Vanished Beneath: DS Lasser six (The Lasser series Book 6)

by Robin Roughley

  Boris smiled thinly. 'Them's the rules.'

  'What about the woman you attacked in the Masons?'

  'You got that wrong, it was her old man that went for me, she just happened to get in the way.'

  Bannister dropped the calendar onto the desk. 'So, where's Norvil then?'

  'I told you, he's out.'

  'Yes, but out where?'

  Boris shrugged. 'What am I his keeper?'

  'Well, is he out working or getting a spray tan...?'

  'Not a clue.'

  'How's business?' Lasser asked.

  Boris stretched out his long legs; a clump of mud fell from the sole of his tan coloured rigger boots. 'Quiet.'

  'So, if you didn't take over from Callum Green then who did?'

  'I've told you I haven't a clue about any drugs.'

  'Perhaps Norvil might be able to help us?'

  'I doubt it.'

  Lasser turned back to the window, the group of men had vanished. 'These Polish workers, do they speak English?'

  'Not really.'

  'So, how do you communicate with them?'

  'They soon learn what needs doing.'

  Bannister checked his watch. 'Right, Boris, we've taken up enough of your valuable time and thanks for your help.'

  Boris clambered to his feet. 'You can see yourselves out.'

  'But I thought you had somewhere you needed to be.'

  'It'll keep.'

  Bannister frowned. 'Yes well, I dare say you'll be seeing us again soon.'

  'Not if I see you first.' Boris smiled.

  12

  Andy Forbes looked out of the apartment window, in the distance he could see the London Eye looking like a giant Catherine wheel, the Thames moving grey and slow in the early afternoon sunshine. Turning from the view, he jabbed at the phone and slapped it to the side of his head.

  'It has not been possible...'

  Forbes snarled and threw the phone onto the sofa. He'd been trying to get in touch with Emma for over twenty four hours, he'd left dozens of voicemails ranging from, 'Give me a ring, babe, then we can talk things through,' to 'ring me, you bitch!' She'd ignored them all.

  Forbes looked around the room, his eyes seeing everything and taking in nothing.

  The plasma television was on, images of yet another part of the war-torn world flickered on the screen.

  'Bastard!' he snapped before falling back onto the sofa.

  The apartment had cost just short of seven hundred and fifty thousand, not a bad price considering the view and the location. Trouble was, with Emma gone he would never be able to meet the repayments. Chewing a fingernail, he spat the sliver onto the hardwood floor.

  At thirty years of age, he had been looking for someone like Emma Drake for years, someone with the brains and enough talent to reach the top, someone he could grab onto, a free ride to fame and fortune.

  They'd met in a wine bar and Forbes had turned on the charm, though for some strange reason it hadn't worked on the woman. He could remember the flush of anger as she gave him the brush off. Under normal circumstances, he would have shrugged it off, but there had been something different about this one, something he couldn't describe.

  So, he had gone back the next day and there she was, sitting with a group of friends at a table in the corner. Andrew had made a point of catching her eye and then casually looking away, as if she were of no concern to him.

  The next couple of weeks had followed a similar pattern; he would feign indifference as she looked towards him. In the end, she had been the one to approach him.

  'Bitch,' Forbes grumbled at the memory.

  After six months, Andy Forbes had known he'd hit the jackpot. Emma Drake was going places; she had the kind of brain that seemed to work faster than normal people's. He worked for a recruitment agency, commission based which meant for every good week he had, there were two or three where he earned next to nothing. Emma, on the other hand, was making a small fortune, then she’d gained promotion and suddenly the sky was the limit.

  Andy had done less and less at work, the long lunches had elongated until they blended into all day sessions in the wine bar. Emma had carried on raking it in, they'd moved into this apartment nine months earlier and then things had begun to change.

  When the credit card bills had dropped through the door, Emma had gone ballistic. He'd joined a top notch gym to keep fit and spent a fortune on new clothes and eating out.

  He'd tried to explain that it was all done for a reason, in his line of work you had to be prepared to take potential clients out to lunch, and it was expected that you footed the bill.

  It was the same with the clothes, you had to look successful you had to look sharp to land the big contracts. Even as he uttered the words he knew it was all bollocks, he couldn't remember the last time he'd taken out a client for a burger let alone a meal at the Ivy.

  Emma had looked at him with loathing shining from her eyes, as if truly seeing him for the first time. Forbes had tried to win her over, but she'd pulled away from his embrace.

  Then Emma had let fly, her words designed to cut deep, designed to hurt. A lot of what she said he hadn't been able to understand, the angrier she became the more northern her voice had become.

  'Dickhead!' she'd spat and then Andrew Forbes had lashed out, the back of his hand cracking against her cheek. Emma had reeled away in shock and suddenly the anger had reared in Forbes mind. Life wasn't fair, all these years he'd tried to hit the big time and yet here he was having to rely on a woman to do it for him. His own inadequacies had swamped him and instead of trying to apologise for his actions he’d lashed out again, catching her a glancing blow on top of her head. Her hair had lashed to the left and she had peered up at him with fear in her eyes. The sight of it had left him feeling immense.

  'Don't you ever speak to me like that again!' he’d jabbed out a finger and Emma had scuttled away across the polished floor.

  'Andy, I...'

  Forbes had loomed towards her and she'd curled herself into a tight ball. He'd stood over her loving this new feeling of power. 'You might think you're special but don't forget who's in charge here. If I want to buy a new suit or take a client out to lunch then I don't need your fucking permission.'

  'I…'

  'Do you understand what I'm saying?' he’d screamed down at her and Emma had nodded, the look of terror shining bright in her light blue eyes.

  Forbes sighed and ran a hand across his head.

  After that, things had settled back into normality, at least that's what he'd thought, though he was now beginning to realise that the bitch had been using the time to plan and scheme her way out of the relationship.

  Last night he'd wanted to drown his sorrows, so he'd headed into the city determined to get royally pissed, maybe even hire an escort for the evening. The cash machine had spat out his credit card; Forbes had looked at the screen in shocked bewilderment. Swiping the card on his sleeve he'd tried again, this time the machine had swallowed the plastic.

  The words 'Please contact your bank.' had flashed up at him.

  First thing this morning he'd done exactly that, only to be told that the account had been closed.

  Sitting forward on the sofa he scrubbed at his tired eyes and tried to think of what to do next.

  Then he sprang from the sofa as he remembered a conversation they'd had curled up in bed before things had gone bad, before the credit card bills had dropped through the letterbox.

  They'd been talking about her life before she came to the big city, she was from Wigan, wherever the hell that was. Suddenly, a name sprang into his fevered brain.

  'Medea,' he said. 'Medea Sullivan.'

  Andrew Forbes smiled.

  13

  Armed with carrier bags, Medea and Emma bustled their way into Starbucks.

  Frothy coffee ordered they threaded their way to an empty table by the window.

  Emma slid into one of the padded chairs and sighed. 'I guess I'm out of practice.'

&nbs
p; Medea dropped her bags onto the floor before sitting down. 'I'd have thought living in London you would have been out shopping every day?'

  'Come on, Med, you know I'm not the world's best bargain hunter, besides I was always too busy to hit the shops.'

  Medea picked up her cup and took a sip. 'What's it really like down there?'

  'Hectic.'

  'But you must have enjoyed it at some point?'

  'Oh I did, but you suddenly realise that you have no time for anything but work. Most days it's twelve, fourteen hours and when the weekend comes you're too tired to do anything but sleep.'

  On the counter, one of the coffee machines whooshed to life. 'It sounds grim.'

  Emma shrugged. 'You get used to it, but I think it's time for a change. I mean, what's the point in making a fortune when you don't have the time to spend any of it.'

  'You should have sent it to me; I wouldn't have a problem spending it for you.'

  'If I remember rightly you hated shopping almost as much as I did.'

  Medea smiled before taking another sip from her drink. 'Have you heard from your father lately?'

  'Not a word.'

  'Well, if you do move back up here it might make it easier to keep in touch.'

  Emma shook her head. 'It's a nice thought but you know what he's like, besides it would only end in an argument.'

  'You never know he might have mellowed.'

  Emma looked through the shop window; the pavements were crowded with people bustling about their business. 'I doubt it.'

  Medea looked at her friend over the rim of the coffee cup, trying to decide how far she could push the issue. 'Well, you'll never know unless you go and see him. I could come with you if you like?'

  'That's kind of you, but for now I want to concentrate on sorting a few things out first. Maybe if the move comes off then I'll give it a try.'

  'Well, if you do decide to go then I'm here if you need me.'

  Emma suddenly reached across the table and gripped Medea's hand. 'You're a good friend, Med.'

  Medea was surprised by the strength of the grip.

  14

  Lasser leaned over Susan Coyle's shoulder and peered at the screen. 'It's hard to tell.'

  The image on the screen showed a man standing in a back garden tall with weeds, he had a can of Special Brew clasped in his right hand, a cigarette in the other.

  Coyle tapped at a couple of keys. 'Joseph Crank aged forty-seven.'

  'Well, the age is about right,' Sally Wright said leaning over and glancing at the image.

  'He's been missing for five months, last seen on the Millers Lane estate.'

  'Does it say anything about a wife or kids?'

  'Sorry, boss, it was his mother who reported him missing, though it doesn't say where he was living at the time.'

  'Well, Doc Shannon said the guy had a drink problem,' he tapped a finger against the image on the screen. 'And let's face it, Special Brew is the preferred tipple of all heavy boozers around here.'

  'I've got an address for the mother if you want it?'

  'Right, give it here and I'll check it out.'

  Coyle snatched a yellow post-it note from the pad and scribbled down the address.

  'Well, Susan, how do you fancy a ride?'

  Sally Wright grinned and raised an eyebrow.

  Lasser frowned. 'That came out wrong didn't it?'

  Susan looked up and blushed. 'Take no notice, sir, she's got a very twisted mind.'

  'Me!' Sally looked a picture of innocence.

  'I'll meet you outside in five,' Lasser said as he headed for the door, moving into the corridor he heard the sound of laughter following him out of the room.

  He was just finishing a crafty cigarette when Coyle appeared around the corner of the building.

  'Ready whenever you are, sir.'

  'Right come on, let's go and see what Mrs Crank has to say about her missing son.' He tossed the cigarette into a patch of dogwood bushes, before yanking the car keys from his pocket.

  Beeping off the alarm, he tossed the keys over to Susan. 'You drive, I can feel a headache coming on.'

  Susan grinned and climbed behind the wheel, Lasser slid in beside her before snapping his seatbelt into place. 'So how's the boyfriend today?'

  'Still in bed moaning that his bone's ache.'

  'Ah, the old aching bones. I tell you, Susan, you should be glad you were born a female, at least you don't have to suffer the agony of the aching bones syndrome.'

  Coyle looked at him in disbelief, when he grinned she felt the flush of colour in her cheeks.

  'Swine,' she said.

  'Come on chop, chop, I want to get an early finish if possible.'

  Coyle pulled off the car park. 'You have something planned?' she asked as they hit the flow of morning traffic.

  'Well, we have a guest staying over for a few days and I thought it'd be nice to go out for a meal for a change.'

  'Sounds nice.'

  'Yeah well, knowing my luck it'll never happen.'

  Lasser looked out of the side window as the terraced houses swept by, as they went over the canal bridge he caught a fleeting glimpse of a dark blue narrow boat chugging along the water.

  'If it is Crank then it still doesn't explain what he was doing at the bottom of the lake.' Lasser said.

  'Maybe the mother will be able to give us some clues?' Coyle said.

  Lasser turned to face her. 'Guinea pigs.'

  Coyle frowned. 'Sorry?'

  'Three bodies all dumped in the same place, all showing signs of drug abuse.'

  'What are you saying?'

  'Perhaps Spenner was right; maybe someone's been using these people to test their latest product before they decide to put it on the market.'

  'Have we had the toxicology results from the lab yet?'

  'Later today,' he checked his watch. 'Or maybe tomorrow, but it would explain why they were dumped, the drug is either too strong or dodgy in some way. I mean, some people will stick anything in their bodies and chances are it was a free sample so they'd have been keen to give it a go.'

  Coyle checked her mirror and nodded. 'Sounds reasonable enough but what about the woman with the black hair, she had no needle marks?'

  'Maybe it can be smoked or swallowed.'

  Susan eased off the gas as they approached the Lily Lane traffic lights. 'So, we must be looking for a main dealer?'

  Lasser flipped out his cigarettes and sparked up. 'Not necessarily, if you think about it dealers would make sure the drug was safe before they started peddling it. The junkies might be desperate for a fix but they don't want to die in the process.'

  'I suppose so.'

  'Which means this could be a one-man band. Some nutter in his bedroom playing with his chemistry set.'

  'But eventually he'll need to put out the feelers, they can't do it all on their own.'

  The traffic started to move forward again, Susan turned left at the junction and got her foot down.

  'Maybe they're already working for someone, refining the product with the buyer already in place?' He pondered.

  'What's the address again?'

  Lasser dragged out the post-it note. 'Six Sidney Street, I think it's coming up on the left.'

  Susan slowed down, checking the side streets as they drove past. When she saw the street sign, she turned left down a narrow road lined with terraced houses before pulling up outside number six.

  'Right let's get this over with.' Lasser said as he climbed from the car.

  15

  Andrew Forbes drew all the money from his own account, just short of four hundred pounds, a miniscule amount compared to what Emma had in her bank. The thought of it made the anger bloom again. Tossing the suitcase into the back of the car, he slammed the boot and clambered into the Jaguar, the car redolent with the scent of new leather.

  Andrew gripped the wheel, if he didn't make Emma see sense, if he didn't get her back, then the car along with the flat would be spirited away.


  The thought of having to move back to the family home with his tail tucked between his legs was too horrific to contemplate. He had to get things back on track, this was his life now and she had no right to snatch it away from him.

  Taking a deep breath, Andrew slid the lever into drive and set off, thirty minutes later he hit the M1, set the cruise control to seventy, and eased back in the sumptuous leather.

  'I'm coming, Emma,' he whispered as the sun sank towards the horizon.

  16

  Tilly Crank may have been small of stature yet something about her hinted at an indomitable spirit. She showed them into a small but tidy lounge, the rug in front of the fire was peppered with birdseed from the budgie that sat perched in its cage by the side of the coal fire.

  Sitting in a floral patterned chair, she turned her unflinching gaze on Lasser. 'You've found him haven't you?'

  Lasser eased onto the sofa, Coyle slid in by his side.

  'To be honest we're not sure, Mrs Crank.'

  She waved a bony hand in the air. 'Call me Tilly, everyone else does.'

  Lasser nodded. 'OK, Tilly, like I was saying we don't know if the body is that of your son, that's why we're here.'

  She nodded; her iron-grey hair cut in a short no nonsense style, here was a woman who had spent a lifetime unconcerned with how she looked. 'What do you want to know?'

  'Joseph went missing nearly five months ago, is that right?'

  'I'll tell you what I told the other police officer, our Joseph had problems, drink, drugs, you name it and he'd probably tried it at some stage.'

  Lasser glanced at the photo frame on top of the telly; it showed Tilly standing in the middle of a group-shot, flanked by three blokes on her left and six women to her right.

  'Are those your children?' he asked.

  Tilly frowned before turning to the picture. 'Aye, I've ten of them altogether and fourteen grandkids.'

  'Big family.'

  She sighed and folded her hands into her lap. 'I often wonder how we all fitted into this pokey little place. But I suppose you have to make the best of what you have.'

  'Which one's Joseph?' Lasser asked.

  Tilly slid her eyes from the moment in time. 'That was taken when I turned seventy.'