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

by Robin Roughley

  'I wanted to kill him; I would have killed him if the neighbour hadn't come into the house to see what all the noise was about. She screamed and I stopped,' he shrugged as if that was the end of the matter.

  'So the police were called?'

  'Yes, they turned up and I spent a couple of hours in the cells and then they transferred me over to Manchester...'

  'Manchester?' Bannister snapped forward in his seat, Cropper lunged back as if afraid the DCI was going to launch himself across the table.

  'You were transferred to Manchester?'

  Cropper looked at the nurse but she had her eyes locked on Bannister.

  'Simon?'

  Cropper turned back to the two men opposite. 'It was dark when they came for me. I mean, I hadn't a clue what was going on. I thought it must be normal to be transferred after what I'd done.'

  Bannister pushed up his sleeves. 'Listen to me Simon, I want you to think carefully; do you have any idea who is responsible for the murders in this town?'

  Cropper straightened his shoulders. 'No I don't.'

  Bannister looked into the man's eyes trying to read the signs. 'But if you did then you wouldn't tell me would you?'

  Cropper smiled sadly. 'What do you think?'

  CHAPTER 95

  Steven Barton slid another pound into the slot machine, the garish lights reflected in his mud coloured eyes. His thin face broke into a wide grin as the machine spewed a rain of silver into the metal tray.

  Looking over his shoulder, he smirked at the barman who frowned back at him. Scooping up the cash, he dropped it into his pocket and headed towards the bar.

  'I'll have a double, Jackie Ds.'

  'You're a jammy sod Barton,' the barman said as he slid a glass under the optic.

  Barton shuffled his feet and did a little jig. 'It's skill pal, luck has sod all to do with it.'

  Placing the drink on the bar, the Landlord held out his hand. Barton dug out a load of change and scattered it on the bar. 'Christ Sid, you're a sore loser.'

  Sid slid the money into his cupped right hand. 'Look at this place, I'm struggling to make a living here and you drop the bloody jackpot!'

  Barton tossed fifty pence onto the bar. 'Get yourself a bag of crisps and stop your moaning.'

  Sid glowered and turned away.

  Barton gave him the middle finger before taking his drink and heading over to a table in the corner. The place was deserted apart from a couple of old timers who sat playing dominoes, a half empty pint glass stood on the table between them.

  Tilting his head, Barton took a swallow from the glass - relishing the warmth that slid down through his chest. Then he winced as he felt the twinge in his shoulder, he'd be glad when this cold weather ended, ever since that bastard Social worker had given him a kicking he ached when the temperature dropped. Still, it could have been worse; in fact, things had worked out quite well. He was now claiming full disability living allowance, which meant another hundred quid a week in his pocket, and the new flat they'd moved him to was a lot better than the old shithole he'd been living in. Yeah, overall it had been worth a couple of broken ribs and a dislocated left arm.

  Barton finished the rest of the drink and thought about ordering another, but why should he hand his winnings back to the miserable sod behind the bar. Besides he wanted to get home, he had the new computer to set up. He'd waited in all day until the bloke from Virgin had turned up to fit the latest broadband technology.

  Barton rubbed his together in excitement, trawling time!

  Leaving the glass on the table, he headed towards the door and then stopped as he felt his bladder twitch.

  'Might as well have a piss before I go,' he mumbled to himself. Turning on his heels, Barton headed across the pub ignoring the sour look from Sid. Pushing through the door, he started to whistle; ignoring the smell of stale urine, he wandered over to the urinal and aimed a yellow jet at the small disinfectant block at the bottom of the metal trough.

  When he heard the door behind him swing open, he didn't bother looking around. The stream began to slow to a trickle, Barton jogged on the spot shaking the drips free before stuffing his member back into his jeans.

  'Steven Barton?'

  Barton turned; the man standing behind him seemed to completely fill the small space. He wore a three quarter length black overcoat, his wide face topped off with a swathe of dark hair.

  Barton tried to shuffle back but the urinals bumped against the back of his knees.

  'Who are you?'

  'Are you Steven Barton?' The man repeated.

  Barton tried to puff out his chest, though he seemed to shrink in the shadow of the towering figure standing before him.

  'Look I don't want any trouble.'

  'Yes well we don't always get what we want in life.'

  'I...' Barton snapped his mouth closed as the man pulled the meat clever from inside his coat.

  'You're a paedophile aren't you, Barton?'

  Steven lifted his hands and then brought them together as if in prayer. 'Please, I've done nothing wrong.'

  It was like seeing things unfold in slow motion. Barton watched as the man swung the cold flat blade, he saw it sweep forward, heard the hiss as it sliced through the stale air. The cleaver did the job it had been deigned to do; it cleaved all the fingers from both hands in one swift movement, leaving only the thumbs still pressed together. The severed fingers spun into the air, blood sprayed upwards. Three of the digits fell at his feet; the rest flew over his shoulder landed in the trough of the urinal.

  All this took only half a dozen short seconds, to Barton it felt like a lifetime of watching his fingers spin in the air. Blood poured down the remains of his hands, running down the sleeve of his jacket; he could feel it hot and smooth as it glided over his forearm.

  Then things snapped back into real time and the pain swamped him, Barton's mouth yawned open wide, the man could see his tonsils vibrating as the scream built from within.

  Snapping to the side, he swung the blade for a second time, the edge slammed into Barton's stretched mouth demolishing all his teeth and slicing off his tongue. Barton's head snapped back until it blasted into the black and white tiles leaving a smear of red that splurged over the ceramic surface. The blade bit into the wall and the top of Barton's head slipped left and fell down to join the fingers.

  The man yanked the blade free from the gouge in the wall; Barton jittered and then slid down the wall, his arse cheeks submerged in the urinal.

  Moving over to the sink, he turned on the taps and swilled the blade clean, as he turned, Barton toppled sideways. Sliding the blade back into his jacket, he walked past without a second glance.

  The Landlord was rummaging in a box of chicken flavoured crisps, the two old guys were still playing dominoes. Flicking up the collar of his jacket, he wandered through the door and back out onto the street. Pulling out his cigarette's he lit up and headed along the pavement with a spring in his step.

  CHAPTER 96

  Lasser got his foot down, the clock on the dashboard showed quarter to six. Pressing the in car speaker he listened as the phone droned, Medea answered on the fourth ring.

  'Don't tell me you're working late again?' she said.

  'I should be home in ten.'

  'Oh right,' she said in surprise.

  'So get your glad rags on, we're going out.'

  'Out where?'

  'Mexican and then a movie, how does that sound?' Lasser indicated and pulled past a slow moving road sweeper that was trundling along cleaning the gutter.

  'It sounds nice.'

  'Good,' he paused, 'so is everything alright at the house?'

  'Well the paint has dried and nobody’s been back to deface the front door.'

  'Thank God for that.'

  'Right, I'll grab a quick shower and get some lippy on.'

  'Give me five and I'll join you.'

  'In the shower or wearing the lipstick?'

  Lasser grinned. 'Well I have been known to cr
oss dress in my younger days.'

  'Why does that not surprise me?'

  'Hey I've got the legs for it; if you ignore the stubble, I can still turn a few heads you know.'

  'Idiot,' she said and then the phone clicked off.

  Lasser dragged out his cigarettes and shook one free. After the conversation with Cropper, Bannister had been pensive.

  'Why the hell was Cropper transferred over to Manchester?' he grumbled.

  They'd been standing by the coffee machine, Lasser feeding change into the slot. 'Something stinks,' he said as the plastic cup dropped into the holder.

  'How long has Cropper been in the hospital?'

  'I'm not sure but I think it's over twelve months.'

  Bannister took the cup and blew on the hot drink. 'Perhaps I was on holiday at the time.'

  'Or maybe we were wrapped up in the Reynold’s case?'

  Bannister scowled at the memory. 'Maybe.'

  'Do you want me to check it out?'

  Bannister looked at his watch. 'It'll do tomorrow. Now why don't you get home and check on Medea.'

  Lasser dropped his cup into the litterbin before fishing the car keys from his pocket. 'What time do you want me back?'

  'Early start sergeant, get here by six.'

  'Will do.'

  He'd left Bannister sipping his coffee, his face crinkled in concentration.

  Indicating left; he turned onto the Avenue and pulled up onto the drive.

  Lasser was sliding his key into the lock when his phone began to ring. With a sigh, he pushed the door open and bustled into the hallway as he fumbled in his pocket.

  'Hello,' he said without checking the number.

  'Lasser get over to the Ship Inn, now.'

  'What are you talking about; I've just got in...'

  'Never mind that, it looks as if our man's been at it again.'

  'What?' He looked up, Medea had appeared at the top of the stairs wrapped in a bath towel her black hair cascaded onto her bare shoulders, she looked gorgeous. When she saw the look on his face, she sighed and smiled sadly.

  'Some old guy went to the toilets and found a body on the floor, fingers in the pisser and the top of his head under the hand dryer.'

  'Bloody hell.'

  'Precisely, now get a move on.'

  Lasser sighed, Medea made her way down the stairs towards him.

  'You have to go back out?'

  'If you want to throw the ring at me now I'll understand.'

  Lacing her hands around his neck, she brushed her lips across his. 'I'll keep the ring if you don't mind.'

  Moving his hands inside the towel, he slid his fingers onto her hips. 'I must be mad,' he whispered.

  'Don't worry, I wasn't really hungry anyway.'

  'That's not the point, I...'

  She placed a finger to his lips. 'I'm not complaining I know you have a job to do.'

  'Some job,' he spat.

  She smiled up at him. 'Listen, while you're gone I'll make us something that can be reheated and stick a bottle of wine in the fridge.'

  'I promise I'll be as quick as I can.'

  'I know you will,' she eased herself away. 'Go on get going.'

  Lasser kissed her forehead and breathed in the scent of her glorious hair.

  'Mad,' he said as he headed back into the dwindling light.

  CHAPTER 97

  'Typical,' Sid said. 'I've been trying to get people into this place for months and now we have a dead body on the premises the buggers are queuing around the block.'

  The Ship was buzzing with officers, SOCO were locked away in the gents picking over the remains of the body.

  Lasser was standing at the bar craving a drink. 'When all this is over maybe you can sell tickets?'

  'The bastards around here are too tight to fork out for a ticket.'

  Lasser smiled. 'So do you have any idea who the dead man is?'

  'Course I do, his name's Steven Barton...'

  'Barton!'

  'I always thought he was a lucky sod, I mean, earlier on he had a big win on the slot machine,' Sid sniffed. 'Guess he's not so lucky after all.'

  'Steven Barton?' Lasser repeated.

  'Yeah, why, do you know him?'

  'I've heard of him, Sid.'

  Lasser felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to find Carl standing behind him kitted out in white paper boiler suit.

  'Alright, Carl, do you fancy a bag of crisps?'

  Sid rubbed his hands together.

  'No thanks boss,' he looked around the room. 'I thought Bannister would have been here?' Carl asked.

  'He should be here any minute. So what can you tell me about the body in the bogs?'

  Carl plucked at Lasser's sleeve and drew him away from the bar. 'Two blows from a sharp blunt weapon.'

  'Axe?'

  'Could be, first blow cut off all his fingers the second one entered his mouth side on.'

  Lasser thrust his hands into his pockets. 'Messy?'

  'You could say that.'

  Lasser heard the from door bang open, Bannister looked around the room, spotting Lasser he headed over.

  'Good evening, sir,' Carl said.

  'Get back to work!' Bannister snapped.

  Carl blushed before hurrying across the pub.

  Bannister flapped a hand. 'Right Lasser what's the score?'

  'You aren't going to like it.'

  'Tell me something I don't know.'

  'According to Sid, the barman, nobody saw a thing. I mean apart from him, we have two others both in their seventies, both short sighted.'

  'Typical,' Bannister growled. 'We have a killer walk in large as bloody life and the only witnesses are Mr Magoo’s younger brothers.'

  'There's something else.'

  Bannister tilted his head. 'Go on.'

  'The dead man was known to the Landlord, it's Steven Barton.'

  Bannister's eyes widened in surprise. 'Simon Cropper's punch bag?'

  'Well we haven't made a formal identification but Sid's hardly going to pluck the name from thin air.'

  Bannister looked up at the ceiling, a stationary fan hung from the roof complete with dangling cobwebs. 'Right let's take a look.'

  They walked across the room, weaving their way around the tables and chairs. Two men stood huddled together in the corner. Lasser could see one of them was sipping from a small glass, his face grey with shock. Sally Wright was standing before them taking notes.

  Bannister pushed his way through the door of the gents, Lasser at his shoulder.

  The DCI crinkled his nose at the smell of piss, disinfectant and freshly spilled blood.

  As Carl moved to the left, Lasser looked down. The body was sprawled on its side, dark blood leaked from the demolished head.

  A dark patch had spread over the front of the man's jeans; one arm trapped beneath the body, the other lay fingerless on the tiled floor.

  Lasser glanced to the right and grimaced, the top of Barton's head looked like a boiled egg after someone had sliced through it with a sharp knife.

  Steven Barton had been bald or perhaps he just preferred to keep his hair shaved to the bone. Lasser could see the man's top lip curled back, all the lower half of the face had been obliterated, the eyes wide and locked open in perpetual shock.

  'We think the killer washed the weapon in the sink,' Carl said.

  Bannister glanced across the room.

  'Where are the fingers?'

  'In the urinal, sir.'

  Bannister sidestepped around the body and looked down into the trough, the mash of fingers had swilled down to the outlet hole. 'Charming,' he muttered before turning away. 'Right Lasser, come on.'

  Lasser raised an eyebrow in surprise and followed Bannister back into the lounge area. 'Chadwick, get over here.'

  DI Chadwick turned and raised a hand before heading over. 'Sir?'

  'I want you to check the CCTV cameras in the street, see if you can get an image of anyone leaving the pub.'

  'Straight away sir.' />
  'You find anything, you ring me, understood?'

  Chadwick nodded in response.

  Lasser followed his boss out through the front door and onto the pavement; the street was lined with morbid locals staring at the pub.

  'Look at that lot,' Bannister snarled. 'Like pigs in shit.'

  Lasser could see a couple of camera crews setting up at the end of the street, he half expected to see Brewster lurking in the shadows but there was no sign of the reporter.

  'What do you want to do?' Lasser asked.

  'I've just come off the phone to Mills.'

  'Oh yeah what did he want?'

  Bannister walked down an alleyway that ran alongside the public house, Lasser followed.

  'He wants to string me up by the delicates.'

  'Redgrove contacted him?'

  Bannister fished out his cigarettes and lit one before tossing the pack over. Lasser looked at his boss in amazement.

  'Neil Redgrove now has four officers watching his property.'

  'You gotta be kidding me!'

  Bannister shook his head. 'Mills wants me in his office first thing, and he wants you along for the ride.'

  Lasser frowned. 'And why's that?'

  'Redgrove's put in an official complaint, he said you were abusive and threatening...'

  'The lying tosser!'

  'Don't worry Lasser, I told the Super you were acting under my orders.'

  'But...'

  Bannister jabbed the cigarette at Lasser's chest. 'While you were playing the Romeo with Medea I've been looking into Cropper's case.'

  'Playing the Romeo, chance would be a fine thing.'

  'What Cropper said was true, he was arrested fourteen months ago at two in the afternoon, brought to the station and transferred to Manchester by five.'

  'Any idea why?'

  Bannister shook his head and drew hard on the smoke blowing it out on a sigh. 'Not yet, but the man who signed the transfer papers was none other than our ex colleague DI Rimmer.'

  'That bastard!'

  Bannister smiled. 'The one and only.'

  Rimmer had transferred over from Manchester. From the big city to Wigan could hardly be described as a great career move. It turned out Rimmer had been bent and feeding information to a local gangster named Callum Green, who was now serving a life sentence for the torture and murder of a scrote named Shaun Miller. Lasser rubbed at his shoulder as the memories came flooding back. Rimmer had attacked him with a meat cleaver and Lasser had been lucky to escape with his head still attached to his shoulders.