his heart aching along with his battered muscles.

  36

  The woman locked the car and walked into the apartment block. Ignoring the lift, she headed for the stairs and sprinted up to the top floor, her breathing unchanged as she walked to her door.

  Slipping the key into the lock, she let herself in and took off her coat before tossing it over the back of a chair and heading into the kitchen to grab a carton of fresh orange juice from the fridge. Pouring a glass, she walked back into the lounge, stopping to switch on her tablet then going to look out of her panoramic window and sipping the cold drink, a thoughtful expression on her face. She never tired of looking out at the view, no matter what the weather it always appealed to her. Today, the sky was grey and clotted with clouds, the rain running down the glass, the trees far below blowing in the wind.

  Finishing the drink, she walked over to the sofa and kicked off her shoes before sitting down and lifting the tablet onto her knees. Typing ''Wigan latest news'' into the search engine her eyes widened in surprise as she read about the man found dead in local woodland.

  Several pictures showed the familiar car park adjacent to the woods, three squad cars were parked up, showing half a dozen officers in hi-vis jackets heading for a gap in the trees.

  She read the sketchy report, her brow furrowed. The fact that they had found the man so quickly was a surprise, she had chosen the terrain deliberately because she hoped the body would remain undiscovered, hidden in the dark earth.

  Scrolling down the screen she found herself smiling as she read the rest of the report. It stated that a young boy had been walking through the woods and discovered the body.

  Looking towards the floor-to-ceiling window she thought of how the world turned, even when you planned things fate had a way of throwing your plans into turmoil. In a way it was a timely reminder that she needed to be prepared for any
eventuality because all it took was a twisted ankle as she ran or a simple trip and then she would have to adapt to the new challenge.

  Closing her eyes, she pictured the night she had been attacked, it had been a night like any other, mid-summer, the air warm and sultry, filled with the scent of flowers blooming.

  She had been on her way home from University after staying behind for a late-night lecture. The bus had dropped her off a quarter of a mile from her parent's house. In retrospect, walking through the park had been a mistake, in fact both her parents had said as much in the months that followed the attack. Even the police officer who had spoken to her at length had questioned why she had taken that path through the park.

  The fact was it knocked ten minutes off the road route and she had walked it hundreds of times before with no problem. When she had been growing up the park had always been a place to play with her friends, seemingly safe and secure and filled with other kids all having a good time on the swings and roundabouts while the teenagers hung around in groups having those awkward conversations that teenage boys and girl had as the hormones kicked in. However, this time she had become aware of the shadow following her along the path, and in the end, she had broken into a run only to find the way ahead blocked by three men. She had never seen their faces; the darkness had been impenetrable and then they had closed around her and she had been slammed to the ground. She had tried to fight them off, but the men had been too strong, she could recall the haze of beer-infused breath that blasted into her face, large hands ripping at her clothing. Then one of them had gripped her hair, slamming her head back into the soft ground before the same hand clamped over her mouth. And then the knife had appeared, the blade shining in the gloom and…

  Opening her eyes, she stared blankly through the window, her mind locked in the moment and then she shuddered back to the here and now, thrusting the memories from her mind until all that remained was the solid core of hatred.

  The men had been local, she had heard it in their hissed voices as they urged one another on, yet they had never been found and over the years she had become nothing more than a forgotten statistic. In the end, she had decided that was a good thing, no doubt her case notes were buried away somewhere and forgotten about by the authorities, and that served her purpose. Although there had been a few years when all she wanted was for the police to continue the hunt until they found those responsible. That single thought had been with her for over six years, the need to get to the truth had eaten away at her until she realised that she could do something about it herself. She had started to train her mind and body, forging both into a formidable machine with only one purpose, to kill as many men as she could that fitted that mould.

  During the attack her mind had closed down, at least that is what she had thought, but over the years her subconscious had slowly revealed certain facts to her strengthening mind.

  She remembered trying to push two of the men away, her hands locking on taut biceps before her arms were pinned to the ground. She could remember two men brutally thrusting away between her legs, the pain had been acute, hands clamped her breasts, slapping hard at bare skin and then the last two had tried and she had been aware of their frustration as they tried unsuccessfully to enter her, their grunts filled with desperation and then rage. The last man had lashed out, smashing the bottle into her skull as he continued to try to force his way in, finally using the knife to slash at her thighs. She remembered finding blood smears on her where he had wiped his hand.

  Two of the other men had laughed as he scrambled to his feet, urinating on her as a final degradation and she had caught a fleeting glimpse of his shrivelled manhood as he thrust it back into his jeans.

  'Too many steds.'

  The words had seeped into her brain and sunk like a stone in a deep well, to be forgotten about until her mind was strong enough to recall the words spoken by one of the four men.

  'Get fucked,' the one who had tried and failed had snarled.

  Then the men had swaggered away into the darkness, and she had heard a couple of them whooping into the night as she lay on the short grass, her clothing in disarray, the inside of her thighs coated with warm blood.

  She had no idea how long she had laid on the ground staring up at the tar-black sky, her body starting to shudder as the shock and pain kicked in and the memories scuttled inside her brain searching for a hiding place.

  With each new memory that had resurfaced she had started to draw a picture of the men who had raped her, men like Edward Clark and Clem Bartle, men who loved themselves above all other things.

  She had been looking for a stereotype and had found the perfect match in the body builder. Once she had the image locked into her mind it had grown and she had her target, the plans had started to form and the more she planned the more her life started to have meaning again. Now two men were dead, and it left her with a sense of purpose, a need to right a terrible wrong. Occasionally the cogent side of her brain would try to rationalise that she was killing innocent men, but the need for revenge would crush the thought before it had time to grow. Though the truth was that, with each killing, memories of the past had come flooding forward, snippets of information long since buried beneath the fear and terror had started to emerge. She knew the truth was locked inside her somewhere, a name or perhaps two spat by the men as they raped her. They were there somewhere in her mind and the only way to discover them was to kill again and then await the memories that followed.

  Blinking rapidly, she turned her attention back to the computer and opened her emails.

  Reading the latest one, the smile hovered on her lips as she took her time writing a reply, choosing her words carefully, making sure she used the keywords guaranteed to press all the right buttons.

  A quick glance over to make sure she was happy with it and then she clicked the send button before heading for the shower, her face set with a mixture of anger and bliss.

  37

  Lasser watched the body being loaded into the back of the ambulance, Shannon by his side, his beard bedraggled with rain.

  Lasser had been on his way back through the woods when the DCI had come storming along the path with Odette following closely behind.

  'Right, Sergeant, considering you buggered off for a fag then you can stay here while they see to the body. Me and Odette will be nice and dry, having a word with the Fellows brothers while you get even more pissed wet through than you already are.'

  Lasser had merely shrugged when Bannister stormed past, beneath the hood of her jacket Odette had glanced at him and tried a smile, but he had been unable to respond, and she walked away looking despondent.

  It had taken the best part of an hour to get the body from the hole and back to the gravel car park and Bannister had been right, Lasser clothes were clinging to him like a wet, second skin, his toes squelching in his shoes.

  'How come we always draw the short straw?' Shannon asked as he slid a hand down his waterlogged beard.

  Lasser glanced up at the scuttling clouds 'Come on, it's not that bad,' he lied.

  'I can feel the water running down the crack of my backside,' the doctor complained.

  Lasser smiled though the truth was he felt as if he were shrinking inside, the heart of him slowly being reduced to nothing, leaving the automaton behind who smiled and smoked in the pissing rain.

  'Right, well, I'll get cracking once I've had a shower and a change of clothes, I'll fill you in on the details as soon as possible.'

  'No problem,' Lasser replied as the tow truck turned onto the car park to take the dead man's vehicle away.

  Lighting another cigarette, Lasser cupped it in his hand as Shannon followed the ambulance in his ancient Land Rover, the exhaust coughing smoke into the heavy rain.

  Ten minutes later, he was still standing in the rain as the car was carried away on the back of the flat bed.

  Apart from the rain that continued to fall from the dishwater sky everywhere was silent.

  Turning
, he looked back into the trees, his mind felt stagnant then the anger flared as he told himself to get a grip. The truth was he was behaving like some petulant child, two men were dead, Minnie Burrows had been slaughtered and dumped by the side of the dual carriageway, and Randal Archer tossed out of his window like garbage yet here he was sulking because Odette had found someone new to spend time with.

  'Arsehole,' he snarled as he realised how infantile he was being.

  He knew more than most how short life could be, he saw it on a daily basis, normal people going about their business and then they were dead in the blink of an eye.

  He looked back up at the sky, letting the water wash down his face taking all the anger with it. Had he really expected anything to happen between him and Odette, that they would somehow find a way to make it work and live happily ever after in a job that threatened your wellbeing on a daily basis? The truth was if they had gone down that route then the worry of something happening to her would have driven him insane. He thought back to the time when Odette had been in hospital after being attacked by a killer and left for dead. He had sat by her bedside willing her to get better, wracked with grief. That had been bad enough though he knew if he allowed himself to tell her how he truly felt, and she had reciprocated then the pain he had felt would have been tenfold.

  The rain continued to hit his face, running down his neck before seeping onto his bruised chest. He needed to man up and stop this nonsense, he needed to talk to her and wish her well and bloody mean it.

  With a grunt, he turned and walked to the car, climbing behind the wheel he grimaced at his cold, wet backside.

  He would head home and get changed then think of a way to have a word with Odette without letting his emotions take control.

  Starting the car, he flicked on the wipers before driving away.

  38

  Adam Stokes sat on his single bed, his back propped against the headboard as he read the email on his phone, his mouth splitting into a smile of glee.