by Rob Roughley
Taking one last look around, he headed for the entrance.
111
Bannister stood in the interview room hands splayed on the desk, face illuminated with anger.
‘Don’t you dare try and tell me my rights, Cooper, now I want my phone and I want it now!’
Sally Wright hesitated near the door; Cooper squirmed in his seat, trying to shrink away as Bannister loomed towards him over the desk.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but Chief Superintendent Mills will be here soon and he told me...’
‘I don’t give a shit what Mills told you, if you fail to get me that phone I’ll make sure that when all this is over you are fucked, do I make myself clear?’
Cooper found himself nodding, torn between his fear of Bannister and his dread of what Mills would do if he failed to follow his instructions.
‘I’m sorry, sir, but...’
Bannister’s nostrils flared. ‘You’ll pay for this, Cooper, I promise you that.’
DI Cooper did the only thing he could think of, he got up, and headed for the door a trickle of sweat ran down between his shoulder blades like a trailing finger. ‘Watch him.’
Sally looked at him in disbelief. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Never mind where I’m going, just do as you’re told,’ he snapped and then pushed his way through the door.
Sally swallowed and looked at Bannister, he was standing stock still, his pale eyes boring into hers, his chest rising and falling slowly. He looked like a man who was getting ready to lose it big time.
‘Do you have Lasser’s number?’ he asked.
Wright snapped to attention, a reflex action, a superior officer was asking her a direct question, for a second she forgot the fact that he was still wearing handcuffs.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Ring him.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I said ring him, find out where he is.’
‘But DI Cooper said....’
Bannister suddenly slumped back into the chair. ‘Please, Sally, just do this one thing?’
She looked at the man aghast, he had never used her first name before, in fact, she hadn’t been aware that he knew it. For one terrible moment, she thought he was going to cry, and then he looked away in despair.
‘Sir?’
Bannister looked up wearily.
‘Catch,’ she tossed the phone and he caught it in his handcuffed hands.
‘I owe you one, Sally.’ He said with a desperate, ravaged smile.
112
Lasser stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up as the light on the wall flickered intermittently. Trouble was he had no idea which apartment he was looking for, left with no alternative he tried the handle of the first door he came to, the fact that it was locked meant nothing. Reynolds could be hiding behind any one of the doors and he wouldn’t have a clue. Yanking out his Maglite he lifted the letterbox and crouched down shining the light inside. The powerful beam illuminated a small empty living space, closing it quietly he moved along the landing heading for the next door and suddenly stopped. Reynolds came from a large house that must have cost well over half a million. He recalled the new Mercedes on the drive, the Jet Ski standing on the custom-made trailer. It seemed as if money was no object, so if he was somewhere in this building then it wouldn’t be on the ground floor. Reynolds would want to be at the top, a measure of his success, lording it up over those below him, a man who liked to flaunt his wealth along with his trophy wife. Lasser clicked off the torch and headed up the stairs, the second floor and another light popped into life illuminating the plain magnolia walls. Lasser walked along the landing until he came to the next set of stairs. Wiping the sleeve of his jacket across his eyes, he started to climb. Every step creaked, the banister rail felt flimsy, built on the cheap. The last time he’d driven along Hall Lane there had been no sign of the apartments and yet here they were, thrown up in six short months. Reaching the third floor, he turned and walked along the landing to the last flight of steps. He could see two doors at the top, left and right. Lasser cracked his neck from side to side to ease the tension and slowly began to make his way up. When he reached the top he hesitated, then turned to the right and flicked on the torch. Crouching by the door he swallowed, torch in one hand, letterbox flap in the other his phone began to ring.
‘Shit!’ he hissed, dropping the torch onto the floor he dipped a hand into his pocket. When the door behind him slammed open, Lasser turned as Steven Reynolds hurtled towards him across the landing, a big fucker wearing a denim shirt and jeans. Lasser snapped to his feet just as Reynolds slammed into him, forcing him back against the door, the handle grinding against his spine. Reynolds grunted and lodged his forearm beneath Lasser’s throat, pushing upwards, his feet digging into the carpet tiles as he tried to apply more pressure.
‘Teach you to stick your fucking nose in!’ he hissed.
Lasser could feel the man’s breath in his face hot and sour, felt his feet leave the ground as he was forced upwards until the top of his head hit the lintel above the door. Lasser tried desperately to cling to the air in his lungs, his arms trapped by Reynolds body.
‘Think you can fuck with me, do you?’
Lasser still had one hand in his pocket, the phone continued to bleep incessantly, he pushed it to the side and scrabbled for the car key, his fingers searching for the small button on the fob, he found it and pressed, feeling the sliver of metal click open.
Reynolds grunted again and Lasser slipped down a fraction. Black smudges danced before his eyes as the last of the air slithered between his lips and then he dropped another three inches. Lasser could feel the tips of his shoes brushing the carpet, Reynolds face was coated with sweat, the veins standing rigid in his neck. Then gravity took over and Lasser gasped in a lungful of air as his feet hit the deck. Reynolds altered his grip, both hands now locked around Lasser’s throat, his eyes alight with the certain knowledge that it would be over in a matter of seconds.
‘Kill you!’ the fingers bit deep, probing between the muscles, searching for the soft spot.
Lasser dragged his right hand from the pocket, making a fist, two inches of steel protruding between his clenched fingers. Reynolds leant back intending to slam Lasser’s head into the doorframe when suddenly his eyes sprang wide in shock as the end of the key stabbed into his lower jaw, glancing off the bone. Lasser grunted as he felt the hands loosen and then Reynolds bellowed and reaffirmed his grip, his eyes wide, teeth barred. Lasser drew back his arm and lashed out again, this time the key found a softer spot plunging into Steven Reynolds glaring right eye.
It was hard to credit that such a high-pitched sound could emanate from such a big man. Reynolds screamed in agony and staggered back, one hand flying to his ruined eye, the other gripped into a tight fist. Lasser coughed, shook his head and then wished he hadn’t as the darkness threatened to descend.
‘I’m blind!’ Reynolds wailed in anguish, dark blood running between his fingers.
Lasser slammed back against the door to save himself from collapsing to the ground.
‘You fucking blinded me,’ Reynolds staggered back, bent double in pain. Then he glared at Lasser with his good eye, an eye spilling over with hatred. He charged, head down, arms flailing, Lasser waited until he was almost upon him and then snapped to the side. Grabbing the collar of his denim shirt and the thick leather belt that held up his designer jeans, he spun him around. Reynolds hit the banister hard, Lasser heard the wood splinter then crack, and then he slammed through, arms and legs still turning like some cartoon character that suddenly dashes headlong over a cliff edge. Lasser saw him drop, heard him hit the landing beneath with a sickening crunch, and then cautiously he peered over the edge, just as Reynolds started to scream. His right leg twisted beneath him at an impossible angle, a dark pool of blood seeped from his damaged eye pooling around his head.
Lasser rubbed at his throat and winced as he tried to swallow.
‘Don’t forget Reynolds, in
the Kingdom of the Blind, the one-eyed man is still fucked!’ he hiccupped a harsh laugh and slid to the floor his legs splayed out in front. When the phone began to ring again, he barely heard it over the screams of the fallen man. Fishing it from his pocket with a trembling hand, he looked at a number he didn’t recognise.
‘Lasser, where are you?’ Bannister sounded distraught, like a man who has his foot on the top rung of the gallows.
‘She’s all right, boss.’
‘What?’
‘Kelly’s alive.’
The phone went silent and Lasser had to check the screen just to make sure Bannister was still there.
‘Alive?’ his voice was a perfect blend of disbelief and hope.
‘Listen, I need help here...’
‘You’re sure, I mean...’
‘Positive, but listen...’
‘I can’t believe it...’
‘Sir?’
‘Yes...’
‘Shut the fuck up.’
113
Lasser adjusted the pillow beneath his head; he could feel the warmth coming from Medea’s body, seeping into his own, delicious and unexpected.
The rest of the night had passed in a blur; he’d left Reynolds screaming and cursing and staggered into the flat finding Jodie Moss hiding in the bathroom, curled around the base of the toilet. Her arms locked tight around the pedestal, one eye swollen shut the other had looked up at him in fear.
‘It’s OK, Jodie...’
‘The boot of the car,’ she hissed. ‘She’s in the boot of the car,’ a solitary tear trickled down her cheek.
‘Will you be OK for a couple of minutes?’
She’d managed to nod a reply and tightened her grip on the porcelain.
Reynolds had crawled his way along the landing to the top of the second flight of stairs, leaving a trail of smeared blood on the carpet tiles.
‘Here let me give you a lift,’ Lasser had planted his foot on the man’s back and pushed, watching as he clattered down screaming all the way, by the time he hit the bottom he’d passed out with the pain.
Lasser had found the car keys in the pocket of Reynolds jeans and hurried out to where the gleaming Jaguar stood. As soon as he popped the boot Rachael Sinclair had come out fighting, arms extended, hands formed into savage claws, her face warped with terror. Lasser had encircled her in his arms, keeping his head well back as she tried to sink her teeth in.
‘Rachael, he can’t harm you...’
‘Fuck off!’ she screamed in his face. ‘Where’s Steve, what have you done to him?’
Lasser didn’t bother with an explanation; instead he’d lifted her off her feet and bundled her to the car before locking her in. Standing back, he watched as she threw herself against the glass like a rabid animal.
Ten minutes later, help had arrived.
‘I’m just glad you’re OK,’ Medea whispered.
He tilted his head breathing in the scent of her hair. ‘Yeah well, I know I might look delicate but believe it or not I don’t bruise too easily.’
She smiled up at him, trailing a finger across his lips. ‘So what happens now?’
Lasser shrugged. ‘Well, Reynolds will be charged with the attempted murder of Rachael Sinclair and Jodie Moss.’
Medea pushed a hand through her hair and Lasser stifled a groan.
‘I still can’t believe it; I mean, how could one man have had such a hold over them?’ she asked.
He looked up at the cobweb trailing from the ceiling; it was something he had been trying to figure out himself.
‘Because I think he offered the one thing that was absent from their lives, both Rachael and Jodie hated their own fathers. They blamed them directly for the way their lives had turned out and Kelly was no different.’
Medea propped her head up with a pillow, Lasser shivered when he felt the swell of her breast against his chest. ‘But how did Reynolds come into contact with them in the first place?’
‘I’m not entirely sure but Reynolds owns a building firm. In fact, his company designed and built the new sports hall at Claremonts. So that’s another link with Jonathan Ramsey and don’t forget he might be slick and plausible but Reynolds is still an abuser, he and Christy spent time at the Ramsey home so maybe he recognised the signs. Perhaps he had his suspicions about Jonathan and bided his time.’
‘Bastard,’ Medea hissed.
‘As for Sinclair, we’ve discovered that both he and Reynolds had membership to the same gym and, apparently, Rachael used to go as well,’ he could imagine her on the treadmill, wearing a tiny pair of shorts and flimsy top, bathing in the adulation. ‘Rachael must have become friendly with Reynolds and somewhere along the line she told him about Sinclair and that’s when he started to blackmail the solicitor. Though apparently, Sinclair’s saying that he never actually knew who was blackmailing him.’
‘Do you believe him?’
‘I don’t believe any of them, it was the same with Fulcom, I mean, once Reynolds had gained Rachael’s trust he must have found out about the teacher,’ he shook his head. ‘Christ, he must have thought all his Christmases had come at once, so of course he set about using that knowledge to his advantage and then he decides it’s time to turn the screw on Jonathan Ramsey.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He used Ramsey to make sure that Fulcom got the job at Claremonts.’
Medea frowned. ‘But why go to all that trouble?’
Lasser slid a cigarette free from the pack and lit up. ‘Because why bother blackmailing some teacher from a grubby comprehensive. I mean, what are those people on, twenty-five, thirty grand a year. He knew if he could get Fulcom into the top job then he’d be on at least three times that amount, which ultimately meant more money for him.’
‘Jesus, I can’t believe this.’
‘Yeah, but he was clever with it, in the end he had a regular income from Sinclair, Ramsey and Fulcom. Every one of them had too much to lose; each one tied to the other, although none of them realised it. Besides according to their individual bank accounts, Reynolds made sure he didn’t make it too difficult for them to pay. I mean, Sinclair has that many scams going, it hardly made a dent in his savings.’
Medea swept her hair back, her face agitated. ‘OK, I get all that, they were all twisted and perverse but why did these three girls put up with it?’
‘Because he made them feel special, he promised them the earth. Rachael had been abused since she was eight-years-old, maybe younger, and Reynolds showed her a way to control the situation. Can you imagine what it must have felt like for her to suddenly be given the tools that allowed her to turn the tables?’
‘So he was like her knight in shining armour, is that what you’re saying?’ she asked in disbelief.
Lasser blew smoke towards the ceiling. ‘In a way, but you see Rachael started to enjoy the power. She went from this troubled kid to what she thought was this super cool switched on woman. She had years of payback to get out of her system. All the little games she played, it was all done just to see how far she could manipulate Sinclair, it was another way to get her own back on the man.’
‘And all the time Reynolds was just using her?’
‘Definitely, it was the same with Kelly; as soon as Reynolds knew what Ramsey was doing he saw another golden opportunity to swell his bank account. I think Ramsey tried to call his bluff by telling him that Kelly wasn’t his biological daughter, as if that was a viable excuse for abusing his stepdaughter. So just to make sure Reynolds got Jodie Moss involved.’
Medea sat up, covering herself with the duvet. ‘He made Ramsey give Jodie a job at his office?’
Lasser shrugged. ‘It’s hard to say but it seems that way and of course Ramsey wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity, because by that time he knew he couldn’t carry on abusing his stepdaughter....’
‘Because of Reynolds?’
Lasser nodded.
‘So as far as Kelly was concerned Steven Reynolds was her saviour.’
Medea whispered.
Lasser stubbed out the cigarette. ‘Precisely, all three looked up to him, because they were under the illusion that he was protecting them.’
‘It sounds unbelievable when you spell it out.’
‘Then we have Marshall Brooks, I think he was the first one that Reynolds blackmailed...’
‘But I thought you said his house was a pigsty?’
‘Well, it wouldn’t have made the centre spread of Ideal Homes, but the thing is, Brooks had lived in that house all his life. It belonged to his parents and when they died, it went straight to him. Plus when he left Hindley High he had a good pension in place, yet he had sod all in the bank and the house had been re-mortgaged...’
‘And you think it was Reynolds?’
‘He’ll say he never even met the man but I think that’s a load of bollocks.’
‘But can you prove it?’ she asked with a frown.
Lasser smiled. ‘That’s not up to me, but I think he had something on Brooks from way back, maybe he was the one who used to print the photos for him and when...’
‘When Brooks sent the photographs to the Ramsey house, Reynolds must have recognised them...’
‘According to Bannister, when he dragged Brewster in he swore he wasn’t the one who initially tampered with the mail.’
‘So it was Reynolds?’
‘That’s what I think, he sees them and realises that he can’t trust the man, so he goes to pay him a visit.’
‘My God.’
‘Deep waters, Medea.’
‘So who killed Sophie Washham?’
‘I think that was Ramsey.’
She looked at him wide eyed. ‘I thought Suzanne said he was at home with her the night she was killed.’
