Medea tried to think but her mind felt sluggish, the muscles in her shoulders tense.
As soon as Lasser got home she'd try and persuade him not to go and see Adam, after all he was hardly going to admit that he was the one responsible. Closing her eyes, she thought back to their meeting in the cold milk aisle. The way he'd looked at her had been unnerving, and when he'd discovered she was engaged to a police officer the vitriol had been plain to see on his false tan face.
Medea opened her eyes just as the kettle came to the boil. Could she really see Adam crouched by the front door, spraying that awful word for the entire world to see.
Medea grimaced you bet she could.
CHAPTER 75
Lasser kept the flashing lights on, his foot planted to the floor. Bypassing the town centre, he headed into Ashton. The streets where crowded with Friday night revellers, lads in jeans and t-shirts, girls tottering around in groups, on nose bleed high heels.
Lasser sneaked through the traffic lights and turned left before opening the taps.
At the top of the hill he shot right, houses began to thin out fields taking over. Five minutes later, he hurtled over the small canal bridge and entered Leigh town centre.
Apart from the occasional individual traipsing down the road, the town was quiet. Taking a right at the Bulls Head pub, Lasser drove down a narrow street lined with towering three storey-terraced houses on either side. At the end of the long road, the infirmary appeared out of the dark. At this time of night, the car park was deserted allowing Lasser to pull up close to the front doors of the hospital. Climbing out, he made his way to the intercom on the wall, the buzzer sounded like an asthmatic mouse.
A thin gust of wind slithered around the corner of the building and he flipped up the collar of his jacket, shivering against the cold.
'Come on, come on,' he hissed. He wanted to get this over with then he could get home to Medea. The thought of leaving her alone in the house was praying on his mind, eating away at his nerves. This time he kept his finger firmly on the buzzer for a few seconds and then he began jabbing it on and off. After thirty long seconds, a metallic voice barked out of the small box.
'What on earth do you think you're doing?'
Lasser shivered again. 'Good evening...'
'Have you any idea what time it is?'
'I...'
'Visiting times are by appointment only.'
'Right I get that, but...'
'If you don't make yourself scarce then I'll call security.'
Lasser gritted his teeth. 'Simon Cropper?'
'Right that's it.'
The intercom clicked off and Lasser slammed the palm of his hand back on the small black button. 'Hello!'
A full minute later, he spotted a man striding across the car park, heavy metal torch in hand. When he was twenty feet away, the guard flicked it on and shone the beam directly into Lasser's face.
'What the fuc...'
'Alright sunshine what's your game?'
'Turn that bloody thing off!'
The beam didn't waver. 'Come on what are you doing hammering on the door at this time of night?'
Lasser snatched out his warrant card and thrust it forward. 'If you don't point that light somewhere else then consider yourself nicked.'
The light pooled at Lasser's feet.
'So you're a copper then?'
'Yes I'm a copper and you're a moron. Now open that bloody door!'
'Can't.'
'What do you mean, I want access and..?'
'The duty nurse is the only one who can open it.'
'I take it she's the woman who called out the cavalry.'
'Well aye, you can't be too careful around here.'
'Right come here.'
The man wandered over, sixty and sheepish in more ways than one, his face looked long and angular his eyes wide set, a thatch of curly grey hair on top of his head.
Lasser pressed the intercom button. 'Right, tell her I want in.'
The lugubrious faced security officer frowned. 'She won't like it.'
'Yeah, well let me worry about that.'
'What do you want?' The voice spat from the box on the wall.
'Mrs Turner it's me, Stan.'
'I thought I told you to get rid of that man?'
Lasser looked up, the camera was bolted to the wall above the door. 'Open it.'
'Look what is this all about?'
'He's a copper, Mrs Turner.'
'Have you checked his credentials?'
Lasser could feel the red mist descending.
'Aye I have and he's legit.'
'Well what does he want?'
Lasser lost it. 'If you don't open this door right now then I'll call for backup and believe me by the time I've finished everyone will be awake and you'll be spending the night in a six by six cell.'
'How dare you, I...'
'Open it!' Lasser bellowed at the top of his voice. Stan's eyes shot open in surprise.
A few seconds later, the door clicked and Lasser pushed against it, murder on his mind.
CHAPTER 76
Bannister was sitting in Doc Shannon's old Land Rover, the inside of the car smelled like a farmyard, all damp straw and wet dogs.
The end of the road had been blocked off by a couple of squad cars, he could see the blinking lights of high resolution cameras flashing in the dark as the reporters filmed snippets for the morning news.
'What a bloody mess.'
Shannon sat in the driver's seat, his gut squashed up to the steering wheel. 'Whoever's doing this they're determined to keep us busy.'
Bannister threw him a sidelong glance. 'Not the way I'd have put it.'
Shannon shrugged. 'You know what I mean.'
'What do you think of Sanderford’s chances?'
'Slim, he'd lost a lot of blood and the trauma alone could be enough to kill him.'
'So he won't be making a statement anytime soon?'
'Without a tongue I very much doubt it.'
Bannister scratched at his five o’clock shadow. 'Any sign of the missing bits?'
'No.'
The DCI could feel the frustration mounting.
Shannon shifted in his seat, the springs on the car groaned in protest. 'Right, I'd better get back to the hospital and see the unfortunate Mr Woods.'
Bannister clicked the door open. 'As soon as I’m finished here I'll head over.'
Shannon yawned. 'Remind me what it's like to sleep.'
'What are you asking me for I have no bloody idea.'
Shannon smiled as the engine rattled into life.
'And why don't you get a decent set of wheels.' Bannister barked.
'I don't get mileage, besides I've got a jag at home.'
'Oh, have you now.'
Shannon pulled away, leaving Bannister to head back towards the house. Sally Wright stood to attention by the door. Carl from SOCO was on his knees studying the bloodstain on the block paving.
Giving him a wide birth, Bannister walked through the front door and into a huge open plan living room. Harry Bolt sat slumped on the sumptuous sofa, surrounded by plumped cushions, his face rigid with shock, grass stains on both knees. Steve Black stood on the shag pile rug, face like thunder.
At the far side of the room Bannister could see a woman sitting at the dining room table, a glass of white wine clasped between her hands, her eyes sparking in anger.
Bannister turned back to the head of Social Services. 'Do you have any idea why John Sanderford should have been left for dead at the front of your house, Mr Bolt?'
Harry ran a quivering hand under his nose before throwing his wife a poisonous look. 'No.'
Bannister moved forward. 'It must have been a terrible shock for you...'
'Bitch,' Harry hissed.
'I was talking about finding a man with no eyes and his tongue missing, tied to your front porch, not your marital problems.'
Bolt glanced at him before resuming his hate filled look at the woman at the far side of t
he room.
'Are you listening to me Mr Bolt?'
'What?' Harry snapped; his eyes still locked on the woman who had taken his love and stamped on it. His life was in tatters and it was all her fault.
'Mr Bolt?'
Harry snapped his head around. 'Look, I've already told you I have no idea why that man was left here. No idea who did it, and to be honest I have more on my mind at the moment.'
'More on your mind?' Bannister parroted in disbelief.
A blush of colour rose in Bolt's pasty face. 'I...'
'A man has been tortured and left to die on your doorstep and you have more on your mind!'
Harry glanced towards his wife; she looked back at him with the sliver of a smile on her face.
'Look, maybe that came out wrong.'
Suddenly Bannister dropped to his haunches. 'You know about Colin Philips don't you Mr Bolt?'
Harry blinked and Bannister watched as the man tried to focus.
'I...'
'The sex offender, the one whose head was left in the microwave, remember, I told you all about it in your office?'
Bolt swallowed. 'Why are you telling me this?'
'Martin Barlow...'
'The dentist?'
Banister's frown deepened until his forehead resembled a ploughed field. 'No, Mr Bolt, Martin Barlow the paedophile.'
Harry shuffled deeper into the sofa as if he were trying to bury his way through the upholstery. 'I...'
'His head had been placed on a statue in Mesnes Park.'
'Oh God!'
'Starting to see a link are we, Harold?
'Link?'
'We have reason to believe the man responsible for those deaths was the one who left Sanderford on your doorstep.'
Suddenly, any thought of Ellie's infidelities shrunk to nothingness. 'But...'
'Whoever's doing this blames your department for not keeping close tabs on these people.'
Bolt lunged forward his hands clutching for Bannister's jacket. 'What are you talking about; this has nothing to do with me!'
Bannister slapped his hands away. 'That's not the way he sees it.'
'But...' Harold Bolt's bottom lip quivered his eyes wide and glassy with fear.
'I'd advise you to think carefully, Harold, I want to know if anyone bore a grudge when they got the push?'
Bolt dragged a hand across his thinning hair. 'How am I meant to answer that?'
'Come on, some of them must have been pissed off. You don't make that many people jobless without ruffling a few feathers.'
'But nobody said anything to me!'
'How many people are we talking about?'
Bolt rung his hands together, his face fixed in concentration. 'All together? 'he asked.
'Yes Harold all together.'
'Just short of two hundred.'
'Two hundred!'
Bolt looked mortified at the admission. 'But none of this was my fault; I mean if it was up to me then no one would have lost their jobs.'
Bannister didn't believe a word. 'So, almost two hundred people on the scrap heap and nobody knocks on your door to give you a mouthful?'
Bolt's hands continued to torture one another. 'I'm telling you nobody said a word.'
'So no nasty emails?'
'Not...'
'Don't lie Harold.'
Bannister snapped his head around; Ellie Bolt had risen from her chair, glass in hand. Her dark hair shone under the halogen lights that twinkled in the ceiling; she looked more like Bolt's daughter than his wife.
'He's asking me not you!' Bolt screeched.
Bannister thrust out a hand and Harold snapped his mouth closed.
'Are you saying your husband has received threatening emails, Mrs Bolt?'
'That's exactly what I'm saying, inspector.'
'Show me.'
Ellie nodded. 'Follow me.'
Harry slumped forward, his head buried in his hands.
CHAPTER 77
The duty nurse looked at Lasser with a face like sand and glue.
'I want the name of your superior officer!' she barked, her eyes laced with venom.
She was sitting behind a desk in the cone of an angle poise light, the rest of the large room was swaddled in shadow.
Lasser ignored her request. 'Simon Cropper?'
'What about him?'
'I want to see him.'
The woman folded her arms across her ample chest, her sour face framed by a mop of crazy grey hair, like Susan Boyle before the makeover. 'That's impossible.'
'Is he dead?'
'Of course he's not dead.'
'Then I want to see him.'
'He's sleeping.'
Lasser placed his hands on the desk and leant forward. 'Then bloody well wake him.'
'I will most certainly not wake him...'
'Right what's your name?'
'I beg your pardon.'
'I need your name so I can put it on the arrest sheet.'
Lasser heard Stan draw a sharp, shocked breath. The woman looked as if she were about to self-combust.
'Arrest me!' her voice rose to a screech.
'Considering you don't want to wake the patients, you're doing enough shouting?' Lasser threw her an evil grin.
'I...'
'So what's it to be, give Cropper a wakey-wakey call or come with me to the station?'
When she jumped to her feet and stormed towards a set of double doors Stan let out a whoosh of pent up air. 'Bloody hell mate, you like to live dangerously don't you?'
Lasser turned and grinned. 'On the edge mate on the ragged edge.'
CHAPTER 78
The man checked his watch before pulling into the McDonalds drive in. Food ordered he parked the car before taking a swig of coffee and popping a few fries into his mouth. Outside, the first spattering of rain hit the windscreen and the wipers automatically sprang into action. Taking a bite from his burger, he reached for the phone. Brewster answered on the second ring as if he'd been expecting the call.
'Michael my friend having fun I hope?'
'Jesus, what did you do?' The reporter sounded nervous, his voice quivering with emotion.
'What do you mean?
'They're saying you took his eyes and cut out his tongue.'
'Do you have a problem with that?'
'A problem!'
'You knew the score when we started all this.'
'But...'
'You assured me you could cope?'
'But his eyes! I mean why would you do something like that?'
The man lit a cigarette and watched as a line of cars pulled off Sainsbury's car park, a seemingly never-ending stream of late night shoppers coming and going. 'I don't have to explain myself to you. Michael...'
'And his tongue for Christ sake.'
'Come on my friend you know how this works.'
'I...'
'So you're getting cold feet is that it?'
The silence stretched out.
'I just didn't think things would get this bad,' Brewster mumbled.
'Do you object to the removal of the head hands and feet or is it the tongue and eyes you find difficult swallow?'
'I...'
'I mean you wanted the exposure Michael, you wanted the chance to get back where you belong.'
'I know but...'
'And now when things get a little intense you start to whinge.'
More silence, he slid the window down and flicked the stub into the rain.
'Look I have to be careful, I mean the police will shit all over me if they find out we've been in touch.'
'I thought you said you could handle the police?'
'But I could end up behind bars!'
Turning the key the engine purred into life. 'Some things are a lot worse than a couple of years behind bars Michael.'
The reporter hitched in a sharp breath. 'What do you mean?'
'If there's one thing I hate more than a child molester it's a snivelling reporter.' He clicked his seatbelt into place allo
wing his words to sink in.
'But...'
'It seems to me that the great Michael Brewster is something of a fraud, he wants the scoop, but isn't prepared to put his neck on the line.'
'Please, it's just been a misunderstanding!'
'Somehow I doubt that, Michael.'
'What do you want me to do?' Brewster sounded on the verge of hysterics; the quiver in his voice had turned into a nasal whine, the undercurrent of terror coming through loud and clear.
'I need to know you can be trusted?'
'Please, you can trust me, I promise, I...'
'Tell me Michael, where are you now?'
'You know where I am.'
'Of course I do. Now the officer in charge...'
'Bannister,' Brewster spat out the word as if he had a bad taste in his mouth.
'Is he the one you delivered the letter to?'
'Yes, him and that bastard sergeant of his.'
'Name?'
'Lasser.'
'I take it you don't like them?'
Brewster snorted. 'I despise them.'
'Is Bannister in attendance?'
'In attendance?' Brewster mimicked in confusion.
The man shook his head and sighed. 'Is he at the house?'
'Yeah, yeah, he went in about twenty minutes ago.'
'Good I want you to go and find him.'
'I can't do that!' Once again, the fear reared in Brewster's voice. 'The place is crawling with coppers.'
'So go and find one and tell them I want a word with Bannister.'
'But...'
'It should earn you a few brownie points, Michael.'
Silence.
He could imagine the reporter turning his options over in his brain, could almost smell the meltdown. 'I'll ring back in fifteen minutes and I hope for your sake that Bannister is waiting.'
'Wait..!'
Ending the call, he eased back into the sumptuous leather. Things were going well but there was room for improvement. He knew well enough that the police would be stretched to breaking point, trying to cover all bases with minimal resources.
Dipping into his pocket, he pulled out a slip of paper and carefully unfolded it. 'Eenie- meanie-miny,' he said as he studied the list, then the smile illuminated his face, 'Mo.'
Closing his eyes, he sighed. It paid to keep things random, muddy the waters, fool the police into thinking there was no method to his madness. The man had few friends in life, but those who would claim to know him would all agree that he never acted on impulse. Nothing was random, nothing overlooked.
More Equal Than Others. The DS Lasser series. Volume five: Robin Roughley Page 18