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

by Rob Roughley

  31

  Lasser drove through Appley Bridge, the houses large and imposing, no numbers just names. Honeysuckle House and Crofter Lodge set onto slate plaques attached to the gates. When he saw the name Wisteria Cottage, he pulled onto the drive and parked behind a dark blue Audi Q7 with its back door standing open. The place didn’t look like any cottage Lasser had ever seen, the house was a huge rambling affair resembling an old vicarage with large bay windows. True to its name, the gable end was hidden beneath a tangle of wisteria vines. Climbing from the car, he saw Fulcom coming through the front door with suitcase in hand.

  ‘Going somewhere?’

  The deputy head glared at him and then walked to the back of the car; heaving the case into the boot he slammed it shut before turning to Lasser.

  ‘Just getting away for the weekend, there’s no law against that is there?’

  ‘That depends on the next five minutes.’

  ‘I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about, though Paul warned me you might try the heavy-handed tactic,’ he pulled out his phone, watching Lasser as he placed it to his ear.

  ‘Who are you ringing, Mr Fulcom?’

  ‘None of your damn business.’

  ‘Can you tell me why you omitted certain pieces of information from your statement?’

  Fulcom turned away, a finger plugging his left ear.

  ‘If you’re trying to contact Sinclair, then I’d imagine he’s too busy to answer the phone at the moment.’

  Fulcom spun around and glared. ‘Are you enjoying this?’

  ‘What, having my time wasted by a shit like you?’ he stepped in close. ‘If you’d stuck to the facts then I wouldn’t even be here.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Fulcom looked away and pulled the car keys from his pocket. ‘Now if you don’t mind moving your car?’

  ‘Are you having a laugh?’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘You told me about the pills, remember that, do you? You said you gave Rachael Bradley, oh sorry, I meant Sinclair, a bollocking.’

  ‘No comment.’

  Lasser looked at the man in amazement. ‘No bloody comment, who the hell do you think you are?’

  ‘You dragged me to the station and I made a statement. Now I’m sorry if that isn’t enough for you, but I’m afraid it’s all you’re going to get.’

  ‘Christopher Fulcom I am arresting you...’

  ‘What!’ Fulcom lurched back, slamming into the rear of the car. ‘You can’t do that!’

  Lasser ignored him. ‘Anything you say may be...’

  ‘Christopher, is everything all right?’

  Lasser looked toward the front of the house and frowned. Medea Sullivan was standing in the doorway, dressed in jeans and a purple Pink Floyd T-shirt, a frown on her perfect face, hair tumbling across her shoulders.

  ‘No it isn’t, this man is harassing me!’ he bellowed.

  She skipped down the steps and hurried toward them. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Mr Fulcom is just helping us with our inquiries.’

  ‘That’s a lie; he’s trying to arrest me for nothing.’ Fulcom snarled; his hands braced against the tailgate of the four by four.

  ‘Get in the car.’ Lasser held out his hand and the teacher slid from his grasp.

  ‘What’s he meant to have done?’

  Lasser threw her a sidelong glance. ‘Let’s just say that Mr Fulcom has been economical with the truth.’

  Medea looked at Fulcom. ‘What’s he talking about?’

  The teacher shook his head, his fashionable hair swaying from side to side. ‘I haven’t a clue, the man is obviously deluded...’

  ‘I won’t ask you again, now get in the car.’

  Medea reached out and plucked at Lasser’s sleeve. ‘Listen, I’m sure there must be a mistake...’

  ‘No mistake, Medea.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘No buts,’ he shot out a hand and grabbed at the sleeve of Fulcom’s jacket.

  ‘Get off me!’ The teacher tried to twist away and Lasser stepped to the side and twisted the arm applying pressure to the back of the elbow. Fulcom gasped and dropped to his knees. Medea stepped back, a hand going to her mouth in shocked surprise.

  ‘You are under arrest,’ he heaved and Fulcom shot to his feet, left arm twisted behind his back, right one flapping up and down as if he were a damaged bird trying to take to the air. Lasser bundled him into the back of the car.

  ‘Put your seatbelt on and keep your mouth shut,’ slamming the door he headed around the car. Medea was suddenly blocking his way.

  ‘What’s he meant to have done?’ she plucked at his sleeve again, her face etched with confusion.

  Lasser sighed and looked into her eyes. ‘Look, Medea, I don’t know what sort of relationship you have with that man...’

  ‘I don’t have any sort of relationship, at least not the kind you’re implying...’

  ‘But...’

  ‘Today is my day off and I’m studying to be a teacher, Christopher is helping me with my dissertation.’

  ‘Yeah well, if you want my advice, you should get yourself another mentor,’ he grabbed the handle and slid into the seat. ‘Because Mr Fulcom is going to be rather tied up for a while.’

  He did a nifty three-point turn and drove down the long drive, the perfect image of Medea Sullivan diminishing in the rear view mirror.

  32

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us that Rachael wasn’t your biological daughter?’

  Paul Sinclair looked completely un-phased. He sat in the windowless interview room; his legs crossed, an expensive loafer dangling from the end of his bare foot. Bannister sat facing him; a permanent scowl on his face, Lasser hovered near the door.

  ‘I fail to see what that has to do with anything.’

  ‘Can you tell me why Christopher Fulcom called on your services?’ Bannister asked.

  Sinclair shrugged. ‘I’ve known Chris for a couple of years; we go to the same gym and I told him if he ever needed a lawyer then I’d be more than happy to assist.’

  ‘Did you suspect that he might need one at some time?’ Lasser asked.

  Sinclair didn’t look over his shoulder, didn’t even blink. ‘In this day and age it pays to know your rights, Sergeant. Otherwise, you can easily find yourself pressured into a situation that is beyond your control.’

  Lasser crossed the room and sat down at Bannister’s side. ‘Meaning what exactly?’

  Sinclair gave a slight shrug. ‘Well, take Chris Fulcom, a man who holds a very prestigious position, an easy target for some, wouldn’t you say?’

  Bannister leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. ‘Do you have any idea why Fulcom would tell Sergeant Lasser here one tale and then completely change it?’

  ‘I wasn’t aware that he had,’ Sinclair replied and then stifled a yawn. ‘Christopher rang me because he wanted to make sure his statement covered all the basics. I mean, he wants to help the police in any way possible, after all, it is one of his students that’s missing.’

  Bannister drummed his fingers on the desk in mounting fury. ‘Did he mention anything about your step daughter offering drugs to Kelly Ramsey on the night of the prom?’

  Sinclair uncrossed his legs and wiped an imaginary spec of fluff from his trousers. ‘Are you accusing Rachael of being a dealer, because if you are, I’d like to see the evidence?’

  ‘Oh don’t worry Sinclair we’ll find the evidence...’

  ‘So this is mere speculation on your part, Mr Bannister?’ Sinclair smiled.

  ‘Hardly, it was Fulcom who told us...’

  ‘That’s strange; I don’t recall seeing anything about drugs in his,’ he paused, ‘official statement.’

  Lasser could see Bannister’s hands gripping the edge of the desk as if he were about to launch himself at Sinclair.

  ‘How long have you and Clara been together?’ Lasser asked, keeping a wary eye on the man at his side.

  The lawyer sl
id his eyes away from Bannister’s contorted face, a flicker of amusement in his pale eyes. ‘Why do you want to know?’

  ‘I was wondering why Rachael changed her name; I mean, how old was she when you got together with her mother?’

  ‘Rachael was six when we first met,’ he crossed his legs again and folded his arms.

  ‘So you’ll know why she left Hindley High school?’

  ‘I’m sorry but I fail to see...’

  ‘It just seems strange to spend almost four years at one place to simply leave for another. I mean, what about her friends, didn’t she want to stay with them?’

  ‘Rachael’s mature enough to make up her own mind, Sergeant, she realised that the opportunities at Hindley were limited, and I could afford to place her at Claremont.’

  ‘But if you were with her mother from when Rachael was six then why didn’t you get her in the school sooner?’

  ‘I said I knew Rachael from when she was six; I never said I was with her mother.’

  Lasser looked at a footprint on the wall, probably caused by someone losing the plot and lashing out.

  ‘And you weren’t in a relationship with Clara back then?’

  ‘That’s correct.’

  Bannister stood up and rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. ‘How did you first come into contact with Clara Bradley?’

  Sinclair smiled, though this time there was a nervous edge to it. ‘Let’s just say I knew her in a professional capacity.’

  ‘You represented her?’ Bannister leant forward, a cold gleam in his eye.

  ‘Of a fashion.’

  ‘And just what is that supposed to mean, you either did or you didn’t?’

  Sinclair slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers. ‘Clara Bradley had been accused of shoplifting and I always liked to do the occasional freebie. You know give something back to the community, stand up for those who have no voice.’

  ‘She was innocent, is that what you are telling us?’

  ‘I was a defence lawyer, Sergeant Lasser, I simply follow the facts.’

  ‘Forgive me but that isn’t an answer.’

  Sinclair sighed. ‘All charges against her were dropped and she walked away with an unblemished reputation and a small amount of compensation.’ The smile flickered again, like a faulty neon strip light.

  ‘So you came to her rescue, a youngish lawyer fighting the good fight, did she pay you in kind, Mr Sinclair?’

  For the first time Paul Sinclair looked annoyed. ‘Don’t judge me by your own standards, Sergeant.’

  ‘Is that a yes or no?’

  ‘Tread very carefully, Mr Lasser, or you might find the roles reversed.’

  ‘Is that a threat?’ Lasser leant back in his chair, his eyes fixed on Sinclair.

  ‘Merely an observation, you are, of course, well within your rights to ask me anything you wish. Though when you begin to move into the realms of fantasy then it pricks my professional instincts.’

  ‘Prick being the operative word?’

  Sinclair laughed lightly. ‘An attempt at humour, Sergeant, I am impressed.’

  Bannister frowned. ‘Can you tell us when the relationship between you and Clara Bradley actually started?’

  ‘Let me see,’ Sinclair pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling. ‘It was probably about five years ago.’

  ‘And you’ve been married how long?’

  ‘Oh, we’re not married.’

  Bannister blinked at him in surprise. ‘So how come, your step daughter is now a ‘Sinclair?’

  ‘It’s nothing out of the ordinary Chief Inspector, Rachael decided she didn’t want to be burdened with the name Bradley, so we had it changed, legally of course.’

  Lasser scratched at the nicotine patch. ‘Why didn’t you just marry her mother?’

  Sinclair grimaced as if the thought were somehow repellent. ‘I’m not the marrying kind.’

  ‘And why would Rachael think the name Bradley was a burden?’

  Sinclair sat up straight. ‘I am sure you’ll have his name on file, the man was a waste, and why should she be tarnished for her father’s misdemeanours. So I came up with the perfect solution.’

  ‘I bet you did,’ Lasser said.

  Sinclair smiled brightly.

  33

  The German Shepherd scrabbled forward straining at the leash, back legs digging into the soft dark earth.

  Paul Currie let out more of the lead and the black and tan dog bolted forward.

  ‘He’s definitely onto something.’

  DI Cooper tried to keep up, his feet swishing through the thick leaves. ‘Let’s hope it’s not a bitch in season,’ he muttered as he staggered forward. To his left he could see the old gardener-come-handyman hobbling along after them.

  ‘I bet you didn’t think you’d be doing this when you got up this morning, Stan?’

  Stan grinned, his cheeks flushed with colour, eyes sparkling with excitement.

  The dog leapt over a fallen tree and Currie had to scramble over, keeping a tight grip on the handle of the extending lead. ‘Max wait!’ the animal stopped, its sides bellowing in and out, tongue lolling.

  ‘Good lad,’ he patted the dog’s head and ruffled his ears.

  Cooper sighed heavily. ‘Go on, Paul, keep him moving.’

  ‘Seek it, lad.’ Currie hissed and the animal set off again, nose to the ground, ploughing a furrow through the fallen leaves. The small pond appeared out of nowhere, the dog raced to the bank and began to bark, the sound echoing under the cover of the ancient trees.

  A couple of mallards took to the air startled by the sudden noisy interruption, the pond was roughly circular the edge thick with weed, bulrushes stood tall swaying in the breeze. The dog began to sniff its way along the bank, its head gliding from side to side searching for a scent.

  ‘What do you reckon, Paul?’ Cooper asked, hands on hips, blowing hard, his brow coated in sweat.

  ‘Well whatever it is I’d say it’s in there somewhere,’ the dog handler nodded toward the water.

  Stan puffed his way towards them, sounding like an old piece of farm machinery on a very cold morning.

  ‘Its deep tha’ knows,’ he gasped before yanking the flat cap from his head.

  Cooper wiped a hand across his forehead and grimaced, ‘How deep?’

  ‘It’s got to be forty, maybe fifty feet.’

  ‘But it’s not much bigger than a puddle,’ Cooper said, looking at Stan in disbelief.

  ‘Don’t be fooled, it’s an owd mineshaft, they flooded it after the war.’

  Cooper sighed. ‘What do you think, Paul, are you sure about this?’

  The dog had its nose in the air, sniffing the breeze, tail flapping in the long grass. ‘I’d say it definitely needs checking out.’

  DI Cooper pulled out his mobile. ‘I was afraid you’d say that.’

  34

  ‘No doubt about it, the man is a bloody liar, but as much as I’d like to charge him with something, we have no evidence.’

  They were back in his office, Bannister stood by the window looking out over the fields, hands in pockets and shoulders slumped.

  ‘Do you want me to check out her old school, see what they have to say about Rachael?’

  Bannister turned. ‘Might as well.’

  Lasser knew what his boss was thinking, all this was fine, but it got them no nearer to finding out what had happened to his daughter. If Rachael Sinclair had been handing out a few pills at a party, it was hardly earth shattering news. Even if she’d been shagging a couple of the teachers at her old school, then it told them nothing they didn’t already suspect. Rachael was a woman in a sixteen year old girl’s body, jailbait.

  ‘What about Fulcom?’

  Bannister shook his head. ‘He isn’t going to change his story, Sinclair will have briefed him on what to say and if he sticks to it, then...’ Bannister sighed.

  A knock came at the door and the DCI straightened his shoulder and ran a hand across his hair. ‘C
ome in!’

  DI Chadwick stuck his head around the door, frowning when he saw Lasser sitting at the desk.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir.’

  ‘That’s all right, Frank, what can I do for you?’

  ‘We think we might be onto something.’

  Bannister placed a steadying hand on the desk. ‘Well come on, man, spit it out.’

  ‘The peeping Tom.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘We’ve managed to track down where the letter was posted and then we got onto the CCTV boys and we have a suspect.’

  Bannister strode from behind the desk. ‘Show me.’

  Lasser followed them into the incident room; Chadwick led them over to a desktop computer and tapped at a few keys. ‘I got them to transfer the film over to us, sir.’

  Lasser leant in close, only last year he remembered trying to catch a scumbag after he robbed the local jewellers killing an old woman in the process, the image back then had been useless. However, over the past six months, the council had installed new high tech cameras and the results were astonishing.

  ‘There he is,’ Chadwick pointed at the screen, it showed a man walking up Market Street, scraggy grey hair brushing his shoulders, dressed in a pair of grubby jeans and an old duffel coat. ‘See the brown envelope?’

  See it? Lasser was convinced that if the camera had zoomed in they would have been able to read the address.

  They watched as a young man barged into him, they could see him mouthing something to the grey haired man and then he moved on down the street, his arm groping the arse of the girl at his side. The image jittered and then they saw him approach the post box outside Barclays Bank. He seemed to hesitate as people milled past and then he dropped the package into the slot, before turning and hurrying away.

  ‘Do we have a name?’

  ‘Not yet, boss, but we’re working on it.’

  Lasser leant in closer, a frown on his face; as soon as the figure turned, he hit the pause button. ‘Marshall Brooks.’

  Bannister snatched his wrist. ‘You know him?’