Twisted

by Robin Roughley

  His phone began to ring again and he ignored it, then someone was hammering on the front door. Rising to his feet, he crossed to the window and dragged up the blind. His mother stood on the front lawn in the moonlight, his father hovering near the garden gate.

  She glanced up mouthing words at him. Shaun slid the window open.

  'Shaun, let us in.'

  'Go away, Mother.'

  'Please, we just want to talk,' she pleaded.

  Somewhere in the distance a dog howled and Shaun remembered crouching by the side of a battle-scarred wall as the sun raged down, blasting out its furnace heat. Steve had been by his side, a grin on his sunburnt face.

  'I got a letter from Sharron yesterday; she's only gone and got a bloody dog.'

  'I thought you liked dogs?'

  'Yeah, I do, but it's a poodle. I mean, can you honestly see me walking a poodle on a lead?'

  'Come on, son, open the door, you can't stay on your own, not at a time like this.'

  Shaun blinked and looked down into the garden; his father was now standing on the lawn looking up at him with a frown of concern on his face.

  'Look, I just need some time…'

  'But you can't,' he could hear the pain in his mother's voice, the need to come in and comfort her only son written large on her anguished face.

  'Tomorrow, Mum, come back tomorrow.'

  'But…'

  'Please.'

  She looked at her husband in despair.

  Alan Carver nodded up to his son. 'OK, Shaun, you take all the time you need,' he turned to go and Catherine grabbed at his arm.

  'We can't just leave him,' she hissed.

  'We can and we will, now come on, we're going.'

  She looked back up at the window; she could see the outline of her son's head and shoulders; he looked like one of those cardboard cut-outs you found on a firing range.

  'Please, Shaun,' her voice broke, tears slid down her cheeks.

  'Tomorrow, Mum,' he closed the window, a second later she saw the rainbow coloured blinds glide closed.

  27

  Lasser sat at the kitchen table and took a sip from the glass of spiced rum, watching as the clock on the wall crept past four. He'd been awake almost twenty-four hours; it felt like forty-eight. The darkness through the kitchen window was softening; he could hear the first twittering as the birds warmed up for the dawn chorus.

  According to Bannister, Spenner had been in surgery and that was as much as the doctors would tell him, which had done nothing to improve the DCI's mood. Lasser had watched as Bannister had given Rawlins a grilling. The red-faced constable had stuck to his story, and with no Spenner to validate or contradict the chain of events, Bannister had been forced to give him the benefit of the doubt. Though not before telling Rawlins to, 'Get to the bloody gym and lose some weight.'

  The next couple of hours had passed in a blur and the road had been sealed off. Carl from the SOCO team had arrived with his little bag of tricks.

  When his phone began to ring, he sighed and swallowed the rest of the drink, before sliding it from his pocket.

  'Hello.'

  'Lasser, is that you?'

  Suddenly he was wide awake. It had been over twelve months since he'd heard her voice. Twelve months since he'd left her outside a restaurant in town telling her he wouldn't, no couldn't, risk being hurt again. Cathy's image shot to the front of his mind, dark hair, delicate features, a former colleague. She now worked in Southport visiting the local schools and telling the kids to behave or else.

  'Cathy?'

  'Sally Wright's just gone off the phone, how's Spenner?'

  He ran a hand across the top of his head, his brain mashed. 'We don't know yet, the last I heard he was still in surgery.'

  'But what happened?'

  Lasser sighed. 'He was chasing a suspect who turned on him and went ape with a bread knife.'

  'But he'll be all right?' she sounded nervous, as if she hadn't really wanted to ring but had been left with no choice.

  'I don't honestly know, but it looked bad.'

  'Poor, John.'

  Lasser cleared his throat, suddenly at a loss for words.

  'And how are you?' she asked tentatively.

  Lasser watched the bushes in the garden take shape as the sun clambered over the horizon.

  'I'm fine.'

  Another uncomfortable silence, 'Sally mentioned you were seeing someone?'

  Dragging his eyes from the window, he looked up at the ceiling, imagining Medea curled up in bed while he hid downstairs and talked to his ex. 'Yeah.'

  'Well, I hope it goes well for you. You deserve it.'

  'Its early days and you know what this job does to relationships.'

  'Yeah, I know.'

  Another brittle silence that should have been easy to fill but wasn't. 'Right well, I'd better go I've been up since half-five yesterday morning.'

  'I take it Bannister's still playing the dictator?'

  'He's in full jackboot goose-stepping mode.'

  'You need to learn to say 'no' to that man.'

  'That's easier said than done.'

  'Anyway, take care of yourself, Lasser.'

  'You too,' the phone flashed and she was gone.

  Rinsing the glass, he looked out of the window, his mind full of beleaguered memories. A minute later he headed up the stairs like a cheating husband, sneaking home after a night of illicit sex.

  28

  Robert could feel the drug seeping from his system, the adrenalin rush subsiding. His legs felt like slabs of unresponsive meat, his eyes raw. Sweat leaked from open pores adding to the stench of the room.

  The flat was unbearably hot, yet the thought of turning down the heating never entered his head. He could open a window but balked at the idea. It would let in the daytime sounds and he hated them almost as much as he hated the light itself. The drone of passing traffic and the squeals from the children as they ran amok in the nearby schoolyard, the sounds would drill into his brain and shred his senses. Therefore, he sat on the bed and sweltered, the air around him thickening. Closing his eyes Robert thought of the copper, the look in his eyes as he plunged the knife into his neck – disbelief – replaced by a glassy stare of agony. He would have loved to sit there on the pavement and watch as the man died, to stare into his eyes as the spark spluttered and went out, but the voice wouldn't allow it.

  He giggled, a shiver ran through his body and despite the heat, he lay down on the bed and dragged the duvet over his head. Cocooned beneath the cover, he dreamt of all the fun he was going to have, all the wonderful things he would do.

  29

  Lasser opened his eyes and blinked bleary eyed at the clock on the bedside cabinet, half past six, he'd been asleep for two hours. Groaning, he rolled over and frowned when he saw the empty space at his side. An indescribable panic rose in his chest; the whole thing had been a dream. Medea Sullivan didn't exist, or if she did she was with someone with a pot load of money, not a deadbeat DS who spent his days unsuccessfully chasing the bad guys.

  When he heard the sound of running water, Lasser flopped back onto the bed, the sense of relief was tangible.

  Half a minute later, Medea popped her head around the door. 'I didn't think you'd be awake yet.'

  'Believe me it's not through choice.'

  She had a towel around her head and one wrapped around her body, her shoulders, and arms bare, water glistened on her legs. 'What time did you get in?'

  'Around four,' Lasser yawned and slid up the bed until his back was resting against the headboard. 'Are you getting ready for work?'

  'Yeah, but I should be home by three.'

  'So, do you want to do something tonight, I can see what's on at the cinema if you like?'

  She pulled the towel from her head and all the glorious hair swung free.

  'Christ, I wish you wouldn't do that.'

  'Do what,' she trapped the hair between her hands and began to rub at it.

  'Never mind. So, what do y
ou say, cinema sound good?'

  She pushed the hair from her eyes. 'Maybe it's best not to make plans at the moment.'

  'Come on, even Bannister can't run me ragged twenty-four seven.'

  Medea perched on the edge of the bed and attacked her hair again. 'I wouldn't bet on it.'

  She was right, until they caught the man responsible, Bannister would be unbearable, stomping around making everyone's life a misery.

  'OK, I'll cook us a meal,' he said.

  Medea smiled. 'As much as I appreciate the effort, I don't think my stomach could stand another boil-in-the-bag curry.'

  Lasser grimaced. 'What about pizza?'

  'Look, stop fussing, I'll go shopping after work and pick something up.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Positive, now try and get some sleep – you look worn out,' she headed for the door.

  Lasser ran a hand across his stubble, feeling agitated. 'Medea, we are OK aren't we?'

  She stopped and looked over her shoulder, the smile dying when she saw the look on his face. Crossing back to the bed, she lay down at his side. 'What's brought this on?'

  'I just know how annoying this job can be,' he paused, 'how annoying I can be…'

  She placed a finger over his lips. 'I told you I don't mind.'

  'Yeah for now, but will you still be saying that in a few months' time?'

  'Believe me, if the situation gets me down then you'll be the second person to know about it.'

  'The second?'

  'Mm, Bannister will be the first; I'll want to know why he's running my loved one into the ground.'

  Lasser's eyes sprang wide in surprise. 'Loved one?' he saw the blush creep across Medea's cheeks.

  'I meant boyfriend.'

  Reaching over he slid a hand along the side of her neck. ''Loved one'', I like that.'

  'Look, it was just a slip of the tongue.'

  'I don't care, you said it.'

  'But…'

  'Ditto,' he said.

  This time the incident room was full, the mood sombre. Bannister stood at the front of the room like an avenging angel, all fire and brimstone and gnashing teeth.

  'Right, you lot, last night's fiasco nearly cost us the life of one of our colleagues…'

  'How is he, Guv?' Bob Foster asked.

  Bannister glared, 'Still in intensive care, but at least he's breathing on his own. Now, given the current situation and lack of manpower I've been forced to drag in help from other forces. These people will be arriving shortly, and I don't want any moaning, they're here to help. Now, I'll be drawing up a roster, so whoever you get is your responsibility, do I make myself clear?'

  'Yes, sir,' the room responded in unison.

  'And finally, if you do come across anyone acting suspiciously then you tackle them together, as a team. I don't care if your partner can run like Usain Bolt, and you can only run like Christopher Biggins,' he glared pointedly at Rawlins who had the good grace to blush and turn away. 'You go together, in my experience heroes no matter how well-meaning always end up either in the hospital or the morgue, so no gung-ho bullshit.'

  The door to the office opened and Lasser along with everyone else turned to see the cavalry come riding into town. When he saw Cathy Harper amongst the crowd, he sighed, great, just bloody great.

  30

  Erin stared at the front page of the paper in disbelief. Sarah sat by her side with her head in her hands.

  'That two-faced slimy shit,' Erin spat, her hands coming together in anger, the paper crumpling.

  'Not my best idea was it?' Sarah peeped out between her interlaced fingers.

  Erin's phone rang again and she checked the number, it was Graham, no doubt wanting to have a go at her over the article. Mike bloody Brewster had painted them both as a couple of man-hungry tarts, so pissed that they hadn't a clue what they were doing.

  According to him, they spent their nights trawling the seedier shitholes around town looking to shag anything with a pulse. The phone stopped bleating and then immediately started again, this time Erin snapped it off and skimmed it onto the coffee table.

  'This is all my fault.' Sarah whispered.

  'Don't you dare say that, you asked this man for help, and he took advantage of that fact.' She shook the paper in anger as if she had her hands locked around the reporter's throat. 'I mean, he hardly mentions the fact you did it to try and track this guy down, so you could thank him for what he did. This animal makes it sound as if you want to find him so you can shag him!'

  Sarah stood up and began to pace the room, chewing on a fingernail in anguish. 'I should have known it was a stupid idea. I looked in the bathroom mirror and told myself it was crazy and then I'm on the phone ringing the tosspot. I mean, what the hell was I thinking?'

  Erin watched as Sarah slumped back onto the sofa. She looked tired, disillusioned, and close to breaking point.

  Folding the paper, Erin slid it beneath the sofa. 'Right, what is it they say, 'Today's news is tomorrow's fish and chip wrapping?'

  Sarah threw her a worn-out smile. 'It's not the accusation that bothers me; I mean; come on Erin you know I've been called worse.'

  'So what's the problem?'

  Sarah looked at the floor. 'It's the fact that he's printed the address.'

  'What?'

  'That bastard printed where I live.'

  'So…' Erin's eyes sprang open as she realised the implications, 'Oh God.'

  Sarah nodded. 'All it takes is that nutter to read this and he could find out…'

  'Don't Sarah, don't even go there.'

  'But it's the truth. Because of my stupidity, he can find out where I live, and…'

  At the sound of the letterbox clacking open both women leapt to their feet, looking at one another, recognising the fear reflected in each other's eyes.

  31

  'Lasser!'

  'Yeah?' He was standing in the corner of the room, trying not to watch as Cathy Harper stood talking with Steve Black.

  Bannister strode across the room. 'I want you to stick with Coyle. She's a new recruit so I don't want to give her the responsibility of teaming up with one of this lot,' he hooked a thumb over his shoulder.

  Lasser heaved a sigh of relief, he'd imagined being paired with Cathy, and he wasn't sure he would have been up to the task.

  'No problem.'

  'Right, did you finish checking the mental health units?'

  'Not all of them.'

  Bannister's eyes narrowed, 'Why not?'

  'Because you told us to check the CCTV footage, and then you said you wanted all the takeaways in town checking, and…'

  Bannister flapped a hand. 'OK, I get the picture but today you get over to Leigh, they seem to have more than their fair share of nutters in that town.'

  'Will do.'

  'And when you've finished there…'

  Lasser sighed and looked at the ceiling.

  'What's the matter now?'

  'Nothing.'

  'Right, good, so when you've finished there, get back to checking the curry houses.'

  'Well, that should keep me busy till about two in the morning, so what do you want me to do with the rest of the night?'

  Bannister slapped him on the back. 'An attempt at humour, I like that, Sergeant.'

  Lasser shook his head as Bannister turned and walked away.

  When he looked across the room, he could see Cathy still in conversation with Black. When she looked across the room, he felt the colour rise in his cheeks. She smiled and Lasser turned away desperately searching for Susan Coyle.

  Ten minutes later and they were in the car heading out of town.

  'I've never been to Leigh,' Coyle said.

  Lasser loosened his tie. 'Well you're in for a treat. I mean, Wigan isn't what you'd call a thriving metropolis, but Leigh's still locked in the dark ages.'

  'It can't be that bad?'

  'It's a dumping ground, think Toxteth post riots and you're almost there.'

  Susan grimaced.
<
br />   As Lasser drove out of town, she concentrated on the view from the window. Gradually the terraced houses began to thin out, and fields opened up around them. In the distance, she could see a smear of woodland and on the horizon the swell of the west Pennine moors, sweeping up to meet the bleak sky.

  When they came to a swing bridge spanning the canal, Susan watched as a barge chugged along the water, the bridge that formed part of the road rising to let it pass.

  'I thought you said this place was a dump,' she said, looking at the sign that said, Welcome to Leigh, please drive carefully, and enjoy your visit.

  'Yeah well, don't be fooled.'

  'But it looks nice enough here.'

  'It's not the geography, Susan, it's the people.'

  The bridge began to ease back down, the lights changed and Lasser drove forward.

  Susan could see a marina on the right, half a dozen colourful barges moored up ready for the coming winter.

  Gradually, houses began to reappear, tatty-looking terraced properties with weeds growing in the gutters, dog shit on the pavements. They passed a small Bargain Booze shop, the front windows covered with heavy-duty mesh, illiterate graffiti plastered over the front door.

  The further they moved into town the worse it became, the place had a derelict feel about it. Young men trudged along the street, wearing the uniform of the forgotten generation, tracksuit bottoms and hoodies topped off with baseball caps. Everyone seemed to have a thin pinched face, as if living in this town somehow prematurely aged you.

  Lasser swept onto the one-way system, Susan looked at the boarded-up shops and sighed.

  'I see what you mean now.'

  'Hey, this is the nice side of town.' They drove past a couple of girls strolling along the kerb; they looked to be in their teens, each pushing a buggy with a baby inside. 'You know the government try and make us believe that people enjoy living like this.'