Twisted

  Twisted

  Books by Robin Roughley

  DS Lasser Crime Series

  The Needle House

  The Way That It Falls

  Tethered To The Dead

  Twisted

  More Equal Than Others

  Vanished Beneath

  Riven

  Bad Self

  Crave

  Moments Back

  Conspiracy of Ravens

  Dark Necessities

  Twisted – DS Lasser 4

  Author Robin Roughley

  Copyright © 2014 by Robin Roughley

  Published on Amazon 2014

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Cover design by Daniel Hammond

  Table of Contents

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  55

  56

  57

  58

  59

  60

  61

  62

  63

  64

  65

  66

  67

  68

  69

  70

  71

  72

  73

  74

  75

  76

  77

  78

  79

  80

  81

  82

  83

  84

  85

  86

  87

  88

  89

  90

  91

  92

  93

  94

  95

  96

  97

  98

  99

  100

  101

  102

  103

  104

  105

  106

  107

  108

  109

  110

  111

  112

  113

  114

  115

  116

  117

  118

  119

  120

  121

  122

  123

  124

  125

  126

  127

  128

  129

  130

  131

  132

  133

  134

  135

  136

  137

  138

  139

  140

  141

  142

  143

  144

  145

  146

  147

  148

  149

  150

  151

  TWISTED

  1

  Erin tried to sidestep the drunk but he threw out a hand, trapping her against the bar.

  'What do you think you're doing?' she snapped.

  The man lurched forward, breath redolent with booze, mingling with the pungent aroma of Poundshop aftershave. 'I bought you a Bacardi and Coke; cost me the best part of a fiver, I…'

  'What are you talking about; I've never seen you before in my life?' Erin grimaced and wafted a hand under her nose to clear the heady fumes.

  The man swayed from side to side, peering at her in confusion. 'You're not Sarah?' he hiccupped.

  Erin glowered before turning away, the place was heaving, a battered jukebox in the corner banging out dire eighties poodle-rock, it was no wonder Sarah had done her famous disappearing act.

  'Just a kiss eh, what d'ya reckon?' he ballooned towards her.

  'Look, you moron,' she thrust her left hand under his nose pointing at the wedding ring. 'If you don't go away I'll have to kick you in your special place and believe me in these shoes you'll feel it.'

  'Bloody dyke,' he spluttered, before staggering away.

  Erin watched in disbelief as he elbowed his way into the crowd.

  Checking her watch, she scanned the room; clusters of people were leaning in close as they fought to communicate against the screech of twin guitars.

  She knew coming out tonight had been a bad idea, Sarah had promised it was just for a quiet drink ''a chance to catch up''. Yet here she was stranded in some backstreet dive.

  Fumbling in her purse she counted the change, enough for a taxi. 'Right that's it, I'm gone,' she mumbled.

  Slipping the bag across her shoulder, she headed for the door, weaving her way through the revellers and onto the street.

  Not for the first time she wondered how Sarah found these hellholes, it was as if her friend had an inbuilt antenna for discovering dubious hostelries.

  As if on cue the rain began to fall, a fine drizzle that settled on her bare shoulders and set about transforming her hair into a tangled mess. Cursing her decision to leave the umbrella at home, she shivered and rubbed at her freezing arms.

  A ribbon of pitted, black tarmac stretched out before her, glistening in the sickly cone of the streetlights glare, the gaps between like black holes in space. Yanking out her phone, Erin set off walking, the click of her stilettos synchronising with the drone of the mobile.

  After half a minute, the call inevitably went through to voicemail. 'I'm heading home, Sarah, thanks for a great night. I really appreciate being left on my own in the middle of nowhere in the pissing rain,' she paused, 'again.'

  Dropping the phone into her bag, she frowned as a car glided slowly by like a punter looking for a whore, tyres hissing through standing water like a sharp intake of breath. She began to count the steps from one feeble pool of light to the next. The street was lined with box-like houses, uniform in their drabness, numerous For Sale signs sprouted from the tiny, weed-infested gardens. Suddenly, the drizzle morphed into a heavy downpour. Glancing at the battered sky, Erin wiped a hand across her forehead before flicking away the diamond droplets.

  If her husband could see her now he'd no doubt be delighted. Graham had urged her to take the umbrella and, as usual, she'd ignored his advice. Truth was he hated it went she went out, especially with Sarah, he called her a bad influence when really he meant slag. Though he'd never lower himself by using such language, it didn't fit the image, and Graha
m was all about image.

  Admittedly, Sarah's love life was volatile; she seemed to spend her waking hours lurching from one brief ineffectual relationship to the next. It was as if her friend was making up for lost time, trying to cram in as much as she could before she became too old to hit the hotspots of Wigan. Erin smiled at the thought and glanced over her shoulder, a reflex action, the smile faltering when she saw the figure following ten yards behind.

  Instinctively she tried to quicken her pace but the ludicrous heels made it impossible. Fumbling in her bag, Erin tried desperately to locate the phone; lipstick, foundation, tampon, she pushed them to one side and threw another panicked look over her shoulder. Suddenly acutely aware of her vulnerability. He was closing fast, a darker shadow moving into a halo of jaundiced light. She tried to see if it was the obnoxious drunk but the man had his head down as if trying to escape the worst of the rain. Or maybe it was a ploy to disguise his features, keeping them hidden until he attacked. Pulse racing, she scuttled across to the other side of the road, found the phone and slid it into the palm of her hand, quickly scrolling down the list until she came to Graham's name, her finger hovering over the number in indecision. Peering through the downpour, she held her breath as the man drew level, he flicked a look in her direction then continued walking, head downcast, shoulders hunched, his hands thrust into the pockets of a camouflaged jacket.

  Phone in hand, Erin heaved a sigh of relief and moved forward, the roles now reversed, as she became the reluctant pursuer.

  Perhaps she should just ring Graham; he'd come and pick her up, though she didn't think she could cope with the looks and sighs he'd inevitably dish out, the sanctimonious I-told-you-so expression on his face. It was surprising how you could overlook the annoying habits of those closest to you. Though lately she'd found it increasingly hard to ignore the faults in her husband, increasingly hard to love him. Before their marriage she'd found his quirks endearing, the way he'd insist on meeting her after a night out to make sure she got home safely, the way he'd ring nightly to swear his undying love. At the time it had seemed romantic in an obvious kind of way, three years down the line it felt childish and cloying. What had seemed sweet and innocent now felt stifling, the constant questions, ''where are you going, who with, what time will you be back?''

  It was beginning to grind her down and when Sarah had pointed out that he was doing it deliberately, Erin had felt the truth slam home with all the subtlety of a house brick smashing through a plate-glass window. Her friend had been right; Graham wasn't the type of man to try to dictate, he knew better than to push. Therefore, he was trying to chip away at her defences, using guerrilla tactics to break her a little at a time. Which somehow made the whole situation worse, it pointed to a slyness in her husband that she was quickly learning to despise.

  That's why she'd decided to come tonight, to break the pattern, her way of saying 'I'm onto you sunshine and don't you forget it'.

  The man was now twenty yards ahead so she dropped the phone back into the bag, suddenly feeling emotional and foolish.

  Through the drizzle mist a scruffy parade of shops gradually materialized. Heavy-duty mesh covered the windows, the holy trinity of chip shop, off licence and bookies all closed for the night. The pavement littered with discarded cigarette stumps and scrunched up betting slips.

  'What a dump,' she mumbled as she strode past before moving back into a block of shadow.

  'Please no!'

  Erin tottered to a stop on her skyscraper heels, the two breathless words instantly reigniting her fear.

  'Get – off – me,' the voice thick with dread drifted out of the darkened alleyway that ran down the side of the shops.

  Erin peered down the narrow passage. Someone grunted and she heard the unmistakable sound of clothing being torn. 'Please, I don't want…'

  'Shut your fucking mouth!'

  The words pushed Erin back until she stood on the edge of the kerb. Teetering on the abyss, she could feel the rain dragging at her hair, her skin sheathed in ice. She opened her mouth and nothing came out, her throat seemed to constrict, a voice inside told her to kick off the stupid shoes and run.

  'Leave her alone or I'll ring the police.' Erin tried to inject venom into the words and failed miserably, her hand once again buried in the bag as she frantically tried to locate her mobile for a second time in as many minutes.

  'Please, help me, I…'

  The voice was abruptly cut off; silence seemed to swell towards her, the rain intensified.

  Erin snatched out her phone the thin blue light illuminating her anguished features; she jabbed at the numbers, her fingers numb with terror.

  'Drop the phone, bitch,' the shadows shifted as the man slowly emerged from the darkness, right fist coiled in the hair of a woman bent double with pain.

  Erin stepped back, her foot slipped into the gutter, sinking ankle deep in filthy running water. 'Let her go, or I'll scream…' she pointed the phone as if it were a loaded gun instead of six ounces of recycled plastic.

  The man stopped, his face wreathed in shadow, the girl whimpered as he tightened his grip. 'Disappear, or I'll cut her throat.'

  Erin gasped as she saw the long blade flash for an instant before gliding back into the gloom.

  'Please, he's going to…' the girl gasped as he hauled down on her hair forcing her to her knees.

  Erin caught a glimpse of her features and her blood seemed to thicken in her veins. 'Sarah!'

  Her friend tried to swivel her head but the man grunted and tugged and suddenly she was lying face down amongst the cigarette ends and polystyrene burger boxes.

  Erin could see her pale legs in the gloom her feet beating a tattoo on the stone flags.

  'I won't tell you again,' he hissed.

  'Erin, please…'

  The man slammed his foot into her side, Sarah squealed in agony, her body jackknifing and then he lunged from the shadows. Erin saw the frenzied smile leach across his pock-marked face, black hair brushing the collar of a tatty denim jacket, the knife grasped in his right hand.

  'Fuck both you bitches,' he spat, as he closed the gap.

  Erin tried to move, tried to run and found that she couldn't. Twelve months earlier she'd gone to self-defence classes, completing the course had left her feeling empowered, confident in her ability to take care of herself. However, as he stormed towards her she realised all the role-playing in the world amounted to nothing when confronted with the real thing. She'd never considered herself a victim, nevertheless Erin Nash snapped her eyes closed and waited for the inevitable. Then she heard a heavy grunt and felt the air displaced around her, as if standing in the wake of a passing train. When she opened her eyes the man had vanished, Erin stood rigid in confusion, her mind trying to comprehend what had happened.

  'Bastard!'

  She snapped to the right, the aggressor was slowly climbing back to his feet. Erin recognised the man standing over him in the camouflaged jacket, his light-coloured hair turned dark by the rain.

  'I'll kill you for that!' the attacker screamed, lunging forward, the knife thrust out in front.

  The man spun away and then lashed out, his fist slammed into the side of the pock-marked face, the knife clattered to the floor, the blade picking up specks of meagre light. Staggering right, he hit the wire grill covering the window of the off-licence, immediately an alarm began to bleat. Shaking his head, the man snarled and Erin watched in amazement as a spasm jerked across his face, in an instant the look in his eyes morphed from fury to fear. Leaping to his feet, he looked around in panicked indecision and then miraculously he was running, his trainers splashing through the puddles of standing water. He sprinted through a pool of light and back into the shadows; every few seconds he'd look over his shoulder, an expression of dread smeared across his pale face, and then he was gone, disappearing down a side street.

  Casually the man kicked the knife into the rain-slick gutter before turning, 'Are you all right?'

  Sarah looked up,
her face bleached of colour, skin like tallow, and then she staggered forward and threw herself into his arms.

  Erin blew out a shuddering sigh, her nerves thrumming with the adrenalin rush, her left foot still submerged in the freezing water. When she looked at Sarah, she could see the rapt look in her eyes as she gazed up at her saviour.

  Typical.

  2

  Lasser caught the peanut in his mouth and grinned. 'Ta-dah – and for my next trick…'

  Medea smiled and threw another missile that bounced off his forehead before landing in his empty glass of beer.

  Lasser frowned. 'Hang on I wasn't ready for that one.'

  Picking up her glass, she raised an eyebrow and took a sip. The beer garden was deserted; they were sat at a table beneath an arched trellis, the scent of late-summer roses laced the soggy evening air.

  'Butterfingers,' she replied.

  Lasser peered into the glass and fished the nut out with his fingertips before popping it into his mouth, 'My turn.'

  Medea held up a hand. 'I don't think so, the last one nearly ended up in my ear.'

  'That's because you moved your head.'

  'But if I hadn't you'd have had my eye out.'

  'Rubbish.'

  She smiled. 'Come on, you know your eyesight isn't up to much.'