Dropping the cigarette, he pulled out the pack and lit another trying to figure out what to do. The only person who could point the finger was fat Sammy Weisman. Shaun swallowed; Weisman was a bastard who was always willing to take whatever he could get his hands on. Green was no idiot, he would have people out looking for him and eventually they would try the pawnshops that were known to accept iffy stuff and then... Miller tossed the smoke away and set off running, he had to see Sammy, make him realise that he was as much to blame for the death of the old woman as him. If he saw things differently then Shaun would just have to make him see sense. The rain beat a steady tattoo on the pavement matching the sound of his trainers as he bolted down the street.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Sammy Weisman sat at the kitchen table as the scent of beef casserole filled the room. No matter if the wind howled at the window or the children clattered around the house making a never-ending cacophony of sound this familiar smell offered comfort in this harsh world. And as long as there was food on the table and the cupboards were full, then he was happy.
Except tonight, the familiar odour was making him feel nauseated.
‘Sammy, you haven’t touched your food.’ His wife looked at the full plate in surprise. ‘Don’t you like it?’
‘I’m sorry, Sonia, I don’t feel very hungry.’
‘Don’t tell me you went to McDonald’s on the way home,’ she wagged a finger at him. ‘You promised me you would stop going to that place, you know it’s bad for you, the doctor, said...’
‘I know what the doctor said and I didn’t go anywhere near the place, I came straight home.’
‘But you love my casserole.’ He heard the wheedling tone of her voice and gritted his teeth.
A moment later Sammy pushed the plate away and heaved himself up from the chair. ‘I have a bit of a headache.’
‘Since when did a headache stop someone from eating?’ she sounded exasperated.
‘Leave it, Sonia.’
She clattered her knife and fork onto the plate. ‘Leave what?’
Sammy sighed wilfully, without realising it he had married his mother. All the years spent trying to break free from her smothering love and when he eventually managed it he had picked a mate who, every day, morphed into a clone of the woman he despised. Perhaps he deserved it; maybe it was his penance for running a pawnshop.
All his life, he had looked for a bargain. Until now, taking the occasional dodgy merchandise had not been a problem, but when acting as a go between it was important to know the market and move it on quickly. The chains had been good quality, much better than the usual stuff that came through the door, Miller had been right, he could have gotten at least sixty quid selling them around the pubs. But he knew Miller was lazy, just like all the other young men who came to his door offering dubious goods for sale, he was someone who had no intention of ever getting a job, had no idea what it took to raise a family or the pressures of paying a mortgage and putting food on the table. … In truth, Sammy hated them all and made it his personal business to give as little as possible to the young hooligans.
He had been happy to do the deal in the end; handing over three hundred and eighty quid for chains that had to be worth almost four thousand had left him with a warm feeling inside. However, the visit from the police officer earlier had now left him feeling sick with worry.
‘I’m going for a lie down.’
‘What do you mean, we’re going to your mother's tonight?’
‘You go with the kids, tell her I’m not feeling well.’
‘And you think she’ll believe me, this is your mother we’re talking about?’
Sammy lumbered toward the door. ‘I’ll ring her later...’
‘Ring her now.’
He stopped in the doorway and sighed. ‘Look, Sonia, do as I ask.’
‘I’ll tell her you couldn’t be bothered, how does that sound?’
He didn’t bother with a reply, closing the door quietly he headed upstairs stepping over the scattered toys as he went. Normally he would have pulled his son and daughter to one side and explained that toys and stairs didn’t mix, although tonight he had more pressing concerns. Once in the bedroom he drew the heavy velvet curtains and lay on the bed looking at the artexed ceiling. Sonia had been pestering him for over two years to paint the dammed thing, though there never seemed to be enough hours in the day. Besides, the idea of balancing on a pair of flimsy stepladders was terrifying and he certainly did not intend to pay someone to do the job. It was a stalemate situation, which as far as he was concerned ended the matter.
He rolled onto his side the bed creaking under his weight. What to do with the chains? The question hammered around his head. He had never met Callum Green, though his reputation preceded him. He could sell them and pray that his involvement never came to Green's attention. After all, he had paid for them in good faith and if the rumours were true, Green had also made his money in unscrupulous ways, so what was the difference?
Sammy tossed and turned, trying to decide what to do next. If he told Green, then what would his reaction be? Would he be interested in the chains, probably not? Then again, you never knew, he might decide to take them as some kind of perceived recompense. If that were the case, he would be down almost four hundred pounds but the thought of losing money and the chains went against all his instincts. Truth was this would only become a problem if Green somehow managed to find out that Miller was responsible for the death of his relative. Sammy swallowed, his head beginning to throb with indecision. Ultimately it came down to risk, was he really prepared to say nothing?
The bedroom door opened and Sammy narrowed his eyes.
‘Are you asleep?’ he could see her in the doorway, a sour frown on her face. ‘Sammy, wake up.’
Grumbling, he rolled over dragging the duvet over his head.
He heard her heavy sigh, then the click of the door closing. Ten minutes later, he was asleep, his mind running amok with fevered dreams.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lasser battled his way through the afternoon traffic before heading out onto the Lancaster Road estate. The prefabricated council houses had been recently painted in a mixture of blues and yellows. To Lasser it looked like Lego town, bright and cheerful, though the impression ended when you looked at the gardens. Long grass and weeds grew taller than the fences; half the streetlights on the estate had been vandalized. A pair of trainers hung from a telephone wire.
Before leaving the station, he had called at records to find Collins last known address and peered at the street names as he crawled along.
Rivington Square was a small cul-de-sac made up of small bungalows, pulling up at number nine he climbed out and rubbed at a niggling pain in his lower back. An elderly man stood in the garden of number seven, sweeping sodden leaves into a pile. Wearing a pair of wellies and an old raincoat; he looked up, a cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth.
‘If you’re looking for the bugger at number nine then you can forget it, he isn’t in.’
Lasser paused with his hand on the gate. ‘Do you have any idea where he’s gone?’
The old man leaned on his rake and shook his head. ‘Haven’t seen him all week, owes you money does he?’
‘Not that I’m aware of.’
‘Ah, you’ll be the police then.’
Lasser smiled. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘Well, you’re too old to be one of his druggie mates and if he don’t owe you owt, then you must be a copper.’
‘Like that is he?’
‘They should never have moved him here. I mean, these bungalows are meant to be for the elderly, not people like him,’ he cleared his throat and spat into the pile of leaves.
‘Does he give you any grief?’
‘Blokes like him always give grief. Widow next door is going bloody spare; he keeps her awake all night with his ghetto blaster.’
Lasser tried to remember the last time he had heard that particular phras
e.
‘Have you contacted the council, see if they can get him shifted?’
The man waved a dismissive hand, his fingers swollen with arthritis. ‘Waste of time that lot, my roof's been leaking for a fortnight and according to them it’s not a priority call.’
‘So you haven’t seen him all week?’
‘It’s nowt new. I keep hoping he’s topped himself but the sod always comes back and then he has all sorts of weird buggers turning up and making a racket.’
‘You think he’s selling drugs from the property?’
The man raised a wiry eyebrow. ‘Course he is. I mean, he doesn’t work but he’s never short of cash and comes back from the off licence every night with a crate of booze on his shoulder.’ He shook his head as if the whole thing was unbelievable. ‘I tell you, I can’t afford to pay my leckie bill, I sit there with my overcoat on and little swine’s like him swan around rubbing our noses in it.’
‘Listen, Mr...?’
‘Rawlins.’
‘Well Mr Rawlins, I’ll see what I can do about the leak on your roof and I’ll have a word about re-housing Collins.’
‘You work for the council then?’
‘No, you were right first time, I’m a police officer.’
He looked disappointed at the admission. ‘Aye well, good luck with that.’
‘So would you have any idea where he might be?’
‘Funny you should ask but I play dominoes in the Labour Club and one of the regulars was complaining that Collins had been spending time with a girl who lives next door to him.’
‘Do you have an address?’
‘Aye, twenty one Burnside Avenue, it’s one of them little streets off Broadway.’
‘Right then, I’ll try there and thanks for your help.’
‘No problem, lad.’
He began to attack the leaves again.
When he pulled onto Burnside Avenue, the clock on the dashboard showed four fifteen. Lasser pulled out his cigarettes and then tossed the box onto the back seat before climbing out of the car. The knack was ignoring that initial craving, find something to do with your hands and the need would pass. Number twenty-one looked like all the other houses in the street apart from the fact that the windows had blinds rather than the usual shabby curtains hanging at the windows. Striding up the path, he knocked on the door and waited. Inside a dog began to bark, a moment later the door opened a fraction and a young woman peered out at him.
‘I don’t want any, can’t you read the sign?’
Lasser looked at the handwritten note stuck to the front window listing unwanted guests, everything from canvassers to Avon representatives.
‘I’m not trying to sell you anything.’
She turned away and bellowed at the dog, her voice louder than any Rottweiler.
‘So what do you want?’
‘I was wondering if I could have a word with Barry.’
She opened the door a fraction more, the smell of burnt toast wafted out of the house. ‘He isn’t in.’
‘So he does live here?’
‘Who wants to know?’ She was about twenty-three, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Lasser flipped out his warrant card as she tried to slam the door in his face, he placed his hand against the frame and pushed. ‘No need to panic, love, I just want a quick word.’
‘Go away,’ she hissed.
He saw her eyes widen in fright as she tried to push the door closed, he could see a swallow tattooed on the back of her right hand, the nails chewed to the quick.
‘If you don’t let me in I might start to think you have something to hide and then I'd have to come back with a few uniforms to search the place...’
‘I’ve already told you he isn’t here, now please just go away.’
‘No can do,’ he pushed harder and she suddenly sprang back and moved off down the hallway.
‘Please, if he finds you here he’ll go mad,’ she swiped a shivering hand under her nose.
Lasser moved inside and closed the door behind him. ‘Are we talking about Collins?’
She nodded rapidly, her ponytail bouncing up and down. ‘He hates coppers and if he knows I let you in,’ she shuddered and then moved away down the narrow hallway. Lasser followed, the kitchen was neat and tidy, a tumble dryer rumbled away in the corner, the radio on low. She moved over to the sink and grabbed a packet of cigarettes, then fumbled a match from the box and lit up.
‘See I told you he wasn’t here!’ She tried to inject a note of defiance into her voice but her eyes told a different tale.
‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’
‘Marcy Philips.’
‘I take it Barry’s your boyfriend?’
She laughed and shook her head, her hand shaking as she took a pull on the cigarette. ‘I work for him.’
‘Doing what exactly?’
She threw the cigarette into the sink and turned on the tap. ‘Are you enjoying this, Inspector?’
‘It’s Sergeant, not Inspector.’
‘Well you must know what Barry’s like, or you wouldn’t be here. So I’m sure you can guess what I do for a living.’
Lasser nodded. ‘So have you any idea where he is?’
‘He doesn’t tell me what he does or where he goes. Sometimes I don’t see him for days and then he just shows up out of the blue.’
‘So who does he stay with when he’s not here?'
‘Have you not been listening, he comes and goes when he wants.’
‘OK, love, I am not here to cause you any grief.’
‘That’s easy for you to say, but he has friends around here and if one of them saw you come into the house...’ her voice drifted to a stop, she began to chew feverishly at her bottom lip.
‘He’ll give you a slap, is that it?’
‘Look just go, I’m saying nothing else.’
He slid his hand into his pocket and then cursed when he failed to find the familiar packet.
‘So how many girls does he have working for him, Marcy?’
‘What do you think I am, his secretary?’
He smiled at the image. ‘Believe me, if you know where he is then you'd be doing him a favour by letting me know.’
‘Like I believe that and what do you think he’d do if he found out I’d grassed him up?’
Lasser pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat down. ‘I know what he’s like Marcy, I pulled him in twice last year, both times for beating up his ‘girlfriend.’
‘So you know why I want you out of here?’
‘You don’t have to put up with it; there are people who can help...’
‘Spare me the lecture, I’ve been offered counselling.’
‘Could I cadge one of those, I’ve left mine in the car?’
Her eyes widened in surprise and then she tossed a cigarette across the room. Lasser caught it and lit up. ‘Thanks, I'm trying to give up but you know how it is. Anyway, this counselling you were offered did you go?’
‘Oh yeah course I did, Barry was all for it, encouraged me to go and get help,’ her voice dripped sarcasm, her eyes flared in disbelief.
‘Why don’t you just get rid of him?’
‘You have no idea. You don’t just fuck someone like Barry off...’
‘Why not?’
She peered at him through the smoke. ‘Because he’s handy with his fists at the best of times, so I try and give him no excuse to use them.’
‘But he does it anyway?’
Her shoulders slumped. ‘Look, just go will you.’
‘You know, this town is full of people like Collins...’
Her laughter sounded harsh. ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’
‘But it’s also full of women who let them get away with it.’
‘Don’t come here and patronise me. I've rung your lot twice and on both occasions, he was taken away in a van. I made the effort to get rid of him and both times, he was back here in less than a day. So don’t try and make
out like I’m some weak-willed bint, who can’t think for herself. It’s you lot that can’t do your job.’
Lasser stood up and walked over to the sink, turning on the tap he stuck the cigarette into the flow of water. ‘Did you press charges?’
‘What do you think?’
‘Listen, you had the nerve to get us out here in the first place so why back down when you’d done all the hard work?’
She looked at her feet encased in fluffy pink slippers. ‘Because sooner or later they'd let him out and people like Barry can do ‘time', it’s no bother to him. But all the while he’s in there he’ll be remembering who it was who had the nerve to grass him up.’
‘But...’
‘I’ve got a six-year-old daughter do you really think I'd put her at risk...
‘You’re doing that already, every time you go out touting for business, every car you get into...’
‘Do you think I don’t know that?’
Lasser sighed, it was the same old story, he didn’t blame her for letting Collins off the hook. He was a copper and he had no faith in the system, so how could he expect her to believe him. ‘Have you thought about moving?’
A sneer formed on her lips. ‘Why should I be the one to move, I have friends here. My daughter goes to school in Hindley; I was brought up half a mile from here, so why should I be the one who has to uproot my family. Why don’t you lot make him move out of the area, he’s the one breaking the law, the one making everyone’s life a misery.’
‘Yes well, not for much longer.’
‘Oh yeah, I’ve heard that one before.’
‘Do you watch the news?’
She placed her hands on her hips. ‘Do I look like I have the time to sit on my arse and watch television? Besides my life’s miserable enough without adding to it.’
The Way That It Falls: DS Lasser series volume 2 (The DS Lasser series.) Page 6
