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

by Robin Roughley

  Bretherton's raised arm began to shake with the effort of holding it up, fear flooded through his system draining the limited reserves of his energy.

  Digging deep, he conjured up the old familiar anger, his ego reared; he was Cliff fucking Bretherton afraid of no man. With a snarl, he pushed himself away from the woodchip wall and grabbed hold of the handle.

  'Right you cunt!' he bellowed as he threw open the door.

  Something slammed into the centre of his broad face, his hawkish nose cracked under the heavy impact and he staggered back in dismay. The pain was irrelevant, it was his pride that screamed out in anguish.

  Pin wheeling back to the bed he sat down with a thump, the springs on the mattress groaned under the weight. Bretherton shook his head, dark blood sprayed from his crooked nose. Blinking rapidly, he tried to focus but his vision faltered, the room seemed to pulsate as if the walls were made of living breathing tissue.

  He was vaguely aware of a tall shape striding towards the bed, lifting his hand he tried to lash out with the knife and then his fractured brain informed him that he no longer held the weapon. His hand carried on swiping through the air, an empty, meaningless gesture. Suddenly Bretherton was acutely aware of the weaknesses his mind had kept hidden. He could feel his paunch hanging over the waistband of his trousers. His breath came out as a thin wheeze, he was an old man, his days of dominating lesser mortals well and truly over.

  When the hand closed around his throat, he gasped and tried to kick out, though from his position on the bed it was hopeless.

  The man yanked Bretherton forward and pushed his face in close. 'Not so big now are you, Clifford?'

  Bretherton tried to breath, but the fingers around his throat tightened and suddenly he knew exactly how the smaller kids in the playground had felt as he towered over them.

  'Please...' he managed to mumble before the air was cut off completely.

  The man watched as Bretherton's eyes bulged in disbelief. The rage inside was fully awake now; the monster had uncurled itself from his guts, cold and savage. Cliff's hands fell to his sides and suddenly he was thrust back onto the bed.

  'You don't get off that easily, old man,' he spat in a low voice.

  Bretherton lay on his back, his fingers clawing at his throat, blood oozed down either cheek, pale white bone shone through the grizzled remains of his nose.

  The man took his time unbuttoning the coat and loosening his tie. Bretherton's boots beat a tattoo on the grimy bedroom carpet as he tried to drag air into his punished lungs.

  Looking around the room, the attacker spotted the computer tucked away in the corner with a leather swivel chair pushed up to a small desk. Apart from the computer and a box of tissues, the table was bare.

  Ignoring the man on the bed, he crossed the room and hit the power button, after a couple of seconds the computer clicked to life.

  'Password, Clifford?'

  Bretherton didn't answer, instead he coughed and a thick clot of blood spewed from his mouth landing on his thick woollen jumper.

  'What's your password old man?' He repeated.

  'Cunt!' Bretherton gasped and rolled onto his side.

  'Now is that an insult or is it your actual password?' he said in a flat voice.

  Clifford rubbed at his eyes trying to restore some sort of vision, but the man standing in front of the computer suddenly split into two dark hulking shadows. The room tilted and Bretherton vomited onto the pale green duvet.

  'I've never asked for anything more than three times, so last chance, Clifford.'

  'It's not mine,' Bretherton gasped before wiping a shaking hand across his sticky lips.

  'Is that so?'

  'Look I don't know what you're doing here...' he coughed again and burped loudly.

  'Oh but I think you do.'

  Bretherton massaged the aching muscles in his neck; it felt as if the huge hand was still wrapped tight around his throat slowly squeezing the life from his body. 'You're a sick fuck.'

  The man wandered slowly back towards the bed, Bretherton peered up at him with pain filled eyes.

  'Password?'

  'I...'

  When he pulled out the machete, Bretherton tried to scramble away across the bed. Snatching his leg, the man heaved him back into position.

  'Nice boots,' he said. 'Sturdy, well made.' Then he was untying the laces and sliding the boot free.

  'Please!' Bretherton pleaded as the boot dropped to the floor.

  'Please what?'

  'Don't do this.'

  Looking down at the crumpled form, he shook his head. 'How many people have said that to you in the past, Bretherton, how many children?'

  'I...'

  'Don't tell me you can't remember?'

  'I don't know what you mean,' Clifford held out his hands like a beggar minus his tin cup.

  The man tossed the blade from left to right, testing the weight, watching as Bretherton's eyes tracked the movement of the heavy blade.

  'So I'm at the wrong address is that what you're telling me? This is a case of mistaken identity?'

  'I never hurt no kiddies, I swear it.'

  'You served two years in nineteen seventy-six for molesting a five-year-old girl...'

  'That wasn't me!' Bretherton plucked at the sleeve of the man's jacket and he brushed the hand away in disgust.

  'You lived in Preston at the time...'

  'I...'

  'Shut up.'

  Clifford's dentures clacked together as his mouth snapped shut.

  'When you came out you left the area and turned up in Southport, six months later you were back inside for the abuse of a minor at the local park...'

  'I've told you, you've got the wrong man!'

  'Then onto Liverpool where you were questioned over the rape of a six year old, but you got away with that one didn't you Clifford?'

  Bretherton licked his lips.

  'After that you moved out of the North West for a couple of years...'

  'Wrong, I'm telling you, I...'

  'Remember Julia do you?'

  Clifford Bretherton blinked. 'What?'

  'Come on nineteen eighty, her name was Julia Fripp.'

  'I can't remember.'

  The man tilted his head and smiled. 'Is that so?'

  'Look, this is all a mistake.'

  'Come on Bretherton, you lived with her for over twelve months.'

  'I...'

  'I dare say at first you seemed like a decent bloke, but you're good at fooling people aren't you, Cliff.'

  'I don't...'

  'Julia worked at the local petrol station and you had the gift of the gab. You told her you were a builder, single, asked her out for a drink and she said yes.'

  Bretherton's eyes sprang wide. 'But...'

  'Five weeks later you moved into the house, got your feet under the table and then the beatings started didn't they. That was bad enough but you weren't satisfied, you had to turn your attention to her daughter?'

  'Please, I never laid a finger on either of them.'

  'Oh, so the memories are flooding back now are they?'

  'She lied, I loved that kid...'

  'Oh, I know you loved her but not in a normal way, you abused her didn't you, you disgusting...'

  'Listen, listen to me,' Bretherton hissed. 'It went to court and I was cleared, I never touched her...'

  'Tell me, did you ever know that Julia had another child?'

  Bretherton shook his head, his nose continued to leak blood. 'I...'

  'She'd been married before. Kelly, the little girl you abused was the product of the second marriage,' The man suddenly leaned in close and Clifford Bretherton knew he was going to die. 'And I was the product of the first.'

  Bretherton reared, his hands lashed out, the fist whistled towards the man’s head, and then the hand was spinning through the air, followed by an arc of blood. Bretherton opened his mouth to scream and the man slammed his fist forward. If the nose had been ruined by the first punch, the second obl
iterated it altogether.

  Clifford slammed back onto the bed his eyes closed as the darkness swallowed him.

  The man knelt on the bed and looked down at the prostrate figure, blood from the stump glugged onto the duvet. Then he yanked the jumper over Clifford's head, two minutes later, Bretherton was as naked as the day he was born.

  Moving downstairs, he rummaged around the kitchen, finding the bucket under the sink; he filled it with cold water from the sink before heading back to the bedroom, his face grim with determination.

  CHAPTER 105

  After two hours Lasser awoke drenched in sweat, hobbling to the bathroom he'd climbed zombie like into the shower. Now he sat at the kitchen table, a mug of tea in front of him and a cig on the go.

  Cracking a yawn, he checked his watch, grabbed his jacket, and headed outside. Next door’s cat ran across the garden a mouse clamped between its teeth. As he headed towards the car it started to rain, a fine drizzle mist that felt cool on his face.

  Fifteen minutes later, he turned onto the station car park; Bannister's car was already tucked away in the corner. The DCI was leaning against the car door, despite the rain; he was puffing hard on a cigarette.

  Climbing out Lasser beeped the alarm and walked over.

  'How's Medea? he asked.

  'She's fine; when we got in I went straight to bed. I got up this morning and there was an empty bottle of wine on the kitchen table so God knows what time they hit the sack.'

  Lasser sighed. 'Thanks boss I owe you one.'

  'Don't mention it. Suzanne was glad of the company.'

  Another flash of headlights, Lasser turned as Susan Coyle drove onto the car park.

  'What do you make of her?' Bannister nodded towards the car.

  'Forgive the cliché but she's a first rate officer.'

  'Makes a change,' Bannister dropped the smoke onto the ground. 'Right come on, let's get things rolling.'

  A gust of wind pushed them across the car park.

  CHAPTER 106

  Ever since her husband had died, Edna Snell had found it difficult to sleep. The bed felt too big, too cold without Norman beside her. She shuffled into the living room with a cup of Ovaltine clasped in her liver spotted hand. Looking forlornly at the chair where he always used to sit, she took a sip from her cup.

  Yesterday morning when she'd walked into the room Edna had been convinced that her deceased husband was still in the chair. Her weak old heart had thumped and for a few moments, she'd swayed in the doorway. Part of her felt elated, though there was another part that jittered with a brittle fear. Then her eyes had adjusted to the gloom of the room and the chair was empty, the clock on the mantelpiece, a retirement present from Norman's old workmates, had ticked the seconds away.

  With a sigh, she walked towards the front window. Closing her eyes, she hoped the sun would be peaking over the houses opposite. Somehow you always felt better when the sun came up.

  Pulling back the curtains, she blinked in confusion; the sun blazed a fiery red in a blackened smoke filled sky.

  'Oh,' Edna took a step back in fright. When the upstairs windows of the house opposite exploded outwards in a shower of hot glass she screamed, a weak pitiful sound that was swallowed by the roar of the flames.

  She could see people out on the street, the nice young couple from three doors down stood in their dressing gowns, shadows scuttled away from the burning house, some covering their heads with raised hands.

  Edna's mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ her dentures were still upstairs floating in a glass of water.

  Pulling up her chair, she sat down and watched the light show.

  CHAPTER 107

  'Right, what about the CCTV footage?'

  The room was full to bursting, people hid yawns behind raised hands, the atmosphere felt weak and flat as people tried to wake up.

  Chadwick cleared his throat. 'No luck sir, the Ship is at the bottom end of Market Street and the cameras don't cover it.'

  Bannister sighed and nodded. 'What about our friendly reporter have we got someone watching him?'

  DI Cooper looked as if he wanted to run from the room. 'We can't find him, sir.'

  'What the hell does that mean?'

  'PC Groves was in pursuit...'

  Bannister held up a hand and Cooper fell silent. 'Pursuit?'

  'Yes sir, er, maybe you should explain it Groves,' Cooper turned to a young officer by his side, his face still bore old acne scars, the colour rising from his starched collar.

  'I was following him sir, he drove around town five times, and then he pulled onto Asda's car park.'

  'Go on.'

  'I thought he was going to go inside, but he turned around and drove away again. Then he seemed to have some trouble with the car...'

  'Trouble with the car?'

  'Yes sir, someone helped him push it to the roadside and then after a minute or so, Brewster jumped from the vehicle and ran away.'

  Bannister perched an arse cheek on the corner of the desk. 'And you followed?'

  Groves swallowed. 'By the time I'd parked the car sir, he'd disappeared.'

  'Did you check his apartment?'

  Cooper nodded. 'We did sir, but he hadn't returned home.'

  'Right, I want him found.'

  'Yes sir,' Cooper snapped.

  'Now...'

  When the door opened, Bannister lifted his head, Superintendent Mills stood in the doorway.

  Heads turned and suddenly the atmosphere was anything but flat.

  Mills checked his watch with deliberate slowness. 'Five minutes, my office,' he said before spinning on his highly polished heals and vanishing from the doorway.

  Heads turned back to look at Bannister, some were wide eyed; others tried to camouflage sly smiles.

  'Ok people it's called the chain of command, you fail to deliver and I bollock you, I fail to deliver and the Super gets to do the same to me.'

  Someone gasped at the admission.

  'Now you all know what we need to do, so come on, backsides off chairs and get out there.'

  The mass clambered to their feet, Lasser stayed in the moulded plastic chair.

  When the room had emptied, he stood up and made a show of straightening his tie.

  'Right Lasser, I do the talking, understood?'

  'Yes sir.'

  Bannister looked at him keenly. 'I mean it, you keep your trap shut and if he asks you anything then you keep your answer as short as possible.'

  'No problem.'

  Bannister sighed. 'Why do I find that hard to believe?'

  Lasser grinned.

  CHAPTER 108

  Even from a distance of two miles, the flames could be seen reaching up into the early morning sky. He was parked on a natural rise that overlooked the town, Haigh Hall stood to his left, a huge sandstone block of a building, available for weddings and business functions.

  As the sky began to lighten, the flames seemed to diminish, though the smoke continued to billow towards the heavens.

  By rights, the death of Clifford Bretherton should have brought a sense of closure to the proceedings. The truth was he felt nothing, no relief, no real sense of justice; it was an anticlimax that he hadn't been expecting. The man tried to work out why that would be the case?

  Then the realisation slammed home, what had started out as a simple need for revenge had morphed into a crusade. Rubbing a hand across his eyes, he tried to think, Bretherton had been the one responsible for the death of his mother, he was the reason she had taken her own life.

  He'd read the reports stating that she had been on antidepressants, the thin blue file had contained notes from experts who had talked about mental instability and paranoia. Though none of the doctors had asked why, they'd simply written yet another prescription and sent her on her way.

  The fury began to build; this town was full to the brim with people like Bretherton and Barlow. He had the list, he knew their names, and perhaps this was his true calling in life. The coldness within him writh
ed at the notion and for the first time he wondered who was truly in control of the situation.

  Slamming his hands onto the wheel the man took one last look at the smoke in the distance before driving off the car park.

  He would put this to bed and then get on with his life, he'd done what he'd set out to do. Bretherton was dead and the list of names would be appearing in the morning papers. Then people would forget about a handful of dead paedophiles, their attention would be concentrated on the men who had made the decisions to allow them to live in their town. The media would do the rest; their lives would be a ruined, which at last brought him a feeling of peace.

  For now the animal within, curled up and slumbered.

  CHAPTER 109

  Lasser hadn't even closed the door before Mills was on the rampage.

  'Bannister, I gave you strict orders that Neil Redgrove was to be left alone. You stood there and told me you'd take care of it!'

  Bannister came to a stop in the middle of the room like a soldier caught unprepared in no man's land. Lasser closed the door with a click.

  'I realise that...'

  'You lied to me! Redgrove said you and sergeant Lasser here were threatening and disrespectful.'

  'That isn't the case.'

  Mills jabbed out a finger. 'His wife had to leave the room in hysterics after you described in detail the damage done to Sanderford. I mean what possessed you?'

  'I was simply trying to get Mr Redgrove to understand the seriousness of the situation.'

  Lasser walked across the room and stood by Bannister's side. Mills glared at him.

  'And what about you, what have you got to say for yourself?'

  'I was doing my job, sir. We had a legitimate reason for being on the premises; Mrs Redgrove invited us in...'

  'Legitimate reason, what the hell are you talking about?'

  'Well sir, after the attack on Sanderford we thought Redgrove could be in danger.'