'I know what you were saying, but there's a time and place and right now is not the time to be taking the piss!'
Doc Shannon emerged from the darkness like a disgruntled troll.
'Evening doc.'
'I'm getting sick of this,' Shannon snapped back. 'Every time my head hits the pillow the phone rings and it's you on the other end, my wife's beginning to think we're having a gay relationship...'
'What's the matter with you, you're getting paid!' Bannister said with a grimace.
'Money isn't everything.' Shannon snapped.
'That's easy to say when you're rolling in the stuff.'
Shannon grabbed the torch from Lasser and pointed it at the statue. 'I don't see you giving any of your cash away, inspector.'
Lasser hid the grin in the dark, turning it off when Bannister snapped him a fiery look.
'So come on, earn your bloody keep,' Bannister barked.
'Don't bother giving him the kiss of life, he's dead.'
'What is it with you two,' Bannister snarled. 'I mean are you trying to form a double act or do you just enjoy taking the piss?'
Shannon waddled up to the statue, keeping the torch trained on the ruined head. 'It looks like another wound caused by a broad blade.'
'Axe again?' Lasser asked.
'Could be.'
'Right Lasser, we can leave this in our esteemed colleague’s hands.'
Shannon turned, blinding them both with the torchlight. 'Hang on where are you going?'
'Barlow's?' Lasser offered.
Bannister clicked off his light. 'Precisely.'
'But...'
'Don't worry Doctor, DI Chadwick and Cooper will be here any minute.'
'That's hardly the point.'
'What's the matter scared of the dark are we?'
Shannon frowned. 'Ha, bloody ha.'
Bannister grinned in return. 'Come on sergeant; let's see if we can find the rest of Mr Barlow.'
Shannon sighed as the two men strode away along the darkened path. 'Idiots,' he mumbled before turning back to the statue.
CHAPTER 49
Medea was half way across the kitchen when she heard the side gate slam. The sound stopped her in her tracks, coffee slipped over the rim of the cup, and she gasped as the hot liquid splashed onto her hand. Swapping the cup from one hand to the other, she wiped her hand on the side of her dressing gown her ears straining to pick up the slightest noise.
Moving to the left, she placed the drink on the table and crossed to the kitchen window. Hesitating, Medea grabbed the cord on the blind, took a deep breath, and yanked down. The blind zipped up with a screech. Leaning over the sink, she peered into the back garden though all she could see were shadows and her own reflection looking back at her with wide eyes.
'Idiot,' she mumbled to herself. It was probably next door’s cat leaping onto the top of the gate before dropping down onto the other side.
Sliding the blind back down, she turned on the tap before thrusting her hand into the stream of cold water, wincing at the sensation.
Drying her hand on a tea towel, she thought about Lasser and the look of fear in his eyes as he'd woken from the nightmare. Twice whilst they'd been away on holiday, she'd watched him as he thrashed under the duvet, his face etched with terror as his fevered brain replayed the death of his ex-lover. Dropping the towel onto the worktop, Medea tried to think if there was something she could do to help. Perhaps he needed to see a specialist, though she had no idea how to broach the subject. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel as if she were trying to eradicate Cathy from his memory banks.
'It's only been twelve months,' she whispered. Perhaps he just needed time to work things through in his head.
Lifting the cup from the table, she took a sip of coffee and looked at the engagement ring, a frown plucked at her forehead. Had asking her to marry him been a knee jerk reaction to Cathy's death? The frown turned into a grimace and she shook her head at the notion. Lasser wasn't like that, though now the seed had been planted, the idea that she was somehow a replacement bloomed.
'No way,' she snapped as she made her way across the room. Flicking off the light she made her way upstairs, her normally ordered mind suddenly in chaos.
CHAPTER 50
Bannister shone the maglight through the letterbox, the beam of light fell onto the body sprawled in the hallway, hush puppies facing the door, dark blood had sprayed up the walls and a huge stain spread out from where Martin Barlow's head used to sit.
'It's him,' Bannister snapped off the torch and stood up.
'Well at least this time we don't have to play hunt the body parts.' Lasser said.
'Get on the blower; I want Molder out here...'
'Molder's on holiday.'
'Again!'
'That's what Doc Shannon said.'
'Christ, sometimes I think I'm the only one around here who actually does any work.'
'Why is he moving the bodies around?'
'What?'
Lasser fiddled with the cigarettes in his pocket.
'Come on man, get them out.'
'What do you mean?'
'The cigarettes, and light me one while you're at it.'
Lasser didn't need telling twice, sparking up, he handed one over before taking a huge drag on his own cigarette. 'He kills Philips at the second hand warehouse...'
'We don't know that for sure.'
'You didn't see the place.'
Bannister grunted and blew smoke into the darkness.
'Then he loads the body parts into a sodding pram, and goes to the other side of town to dispose of them, and then at some point, he goes to Philips flat and stuffs his head in the microwave.'
'Bizarre.'
'Then we have the remains in Skitters Wood, why cut off the hands, feet and head, what's the point?'
'That's what we have to find out sergeant, and quick, because if the killer is in touch with Brewster then that twat will have a field day. He'll keep us in the dark and have us chasing our arses around town while his mate goes ape shit with his axe.'
'And now we have Barlow.'
'I wonder if the park could be a link?'
Lasser flicked his ash into the flowerbed. 'I don't see how.'
'Just because you don't see it doesn't mean it's not a possibility.'
'Fair enough.'
Bannister looked up at the star filled sky. 'There's one thing we're overlooking, sergeant.'
'What's that?'
'How does the killer know about the sex offenders in the first place?'
Lasser blinked. 'Perhaps Brewster's feeding him the details.'
Bannister thought for a moment before shaking his head. 'I don't buy it, Brewster might be a lot of things, all of them deeply unpleasant, but he knows that doing something like that would mean a long stretch inside if he got caught. Besides, this is classified information, Brewster wouldn't have access.'
'So what are you saying?'
'I'm saying that either the killer is in a position to access the information himself or he's being fed by someone who has the names.'
Lasser watched the end of Bannister's cigarette flair as he took a long pull.
'Carly Hughes.'
Bannister frowned. 'What about her?'
'Well she must have a list of names...'
'So she's having these people cut up into little pieces to ease her workload is that what you're suggesting?
Lasser could hear the derision coming through loud and clear. 'No of course not, but what about those who lost their jobs in the cutbacks?'
This time it was Bannister's turn to blink. 'First thing in the morning sergeant, you make it your business to find out.'
'No problem.'
Flicking the cigarette into the bushes, Bannister dragged out his phone. 'Right, let's give Doc Shannon the run-around.'
CHAPTER 51
Despite the presence of three police cars, an ambulance, and Doc Shannon's battered old Land Rover the small cul-de-sac remained empty of nosey
neighbours. Lasser could see the lights on in the house opposite though no one had come to the door to see what all the fuss was about, the curtains had remained firmly closed, not a twitch in sight.
Headlights flared and Lasser watched as Carl from the SOCO team pulled onto the drive in his white van. He was already suited and booted as he clambered out and headed over.
'It's a busy old night, Carl.' Lasser said with a smile.
'Tell me about it, I was on my way back to the lab with Barlow's head in the back when I got the call.'
Lasser hooked a thumb over his shoulder. 'The rest of him is that a way.'
'Well that's something I suppose.'
'How did it pan out at the park?'
Carl pulled a dome shaped paper mask from his pocket. 'Bedlam. After you left a shed load of reporters turned up, vans everywhere.'
'I hope you smiled for the camera?'
'I tell you, Chadwick and Cooper looked ready to pitch a fit.'
Lasser felt a warm inner glow at the thought. 'Any sign of Brewster?'
'Well he could have been there but I didn't see him.'
Lasser sniffed at the sky. 'Come on we'd better show our faces.'
They walked towards the front door; Doc Shannon seemed to fill up most of the hallway. He was crouched on his haunches by the side of the headless corpse, like a benign Buddha. Bannister was loitering in the kitchen doorway looking anything but benign.
'Well having seen the head I'd say Mr Barlow died from a single blow to the top of the skull.' Shannon said.
Lasser shuffled into the hallway with Carl close behind.
'I wonder why he didn't cut him up like the others?'
Shannon looked up at Lasser and shrugged. 'Maybe he was worried about the neighbours?'
Bannister pulled a stick of gum from his pocket and popped it into his mouth, his jaw moving from side to side like a bovine chewing the cud. 'It looks as if Barlow went to answer the door and wallop.'
'Any idea how long he's been dead, doc?' Lasser asked.
'At a guess I'd say he died in the last four to five hours.'
Carl placed the mask onto his forehead; it looked like a small white tit. 'No blood on the step or drive, so the killer must have placed the head in a bag or something to take it away.'
'But why take it at all, why take the risk?' Bannister pondered.
'Looks better on the front page of the paper,' Lasser said.
Bannister glanced at him, his brow furrowed. 'Possible I suppose.'
'I mean, we know he's been in touch with Brewster, and he wants maximum impact. The killer could have left the bodies where they fell but that's not enough. I mean he sticks Barlow's head on the statue knowing it would have been found by a passerby.'
Bannister's frown deepened. 'What do we know about the man who found it?'
'Steve Black thinks Mr Clark was looking for some fun in the bushes, he denies it of course, but he had Viagra in his pocket and a wad of toilet tissue.'
Bannister heaved a hollow sigh. 'What's wrong with people today, I mean hanging around in a bloody park hoping for a quick shag, it's obscene.'
'According to Clark the killer knew he was hiding in the bushes...'
'How does he know that?' Carl asked.
'After he'd placed the head on the statue, he turned and said something about leaving a present.'
'And Clark got more than he bargained for?' Carl said with a shake of the head.
'Well I would imagine it ruined his night of fun and frolics.'
'That's enough, sergeant.' Bannister snapped.
Shannon's wild beard twitched in amusement. 'So according to my reckoning the killer is still sitting on a bundle of head, hands, and feet.'
Bannister strode over the body, the anger in his eyes ratcheted up a notch. 'Don't spout the bloody obvious Doctor, just get on with your job.'
Behind Bannister's back, Shannon popped the middle finger.
CHAPTER 52
On the way home, Lasser decided to call at the huge twenty-four hour ASDA store. At three in the morning, the place was virtually empty; the shelves being restocked by an army of tired looking men and women.
Heading for the cake section, he grabbed a twin pack of chocolate éclairs from the fridge and a carton of strawberry milk. Walking down the sweet aisle, he stopped and plucked a box of Black Magic from the shelf before heading for the self-service tills.
Five minutes later, he was back in the car munching on one of the éclairs, the car park was awash with stark white light from the battery of arc lights dotted around the huge open space.
Dragging out his cigarettes, he sparked up and thought about the nights events. Bannister had been right; the killer had to be getting his information from somewhere, after all, he couldn't imagine a link between Philips and Martin Barlow. Both had been twisted shits but he doubted whether they had known one another socially.
The thought of Philips, going to Barlow's house for a drinks party was absurd and then there was the missing Sanderford. As far as Lasser was concerned, he was either dead or on the run. He tried to picture the scene, Sanderford going to Philips flat for a night of sick DVDs and God alone knew what else. Lasser could see the shadowy figure walking into the kitchen to find his friends head in the microwave, he frowned, if that were the case would Sanderford really have had the wherewithal to take the computer and DVDs?
Grabbing the second éclair from the box, he took a bite, cream squirted onto his fingers.
No, if Sanderford had found the head, he would have scarpered, no way would he have stuck around.
Lasser licked the cream from his fingers. As he thought through the possibilities, his lips formed the words as if he were reading from a printed page. According to Bert Woods, Sanderford had never stayed away from the house before, which was hardly a surprise, the Sanderford's of this world tended to be creatures of habit; they had a routine and stuck to it.
Ripping the plastic tag from the bottle, he unscrewed the lid and took a gulp of the flavoured milk.
Something in Lasser's head clicked into place. Sanderford didn't drive, didn't own a car, so he finds the door to Philips flat open, no sign of his 'friend.' Taking a quick look around, he decides to help himself to the desktop but he can't manage anything else. Lasser sipped the milk, the cigarette smouldering in the ashtray. After lugging it back to his place, he goes back for trip two, the flat door is still open, so he goes in and grabs the DVD and the disks, sticks them in his rucksack and goes into the kitchen for one last look around and there in the microwave is the head of Philips.
Sanderford looses it and dashes for the door with the bag on his back. Lasser nodded, sounded reasonable enough. But why leave the stuff in his bedroom, why do a runner?
Another gear clicked into place, Sanderford would only scarper if he felt under threat, and he would only feel under threat if he saw something as he was leaving Philips flat.
Bingo! Sanderford, wasn't dead, he was in hiding, because he'd seen the man either going into or leaving the flat.
Emptying the carton, he reached for the cigarette and frowned. 'Bugger,' he said before pulling out another and lighting it.
Starting the car, he slid the window down, smoke billowed out as Lasser coughed and wafted his hand. 'Jesus,' he mumbled and grimaced before tossing the cigarette through the window.
Ten minutes later, he pulled onto the drive and climbed out. Passing Medea's car, he glanced down and frowned, the rear tyre was flat. When he saw the front one was also down his frown turned into a scowl. Walking around the car, Lasser felt his blood boil; some bastard had slashed all four tyres.
Lasser looked up and down the street, hoping to find someone lurking in the bushes. Next doors cat sat on the front wall, watching him with indifferent alien eyes.
Pulling out his keys, he headed inside, his good mood evaporating.
CHAPTER 53
Five hours later, Lasser was standing in the kitchen; shaved and showered, he'd contacted the local garage who
were on their way to fit a new set of tyres to Medea's car.
'I still can't believe it. I mean who would want to slash my tyres?' She was sitting at the kitchen table looking forlornly into a mug of tea.
'Chances are it'll be some knob head trying to get back at me.'
Medea looked up and frowned, 'You?'
'Occupational habit I'm afraid, probably some idiot I collared in the past.'
'But why my car and not yours?'
'Because these people are thick as pig shit, Med. Besides they were more than likely pissed or off their heads on horse tranquiliser.'
'Well that's a comforting thought.'
'I'm sorry, I'll pay for the tyres.'
'Don't be daft, that doesn't bother me, I just don't fancy them coming back.'
Placing his cup on the drainer, Lasser crossed the room and slid into the chair opposite. 'They won't come back; I mean I could be wrong, it might just be kid's dicking around.'
When the front door bell rang, Lasser climbed to his feet and headed down the hallway. Medea listened, as Lasser told the mechanic about the tyres.
'Thanks for that Dave, I appreciate it mate.' A few seconds later, he walked back into the room. 'He should be done in about twenty minutes then you can get off to work.'
Medea smiled and took a sip from her cup. 'So what time did you get in?'
'Well it had gone three.'
'Has Alan been in touch yet?'
Lasser slapped some jam on the toast and took a bite. 'Not yet.'
As if on cue, his phone began to warble, checking the number he frowned. 'He's like Beetlejuice, mention his name and bang there he is.' Taking a gulp of tea, he pressed the answer button. 'Morning sir.'
'I suppose you're still in bed?'
'Nope, I'm up and about.'
'Right, well I've just had sergeant Meadows on the phone, guess who's turned up at the station wanting to talk?'
Lasser tried to think but his little grey cells where still upstairs in bed. 'Go on.'
'Brewster.'
'What does he want?'
'Well get a move on and we can find out together.'
'I'm on my way.'
'Thirty minutes?'
More Equal Than Others. The DS Lasser series. Volume five: Robin Roughley Page 12
