by Rob Roughley
‘Twenty seven years.’
‘So you know the area.’
Stan puffed out his chest. ‘No man knows it better.’
‘Right, go with these men and show them the direct route through the trees that leads to the Hall.’
‘Aye, no bother. Come on lads follow me.’
Stan led them through the gates, a new spring in his step, his flat cap set at a jaunty angle.
Bannister turned and headed back toward Jansen, halfway across the courtyard his mobile began to ring.
22
Lasser opened the door to the station and stood back as Fulcom stormed past, his hands thrust into a jacket that matched his combat pants, his face locked in a sour frown.
When Lasser’s phone began to beep, he fished it from his pocket and checked the number.
‘Where are you, Sergeant?’ Bannister sounded out of breath as if he’d just been for a jog only to discover that he wasn’t as fit as he used to be.
‘I’ve just arrived back at the station with Mr Fulcom...’
‘Right, get over to the Ramsey house, some bugger’s been tampering with their mail and they’ve just received some photographs of Kelly...’
‘Photographs?’
‘Don’t interrupt me,’ Bannister snapped.
‘Sorry, but I think you need to hear what Fulcom has to say.’
Fulcom stood at the desk, iPhone in hand, his finger stabbing at the screen.
‘I’ll meet you at the house, you can fill me in on all the details when you get there, now shift your bloody arse.’
Lasser looked at the phone; Bannister had hung up on him.
‘Sergeant Meadows.’
The officer behind the desk looked up, a paper clip clamped between his lips, a ream of paper clasped in his hands, he spat the clip onto the desk, ‘Yep?’
‘Find our guest a nice comfortable room; he’s here to make a statement.’
‘No problem.’
Lasser turned to go.
Fulcom plucked at his sleeve. ‘Hang on, where are you going?’
‘None of your business, now the sergeant here will see to your needs and when you’ve finished you’re free to go. Though I must warn you we’ll need to speak to you again, so no jetting away to foreign climes.’
Without waiting for a reply, he pushed through the doors and stalked back to the car. Remembering yesterday’s fiasco with the road works he decided to take the scenic route. He headed out of town and then cut back along the narrow country lanes; trouble was every other driver in the area seemed to have the same idea. Then he found himself stuck behind a car towing a caravan, crawling along at twenty-five miles an hour, his teeth gritted, he kept nosing the car out but the oncoming traffic made it impossible to sneak past.
In the end, he took a side road, a winding lane with passing places and the foul smell of slurry coming off the fields. By the time he made it to the gates that led to the Ramsey house, he was sweating, his face blotchy with aggravation. Climbing out, he pressed the intercom and waited.
‘Who is it?’
He could hear the caution in the voice. ‘Mrs Ramsey, it’s Sergeant Lasser, I...’
The gates began to swing open, so he headed back to the car and drove through. Yesterday’s black Range Rover had been joined by a white BMW. Suzanne Ramsey was standing in front of the house, a thin mohair cardigan wrapped around her shoulders, wearing trendy stonewashed jeans and light blue trainers.
‘DCI Bannister asked me to call...’
‘You’d better come in.’
Lasser followed her inside; Jonathan Ramsey looked up as he walked into the lounge. ‘Look at these!’ He thrust out his hand and Lasser took the pictures.
There were half a dozen, each showing an image of Kelly Ramsey framed by a window. One showed her clipping an earring into place, in another she was staring out of the window, a towel wrapped around her head – turban style.
‘And these were delivered today?’ Lasser asked.
‘About an hour ago, but someone had opened the envelope, I mean, look.’ Ramsey brandished the envelope, the opening ragged and torn.
‘Do you have any idea when these were taken?’
Suzanne was standing in front of the fireplace shivering inside the cardigan as if she was standing in an icy draft. ‘They were taken on the night of the prom.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure, she’s standing at her bedroom window, someone was in the trees,’ she pointed a quivering finger toward the window. ‘Some pervert was watching her,’ her face dissolved into a mask of pain.
Jonathan glanced at his wife and then quickly looked away licking his lips. ‘I’ve already been outside but I can’t see anything unusual.’
‘Right, how do I get there?’
‘There’s a gate at the end of the garden, I’ll show you.’
He followed Ramsey through a set of French doors, eyeing the hot tub and the summerhouse that looked as big as his living room and kitchen combined. Jonathan hurried forward and Lasser found himself jogging in an effort to keep up.
The gate was set into the wooden fence panels; Lasser could smell the pungent odour of creosote. Pulling down on the latch, Ramsey pushed the gate open.
‘Like I said, I’ve had a look around, but I can’t see anything out of the ordinary.’
Lasser looked along the back of the fence; a narrow drainage ditch ran the full length of the property. Gnarled oak and beech trees swept away up the steep hillside, the ground smothered with brambles and last year’s fallen leaves.
‘Right, if you’d like to stay here, I’ll take a look around.’
‘I want to come with you.’
Lasser held out an arm blocking his path. ‘It’d be better if we try to keep the area as untouched as possible. We’ll get the dog handler in with a few men, then we can make a thorough search of the area, but for now...’
‘You want me to stay here?’ Ramsey looked crestfallen, his hair sprang out at the sides his beard tinted ginger. He hardly looked like a successful accountant, but then again male grooming was probably the last thing on his mind.
‘It would be for the best, Mr Ramsey.’
Jonathan seemed to deflate. ‘Fine, but if you find anything...’
‘I’ll give you a shout.’
Lasser leapt over the ditch and started to follow the line of the fence. ‘Which is Kelly’s bedroom?’
‘It’s the fourth from the right!’ Ramsey had his hands funnelled around his mouth as if calling to someone who was at least half a field away.
Lasser eased his way through a patch of nettles, his arms raised, brambles snatched at his ankles, forcing him to raise his feet high and then flatten the thorny vines with his shoes. He looked up at the house, seven windows, some with blinds drawn, others open. Whoever had taken the photos hadn’t been standing here when they put their beady eye to the lens. Lasser could see the windows though they were partially covered by the top of the tall fence.
He began to scuttle up the embankment, after ten yards he turned, the view had opened up and he was above the line of the wooden fence, the bedroom windows now at eye level.
This was the spot all right, he began to look at the ground, he could see fresh black scuff marks in the soil leading away up the hill, apart from that, there was nothing. No discarded cigarette stumps, no sweet wrappers or empty bottles and no crumpled up tissues, which probably meant that the culprit hadn’t been masturbating while he took the photographs. From this vantage point, he could see the main gates. Lasser made his way back down and trudged toward the gate, Ramsey was still hovering by the ditch.
‘Have you found anything?’ his voice was no more than a whisper, his eyes haunted.
‘I’ve located the place he was standing when he took the pictures.’ Lasser looked back towards the trees. ‘Can you tell me, if you go up through the trees, where does it lead to?’
‘Onto Black Sheep Lane, but it’s only an access road to Forshaw’
s farm.’
‘And beyond that?’
Jonathan scratched at his beard. ‘Well, the nearest B-road is half a mile away and that leads to the rear of Borsdane woods and then...’ he shrugged.
‘It might be worth checking with the local farmer, see if he’s noticed any vans or cars parked on the lane.’
‘I could do that!’ Ramsey grabbed the sleeve of Lasser’s jacket, his eyes pleading.
‘We’d still need to check ourselves...’
‘Of course, but I could still ask, I mean, there’s no harm in asking, is there?’
Lasser shrugged. ‘No. If you want to check then that’s fine by me.’
They were half way across the immaculate lawn when Bannister appeared through the French doors, Suzanne following close behind.
‘Any luck, Sergeant?’ he asked
‘I’ve pinpointed the spot where he took the pictures from.’
‘Right, we’ll get the dogs in. How are you, Jonathan?’
Ramsey licked his lips. ‘Is there any news?’
Bannister threw Lasser a quick glance. ‘Look, perhaps we should all go inside.’
‘Something’s happened.’ Suzanne plucked at the DCIs sleeve; dread swept into her eyes, as if someone had opened some imaginary floodgates to hell.
Jonathan took a backward step. ‘Tell us, please.’
Bannister thrust his hands into his jacket pockets, his eyes downcast. ‘We’ve found a dress...’
‘Oh God!’ Suzanne shook her head, slapping her hands over her ears.
‘Now it’s too early to say...’
‘A dress?’ Jonathan looked from Bannister to his wife and then back again, perplexed.
‘It was discovered this morning in a pile of leaves on the Haigh Estate. I’ve had it sent off for examination and we should have the results back later this afternoon.’
‘You think it belongs to Kelly?’ Jonathon said in hushed tones.
‘Of course they do you idiot!’ Suzanne’s face was suddenly flushed with anger. ‘Why else would he tell us about it?’
Jonathan licked his lips, ‘But perhaps...’
‘Perhaps nothing, he says they’ve found a dress, and...’
‘Nothing is certain yet, Suzanne.’
She spun toward Bannister, her anger sparking in the still summer air. ‘Oh, for God’s sake don’t you start as well; I don’t want to be told lies...’
Bannister reached out and took hold of her elbow. ‘Nobody’s lying to you, Suzanne.’
She snatched her arm away. ‘We’ve had a filthy pervert hanging around at the back of the house, taking photographs of our daughter and then she goes missing. Now you tell me you’ve found a dress, so what does all that suggest to you, Alan?’
Lasser felt for his boss, he could see the turmoil written across his face. All his professional instincts had gone out of the window, he was too close, too involved.
He thought for a moment, and then took a deep breath. ‘Mrs Ramsey?’
She dragged her eyes to Lasser’s face. ‘What do you want?’ she spat.
‘Are you aware that your daughter could have been taking drugs?’
At that point all hell broke loose.
Lasser sat in the passenger seat; dumbstruck, they were a mile from the house parked in a lay-by. Birdsong floated in through the open window, the valley opened up before them, a perfect slice of English countryside with a patchwork of yellow rapeseed fields shimmering in the distance.
Bannister had his head resting on the steering wheel. ‘What a bloody mess,’ he mumbled.
Lasser kept his mouth shut.
His boss twisted his head and looked at him in anguish. ‘Are you sure about the drugs?’
‘Positive. Fulcom told me, eventually.’
‘And he says he flushed away the evidence?’
Lasser sighed. ‘He seemed more concerned about his reputation than the girl’s welfare.’
It had taken Suzanne Ramsey half an hour to calm down, half an hour in which she had screamed, cursed, and attacked Bannister, her nails raking twin lines of blood down his left cheek.
Lasser had grabbed her wrists in astonishment and hauled her back; she’d been demented, screaming abuse at his boss. Jonathan had stood rooted to the spot watching the saga unfold with mystified eyes.
When she’d started telling Bannister he was a useless father, Lasser thought she had lost the plot completely. Perhaps she felt the need to transfer the anger she felt for Jonathan onto Bannister because he was closest to her.
Turned out he was wrong. When Jonathan Ramsey stepped forward and tried to take her in his arms she had lunged back and started laughing hysterically, screaming that her husband’s pain and anguish was misplaced. After all why should he feel so distressed over a child that wasn’t even his?
A strange silence had blanketed the room, broken only by the sound of Suzanne Ramsey’s ragged heartbroken breathing. Lasser watched as Bannister’s face fractured, as if he were receiving small pulses of electricity that made his face twitch spasmodically.
Lasser felt the woman slip from his grasp. Bloody hell.
Jonathan had straightened his shoulders and looked directly at Bannister, but the DCI had been unable to meet his gaze.
‘Don’t think I didn’t know. Suzanne told me that Kelly couldn’t be mine, but I’ve always been there for her,’ he jabbed his thumb into his own chest, his eyes suddenly alive with tears of anger and pride. ‘She told me you were a useless bastard, only ever interested in your career; I was the one who brought her up, provided all this.’ He screamed, spittle flying from his twisted mouth. ‘It’s me she loves, not you!’
Suzanne collapsed back onto the sofa and buried her head in her hands.
‘Sixteen years I’ve been there for her, it’s me she calls dad, not you,’ he spat.
Bannister had looked up. ‘Listen, Jonathan, now isn’t the time to be arguing...’
‘Kelly once told me that whenever she was alone with you, you made her feel uncomfortable, she felt apprehensive. I mean, what kind of father makes his own flesh and blood feel that way.’ Jonathan Ramsey had glared at the DCI as if he were something he’d scraped from the sole of his shoe.
Bannister’s face was ashen, his eyes full of pain. Without uttering another word he’d turned and headed towards the door.
‘That’s it, Bannister, run away, you’re good at that aren’t you!’ Ramsey bellowed.
Lasser heard the front door slam and watched through the window as Bannister climbed into his car. Jonathan swiped at his eyes and then stormed off into the kitchen, slamming the door as he went.
Lasser stood on the shag pile rug feeling like a spare part, his befuddled mind trying to process the information.
‘You’d better get after him, Sergeant.’ Suzanne looked up at him, mascara sliding down her cheeks.
‘As soon as we know about the dress...’
‘Whatever.’
‘And the dog handler should be here in a...’
‘She’s dead isn’t she?’
Lasser had left the room without answering.
‘I suppose you want an explanation?’
Heat was starting to build in the car as the mid afternoon sun raged down on the metal roof; a dragonfly flitted past the open window its iridescent wings shimmering as it flew away.
‘It has nothing to do with me.’
Bannister’s laughter was bitter. ‘Quite right, but I’m going to tell you anyway, after what happened in there I think I owe you that much.’
‘Do you mind if I have a fag?’
‘That bad is it, Sergeant?’
Lasser shrugged.
‘Why not, go ahead.’
He dragged the cigarettes from his pocket and gratefully lit up blowing smoke through the open window.
‘I met Suzanne at university, she was training to be a teacher and I was studying for a degree in law. We went out for almost a year, and as you heard, Kelly was the product of that relationship.’
‘She wanted to get married and I didn’t. Jonathan was right when he said I was a useless bastard. I did put my career first. Then she met him on the rebound, and the rest, as they say, is history.’
Christ, it was no wonder Ramsey felt so aggrieved.
‘A few years ago I got back in touch, and to be honest, I didn’t expect much. I mean, Jonathan has done a good job of bringing up my daughter and she seemed more than happy with him.’
‘So Kelly never knew Ramsey wasn’t her biological father?’
‘They decided not to tell her and I can’t say I blame them.’
‘But he knew that you were the father?’
‘Like Suzanne said, she was straight with him from the beginning. Though to be honest, I was never sure if he actually knew it was me and I wasn’t going to bring the subject up. I was just glad to be able to see Kelly.’
‘So what happens now?’
Bannister squirted some water on the windscreen, the wipers swishing back and forth clearing away the grime. ‘I’ve got to find her.’
‘What about the dress?’
Bannister sighed and rubbed at his eyes. ‘It’s the same one she was wearing in the picture.’
Lasser could think of half a dozen questions he wanted to ask, under normal circumstances it would have been difficult, but this, well this was impossible.
‘Look, Lasser, I can’t afford to let anyone else find out about this.’
‘Well that depends on the Ramseys.’
‘I realise that, and I know I can’t go back there, at least not yet.’
Probably not ever, Lasser thought but kept his mouth shut.
‘And I can’t risk putting Cooper or Chadwick in charge, so that leaves you.’
‘They won’t be happy.’
Bannister glared at him. ‘I don’t give a toss how they’ll feel about it, I’m going to make you up to acting DI, now...’
‘No way.’
Bannister blinked. ‘What did you say?’
‘I’m not doing it. If this goes pear shaped then I’ll be the one with the fucked reputation.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Bannister’s face began to change colour, his eyes narrowed in anger.
