'I'm sorry, but I don't have time for small talk.'
More lightning flashed, the shadows beneath the trees seemed to loom together forming a solid block. Shaun took three steps back, his form merging with the gloom.
'I can't just let you walk away, son.'
'I don't see you have any choice in the matter. If you try to stop me, I'll kill you and believe me I don't want to do that.'
Lasser hesitated before moving forward and suddenly the blade swept out of the shadows, stopping inches from his face.
'I mean it,' Shaun hissed.
Lasser felt his gut clench, the sweat pumped from his open pores. Licking his lips, he took another hesitant step forward, the blade remained stock-still. 'Do you have any idea why someone would want to kill, Fleming?' he asked.
'Flynn would have done it but it wasn't him.'
'How do you know; I mean…'
'Fleming's been dead ten minutes at the most and I know for a fact that Flynn's miles away from here.'
'Tell me where he is, we can sort this…?'
Shaun laughed a sound heavy with irony. 'I don't think so.'
'But why not for God's sake?'
'Do you think Robert Flynn deserves to carry on breathing after what he did?'
Lasser opened his mouth to snap a reply and found that he couldn't provide an honest answer.
When the lightning illuminated the forest floor, the man had disappeared. Lasser spun a full three-sixty his eyes trying to see everywhere at once, then the forest was plunged back into a primeval darkness.
In the distance, he could hear Bannister calling his name.
125
Robert watched as the man came out of the pizza shop, his arms laden with flat square boxes. As he turned down the side of the shop, Robert waited for a gap in the traffic before dashing across the road.
'Take your time, Robert, no rush.'
Robert did as the voice asked, as soon as he made it to the pavement, he stopped running and thrust his hand into the pocket of the sweatshirt, his hand closing around the chunk of jagged rock.
The deliveryman had placed the boxes on the roof of a tatty-looking Ford Fiesta while he fumbled the key into the lock. Glancing over his shoulder, Robert watched as a couple walked past the end of the narrow street, the bitch had an arm linked through his, the man whispered something into her ear, and he watched as she threw her head back and laughed.
'Cunts,' he hissed before turning away, the man had the door open and was reaching up to retrieve the boxes. Robert dashed forward sliding his hand from the pocket as he went; he was three feet away when the man suddenly looked up in surprise. Robert grinned when he saw the man's eyes spring wide in surprise and then he slammed the chunk of rock into the pale blob of a face. The man staggered back, his nose exploded in a shower of blood. Robert lashed out again catching him high on the head; the skull seemed to crumple as the man clattered into the rain-slicked gutter.
Looking down, Robert grinned inanely. Even in the gloom, he could see the damage done to the delivery driver's face, the nose or what was left of it lay across his right cheek, the left eye leaking blood, the split in his skull gave the head a warped appearance.
'What are you doing, Robert?'
'Can I finish the job?'
'Grab the food, that's what you came for.'
'I know but…'
'Remember your promise…'
'Please,' Robert begged, he could see the man flutter his good eye a bubble of blood formed in the corner of his mouth and then popped. Flynn dropped the rock and rubbed his hands together; he could stay here forever and watch the spectacle, watch as the life seeped away into the gutter.
'Check his pockets!'
'What for?'
'You need money don't you?'
Flynn jerked, his eyes refocused, and then he crouched down at the side of the slumped figure. He found the wallet in the inside pocket and grinned when he discovered a wad of money pushed into one of the slots. Thrusting it into his pocket, Robert snatched the boxes from the roof and slammed the car door shut with the sole of his boot before dashing off along the darkened street.
Ten minutes later, he came to the small park, leaping over the token fence; he made his way over to the swings. The delicious scent of the hot food wafted up making his stomach groan in anticipation. Easing down onto the swing, he ripped back the lid and took a huge bite of the pizza, warm grease leaked down his chin as he crammed more into his mouth.
'Better?'
Robert grunted in response as he swallowed the food, before pushing more into his mouth.
'Love it,' he said, a chunk of food fell to the floor, and he kicked it away with the toe of his boot.
'Good, now hurry up.'
Robert looked up; black clouds were being blasted across the night sky, he caught sight of the occasional star glimmering in the turmoil.
'Why are you helping me?' he suddenly asked.
When no reply was forthcoming, he tilted his head to the left as if listening for the internal voice.
'Eat your pizza, Robert.'
'But…'
'Remember your promise?'
Dropping the box to the floor, he stood up, the remains of the pizza dangled from his hand like an old dishcloth, salami and olives slid from the crust landing on the pitted tarmac with a plop.
'I love you, do you even know that?' he whispered.
'Of course I do.'
Robert frowned. 'I don't mean like queers do.'
The laughter sounded light and musical like wind chimes moving in a subtle breeze.
'Finish your food, Robert.'
Flynn nodded and attacked the rest of the pizza.
126
It took the best part of an hour before reinforcements arrived. Lasser was sitting on the front of the boat when he saw the familiar hulking shape of Doc Shannon waddling down the towpath.
Shannon scratched at his unruly beard. 'You look like shit.'
Lasser pushed himself upright, his clothes hung like filthy hessian sacks, water dripped from the end of his nose, 'Bannister's inside.'
A group of fellow officers emerged from the drizzle mist decked out in waterproofs, torchlight lancing out into the darkness.
Shannon hoisted his black bag onto the roof of the boat. 'You need to get somewhere warm and dry or you'll end up with pneumonia.'
'Yeah, well, the idea of lying in bed for a couple of weeks doesn't sound too arduous.'
Shannon wagged a sausage-like finger in his face. 'You shouldn't joke, Sergeant, you need to take care of yourself.'
'You sound like a mother hen,' Lasser dragged the fake cigarette from his pocket the stem was broken. 'Bloody great,' he said before tossing the remains into the water. 'I don't suppose you have any fags on you?'
Shannon tick-tocked his head from side to side. 'Have you got a death wish, or do you simply presume you'll live forever?'
Lasser shrugged. 'We've all got to die, Doc.'
'Yes, but we don't have to rush headlong towards the inevitable, do we?'
'Shannon, is that you?'
Lasser looked down; he could see Bannister's face pushed up against one of the small circular windows. 'Why don't we untie the boat and push him out to the middle,' he said.
Shannon smiled. 'It won't do any good, Bannister can walk on water, I thought you'd have realised that by now?'
As if on cue, the DCI emerged from the rear of the boat, his face still smeared with mud. 'Come on man; get your arse in here now!'
Shannon grabbed the bag as Bannister climbed onto the towpath. 'Right you lot, I want these woods searched, we have a possible suspect and DS Lasser here let him slip through his bloody fingers…' Bannister suddenly stopped and Lasser looked up.
DCI Wilson stood with his hands clasped in front of him, as if he were standing guard in front of the palace.
'Good evening, Wilson.' Bannister said.
Lasser could see the group of men on the towpath; it was like watching some Wild We
st shootout. Some of them were sporting smirks on their faces; others looked at Bannister with sympathy.
'So, what have we got?' Wilson asked.
Bannister dragged a hand across his head before hooking a thumb at the boat. 'His name's Fleming, a retired doctor.'
'Dead?' Wilson asked.
Bannister thrust his hands into his pockets. 'You could say that.'
Wilson nodded. 'And did I hear you right when you said Sergeant Lasser had let the prime suspect escape?'
Lasser sighed; Doc Shannon rested a hand on his shoulder. 'I can always write you a sick note if you want?'
'Don't bother, Doc, I would imagine Wilson will want to write me my P45.'
127
When the tap came at the door, Cathy snapped her eyes open, she must have fallen asleep, the room was in darkness. She could see the early evening sky through the window, a slash of red thrown out by the last of the dying sun.
Sliding from the bed, she fumbled with the light switch, blinking as the light assaulted her eyes. She opened the door to find Steve Black standing in the narrow hallway.
'Did you manage to get some shut eye?' he asked.
Covering a yawn with the back of her hand, she nodded. 'I must have.'
'What's the bed like?'
'What do you mean?'
'Well, I've got a dodgy back and if the mattress is too soft then I'll be suffering for days.'
Cathy shrugged. 'How am I meant to answer that?'
'Well is it lumpy, or…'
'Jesus, Steve, I'm not Goldilocks.'
Standing back, he tilted his head. 'Oh, I don't know, with the right colour hair…'
'Where is everyone?'
Black cleared his throat. 'Palmer and Nash are downstairs…'
'What about Sharma and Scott?'
'DCI Wilson's pulled them out.'
'What?'
'Apparently, Wilson's taken over the case.'
'No way!'
Black nodded. 'Afraid so, Bannister's had his chance…'
'That stinks.'
'Come on, Cathy, I don't know Wilson, but he can't be as bad as Bannister and Lasser.'
Cathy gave him a cold look. 'That's what you believe is it?'
'Oh yeah, I forgot you're from Liverpool aren't you?'
'No, I'm from Southport.'
'Same thing, so come on what's Wilson like?'
'Believe me, you don't want to know.'
Black grimaced. 'That bad is he?'
'Well look at us, we're due a changeover and yet Wilson pulls our replacements, that should tell you all you need to know about the man.'
Black tried a half-hearted smile. 'Yeah, but it won't be for long, I mean, we've been on duty almost forty-eight hours.'
'You think Wilson will be bothered about a small fact like that?'
Black's shoulders slumped. 'Come on, Cathy, you're joking right?'
'Afraid not, as far as he's concerned we're just glorified babysitters.'
'Christ, the missus is going to kill me. It's our anniversary today and I promised to take her out for a meal, the restaurant's booked, the taxi's picking us up at eight.'
'If you want my advice you should warn her you might not make it.'
'Only someone who's never met my wife would come out with a comment like that.'
'Yeah, well, do you want to take the front or the back of the house?'
Black shivered the thought of going outside in the wind and the rain was less than appealing. 'I'll take the front.'
Cathy shrugged, 'Fair enough.'
She followed Black back down the stairs. Erin and Sarah were sitting at the kitchen table. Erin was demolishing another fingernail; Sarah was staring off into space as if turning something over in her head.
Cathy grabbed her coat from the back of the chair and looked out of the kitchen window, the rain splattered onto the patio flags, the bushes at the bottom of the garden swayed in the wind.
Snatching up the zip on her jacket, Cathy flicked up the collar and headed outside, a gust of wind made her snap her head away, she was sure she could feel sleet mixed with the rain.
Squelching across the lawn, she took up position by the side of the garden shed. Although the rain still lashed down at least she was out of the worst of the wind. Then she grimaced as the wind swirled and slammed into her.
Looking out into the field revealed nothing; she could vaguely see the black smear of the distant woodland, apart from that, all was darkness. She suddenly wondered what Lasser was doing, probably curled up with his new girlfriend in front of a roaring fire. Placing a hand on her nightstick her mood darkened, the way she was feeling if Robert Flynn turned up then he was in for one hell of a surprise.
128
Bannister had the heater on full blast but it did little to warm Lasser's bones. The windows were full of condensation as if the car were occupied by a courting couple getting hot and heavy.
'I mean, how the hell could you let him get away?'
Lasser swiped a hand down the glass. 'Don't start…'
'But you had him…'
'I told you, he had a knife.'
Bannister snapped on the headlights and grunted in disgust. 'If you'd caught the bastard then at least it would have kept Wilson off your back.'
'Somehow I doubt that, and besides as much as I want to catch Flynn I don't intend getting knifed to death for the privilege.'
Bannister barked out a laugh and Lasser turned slowly towards his boss. 'You'd sooner have me dead…'
'Don't be bloody ridiculous.'
'Look, he was waving a big fuck-off knife in my face, so come on tell me, what would you have done?'
Dragging a soggy cigarette packet from his pocket, Bannister slid two out and handed one to Lasser. 'You think this vigilante has got his mitts on Flynn?'
Lasser lit the cigarette and closed his eyes, the smoke trailing from his nostrils. 'I think he has him hidden away somewhere…'
'So he intends killing him?'
'That's what he said.'
Bannister leaned forward in the seat, the cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. 'What I can't understand is why he'd want to get involved in the first place, and if he has got Flynn then why hasn't he just snuffed him out, why wait?'
'He said he was checking up on something.'
Bannister drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. 'Flynn must have told him about Fleming.'
Lasser wafted his hand to dispel some of the swirling smoke. 'It makes sense.'
'And you said he denied killing the doctor?'
'That was the first thing he said.'
Bannister shook his head. 'I don't buy it, we saw him get off the boat, and do a runner and Fleming had a bloody great gash in his throat.'
Lasser flicked the ash onto his trouser leg smudging it into the soggy cloth. 'Yeah, but he didn't need to stop and explain himself. I mean, there was no way I could have caught up with him.'
'That's because you're unfit…'
'No, it's because I nearly broke my neck falling down the hill. It's because I haven't slept in over twenty-four hours. It has sod all to do with my fitness level…'
'Rubbish,' Bannister snapped. 'You drink like a fish, smoke too many fags and I'd imagine your diet leaves a lot to be desired.'
Lasser raised an eyebrow as Bannister drew hard on the cigarette. 'That's rich coming from you.'
Gradually the steam began to disappear from the windscreen, without uttering a word Bannister slid the car into gear and pulled off the pub car park.
'So, what do we do now?' Lasser asked.
'Well, I don't know about you but I'm going home to a hot bath and a warm bed.'
'But…'
'If the mystery man has got Flynn then hopefully his killing days are over.'
'So, we just forget about it, is that what you're saying?'
'Look…'
'And what about Fleming…?'
'The man you let escape probably killed him.' Bannister replied as he flic
ked on the main beam.
'And what if he was telling the truth, that means some other bugger gave him a second mouth.'
Bannister glanced at the sergeant. 'Well it isn't really our problem anymore is it, and look at the state of us. I mean, what use are we like this?'
Lasser shivered, he hated to admit it, but Bannister was right, as it began to warm up in the car, he could feel the weariness sweep through his body. Flicking the stump of the cigarette through the window, he yawned.
'Look, we need to get some kip and look at this in the morning with fresh eyes.'
Lasser sighed. 'Fine.'
'So, you might as well stop at the house.'
'What?'
'Well, Medea's there and it's not as if we don't have a spare room.'
Lasser was too tired to argue. 'Whatever.'
'Right, that's sorted and if you behave yourself I might even make one of my famous curries.'
'Wonderful.'
'I tell you it'll blow your bloody socks off!'
Lasser closed his eyes and shivered again though this time it had nothing to do with the cold. He could see the pale-haired man standing beneath the trees with the black knife held loosely in his right hand, the tip of the blade inches from his face. Perhaps Bannister was right, maybe he was the one who'd killed Fleming, but if that were the case why had he left Lasser alive? It would have made more sense to stick the knife into his chest; he swallowed as though he could feel the blade slicing through flesh and bone.
He felt the car lurch as it went over a speed bump, his heart rose in his chest and then he blew out through pursed lips.
'Are you OK?' Bannister asked.
Lasser looked at him in surprise. 'Never better.'
Bannister grinned; Lasser could see the dried mud on his face crack into a multitude of tiny lines, 'Liar.'
129
By the time Shaun hailed the taxi, his camouflage jacket was rolled up inside the rucksack and he was sporting a clean, black, zip-up fleece.
'Miserable night ain't it?' The taxi driver said, as Shaun climbed into the back seat.
'You could say that.'
'So, where can I drop you?'
'You know Warwick Drive in Hindley?'
The driver grinned at him in the rear-view mirror. 'I know everywhere, pal.'
Twisted Page 31
