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

by Robin Roughley

  'This outing of yours, would it be ok if we tagged along?'

  Carly Hughes looked taken aback by the request, adjusting her glasses she nodded. 'I suppose so.'

  Lasser rubbed his hands together, 'Smashing.'

  CHAPTER 58

  John Sanderford was freezing, though it had little to do with the weather and more to do with the fact that he hadn't eaten anything for over twenty-four hours. Pulling out his pouch of tobacco, he scrabbled in the bottom before sprinkling a pinch of dry flake into the cigarette paper. Licking the gummed strip, he rolled the thin cigarette and lit it with a shaking hand.

  His house on Foy Street was within sight, yet he hesitated in indecision.

  His natural wariness had kept him away from the house and the thought that the big man could be waiting there for him had left him walking the streets aimlessly. Now he knew he had no choice but to return to the house. Sanderford shivered and drew hard on the smoke. Thrusting his hands into the pockets of his thin jacket, he began to move down the street, his eyes roaming back and forth looking for anything out of the ordinary.

  If he'd had the cash, he would have left this town, hopped on the first bus and simply vanished. Trouble was, you couldn't get far when you had no money.

  His benefits payment wasn't due for another three days, which meant three days of wandering the streets and slowly starving to death. If only he could just get his hands on the desktop computer and the DVDs, then he knew someone who would take them off his hands, no questions asked, although the thought of going back to the house turned his stomach to ice.

  Sanderford closed his eyes and immediately snapped them open again as the image of Colin's head reared in his mind. Taking another pull on the tiny roll up, he continued along the narrow street, nerves jangling, his mouth like ashes.

  He'd been in the empty flat when he'd heard the front door bang open downstairs. The first trip he'd managed to take the desktop and now here he was again, his small rucksack loaded with the DVD player and disks. Dashing across the room, he'd hid in the small storage cupboard his brain rattling with anxiety. If Philips found him then chances are there would be a catfight and Sanderford had shuddered at the thought. Crouched in the dark, John Sanderford had chewed his lip trying to keep the fear at bay.

  When he'd heard the door to the flat bang open, he'd frowned. Colin wasn't one for making a racket, kindred spirits - they preferred to go quietly through a hostile world that would never understand their yearnings.

  The sound of the heavy footfalls had made him cringe away from the door. Suddenly the small space had felt claustrophobic, the air rarefied. Sanderford had tried to regulate his breathing; the hammering of his heart rang in his ears.

  He heard the sound of heavy footsteps crossing the small room.

  Sanderford had felt his bladder loosen; a squirt of piss had jetted into his track suit trousers.

  If someone were to ask him how long he had stayed in the confined space he would have said without hesitation, hours. Truth was it had only been a couple of minutes, no more than that.

  He'd heard the ping of the microwave door opening, as familiar to him as the squeals of children in a playground. Then the footsteps had grown in volume and for one terrifying moment, Sanderford had been convinced that the door would slam open, and then he would be confronted with... His brain had cringed away from the image and then the front door had closed with a click.

  When he eventually emerged from the hidey-hole, Sanderford had headed straight for the door determined to get as far away as possible. Then he remembered the sound of the microwave ping in his head and stopped. Licking his fleshy lips, he'd looked towards the kitchen and hesitated.

  'Walk away.' The terrified voice in his head had hissed.

  Sanderford shook his head, hoisted the bag onto his shoulder before moving slowly towards the kitchen. When he saw his friends head staring at him through the glass-fronted door of microwave, his bladder emptied completely. John Sanderford had run from the flat leaving a thin trail of piss behind him.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, he'd crashed through the double doors and out onto the darkened street, the bag slamming on his narrow shoulders.

  The Range Rover was parked tight to the curb, when the figure behind the wheel turned and looked through the side window, Sanderford had somehow known that this was the man from the flat. He had no idea how he knew but then the man had smiled and pointed a finger straight at him. Sanderford had bolted, flying down the street, his thinning shoulder length hair streaming out behind. Then he was pinned in his own personal spotlight as the headlights of the Range Rover sprang into life.

  Sanderford had flicked right down the narrow alleyway, desperately pushing wheelie bins out of the way, tears coursed down his cheeks, his heart felt as if it would explode.

  Shuddering at the memory, Sanderford walked past the small terraced house and flicked a look to the left. His house was in darkness the curtains open wide. Crossing the road quickly, he slid the key from his pocket and scrabbled it into the lock.

  Glancing left and right, Sanderford stepped over the threshold.

  CHAPTER 59

  Lasser swivelled in the passenger seat and narrowed his eyes. 'I'm sure that was Brewster!'

  Coyle checked her mirrors and indicated before pulling onto the small car park of Douglas House.

  'Are you sure?'

  'Well the thought of Brewster having a twin is too horrific to contemplate but maybe I was wrong.'

  Carly Hughes pulled up alongside and climbed out. Lasser looked at her over the roof of the car. 'What number does Wilson live at?'

  'Forty seven.'

  'Right let's pay the man a visit.'

  The three of them headed towards the entrance, Lasser held the door open to allow them through and Carly looked at him in surprise.

  'Last of the gentlemen, that's me,' Lasser grinned before following them inside.

  Coyle wrinkled her nose at the smell while Lasser jabbed at the buttons on the lift.

  'Out of order,' he grumbled before heading for the stairs.

  The sound of their footfalls echoed off the drab green walls, by the time they reached the third floor, Lasser could feel the muscles in his legs tightening.

  Pushing through a set of double doors, he checked the numbers stencilled on the wall.

  'According to this, forty seven should be down at the end.'

  A couple of overhead lights flickered as they made their way along the corridor; forty-three to forty-six had plywood sheets nailed over the front door.

  'I thought there was meant to be a housing shortage?' Lasser mumbled.

  Carly threw him a tired smile. 'There is but would you want to live here?'

  Lasser frowned when he saw the door of forty-seven standing slightly ajar. Pushing it open with the toe of his shoe, he placed an arm across the entrance as Carly tried to enter the flat. She looked at him and frowned. 'What's the matter?'

  'Susan wait here with Mrs Hughes will you?'

  Coyle nodded and plucked at the caseworker's sleeve. 'Step back please.'

  'But...'

  'Now!' Susan tugged and Carly stepped back in shock, watching as Lasser moved through the door.

  'What's he doing?'

  'His job,' Coyle said placing her right hand on the handle of her nightstick.

  Lasser walked along the narrow hallway, the woodchip paper was peeling in parts showing the bare plasterboard beneath. Standing in the doorway, his eyes travelled around the room and then he was picking his way through the old newspapers and tin foil curry trays that littered the floor. A quick glance into the kitchen and he headed for the bathroom door, his feet slopping in the thin cover of water that lay glistening on the asphalt floor.

  Pushing open the door, Lasser hitched in a sharp breath as he saw the head bobbing at the top of the toilet bowl. Glancing into the bath, he raised an eyebrow at the hands and feet that lay scattered at the bottom of the tub.

  Spinning on his heels,
he headed from the room dragging out his phone as he went.

  CHAPTER 60

  'It looks as if I'm going to be late again.' Lasser was standing on the small balcony looking at the town below the phone clamped to his ear. The flow of traffic was heading out of town as the nine-to-fivers headed home, fat chance of him being home by five.

  'That's fine, I had to stay behind at work to catch up on a few things. I can always make a salad when you get back.'

  The small flat was teeming with officers, Monty the crime scene photographer was busy in the bathroom snapping off images of the head in the shitter and the limbs in the bath. SOCO were wandering around in their space age paper suits painstakingly working their way through the detritus of the late Patrick Wilson's shabby life.

  'Listen don't bother making anything, I can always grab a takeaway on the way home.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Positive. What do you fancy?'

  'Well Sarah from work was telling me there's a fantastic new Thai restaurant opened in Standish.'

  'Thai it is then. By the way how are the tyres?'

  'Fine.'

  Lasser glanced over his shoulder; he could see Bannister standing in the flat glaring out at him. 'Listen...'

  'I know you have to go.'

  'Catch you later, Med,' he ended the call just as his boss walked out onto the balcony.

  'I take it you were chasing up some important lead?'

  'Barlow's caseworker.'

  'What about it?'

  Lasser explained about Simon Cropper being the caseworker of both Wilson and Philips.

  'I mean, if he turns out to have been Barlow's as well then it's a link.'

  'Right, did you get the list of offenders?'

  Lasser dragged two sheets of folded ‘A’ four from his pocket and handed them over.

  Bannister's eyes grew wide as he scanned the list. 'Jesus, I didn't realise there were this many.'

  'Yeah, it's an eye opener that's for sure.'

  'And how are we meant to cater for this lot?'

  Lasser shrugged. 'One more thing, as we were turning onto the car park I'm pretty sure I saw Brewster driving away.'

  Bannister’s face darkened at the mention of the reporter's name. 'Are you sure it was him?'

  'Ninety-nine percent sure.'

  'So Mr Brewster's been holding out on us has he?'

  'It's hardly a surprise.'

  Bannister pinched his nose between finger and thumb and squeezed as if trying to prevent a nosebleed. 'Right first off, we need to contact the people on the list and make sure they're safe.'

  'That's gonna take a while.'

  'So the sooner we get started, the better.'

  'So what do we do, is it just a matter of warning them that there's a nutter out there with a grudge and a bloody big axe or do we offer them somewhere safe to move to?'

  'Good God man, there are over a hundred names on this list how the hell can we re-home that amount of people?'

  'We might have to, I mean once the public get wind of this they'll be out with their pitchforks.'

  'Right, I want everyone back at the station within the hour; we're going to have to get this sorted and sharpish.'

  'What do you want me to do?'

  'Find out if Cropper was Barlow's caseworker and if he was then go and have a word, some bastard must have provided this maniac with the names.'

  'Will do.'

  Bannister flapped his hands. 'Well go on man get going and take Coyle with you.'

  Lasser eased past his boss and went in search of PC Coyle. He found her standing outside the flat trying to keep a solitary neighbour back from the crime scene.

  'I'm sorry but you can't go in there.'

  'But what's happened?' The woman looked to be in her late fifties, dyed black hair framing a leather skinned face, a white stripe running down the middle of her head like the tail of a skunk.

  'Perhaps it would be better if you went back to your flat.' Susan said and tried to usher her away from the door.

  'He's dead isn't he?' The woman said planting her feet.

  Lasser folded his arms and waited.

  'Once again I can't...'

  'Typical of you lot,' she spat. 'I have every right to know what's gone on...'

  'Were you friends with Mr Wilson? Lasser asked.

  The woman glowered at him. 'He was a pervert...'

  'What makes you think that, Mrs?'

  'Mary Stiller,' she replied. 'He was always ogling me when he walked past, undressing me with his eyes.'

  Lasser grimaced at the image.

  'I wouldn't mind but he was an ugly sod,' dragging the stump of a cigarette from her pocket she lit up ignoring the 'No Smoking' sign on the wall. 'In fact, he reminded me of my ex husband, he was an ugly bastard as well.'

  'So he wasn't your type then?'

  Mary pulled a face that made her look even older, her lips puckered like a clenched arsehole. 'Do I look like the type of woman who would go with a dirty sod like that?'

  'No of course not.'

  'I mean, I like that Gary Barlow off the X factor.' She leaned forward and leered. 'But I'll tell you summat I'd have given the bloke who was here a couple of days ago a good seeing to.'

  Susan Coyle blinked.

  Lasser took a step forward. 'So you're saying that someone paid Mr Wilson a visit?'

  Mary took a pull on the smoke and swivelled her eyes towards Lasser, she looked like Lily Savage’s mother. 'Could have done.'

  'So what did he look like this mystery man?'

  Dropping the cigarette onto the floor, she stood on it with her fake Ugg boot. 'He was taller than you, and a damn sight better looking.'

  Lasser ignored the insult. 'So you saw him go into Mr Wilson's flat.'

  'Not exactly.'

  'But you said Wilson had a visitor.'

  'Listen I saw him come into the building, I mean you don't forget a face like his in a hurry.'

  'Go on.'

  'And he didn't see me because I was with a friend in one of the ground floor flats.'

  'A friend?'

  'None of your business,' she snapped.

  Lasser smiled and held up his hands.

  'Anyway, I was just leaving and I saw this man enter through the front door. I could see him walking up the stairs, I mean I tried to keep up but I'm not as nimble as I used to be.'

  'I'm sorry but how can you be sure he went to Wilson's flat?'

  'Because there's only the two of us that live on this floor all the other flats are boarded up.'

  'Perhaps he went up to the fourth floor?'

  Mary looked annoyed. 'I might be clocking on but I'm not senile, he came through those doors,' she hooked a scarlet nail over her shoulder. 'And he was carting a bin bag over one shoulder, I...'

  'A bin bag!'

  'That's what I said, a bloody big black bin bag.'

  'Describe him to me?'

  'I..'

  'Right now Mrs Stiller!'

  CHAPTER 61

  John Sanderford looked around the bedroom, the panic rising. The computer had vanished along with the DVDs. Even old Bess was missing. Walking over to the bed, he looked down at the jumble of clutter, the thick rubber bands that he would sometimes fasten around his cock as he watched the special films. The miniature bottles of whisky that he'd had for years and never opened.

  Someone had been in his house, an image of the man in the car floated through his head and he swallowed before dashing to the window and peering down into the street as if he expected to find the gleaming car pulling up in front of the house.

  Instead of a monster at the door, old Bert Wood peered up at him, his crumpled paper face broke into a wide grin and then he waved up at Sanderford in a come-hither motion.

  Moving back from the window, Sanderford rung his hands in apprehension, without the computer he would remain penniless for the next few days and he needed...Bert Wood knocked on the front door and Sanderford gritted his teeth in anger. Why couldn't people ju
st leave him alone, why did they always have to stick their noses into his business?

  Another knock, louder this time and John Sanderford was left with no choice. Heading onto the landing, he clumped down the stairs. By the time he reached the door, Wood had knocked for a third time.

  Slapping a smile onto his face, he pulled the door open. Bert immediately stepped into the house. 'Now then cocker what have you been up to?'

  Sanderford tried to block the path to the living room but Bert brushed him aside and looked around the dingy room.

  'I had a bit of business to see to...'

  'Oh aye, what sort of business?'

  'Look, if you don't mind I'm kind of busy.'

  Bert adjusted the cap on his head. 'You don't look busy.'

  'I...'

  'Aren't you going to ask about Bess?'

  'Bess?'

  'The dog warden took her.'

  Sanderford closed the front door. 'What was the dog warden doing here?'

  Bert sniffed. 'The coppers must have called him.'

  Sanderford felt the panic morph into outright fear.

  'You look like you've been sleeping rough to me, boy.'

  'What were the police doing here?'

  Bert yanked a cigarette from the brim of his cap, pulled out a box of swan Vesta, and struck a match. 'Looking for you,' he replied before touching the flame to the cigarette.

  John Sanderford felt like running from the house, felt like running until his legs could no longer carry him. 'Did they say what they wanted?' he asked dreading the answer.

  'Not to me they didn't.'

  'Right, well I suppose I'd better give them a ring.'

  'So you've no idea then?'

  'Of course I have no idea,' John snapped. 'Now if you don't mind I want to make something to eat.'

  'Aye, you looked famished.'

  'So if you don't mind.'

  'When the coppers went, they took one of them computer things with ‘em.'

  'Sorry?'

  'Big thing about this tall,' Wood’s held his hands about a foot apart.

  'I...'

  'Now what would they want with your computer, Johnnie boy?'

  'It wasn't my computer.'