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

by Robin Roughley

  'Do you think he's done this kind of thing before?'

  Lasser glanced at her in surprise. 'Well I would imagine we'd have heard about it if our man was travelling the country killing sex offender's en-masse.'

  'But what if it wasn't 'en-masse' what if it was just one or maybe two and then he moves on?'

  Lasser slipped into second gear and eased forward. 'You mean like a dummy run?'

  'Well let's face it, how many unsolved murders must there be?'

  'Probably hundreds but it doesn't mean our man is responsible.'

  Susan turned to face him. 'You don' think it would be worth checking how many offenders have been killed and no one was brought to justice?'

  Lasser thought for a moment. 'Right, after we've been to see this Redgrove character I'll drop you back at the station and you can search the database.'

  'Me!'

  Lasser grinned. 'That'll teach you to have good ideas, Coyle.'

  'But what am I looking for?'

  'Start by looking locally and by that I mean Manchester and Liverpool. If you find any cases of paedophiles getting the chop and I mean literally, then you let me know.'

  'Will do.'

  The traffic began to thin out and Lasser got his foot down. Five minutes later, they crossed over the gridlocked M6 and then out past Wrightington Hospital.

  'It's nice around here,' Coyle said as they swept over a bridge that spanned a small lake, a couple of swans drifting on the water.

  'How the other half live, eh?'

  Redgrove's house looked like something you would expect to find gracing the cover of a high-end glossy magazine. It stood on a slight natural rise central to a twin gravel driveway, the gardens looked substantial the type that kids could play hide and seek in and get lost for hours.

  'Bloody hell!' Coyle gasped and then blushed when Lasser looked at her in surprise. 'Sorry sir,' she mumbled apologetically.

  'What's the matter Susan have you never seen a typical two up two down property before?'

  The wheels of the car scrunched on the loose stones as Lasser pulled up to the front of the house.

  Climbing out, he took a deep breath that was free of diesel fumes and the everyday grime of the town centre. The house was huge, two massive bay windows stood left and right with an oak coloured front door lodged between them. Ivy had snaked it's way over much of the front of the building, fronds dangled down from the shingles, somewhere close by a crow squawked in the trees.

  Crunching their way to the door, Lasser looked for a bell and then sighed before rapping his knuckles on the woodwork.

  'No sign of any cars,' Coyle said as she hitched up her belt. For a moment, Lasser was transported back to when he and Cathy Harper had been working together, before they had become bed mates, before an animal brandishing a Stanley knife had killed her. He could see her with a clarity that made his heart ache and the guilt surge up through his tired brain.

  Swallowing the distress, he turned and knocked harder.

  'I wonder how much a place like this would cost.'

  'Probably about the same as it does to toss two hundred people out of their jobs,' Lasser spat in response.

  The door opened slowly on well-oiled hinges a smallish woman in her mid fifties peeped out at them a frown on her angular face, her hair cut in a stylish bob. She was wearing a neat two-piece with a string of pearls around her neck. To Lasser she looked like a clone of Margaret Thatcher. 'Can I help you?'

  Lasser thought of giving her a reassuring smile and then decided against it. 'I'm sorry to bother you but we are looking for Neil Redgrove.'

  The woman looked at Susan in her uniform; the frown flickered as if she wasn't sure whether she should smile or not. 'I'm sorry he isn't in at the moment.'

  'Well can you tell us when you expect him back?'

  'Well I know he said he intended going for a round of golf after leaving the office, but he shouldn't be too long.'

  Lasser ground his teeth together. Anyone else would have used the word 'work' instead of office, another pointer to the fact that Redgrove did bugger all for a living.

  'I see,' Lasser made no attempt to explain their presence, he merely stood and waited.

  'Would you like to leave a message?' she asked tentatively.

  'It's alright we'll wait.'

  She looked out at them as if she’d failed to grasp what he was saying. 'Wait for him?'

  'That's right, you see it's important that we have a word...'

  'But about what?'

  'Police business I'm afraid.'

  She took a step back as if Lasser had thrown a punch in her direction.

  'But what on earth would the police want with Neil?'

  'Are you his wife? Lasser asked.

  The woman nodded and produced a piece of tissue from her pocket before dabbing at her eyes. 'He's not in trouble is he?' The tears welled and suddenly Lasser felt a schoolyard bully pinning the little kid in the corner of the playground and demanding money by menaces.

  'No, Mrs Redgrove, he isn't in trouble.'

  Relief flooded into her eyes. 'Please call me Silvia.'

  Lasser grunted.

  'Would you like to come in and wait?' she stood back and held the door open.

  Lasser managed to dredge up a smile. 'I wouldn't say no to a cup of Earl Grey.'

  Silvia smiled and nodded. 'One lump or two?'

  CHAPTER 87

  Chief Superintendent Mills looked across the desk at Bannister, his face rigid with anger.

  'You do realise the media are loving this?'

  Bannister met his gaze and folded his arms in defence. 'I realise that sir but there's little I can do about it.'

  Mills narrowed his eyes, the buttons on his dress uniform glittered in the halogen lights glare.

  'Well there is one thing you can do, Inspector; you can catch the man responsible.'

  'We'll get him sir.'

  'I'm glad to hear you sounding confident, but I hope you've got more to back it up than blind optimism?'

  'Well I won't deny that we're stretched thin...'

  Mills held up a hand. 'Save the sermon, Bannister, now what are you doing to stop this maniac?'

  'Following all leads sir.'

  Mills leaned forward placing his elbows on the desk. 'Forgive me but could you be more specific you see we're holding a press conference in less than an hour and I don't imagine 'following all leads,' will cut it somehow.'

  Bannister heard the sarcasm well enough. 'Well, we believe that the reporter Brewster is still in contact with the killer, so I'm having him monitored around the clock.'

  Mills nodded. 'Go on.'

  'The squad are out in force contacting the people on the list...'

  'But you have no idea where this man might strike next?'

  'No sir.'

  Mills picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. 'What about the dead men?'

  'We're still trying to ascertain the relationship between Sanderford and Philips, sir.'

  'Barlow?'

  Bannister could feel the sweat oozing from his pores. 'Whoever's doing this seems to be acting in a random fashion...'

  'But what about Cropper, I mean three of the dead men were assigned to him when he worked for Social Services?'

  'That's true sir and he's being brought in for further questioning though he denies any knowledge of a third party.'

  'Well that's hardly surprising is it?'

  Bannister crossed his legs. 'No sir.'

  'So come on what else?'

  'Well, considering Sanderford was left at Harold Bolt's house it seems reasonable to assume that the killer blames those in charge of Social Services for taking their eye off the ball.'

  The frown on Mills face deepened. 'Meaning what exactly?'

  'Well sir, the department's been cut to the bone; I mean their caseloads are even worse than ours...'

  'I hope you're not suggesting that Social Services have been negligent in their approach to the job inspector?' Mills voice d
ropped to little more than a whisper, his eyes hardening.

  'I'm saying they're fighting a losing battle, moral is nonexistent and...'

  'In the present climate everyone is finding it difficult, though that doesn't give you the right to judge these people.'

  'I'm stating facts, sir not gossip.'

  Mills eased back in his chair. 'That's just your opinion Bannister.'

  'Hang on we've spoken to members of staff who still work there and also some who lost their jobs in the cuts, and they all said the same thing. This town is overrun with sex offenders...'

  'Enough!' Mills roared before jabbing a finger across the desk. 'You will not make assumptions like that; do I make myself clear, Inspector?'

  Bannister gripped the arms of his chair in frustration. 'In the end, it doesn't matter what I think, but the killer obviously imagines that Bolt and possibly Redgrove bear some responsibility for streamlining the department to such an extent that...'

  'Neil Redgrove?' Mills hissed.

  'Well ultimately, he's the one in charge, the one who makes the decisions...'

  'Right I've heard enough,' Mills cut him off. 'Neil Redgrove has served this community for more years than I care to remember, he is beyond reproach do I make myself clear?'

  Bannister sniffed as if he'd just detected a bad smell. 'I'm not accusing either man of doing anything wrong.'

  'Well from where I'm sitting it sounds as if you're looking for a scapegoat and I won't tolerate it.'

  'I'm simply following the facts...'

  'You leave Redgrove out of this.' Mills said in clipped tones.

  'Well I would, but sergeant Lasser has gone over to Parbold to have a word.'

  'Lasser!'

  'Yes sir, is that a problem?'

  'Right get on your phone now and tell him to fall back.'

  Bannister looked at his superior as if he'd lost the plot. 'Fall back?'

  Mills slammed his hand on the desk. 'Do it!'

  Bannister dipped his hand into his pocket and slid the phone out. 'Are you sure about this, sir?'

  'I've already told you...'

  'It's just that if I'm right then doesn't Neil Redgrove deserve to know that he could be in danger?'

  'I shall contact Mr Redgrove personally. You concentrate on calling off your pit bull.'

  'Pit bull?'

  Mills bulleted to his feet his wide face livid. 'Are you deliberately being obstructive inspector?'

  'I'm trying to find the killer and I hardly think having a word with the head of Social Services is out of order.'

  Mills loomed over the desk. 'Don't you dare try and question my authority Bannister, now I'm giving you a direct order, ring Lasser and tell him to leave it!'

  Both men locked eyes, Bannister shrugged before scrolling through the list, pressing the call button; he eased back in his chair. Mills remained standing his eyes bulging with anger, after thirty seconds Bannister frowned and looked at the screen.

  'He isn't answering.'

  'Well try him again for God's sake!'

  Bannister did as he was asked the only sound in the room being Mills heavy breathing and the drone of the phone. 'He must be driving,' Bannister jabbed at the phone ending the call.

  'Right get out there, I want him stopped...'

  'You mean the killer?'

  Mills rocked back on his heels his chest expanded as he drew in a huge breath. 'I'm talking about Lasser, you moron!'

  Bannister kept his face impassive. 'Right away sir,' Climbing to his feet, he headed for the door.

  'One more thing Inspector.'

  Bannister turned.

  'Sir?'

  'If I find out that corners have been cut during this investigation I shall hold you personally responsible.'

  Bannister nodded. 'Understood.'

  Mills wafted a dismissive hand. 'Now get out.'

  Yanking the door open Bannister stormed from the room and down the corridor. As soon as he rounded the corner, he pulled out his phone and called Lasser who answered on the second ring.

  'Sergeant where are you?'

  'At Mr Redgrove's house, sir, but he isn't in at the moment though his wife has assured us he should be back any minute.'

  'Right, I'm on my way, don't start without me.'

  'No problem.'

  Bannister dropped the phone into his inside pocket and stalked his way through the building.

  One or two colleagues glanced in his direction as he strode past, averting their eyes when they saw the look of fury plastered on his face.

  Five minutes later he was in the car, as he pulled out of the station car park, he slapped on the flashing lights and siren, the cacophony of sound matching his thudding heart.

  CHAPTER 88

  Lasser had never had Earl Grey tea in his life and the truth was it tasted like watered down piss. Susan Coyle looked prim and proper perched on the edge of a huge ox blood Chesterfield, a china cup and saucer balanced on her knees.

  'So how long have you lived here, Mrs Redgrove?' he asked with indifference.

  'Please, it's Silvia and we've been here for over ten years now.'

  'Well it's a lovely house you've got.'

  She smiled suddenly looking pleased, the earlier distress had left her eyes and now she seemed confident - the Iron Lady rising to the surface. 'We used to live in Coppul village but Neil always wanted a place with a little more room.'

  'So you're from Wigan originally?'

  'Oh yes born and bred.'

  Lasser looked at her in surprise there was no hint of a local accent her tone was clipped and nondescript.

  'What about your husband?'

  'Ah, no, Neil comes from south Manchester, Wilmslow to be precise.'

  Lasser had never been but he knew it was the place where all the premiership football players chose to live, hardly a poverty stricken area.

  The room was huge, the walls lined with mellow oak panels, a grandfather clock stood in the corner tick-tocking the time away.

  'So you've never been tempted to move away from the area?'

  Silvia looked at him as if he were mad. 'Good Lord no. I mean why would I want to leave, Wigan's a hidden gem.'

  Lasser opened his mouth and then closed it again before he said something he would regret.

  Wigan a hidden gem? Yeah well, when you lived in a mansion a million miles away from the back streets and run down council estates, he supposed it could appear that way.

  When Lasser heard the crunch of car wheels on gravel, he turned to the window.

  'That'll be Neil now,' Silvia said before placing her cup and saucer on a small narrow legged table and heading from the room.

  Lasser watched as a red Jag pulled up behind his Audi. The man who climbed from the car was sporting a jumper with garish red and green triangles on the front. Lasser felt his hackles rise, it was a golfer's jumper.

  'Tosser,' he whispered.

  'Sorry sir.'

  Lasser glanced over his shoulder. 'Just thinking aloud, Susan, and I thought I told you to drop the sir?'

  Coyle shrugged. 'It's a hard habit to break.'

  Silvia Redgrove appeared on the driveway and headed over to her husband. Lasser watched as he heaved a golf bag from the boot, all the clubs had fluffy covers over the end.

  'God I hate golfers,' he said.

  'I thought you played?'

  Lasser spun towards her. 'Someone been spreading rumours about me have they?'

  Susan smiled. 'I was only joking.'

  'I didn't have you down as a sadist PC Coyle.'

  'So what have you got against golfers?'

  'In my experience they're all lazy bastards who make a living off the sweat and toil of others.'

  'But doesn't DCI Bannister play?'

  'Exactly.'

  Coyle shook her head and watched as Silvia stood talking to her husband, when he looked towards the window, she took a step back as if they'd been caught burgling the place.

  Lasser stayed where he was, his face ha
rd and unflinching.

  A moment later Redgrove was stalking towards the house.

  Lasser slid his hands into his pockets. 'Here we go,' he said with a crooked smile.

  CHAPTER 89

  The man watched as the front door of the house opened and a woman walked down the path. Climbing into her car, she drove past, her face set in a deep scowl, her lips a thin bloodless line.

  Pulling hard on the cigarette, he turned his attention back to the small council house with the flaking front door and weeds in the flowerbeds. Checking his watch, he resisted the urge to climb from the car, another two hours and the sun would vanish and the temperature would plummet; people would scuttle along the street with their chins buried in their coats desperate to get out of the biting wind. You could walk straight past someone and they wouldn't give you a second glance.

  Decision made, he started the car and pulled away from the curb, as he approached the junction a police car turned onto the narrow street. Easing off the gas the man watched as it pulled up outside the house. Flicking the indicator on, he eased up to the junction, a long stream of traffic flowed from the right. In the wing mirror, he could see a female police officer climbing from the car followed a couple of seconds later by her colleague.

  As they walked up the garden path, he checked the traffic and held up a hand as a car flashed him out.

  It seemed as if the police were making the rounds, which was hardly surprising. They would be desperate to contact as many of the people on the list as possible, though he also knew it would be a token response. After all, what could they do other than warn them to keep their doors and windows locked?

  As the body count mounted, the panic would be set in. Those in charge would be looking at ways to save their skins, desperate to distance themselves from any hint of blame.

  Still, if things went according to plan there would be nowhere to run and hide no bolthole to scurry off too for the guilty ones.

  He began to whistle as he drove along the road, in a way, the police turning up had been a timely reminder that caution was needed. It was easy to be blinded by your own sense of justice.

  If he hadn't listened to the internal voice then he could have easily still been in the house when the police turned up.