'Another win on the slots is it, Flynn?'
'How much shit will that get me?'
'Give it here,' Connelly reached out and snatched the cash from Flynn's fingers. 'Now I'll tell you how much shit you'll get. If you don't turn around and crawl back to wherever you came from I'll beat the shit out of you, how does that sound?'
Robert blinked, this couldn't be right, he'd been getting stuff off Connelly for two years, he'd given him everything he had and then some and now he was trying to take his money, his hard-earned cash.
'I want the tablets, Kyle…' he mumbled.
Connelly flew towards him, a snarl on his stone-age face. 'You ''want'', you fucking ''want'', I don't give a toss about what you ''want''!' He thrust a finger under Flynn's nose. 'Because of you I've had to ease back and that's costing me money, and seeing as it's your fault then I think it's only right that you pay up.'
'But…'
'Just count yourself lucky I'm not giving you a hiding, now piss off,' Connelly turned back to the door and Robert Flynn heard the voice inside with such clarity that he looked over his shoulder as if he expected to find its owner standing behind him.
'Kill him, Robert.'
Robert lunged, the knife rose, Kyle turned and his face registered mild surprise as he saw Flynn scuttling towards him. Then the knife plunged into the side of his neck and burst free on the other side in a shower of blood. Kyle staggered forward and Robert felt his grip on the handle slip. Connelly slammed headfirst into the back door; the dog on the other side was going ballistic. Robert hesitated for a moment and then leaped forward landing on Kyle's back, driving him to the floor. Connelly desperately tried to raise his right arm to drag the knife free but Flynn got there first, twisting the handle he felt the man buck beneath him.
'Where do you keep the pills, you fucker!' Robert snarled, he could feel blood jetting onto his fist, the erection straining against his jeans. 'Tell me,' he twisted the knife and Connelly screamed, a sound that ripped through Robert's head like a buzz saw. Clamping a panicked hand over Kyle's stretched mouth; he leaned down in an effort to smother the never-ending squeal. 'Fucking tell me,' he hissed.
Connelly glugged and thrashed but there was no power behind his movements, he gave one final jerk and then lay still, the dog slammed against the door and Robert leapt back.
'Fuck!' Reaching down, he snatched the money from Connelly's hand and staggered back into the wet grass. Kyle's leg suddenly lashed out and slammed into the wheelie bin. Robert wiped a hand across his forehead and tried to think, but the barking dog was making it impossible.
'Shut that fucking dog up, Connelly!'
Robert flattened himself against the wall, he could see a light come on at next door's bedroom window. He needed to get away; suddenly he remembered the car parked in the street, imagined the door opening and two, no four coppers climbing out. They could be on their way down the back alley, drawn by the squeal of the dead man and the barking dog. Turning, he took two steps away from the wall ready to run.
'Stay where you are, Robert.'
'But…'
'You do as I say, or I'll hurt you more than you could ever imagine.'
Robert Flynn was terrified of the police, terrified of the huge dog on the other side of the door, but the voice inside his head scared him more, so he remained motionless with his back against the wall breathing deeply, the panic spiralling into the night.
Thankfully, the dog had fallen silent though he could hear it snuffling behind the door, then it started to whimper, as if it somehow knew its master was dead.
'Look at him, Robert; he doesn't look like a big man now, does he?'
Robert looked down at Connelly and giggled, his mind began to clear. This could work out perfectly, he could come away with a pocket full of cash and all the pills he would ever need, the only thing between him and his goal was eight stone of snarling Mastiff.
'You can do it,' the voice whispered. 'Open the door, kill the dog, and then find what you came for.'
Robert swallowed, could he, dare he risk it.
'Do it,' the voice urged.
Reaching out a hand, he grabbed the handle and pulled.
60
Medea sighed as Lasser tossed another cigarette towards the grid. They were sat on a couple of rickety garden chairs beneath a worn-out umbrella, the bushes dripping water. When he'd arrived home, he'd been angry and frustrated, it had taken her ten minutes to calm him down and explain to her what had happened. Now he simply looked worn out, as if the tirade had left him depleted.
'So what are you going to do?'
'Wait for Bannister to drag me in on a disciplinary, and then start looking for another job.'
Medea leaned forward, the chair groaned. 'Come on, you don't mean that.'
'I might not have any choice. I basically told him to F off and left a major crime scene.'
'Look, it all happened in the heat of the moment…'
'Bannister won't buy that; as far as he's concerned I should have just stood there and taken the bollocking. But I'm just sick of it, Medea, who wants to live their life being treated like shit?'
'I know, but it's just his way. I mean, I'm sure he feels things the same way you do, he's bound to be frustrated by everything that's happened.'
'I understand all that,' he sparked up another smoke, so much for trying to cut down. 'But this time I was in the right. I know on the face of it I should have probably stayed and twiddled my thumbs, but the poor sod was already dead…'
'Not according to – sorry – what was her name again?'
'Coyle.'
'But, Shannon said you did the right thing; you should feel able to leave your partner to deal with a situation like that.'
Lasser frowned. 'I thought you'd have been on her side?'
'This isn't about sides, you did what you thought was right, it isn't your fault she's young and inexperienced.
'Yeah but…'
'Look, I'd imagine working in the police force means you have to learn to adapt quickly, and if she can't then maybe she's in the wrong profession.'
Lasser blew smoke towards the sky. 'I don't know, maybe Bannister was right. I just didn't want to see that animal getting away.'
'I understand but like you said this job is ninety-nine percent frustrations and one percent elation.'
Lasser smiled. 'It sounds naff when you say it.'
Medea smiled. 'So, come on if you do decide to call it a day what will you do with yourself?'
Lasser thought for a moment. 'Maybe I could get a job as a lollipop man.'
'Oh yeah I can really see you shepherding a load of obnoxious kids across the street. I'd give you ten minutes before you were making a citizen's arrest because someone spat gum onto the pavement.'
'Is that your way of telling me I'm a miserable sod?'
'I just don't want you doing anything hasty,' she paused, 'besides you know I love a man in uniform.'
'But I don't wear a uniform.'
'Then maybe a lollipop man isn't such a bad idea. I mean, you get the little hat and the yellow waterproof jacket…'
'Not forgetting the stick itself.'
Medea raised an eyebrow, a mock sultry look on her face, 'Ah yes the long pole with the round end.'
Lasser grinned back at her, 'Dirty bugger.' When his phone began to drone, he looked at the screen with a kind of inevitability.
'Is it Bannister?'
He nodded, 'No doubt telling me to clear my drawer and get the fuck out of his station.'
'You won't know until you answer it,' she pushed to her feet. 'I'll make us a drink.'
Lasser sighed and pressed the answer button. 'Yes.'
'Your friend Kyle Connelly.'
Lasser blinked in confusion. 'What about him?'
'Someone's just perforated his head.'
Lasser shot forward and the chair suddenly gave up the ghost and collapsed beneath him.
'What the hell's all that racket?' Bannister barked.
&nb
sp; Lasser's arse was on the wet, patio flags, his knees at eye level. He heard Medea burst into laughter and twisted to see her doubled over, one hand clutching the door frame for support, the other wrapped around her stomach.
'Sorry, just a bit of an accident. How is the scumbag anyway?'
'Dead, and this time there's no doubt.'
Lasser closed his eyes and let the insult wash over him. 'Flynn?'
'What do you think?'
'But I thought a couple of the lads from Manchester were watching the house.'
Bannister sighed. 'So did I. Now get your arse over here and don't be all night about it.'
The phone fell silent.
'So what did he say?' Medea stood in the doorway wiping the tears from her eyes.
'Our man's just been to pay a visit to his dealer and stuck a knife in him.'
Any hint of merriment slid from her eyes. 'Oh God, is he dead?'
Lasser scrambled to his feet and kicked at the remains of the chair, sending bits of broken wood sailing onto the lawn.
'Yeah, but believe me Medea, this is one guy you don't need to shed tears over.'
'That bad?'
'Oh yes, the world will be a better place with one less Kyle Connelly in it.'
61
Lasser pulled up to the kerb and grimaced; apart from the ambulance and half a dozen squad cars, the street was deserted. It spoke volumes about the people who lived here that no one was out trying to find out what had happened. On Southfield Street, the police arriving en masse in the middle of the night hardly warranted a peep through the bedroom curtains.
Climbing out, he walked along the pavement and through the dilapidated garden gate.
'Good evening, sir.'
'All right, Sally, I thought you'd have been home hours ago?'
'I can't even remember where home is anymore,' she moaned.
Lasser patted her on the shoulder. 'I know the feeling. Now where is everyone?'
She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. 'They're round the back.'
As if on cue, he heard Bannister in full attack mode. 'You were meant to be watching the house, I guess in Manchester people don't have back doors, is that it?'
Sally winced. 'As you can hear, he isn't a happy man.'
'To tell you the truth, Sal, I'm not in the mood for more aggro.'
He threaded his way along the side of the house and through another gate that was falling to pieces. Bannister had his back to him standing in front of a couple of officers that Lasser couldn't identify. However, he recognised the looks on their faces well enough, part panic, part disbelief.
'I mean, what's the point of sitting in the car directly underneath a sodding great streetlight; you might as well have put on the flashing lights and sirens.'
One of the men opened his mouth to speak and then clacked it shut as Bannister took a step towards him. 'Don't even think of trying some lame excuse, you're idiots, now get out of my sight!'
Both men scuttled past red faced, when Bannister turned and spotted Lasser his eyes narrowed. 'You decided to come then?'
'Thanks for the invite.'
Bannister grunted and pointed at the floor. 'I take it this is Kyle Connelly?'
Lasser walked to the corner of the house and peered down at the body slumped outside the open back door. 'Yeah, that's him.'
'Yes well, maybe next time you chase someone you might actually try and catch them, then this kind of thing could be avoided.'
Closing his eyes, Lasser tried to picture Bannister naked, he remembered reading somewhere that it was a good way to ease tension, in the end he gave up and opened his eyes.
'We can also presume that Flynn isn't an animal lover.' Bannister nodded towards the kitchen. The dog was on its side, the stomach had been opened up, a grey mass of entrails spilled from the cavity onto the dirty linoleum-covered floor.
'Bastard!' Lasser spat in disgust.
Bannister cocked his head. 'I don't get you, a man lies dead at your feet, and yet you seem more upset about the bloody dog!'
'Connelly was bound to come to a sticky end, but the dog had no choice in the matter.'
Bannister shook his head. 'We've searched the house; it looks as if Flynn spent some time going through the place.'
'Looking for gear?'
'I don't doubt it, and seeing as we can't find any trace then we have to assume that our man got what he came for.'
'What about the flat in Platt Bridge?'
Bannister frowned. 'What flat?'
Inwardly Lasser groaned, he'd been so angry he forgot to mention the flat to Bannister. By the time he'd finished explaining, the expected eruption hadn't materialised.
'Right, we need to find this flat and quick'.
Lasser thought for a moment. 'Well, as far as I can remember there are only three curry houses in Platt Bridge.'
'Come on.'
'Hang on, what about this place?' he nodded towards the house.
Bannister dragged out his car keys. 'SOCO are inside so there's no point in hanging around here.'
Lasser couldn't believe what he was hearing, it was as if the argument they'd had earlier had never taken place.
'Come on, Sergeant, we can take my car.'
Bloody unreal, Lasser thought as he followed Bannister down the path.
62
Robert chewed one of the tablets and listened to the internal voice. Going back to the flat was no longer an option, it said. If Connelly had grassed him up, then the police could be hiding in the bushes, skulking in the shadows waiting for him to return. The thought made him cringe in fear. Peering up at the sky, he winced as the first flicker of sunlight blurred the horizon. He felt the panic flutter and threw another tablet into his mouth. If he couldn't go back to the flat, then what was he going to do? He had no friends he could call on for help, no one who would let him doss on their sofa for a few days. The realisation that he was completely alone only served to make the panic grow into outright terror. When he'd left Connelly's house the voice had told him to run and Robert had obeyed without question, though he had no idea where he was running too. Now he blinked and looked around him and realised he had been here before.
'Do you know where we are Robert?' the voice asked.
When he saw the gaping maw of the tunnel, his eyes sprang wide in recollection. He used to come here as a kid, before his life spiralled out of control. Quickening his pace, Robert headed down the side of the cemetery before entering the cool of the tunnel. The bricks above were russet coloured and crumbling with age. He felt the ground rumble as a train passed overhead. Chewing a fingernail, he tried to decide what to do, then a memory floated to the front of his mind, he'd been about twelve and already his life had been starting to fall apart. His father had left and his mother had started to drink, then the men had begun to visit and he'd spent endless nights listening as they fucked her in the bedroom next to his. After a while, he'd sneaked along the landing his brain full of a strange curiosity and watched through a crack in the door. She had been sprawled on the bed, one man pumping away between her spread legs the other sliding his cock in and out of her mouth. It had become something of a ritual; he would lay there at night listening for the knock on the front door. Then he would hear his mother moving down the stairs and five minutes later, she would be grunting and squealing as the men took it in turns. Eventually, Robert took to standing and watching through the gap, pulling feverishly at hairless cock. That was until the men caught him and…
Shaking his head to shift the distressing image, he tried to think, but his mind suddenly felt disjointed.
The voice inside sighed, 'The cottage, Robert, remember the cottage?'
Miraculously an image snapped into his brain, the derelict building in the centre of the woods. It had been a safe haven, somewhere to come and hide instead of attending school. Robert looked left and right, at either end of the tunnel he could see daylight starting to bleach the darkness. Grunting, he turned and started to run, the end of the tunnel app
roached and suddenly he was running beneath the huge trees. Mist rose from the damp ground, his trainers squeaked on the wet grass. It wasn't perfect but he could hole up in the house until it grew dark again. Then he would go to the bitch's house and kill her, kill them all, he smiled as he ran, the drug kicking in, invincible again.
63
Shaun cracked open an eye and watched as the white wraiths glided through the mist. He'd spent the night on the wooden bench, using the rucksack as a pillow. The lake lay before him, black water like dark beer. Sometime during the early hours he'd been awoken by the sound of distant sirens and for a few seconds he'd been back in Afghanistan, his right hand had snapped out to find the gun and then reality had slowly seeped into his mind. Turning over he'd fallen back into a fitful sleep, one in which Gemma had suddenly sat up from the metal trolley, the shroud falling from her shoulders, her breasts bare. He'd been standing in the corner of a cold sterile room in his army fatigues, the pack on his back weighing him down, full of dead babies, he wanted to run but his legs had refused to move. Then Gemma had raised an arm and pointed an accusing finger towards him, her legs had swung from the gurney and she'd hobbled to her feet. The autopsy scars started to stretch, blood seeping from the long wound running between her breastbone and down her stomach, the skin gaping wide to reveal… Shaun had fought himself awake, like a drowning man struggling to the surface, a scream locked in his throat.
Now he rolled a cigarette with shaking fingers and watched as the swans came to investigate.
Yanking the phone from his pocket, he checked the time and then slid to his feet, the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Maybe he should just walk into the water, plough his way through the mud until his feet left the bottom and then he could swim to the centre and call it a day. The thought was so tempting that he actually walked to the water's edge and looked out over the black mirror. What was the point in carrying on; Gemma and the baby were gone and his friends had either been blasted to oblivion or damaged beyond repair? He tried to think back to a time before all the death and destruction and found that he couldn't. Everything was tainted, he was obsolete, broken, and who had a use for something that no longer worked. The army had dispensed with his services, he was a defective piece of equipment, that… Looking down he was surprised to see the water was up to his knees. Shaun took another step. Perhaps he would see Gemma again; maybe she was waiting for him with the baby in her arms. Maybe Steve and Johno were with her, made whole again with smiles on their faces instead of gaping red holes, old friends just waiting for him to take the plunge.
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