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

by Robin Roughley

  Eyes still closed, he counted down the minutes, his internal clock running with all the precision of a Rolex.

  CHAPTER 79

  Simon Cropper looked at Lasser with bleary eyes.

  Nurse Turner stood at the back of Croppers chair like some master puppeteer preparing to pull the strings.

  'I'm sorry to disturb you Simon,' Lasser said.

  Cropper yawned and ran a hand over a thatch of unruly ginger hair. 'That's alright.'

  'My name is Detective Sergeant Lasser.'

  Simon merely nodded and slumped back into the chair his arms dangling, chin resting on his chest.

  'I'm here to ask you a few questions about your time at Social Services.'

  A jaw-cracking yawn split Cropper's face. 'I don't work there anymore.'

  Lasser glanced up at Nurse Turner, she held his gaze without flinching.

  'I know that Simon, I...'

  'They got rid of me.'

  Lasser leaned forward in his chair, elbows on knees. 'Do you remember Martin Barlow?'

  Cropper's glassy eyes began to roam around the room.

  Lasser sighed, this was a waste of time, whatever Cropper had been given to help him sleep was still immersed in his system.

  'Simon can you hear me?'

  'Of course he can hear you,' Turner snapped.

  Lasser ignored her. 'Simon?'

  'He was the dentist.' Cropper mumbled, his eyes refocused for a moment and he looked around as if wondering how he had got here.

  'I've been talking with Kerrie Fleming and she said I should come and see you.'

  Suddenly Cropper smiled. 'Kerrie how is she?'

  'She's fine, Simon, she sends her best wishes.'

  Cropper shook himself as if he suddenly felt a chill, his eyes jittered again before settling on Lasser.

  'So what are you doing here?'

  'Martin Barlow's dead, Simon.'

  'Good.'

  Nurse Turner placed her hands on the back of the chair.

  Lasser threw her a warning look. 'Why is it good Simon?'

  'He was a pervert.'

  'But he served time for his crimes.'

  Cropper barked out a laugh, his eyes flared in anger. 'Twelve months. What kind of punishment is that?'

  'What about Colin Philips, he was one of your cases wasn't he?'

  Cropper sniffed. 'Paedophile!'

  Turner slid her hands onto his shoulders. 'Keep calm Simon.'

  Cropper glanced over his shoulder before turning back, he seemed wide-awake now, his hands clasped together in agitation, his right foot tapping quickly on the carpet tiles.

  'Did you know that Philips is also dead, Simon?'

  Lasser saw the flicker of a smile run across Cropper's face like a cockroach scuttling across lino.

  'When you were working for Social Services were you ever approached by anyone asking about the people on your list?'

  Cropper folded his arms, his face twitched. 'I don't know what you mean.'

  'You attacked someone didn't you Simon, I mean that's why you're in here isn't it?'

  'Another filthy pervert.'

  'It must have been hard for you having to deal with these people on a daily basis?'

  'I hate them all,' Cropper replied, his foot picked up speed drumming on the floor.

  'Because of the things they'd done?'

  Simon placed a hand on his knee in an effort to stop the leg from jittering. 'They ruined lives and got away with it.'

  'So you were angry about the sentences, is that what you're saying?'

  'They should be put down.'

  'Like a dog?'

  The smile lingered longer this time. 'I like dogs.'

  'What about Patrick Wilson do you remember him, Simon?'

  Cropper’s face curdled and then his lips twisted into a ratchet like smile. 'He's armless.'

  Lasser frowned. 'You mean harmless?'

  Cropper locked eyes with Lasser. 'You know what I mean.'

  CHAPTER 80

  It was hardly a surprise, you couldn't expect to throw almost two hundred people on the scrap heap and walk away scot-free. In fact, Bannister was surprised that Harry Bolt's inbox contained only twelve spiteful emails.

  Bannister had followed Ellie Bolt into the kitchen, a minute later she fired the laptop into life. When Bolt stormed into the kitchen, his round face rigid with fury, Bannister asked Steve Black to remove him from the room.

  'But this is my home!' he shrieked.

  Bannister jabbed out a finger. 'You lied to me Mr Bolt and I want to know the reason why...'

  Bolt had run from the room, Black stood to one side as he barged past.

  'Keep your eye on him Steve I don't want him harassing the neighbour’s again.'

  Black nodded and vanished.

  Now he was studying the messages. Ellie sat by his side, a cigarette on the go; occasionally she would take a sip from the glass of wine.

  The first half a dozen were your normal 'I hate you, you fat bastard!' kind of thing. One or two were more eloquent, demanding to know why he had kept his one hundred thousand pound a year job whilst they had been reduced to claiming jobseekers.

  'Have you any idea why he didn't delete the messages, Mrs Bolt?'

  'Please call me Ellie, besides it won't be Mrs Bolt for much longer.'

  Bannister raised an eyebrow.

  'Harold,' she seemed to shudder as she spoke his name. 'Likes to keep everything, he's a bit of a hoarder.'

  Lasser looked around the minimalist kitchen. 'You'd never guess it.'

  'Oh, I don't mean in the conventional sense but letters, emails, he keeps them all.'

  'Any idea why?'

  'It's what he does all day at work, gathering information and storing it away for future use. It's his way and unfortunately I can't live with him anymore.'

  'Yes well, I'm sorry about your marital problems, but...'

  'You have more pressing things to worry about,' she finished for him.

  'You could say that,' Bannister turned back to the screen clicked on one of the small envelopes and started to read.

  'Do you feel responsible Harold? What does it feel like knowing you are removing the shackles from these people? I would imagine you push that thought to the back of your mind, bury it deep. You concern yourself only with saving your own pathetic skin while the filth that dwells within your town goes unchecked.'

  Bannister scrolled down to the next paragraph, his hackles rising.

  'Along with others who bear equal guilt, you have opened your arms to these people. You chose to ignore the obvious dangers and see only a source of income, a way to boost the coffers. I am here to tell you that your plans are misguided, though I know you will dismiss my concerns as the ramblings of yet another right wing evangelist. But be warned, I shall make it my business to rid your town of these people. By the time I am finished, everyone will know what you have done putting animals before the welfare of the people you pretend to serve. I know it's a cliché but heads will roll, Harold and arms and legs.'

  Bannister scrolled back to the top of the page and re-read the words.

  'I wouldn't like to meet this one on a dark night,' Ellie Bolt said.

  'I...'

  'Sir!'

  Bannister spun around in his seat, Sally Wright stood in the kitchen doorway her face agitated.

  'What is it Sally?'

  'It's Michael Brewster sir, he wants a word.'

  Bannister gripped the edge of the table in anger. 'Oh, does he now.'

  'He says it's urgent.'

  'Tell him I'm busy.' Bannister turned back to the screen.

  'I think you should listen to what he has to say, sir.'

  When he turned to face her, Sally straightened her shoulders and locked her hands behind her back.

  'And why would I want to do that?'

  'He say's the killer wants to speak to you.'

  Bannister blinked, he heard Ellie Bolt gasp.

  Pushing to his feet Bannister snapped th
e laptop lid closed. 'Where is he?'

  'At the front of the house, sir.'

  Bannister nodded and headed from the room, Harold was sitting on the sofa chewing a fingernail into extinction. Steve Black stood over him as if waiting for the plump man to make a break for it.

  SOCO were still rummaging around the front of the house. Carl looked up from the bloodstain on the flags and watched as Bannister stormed across the front lawn to where Michael Brewster stood. The reporter looked white faced beneath the sickly glow of the streetlight.

  Without uttering a word, Bannister grabbed the reporter by the elbow and dragged him over to his car.

  'I...'

  'Shut up Brewster and get in,' Bannister beeped the alarm and Michael pulled open the passenger door before scrambling inside.

  Bannister walked around the front of the car taking his time. As soon as he climbed behind the wheel, Brewster grabbed his sleeve.

  'For God's sake hurry up!'

  Bannister snatched his arm away. 'Have you been holding out on me, Brewster?'

  'Of course not.'

  'So...'

  'Look he rang me again...'

  'And how did he manage that when we had your phone?'

  'I...'

  'You had another didn't you, you slimy piece of shit!'

  When Brewster's phone began to bleat the reporter jerked in his seat and feverishly rummaged in his pocket. A moment later, he thrust the mobile towards Bannister as if it were somehow radioactive.

  'Answer it!'

  Bannister turned; he could see the terror smeared across Brewster's face sweat lathered his forehead.

  'Why should I?'

  'You've got to...'

  'I don't have to do anything, for all I know this could be another one of your little games, another scumbag reporter trying to milk some information.'

  The phone continued to drone, Brewster looked as if he were fast approaching cardiac arrest.

  'Please, I'm telling you the truth,' he whispered like a small child trying to escape a beating.

  Bannister let him sweat then he plucked the phone from his hand and wiped it on the sleeve of his jacket before sliding it to his ear.

  'Is that DCI Bannister?' The voice sounded pleasant, friendly even.

  'Who is this?'

  'Well that's idiotic question number one out of the way.'

  Bannister frowned. 'You never know your luck.'

  A deep rumble of laughter emanated from the ten ounces of recycled plastic. 'It was worth a try I suppose.'

  Brewster was chewing his bottom lip his hair looked a mess, his eyes haunted as he tried to listen in on the conversation.

  'I've got Michael Brewster with me and he says you want to talk?'

  'I would imagine you have a deep distrust of our reporter friend?'

  'To be honest I think he's a twat.'

  'But he has his uses.'

  'Not to me he doesn't.'

  More laughter. 'Right just so you know you're talking to the right person, I left Sanderford tied to the front porch of Harold Bolts house.'

  'Minus what?'

  'Eyes and tongue and just to make doubly sure you'll find the missing parts in his stomach.'

  Bannister felt the temperature in the car plummet as his stomach rose. 'Why Bolt's house?'

  'Come on inspector I would imagine you already know the answer to that one.'

  'Was it you that sent the email?'

  'Ah so you've found it I am impressed. Though you'll have to forgive the message, I mean it's hard to strike the right balance without coming over all melodramatic.'

  'And leaving Martin Barlow's head on the statue in the park wasn't melodramatic?'

  'Well...'

  'And what about Philips head in the bloody microwave?'

  'Well let's look at things properly shall we? Sanderford was a child molester a man who abused a member of his own family.'

  'I know what Sanderford did.'

  'He was also a murderer inspector though I doubt you knew that.'

  Bannister frowned. 'What are you talking about?'

  'I don't know the man's name but when I went to pay Sanderford a visit he'd already done the dirty deed.'

  Bannister's forehead crinkled, Lasser had said the man found at Sanderford's house was the next-door neighbour, the name Woods popped into his head. 'So you weren't responsible?'

  'I am not in the habit of killing innocent people, Inspector.'

  'If you're trying to convince me that you hold the moral ground here then you can forget it.'

  Brewster was leaning forward in his seat peering through the windscreen, his eyes crackling with tension.

  'I just wanted a quick chat, after all we could argue all night about the rights and wrongs of what I'm doing but ultimately nothing would be resolved.'

  'Where did you get your information from?'

  'Information?'

  'Now who's acting dumb?'

  'You mean how did I come to know about these people?'

  'That's right.'

  'It isn't difficult if you know where to look.'

  'Does the name Simon Cropper mean anything to you?'

  'My, my you have been busy.'

  'Listen, I don't know why you're doing this...'

  'Please don't tell me that I'm sick and I have to stop before more people die?'

  Bannister gripped the phone tight; when he looked at Brewster, the reporter tried a sickly smile. Bannister dragged a finger across his throat and Brewster snapped his head away.

  'We'll catch you, you do realise that?'

  'Perhaps you will, you never can tell, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. Now I have a list, and it's a long one, enough to keep any sane man busy for quite some time. The problem you have is trying to keep tabs on these people, time is short, your resources limited. You'll try to cover all bases though you know it's impossible, don't you Inspector?'

  'I...'

  'Forgive the cliché but I hold all the aces, so many to choose from, who do you think will be next?'

  Bannister sighed heavily.

  'You sound dispirited Inspector?'

  'Whereas you see yourself as a crusader, fighting the good fight.'

  'I've never thought of it like that before. In fact, I prefer to think of myself as a street cleaner, you know, removing the rubbish that everyone knows is there but no one wants to touch.'

  'You do realise you're a psychopath?'

  'I didn't have you down as a labels guy, Mr Bannister?'

  'I call a spade a spade.'

  The man laughed again. 'My God you're a walking cliché.'

  'I...'

  'Anyway it's been nice talking to you but I'm a busy man. Oh, and try and not be too hard on Brewster, I know he's an acquired taste but like I said he has his uses.'

  'Wait..!'

  The phone bleeped, the screen went blank.

  Brewster plucked at his sleeve. 'What did he say?'

  Bannister looked hard at the reporter until he removed his hand. 'Let's just say I wouldn't like to be in your shoes Brewster.'

  Michael licked his cracked lips; he could feel the sting of a cold sore at the corner of his mouth. 'What do you mean?'

  'If you want my advice you'll tell me everything you know about this man...

  'But I don't know anything!' Bannister screeched.

  'If you do that then in return I'll provide you with a cell that has a window.' Bannister clicked the door open.

  Brewster shot from the car and looked at Bannister with horror-filled eyes. 'Tell me what he said!'

  Bannister placed his hands on the roof of the car and smiled. 'You made a deal with the devil, Brewster, all bets are off.'

  CHAPTER 81

  Lasser sat in the car, an unlit cigarette clamped between his teeth. Checking the clock on the dashboard, he resisted the urge to ring Medea. At half past one in the morning, she would probably be less than pleased to be dragged from her slumber just to assuage Lasser's paranoid thoughts.

/>   The rest of the conversation with Simon Cropper had been virtually one sided. After his 'armless' quip, Cropper had closed down. The drugged look had seeped back into his eyes though Lasser hadn't been convinced that the ex social worker wasn't taking the piss.

  In the end, Nurse Battleaxe had demanded he put an end to the grilling. Lasser had left the building but not before promising that he'd be back in an Arnie type voice.

  Rubbing at his eyes, he tried to remember when he last had a descent night's sleep. That was the trouble with this job; you were always knackered trying to function on hardly any sleep, eating crap fast food with the occasional burst of exercise as you chased some young scrote down the street.

  With a sigh, he reached for his phone and frowned when it started to ring. Bannister's name flashed like a tiny neon nightmare.

  'Lasser where are you?' The DCI barked.

  'Just leaving the infirmary now.'

  'Did you see Cropper?'

  'Yeah, after I got past the Nurse Ratchet.'

  'Yes well, meet me at the hospital.'

  'But don't you want to know what he had to say?'

  'Be there in twenty minutes.'

  'But...'

  Lasser looked at the phone in amazement before dropping it onto the passenger seat and starting the car.

  As he drove back out of Leigh town centre, he could feel his eyes beginning to close. Lasser slid the window down, the cool air swirled around the inside of the car making him shiver.

  Fifteen minutes later, he pulled onto the hospital car park; as soon as he found a parking space, he heard the rap on knuckles on the side window. Bannister glared in at him, his face looked grey, his eyes ragged.

  By the time Lasser unclipped the seatbelt, Bannister had yanked open the door.

  'Took the scenic route did you sergeant?'

  Lasser stifled a yawn. 'I got here as quickly as I could.'

  'Right well, whilst you were sipping sweet tea and eating chocolate digestives, some of us were getting on with the job.'

  Lasser could feel the familiar wave of anger start to rise. 'Hang on I was...'

  'I've spoken to the killer.'

  'What?'

  Bannister yanked out his cigarettes, and lit one before handing the pack over.