Lasser scratched at his chin. 'I'd have put money on him having previous.'
'Oh believe me he will have,' Bannister snarled. 'But for now we'll have to do things the old-fashioned way.'
'So, what do you want to do?'
Bannister leaned back in the chair, lacing his hands behind his head. 'When you went to see Karen Miller what was it she said about her attacker?'
'That he stank.'
''Piss and draw'', wasn't it?'
'And curry.'
A flicker of a smile flashed across Bannister's face. 'Right, I want you to check the local takeaways, find out if anyone's renting a room above the shop.'
Lasser stifled a yawn, 'Will do.'
Bannister shuffled the paper into a neat pile. 'Right, get to it.'
'What, now?'
'Well, it's no use waiting till morning; they'll all be shut.'
'But I've been on duty since half-five this morning…'
Bannister dropped the paperwork back onto the desk, his eyes hardening. 'Your point being?'
'Come on, there must be someone else you can get to do it?'
'Look, Sergeant, you knew this wasn't a nine to five job when you signed up…'
'Yeah, but I don't remember it saying twenty-four seven in the contract either.'
'Don't be a baby.' Bannister snapped.
'Hang on, you're taking the piss.'
He watched as Bannister's face curdled. 'Fine, on your way home you can call at the Rimmer house, and tell them you're not prepared to go the extra mile to catch the man who killed their daughter, tell them you need your beauty sleep.'
Lasser fumed before leaping to his feet and heading for the door.
'Good man, I knew I could rely on you, and take Coyle with you, she'll keep you awake with all the nattering she does.'
Lasser threw a look over his shoulder; Bannister grinned at him and then gave the thumbs up.
'Look, Medea, I'm sorry about this,' he was standing in the station car park waiting for Coyle to put in an appearance, the phone trapped between shoulder and cheek as he fumbled out the plastic cigarette.
'Don't worry about it; I understand it's not a nine-to-five job.'
'Christ, you sound like Bannister.'
'This man needs catching, Lasser.'
'So, why do I feel as if I'm the only one trying to do something about it. I mean, there's not one car left at the station, just me as usual…'
'Well, they might all be out combing the streets.'
'Don't you believe it,' he took a quick puff on the cigarette. 'They'll all be home having their tea and watching crap TV.'
'Look, it's not as if we had anything planned.'
He saw the station door open, Susan Coyle walked out into the cone of light, fiddling with the belt around her waist.
'Look, Medea, I'll be as quick as I can.'
'I know you will.'
'And don't forget there's a korma in the fridge that needs eating.'
'Not anymore.'
'Greedy sod,' Lasser ended the call and slid the phone into his pocket.
'Good evening, sir.' Coyle looked at him across the roof of the car.
'What's good about it?'
He saw a look of uncertainty in her eyes, a faint blush rising in her cheeks, and suddenly he felt like the schoolyard bully picking on the new kid.
'I…'
Lasser flapped a hand. 'Take no notice; I'm just being a miserable sod.'
'That's OK,' she pulled open the door and slid into the passenger seat.
Lasser climbed in and started the engine. 'Right, where do you fancy, the Bombay Palace or the Curry Pot?'
She looked at him in confusion, some of her colleagues had warned her that Lasser could be a strange sod and now she was beginning to see what they meant.
'Right, leave it to me, I'll surprise you.'
Flicking on the headlights, he pulled out through the gates and onto the main road.
24
'Hang on, this has got sugar in it,' Spenner grimaced and clipped the plastic lid back onto the polystyrene cup. 'Have you got mine again?'
Rawlins took a sip. 'Don't think so.'
'But I told you I hate sugar.'
'No problem, stick it on the dash and I'll drink it when I've finished this one.'
Spenner frowned, pulled the lid back off and took a gulp of the sweet coffee.
Rawlins looked at him and shook his head. 'You'd sooner drink it than let me have it?'
'Too right, I'm sick of buying the drinks and ending up with nothing.'
Rawlins shrugged. 'Suit yourself.'
They were parked on a small patch of wasteland. King Street stretched out before them, four hundred yards of pubs, clubs and takeaways. People were milling about in the pedestrian zone, wandering back and forth like a crowd of mindless zombies.
'It makes you wonder where they get their cash from,' Rawlins said, before taking a sizable chunk from his Mars bar.
'What do you mean?'
'Well look at 'em, I know when I was that age I didn't have a pot to piss in and yet these lot seem to have an endless supply of Wonga,' he moaned.
'Have you never thought they could work for a living?'
'Don't make me laugh, they're not interested in work, all they want to do is go out and get pissed. I mean, look at that lot,' he pointed through the window as a group of lads sauntered across the road. 'Not one of the buggers looks old enough to shave, let alone hold down a job.'
'Ah, that's because you're getting old, Rawlins,'
'Sod off, I'm thirty-six not sixty.'
Spenner grinned in the dark. 'I had you pegged for at least forty.'
'Ha bloody ha.'
Spenner lifted the cup to his lips, his eyes raking the street. When he saw the figure striding along the pavement his eyes widened, 'Ten o'clock.'
'What?'
'There, there,' he pointed through the window.
Rawlins leaned forward until his nose was almost touching the windscreen. 'What about him?'
'He looks like the guy in the photofit.'
'Behave; everyone knows those things are a joke.'
Spenner watched as the figure moved beneath one of the halogen streetlights. His baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, black hair brushing the collar of a tatty-looking leather jacket, scruffy jeans, off-white trainers.
'Let's check him out,' Spenner clicked open the door.
'Jesus, Spenner, it's just some bag head.'
'Come on, don't just sit there.'
Rawlins sighed and climbed from the car. The man was hurrying towards the railway bridge, hands thrust into the pockets of his jacket. 'You sure you wanna bother?'
Spenner threw him a sour look and set off walking; Rawlins sighed and beeped on the alarm before following.
'I'm telling you it's a waste of time.'
'Look, Bannister told us to shake down anyone who looked suspicious and you gotta admit he looks iffy.'
'If that's the case you may as well stop everyone you see, because this town is full to the brim with people who look ''iffy''.'
They began to close the gap; the man was about thirty yards ahead walking beneath the huge railway bridge, head down, shoulders hunched.
'Come on,' Spenner began to jog forward. Rawlins shook his head in disgust; if he'd been with his usual partner then they'd still be in the car watching the world go by. Trouble was Keith Cook was on holiday in the Bahamas, and Rawlins had cursed his luck when he saw he'd been rostered with Spenner for the next two weeks. Everyone at the station knew he was an arse-licker, out to make a name for himself. As far as Rawlins was concerned the man was an idiot, yes sir, no sir, and three bags full sir, it made you sick to watch him.
Spenner was pulling away, Rawlins broke into a half-hearted jog, if he wanted to spend the next ten minutes trying to question some moron who would be either pissed or stoned out of his brain then he was welcome to it.
As soon as Spenner ran beneath the bridge, the man spun around, th
e sound of heavy boots clattering on the pavement alerting him to their presence.
'Wait there, sir, we'd like a word.'
The man turned and ran; Rawlins sighed, great, this was the last thing he needed, especially after the greasy fry-up he'd wolfed down for his tea. Spenner opened the taps, arms and legs pumping. Rawlins had to admit the bugger could run. Spenner was closing the gap on the fleeing figure, his long legs chewing up the ground.
'Stop where you are!' Spenner shouted.
As expected, the man took no notice and kept on running. Rawlins could feel the sweat break out on his forehead, his body armour felt like medieval chain mail, though it didn't seem to slow his partner down. Ten feet behind and closing fast, Rawlins saw the man throw a panicked look over his shoulder and then suddenly he stopped as if realising the game was up.
Spenner reached out a hand and then Rawlins watched as the figure lashed out and Spenner staggered back hitting the wall hard.
'Spenner!' Rawlins spurted forward; the man looked towards him and pointed a hand in his direction. A hand holding a very long knife. Rawlins felt his legs suddenly drain of energy and then the figure turned and set off again. As soon as he cleared the bridge, the attacker scrambled over a wall and vanished.
Rawlins skidded to a halt in front of his fallen colleague. 'Oh shit.'
Spenner lay slumped against the wall, eyes closed, breath coming in short sharp bursts, almost like a hiccup. Blood pumped rhythmically from the gash in his throat, soaking his body armour, dripping onto the pavement.
Rawlins snatched at the radio on his shoulder and pressed the emergency call button, 'Officer down, request immediate medical assistance.'
'Location,' the voice crackled in his ear.
'Under the railway bridge on Poolstock Lane, get a bloody move on!'
'They're on their way.'
Releasing the button, he knelt down by Spenner's side. 'Come on, pal, hold on, the ambulance is on its way,' the words sounded pathetic, a meaningless cliché.
He glanced at Spenner's face and then looked away. Christ there was so much blood. Rawlins could see it spreading across the pale gum-littered flagstones, heading towards his boots. With a gasp of disgust, he scuttled back and amazingly, Spenner opened his eyes.
'Spenner mate, don't worry, any second now and they'll be here.'
Spenner opened his mouth, Rawlins could see the blood slick on his teeth, he tried to lick his lips. His tongue resembled a sliver of raw steak.
Rawlins swallowed. 'Come on, man, two more minutes, that's all.'
Spenner's eyes fluttered and closed. 'Ugg,' he said, before slumping forward.
25
'So, you've no one staying in the flat above the shop?'
The manager of the Bombay Palace was wearing a crisp, white shirt and a black waistcoat, his dark hair oiled back in an elaborate quiff. 'No, we use the space for storage, no man upstairs.'
Lasser sighed. 'Do you know if any other restaurants are renting out rooms above the premises?'
The man shook his head and smiled. 'Not know.'
Lasser grabbed a handful of Bombay mix from the small bar. 'OK, thanks for your help.'
'You want eat, we have ten-pound special tonight?'
'Maybe some other time.'
Heading out onto the pavement, he tossed the mix into his mouth and chewed as he waited for Coyle to come out of the Curry Pot. He could see her through the window, talking to the owner; the man shook his head and stretched his arms apologetically. A few seconds later, she emerged onto the street.
'Any luck?' he asked.
'Afraid not, sir.'
'Come on, we'll try King Street.'
When the radio on Coyle's shoulder began to drone, she dipped her head and pressed the button, Lasser carried on walking, still chewing the last of the free Bombay mix.
'Sir!'
When he turned and saw the shock on her face, he frowned. 'What is it?'
'It's Spenner, he's been attacked under the railway bridge.'
Lasser could see the panic rising in her eyes.
'Which one?'
'The end of King Street, he's been stabbed.'
'Come on,' Lasser set off running, weaving his way through the crowd. At the Moon pub, he shot left and flew down King Street. Throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, he could see Coyle a few yards behind, her face white with shock, her arms and legs pumping.
Someone wolf whistled as she ran past, Lasser dashed into the road narrowly missing a taxi as it pulled away from the kerb. Past the old Labour Exchange, he turned right, he could see the railway bridge ahead, a group of people huddled on the kerb. The sound of a wailing siren suddenly blasted out and Lasser felt the draft as the ambulance bulleted past, blue lights swirling on the underside of the bridge as it drew to a stop.
By the time he reached it, the paramedics had leapt out and were trying to force their way through the crowd.
Lasser staggered to a stop, 'Right, everyone back!'
One or two glanced over their shoulders, frowned, and then shuffled forward to get a better look at the proceedings.
Lasser gritted his teeth and lunged forward. 'Anyone still standing here in the next thirty seconds will be under arrest, now piss off the lot of you!'
The small crowd of onlookers began to move away across the street, some mumbling in disappointment, others throwing poisonous looks towards the man who'd spoiled their fun.
When he saw the medics placing Spenner onto the stretcher he felt his stomach roll. His uniform was drenched with blood, his face a ghostly smear. As they turned and ran towards the back of the ambulance, he spotted Rawlins propped against the wall, his head tilted towards the metal jigsaw that supported the bridge.
'Rawlins, what the fuck happened?'
The officer looked at him and blinked. 'He stabbed Spenner.'
Coyle arrived by his side, her wide eyes fixed on the bloodstain, the ambulance began to wail, and then the driver did a quick three-point turn and hurtled away from the scene.
Lasser waited until the sound of the siren diminished. 'You were in pursuit of someone?'
Rawlins swallowed and straightened his shoulders. 'We spotted some guy who fitted the description…'
'What description?'
'Long black hair, scruffy clothes, Spenner was convinced it was the man we've been after, so we went to check him out, and he lashed out and the next thing Spenner's on the floor and Christ, the blood,' Rawlins shook his head in an effort to dispel the horrific image.
'So, if you were together how did he manage to stab Spenner?'
Lasser saw Rawlins look away and wipe a hand across his sweating brow. 'He was in front of me. I told him to slow down but he wouldn't listen.'
'And you couldn't keep up?'
Rawlins shoulders slumped. 'I've never seen any bugger run as fast.'
'Coyle.'
'Yes, sir?' she dragged her eyes from the grisly stain.
'I want you to keep that lot back.'
She glanced over her shoulder; the onlookers had moved forward again like a small pack of shuffling zombies, a flash flared as someone took a photo on their mobile. 'Yes, sir, straight away.' She moved forward, her arms spread wide, another flash lit up the gloom. 'Right, if you'd all move back please, this is crime scene.'
'What about the attacker, which way did he go?' Lasser asked.
Rawlins pointed to the right. 'As soon as he cleared the bridge, he leapt over the wall on the right.'
'Right, help Coyle.'
Rawlins looked at him in confusion, 'Sir?'
'Keep those vultures back.'
'Right, right, of course.'
Lasser walked along the pavement, his eyes scanning the floor as he went. Once clear of the bridge, he braced his hands on top of the wall and heaved himself up. The waste ground was a thicket of bushes and weeds; he could see the canal a hundred yards away, the dark water glimmering in a sliver of moonlight. With a sigh he dropped back down to the floor just as a car skidde
d to a halt, water sprayed up from the gutter, splashing onto his shoes and patterning his trousers.
Bannister climbed out and slammed the door. 'What the hell's going on?'
He walked around the car; face set in stone, his eyes flashing dangerously.
'Spenner's been attacked. According to Rawlins they were in pursuit of a guy who matched the photofit, when Spenner caught up with him he did him with a knife.'
Bannister scrubbed a hand across his eyes. 'How is he?'
Lasser shrugged. 'When I got here they were just carting him off in the ambulance but it didn't look good.'
From the opposite direction, two transit vans bulleted around the corner. A moment later, half a dozen officers in hi-vis vests leapt from the back.
'Black over here,' Bannister bellowed and a thickset officer walked over.
'Sir?'
'I want this road sealed off until SOCO get here, all those idiots over there – get rid of them.'
'Right, sir,' Black gave the nod to his colleagues and then they were shepherding the rubberneckers away from beneath the bridge.
Bannister snapped his head around. 'And what does Rawlins have to say?'
'Not much, but apparently our man jumped over the wall and vanished.'
'I wondered what you were doing up there.'
'Yeah well, there's not much to see, just a bit of spare ground that leads down to the canal.'
'So where was Rawlins whilst Spenner was busy getting himself stabbed?'
Lasser grimaced at his choice of words. 'Giving chase but he admits he was struggling to keep up…'
'Struggling or couldn't be arsed?'
Lasser kept his mouth shut, Bannister looked close to losing it big time, and he didn't intend being the catalyst that set him off.
'Where is he?'
Lasser scanned the faces but the place seemed full of bystanders and police officers moving aimlessly in the shadows.
'Er…'
'Never mind, I'll find him,' Bannister snapped and stormed off looking like a big-game hunter in search of easy prey.
26
Shaun sat on the edge of the bed, watching as the mobile slowly turned above the cot. Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse revolving to the tune of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star. The walls were decorated with pink-flowered paper; rainbow blinds hung at the windows. As far as Shaun was concerned, it might as well have been the surface of the moon. His mind was elsewhere; locked in a land of dust and dark sunsets. A place where dead dogs lay in the streets gathering flies as friends lay like scattered, red confetti.
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