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

by Robin Roughley

  'But how?'

  By the time Bannister had finished explaining Lasser's cigarette had burned down to the cork.

  'Jesus, you mean he made Sanderford eat his own fucking eyes!'

  'That's what he said.'

  Lasser grimaced.

  'He's also promised plenty more where that came from.'

  'So what do we do now?'

  Bannister looked around before dropping the cigarette onto the floor. 'We do what we always do; we bumble around in the dark until the killer slips up.'

  'Well did he sound local?'

  'No, he's not from around here. He kept saying your town, which suggest he comes from someplace else, it was the same with the email he sent to Bolt it was all your town this, your town that.'

  'And what about Cropper?'

  'Well you've been to see the man what do you think?'

  Lasser winced as the cigarette burned his fingers. 'Shit!' he dropped it and slammed his foot down on the butt.

  'Come on Lasser stop messing about.'

  Licking the burnt skin, he glared at Bannister. 'He knows more than he's letting on.'

  'And how did you reach that conclusion?'

  'Because he made some quip about Colin Philips being 'armless.'

  'You mean harmless?'

  'That's what I thought but it was definitely a jibe. I mean, I suppose he could have got the information from Brewster's newspaper.'

  'But you don't think so?'

  Lasser shook his head. 'No, it felt as if he were saying 'Look at me, I know things you don't.'

  'Right, I want him brought in for further questioning.'

  Lasser nodded. 'So what did Brewster have to say for himself?'

  For the first time Laser saw an evil grin flit across Bannister's face. 'He's shitting himself, I think he realises he could have made a big mistake this time.'

  'So he'll cooperate?'

  Bannister shrugged. 'You can never tell with someone like that. I mean he's terrified now but given time he'll probably convince himself that he's done nothing wrong.'

  A gust of wind whipped across the car park, Bannister pulled the collar up on his jacket, and Lasser turned his back on the icy blast.

  'Right come on, let's see if Mr Sanderford has done us all a favour and dropped dead.' Bannister snarled before heading towards the hospital entrance.

  CHAPTER 82

  By the time Lasser got home, his watch was creeping past four fifteen. Touching his fingertips to the front door he grunted when they came away tacky with paint. Once inside, he made his way through to the kitchen and rinsed his hands beneath the hot water tap before opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of Bud.

  A few seconds later, he was slumped in the kitchen chair another cigarette on the go taking small tentative sips from the bottle.

  Much to Bannister's disappointment John Sanderford was still clinging onto life. After checking with the duty doctor, they'd gone in search of Doc Shannon finding him in the cutting room leaning over the remains of Bert Woods.

  At the sound of the door swinging open, the rotund doctor looked up, his eyes red rimmed the unruly beard hidden beneath a paper mask that covered the lower half of his face.

  Bannister thrust his hands into his pockets; Lasser slid the zip down on his coat.

  'So what have we got?' Bannister nodded down at the corpse.

  'Albert Woods aged sixty eight...'

  'Get on with it Shannon, I want my bed.' Bannister had snapped.

  'Don't we all.'

  Bannister waved a hand at the body. 'It looks as if he's been hit by a bus.'

  'Ashtray actually. It was found by the side of the body, I've found fragments of glass in the head wounds.'

  Bannister turned to Lasser. 'See, I told you smoking was bad for your health.'

  Lasser tried to drag up a smile and then gave up.

  Shannon peeled of his latex gloves and dropped them into a flip top bin. 'And that's all I can tell you for now.'

  'Hang on there must be more?'

  Shannon had headed over to the sink and splurged a dollop of liquid soap into his hands. 'I doubt it, whoever attacked him came from behind, one crack and down he went.'

  'But...'

  'I've checked the fingernails nothing underneath apart from some dry earth, more than likely Mr Woods was a keen gardener maybe he had an allotment.'

  'So that's it?' Bannister asked in disbelief.

  Shannon had ripped a strip of blue paper roll from the wall and dried his hands. 'I'll finish the rest later.'

  'Later!'

  Shannon waddled across the room. 'Listen to me, you might have to work twenty-four seven but I don't. Now I refuse to carry on working under these conditions...'

  'What the bloody hell are you talking about?' Bannister juddered with anger.

  Shannon ignored him; flicking the sheet over the body, he opened the fridge door and pushed Bert Wood into the dark, shutting the door with a heavy clack.

  Shannon pulled off his lab coat. 'I'm tired, no scrap that, I'm beyond tired and if I make a mistake or miss something then you'll come down on me like a sack of shit.'

  'But...'

  Shannon held up a hand. 'I'm going home - end of story.'

  Lasser watched with envy as Shannon walked across the room and pushed his way through the double doors. 'So what do you want to do now?'

  Bannister sighed heavily. 'He's right, we need to get some kip,' he rubbed a hand across his eyes. 'I've called a meeting for nine in the morning so let's bugger off and try and look at this with fresh eyes.

  Lasser dropped the stump into the half-empty bottle. The clock on the wall showed twenty to five. He'd be lucky to get three hours kip, looking at things with fresh eyes seemed laughable. Pushing upright, he sneaked up the stairs. Medea lay on the bed the duvet pulled up to her neck one slender leg poked out from beneath the covers, her dark hair spilled across the pillow in black waves.

  Undressing, he slipped in beside her, Medea groaned as if in the throes of a bad dream, then she turned and snuggled close. Lasser kissed her hair before wrapping his arms around her, two minutes later he was asleep.

  CHAPTER 83

  Kerrie Fleming stretched beneath the duvet, relishing the tender ache in her muscles and marvelled at the fact that she was in love.

  After two years of living alone, she had reached the conclusion that it was better to live like that, rather than be trapped in a relationship with a man who cared for no one but himself.

  Scott Mellor had been a self-obsessed moron and yet she'd stuck with him for almost three years. She pulled the duvet up to her chin and frowned, how had that been possible?

  She could hear the en-suite shower running and thought about the man that she was now sharing her bed with. Life was strange, just as you imagined things would never change then wham! you met the man of your dreams and not on some tropical holiday or at some swanky restaurant but here in this crappy little town.

  Kerrie smiled, she just wished that they could bump into her ex that would be the icing on the cake. She played the scenario over in her head for the hundredth time. They would be strolling along together hand in hand and she would see Scott walking towards them the familiar swagger in his step, his weak chin jutting out as if he owned the world.

  He would see Kerrie and frown, then he would look at the man by her side, and she knew, she just knew that he would shrink before her eyes. All the swagger would vanish, revealing the true nature of the man, the pettiness and shallow self belief that hung around him like a shabby set of second hand clothes.

  Kerrie yawned and rolled onto her side closing her eyes as she pictured the scene. She was just drifting off to sleep when she felt the body slide in behind her, felt the huge hand cradle her breast, bringing the nipple to life with the brush of a thumb.

  Kerrie moaned as he nibbled her neck. 'You're going to be late for work,' he whispered.

  She thrust back feeling his hardness against the curve of her buttocks.

/>   All thoughts of Scott Mellor vanished as she felt her leg being lifted as he slid into her and the sensation took her breath away.

  Turning her head, she looked up into the face, her eyes bright with lust.

  The man smiled down at her. 'You like?'

  Kerrie nodded and gasped as he slid forward.

  CHAPTER 84

  Lasser felt like a down and out who'd spent the night kipping beneath a drift of damp mouldy leaves. Too tired to shave he'd climbed out of bed and thrown on his clothes before heading downstairs.

  Medea was just in the process of slipping into her coat. 'What are you doing up I thought you were trying to get some sleep?'

  'Bannister wants everyone at the station for nine on the dot,' he replied, rubbing a hand across his eyes.

  'But you only got in at five!'

  Lasser yawned. 'I thought you were asleep?'

  She smiled as she dragged her hair from the collar of her jacket, as usual the sight made Lasser want to grab her and take her back to bed. 'I was pretending.'

  Picking up a slice of toast, he took a huge bight followed by a gulp of sweet tea, watching her closely as she fastened the buttons. 'Do you have an address for this Adam Stokes?' he asked casually.

  Medea picked up her bag. 'Listen, I was thinking that maybe you were right the first time and perhaps it was just kids...'

  'Don't worry Med I wasn't going to turn up and drag him away in handcuffs.'

  Medea looked at him with uncertainty.

  Lasser held up two fingers. 'Scouts honour.'

  'I can't imagine you as a boy scout dressed in your little shorts covered in badges.'

  'That's because I was never in the scouts.'

  'But I thought you said...'

  'I lied, but don't worry I only want to rule him out, no frogmarching him down to the station, no thumbscrews I promise.'

  'Well the thing is I don't have a clue where he lives.'

  Lasser frowned.

  'And you can take that look off your face, like I said, I haven't seen him in over two years.'

  'But you must have an idea?'

  Medea plopped her bag onto the kitchen table. 'When we were together he was still living at home with his mother but when we split, he was getting ready to move into an apartment and before you ask I have no idea where it is.'

  Lasser shrugged. 'Ok, no problem.'

  'Look I know what you're like but don't go making a scene.'

  'I promise Med but this needs sorting.'

  She nodded before swinging the bag onto her shoulder. 'Right I'll see you later.'

  'Listen if I'm done handy tonight, why don't we eat out?'

  'Ok but I won't hold my breath.'

  As she walked past, he grabbed her arm and slid her onto his knee. 'I'll do my best to be finished by five, six at the latest.'

  She ran the back of her hand across his stubble. 'You just concentrate on keeping safe.'

  'I've told you before I'm indestructible.'

  'And I've told you - I don't believe you.'

  Lasser tilted his head and gave her his lost puppy look; she leaned down and kissed him until he was breathless. When she eased away, he gasped. 'What was that for?'

  'Just an incentive to get you back on time,' she smiled and blew him a kiss as she headed out of the door.

  Bannister was in full jackboot mode, the packed incident room reverberated to the sound of his booming voice. DIs Cooper and Chadwick had got both barrels leaving them red faced and sweating.

  Lasser hovered near the door with Susan Coyle, like school teachers ready to stop any errant child who made a dash for freedom.

  'Right you lot playtime is over. I want this man caught. Cooper you monitor Brewster, I want to know where he goes and who he speaks to.'

  'Yes sir,' Cooper snapped.

  'Chadwick, get over to Bolt's house, I want to know everything about the man...'

  'Yes...'

  'I haven't finished!' Bannister hissed.

  Chadwick swallowed. 'Sorry sir.'

  'Find out who he answers to, if the killer has been watching Bolt, then chances are he holds a grudge against his boss as well.'

  This time Chadwick played it safe and nodded a response. 'The rest of you get out there and bang on some doors, find out if anyone saw anything at Sanderford's house and don't forget Philips, Barlow and Patrick Wilson. Whoever's doing this has no intention of stopping, so we catch him, is that clear enough for you all?'

  The crowd drew in a collective breath to respond and Bannister thrashed his hands in the air. 'Don't give me your bullshit just do your bloody jobs!'

  A collective exhale filled the room as people clambered to their feet in a desperate attempt to escape.

  Susan Coyle turned to leave and Lasser grabbed her arm. 'Wait here.'

  She looked at him in surprise before nodding.

  Bannister stalked towards them, his face locked in a perpetual scowl. 'What are you doing still standing there?'

  Lasser cleared his throat. 'Do you want us to do anything in particular, sir?'

  'Harry Bolt's boss.'

  'I'm sorry.'

  'His names Neil Redgrove check him out, see if he's been getting any nasty emails about all the cuts.'

  'But I thought you'd asked Chadwick..?'

  'I did but that man drags his heels and I want it sorted.'

  'Right sir.'

  'If he checks out then go back to the offenders on this list,' Bannister pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. 'I've had it broken down into manageable chunks, the rest of the squad have theirs, so we won't be calling at the same place twice. The address at the bottom belongs to Neil Redgrove.'

  Lasser took the list and counted the names, ten in all, which wasn't too bad. 'Right will do.'

  'I'm off to see the super and I'll catch up with you later that's assuming I still have a job.' With that, Bannister pushed through the double doors and vanished.

  Lasser looked at Redgrove's address and grimaced, it was hardly a surprise to find that he lived out near Parbold village, well away from the town centre with it's myriad of narrow back streets and high rise flats.

  'Right Susan let's go and see what the head honcho has to say for himself.'

  CHAPTER 85

  It was torture; Brewster both prayed for and dreaded the phone ringing. Shaun Lewis had called have a dozen times and left four voice mails, Brewster had ignored them all.

  He sat on his sumptuous sofa and thought about the killer, a faceless monstrosity that shambled towards him axe in hand. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see the body in the woods, the head of Patrick Wilson floating in the filthy toilet bowl.

  Yanking back the ring pull, he took a huge gulp from the can of Carlsberg before dragging a hand across his moist brow.

  For the first time in his professional life, he felt genuinely afraid. Oh, he'd had a few occasions where he'd felt uneasy, door stepping cowboy builders or corrupt businessmen, but he'd always had a crew with him to watch his back. Besides, he'd learned quickly that people tended to go to pieces when caught in the cameras glare. More often than not, they would simply squeal 'No comment!' and make a run for it.

  Brewster thought back to the glory days when he would set off in pursuit, secretly delighted that the culprit was trying to escape. He could still remember sitting in the editing room watching on the screen as he dashed down the street, his dark shoulder length hair flowing out behind him. Brewster knew how to play the media game, he always dressed like a regular guy, jeans, leather jacket and heavy work boots as if he were a member of the public fighting the good fight for the common man.

  Brewster sighed; it felt like a lifetime ago since he'd been that cutting edge reporter. Now his world seemed to be closing in around him, the view of the Holy Grail was shrinking, telescoping away at a rapid pace. Rather than having his own prime time show on the box he would more than likely be found dead in a ditch with an axe buried in his head.

  Fuming at the unfairness of it all
, he stood up and wandered over to the window. The town looked grey and washed out, the spring sunshine that had bathed the town over the last few days had vanished leaving the streets cold and barren.

  He thought back to that bastard Bannister, he'd seen the gleam in his eye, the delight he'd taken in his distress.

  'I can promise you a cell with a window,' he'd taunted.

  Brewster slammed his hand against the glass and tried to work through his options and then he suddenly realised that he had none. Whatever the killer demanded of him he would do, any other venture would be suicidal.

  A slim thought slipped into his mind, if the police could catch him then all his troubles would vanish. The problem was the police were less than useless.

  Brewster pursed his lips; killer caught would equal salvation for him and a guaranteed ride back to the top of the heap.

  Brewster could see the headlines. 'Trapped in the mind of a killer.' He would make a mint selling his story and then there would be the TV appearances, Good Morning, and that shit on Channel Four.

  Gradually, the fear began to subside as his optimism flickered into life. These were dark days, but he could still turn it around, still climb back up the greasy pole.

  When his phone rang, he almost screamed in fear.

  Plucking it from his pocket with a trembling hand, he saw the withheld number flash on the screen and licked his lips.

  'Ignore it,' the inner voice said. 'Just get in the car and drive.'

  Brewster shook his head, a spark of anger flaring, that wasn't an option, that wasn't the way Michael Brewster rolled. Jabbing the button, he lifted the phone to his ear.

  CHAPTER 86

  As expected, the traffic heading out of town was heavy, as if the occupants of the cars had taken a wrong turn and couldn't leave the place fast enough.

  Coyle sat at his side watching the world slide slowly by through the passenger window. 'Do you think it's true what the DCI said about the man not being local? she asked.

  Lasser resisted the urge to light a cigarette, determined not to spend the rest of the day smelling like a chimney that needed a deep clean. 'Bannister knows what he's talking about.'