Blood Bought

by Robin Roughley

  Kicking his legs, he thrust the duvet to the foot of the bed before planting his feet on the floor and rubbing a hand across his face. The truth was he had spent the night tossing and turning, convinced that the filth would turn up in the early hours to hammer on the front door. He had imagined his mother going down the stairs in her dressing gown while he tried to scramble into some clothes, though he had known there would be no escape, no leaping from the window like they did in the movies. Chances are he would have one leg in his jeans when Lasser came through the bedroom door, his dark eyes blazing, dragging him down the stairs and out into the darkness, before being thrust, barefooted, into the back of the car.

  Shivering at the image, Stokes pushed himself up from the bed and grabbed his crumpled clothes from the floor.

  Seconds later, he was dressed, and he opened the single curtain to look out at the street. His eyes nervously scanned left and right, taking in the cars that lined the street; recognising all the cars he heaved a sigh of relief and let the curtain fall back into place. Turning, he looked around the room, the familiar grimace forming on his face, the anger flickering as he looked at his pitiful existence. Picking up his phone from the bedside cabinet he tapped at the scratched screen before opening his emails and re-reading the one from the bitch he was going to chase. Tonight was the night and he would make sure he was ready, and then boy would she pay big time.

  When his bedroom door clicked open, he slipped the phone into his pocket as his mother's face appeared around the door.

  'Oh, you're up,' she said, stating the obvious.

  Grabbing the duvet, he pulled it over the bed. 'You sound surprised?'

  Maggie Stokes pushed the door open and grimaced slightly at the smell that wafted out of the tiny box room. 'Are you going out?'

  'I thought I might get a run in before it starts raining.'

  'Well, why don't you stop at the job centre on the way back, you never know they might have new jobs in?'

  '''New jobs''?' her son said, his voice heavy with scorn.

  His mother nodded, ignoring the tone of this voice. 'I was reading the free paper and they were saying that they might be taking on at ASDA, in the warehouse.'

  Stokes drew the fetid air in through his nose and felt his anger start to bubble below the brittle surface. 'I worked in sales, Mother, I was bloody good at my job and…'

  'Yes, Adam, but you don't work in sales anymore, in fact, you don't work at all, and sitting at home every day is not good for you.'

  'And you think I want to go stacking shelves for a pittance when I used to earn thirty-five grand a year?' his sour face turned red at the notion. 'Besides, it's Saturday so the Job Centre's closed.'

  Maggie held the sigh in check, she loved her son, of course she did, but the truth was she didn't really like him very much. He was too like his father, a man who had left the family home twenty years earlier to live with some woman over in Bury. Since the day he walked out, Tom Stokes had never been in touch, in fact, for all Maggie knew or cared he could even be dead. At first, she had been furious when he deserted them, but she had soon come to realise that they were better off without him. The trouble was despite having no contact with his father for over two decades Adam had a lot of his father's traits. Tom had always thought that the world owed him a living, always believed that he was special in some way. Maggie had watched him go from job to job believing that each one was beneath him, when the truth was he was bone idle.

  Now, as she looked at her son she realised that he was exactly the same.

  'Look, Adam, you need a job and any job will have to do, so…'

  'No way am I working at ASDA,' he snapped.

  'Why not?'

  Reaching back, Adam swept the curtain open on another drab autumn day, his teeth grinding in disbelief. 'I will never do a monkey job like that, not a chance.'

  'What are you talking about? Money is money and bills need paying and I work, so…'

  'You clean, Mother, for three hours a day, you can hardly call that a job,' he snorted derisively, shaking his head.

  'So how many hours do you work?' she demanded, her own anger starting to surface. 'I mean, you took the car yesterday and you were gone for hours, but I bet you weren't out there looking for work.'

  Suddenly, all the fear of the previous night came flooding back and Stokes stormed to the door, barging his mother out of the way in the process.

  Maggie watched him hurry along the landing and down the stairs.

  When she heard the front door slam, she crossed the room and looked through the window, seeing her son stalk down the drive, crashing the gate open as he went.

  Not for the first time she wondered why she had ever bothered having a child in the first place. Even as a youngster Adam had been hard work, never doing as he was told, and as soon as he reached his teenage years his ego had bloated until he thought he was God's gift. Now, he strutted around as if he was still earning a decent wage and yet here he was back in his poky bedroom with the ridiculous posters on the wall. As he vanished from sight she sighed and wondered how long he would be here at the house. Before he had come back Maggie had managed on her wage, but now her son was bleeding her dry and the small amount of money she had managed to save was almost gone.

  'Waste of space,' she muttered under her breath, turning away from the dismal view.

  78

  Lasser stood at the kitchen window, coffee cup in hand, an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth, his gaze fixed on the back garden as the darkness slowly faded to reveal another grey blustery day.

  After taking a sip from the cup, he pulled out his lighter and lit the cigarette, letting the smoke drift from his nostrils, his mind trying to decide what he was going to do with the rest of the day.

  Finishing the cigarette, he doused it with water before dropping it into the flip-top bin and tipping the drink into the sink. Rinsing the cup, he placed it on the drainer and stretched his arms to the ceiling trying to ease the bruised stiffness from his body. Five minutes later he was in the shower, his hands planted against the tiles, head lowered as the spray beat a tattoo on his scalp.

  The truth was he had expected a call from Bannister following up on the voicemail he had left, but so far, his phone remained blank. Perhaps the DCI was doing it to prove a point, emphasising that he was no longer part of the team.

  The thought made Lasser grimace, his face ran with water, his dark eyes fixed on the plughole as the water vanished from sight. Maybe it was his career he saw trickling away? For the first time ever, he tried to fathom what he would do if they decided to get rid of him. Five minutes later, his face was pale with panic as he came up blank. Turning off the shower he grabbed a towel and rubbed his body dry before crossing the landing into his bedroom. Dressing in black jeans and a matching T-shirt, he headed downstairs, grabbed his battered leather jacket and headed out into the squally day. Beeping off the alarm, he slid behind the wheel and turned the engine on, simply going through the motions, with no real idea where he was going he drove off the estate.

  At the junction he paused, a taxi flashed him out and he raised a hand before pulling out of the side street.

  Despite it being a Saturday, the traffic was the usual stop-start variety but for once Lasser simply eased back into the seat, his hands resting easily on the wheel, his mind still blank. It was almost as if his brain had switched off, after all what was the point in going over things when he was no longer involved. He felt a sliver of guilt in his mind and tried his best to ignore it.

  The vehicle in front indicated and moved over slightly revealing a white van parked half on half off the kerb, the hazard lights flashing.

  Lasser eased forward in his seat, the driver in front gave a blast on the horn as if annoyed by the broken-down vehicle.

  When he saw the dark-haired woman from the day before pop out from beneath the open bonnet, Lasser indicated as he pulled past.

  As soon as he cleared the vehicle he moved over to the left and yanked
on the handbrake before checking the wing mirror, spotting a gap in the traffic he climbed out and walked back towards her.

  The woman stood with hands on hips as she faced the engine, dressed in jeans with a short leather bomber jacket and raspberry-coloured boots her dark hair fanned out over her shoulders.

  'Anything I can do?' he asked.

  When he got no response Lasser moved forward and then looked on in surprise, her eyes were closed, her head moving slightly from side to side, her lips curled into a smile.

  Frowning, he reached out and tapped her shoulder.

  The woman whipped her head around, her hair flying, her eyes springing wide in surprise. Lasser spotted the small headphones in her ears and he smiled as she popped them free.

  'Sorry, I didn't mean to make you jump.'

  She looked up at him, her eyes were golden brown, her smile warm and friendly. Slipping the headphones over her shoulders, she explained, 'Oh that's fine, I was just listening to some blues.'

  Lasser blinked in surprise. 'Oh right.'

  She continued to smile even when the wind tossed her hair across her face.

  'Are you waiting for a mechanic?'

  'Afraid not, it's only just conked out and I managed to get it onto the kerb, but I've had people blowing their horns for the past couple of minutes and one guy called me an idiot woman driver, that's why I put the headphones in,' the smile stayed in place and Lasser found himself joining in as the traffic continued to crawl past the obstruction.

  Moving forward he peered down at the engine, when he spotted the spark plug cable hanging loose he reached down and pushed it back on.

  'Give it a try,' he said stepping back.

  'Okey-dokey,' she replied easily and vanished from sight.

  Lasser waited, a few seconds later the engine rumbled to life, and he grunted in satisfaction.

  When she reappeared, her smile was wider than ever. 'Wow, you sorted it.'

  'The lead had worked loose but it should be fine now,' he said as he pulled the support bar from the bonnet and lowered it into place with a clunk.

  'Well, if you hadn't shown up I would still have been standing here when the sun went down.'

  'What sun?' he asked.

  The woman looked up at the squally sky and shrugged her narrow shoulders. 'My name's Jackie,' she said, turning to face him.

  'Lasser,' he offered as he held out his hand.

  She looked at it for a moment before reaching out to give it a shake, Lasser could feel the warmth of her skin and he felt a slight hint of colour rise in his face.

  'Neat name,' she replied as they remained with hands entwined.

  Reluctantly, he loosened his grip and slipped his hands into his pockets.

  'Listen, maybe you'd like a coffee, my way of thanking you?' she asked as a delivery truck crawled by.

  Lasser looked into her eyes and found himself smiling again. 'Sounds good, where do you fancy?'

  'I know just the place, if you want to follow me?'

  'No problem.'

  Climbing back into the Audi, he watched in the rear-view mirror as she popped the headphones back into her ears, her beringed fingers tapping on the wheel, her mouth opening and closing singing away to some song.

  Seconds later, she pulled in front and he indicated before following, the smile still on his face.

  79

  Bannister listened to Lasser's voicemail as he drove along the narrow country lane, the frown marring his features as he flicked on the wipers to shift the first spattering of rain from the screen.

  Reaching the junction, he turned left and headed into town, the Saturday morning traffic heavy as people made their way out for some retail therapy.

  He felt tired and by rights he should have still been in bed, it was his weekend off, but the truth was he had lain awake, his mind crammed full of images of Minnie Burrows and the two dead men found in the woods. No matter how he had tried, the thoughts had remained jumbled, a mixture of the dead and the guilty. Twenty minutes later he had left the house and now here he was heading to the station, yet he had no idea what he would do when he got there. He thought about ringing Odette, then he remembered that she was in the Lakes and his frown deepened as he realised that he was on his own, no Odette and no Lasser to call and pick their brains.

  Both DI Chadwick and Cooper were on shift for the whole weekend, but he somehow doubted that they would come up with anything concrete, he suspected they would spend the weekend at the station pretending to go through the facts on the computer when in reality they would be doing as little as possible.

  The traffic began to thin out as most of the cars turned onto the Tesco car park.

  Ten minutes later, he pulled onto the deserted station car park and parked up at the side of the entrance. Turning off the engine, he climbed out, trying to quell the feeling of restlessness as he entered the building.

  Nodding to Sergeant Meadows behind the front desk, he made his way to his office and pulled off his jacket, sliding it over the back of the chair and sitting down. Logging onto the computer he loosened his tie and went to work.

  80

  Frank Viner hammered on the door of the apartment, his face livid as he waited for the door to open. The seconds slipped, the anger grew, then he pulled the bunch of keys from his pocket and jabbed it into the lock.

  Stepping inside, he slammed the door behind him and stalked down the narrow hallway and into the open-plan lounge with the small kitchen at the far side. He could see the empty bottles of beer lined up on the worktop and he spun away in disgust making his way to the bedroom, smashing the door back against the wall, only to find it empty and the bed unmade.

  Last night when Jenny had rung him to explain what had happened at the restaurant, she had sounded teary as she spoke of Andrew being led away by the police after being breathalysed.

  He had wanted to come around here straight away but Cheryl had persuaded him to leave it till the morning, Frank had reluctantly agreed, and in the end, she had given him a soothing massage on the huge, king-sized bed.

  Now, the anger was back as he looked around the bedroom. The fact was he could have rented this apartment out and got seven hundred a month. Instead he had let his idiot son stay here for fuck-all. By rights he should have kicked him out on his sorry arse years ago, but Frank Viner didn't trust the little bastard.

  Walking over to the window he looked out at the view, his mind conjuring images from the past, trying to fathom when Andrew had started to change.

  Suddenly, the familiar scenario burst into his brain and he felt the shame slam into him.

  Andrew looking at him with fear-filled eyes as Frank thudded his fist into his son's stomach, forcing him to double up in agony as he fell, retching, to the floor.

  Frank sighed, he looked out at the parkland view, the ancient trees stretching off into the distance – a view to die for.

  How had he been so stupid to let his son get away with his shit for so long? He thought back over the years, his son writhing on the floor as Frank ripped into him.

  'You fucking little bastard!' he had screamed as Andrew started to whimper and cry.

  He had stepped back ready to lash out with his booted foot, but his then-wife had attacked him, her nails clawing at his face as she pushed him away from her precious son.

  'Don't you dare!' she had screamed.

  Frank had backed away, shocked by the look in her eyes. 'But he…'

  'It was a mistake!' her voice had come out as a savage hiss.

  'A fucking ''mistake''!' he had roared back in disbelief.

  Bea Viner had backed away and gone to kneel by Andrew's side.

  'Anyone can make a mistake, God knows you've made enough in your time, and…'

  'Him and his bastard friends attacked a girl,' his voice had dropped to a vicious hiss. 'They fucking raped her, I saw it on the news, she's in hospital, God knows how she will ever get over this, she…'

  'Shouldn't have been walking through that park a
t night, I mean, it was asking for trouble,' she had fired back, her eyes flaring in desperation.

  Frank had blinked in disbelief. 'What are you talking about, she was on her way home, this is Wigan not some inner-city slum.'

  'Then she was an idiot, I wouldn't have walked through there in the dark.'

  Frank had looked down at his son who remained curled on the floor, his hands clutching his stomach, his face twisted in pain.

  'He knows it was wrong and he needs to get down to that cop shop before they come knocking on the door and…'

  'No way!' she had shouted as she leapt back to her feet. 'If you try and make him go then I'll tell them about all the dodgy deals you've done in the past, I'll tell them about the drugs and then you'll be the one banged up!'

  Six months later, she had moved out and Andrew had gone with her, the divorce had been a bitter affair and had cost him a fortune. He had no doubt that his ex-wife had filled their son in on all the things she knew about her ex-husband's dealings.

  Frank had put up with Andrew demanding more and more from him, safe in the knowledge that his father would never grass him up about what had happened for fear of the reprisal. Years had passed, and Frank had been forced to hand over thousands to his lazy bastard son who lived rent-free in this luxury apartment. It was the same at the restaurant, Andrew and his scumbag mates ate there for fuck-all, Frank had bought him the car and put money in his bank every month, all to keep him quiet.

  For the first time Frank started to see that he had created a monster, someone who was out of control, someone who would bleed him dry and laugh while he was doing it.

  The truth was, he had done some bad things in his business dealings, but he had never attacked a defenceless girl, never left her for dead and then laughed about it.

  'Little fucking bastard,' he spun away from the view, his hands forming fists as he tried to think where his son could be hiding.

  81

  Lasser followed the van out of town, frowning as they drove past a couple of coffee shops. When the hospital went by on the left he felt the confusion plucking at his senses, he couldn't think of any cafes around here. Ten minutes later, the confusion turned to bafflement as they climbed the steep hill that ran up through dense woodland, the road coated with fallen leaves. When the woman, Jackie, indicated to turn right at the humpbacked bridge he almost flashed the lights in case she had forgotten that he was following.