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

by Robin Roughley

'Well they brought it out of your house.'

  'I was fixing it for a friend.'

  For a few seconds Bert Wood looked taken aback. 'Not yours?'

  'That's right, now...'

  'So what about the rest of the stuff they carted out of here?'

  Sanderford could feel the tension in the room mounting, his armpits felt cold and clammy his legs unsteady. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

  'Well it were definitely more than a computer, I mean there were three of ‘em and they had their arms laden with stuff.'

  'I...'

  'So come on, you tell me what they were doing here and why they shipped all your gear into the back of a van?'

  'I've already told you, I don't know...'

  'And I don't believe you. So where does that leave us?'

  'Look just go will you.' Sanderford pointed at the door.

  Wood's jabbed out a finger. 'There's something dodgy going on here...'

  'Dodgy!'

  'I know why they take peoples' computers away, I've watched Crimewatch!'

  Sanderford tried a wheedling smile. 'Look I've already told you there must be some misunderstanding and as soon as you've gone I'll ring the police and get it sorted.'

  'And how are you going to ring them when you have no phone?'

  Sanderford licked his lips. 'I'll use my mobile.'

  Wood's held out a hand. 'Show it to me?'

  'Look, I..?'

  'You're a bloody liar aren't you pal? You don't own a phone. You're one of those weirdoes, a kiddie fiddler.' Bert spat out the words his face curdling with disgust.

  John opened his mouth but the words of denial lodged in his throat.

  'Dirty bastard!'

  'Look...'

  'Get out of my way,' Bert tried to step past, Sanderford plucked at his sleeve. 'Take your filthy hands off me!'

  Sanderford's hand dropped away, he had never been a fighter, always tried to avoid trouble, though trouble seemed to have no problem finding him. When he spotted the heavy glass ashtray perched on the arm of the sofa, he made a grab for it.

  Bert Wood had one hand on the door when Sanderford brought the makeshift weapon down onto the top of the old man's head. The cloth cap did little to absorb the blow, the sharp edge cracked against the skull. Bert yelped and staggered forward into the door as John lashed out again catching him on the shoulder. The old man tried to raise a liver-spotted hand in defence and Sanderford slapped it away. Bert fell to his knees and twisted his head just as the ashtray came down a third time. It slammed into his temple; blood sprayed hitting the door and coating the pale blue wallpaper red.

  'Please..!' Bert's eyes were full of pleading, all the righteous indignation vanished as he realised that being a nosey neighbour didn't always pay off.

  Sanderford never heard his plea, all the years of being on the receiving end of a beating welled up inside. His arm rose and fell with clockwork precision; Bert's skull began to warp out of shape, the forth blow glanced of the leather like temple and blasted the old man's right eye from its socket.

  Eventually, Sanderford's arm began to grow numb with the effort. Falling to his knees, he looked down at the damage he’d done and vomited onto the wreckage of Bert Wood’s head.

  Drool hung from his lips, his eyes ran with tears as all the old familiar feelings of helplessness descended and settled on his shoulders like a well-worn overcoat.

  'Oh God,' he hitched in a shallow breath and swallowed.

  When John heard the footsteps behind him, he thought it was his imagination coming to haunt him, coming to point the finger of blame.

  'Well, well, Mr Sanderford what a mess you've made.'

  Spinning around, heart lurching, John looked up at the towering figure, the man seemed to fill the room, a dark presence that shifted with the growing shadows. He tried to look up to the face but his eyes seemed unwilling to make the connection.

  'I...'

  'You're coming with me.'

  'I...'

  'It's time to pay your dues you piece of filth.'

  John Sanderford fell to the floor and curled himself into a ball, knees drawn up, his chin tucked tight to his chest as if he could somehow shrink himself into oblivion.

  When he felt the huge hand on the back of his neck, he screamed.

  CHAPTER 62

  Medea had hoped that by staying late at work she would have missed most of the teatime traffic, she was wrong. The stream of cars crawled along at a snail's pace; occasionally she would hear the blare of a horn as people became agitated. Lifting the bottle of water from the cup holder, she took a sip before moving forward ten feet and coming to a stop.

  The clock on the dashboard showed 18.50, at this rate; Lasser would be home before she was.

  CHAPTER 63

  'I'm sorry but Simon Cropper was not Mr Barlow's case worker.'

  Lasser was back at the Town Hall, the woman in charge of admin folded her hands - one over the other - and placed them on top of the file in front of her, as if afraid that Lasser was going to make a grab for the confidential information.

  'Are you sure?'

  Her eyes hardened. 'Positive.'

  'So who was in charge of keeping an eye on Barlow?'

  'Miss Fleming.'

  'Right, I'd like a word...'

  'I'm sorry but she no longer works here?'

  'Another one tossed onto the scrap heap?'

  'She was made redundant; she wasn't tossed onto the scrap heap as you put it.'

  'That's easy to say when you still have a job.'

  'I...'

  'So do you have Miss Fleming’s address?'

  This time the woman harrumphed before flicking the file back open. Seconds later she pealed a yellow post it note from the pad and scribbled down an address before thrusting it towards Lasser who plucked it from her fingers with a smile.

  'Now Mr Cropper’s if you don't mind?'

  'Really!' she snapped, before flicking through the pages again; another post it note was jabbed towards him.

  Lasser studied the addresses. 'Thanks for your help,' he said before turning away.

  'You're welcome,' the woman spat back her voice laden with venom.

  Susan Coyle threw the woman a sympathetic look before following Lasser through the door.

  Checking his watch, he frowned. 'What do you reckon, have we time to pay these two a visit before we go to the debrief?'

  He held out the notes and Susan gave them the once over. 'Well, Cropper lives on the other side of town but Fleming is only ten minutes away.'

  'Right then, Miss Kerrie Fleming it is then.'

  Outside, Lasser spotted a traffic warden writing him a ticket.

  'Hang on pal, you can put that where the sun don't shine.'

  'Lay one finger on me and I'll call the police.'

  'We are the police.'

  The warden slid the ticket into the clear plastic sleeve. 'Got proof of that have you?'

  Lasser dragged out his warrant card and held it out.

  Leaning forward the man studied the image on the plastic card his eyes flicked back and forth. Then he sighed heavily and scrunched the ticket up before thrusting it into his pocket.

  'Sorry about that,' he mumbled, though his hound dogface told another story.

  'Not a problem we all have a job to do.'

  'Not for much longer the way things are going.'

  Lasser beeped the alarm and Susan climbed into the passenger seat as Lasser walked around the front of the car. 'Cheer up mate, it might never happen.'

  'It already has, six weeks time and that's me done.'

  Leaning in, Lasser slid the keys into the ignition. 'Retiring?'

  'Is that some kind of bloody joke?'

  Lasser looked at the woebegone warden. 'I...'

  'I'm fifty five not seventy.'

  Raising an apologetic hand Lasser slid behind the wheel. 'Now there's a man with problems,' he said before pulling away from the curb.

  CHAPTER 64

 
; Medea frowned as she turned into the small cul-de-sac, the headlights pinpointing the three people standing by the front door. Frowning she drove forward, watching as they turned to look at the approaching car.

  She recognised them as Lasser's neighbours, a young couple from two doors down, and a retired Doctor who lived across the road. Pulling onto the drive, she killed the headlights before switching off the engine. Grabbing her handbag Medea climbed from the car.

  'Is everything alright?'

  The doctor, she thought his name was Chris, pursed his lips, and took a step towards her. 'Er no, not really.'

  Medea looked at the young couple, the woman glanced at her and then looked away her partner seemed to be smirking.

  'What's happened?'

  Chris moved to one side and Medea saw the word 'whore,' spray-painted on the front door in garish black letters.

  She took a step back, her face flushed with colour.

  'I was on my way out when I saw it,' the retired doctor said.

  'But...'

  'Unfortunately, there was no sign of the idiot responsible.'

  'Right.'

  'I thought I saw someone walking away from the house about twenty minutes ago.' The woman said before pushing her hair from her eyes.

  'Come on Liv that could have been anyone. I mean, we're always getting leaflets pushed through the door, take away menus, offers on this, offers on that...'

  'But he wasn't carrying a bag and they always have a bag or a sack or something.'

  The man snorted and shook his head. 'Well did you get a look at his face?'

  Medea couldn't take her eyes of the word, first the tyres and now this. Lasser's notion that it was kids trying to get back at him had been blown out of the water.

  'Well no of course not...'

  'So why bother bringing it up?'

  Liv looked at her partner and shrugged. 'I don't really know.'

  'Heaven save us from short sighted women,' the man said and looked at Chris as if waiting for him to agree.

  Christopher threw him a look of disgust. 'Listen, Miss?''

  Medea turned. 'Sullivan, but please call me Medea.'

  Chris smiled.

  'What sort of name's that?' Liv's partner asked his face lined with derision.

  'A beautiful one,' Chris spat. 'Now Medea, I have some white spirit in the garage, I'm sure I can get rid of it in no time at all.'

  Medea shook her head and looked back towards the door. 'No thanks leave it.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Positive,' pulling her keys from her bag, she brushed past and headed for the door.

  When the flash went off she turned and looked at the neighbour from three doors down, he had his iphone in his hand pointing it at the front door.

  'What do you think you're doing?'

  'Evidence, I thought maybe your boyfriend might want to see it.'

  Medea smiled thinly. 'I'll make sure he comes straight around to see you when he gets in.'

  The man frowned. 'Hey, I'm only trying to help.'

  'Moron,' she spat as she slid the key into the lock.

  CHAPTER 65

  Kerrie Fleming was just arriving home when Lasser and Coyle door stepped her. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes growing wide when she saw Susan standing there in her uniform.

  'Miss Fleming?' Lasser asked.

  Adjusting the bag on her shoulder, she slid a strand of dark hair behind her left ear. 'Yes. What's the matter?' Her voice came out as no more than a whisper.

  'I wonder if we could have a word?'

  'Has there been an accident?'

  Lasser smiled reassuringly. 'Believe me it's nothing for you to worry about.'

  Kerrie didn't look convinced. Turning, she slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open. 'You'd better come in.'

  Lasser winked at Susan and stepped over the threshold.

  The house was a small new build, all magnolia plasterboard walls and laminate flooring. They followed Kerrie into a tidy lounge, French windows showed the view of a tiny back garden with a strip of fake grass and a bird table with a couple of blue tits pecking at a red string bag full of nuts.

  Unbuttoning her coat, she turned to face them. 'So what's this all about?'

  'Martin Barlow.'

  She grimaced as she pulled the scarf from around her neck. 'Yes, well, I haven't worked for Social Services for over eight months...'

  'We're aware of that, Miss Fleming.'

  Her grimace turned into a frown. 'So what are you doing here?'

  'You were Barlow's case worker?'

  'Well I saw him occasionally, though to be honest he wasn't on our classified dangerous list.'

  'We've been talking to Mrs Hughes...'

  'Carly, how is she?'

  'Stressed.'

  Kerrie eased off her jacket and tossed it onto the sofa. 'I'm not surprised. I tell you at the time I was annoyed at losing my job. But in hindsight, it's the best thing that could have happened.'

  'So what do you do now?'

  'I'm an outreach worker, you know, helping kids from deprived backgrounds.'

  'It sounds rewarding.'

  'Well put it this way, it's better than spending your days having to talk to people like Barlow.'

  'I can understand that.'

  'So what's he been up to?'

  'Martin Barlow's dead.'

  Lasser watched closely as her eyes sprang wide in surprise.

  'Dead?'

  'Afraid so.'

  'But how, I mean why?'

  'Still ongoing at the moment, so I can't really discuss the case.'

  Kerrie nodded before slumping down onto the sofa. Lasser stayed upright, Susan hovered near the door.

  'So remind me again, what are you actually doing here?'

  'We're checking with people who used to work in your department to see if they can help in any way.'

  'Well I was assigned to Martin Barlow as soon as he came out of jail; he had no other case worker.'

  'Yes well, you see the thing is we're also looking at the bigger picture.'

  'Bigger picture?'

  'Carly explained that you all had your individual cases, and maybe time constraints played a part in not seeing these individuals as often as you would have liked.'

  'So she's saying I didn't do my job!'

  'She was talking about the department as a whole, Miss Fleming, not you specifically.'

  'I'm sorry but I was treated like shi..' Her blush deepened. 'Treated abysmally at that place.'

  Lasser sat down by her side. 'I'm just trying to find out if the cases were interchangeable?'

  'I'm sorry?'

  'Well say someone was off sick, then how was their work covered?'

  'Admin sorted it, but I tell you it used to cause a lot of friction.'

  'Why's that?'

  'Because the work wasn't shared out equally. I mean, admin either had no idea or simply didn't care. You had people in that office with ten cases on their books, and others with three times that amount.'

  'Which category did you fall into?'

  Kerrie barked a bitter laugh. 'I'd been there five years, so I was a relative newbie. I mean some of them had been there twenty, thirty years...'

  'And they had the lighter load?'

  Kerrie sighed. 'I think you can guess the answer to that one.'

  'So it caused friction you say?'

  'You have no idea how much.'

  'And did no one ever voice their concerns?'

  Outside another blue tit landed on the nuts.

  'You have to understand, the council like to make all the right noises about political correctness but basically it's a blame culture.'

  'So the buck got passed?'

  'Like I said I hadn't been there that long and there was talk about cuts and people losing their jobs.'

  'So people kept their mouths shut because they didn't want to find themselves out of work?'

  'Come on, you know what this town's like. I mean, it's not as i
f you can simply go out and get another job, people were terrified, and we all have mortgages and bills to pay. I was no different, so every time another file dropped on my desk I just got on with it as best I could.'

  Lasser could feel his anger building, it was typical of the bastards in charge, spread the rumours, divide and conquer until your workforce would put up with anything.

  'Do you know a Mr Cropper?'

  'Simon?'

  Lasser nodded. 'He's next on our list.'

  Kerrie folded her hands into her lap. 'Well you won't find him at home.'

  'Excuse me?'

  For the first time Kerrie Fleming looked unsure of herself. 'Look, Simon's not been well.'

  'In what way?'

  'It was the job; it got on top of him. You have no idea how bad it was at the time and from what you said about Carly it doesn't sound as if things have improved.'

  'Tell me, Kerrie, when did Simon leave?'

  'Same time as me, we finished on the same day.'

  'So you've kept in touch?'

  'Well we'd ring one another occasionally but you know what it's like, you get busy. I got the new job and...'

  'So how do you know Mr Cropper is still ill?'

  'I'm a friend of his sister. We used to have the occasional work get-together; you know Christmas parties and special birthdays. The first year I was there, Simon brought his sister to one of these parties and we got along.'

  'So is it stress related or is he physically ill?'

  Kerrie chewed at her lower lip, Susan slid into a chair opposite. Lasser looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

  'Kerrie?'

  'I suppose you'll find out soon enough, Simon had a drug problem and I think the job made things worse for him.'

  'What kind of drug problem?'

  'Not hard drugs if that's what you're getting at. Simon was off work quite a bit with stress, the doctor prescribed him something for depression. I mean by rights he should never have come back to work so soon.'

  'So you're saying he became addicted to these tablets?'

  Kerrie sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling; small spotlights glimmered, giving off minimal light. 'Simon was in the wrong job, you have to have a thick skin, and you have to be able to switch off.'

  'And Simon couldn't?'

  Kerrie flicked him a pensive look. 'He found it hard to leave it all behind. I tried to talk to him about it but he wouldn't or couldn't listen, I'm not sure which.'