Lasser kept her close as he turned things over in his mind, the worry etched onto his face the feeling of unease growing like a creeping black cancer.
65
Colly Roberts emptied another can down his throat and tossed it into the corner of the room; he'd spent the night looking for Donny Elliot. He'd tried all the usual haunts without any luck, he'd even been around to the flat only to find the front door boarded up.
On his way home, he spotted Nick Shaw one of Elliot's so-called mates hanging around the back of the Co-op, he'd been talking to a kid in a Nike tracksuit, a pair of white high tops on his feet and a baseball cap lodged on top of his head. Colly had seen the small package exchange hands then Shaw had looked up in surprise as Colly stalked towards him. The kid in the tracksuit had glanced towards him before slipping his hand into his pocket.
'I hope you're not thinking of pulling a blade on me, you little cunt?' Colly snarled.
'Hey, man, who you calling a cunt?' the kid had replied in a mock Jamaican accent that sounded ridiculous in a Wigan dialect.
'Just fuck off before I skin your shitty little hide.'
The kid had frowned. 'Nobody calls me a cunt!'
Then Nick Shaw had clamped a hand on the kids arm. 'Do as he says, Tyrone.'
'But...'
'Just go,' Shaw had given him a shove to help him on his way.
Tyrone frowned and hitched up his shoulders. 'I ain’t scared of him.'
Then Colly had shot out a hand and grabbed the kid by the scruff of his jacket before dragging him forward.
'Whoa, take it easy!' Shaw tried to intervene and Colly had thrown him a look boiling with hatred.
Shaw had held up his hands and taken a backward step, the kid tried to struggle free and Colly pushed his face in close. 'I'll tell you one last time, do one, or I'll ring your scrawny neck,' then Colly thrust him backwards, Tyrone's feet had become entangled and then he was sprawling on the gravelled ground his eyes full of hurt and fear.
'You'd better listen to him, Tyrone, because Colly doesn't fuck around.'
At the mention of the man's name, Tyrone's eyes sprang wide and then he was back on his feet and running.
Nick Shaw grinned as the boy vanished around the corner. 'Now then, Colly, what ya after, some weed, a bit of crack?'
'Donny Elliot?'
Shaw looked disappointed. 'Not seen him for days, last I heard the filth were after him.'
'You wouldn't try bullshitting me would you, Shaw?'
Nick shook his head. 'I'm not a fucking idiot, Colly, besides Elliot's a prick.'
'If he turns up you ring me.'
'No problem.'
'Day, night I don't fucking care.'
'You gonna knock him about?' Shaw sounded thrilled at the prospect.
'No. I'm gonna kill him,' Colly said with an evil glint in his eyes.
The news had made Nick Shaw smile, if Colly meant what he said then one less dealer in the town could only be a good thing for his business.
Colly stifled a burp, he could feel his eyes closing as the booze took effect, his head was full of images of Sarah. When the knock came at the door, he snapped his eyes open and pushed himself up from the sofa with a grunt; the room seemed to tilt around him as he wobbled his way towards the door.
It took him three attempts before his grasping fingers found the handle.
Stumpy Clark stood in the doorway, a nervous smile on his crab apple face.
'Alright, Colly?'
'What do you want?'
Stumpy shuffled his feet on the doorstep. 'You told me to get in touch if I heard anything about Elliot.'
Then Stumpy Clark found himself propelled into the room, Colly dragged him over to the sofa and Stumpy scuttled back in fear.
'Come on, Stumpy, what you got?' he asked as he tossed a can of lager over to the small man.
Stumpy pulled the ring back and took a drink to ease his parched throat. 'He's in Wigan General.'
Colly towered over him, his face locked in a frown. 'He's in the ozzie?'
'Some time yesterday the filth grabbed him and his nose got flattened while he was doing a runner. I mean, everyone's talking about it, they say he was the one who dumped the bodies in the water up at Hall Lane.'
'What else are they saying?'
Clark blinked in confusion. 'Fuck me, isn't that enough?'
When he saw Colly's face curdle, he realised that it wasn't.
'Any idea what ward they're keeping him in?'
'Ward?'
'Yes, fucking ward!'
Stumpy slithered back on the sofa, his short legs didn't even reach the floor. 'I don't have a clue, Colly.'
Colly nodded before taking another deep swallow from the can.
'So, what do you want him for?' Stumpy asked.
'I think he was the cunt that killed Sarah.'
Stumpy sprang forward in disbelief. 'Sarah's dead!'
Colly glared down at the man on the sofa. 'Just go, Stumpy, I'm not in the mood.'
Stumpy Clark nodded vigorously, Colly stood in the centre of the room like a ticking bomb and Stumpy wanted to be as far away as possible when he blew his stack.
'Yeah, Colly, no problem, mate,' he said as he wriggled to his feet.
As he slid past, Colly snatched at his arm. 'You keep that shut,' he said pointing to Stumpy's mouth.
'You got it, Colly, not a word, not a fucking word.'
Colly nodded and let his hand slide away.
At the door, Stumpy turned and looked at the big man standing like a chunk of obsolete machinery waiting to be plugged back into the mains.
'I'm sorry, Colly,' he mumbled.
Colly slowly turned his head. 'Fuck off, Stumpy.'
Stumpy Clark did as he was told.
66
Boz watched as the pale orb of washed out sun climbed into another piss poor sky.
When he saw Norv pull onto the drive, he swallowed the last of the whisky from the glass and watched as his brother climbed from the car before slamming the door, his face mottled with burning fury.
'Here we go,' Boris mumbled nervously.
Then Norvil appeared in the doorway and came storming across the room his hands bunched into fists. Boris tried to back up but his brother closed in like a heat seeking missile, Boris raised his hands but Norvil slapped them down and slammed his fist into the side of Boris's head. Boris grunted and staggered sideways, he shook his head in dismay and flew at his brother, arms swinging.
'Bastard!' he bellowed as he roared forward, grabbing Norvil around the waist and lifting him from the floor before crashing back against the wall. Norvil raised his elbow and slammed it down hard on the back of Boris's neck.
Boris yelped in pain and then another blow smashed into the back of his head driving him to his knees.
'Stupid fucking twat!' Norv screamed and lashed his knee up into his brother's jaw.
Boris snapped upright before clattering into the fireplace, his right hand swiping the family photographs that stood on the mantle, to the floor.
Norvil pointed a trembling finger down at the sprawled form. 'Do you have any idea what you've fucking done?'
Boris looked up with eyes that were finding it hard to focus. 'I swear, Norv...'
'Spare me your bullshit, you showed Elliot where we kept the stuff and he went back and took the fucking lot...'
'But we don't know that, Norv, it could have...'
'Could have been what? Apart from you and me who else knew about the place, who else apart from Donny Fucking Elliot?'
'I...'
'Have you any idea what the lads from the Pool will do when they find out we've lost all their gear?'
Boris sat in the fireplace, his mouth opening and closing though no sound came out.
'Well, I'll tell you one thing, when they ask how it happened, I'll tell them it was my idiot brother who just happened to take a known tea leaf to the lockup.'
'But you can't do that!' Boris screeched.
Norvil leaned in close. 'W
atch me, you're the one to blame for all this, we had a good thing going, plenty of cash to be made and more importantly they trusted us.'
'But you're my brother,' Boris suddenly looked like a child again.
Norvil closed his eyes, all his life his brother had been a pain in the arse, always clinging to him like a leach, always fucking things up. 'Don't bloody remind me,' he said in a drained voice.
'But there must be something we can do?' Boris looked up at with pleading eyes.
Norvil ran a hand through his unruly gypsy hair. 'Like what?'
'Let me go and see Elliot...'
'I've already told you the police have him, and how long do you think it'll be before he tells them about us?'
'He wouldn't fucking dare!' Boris tried to sound confident and failed miserably.
'See, even you don't believe he'll keep his mouth shut.' Norvil spat.
'But maybe he hasn't got the stuff...'
'Of course he's got it, you dumb prick...'
Boris rubbed at his jaw wobbling it tentatively from side to side. 'Why don't you give the copper a call at least then we'll know one way or the other.'
Norvil ran the back of his hand across his lips, his mind trying to work through the limited options. 'I'm telling you it's a waste of time...'
'Look, Norv the filth have been here twice within a week, now if they'd found the gear at Elliot's gaff then they would have dragged us in and tried to pin it on us.'
Norv blinked before dragging the phone from his pocket. 'You know something, Boz, that's the first sensible thing you've said in years.'
Despite the knot in his jaw, Boris grinned.
They could still turn things around, they were the bloody Mellor’s for God's sake and that had to count for something.
67
Lasser had managed to slip out of bed without disturbing Medea, now he was in the kitchen sipping the first brew of the day as the sun came up. He eyed the pack of cigarettes on top of microwave and then dropped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster. Medea had stayed locked in his arms as if afraid to move, her breathing had been slow and steady, once or twice she'd groaned and tried to roll away. Lasser had merely tightened his grip until she settled again.
Stifling a yawn, he grabbed a cup from the drainer just as Medea walked into the room, her dark hair looked wild and unruly her eyes wide like a fox caught in the headlights.
'Would you like some toast?' he asked as they popped up from the machine.
'It's OK you have those and I'll make some more.'
Lasser smothered them in butter before handing them over.
'But...'
'Eat them, Med, you look starving.'
She took a huge bite and then licked the butter from her fingers. 'Thanks, I'm famished.'
'So, you're going to visit Emma's father?'
Medea wiped a blob of butter from her chin. 'I'll go mid-morning and see how's he's coping.'
Lasser grabbed the cigarettes from the top of the microwave and sparked one up. When his phone began to ring, he raised an eyebrow.
'Three guesses who that'll be,' he said as he slipped the phone from his pocket.
Checking the number, he frowned before raising the iPhone to his ear. 'Susan, is everything OK?'
'We've just had an image of the red Jag jumping a set of lights last night.'
'Where?'
'At the top of Standishgate about half past six.'
'Can you see who was in the car?'
'Well, the image is a bit grainy, but there is definitely someone in the passenger seat.'
He flicked a glance at Medea, she was chewing the inside of her cheek her eyes alight with a building fear. Lasser smiled and gave her the thumbs up watching as the relief swept across her face.
'Any idea where they went after that?' he asked.
'Afraid not.'
'Right, if you hear anything else then ring me straight away.'
'Will do.'
'And thanks for letting me know,' he tapped a finger against the screen to end the call.
'Is everything alright?'
'He jumped a red light last night up in Standish and as far as we can tell Emma was sitting in the passenger seat.'
Medea blew out a sigh of relief. 'So where were they going?'
'We don't know yet, but Susan's going to check with the Highways Agency to see if they have any more footage of the car.'
'Thank God, at least it proves they're still in the area.'
'Well, they were last night,' he said before running the cigarette under the cold water tap. 'Listen, Med, I'm going to grab a quick shower before Bannister rings.'
'OK,' she said as she rubbed her fingers together, the crumbs sprinkling onto the worktop.
Five minute later, Lasser was standing beneath the shower letting the hot needles wash away the last of the sleep, ready for another day.
68
Spenner dropped a pound coin into the slot before jabbing at the buttons, watching bleary eyed as the Mars bar fell into the tray. He'd spent the night standing guard outside Donald Elliot's private hospital room, as the night wore on his stomach had begun to gurgle with hunger.
The hours had passed and his expression had grown sour, if he wasn't standing out in the rain getting drenched then he was forced to wait in a drab corridor with nothing for company but the flickering strip light that had seeped into his brain and set off the beginnings of a migraine. In the end, he'd had to stand there with his eyes closed as the pain increased, by first light he could stand it no longer. That's what he was doing at the machine, he needed a sugar rush, something to boost his diminishing energy before six o’clock arrived.
That was assuming that the bastard Bannister had bothered to arrange a change over. Spenner dipped down to grab the bar of chocolate, the pain in his head throbbing with the effort. Chances are the DCI would leave him standing guard around the clock as some kind of penance for forgetting to call him 'sir.'
He had a sudden image of Bannister rolling over in a king-sized bed, before dragging the duvet back over his head as he settled down for another couple of hours rest.
'Arsehole,' he mumbled as he tore the wrapper open and took a bite of the Mars bar. Collecting his change, he turned and headed back along the corridor, he never saw the figure of Colly Roberts following a few feet behind.
69
'I told you it needed refining.'
Albie sat slumped on the sofa, the phone to his ear, his head felt mashed.
'Fuck refining, she's bloody dead!' he hissed down the phone.
'How does she look?'
'You what?'
'How does Sharon look?'
'A fucking mess that's how she looks, I mean, she was frothing at the mouth, she grabbed hold of the electric fire for God’s sake!'
'Nasty.'
Albie shook his head in disbelief. 'Is that all you have to say?'
'What have you done with the body?'
'What?'
'Have you disposed of it yet?'
'Look, this is wrong I don't want any part of this.'
The voice in his ear sighed heavily. 'I explained the risks and you took the money, we have a deal.'
'Fuck your deal!'
'But...'
'If you think I'm going through this again then you can piss right off.'
'Don't worry, Albie, these people will never be missed I'm very selective...'
'I said no, don't you understand I won't do it again, no fucking way!'
'You never answered my question, what have you done with her body?'
'She's in the wheelie bin, but...'
'How appropriate.'
'But what the hell am I meant to do with her?'
'That's your problem, Albie, not mine, that's why I paid you the money, you said you could take care of things, you said none of it was any bother.'
'I know what I said,' when Albie heard the rattling of milk bottle's he leapt up from the sofa in a state of panic. A peep through the blinds and
he saw the milkman whistling as he made his way down the path with the empties in his hand.
'You'll have to decide what to do with Sharon's remains.'
'Look, I've never disposed of a body before, I haven't a bloody clue what I'm doing,' the sweat ran down his forehead, setting up a sting in his eyes.
'Improvise, Albie, use your brain.'
'I've told you - after this I don't want any more shit.'
'I've got another name for you...'
'I don't care, now just leave me alone.'
'You'll do the job,' the voice sounded supremely confident in its assumption.
'Wanna bet?'
'If you don't agree then I'll ring the police, it's as simple as that.'
Albie felt the blood drain from his face; it seemed to pool at his feet, he was sure he could feel it seeping into his trainers. 'What?' he whispered.
'Unless you agree to carry on working for me then the police will be banging on your door within ten minutes, I'll tell them about the body in the bin, I'll tell them everything apart from one minor detail.'
Despite his fear Albie had to know the answer. 'What won't you tell 'em?' he asked though deep down beneath all the chaos he already knew the answer.
'I won't tell them my name and you won't be able to help them out on that score, after all, you were too busy counting the money I gave you. All you saw were the pound signs didn’t you, Albie?' The voice sounded amused. 'Do you see how easily you've been ensnared, how gullible you've been?'
'I...'
'Now, have you got a pen and paper because I suggest you write this down?'
'Please,' Albie felt like crying.
'Save it, Albie, we have work to do, you're going to be a busy boy.'
Albie swallowed down the nausea and crossed the room on legs that felt as if they were made of paper. Sliding open the drawer, he pulled out the pad and pen.
'You won't get away with this,' he said as he slumped back on the sofa.
'Come on don't be like that, Albie.'
'Bastard!'
The voice laughed.
70
Spenner glanced through the window; he could see Elliot on the bed with his panda eyes closed, the white sticking plaster covering the bridge of his nose.
Typical, even a scumbag like Elliot was managing to have a good kip.
Vanished Beneath: DS Lasser six (The Lasser series Book 6) Page 17
