She caught a glimpse of Lasser and Bannister standing together, the DCI had his hands thrust into the pockets of his overcoat, Lasser nodded and then pointed at the ground.
Medea sighed, and thought back to the first time they'd met, he'd been investigating a missing girl who happened to be a pupil at the school where she worked as a receptionist.
It was strange the way things worked out, if someone had told her that ten months later she'd be in a relationship with the argumentative sod she would have laughed in disbelief. The way he trampled over people to get to the truth, showing little regard for the niceties of life was hard to come to terms with, but he also had a streak of kindness at odds with his brusque demeanour. She recalled the first time they'd been out on a date and someone had come staggering out of a darkened alleyway in the middle of town. As usual, it had been raining and the man had looked as if he'd been sleeping rough forever. His clothes had been bedraggled, his hair and beard matted with grime.
Medea had found herself grasping Lasser's arm as he approached.
'Hello, Tommy, how are you mate?'
Lasser had clapped a hand on the man's shoulder and Tommy's face had split into a wide grin showing a perfect set of white dentures.
'I'm all right, son, how's yourself?'
'You fancy a drink?' Lasser had immediately asked.
They'd spent the next two hours ensconced in the John Bull chop house, surrounded by burly men in leather jackets and motorcycle boots, the sound of Hawkwind blasting from the battered old jukebox.
Despite the surroundings, Medea had found herself enjoying the experience. In spite of appearances, people had been warm and friendly. Lasser and Tommy had sat with a pint each of Guinness and talked. Medea had found herself sitting by Tommy's side, her nose crinkling as the old man began to warm up, giving off the faint aroma of damp straw and horse manure.
It turned out he'd been living on the streets for the best part of ten years.
'I tell you, Medea, nobody and I mean, nobody is a better tattooist than Tommy Grieves.'
Even through the copious amounts of facial hair, Medea saw Tommy blush with pride.
The next thing, Lasser had taken off his jacket and slid his T-shirt over his head; a brassy-looking woman in tight leather pants wolf whistled as she walked past, Lasser turned and grinned at her before flexing a bicep. The tattoo on his shoulder was of a jet-black raven with wings spread, beak like a scythe, its beady eye shining like a black diamond.
Tilting his head, Lasser had kissed the bird and sighed. 'Tommy did that,' he beamed at her before slipping the shirt back over his head.
At the end of the night, she'd waited in the pub doorway as Lasser said his goodbyes. She'd watched as he dragged some folding money from his pocket and wedged it into Tommy's hand. The old guy had shaken his head and tried to give it back but Lasser had backed away with hands raised and then turned and walked towards her, a bright smile plastered across his face.
She tried to recall the last time she had seen him smile like that and found that she couldn't.
It was the job making him morose, and it was little wonder when you considered the things he had to put up with. He only saw people at their worst; coming into contact with broken and damaged individuals on a daily basis was bound to have an adverse effect.
She saw him run a hand across his head in frustration, a few seconds later Bannister mirrored his actions.
She knew he worried about their relationship; he was walking on a high wire, trying to balance his work and private life. Sometimes she would feel him watching her, trying to gauge her mood, looking for signs that she was getting frustrated with the relationship. When the truth was she was happy, she loved spending time with him, loved simply being with him, though it was as if he couldn't see it or didn't believe it.
She saw him look over his shoulder towards the car, a weary smile flashed across his face and then Bannister must have said something because he snapped his head away. Then they both moved forward disappearing from view.
She needed to show him that she was committed to the relationship that she wanted to be with him no matter what the job threw at them. The problem was she wasn't sure how to do it.
83
At first, Cathy couldn't understand a word. Sarah had come bursting through the back door like a mad woman, her hair plastered to her head, eyes wide and frantic. Then Erin had dashed into the kitchen, both women had looked at one another and then they were clinging together, both speaking at once, apologies flying back and forth between them.
'I found him,' Sarah gasped.
'So it was him?'
Sarah nodded and then swallowed, her rain slicked face suddenly crumpled. 'He said he's going to find the man who attacked us and kill him.'
Erin looked at her friend in confusion as if she'd heard the words but couldn't fathom the meaning. 'What are you talking about?'
Cathy moved to the table and took hold of Sarah's sleeve, droplets of rain water pitter-pattered onto the wooden floor, her boots had left a trail of muddy footprints leading from the door.
Sarah looked at her and then dragged her arm away. 'He said the man who attacked us and killed Graham doesn't deserve to live.'
At the mention of her husband's name, Erin had a flashback to the charnel house, the blood, the flesh laid open, the fingers tossed onto the floor.
Cathy looked at both women, Erin's eyes dark and haunted; Sarah's bright with excitement. 'Did he tell you his name, Sarah?' she asked.
'What?'
'His name?'
For a second a flicker of annoyance swept into her eyes and then it was gone. Licking her lips, she pushed a hand through her soaking hair. 'No he never told me his name.'
'But you're sure it was the same man who rescued you?'
'Positive, as soon as I saw him it all came back to me.'
Erin pulled out a chair and slumped down. 'But why would he say something like that?'
Sarah turned and walked towards the sink, grabbing the kettle and turning on the tap. 'He said he needed stopping before he did it to someone else.'
'But how does he expect to find him, I mean, the police are out there and so far, they've not been able to track him down?' Erin said.
Cathy frowned and then sighed. She was right, dozens of officers looking for one man and yet they hadn't managed to get their hands on the killer, he was either very smart or incredibly lucky, neither scenario was a comforting thought.
'So, what did you say when he told you of his intentions?' Cathy walked around the table and crossed the room until she was standing by Sarah's side. 'Sarah?'
'Look, I was frightened, I ran.'
'So, this total stranger finds you in the woods and just spouts out that he intends killing the man who attacked you?'
Sarah turned away and put the kettle on to boil. 'Of course not, he asked me about what had happened, he said he'd been around to Erin's house and wanted to know why the police were there.'
Cathy glanced at Erin, who looked back at her and shrugged.
'Right I'd better call this in.'
'What will they do about it?'
'That isn't up to me, Sarah, but we can't have people going around threatening to take the law into their own hands…'
Sarah stuttered out a laugh. 'But why does it matter, it's not as if he can really do anything about it, is it?'
Cathy looked at her long and hard. 'I don't know, Sarah, you tell me?'
Sarah turned away.
84
Bannister snarled, 'Jesus Christ, what a mess.'
They were in a small room at the back of the store, the security guard was scrolling through the video footage. 'There,' he pointed at the screen and there was Robert Flynn standing in the foyer. They watched as he ripped the wrapper from a pie before taking a huge bite. 'And that's the women he attacked.'
Lasser leaned forward; she looked to be about thirty, wearing a long expensive-looking coat and something that resembled a dead cat on her hea
d. They could see the scowl on her face as she watched him munching on the food.
'She doesn't look too impressed with his eating habits does she?' Lasser said.
'So, he waited outside for her and then tried to stab her to death because she gave him a black look?' Bannister sounded dismayed as if he'd just learned something new that had eroded his belief in humanity.
'There was a few of us that chased the bastard but he could run, I'll tell you that for nothing.'
'And you say he went over the fence?'
'That's right, there's a path that runs down the side of the river. I tried to get over so I could follow him,' he patted his paunch. 'But I'm not as young as I used to be.'
'Yes well, it's probably a good thing, Mr Bench; otherwise we'd be fishing you out of the river by now.'
Bench nodded sagely. 'Aye you're probably right, so the next time my missus calls me a fat bastard for eating like a horse I can tell her being a greedy sod saved my life.'
Lasser smiled, Bannister didn't.
A knock came at the door and DI Bob Fletcher stuck his head into the room. 'We've had a sighting, boss, a taxi driver saw someone fitting the description running down the side of the Chinese Palace.'
'Right, I want everyone out in the town centre, in pairs, no one goes alone, Bob.'
'Understood.'
'And get the dog handlers in.'
Fletcher nodded and vanished.
'Right, Mr Bench, it goes without saying that you do not record over this.' Bannister pointed at the screen.
'Right, I'll see to it.'
'Good man, come on Lasser; let's see if we can find this maniac.'
'Sooner you than me,' Bench said, before taking a bite from his bacon sarnie.
As Bannister strode down the frozen food aisle, Lasser tugged at his sleeve.
'I've got Medea in the car.'
Bannister turned and looked at him in disbelief. 'Explain – and it had better be good.'
'We were just getting out for a couple of hours…'
'Out for a couple hours, what the hell is that supposed to mean? We're in the middle of a multiple-murder investigation…'
'Look, I didn't know this was going to happen. I've been on since six and…'
'Oh here we go again, the woe-is-me attitude.'
'Come on, that's not fair…'
Someone walked past pushing a trolley containing a pack of economy fish fingers and a tin of beans.
'Look, I know you think I have some kind of vendetta against you, Lasser, but I'll never ask you to do something that I wouldn't do myself.'
Lasser wanted to scream 'bollocks' into Bannister's face, but he didn't fancy a fist fight amongst the frozen veg.
'So, what do you want me to do?' He asked.
'About Medea?'
Lasser nodded.
Bannister pulled out his phone and fiddled with the buttons before sliding it to his ear.
'What are you doing?' Lasser asked warily.
Bannister held up a hand for silence. 'Suzanne, it's me, I need a favour.'
Lasser looked up at the ceiling and cringed before walking slowly towards the exit, by the time he'd reached the tills Bannister had caught up with him.
'Sorted, Suzanne's on her way, she said she'll take care of Medea.'
'Thanks for that.'
Bannister either didn't hear the sarcasm or chose to ignore it. 'That's what friends are for, besides Sue's been dying to meet her, they should get along like a house on fire.'
Outside it had started to rain again, the car park bathed in sickly yellow light, reflecting off the roof of the cars.
'Little bastard!' Bannister snarled and quickened his pace.
Lasser looked up in surprise and then he saw him – Brewster – busy taking photographs with his fancy camera. He was so engrossed that he didn't see Bannister as he closed in like a tomahawk missile.
Lasser allowed himself a tight smile, this should be good.
85
Robert wanted to run but the voice wouldn't allow it, he kept looking over his shoulder, his eyes wide in terror, convinced that he could hear an army of heavy boots chasing him down.
'Stay calm, Robert.'
'They're coming, I can hear them, they'll catch me and…'
'Not if you do as I tell you.'
Robert carried on walking; the back alley stretched the full length of Market Street, doubling as a narrow service road for shop deliveries. Weaving his way between a plethora of wheelie bins and empty shopping trolleys, he made his way up the hill. At the top, the alley opened up and he could see the spot where he'd killed the man in the burger van, it felt like a lifetime ago. The van had the shutters down. As he strode past, he saw the sign that said check your change, despite his fear, Robert smiled.
The street was busy, the voice told him to stick close to the shops and keep his head down, a minute later he emerged into the parish churchyard and cut left around the cenotaph before striding across the short grass that led to the boundary wall.
Robert slipped into the bushes, the ground was littered with empty beer cans, rubber Johnnies and pieces of soggy tissues, a dogger's paradise.
'I won't be able to get to the house, it'll be daylight soon.' he waited for a reply, head cocked to one side. 'Are you still there?' The thought that the voice could have abandoned him filled Robert with a numbing terror, he tried to think and found that his brain didn't work without instruction. Therefore, he did the only thing he could think of, pulling out the oblong box, he popped three tablets free and threw them into his mouth, chewing feverishly.
When he heard the grunt in the dark, he felt his bladder loosen, he wasn't alone, someone was here in the bushes with him. Reaching into his pocket, Robert pulled the short blade free, another grunt and then he heard the familiar sound of someone breaking wind. He began to weave his way through the bushes, dipping his head to avoid the low branches. Despite the rain, it was surprisingly dry, the thicket of entwined branches above keeping the worst of the weather at bay. When he saw the legs poking from the end of the long cardboard box he stopped. His brain buzzed and clicked like a telephone exchange trying to patch through a call.
'Kill him,' the voice crackled in his ear.
'But…'
'Kill him now.'
Flynn moved forward, slipping the protective cover from the blade he slid to his knees, he could hear the muffled sound of snoring and then another fart, this time the confined space filled with the stink of the thing in the box. Reaching out he slid the blade into the cardboard, his eyes springing wide in amazement as the knife hissed through the covering.
It was hard to see what lay beneath, in truth, it looked like a bundle of empty clothes, then the man rolled onto his back and Robert could see the matted beard and wild hair encasing a face lined with age. Even when he placed the blade against the throat, the man remained asleep as if he were resting on the most comfortable bed in the world rather than a stinking cardboard box on the damp earth.
Robert hissed in a breath and whipped his hand to the right, at last the man's eyes sprang open. This time there was no eruption of red, the heart was too weak to put on a fancy show, black blood seeped into the grey beard, the eyes looked at him with a strange curiosity, and then the old man threw him the whitest of smiles and died.
Robert sat back on his haunches and looked down in disappointment. He'd hoped for so much more, after the night he'd had he deserved it but the old man had been worse than useless. In fact, it was almost as if dying had been a blessed relief.
'You finished, Robert.'
'That was no fun,' he sulked.
'Get to the canal and keep moving. I know somewhere we can rest for the day.'
'But what about the bitch, I want…'
'Daylight, remember how much you hate the daylight?'
Suddenly Erin's face lit up in his head, the need to kill her swamped everything. 'Fuck the daylight, I want her now!'
'That's the medication talking, Robert.'
/> 'I…'
'Do you really think you can function without the tablets, the tablets lie, they tell you things that make you feel indestructible…'
'Like you do, is that what you mean?'
'Put the knife away, Robert and move.'
Robert licked his lips. 'And what if I don't?'
A peel of laughter rang in his head. 'You want me to leave is that what you're saying?'
'Maybe I do, you made me kill the woman in the stupid fucking hat. I could have been caught and…'
'Goodbye, Robert.'
A flash of light flared in front of his eyes and he knew the voice had gone, as if someone had been talking on the phone and slammed it down. The silence it left behind was immense, he could feel his thoughts tumbling through space, fragmenting and breaking up, imploding until they became nothing. Robert Flynn stood up and pushed his way through the bushes, he could hear every snapped twig, every drop of rain that landed on the foliage above his head.
Every noise was absorbed like a dark rain of souls, he felt full, yet empty, alive yet dead.
86
Lasser knew Flynn had given them the slip, the town centre had been flooded with officers, squad cars patrolled the streets, crawling along slowly, headlights on full beam as they weaved in and out of the narrow back streets.
Bannister's face was set in grim lines, his eyes filled with fury.
Brewster had been left on Tesco car park with the threat of litigation hanging over his head. He'd backed off as Bannister approached and tried to make a run for it but as he turned, he'd collided with Bob Fletcher who'd grabbed him and kept a tight hold until Bannister stalked over.
Brewster had tried his usual ploy of bluster and police brutality, but those on the car park had moved away as if they had no interest in the plight of the reporter. By the time Bannister had finished with him he was white with fright, as reality swept home.
'I'm holding you directly responsible for the death of Graham Nash, because of your gross stupidity that man was slaughtered and you've put those two women directly in the killer's path.'
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