Tethered to the Dead: DS Lasser series volume three (The DS Lasser series. Book 3)

by Rob Roughley

  ‘If it gets out that I knew about any of this, then people will say I only got promoted because I had you over a barrel. I’m sorry, but I’m not prepared to do it.’

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told Lasser, and...’

  ‘No chance’

  Bannister’s fingers grew white on the steering wheel, his brow creased in rage.

  Lasser licked his lips. ‘Think about it, by rights you shouldn’t even be involved in the investigation.’

  ‘Don’t you dare tell me...’

  ‘OK, a dress has turned up; it’ll be scanned for traces of blood, semen...’

  ‘You..!’

  ‘The drugs, was she a user, and if so, what kind of shit was she taking, the weirdo with the camera, what happens if we manage to catch him, are you going to be the one doing the interview? This is just wrong on so many bloody levels; I don’t even know where to start.’

  ‘Are you saying I’m unprofessional, because if you are, you can piss off right now and I’ll get someone else to do the job?’ Bannister was livid.

  ‘I’m saying you are the father to a missing girl and that’s bound to affect your judgment.’

  Bannister juddered in the seat, rocking back and forward, his hands locked on the steering wheel.

  ‘Come on, boss, making me babysit the Ramseys solves nothing,’ Lasser popped up a finger. ‘We have Rachael Sinclair handing pills over to Kelly; Fulcom catches them and gives them both a grilling. Now that would have meant fuck all to a girl like Rachael, however, it obviously affected Kelly and what about Zoe Metcalf, was she arguing with Sinclair, trying to protect Kelly? These are the things we need to focus on.’

  Bannister threw him a poisonous look and then closed his eyes, his chest heaving with pent up emotion.

  Reaching down he turned the key and fired the engine. ‘Right, let’s go and have a word with little Miss Perfect and while we’re at it, I want to find out more about her father. Let’s see what he has to say when we tell him his little princess is a drug dealer.’

  Lasser nodded, that was more like it.

  23

  It’s like an itch begging to be scratched but the man knows that once he starts he won’t be able to stop.

  Despite the stifling heat, the bed feels cold and clammy. He looks at the mould growing in the corner of the bedroom, a black patch that creeps along the ceiling and down the walls, slowly devouring the room.

  Every day it seems to move closer, seems to spread, causing the wallpaper to slither slowly off the walls. Eventually, gravity will bring the lot down and then he’ll only have the blackened walls to stare at. Picking up the pictures of the girl he begins to study them; he’d been watching her for almost eighteen months, marvelling at the way she had matured from a colt to a thoroughbred.

  In the first one, she would have been fourteen; the image was of her in the garden of the large house. Sprawled on a sun lounger, a floppy hat pushed back on her head, she was laughing, a hand fluttering to her mouth. The man places it carefully on the eiderdown and picks up another. From the corner of his eye, he is convinced the stain has moved another inch toward the bed.

  In the second, she’s taking a drink from a tall glass filled with strawberry coloured liquid, her head tilted her neck long and slender. His eyes flick to an image on the bed that is separate from the others and he quickly looks away and swallows down a cold knot of fear.

  The itch begins to grow and he kicks his feet beneath the stained duvet, making a grab for the photos as they slither to the floor. Leaning over, he groans in despair, her beautiful features against the threadbare carpet looks wrong, feels disrespectful. Throwing back the cover he scrambles from the bed and begins to pluck the images from the floor, squatting like some prehistoric bird, feet splayed on the dirty carpet. Standing, he adjusts the glossy paper until everything is symmetrical, the edges lined to perfection. The remaining picture on the bed catches the meagre light from the filthy bulb that hangs from the ceiling like a luminous growth. Placing the others on the cabinet, he reaches down with trembling fingers and lifts it from the bed. The image is that of a man, standing on a vibrant lawn of green, he has his hand raised and a smile on his sun-tanned face. Pulling his glasses from the top drawer, he slides them on before holding the picture closer. He still has no idea why he took it, maybe it’s some kind of divine intervention, a chance of redemption. Thinking back to the last time he saw Kelly leaves him feeling agitated. Looking up at her empty bedroom window, he had somehow known that something was amiss. Raising the camera, he swept the lens to the left and zeroed in on the only moving object, he felt his stomach roll and lurch. The camera jittered from his fingers but not before he pressed the button, photographing the image he now held in his hand.

  The itch increased into a feverish burning sensation that gnawed at his mind. He knew the man, he knew his name and the things he had done. Leaping back into bed, he drew the cover over his head, could he, dare he, say anything? In the corner of the room, the mould inched closer.

  24

  The woman standing on the step of the three-storey town house looked like an older, more haggard, version of her daughter.

  ‘Rachael isn’t in,’ Clara Sinclair pulled a throw around her narrow shoulders and shivered.

  ‘What about your husband?’ Lasser asked.

  ‘I don’t know when he’ll be back.’

  ‘Well, do you mind if we come in, there are one or two things you might be able to help us with?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Bannister stepped forward. ‘Look Mrs Sinclair, we are involved in a serious investigation, and we need to clarify certain things with your daughter, now...’

  ‘But I’ve already told you she isn’t here.’

  ‘So where is she?’

  The woman shrugged. ‘I haven’t a clue, I think she said something about going into town to do some shopping but you never know with Rachael, I just see her when I see her.’

  The sun was slowly slipping toward the horizon, taking the last of the warmth with it, replaced by a thin breeze that cut to the bone.

  ‘Well do you have her mobile number?’ Lasser asked.

  The woman turned her flint like gaze towards him. ‘She never answers it, especially if she knows it’s me who’s ringing.’

  He glanced at his boss, Bannister had his teeth locked together, Lasser was sure it had nothing to do with the nip in the air.

  ‘Well, give me the number and I’ll try her.’ Lasser held out his hand.

  She looked down and then shook her head. ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘Why not’ Bannister snarled.

  ‘Look if you want to see her then you’ll have to come back later.’

  ‘Right, let me tell you something lady, I won’t be coming back because you are going to ring your daughter until she answers and I don’t care if it gets to midnight. When you do get through, you can tell her that I expect her to get down to the station at Bamfurlong, is that clear enough for you?’

  Clara’s face remained rigid. ‘I’ll tell her but there’s no guarantee she’ll listen.’

  Bannister thrust himself forward, the woman took a nervous step back, her hand clutching the doorframe. Lasser closed his eyes and waited for the explosion.

  ‘If I have to come back here, I’ll arrest the lot of you for failing to...’

  When she smiled, Lasser thought Bannister was going to knock her onto her bony backside. ‘I’m sure my partner will have something to say about your threatening behaviour, Mr Policeman,’ she tried to close the door, Bannister shot out a hand grabbing the handle.

  ‘Oh, don’t you worry, we’ll have plenty to say to your partner!’

  Lasser reached out and took hold of Bannister’s arm. ‘Just one thing before we go, Mrs Sinclair,’ he said.

  Bannister snatched his hand away; Clara looked at him with a mixture of caution and hatred.

  ‘What?’

  ‘What’s a slick sod like Sinclair doing with an old boot like
you?’

  It must have taken some effort, but when she slammed the door, it actually shook the frame.

  Bannister glared at Lasser, his mouth working but no words came out.

  ‘Think about it, Paul Sinclair looks like one of those blokes you see in clothing catalogues wearing a cable net sweater, hand over his eyes as he looks off in into the distance.’

  ‘What the bloody hell are you talking about, man?’ Bannister looked as if he was about to implode, his face puce with fury, his hands bunched into fists.

  ‘While his wife looks as though she’s been around the block a few times.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with anything? I was in the middle of giving that woman a...’

  A truck rumbled past throwing dust up from the gutter.

  ‘Look, we need to know how someone like Rachael can go from a hellhole like Hindley High to somewhere like Claremont, I mean, it doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Maybe they had a win on the lottery?’ Bannister snarled sarcastically.

  ‘The receptionist at Claremont said there was a six year waiting list to get into the place, so why was an exception made for Rachael Sinclair?’

  Bannister pulled out his keys. ‘I’m going to find out where Sinclair works and pay him a visit.’

  ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Get back to the station; grill the deputy head again...’

  Lasser looked at his watch. ‘He’s probably long gone by now.’

  ‘So, find out where he lives and while you’re at it, chase forensics up, I want answers, Sergeant.’

  With that, he trudged over to his car, a moment later he was gone, leaving Lasser with the beginnings of a migraine.

  25

  Jonathan snatched open another drawer and sent a pile of clothes soaring over his shoulder, a lacy bra hung from the lightshade, the floor was littered with crop tops, jeans and leggings.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  He threw a glance over his shoulder, Suzanne stood in the doorway, her face expressionless, her eyes dead.

  ‘What does it look like?’ Turning away, he dragged the wardrobe doors open to reveal a dizzying array of designer clothes.

  Lifting a red dress from the hanger, he fumbled around looking for a pocket then threw it to the side with a snarl.

  Suzanne took a hesitant step into the room. ‘They must have made a mistake, Kelly doesn’t take drugs; she would never get involved in anything like that.’

  Jonathan ignored her, locked in his own world of inner turmoil; he began to yank them out by the handful. This one she had worn when they had gone to Chester races for the day. He threw it across the room, this little red number was one she always wore when the weather was hot. He tore at the fabric. Every piece of clothing threw up a memory, the black one bought for her fifteenth birthday; they had gone for a meal to the Daresbury Lodge and she had looked so vibrant and alive.

  ‘Stop it!’ Suzanne screamed.

  He never even heard her, swiping a hand across the top shelf the bottles of expensive perfume went flying. One hit the edge of the bedside table and shattered, the room suddenly filled with the cloying scent of rose petals. Jonathan staggered away from the wardrobe, his head full of images of his daughter as a new-born and a toddler. Watching her grow making sure she wanted for nothing and it had all come to this. He fell to his knees with his head hanging, his hands splayed on the carpet.

  Suzanne looked at him and felt a flicker of pity. ‘We can’t carry on like this...’

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ he hissed, digging his fingers into the thick weave.

  She looked down at the top of his head, she could see where the hair was thinning, he had talked of having a hair transplant, how pathetic that seemed now, how irrelevant.

  ‘There’s nothing either of us can do, we just have to wait...’

  ‘Wait for what?’ he spun and looked at her in disbelief. ‘For her real father to arrive at the door telling us they’ve found her dead?’

  Suzanne closed her eyes, digging her false nails into the palm of her hands trying desperately to cling to reality that was fast slipping away. ‘We have to trust him,’ she whispered.

  She could see all the anguish, all the fear in his haunted eyes.

  ‘How can we trust someone like that, he left her in the first place, he would have seen you on your own struggling to bring up a child.’

  ‘What choice do we have?’

  For that, he had no answer.

  26

  On the way back to the station, Lasser decided to make a small detour. As he pulled up outside Zoe Metcalf’s house, he could see her father was busy lugging a bag of cement into the back of a battered pickup.

  ‘Mr Metcalf?’

  The big man turned and clapped his hands, a cloud of cement dust billowed into the air. ‘I didn’t think we’d see you again so soon.’

  ‘Is Zoe at home?’

  ‘Aye, do you want a word?’

  ‘If you don’t mind?’

  Metcalf pulled out a decrepit looking mobile, squinted at the screen and then trapped it between ear and shoulder. ‘Zoe, that copper’s here again, I’ll send him in.’

  Flipping the phone closed he clambered into the van. ‘Go on in, lad, I have to get this cement over to a pointing job.’

  ‘Oh right.’

  ‘Got to make the most of this weather,’ he slammed the door and fired up the van, a cloud of oily black fumes belched from the exhaust like a heavy smoker’s dying breath.

  By the time he reached the door it was swinging open. Zoe looked as if she hadn’t slept, her face was creased with worry.

  ‘Is there any news?’

  ‘Nothing yet, I’m afraid.’

  He watched as her face fell. ‘I keep listening to the news, hoping they’ve found her.’

  ‘Your dad said it was all right to come in?’

  ‘Oh yeah, sure,’ she led Lasser into the lounge; the last of the sun was blasting into the room, dust particles drifting in the air like a shoal of microscopic fish. This time he sat away from the window out of the glare, although he could still feel it warming the back of his neck.

  ‘The thing is, Zoe; I’ve had a word with one of the teachers who was at the party.’

  Zoe looked at him nonplussed.

  ‘According to him, on the night of the prom he had to break up an argument between Rachael Sinclair and another girl.’

  She looked at the floor and then nodded. ‘That was me.’

  ‘Do you mind telling me what the argument was about?’

  Zoe plucked at a hole in the knee of her jeans. ‘I caught her trying to give Kelly some pills.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Like I said the other day, Rachael can be a bitch.’

  ‘So what did you say to her?’

  ‘I told her to back off.’

  ‘From Kelly?’

  ‘Yeah, I mean, Kell isn’t into any of that shit.’

  ‘What makes you so sure?’

  Zoe shrugged. ‘We used to talk, I mean, talk a lot, and Kelly said she’d never touch the stuff.’

  ‘And you believed her?’

  ‘Look, I know she comes from, like this big house, and has all this cool stuff but she’s no fool.’

  ‘Did you know Rachel used to attend Hindley High?’

  Zoe squinted at him, the sun full in her face, crossing the room, she pulled the cord, the blinds twisted cutting off the sunlight. ‘Yeah I knew.’

  ‘Did she ever say why she left to go to a place like Claremont?’

  ‘Not to me, but then again, we don’t get on.’

  ‘And did Kelly ever mention it?’

  She made her way back to the sofa. ‘I didn’t know it was her until about six months ago, and then Kelly started talking about this new girl who was a real blast...’

  ‘Rachael?’

  Zoe nodded. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw her.’

  Lasser fiddled with the cigarette packet in his pocket. ‘W
hat do you mean?’

  ‘I knew her from school.’

  ‘You went to Hindley?’ he asked in surprise.

  ‘For my sins,’ she smiled. ‘But the thing is, when I knew her, she was Rachael Bradley.’

  Lasser leaned forward in the chair. ‘Bradley?’

  ‘Yeah I know, I thought it was weird too.’

  ‘Do you have any idea why she left?’

  ‘She left before she was kicked out; apparently one of the teachers caught her selling weed to a couple of the first years.’

  ‘She sounds like a charmer.’

  ‘Rachael’s a real bitch, so when I found out it was the same girl I warned Kelly about her, told her to stay away.’

  ‘But she didn’t listen?’

  Zoe shook her head sadly. ‘That’s why I agreed to go to the prom; I mean, normally I wouldn’t be seen dead at one of those things...’

  ‘You decided to go to keep an eye on Kelly?’ It was starting to make sense.

  Zoe pulled out a tissue and blew her nose. ‘For all the good it did.’

  ‘So let me get this straight, you actually saw her trying to give the pills to Kelly?’

  ‘Oh I saw her all right.’

  ‘Any idea what they were?’

  ‘Not a clue, I don’t do drugs but I knew they weren’t Smarties.’

  Lasser sighed, what a world. ‘OK, so you go over and what happens next?’

  ‘This man comes storming across the room and starts having a go at me.’

  Lasser frowned. ‘What, just you?’

  Zoe kicked off her slippers and slid her legs onto the sofa. ‘Oh yeah, Rachael was smirking at me over his shoulder. I didn’t even know he was a teacher, at first I thought it must have been Rachael’s dad or something. I tried to tell him what was happening, but he kept interrupting. In the end he got in my space and I hate that kind of thing.’

  ‘He became aggressive?’ Lasser could feel his own anger beginning to build. Despite Fulcom’s so-called admission, he had still spun him a load of shit.

  ‘I tried to back up but he kept moving forward, he was having a proper go, ranting about Claremont School,’ she plucked at her jeans in agitation. ‘To tell you the truth, I didn’t really have a clue what he was going on about.’