It had been six months since he had last done a chase and now there was another one in the offing. He thought back to the last one, it had taken place in the woods on the outskirts of Rivington and it had been the most thrilling thing he had ever done. Truth be told, it had been a friend who had told him about the websites and forums where you could find people who loved to be chased.
At first, he had looked at the sites and felt the disgust inside as he read one link after another with men looking for other men to chase them. For some it had been the simple thrill of the chase, others had promised a blow job or more if they were caught. Stokes had been in the process of quitting the site when he saw the link from a female. It had taken a week to set it up and they had met at Rivington at the top of the Chinese gardens. The woman had been called Mandy, mid-thirties, dressed in a short skirt and tight top, her feet topped off with running shoes that looked at odds with the rest of her attire.
Stokes had been nervous, but the woman had seemed at ease explaining that this was not a new thing for her and that she had done it a dozen times before.
When she had handed over the ski mask, Stokes had felt his erection start to grow as he slipped it on. Then she had turned and jogged away, the small torch held in her hand as he counted to thirty before setting off after her.
The path had led down through the trees, the shadows looming as he tried to keep up with her. Twice he lost her, and she had yelled out as if in fear and he had angled towards the sound. It took him ten minutes to catch her and force her against the tree, she had been busy hitching up her skirt as he pulled down his jogging bottoms.
Two minutes later it was all over, and Stokes had pressed his forehead against the tree as she straightened her short skirt and stepped back.
His breathing had been ragged, his body pumping with sweat as his member continued to twitch.
By the time he had calmed down and turned around the woman had vanished, and Stokes had stood there, his bare backside white against the darkness, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Pulling up his pants he had headed back up through the trees in time to see her car's tail lights vanish into the darkness.
Now, he tapped out the message on the phone, his tongue protruding slightly as he concentrated on the words. Checking it twice, he pressed the send button before dropping the phone to his side and looking around the bedroom.
His face twitched with anger as he took in the single wardrobe and small desk with an old portable television on top.
The posters on the wall had been placed there when he had been a hormone-infused teenager and consisted of semi-naked women draped over motorcycles or riding horses bareback.
Stokes thought back to a time when he had his own place, a house full of all the latest gadgets, plasma television, top of the range hi-fi and a huge cream, leather sofa.
Life had been going well, the women had been easy to fool, falling for his charm and his ability to make them feel as if he gave a shit. As always whenever he tried to think back to the women he had bedded then the face that usurped all others had belonged to Medea Sullivan. Closing his eyes, he pictured her perfect face framed with thick black hair. She had been a stunner, but in the end, he had fucked about, and she had caught him and ended the relationship. He had tried to worm his way back into her affections, but she had been having none of it, no matter how hard he tried. Stokes's face twisted into a snarl of hatred as he thought of the copper named Lasser who had taken his place in Medea's heart and bed. In the end the detective had snatched hold of him and warned him to stay away from Medea.
Even now, Stokes could picture the fury in the dark eyes that had drilled into his own.
'Bastard,' he hissed into the small bedroom.
Ever since then his life had gone downhill, the good job had been lost after his boss found out he had been shagging his wife behind his back. To make matters worse the boss had spread the word around town that Adam Stokes could not be trusted. Now he was into his third year of living back in his old bedroom, and the reality was crushing as he slowly realised that at this rate he would be stuck here forever. The last couple of jobs had been of the zero-hour's variety, leaving him skint at the end of the week and having to cadge off his mother just to get to the gym. Stokes studied his fingers, he could see the where the false tan had stained his skin, lining the cracks in his hands. He needed a new spray tan, but he didn't have the fifty pounds required to get it done. The recognition that he was broke twisted in his guts, the anger flaring. When his phone beeped, he snatched it up from the bed and read the message, his head mashed with frustration.
His eyes flitted over the reply, then he screwed them shut and took a deep breath trying to calm his nerves before reading the message again.
By the time he reached the end the anger was mixed with excitement.
'By the time I'm finished with you won't be able to walk for a week,' he hissed as more rain hit the window of his cramped bedroom.
39
Bannister stood on the rainswept car park, sheltering under the Perspex bike shed, pulling hard on a cigarette while Odette sat on the small bench beneath the plastic covering.
'The problem is the Fellows brothers had plenty of time to get their stories straight,' Odette said with a sigh as the station lights flashed to life.
Bannister grunted in agreement. They'd spent the last couple of hours questioning the brothers individually, though it now seemed obvious that they had worked out an alibi, one that they refused to deviate from. Both Anthony and Martin Fellows had claimed to be in the house watching the big match on the television when the murder of Archer took place. When questioned about Terry Skuse, the brothers had admitted to knowing him though both claimed they had not seen him for at least two weeks.
'We have nothing concrete apart from Skuse claiming he was with them when Archer died, so it's his word against their word.' Bannister said with a sour face.
'What about SOCO?'
Bannister shook his head. 'Nothing, I checked with Carl before we questioned the bastards and the truth is they were in and out of the flat without touching anything but Archer. I'm having their car brought in, so forensics can take a look but I'm not holding my breath.'
'But what about the bruising to their faces, surely we can…'
'You heard what they said, Odette, they were watching the match each one supporting the other team and when Liverpool scored Martin laughed and Anthony attacked him. Besides, Lasser added to the damage done when he stopped them at the front of the house, so we can't differentiate between the scarring they got at the flat and the second lot that Lasser inflicted.'
Odette could hear the anger low in his voice and felt her hackles rise. 'He had no choice, if Lasser hadn't pulled across the bottom of the drive then at least one of the brothers would have escaped and it would have meant a high-speed chase. At least this way there were no innocents injured.'
Bannister looked at her through a cloud of smoke and then he nodded reluctantly. 'I know, but I just see those two bastards walking unless we come up with something to tie them to the murder of Archer.'
'If we believe Skuse then they were being paid to do the job, so perhaps they have some cash stashed somewhere in the house.'
'Well, SOCO are there now going over the place but, again, as soon as Lasser snatched Skuse then they would have known we'd turn up, so they could have hidden the cash well away from the house.'
Odette felt her own frustration start to build as she realised Bannister was right.
'Do you think they had anything to do with Minnie Burrows's death?'
Taking a final pull on the cigarette the DCI dropped the stump into the metal receptacle before sliding his hands into his pockets. 'According to Lasser, they used to do jobs for Callum Green before he got sent down for life, they're not thinker's, just blunt instruments. Whoever paid them is the one we need to catch, the Fellows brothers wouldn't have been concerned about why Archer was to be killed, they would just have thought of t
he cash, easy money for them.'
'What do we do now?' Odette asked.
Bannister glared out into the rain-swept darkness. 'We can keep the brothers for another forty-eight hours, for now we get home and get a proper night's sleep and start again in the morning.'
As soon as she heard the word ''sleep'' Odette felt the yawn forming on her face and swallowed it down.
'Carole's arranged a meeting for eight in the morning, so we can look at the bigger picture.'
'OK,' Odette rose from the bench and lifted the hood over her head just as Lasser pulled in through the station gates.
'What the hell is he doing here?' Bannister asked with a scowl.
'He'll be looking to change the car,' she said as she saw Lasser's face through the broken side window.
They watched him park up and climb from the car, raising a hand to them as he walked over.
'I see you went home to get changed!' Bannister said as Lasser stepped under the canopy.
'I drove here sitting on a towel, 'Lasser explained. 'My backside was waterlogged.'
'What about Bartle?' the DCI asked, unconcerned with Lasser's wet behind.
'Doc Shannon said he would get started as soon as he got dry.'
'My God, what is it with you two, a little rain never hurt anyone!?'
'Easy to say when you've been sitting in a warm interview room.'
'I…'
'Anyway, how did you go on with the Fellows brothers?' he asked as he looked at Odette and smiled.
She searched his eyes, and then found herself returning the smile in relief as she saw nothing but warmth in his gaze.
By the time she had finished explaining about the brothers having an alibi Lasser's eyes had hardened.
'I know, Sergeant, we all feel the same way but to sort this we all need to be wide awake, so get a fresh car and get home but I want you back here at half-seven in the morning.' Bannister said.
'Right.'
'No loitering under here smoking your head off and do not even think of sleeping on the bench,' he warned as he stepped out into the rain and ran over to his car.
By the time he backed out of the space Lasser had a cigarette on the go, watching the tail lights vanish into the rain.
Taking a long pull on the smoke he flicked ash to the floor. 'I want to apologise,' he said, turning to Odette.
'You have nothing to apologise for.'
He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. 'I've behaved like a dickhead, we both know it and…'
'Look, this thing between me and Craig, it's just friendship and…'
'It doesn't matter what it is, I shouldn't have given you the cold shoulder, it was pathetic.'
Odette watched as he turned his face away and blew smoke out into the darkness.
'I never went with the intention of meeting anyone, I just needed a break from the job.'
Lasser nodded in understanding. 'I get it, this job takes over your life so I'm glad you managed to take a step back and smell the roses.'
'Smell the roses?' she asked with a half-smile.
Lasser lifted his shoulders. 'You know what I mean.'
Odette thought for a few moments before speaking again and when she did she felt Lasser tense at her side.
'Plymouth!?'
'I was stuck in traffic and he just walked past the front of the car. When he turned and saw me he never even flinched in surprise.'
Lasser pictured the scene and found himself nodding again. 'Nothing fazes that man. So, what did he have to say when you caught up with him?'
Odette told him about the bizarre conversation that had taken place on the small churchyard bench, ending with Plymouth strolling away into the crowd of tourists.
'Do you think he was working?'
Odette chewed her lip for a moment as she thought back to the conversation with the white-haired killer. 'He claimed not to be, he told me he was born up there and he likes to go back occasionally to check the place out.
Lasser took another pull on the cigarette. 'Christ, it must have been hard having him there and not being able to collar the bastard.'
'He left me in no doubt what would happen if I tried to take him in.'
'He would have killed an innocent passer-by and then walked away while you tried to sort out the carnage?'
Odette sighed heavily. 'That's exactly what he implied.'
'All done with a smile no doubt,' Lasser said as he pictured Plymouth smiling that warm, friendly smile that could change into a killer grin in a millisecond.
'You never know, I may bump into him again when I'm up there,' Odette's voice held a note of pleading to be understood.
'Yeah, well if you do then for God's sake just give the man a wide berth – even if you see him out in the middle of nowhere.'
'Easier said than done.'
Lasser flicked the stump out into the downpour before checking his watch. 'Right, I'd better get a car sorted and get home.'
They both hesitated for a moment and then Lasser dipped his head and kissed her cheek beneath the hood.
'I'm glad we're OK,' he said before walking out towards the station entrance.
Lifting a hand to her cheek, Odette felt the tears prickle her eyes but then she straightened her shoulders and dashed out towards her car, the rain mingling with the tears of sadness on her cheeks.
40
Half an hour later, Lasser pulled up in front of Frank's chippy and rang Karen to tell her he would be working late.
'I'll freeze the curry then rather than waste it,' she'd said.
'God, yes, don't throw it away, I'll have it tomorrow.'
'But what will you eat tonight?'
'Er, I'm at the chippy now, so I'll grab something here.'
'More junk food.'
'Jesus, don't let Frank hear you saying that or you'll end up in the deep fat fryer.'
Karen laughed at the quip. 'OK, I'll catch you later.'
Lasser ended the call before climbing out and heading through the door of the chippy to find Frank sitting at a corner table, the paper before him, Mandy the Rottweiler at his side. As soon as the dog spotted him she came lumbering over, stumpy tail wagging.
Frank looked up and smiled. 'All right, Lasser, how are you, lad?'
'Not too bad, Frank, what about you?'
Folding the paper, Frank stood up and stretched his arms towards the ceiling. 'Grand, now what you 'aving?'
'Pudding, chips, peas, gravy and a can of Dandelion and Burdock please.'
'Greedy bugger,' Frank said as he lifted the flap on the counter and moved behind the fryer.
Lasser rubbed the dog's mangled ears. 'How's Pamela?'
Frank tipped a bucket of chips into the hot oil before answering. 'She's doing well considering what she's been through.'
Lasser thought back a few months, after years spent in a secure unit Pamela Fitzsimmons had been released into the community and the first thing she had done was set fire to a man who had burned to death in his bedroom. Lasser was convinced that she had been programmed by another inmate into committing the crime, the problem was they had been unable to prove it.
Now, she was back in the unit – probably for life – and Lasser was glad that she had Frank who visited her most days armed with fish and chips.
'You're a good friend to her, Frank.'
'Aye well, you know how I feel about that. I was the one who got the social services involved when she were a kid, she ended up in the system and no bugger gave a shit.'
Lasser thought about arguing that Frank had done the right thing, but he knew the chip shop owner would carry the guilt no matter what anyone said.
'But she's happy now she's back in the unit?' he asked.
Frank stirred the chips with the long metal scoop. 'She feels secure and that's all that matters for the time being.'
Mandy licked the back of Lasser's hand, her tongue wet and warm. 'Plus, she's getting the best chips in town and that has to be better than microwaved frozen food.'
Frank nodded sagely. 'Aye, she's put a bit of weight on and looks better for it.'
Two minutes later, Lasser had paid for the food and was back in the car, stabbing at the pudding with a plastic fork to let the heat out while he watched three young men amble past, dressed in jeans and T-shirts and pissed wet through, yet still managing to sing in their smashed-out-of-their-brain's voices.
Tentatively, he turned his gaze inwards, the pain over Odette was still there though he felt glad that he had at least cleared the air with her, it meant they could get back to some form of normality, though he knew it would be hard when she headed off to the Lakes at the weekend.
Stabbing a chip, he put it into his mouth, chewing while he thought about the Fellows brothers, both sticking to their flimsy story in the hope that it would get them off the hook.
Flicking on the heater to shift the steamed-up window, he continued to eat the food until the polystyrene tray was empty, then he downed the can of Dandelion and Burdock in one long swallow, placing the rubbish in the plastic bag before dumping it in the passenger footwell.
Lighting a cigarette, he drummed his fingers on the wheel and then an image of Minnie Burrows flitted into his mind, her body bruised and broken, her sightless eyes locked open.
'Right, let's see if there are any weirdos hanging about in the woods,' he mumbled as he clicked the seatbelt into place and drove off the small, shopfront car park.
The traffic was light, the streetlights glaring off the waterlogged roads as he made his way out of Hindley and headed towards Ashton. It was testament to the foul weather that even the drive-thru McDonald's had no queue waiting to be served.
The wipers swept back and forth hypnotically as Lasser thought about Clem Bartle, his face demolished by the brick lodged into the ruin of his mouth.
He tried to imagine the appeal of chasing someone through dense woodland and found that it was a stretch too far. On the nights that Clark and Bartle had died the weather had been foul, the rain pelting down; the woods would have been freezing and wet and both the chaser and the chased would have been drenched within seconds. Still, perhaps that added to the illusion that the chase was real. Yet, for the killer there had been no illusion and by the time the two men realised that fact it was too late, Clark had been stabbed and bled to death on the edge of the lane and Bartle had died under a hail of broken bricks.
Blood Bought Page 13
