Twisted

by Robin Roughley

'Right, I'll catch up with you later.' Clicking open the door, Lasser climbed out and stretched the aching muscles in his back.

  Bannister leaned across the passenger seat. 'We need to catch him, Lasser, and I don't mean next week or next month. He's out there waiting for the sun to go down and then he'll hit the streets again and God help the poor sod he finds.'

  Lasser took a gulp of soggy air; he had no doubt Bannister was right in his assessment. 'What about Connelly?'

  'Do you think he's supplying drugs to Flynn?'

  'Definitely, I mean, I could have dragged him in but I thought it best to leave him alone, Connelly's thick enough to simply carry on as if nothing's happened.'

  Bannister frowned up at him. 'You think Flynn might turn up to score?'

  'Eventually, but it could be in a few days. I mean, Connelly likes to sell in bulk…'

  'Trouble is we don't have a few days, Sergeant.'

  'Agreed.'

  Bannister paused for a moment. 'I'll get a couple of the lads from Manchester to keep an eye on Connelly's house.'

  'OK.'

  Bannister flapped a hand at him. 'Well go on, bugger off, and keep me informed; I don't want you disappearing for hours on end.'

  With that, Bannister fired up the car and drove away.

  Lasser watched him go before crossing the road. 'You on duty all night, Steve?' he asked.

  Steve Black looked solemn. 'Yeah, can you believe it I've been on since ten this morning but Bannister doesn't concern himself with little things like the working time directive?'

  'Bloody hell, listen to yourself, you'll be wanting to form a union next. Besides, it's a crap night on the telly, so you may as well be standing here guarding the nation.'

  ''Guarding the nation'' don't make me laugh?'

  Climbing into the car Lasser allowed himself a tight smile, the thought of Black standing out in the rain for hours on end was a comforting thought.

  Whistling to himself, he started the car and drove away, giving Black a small wave as he drove past. Black stuck up two fingers in reply.

  51

  Shaun strode along the pavement, the rucksack dangling from one shoulder, his pace even. When he saw the copper drive away, he flicked a look towards the house. He could see the dark shape of the solitary officer standing guard at the bottom of the drive; the house lit up from inside, a couple of white vans parked on the long driveway. A sudden image of Gemma flared in his mind and he pushed it away. What was done was done, he'd learned to live with horrors before, and eventually this would simply be another that would wake him in the middle of the night with a scream locked in his throat.

  Walking past the house, he carried on along the street without a backward glance. He had no idea what he was doing here, he'd read the paper though it had never even entered his head to get in touch with the women. Yet he had found himself walking along the street where the blond-haired girl lived, only to find the place crawling with police.

  For a few minutes, he'd mingled with the crowd, listening to the gossip as people speculated as to what had happened.

  'They reckon his wife's done him in.'

  'Apparently she came home and found him in bed with another woman, grabbed a knife and bingo!'

  Shaun had moved through the throng absorbing and then dismissing almost all of the gossip.

  Then he'd seen the blonde-haired woman looking distraught as she made her way down the driveway, helped by the dark-haired copper who had just driven away from the house.

  It started to rain again and he tilted his face to the sky, he liked the rain, it reminded him of a time before he knew anything about desert heat and war. A time of relative innocence, when all he'd ever wanted was to join the army, before the reality set in, before all the death and mayhem.

  Pembroke Avenue, that had been the other address in the paper, he thought it was somewhere in Hindley but it didn't matter, he would find the house and then… He frowned and swiped a hand across his face and then what?

  Shaun had no idea, but it gave him something to do, a reason to keep walking, a reason not to slide the black knife from the bag and open his wrists. The idea was so appealing, the world around him had been bled of all colour apart from red, red was never far away.

  52

  Robert stood on the fire escape and looked up at the sky, the smile wide on his face as he saw the heavy bank of cloud obscuring the paper-thin moon. Even the scent of rotting food drifting up from the alleyway below couldn't dent his good mood. Tonight was going to be special; in fact, he somehow knew that from now on every night would bring a new experience to be cherished.

  He was wearing the long coat he'd taken from the charnel house. Before leaving the flat, he'd checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was surprising how changing one small item of clothing could make a difference. Rummaging in the drawer, he'd managed to find a comb and spent the next five minutes wincing and cursing as he dragged it through his tangled hair. The result had been truly astonishing; he no longer looked like a bag head, now he looked like one of those moshers who always seemed to hang around the town centre with their skateboards and dreadlocks.

  Like the kids who purchased their clothes from the charity shop, not because they couldn't afford new ones but because it was all part of the image. Rummaging out an elastic band, he'd tied his hair back in a short ponytail and grinned at the image in the mirror.

  Now he made his way down the metal steps, the knife tucked neatly into the ripped lining of the jacket, the rain falling on his hair, greasing it flat to his head. Moving out of the alleyway, Robert turned right and headed towards the town centre, a bounce in his step, the drug zipping around his head like a dervish. Tonight was more about money than fun, that's what the voice had told him, he needed cash to get more pills; he needed the pills to fulfil his destiny. When he tracked the bitch down, he needed to be invincible, because by now the filth would be watching her closely. With luck, she'd have been the one to find the body, and the image would haunt her for the rest of her life. Every time she closed her eyes, she would see the butchered remains of her husband. Her dreams would be full of open bleeding flesh; the fingers on the floor would flex and begin to crawl towards her. Robert giggled as he walked; he almost wished he didn't have to kill her. It would be wonderful to imagine her living a long life full of brain-shredding nightmares. The smile died on his lips, that wasn't an option, he wanted her laid out before him, maybe both of them, Robert shivered at the prospect. He would kill the one with the black hair first, making the other bitch watch as he got to work with the knife, he could imagine the terror in her eyes as he fucked her friend, the utter horror as he slid the knife into her heart, all the time knowing that she would be next.

  Robert grunted, his eyes flickered in ecstasy as he felt the warm liquid spurt in his trousers; he stopped for a moment to enjoy the sensation as the rain fell yellow in the jaundiced glare of the streetlight.

  Then the smile snapped back into place and Robert carried on walking, the town centre growing ever nearer.

  53

  As far as Lasser was concerned, neither woman looked in any fit state to make such an important decision. They sat facing him across the kitchen table like waxwork dummies. Erin had the fixed stare of a life-sized doll. Sarah kept glancing at her friend, like a terrified child waiting for an adult to make the decision for them.

  'It's your decision, we can't force you to leave, all we can do is advise you.'

  Erin shook her head, her blonde hair swaying. 'Can't you get someone to watch the house?'

  'We can but they'd have to be inside with you.'

  Erin looked at Sarah who shrugged. 'I just want this to be over.'

  Erin nodded. 'We'll stay here.'

  'Right, as long as we know,' he turned to Sally Wright who stood in the kitchen doorway, her hands folded behind her back. 'Sally, get onto the station and tell Meadows to get Rawlins and Harper round here ASAP.'

  'Cathy Harper?'

  'Do you have
a problem with that?'

  Sally blushed and shook her head. She'd been the only colleague who had known about his relationship with Cathy. According to Cathy, Sally had guessed but Lasser wasn't sure, he had his suspicions that Cathy had filled her in on all the gory details.

  'Right, sir,' she dipped her head and pressed the two-way before moving away into the lounge.

  Lasser turned back to the two women. 'Now obviously we don't want either of you leaving the house without someone going with you. In fact, it's probably best if you try and stay indoors.'

  'You think he's going to try and get us don't you?' Sarah asked, chewing a fingernail.

  'I can't answer that, Sarah, but it pays to be careful. I mean, we have plenty of people out there looking for this man and sooner or later we will catch him but in the meantime you sit tight.'

  Sarah nodded; Erin was looking into space, her eyes filled with tears.

  Sally appeared back in the doorway. 'They're on their way.'

  'How long until they arrive?'

  'ETA, fifteen minutes.'

  'Right, I'll hang fire until they get here, now who wants a coffee?'

  Sarah held up a hand like a schoolchild desperate to answer a question. 'I'll have one,' then she looked at Erin and her cheeks flared with embarrassment, as if asking for a drink was somehow disrespectful at a time like this.

  Lasser stood up and headed for the kettle. 'What about you, Erin?'

  'No, thank you,' she replied automatically.

  He gave the kettle a shake and put it on to boil, 'Sally?'

  She looked at him and shook her head.

  Lasser shrugged, 'Looks like it's just you and me Sarah.'

  'Er, no, no I've changed my mind, I don't want one now.'

  Lasser flicked the kettle off before it had time to boil; he was more than useless at this kind of thing. Bannister had been right – his bedside manner stank.

  Ten minutes later Rawlins and Harper arrived. Within seconds, Rawlins had located the kettle and was eying the biscuit barrel. There had been a few seconds of awkward silence as Cathy stood in the hallway, when Lasser squeezed past he caught the subtle scent of her perfume and for a few seconds he'd been transported back to their time together. Cathy looked at him with a sad smile on her face, as if she could read his thoughts.

  'Listen, you be careful,' he said.

  'I will.'

  'And if anything happens then let Rawlins handle it.'

  'Like he did for Spenner?'

  Lasser grimaced. 'I don't trust that man, but you have my number, anything dodgy ring me. I can be here in less than ten minutes.'

  'You saved me once before, remember?'

  Their eyes locked, Lasser reached out and placed his hands on her shoulders.

  'No heroics, Cathy.'

  She raised an eyebrow. 'I didn't realise you cared so much about my well-being?'

  'You keep everything locked and bolted and no letting Rawlins near the drinks cabinet.'

  She smiled up at him and nodded, 'Cross my heart.'

  He watched as her fingertips made the sign of the cross over her left breast.

  It took all Lasser's willpower not to run for the door.

  When he pulled onto the station car park, he spotted Susan Coyle standing by the corner of the building. Lasser saw her drop something to the floor and look up, her face a pale smear in the gloom. Flashing the headlights, he watched as she hurried towards the car, by the time she climbed in she was furiously chewing a stick of gum.

  'I didn't have you down as a smoker?'

  She winced and he saw her shoulders slump. 'You saw me?'

  'To the untrained eye you would have got away with it but fellow smokers can spot a weed lover a mile away.'

  'I've tried to stop; I mean; I know I shouldn't.'

  'And why's that?'

  She frowned in the gloom. 'Because we're expected to set an example…'

  'Bollocks, most of the coppers I know are all either secret smokers or drinkers.'

  'What about you?'

  'I don't like to discriminate, so I do both.'

  She gave him a quirky smile. 'Has anyone told you, you have a warped sense of humour?'

  'Frequently.'

  54

  As soon as he reached the town centre, Robert felt his mood alter; the euphoria diminished and a niggling sensation of fear crept along his spine. Everywhere he looked, he could see coppers standing out in their bright yellow vests and stupid helmets.

  Pulling the coat tight around his shoulders, he hurried up Market Street feeling vulnerable. It felt as if he were the only one who wasn't talking to one of the filth. He passed a small group of young girls, huddled around a female copper.

  'So does this man look familiar to any of you?' she asked.

  He wanted to stop, wanted to go and see what she was holding out to the young sluts, but knew he daren't. Striding past McDonald's, the fear began to morph into anger, they were looking for him, he was sure of it. The bitch had put them onto him and now they were trying to hunt him down, hunt him down and lock him away forever. Sweat creamed his forehead; he tried to act nonchalantly, but could feel his shoulders drawing in, his head dropping. All it needed was one of them to glance in his direction and they'd be onto him.

  His fear-locked brain suddenly conjured the nightmare scenario. He imagined himself trying to run and being dragged to the floor by one of the bastards. Then another would land on top and the air would slam from his lungs, then another and another. Gradually the sheer weight of them would pin him to the ground, his skin would start to split, his skull would creak and groan, blood would flow from his nose and then his ears. Until eventually, his body would collapse in upon himself. When they all stood up, he would be nothing but a huge red smear on the pavement. Then the street cleaner would come with his stiff brush and bucket, swilling the pavement with cold water, sweeping what was left of him into the gutter and down the drain.

  Robert caught sight of his reflection in the window of Burtons menswear and gasped aloud, his face looked alien, his eyes wide and filled with terror, he looked weak, like a terrified child dressed in adults clothing, pretending to be something he would never be. He reeled away from the image and collided with a litter bin, heads snapped in his direction, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  It was a rerun of two nights previous, when the fat man in the burger van had short-changed him. Robert snarled at the memory and set off walking up the street. Miraculously the crowd seemed to part before him, the coppers vanished as if they had been nothing but a figment of his imagination.

  When he picked up the cloying scent of frying food, he honed in on the van. Robert could see the thief handing over a greasy package to some bloke in a short-sleeved T-shirt, watched as he handed over the change, the correct change. His anger went up another notch; he could feel the weight of the blade against his side.

  'I told you, Robert, good things come to those who wait, now slowly, slowly catchee monkey.'

  Robert had no idea what the voice was talking about but instinctively he lowered his head and scouted to the side, sticking close to the shop fronts as he made his way towards the rear of the van. Sliding into the doorway of the empty betting shop, he waited. When it began to rain, Robert smiled before popping one of the tablets into his mouth. Gradually the rain increased, and the street began to empty as people scuttled for cover. He saw the door at the rear of the van open, the fat man silhouetted against the glare of the strip light. Reaching into the pocket of his apron, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit up.

  Robert scanned left and right, there were still people on the street but they all had their heads down, the girls desperate to keep their hair dry the boys trying to swagger through the onslaught.

  Sliding the knife from his jacket, Robert hurried forward, the pavement beneath his feet felt slick with rain but the drug was flying now, blasting away self-doubt, raging through his system, taking control, invincible, he closed in.

  55

>   Lasser grimaced as the rain soaked through his jacket and into his shirt, he felt as if he'd been forced to make a mad dash through a car wash.

  Susan blew a strand of wet hair from her eyes and shivered.

  Lasser could see no sign of any colleagues trudging through the rain. 'I should have known Bannister was taking the piss.'

  'What do you mean?'

  'The town centre will be flooded with officers,' he mimicked. 'Can you see any other buggers out in this bloody weather?'

  She tried to look up but the force of the rain increased, she gasped and snapped her head away.

  Lasser carried on ranting. 'Precisely, you know I'm sure the rest of the station get together to watch the CCTV footage. Ah there's Lasser drenched again, what an idiot,' he kicked at an empty beer can and sent it flying into the road.

  'I can't see our man being out in this weather, sir.'

  'No, he probably has more sense; he'll be at home sharpening his knife and watching Ant and Dec dicking around.'

  Coyle winced at the comment and looked up, a frown forming on her face as she swiped the rain from her eyes. 'Look at that.'

  'I mean, first he has us checking the curry houses, while he probably plays a round of golf…'

  'Sir.'

  'I never see him walking around the streets getting pissed wet through…'

  'Lasser, look!'

  He followed her pointing finger; the burger van was shining forth like a beacon of cholesterol. Lasser could see the man inside snatching at the till, dressed in a long trench coat, his black hair tied back trailing over the collar of the jacket.

  'He's robbing the fucking till!' Lasser bolted.

  Dragging her nightstick from its sheath, Susan set off in pursuit. Lasser's long stride ate up the ground, teeth bared, coat flapping as he flew up the street.

  When he was twenty yards away, he saw the thief look up with a snarl on his face; he quickly spun away and disappeared through the door at the rear of the van. Lasser increased his speed, the rain battering his face. When Coyle drew level, he looked at her in surprise, when she began to ease in front; he reached out and plucked at her sleeve.