'No problem.'
Bannister hung up.
Lasser grabbed his coat from the back of the chair. 'I gotta go.'
'Has something happened?'
'Well Brewster's just turned up at the station but I can guarantee it won't be to offer a helping hand.'
'You don't like that man do you?'
Lasser brushed his lips across hers. 'Can't stand him.'
Medea smiled. 'Have a good day.'
'I'll ring you later make sure you got home ok.'
'Go on stop fussing.'
Lasser looked into her dark brown eyes. 'Has anyone ever told you, you look stunning?'
Suddenly an image of Adam Stokes flashed into her mind standing in the Tesco store and looking her up and down. 'God you look stunning,' he'd said.
The smile on Medea's face flickered. 'See you later,' she said and watched as Lasser headed for the door.
CHAPTER 54
Bannister was climbing from his car as Lasser pulled into the station car park. Pulling up alongside, he scrambled out and beeped the alarm.
The DCI looked refreshed, dark grey suit and crisp white shirt, though he could do little about the bags under his eyes. 'I don't like it,' Bannister grumbled as they headed towards the building.
'You never know, Brewster might be here to do his civic duty.'
'And pigs might fly.' Bannister swiped his card through the slot and pushed his way through the doors.
Meadows was sitting behind the front desk, when he heard the hiss of the door he looked up and smiled nervously. 'Good morning, sir.'
'What's good about it?'
Meadows swallowed and Lasser watched as he squirmed in his seat. 'I...'
'Brewster, where is he?'
'Interview room four, sir, but he's got his solicitor with him.'
'Well there's a surprise,' Bannister snapped, as they headed for another set of double doors.
Meadows watched them go before sliding the Enquirer from his desk drawer.
Stopping outside the door of interview room four Bannister looked at Lasser. 'If I swing for the bastard then I don't want you holding me back, is that understood?'
Lasser smiled thinly. 'I'll hold his arms for you.'
Mark Stone glanced over his shoulder as they entered the room, Brewster stayed facing front.
'Right Brewster, what did you want to see me for?' Bannister asked as he walked behind the desk and sat down. Lasser stayed over near the door, folding his hands in front of him, his face in lock down.
Stone flicked open his briefcase and pulled out a sheet of ‘A’ four. 'This came into my client's possession late last night and he thought you might like to see it.'
Bannister ignored the paper as Stone slid it onto his desk. 'And how did it come into your client's possession?'
Brewster opened his mouth to reply, when Stone placed a hand on his arm, he closed it again.
'It was pushed under the door to his apartment.'
Bannister grunted and picked the paper up. Lasser watched as the colour drained from his face and then miraculously it bled back again until Bannister looked on the cusp of a fit.
When the DCI twitched his head, Lasser headed over and slid in by his side. Bannister handed the paper over and Lasser began to read.
'This town swims in filth; you harbour men who have done despicable things. Children play in streets with paedophiles looking on and you do nothing.' Lasser folded his legs as he continued to read. 'This is about to change, you know about Colin Philips and Martin Barlow and I can guarantee there will be others. In fact, you are still missing the head, hands, and feet of another child molester. When I have finished the people of this town will know who to blame for this deceit. They will demand answers, as to why you have placed their children in danger; I look forward to your pitiful response.'
Lasser looked across the table. 'Why did you bring this to us?'
Brewster gave the merest of shrugs. 'I thought you should see it.'
'More importantly, why did this man post the letter under your door, Brewster?' Bannister asked through tight lips.
'My client is in no position to answer that, inspector. As soon as he received the information, he rightly thought that it should be shown to the authorities.'
'Doing your good deed for the day is that it, Brewster?'
'If you like.'
'Yes well, I don't bloody like!'
Stone leant forward in his chair. 'That's as may be, Inspector Bannister. I mean, first you accuse Mr Brewster of withholding information, although you have no evidence to support your suspicions, now he approaches you with concrete proof that there is a maniac out there and you still insist on haranguing him.'
'That's because he's a liar and a scumbag.'
Stone smiled and eased back in his seat. 'I must say your constant accusations are both tiresome and more importantly, libellous.'
'Have you spoken to this man since we last saw you, Mr Brewster?' As soon as Brewster's eyes flicked to the right, Lasser knew he was lying.
'No.'
'In the letter the killer mentions the missing head, hands, and feet.'
'I know what it says.'
Lasser flashed a wide grin. 'Sounds like the name of a boy band doesn't it?'
Brewster folded his arms. 'Is that meant to be humorous?'
'Do you have any idea who they belong to Michael?'
This time Brewster's eyes shot left and right, his right hand twitched as if he were trying to avoid scratching an itch or wiping a hand across his sweating brow.
'How could I possibly know the answer to that?'
Lasser tilted his head. 'So you don't know - is that what you're saying?'
'That's correct.'
'So there's no chance of this being splashed over the front page of the Star tomorrow then?'
The bead of sweat trickled down Brewster's forehead and he swiped it away with the back of his hand.
'I...'
'No gruesome exclusive with your name in large font?'
'Look Mr Brewster has already told you he has no idea as to either the identity or the whereabouts of this man.'
'Well Mr Brewster thanks very much for coming, your help is greatly appreciated.' Bannister said with as much insincerity as he could muster.
Brewster licked his lips. 'So that's it?'
'As Sergeant Lasser said, it's nice to know you've seen sense.'
Brewster shot to his feet and headed for the door, Mark Stone looked over his shoulder in surprise before turning back to face Bannister.
'I'm glad we managed to get that sorted, inspector.'
'You do realise your client is a lying worm don't you Mr Stone?'
Stone held up his hands the shark smile back in place. 'No comment.'
'Get out,' Bannister said in a dead voice.
Stone obliged.
CHAPTER 55
The canteen was empty. Lasser fed money into the machine and watched as a Mars Bar dropped into the slot. Bannister sat hunched at one of the scattered tables munching on a ham salad roll that looked as if it had been squashed beneath a steamroller.
Placing his cup of hot chocolate on the table Lasser slumped into a chair. 'I was thinking about Sanderford.'
'What about him?'
By the time Lasser had finished explaining about the missing paedophile the roll had vanished.
Bannister wiped the crumbs from his lap and picked up his can of Fanta. 'So you think he's in hiding?'
'Well according to the neighbour, Sanderford never stays away from the house...'
'He could already be dead.'
Lasser grimaced. 'Well the house was clean.'
'So was Philips flat, apart from the head in the microwave.'
Lasser felt deflated. 'I guess,' he said before taking a chunk from the Mars bar. 'So what do we do now?'
'As much as I'm loath to do it, we're going to have to get in touch with all the people on the list and warn them about what's going on.'
'How man
y are we actually talking about?'
'I think the best way to find out would be to have another word with Carly Hughes, besides, we need to look into the people who lost their jobs in the cuts and I don't trust Bolt, he'll try and spin bullshit.'
'Do you want me to check it out?'
'Might as well, unfortunately, I have a meeting with the Superintendent but I'll catch up with you later.'
'What does he want?'
'Well I'd imagine he wants to chew me a new back passage.'
Lasser smiled and dropped the chocolate wrapper into his pocket. 'How many is that now?'
Bannister yawned showing his fillings in the process. 'I tell you, sergeant, my arse looks like a colander.'
'Nice,' Lasser said as he headed for the door.
Lasser found Susan Coyle standing by the door of the station, busy texting on her phone. When she saw Lasser approaching, she blushed before dropping the phone into her pocket.
'Aye, aye, what's going on here then?
'Sorry sir, I was just...'
'Forget it. What time are you due off shift?'
'Er, I'm just coming on duty.'
'Right, you can come with me.' Lasser strode towards the car.
'But DI Cooper said I was to go over to Skitters Wood to help with the search.'
'Don't worry, I'll tell him I kidnapped you.'
Susan grinned and followed him to the car. 'So where are we going?'
'It's hunt the paedophile time again.'
Climbing into the car, she clipped the seatbelt into place. Hunting paedophiles might not be everyone's idea of a good time, but it had to be better than spending the day rummaging through the undergrowth looking for clues that probably didn't exist.
'You ready.'
'Are you sure about DI Cooper?'
Lasser turned in his seat, his tie was askew. 'Fuck him.'
Susan's eyes snapped open in shock.
Lasser grinned and fired up the car.
CHAPTER 56
Brewster could see Douglas House in the distance. The tower block built in the sixties looked appalling in the spring sunshine. Grey concrete stretching up to the sky, he could see washing hung on balconies - the roof bristled with TV aerials.
After receiving the letter, he'd been ecstatic, another headline that would fire him back up the greasy pole to success. Now his euphoria was on the wane, he'd done as the killer asked, he'd taken the letter to the police and in return the man had told him that Patrick Wilson was all his.
Trouble was if he broke it as an exclusive, then Bannister would know he'd been holding out on him and then he'd be in the shit.
He played the conversation with the killer over again in his tired brain; he'd been sitting on the sofa reading the printed sheet of ‘A’ four when his phone rang.
'I take it you got the letter, Michael?'
'Yeah, yeah I'm holding it in my hand.'
'Good, now first thing in the morning I want you to take it to the police.'
'The police, but I thought...'
'I know what you thought, Michael, but you said you could take the pressure; you said it was no problem...'
'But...'
'You don't trust me?'
Brewster's mouth had opened, though his vocal cords seemed reluctant to function. How could he be expected to trust a maniac, how could he trust someone who was capable of dropping a human head into a toilet?
'Michael, I'm waiting.'
'Of course I trust you,' he mumbled and suddenly Michael Brewster had felt cursed.
'I'm glad to hear it. Now like I said I want the police to see this.'
'OK, but what about me?'
'Don't worry my friend you'll be taken care of.'
The words had slithered into Brewster's mind, the double meaning ate into his head as if acid were being drip-fed into his brain. 'I...'
'Patrick Wilson is all yours.'
'Thank you,' the words slipped out before Brewster had time to think, time to ask the obvious question, the phone had bleeped and Brewster looked down at the blank screen.
'Taken care of.'
Brewster licked his lips, the paper in his hand quivered.
Later that night he'd tried to sleep and found it impossible, his mind had been alive with dismembered hands crawling across the bedroom floor towards him. At one point, the pile of washing in the corner of the room had morphed into the head of Patrick Wilson. Brewster had lurched across the bed, a scream rising in his throat as he slapped on the bedside light.
After that, the thought of sleep had been too terrifying to contemplate, so he'd spent the next few hours trawling the internet, inevitably the porn sites had beckoned.
Turning right, he pulled through the gates of Douglas House, parked up, and climbed from the car. This was the last place on earth he wanted to be but he had to be sure that the remains of Patrick Wilson where still inside the flat.
'But if someone had found them then it would be all over the news by now.' The voice inside insisted.
Of course, that was true but still he needed to know, needed to be sure.
Pushing through the double doors, Brewster headed up the flight of stone steps, his stomach rolling, a migraine building behind his dark rimmed eyes.
CHAPTER 57
Carly Hughes’ office was little more than a broom cupboard. One wall taken up by a steel grey filing cabinet, a wilted pot plant stood on the windowsill gathering dust.
The lady herself was perched behind a small desk, the surface littered with ‘A’ four files, some red others green.
Behind her glasses, her eyes were agitated. 'The red files are priority cases the green are felt to be relatively safe,' she said placing a hand on top of each.
Lasser and Coyle sat opposite squashed shoulder to shoulder in the tiny space. 'Do you have a list we could take away with us?'
'You do realise these are only my cases.'
Lasser frowned. 'You mean there's more?'
'There used to be over seventy of us, now there are twenty two and we all have separate caseloads.'
'So you don't have a comprehensive list?'
'Not personally.'
Lasser tried to cross his legs and then gave up. 'But surely there must be a database somewhere with all the names on?'
'I'm sorry but you'd need to speak to someone in admin about that.'
Lasser looked out of the tiny window; they were below ground level and he could see the legs of passers-by walking past the window. 'Susan do me a favour, go to admin and see if you can get us a list of everyone on the register.'
'Will do,' Coyle wriggled free of her seat before threading her way towards the door.
'And tell them we'll also need the names of all the people who lost their jobs in the last twelve months.'
Susan nodded a response before squeezing through the door.
'Why would you want a list of past employees?'
'It's just a precaution,' Lasser smiled.
Carly frowned, as she shuffled the files into two stacks of green and red. 'Has this got anything to do with what happened to Colin Philips?'
'In part,' he paused, 'tell me, have you heard of a Martin Barlow?'
Carly pursed her lips. 'I don't think so.'
'So he's not in your red pile then?'
'Look what's this about?'
Lasser explained about the death of the dodgy dentist. Leaving out the colourful description of his head placed on the knees of the statue in the park.
Nevertheless, Carly Hughes grimaced as he told the tale. 'Well he wasn't one of mine.'
Lasser sighed; if he was hoping for a quick link then he was going to be disappointed.
'Just out of curiosity, who's down for a visit today?'
Carly shuffled through a small leather bound diary. 'A Mr Patrick Wilson.'
'Red or green?'
Bretherton see-sawed a hand. 'Not sure yet.'
'I'm sorry?'
'He's one of the cases that was dumped on me.' She rifled throu
gh the files before sliding one to the top, flicking it open she peered down at the paperwork. 'He's from Blackburn originally, spent four years in Kirkham open prison for indecent assault.'
'How old was the victim?'
'According to this she was seven at the time, apparently he was her uncle.'
Lasser eased the chair back and tried to stretch out his legs but the table was having none of it. 'What about an address?'
'Douglas House, it's the...'
'I know where it is.'
Carly looked up and blushed.
'Anything else in there?' he asked nodding towards the file.
'Well Simon Cropper was his case worker...'
'I take it he got the push?'
'Six months ago.'
'And what was he like this Simon Cropper?'
Carly drummed her fingers on the file. 'What sort of question is that?'
'Well did you know him well?'
'We saw one another occasionally. I mean, we were meant to have a weekly meeting were we got together to discuss relevant cases...'
'Let me guess, as your workload increased the meetings fell by the wayside?'
Carly folded her hands on the desk. 'That's correct. Simon went in the third wave of redundancies.'
'Was he happy to go?'
'If you mean did he get a massive payoff, then I would imagine the answer is no. I think he'd been here about four years so any money he received would have been minimal.'
'Tell me, do you happen to know if he was the caseworker for Colin Philips?'
A frown plucked at her forehead. 'I'm not sure.'
'Well what about Sanderford?'
'Look sergeant, I really have no idea, as people left, the work was given out to those that remained.'
Lasser leant forward and plucked the file from the desk. 'So this would be Mr Cropper's handwriting?' he asked, looking down at the tightly packed words on the paper.
'Well yes of course...'
'Have you got Philips file there?'
'I can take a look.'
Lasser treated her to a smile. 'If you don't mind.'
The file was right at the bottom of the stack, sliding it free she held it out to Lasser. As soon as he flicked it open, he recognised the same minimalist handwriting.
'Is everything alright?'
More Equal Than Others. The DS Lasser series. Volume five: Robin Roughley Page 13
