Blood Bought Page 4

  Bannister had accused him of modern day slavery and Lasser had told him to fuck off, leaving the DCI looking furious.

  'Where's Odette?' she asked as he pulled out a chair and sat down at the table.

  'Her mother and brother have moved out of the flat, so she decided to stay over there tonight just to tidy the place up a bit,' he said, repeating Odette's words to him as she drove away with a wave.

  'Oh OK,' Karen moved across the room and flicked the kettle on. 'I've done a casserole for tea.'

  Lasser felt his stomach rumble as she grabbed a pair of oven gloves and lifted the dish onto the table.

  Ten minutes later, he was mopping up the gravy with a chunk of homemade bread.

  'God, I was ready for that,' he said, carrying the plate over to the sink and washing it in the hot water before placing it on the drainer.

  'I've managed to save enough for the bond on a flat in town,' Karen said warily as he turned and looked at her.

  'That was quick.'

  'I just don't want to take advantage of you, you've been brilliant letting me stay here and to be honest I haven't been as happy in years.'

  'So why rush into taking on the rent?'

  She looked at him and shrugged. 'I guess I feel guilty about living here and you giving me money for doing a few meals and…'

  'Come on, we both know it's more than a few meals. The house is spotless and before you came along I ate nothing but crap, so you're helping with my wellbeing as well as my waistline.'

  Karen smiled slightly as he came and sat down at the table and then the smile faded.

  'OK, come on, what's the real reason?' he asked, pulling out the pack of cigarettes and lighting one.

  'Sometimes, I forget you're a detective,' she said, dusting the flour from her hands. 'It's just that if Odette is going to be spending more time back at her apartment then I can't expect you to give me her half as well.'

  Lasser smiled as the penny dropped. 'You've no need to worry about that, I…'

  'But I do worry, I can't help it.'

  Lasser thought for a moment before replying. 'Look, Karen, as far as I am concerned you are worth every penny. The truth is I got sick and tired of coming home to a place that never felt like home. Now it does, and I look forward to walking through the door instead of dreading it.'

  'Really?'

  'The money we've given you won't go very far, so for now just stay here and carry on saving and then if you feel the need to move then at least you'll have something at the back of you.'

  She looked at him, his eyes locked on her face, his hair still damp from the shower, his chin freshly shaved. When she nodded, she saw the relief in his eyes and wondered at it.

  There was no doubt Lasser was a good-looking guy, yet he had no one in his life, no girlfriend to share it with. She had always suspected that the police worked long hours, but she had never dreamt just how punishing the job was. Over the last few months she could count the times on one hand where she had seen either Lasser or Odette really relax in the house. Normally, they would dash in and grab something to eat before leaving again. Sometimes, she had woken in the night to hear the front door closing as Lasser drove off into the darkness only to return hours later looked tired and drained.

  'OK, as long as you're sure, I'll stay.'

  Lasser grinned before taking another pull on the cigarette. 'Nice one,' he said with more than a hint of relief in his voice.

  9

  The woman sat with her feet tucked beneath her on the sofa, the tablet resting on her knees as she checked her inbox, opening the single message she had left when she had deleted the others at the coffee shop.

  It had taken her a while to compose the original email, to get it right; it was like fishing in many ways, all about making the bait as tantalising as possible without revealing too much.

  She scanned the message, a small smile curling her full lips as she spotted the keywords in the reply.

  Words and phrases like ''keen to meet'' and ''sharing the same passion'' leapt out at her, branding themselves onto her brain and setting off the familiar jolts of fury.

  Reaching out, she picked up the glass and took a sip of red wine, tasting the dark fruit on her lips as she scanned the rest of the message.

  Half a minute later, she had finished the drink. Placing the tablet onto the sofa, she rose to her feet and walked through the apartment to the kitchen before rinsing the glass and heading back into the lounge. She hesitated in the doorway, her eyes looking around the flat, her mind on the email. The woman blinked several times before crossing to the window, she could see light in the distance from the Orwell pub and beyond that the dark ribbon of the canal shining in the rising moonlight. The ring road was clogged with traffic as people went about their business, the roadside lights weaving away into the darkness.

  Moving from the window, she went back to the sofa and picked up the tablet, going over the email one last time before firing off a quick response. Then she checked the local website for the latest news on the body found in the woods.

  Nothing had changed from two hours earlier and she smiled, reliving the moment when the hunter became the hunted and the knife had plunged into his chest.

  Turning back to the tablet, she went into her saved emails and read the one that the dead man had sent. It bore similarities to the new one, desperately trying to appear nonchalant and yet she could sense the dark thrill running through the words. Words like ''chase'' and ''capture'' caught her eye, the word ''PUNISHMENT'' had been in capitals and she snorted in derision. The man had been confident in his abilities, but the truth was she had been forced to slow down to allow him to catch up. He had been weak, his body gym-toned, but she suspected he had bulked up on steroids believing that bigger meant faster and stronger. The woman knew that any form of drugs used to build muscle only slowed the individual down, disguising the weaknesses inherent in the overconfident male.

  She could see the guy's face, the sneer on his lips as he looked her up and down as if the race was already won and the prize claimed. Then she pictured the agony in his eyes as she slowly drew the blade from his chest, all the self-belief had vanished, leaving behind the frightened boy. Death was a time machine that transported the victim back to when they had nothing, when they were reliant on others to help them through life. A parent or sibling showing you how to walk or talk, death took you right back to those weakling days, stripping away any notion of greatness and leaving the shivering child behind.

  When the tablet pinged, she glanced at the screen, the smile widening as she read the message.

  'Fool,' she hissed before heading for the shower.

  10

  Randal Archer loitered in the doorway of the boarded-up Oxfam shop.

  Inside his overcoat he shivered and rubbed his hands together in an effort to generate some heat.

  Half an hour earlier, he had been in the park when Marv Bunting had called him on his battered Nokia and told him that the coppers had dragged them in for questioning.

  'Jesus Christ, what did they want?' Archer had asked and then winced as Marv went into a tirade of abuse.

  'If I'd have known where you were then I would have grassed you up, you bastard. Lucky for you I left my phone behind when they pulled us in else they'd have your number with my blessing, you cunt-faced prick.'

  'But…'

  'Jim Crow is fucking fuming, that bastard Lasser broke his nose and kneed him in the bollocks, and Crow blames you.'

  'Lasser?' Archer swallowed down the sense of dread.

  'I mean, what the fuck have you been up to, you twat?' Marv had snarled.

  Archer had stabbed at the end button and thrust the phone into his pocket before heading out across the park. He'd tried to settle down under the canopy of the bandstand, but he had never liked the dark, it made him nervous. After ten minutes of sitting crossed-legged and staring out into the rain he had started to imagine all sorts of distressing images. Twice he could have sworn he saw a shape morphi
ng out of the darkness and he had held his breath, the fear growing as he imagined Lasser striding towards him, his face running with water, his black eyes pinning him to the spot.

  In the end the strain had been too much, he had all but run across the park and back to the town centre. Though if he had been hoping for some kind of relief then he was sadly mistaken. Standing in the doorway he felt more vulnerable than ever, every time a car went by, tyres hissing in the rain, he would feel the fear flare inside. All it would take was a cop car to go by, they'd be bound to see him standing in the doorway and no doubt the car would pull over to the kerb… and then it would all be over.

  He pictured an interview room at the station and Lasser walking through the door, his face sporting a smile that never touched his eyes.

  Lasser wouldn't be fobbed off with any bullshit that he tried to spin, he would keep asking him the same things over and over again until he cracked and then…

  Randal Archer blinked as the rain intensified, the fear inside igniting into terror as he realised he was caught between a rock and a very hard place. He had been on King Street the night Minnie Burrows was taken, he had watched her climb into the car, and then the man behind the wheel had glanced his way, and Archer had felt the first thrum of fear as the driver glared at him, a face from the past, a face that had made Archer swallow in remembered terror.

  Reaching out a hand, he turned it palm upwards, feeling the cold rain fall on his hot skin. He thought of going back to the flat, but the risk was too great, the coppers could be watching the place, or worse still someone else could be hiding in the shadows, someone who would have no interest in taking him in for questioning.

  'Sweet Jesus,' Archer hissed as he realised he was trapped on the streets.

  It had been one of the working girls who had told him that Lasser was looking for him, and as soon as he heard the name he knew he had to run and hide. The problem was he had nowhere to run to, the filth had already been to see the Buntings and they were the only friends he had, and now even that avenue of escape had been cut off.

  Another car went gliding by and suddenly Randal Archer stepped out into the downpour, he had no idea where he was going he simply knew that standing in a doorway on the High Street was tantamount to suicide.

  Within seconds, he was drenched as he stalked away into the night, his body shaking, his eyes full of fear.

  11

  Karen lifted his coat off the radiator and Lasser smiled in thanks as he slipped into the warm jacket.

  It had been late when he received the call from Bannister telling him that they had a name and address for the owner of the car.

  'I want you over there first thing, his name is Edward Clark, a rep for a local company who sell double glazing. Divorced, no kids as far as we can gather. Anything you find out then I want to know about it.'

  Lasser had grunted an acknowledgment before rolling over and falling back to sleep. Now, he headed for the door, grimacing when he saw the waterlogged front garden, the street looking drab as the ceaseless rain lashed down.

  'I was thinking of making a curry for later,' Karen said as she stood on the step, her arms folded, her face pinched as she watched the rain hammer down.

  Lasser pulled the hood over his head and smiled. 'Well, looking at the weather I'd say a blow-your-socks-off curry would warm the bones.'

  'When you say ''blow-your-socks-off'' how hot do you actually want it?'

  'Paint-stripping hot,' he winked before striding down the drive.

  Karen watched him climb into the car, a smile on her face as she closed the door on the foul weather.

  Pulling away from the kerb Lasser flicked the wipers on, stifling a yawn as he pulled out his cigarettes and lit his first one of the day.

  At the junction, he paused for a break in the traffic before being flashed out by a smiling woman in a small white van. For the briefest of moments Lasser smiled back and she gave him the thumbs up, her face was petite and framed by a mass of wild dark hair, held back from her forehead with a red ribbon. Pulling out, he glanced in the mirror to see the woman singing, her hands drumming on the wheel as she followed. The morning rush-hour traffic was already backlogging, and he felt the familiar frustration building as he crawled along in the queue. Seconds later, the traffic came to a halt; he checked his interior mirror, the woman in the van was still singing, her shoulders swaying from side to side to the music, her eyes closed, the smile still lighting up her face.

  Clearing his throat, Lasser shook his head and smiled at the image but then he thought of Minnie Burrows and the shoe he had found in the cloying mud and the smile slipped from his face; he pictured the filthy mattress and the discarded rubbers, the twin ropes hanging from the tree. He had seen plenty of distressing images in this job, a never-ending parade of the dead and maimed, each one leaving their scars, some deeper than others. Yet there was something about the narrow stretch of woodland that made his skin crawl. It wasn't just the dogging aspect, after all he knew there were various places around town that were haunts for strangers looking for outdoor sex with like-minded people. No, it was the mattress that somehow made the whole thing more sordid, more depraved. He thought of Minnie being forced through the tall ferns, her shoe coming off as she was pushed along, no doubt terrified when she saw the small clearing and the foul, squalid mattress on the ground. Then the shadowy shapes appearing through the darkness, slimy tongues licking thin lips, eyes rabid with want as she was thrust forwards.

  The van behind sounded its horn and Lasser blinked in surprise as he saw the traffic in front driving off. Raising a hand in apology, he saw the dark-haired woman smiling again, her face lit with a kind of calm, inner light as if she had all the time in the world to reach her destination. Lasser moved forward, slotting into second gear and then third as the traffic swept through the lights.

  He tried to think where Randal Archer had vanished to and why he hadn't come forward. He was under no illusion, Archer would know by now that they were looking for him, in the past he had always come forward to help out with information. So, what was different about this scenario?

  He had told Bannister that Archer was no killer and he still believed that, but the trouble was he could imagine Archer suggesting a girl to a would-be punter, or at least pointing one out. Lasser's eyes narrowed as he thought things through.

  Perhaps that was it, Archer had simply pointed Minnie out to someone, saying she was a great screw but when she had turned up, raped and strangled, Archer had gone into hiding.

  Lasser pursed his lips and nodded his head slightly as if agreeing with his internal thought processes.

  At the next set of lights, the white van pulled up on his right and he found himself staring at the woman who continued to sing, her silver-beringed fingers still tapping out a rhythm to the music, her body still swaying slightly, her eyes momentarily closed. Then she opened them and glanced left as if sensing she was being watched, when she saw Lasser she smiled, her brown eyes warm and friendly, although this time he saw a hint of colour in her cheeks and then she shrugged as if almost apologising for something.

  This time it was Lasser who smiled and gave her the thumbs up, the lights changed, and she gave a small wave before turning right.

  Ten minutes later, he drove through Appley Bridge and turned left onto an estate made up of semi-detached properties, the gardens nice and tidy, typical two-car family homes bought by those who were fortunate enough to have a job.

  Spotting the sign for Winter Grove his eyes widened slightly in surprise as he turned onto the short stretch of road and pulled up outside number ten. The wipers continued to wash the water from the screen as he looked through the side window at the bungalow. The grass was short, a hanging basket dangled from a hook under the front porch, the flowers long since dead, leaving a few trails of green foliage dangling in the wet air. As expected, the double glazing looked new.

  When he saw the woman with short, black hair appear on the step of the house next door he pus
hed the door open and leapt out. By the time he made it to her drive she was bending down to pick up the pint of milk from the doorstep.

  She looked up and he saw her eyes spring wide in surprise, slowing down he plastered a smile on his face.

  'Lasser, what are you doing here?' she asked.

  'How are you, Ruby?'

  She held the bottle of milk close to her chest, her delicate features looked the same as the last time he had seen her, her chocolate-coloured eyes were still wide in surprise.

  'I'm good, but…'

  'I'm afraid it's business rather than pleasure, though it's great to see you again.'

  He saw the hint of colour in her cheeks as she smiled tentatively. 'And you,' she said as she looked into his dark eyes before quickly looking away.

  Lasser stepped forward, the hood of his jacket pulled up over his head. 'The guy next door…'

  'Clark?'

  Lasser nodded. 'How well do you know him?'

  'He moved in about eight months ago. We've spoken a couple of times, but let's just say he's a little on the pushy side.'

  '''Pushy'', how?'

  Ruby glanced at the house next door as if afraid of being overheard.

  The rain continued to fall, when the man appeared at her back and smiled, Lasser blinked beneath the hood.

  'Do you need some cash to pay the milkman?' he asked, hooking an arm around her shoulder.

  Lasser saw Ruby's face flush with colour.

  He managed to keep the sigh at bay, but only just, as she turned to the man and shook her head.

  'He isn't the milkman, he's a detective.'

  The man looked surprised for a moment and then the smile was back. 'Caught up with you at last then, Ruby.'

  'Can you put the milk in the fridge, Kev?' she asked, thrusting the bottle into his hand.