More Equal Than Others. The DS Lasser series. Volume five: Robin Roughley

by Robin Roughley

  Bannister looked at the weeble man in disbelief; Lasser braced himself for the onslaught.

  'No Mr Bolt, I'm making it up, I mean, I'm surprised you don't see the funny side?'

  'But...'

  'So come on I want to know when you last saw Philips?'

  Carly cleared her throat. 'Well it must be about six or seven weeks ago.'

  'Six or seven weeks! I thought you checked on these people on a weekly basis?'

  'As I already explained...'

  'I'm asking her not you!' Bannister snapped.

  Bolt swallowed his face puce with embarrassment.

  Hughes straightened her shoulders, her pale eyes flashed in anger. 'Do you have any idea of my workload, inspector?'

  'I don't care...'

  'Last year I had over seventy cases that include a large number of people like Philips. I also look after children on the at-risk register. This year, thanks to the cuts, I've had to take on twice that amount. That's over a hundred and fifty cases spread out over a thirty-mile radius. I spend my life trying to prioritise...'

  'I...'

  She cut Bannister short with the swipe of her hand. 'So come on, you tell me, who should I see first a child living in an abusive environment or someone like Philips?'

  Bannister glared at her before turning back to Bolt. 'So come on, answer the woman.'

  Lasser felt the corners of his mouth twitch before covering the grin with his hand.

  Bolt looked ready the leap from the window. 'Well we leave that to the individual caseworker.'

  'So you keep stacking up the work and sod the consequences!'

  'I...'

  'I mean a hundred and fifty cases - how the hell is someone meant to do their job when they have a workload like that?'

  Carly looked at Bolt and raised an eyebrow.

  Bolt looked mortified. 'Look, I don't know what you expect me to do about all this...'

  'I expect you to manage the situation not sit there on your fat arse and pass the buck!'

  Bolt, jumped to his feet, his shirt stretched over his bloated stomach, his piggy eyes furious.

  'I will not be spoken to like that, I don't care who you are!' With that, he stormed across the room slamming the door on the way out.

  Bannister grinned and shook his head. 'Right Carly, let's start again, the last time you saw Philips what did you make of him?'

  Carly looked towards the door in confusion before turning back to Bannister. 'Er, he seemed ok I suppose.'

  'So he was behaving himself?' Lasser asked.

  She leaned forward in her chair, Bannister felt like the piggy in the middle. 'Look, I'm not qualified to answer that; I mean he was on medication for his condition.'

  'We realise that, in fact that's how we found out he'd been murdered, he missed an appointment for his meds.'

  Carly frowned. 'I checked his records and he'd never missed before.'

  'So as far as you're concerned, he was sticking to the programme?'

  'Well yes, I mean I know I should have called back but like I said it's hard to cover so many cases.'

  Lasser nodded in understanding. 'And what about James Sanderford?'

  'God don't tell me he's dead as well?'

  'We just want to find him then we can have a word.'

  Carly's shoulders lifted and then fell. 'He was one of my new cases, I saw him about two months ago.'

  'Two months.' Bannister could feel his anger starting to build again.

  'I make a point of reading the notes on all new cases and there was nothing to suggest that he needed careful supervision.'

  'Would it have made any difference if there had been?' Bannister asked.

  'Like I said, we're fighting a losing battle here. I mean for a town this size it seems we have more than our fair share of ex sex offenders.'

  'Right well, thanks for your cooperation.' Bannister leapt to his feet.

  'I'm sorry, I know it's not much but believe me I try my best, in fact we all do.'

  Bannister fastened his jacket. 'I'm sure you do Mrs Hughes, and I'm sorry if I came over heavy handed.'

  'Well you certainly gave Harry a rocket.'

  Bannister smiled. 'Yes I did, didn't I?'

  Lasser patted him on the back. 'Bravo, sir.'

  Bannister threw Lasser a frown. 'All right sergeant, no need to take the piss.'

  Lasser looked back as if butter wouldn't melt.

  CHAPTER 29

  Brewster sat in the plush foyer; the wall facing him adorned with pictures of famous headline stories from various red top newspapers. The last time he'd been here, one of his own scoops had been up there. That had been in the glory days when the name Michael Brewster had meant something. When editors would crawl over broken glass to have him come and work for them, before the downfall into shame and obscurity. Setting up the meeting had meant calling in one or two favours and a certain amount of arse licking, Brewster was determined to make sure he didn't blow it.

  He allowed himself a tight smile, fact was, he held all the aces, and after the meeting was over, he would be riding the crest of a wave straight back to where he belonged.

  The receptionist picked up the phone and then looked over to Brewster; he smiled and received a frown in return.

  'Mr Lewis will see you now,' she said tartly.

  Brewster gave her a cold look as he sauntered past; knocking once on the door, he squared his shoulders and strode into the room.

  It had been two years since he'd last clapped eyes on Shane Lewis, of all the editors he had worked for Lewis was the one he hated the most.

  'Nice to see you Shane,' he lied as he made his way over to a chair.

  Lewis sat like a smug Buddha in his leather swivel chair. 'Well I'll admit I didn't expect to see you again, at least not in this lifetime.'

  Brewster sat opposite and smiled. 'You know me, Shane, I always bounce back.'

  'I prefer to think of you as the turd in the swimming pool, tasteless yet somehow inevitable.' Lewis said with a smarmy smile.

  Brewster let the insult wash over him, he'd been called worse. 'I see the weave has taken hold at last,' he said pointing at Lewis's hair.

  The editor scowled before running a self-conscious hand over his hair, patting it to make sure it hadn't blown away. 'What do you want, Brewster?'

  'Believe it or not I'm here to make your day.'

  'Somehow I doubt that.'

  Brewster shrugged. 'What would you say if I offered you an exclusive?'

  'I'd say there's the door, goodbye.'

  'Come on Shane, we go back a long way.'

  'Unfortunately, I'm aware of that but have you forgotten what happened? I mean the world is full of tasteless stories, walk down any high street and everyone has a story to tell. But you were never satisfied with that were you, you had to start making things up.'

  'I prefer to call it spicing the facts.'

  'Spicing the facts my arse,' Lewis drummed his hands on the desk. 'I trusted you and you made bloody fools of the lot of us.'

  'I...'

  'People in this industry have a hard enough time getting people to open up to them and after your debacle it's a damn sight harder.'

  'You always were one for exaggerating, Shane.'

  Lewis looked at Brewster as if he were the lowest form of pond life. 'Get out Michael; I have nothing to say to you.'

  'Are you sure about that?'

  'Positive now go.' Lewis pointed towards the door.

  Brewster was starting to enjoy himself, lifting his shoulders he shrugged before dragging the photographs from his pocket. Tossing them onto the desk, he stood up and headed slowly for the door.

  Reaching for the handle, he heard the sharp intake of breath.

  'Michael wait!'

  Brewster turned and raised an eyebrow. 'Something to say Shane?'

  'Where did you get these?'

  'You don't need to concern yourself with that, like you said I have nothing that you would be interested in.' He made a show o
f opening the door; the receptionist looked over towards him, a puckered frown on her Botoxed forehead.

  'Michael, Mike just hang on!'

  Brewster ignored the editor and strode out into the foyer, a spring in his step, his freshly washed hair bounced, he felt immense.

  'Michael for God's sake!'

  Brewster stopped in front of the receptionist; she looked at Shane Lewis in surprise.

  'What do you want, Shane? I gave you you're chance. I'm sure Bernie Hardman will appreciate my offer.'

  When Lewis smiled, it looked sickly. 'Come on now let's not be hasty.'

  'I offered you an exclusive,' Brewster poked a finger at the editor's chest. 'I thought you'd jump at the chance but you'd sooner take the piss.'

  'Look, come back into the office and let's talk about this.' Lewis wheedled forward and plucked at Brewster's sleeve. 'Like you said, we go back a long way.'

  Pursing his lips, Michael tilted his head. 'I can give you ten minutes but unless you come up with the goods then I'm out of here.'

  'Of course, of course.'

  Brewster grinned and headed back towards the office.

  Lewis looked at the wide-eyed receptionist. 'Carol hold all of my calls.'

  'But you have an appointment with Barry Rigby in twenty minutes.'

  'Reschedule it.'

  'But...'

  'Just bloody do it!' he hissed.

  Brewster waited in the doorway of Lewis's office; the smile on his face grew as he watched the editor flapping.

  Oh yes, it felt great to be back.

  CHAPTER 30

  Bannister waited for the last of the stragglers to take their seats. 'Right you lot settle down!'

  Heads turned, throats cleared.

  Bannister rose from his seat and pointed at the corkboard pinned to the wall; an image of Colin Philips’ severed head had been stuck to the surface, the comb over was back in place though it did little to improve the sight.

  'Colin Philips or what's left of him. Probably murdered late Thursday night, we have the head but so far no body.'

  Turning, he scanned the room; blank faces peered back at him. 'So come on what are we doing about finding the rest of him?'

  No one leapt up to provide an answer, Bannister pointed at DI Chadwick sitting in the front row.

  'Well, we've checked with the neighbours, sir, though no one seems to know anything about Philips or his movements. In fact, one or two claim they didn't even realise anyone was living in the flat.'

  Bannister lowered his head and placed his big hands on the tabletop.

  Lasser winced, as Bannister looked up, his face enraged. 'So I take it its pointless asking about the remains we found in Skitters Wood or the whereabouts of James Sanderford?'

  Lasser scanned the room, people had their heads lowered, one or two looked completely baffled as if they had no idea what the DCI was talking about.

  'I mean, we have a head in a microwave, body parts littered all over town and all you can tell me is that the neighbours didn't even know Philips was living there!'

  DI Chadwick looked crestfallen.

  'Right, what about Sanderford?' he asked.

  Lasser could feel the tension in the room mount, someone coughed, and then another joined in.

  Bannister rapped his knuckles on the desk. 'Right, I want you all back out there, Chadwick, you get back to Sanderford's, I want this man found. We know he'd spent time with Philips, I want to know what they were up to.'

  'Yes sir,' Chadwick snapped to attention.

  'Bob, you take over the search of Skitters Wood, I want all CCTV in the surrounding streets checking, the killer must have had a car parked somewhere nearby, I want it found.'

  'Right boss,' Bob Fletcher brushed a fleck of lint from his trousers with nicotine stained fingers.

  'Wright, get back to Park Lane, find out if Lucy Croft has remembered anything else.'

  Sally Wright nodded.

  Bannister clapped his hands. 'Now listen to me, I know Philips was a piece of shit but we can't have someone running around town cutting off bloody body parts. So no slacking, I want the man responsible found and that means pulling out all the stops, are we all clear on that?'

  A chorus of 'Yes sir’s' filled the room and then people began to scrape back their chairs and head for the exit. DI Chadwick threw Lasser a sour frown as he strode past.

  Bannister waited until the room had emptied before slumping back into his chair.

  'Do you ever get the feeling; it's going to be a hard few days, sergeant?'

  Lasser stretched out his legs and stifled a yawn. 'Any chance of taking another week off?'

  'Get to the back of the queue.' Bannister barked.

  CHAPTER 31

  Brewster ordered a double whisky, taking the glass back to the table he watched as the pub began to fill with early evening revellers. Smiling, he tilted the glass, savouring the taste as it glided down his throat.

  By the end of the meeting, Lewis had agreed to all his terms without exception. Brewster stretched out his legs, first thing in the morning; he would go and see the editor of the local rag and hand in his notice. The thought of stuffing the hand written confirmation down the man's scrawny throat filled him with a sense of immense glee.

  The small internal voice urged him not to burn all his bridges but Brewster took no notice.

  Lewis was pulling a late one, personally overseeing the morning edition of the Star. Brewster had agreed the layout, making sure his name appeared in large font.

  When his phone began to vibrate, he yanked it from his pocket, rose to his feet and headed for the gents, as he pushed through the door he slid the phone to his ear.

  'Hello.'

  'So Michael, did you sort it?'

  Finding an empty cubicle, Brewster moved inside and locked the door. 'The Star’s going to be running with it the morning edition, front page.'

  'See, I knew my faith in you wasn't misplaced.'

  Dropping the toilet lid Brewster sat down. 'So what happens next?'

  'Patrick Wilson.'

  Brewster felt like rubbing his hands together, 'When?'

  'The police will want to know how you knew about Colin Philips.'

  'Fuck em, I don't give a shit what they want.'

  A deep chuckle rumbled from the phone. 'That's the spirit Michael, but when you go back into the pub I want you to check under your seat.'

  Brewster suddenly broke out in a cold sweat. 'Hang on, how the hell do you know where I am?'

  'That's unimportant.'

  'Have you been following me?' The thought made his stomach flip with anxiety.

  'It pays to keep tabs, Michael; you of all people should know that.'

  'But...'

  'Now get back to your seat before someone walks off with your prezzie.'

  'I...'

  The phone died, Brewster frowned before shoving the mobile into his pocket. As he exited the cubicle, a young man was busy feeding loose change into the Durex machine on the wall.

  'Have you seen this, they do bloody liquorice flavoured Johnnies?' The man hiccupped, his eyes bleary with booze.

  'It takes allsorts,' Brewster quipped before pushing through the door.

  A line of heavy drinkers sat at the bar, Brewster could see a young woman with bleached blonde hair sitting alone at a table, no doubt waiting for her boyfriend to come back from the toilets with his exotic condom, poor cow, he thought as he headed back to his seat.

  Sitting down, he reached under the seat and pulled the plastic carrier bag free; four new mobile phones lay in the bottom. Brewster smiled.

  CHAPTER 32

  By the time Lasser arrived home, it was starting to go dark, the streetlights flickering out pitiful cones of light.

  As soon as he opened the door, the delicious smell of cooking food wafted out to meet him.

  For a moment, he stood in the doorway and wondered how long his luck would last. He had no idea what a woman like Medea was doing with someone like him. When
he'd asked her to get engaged it had been with a sense of desperation. He had a burning fear that she would soon realise she could do a lot better than shack up with a lowly DS, who spent every waking hour chasing his own arse. The fact that she'd agreed had been nothing short of miraculous, though he couldn't shake the feeling that she would wake up one morning and realise she'd made a calamitous mistake.

  'Penny for them?'

  Lasser looked up, Medea stood in the kitchen doorway, wearing the nifty black two-piece she wore for work, her hair tied back in a tight bun, the sexy librarian look, a slight frown on her flawless face.

  'I was just thinking I could do with cutting the front lawn,' he replied hooking a thumb over his shoulder at the six-inch grass.

  Medea narrowed her eyes. 'As far as I know that's the first time you've told me a lie.'

  Lasser blinked. 'I'm sorry?'

  'Come on your tea’s ready,' she turned away leaving Lasser to close the door, red faced.

  Dragging off his jacket, he slipped it onto the banister before making his way into the kitchen.

  'If you must know, I was wondering what I'd done to deserve all this.'

  Pulling open the fridge, Medea lifted out a bottle of wine. 'It's only a casserole, nothing to get excited about.'

  'I'm talking about me and you.'

  Placing the bottle onto the worktop, she slid open a drawer and went in search of a corkscrew. 'You want to break off the engagement, is that it?'

  At first, Lasser thought he'd heard her wrong, she stood with her back to him her head lowered hands buried amongst the knives and forks.

  'What?' he asked in disbelief.

  Medea turned; Lasser could see the doubt in her eyes. 'It works both ways you know.'

  For a couple of seconds, he couldn't move and then he was striding towards her. Slipping his hands onto her hips, he pulled her close. 'I love you, Med, you must know that?'

  She smiled up at him, tears shimmering in her eyes. 'I know you worry that I'll somehow get fed up with all this. I know the job gets you down but you don't have to worry I'm going nowhere.'

  Wrapping his arms around her, he breathed in the scent of her hair, the sweet aroma of fresh apples. 'I'm an idiot,' he mumbled.

  'I understand it's hard for you letting someone in...'