When it started to rain, people had scuttled into the pubs and clubs to escape the downpour, the image on the screen began to smear as water hit the lens of the camera.
Lasser frowned. 'Can you clear that up?'
'Afraid not, I mean, this is the latest in surveillance equipment, but unfortunately we're still at the mercy of the elements.'
Lasser grunted and leaned forward. 'What's that?'
Roger tapped a key and the image on the screen began to move in slow motion. 'Looks like some nutter stamping on a burger box.'
Lasser watched as the indistinct figure began to look around, he could see others giving the man a wide berth, and then he was hurrying forward until he vanished from the edge of the screen.
'Can you pick him up again?'
Roger fiddled with a couple of buttons and another screen burst into life. 'There he is.'
Lasser squinted at the screen but the rain had intensified until the figure was a mere blur, then he watched as he disappeared down an alleyway.
The camera began to move away. 'Can't you keep it trained on the alley?'
Roger looked at him as if he were an idiot. 'This happened last night I can't change what's already happened.'
Lasser scratched at his chin, he knew the passageway led nowhere; the end blocked by a high set of gates with razor wire threaded across the top.
Roger pressed another few buttons and all the screens came to life. Lasser winced at the sudden onslaught. 'Hang on, Rog, I can't…'
'There,' Roger pointed at one of the screens, flicked a button and all the others froze again.
'Bloody hell, how did you manage that?' Lasser asked in amazement.
'It's called multitasking; you should try it sometime.'
'Cheeky sod.'
The figure on the screen was running, dodging between groups of people, heading down the street away from the town centre. The shape began to diminish and then Roger tapped a couple of keys and the camera zoomed in. Lasser sat back astonished; it felt as if he were chasing the man down the street. When he reached the crossroads he didn't hesitate, turning left, he disappeared around the corner.
'Can you follow him?'
'Let's see,' Roger worked his magic and they could see the figure leaning against a lamppost, after thirty seconds he seemed to shake himself and started to walk and then the screen went blank.
'And I'm afraid that's all you'll get; we don't have cameras on that stretch of road.'
It didn't really matter; Lasser knew the road led straight towards the park gates. 'Is there any way you can clean the picture up?'
'Not from here but I can transfer the images over to your tech guys see if they can do anything with it.'
'Good, how long will it take?'
Roger shrugged, 'A couple of minutes to send the data, then the balls in your court.'
Lasser nodded. 'Do it.'
20
Shaun stood in the nondescript corridor, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jeans, head lowered, his teeth locked together in trepidation.
'Shaun!' he looked up as his mother came dashing along the corridor towards him, her raincoat flapping, her face creased in concern. His father followed behind, a flush of colour in his cheeks.
Pushing himself away from the wall, Shaun swiped a hand across his eyes.
'Oh God, how's Gemma, how's the baby?' his mother plucked at his sleeve, her eyes shimmering with tears.
'I don't know, they took her down for surgery about an hour ago, and I haven't heard anything since.'
'Is there a coffee machine in this place?' Alan Carver asked and then looked away when he saw the look on his wife's face.
Shaun sighed, 'Down at the end of the corridor, Dad.'
'Right, what we all having?'
'Honestly, Alan,' Catherine spat.
'What? I was only seeing if anyone wanted a brew!'
Shaun looked at his parents and wondered why they stayed together, it was obvious they couldn't stand the sight of one another, and yet they ploughed on regardless as if neither of them was prepared to admit their marriage was a joke.
'If you're so desperate for a drink then go and get one,' she glared at her husband in anger.
'Right, I will,' Alan Carver walked away, shoulders thrown back, head held high.
Catherine shook her head and turned to her son. 'So, what actually happened?'
Shaun shrugged. 'I don't know, I took her some breakfast, and she seemed fine and then the pain must have kicked in…'
'Contractions?'
Shaun looked uncomfortable. 'I thought so at first and then she just started screaming, and she was losing so much blood…'
He watched as the colour drained from his mother's face, the anxious look in her eyes reignited his own fear.
'Well, the main thing is they got her here quickly, and this is a good hospital, Shaun, they won't let her down.'
Glancing to his right, he could see his father in the distance feeding change into the coffee machine, taking his time.
Catherine followed his gaze and sighed. 'He's never been good at this sort of thing.'
'He's not the only one,' Shaun mumbled and then looked at the floor.
'Listen, you mustn't worry, Gemma will be fine…'
'What about the baby?'
Catherine squeezed his hand. 'They'll both be fine, I mean, I remember when I was having you, I screamed the house down. Your father said I made such a racket that I set the burglar alarms off.'
Shaun smiled half-heartedly, it was an old story, whenever there was cause to bring out the family albums she would always tell the tale adding the fact that the family cat had done a runner, never to be seen again.
When he looked down the corridor the parody of a smile slid from his face. His father was talking to a doctor, a young woman in a white lab coat that looked too long for her, she looked like a child dressed in adults clothing. Even from this distance, he could see the look on his father's face and knew something was wrong. When the coffee cup dropped from Alan Carver's hand it seemed to fall in slow motion. From the corner of his eye Shaun could see his mother snap a hand over her mouth. The doctor began to walk towards them, her hands in the pockets of the lab coat, her eyes locked on Shaun.
'Oh God, no,' Catherine whispered.
The air in the corridor seemed to thicken, Shaun could feel the familiar weight in his chest tighten, and suddenly he was standing in a corridor similar to this one, watching as another doctor approached, his blue gown splattered with blood. Shaun could feel the weight of his fatigues; see the dust covering his boots, the sweat oozing from his open pores.
'Mr Carver?'
Shaun blinked and he was back in the here and now. She stood before him, almost a foot shorter, her hair tied back in a tight ponytail, her face solemn.
'What's the matter, what's happened?' his mother's hands fluttered in the stifling air, her face crumpled with the inevitable.
'I'm sorry we did all we could, but your wife suffered a massive heart attack and…'
'What about the baby?' Shaun looked into her eyes and knew the answer before her lips began to form the words.
'I really am so sorry…'
Shaun didn't hear the rest; he turned away and moved down the corridor like a badly-damaged clockwork toy.
'Shaun, wait!'
He heard his mother scream his name but he carried on walking, through a set of double doors and down another faceless corridor, a porter pushing an empty wheelchair watched as he strode past.
The pain in his chest seemed to swell, rising up through his neck and into his brain, a low drone like the clatter of small-arms fire, increasing with every step. Then the screams took over, remembered echoes that grew rather than diminished, the explosion, low and deep shook the ground beneath his feet. One second Steve Williams was there at his side, then Shaun felt the red splash against his face and his friend was gone, reduced to glistening chunks of flesh that lay in the dust, human roadkill.
Shaun
didn't even see the set of doors at the end of the corridor; he slammed into them and staggered back.
'Are you all right?' The young nurse dashed towards him and grabbed hold of the sleeve of his jacket. When she saw the look in his eyes, her hand slipped away and she took a faltering backward step.
'Never better,' Shaun hissed and then pushed through the door and vanished into the fading light.
21
Robert knew he should wait until dark but it was impossible, he needed the tablets, couldn't function without them. Besides, he had a busy night ahead.
Rummaging through the pile of clothes, he dragged out a pair of crumpled jeans and black Adidas top, pulling them on he grimaced at the smell of stale sweat. Snatching up the old leather jacket, Robert headed out into the fading light. He hated the daytime, hated any kind of bright light. It gave him a headache, at its worst it could leave him writhing on the floor in agony. This past summer had been one of the worst, blistering hot days that seemed to stretch on forever. Sitting in the flat waiting for the night to fall had been a daily torture and the nights had been so short. Before he knew it, the sky had begun to lighten as the sun rose, forcing him to hurry back to the stinking flat for another day of torment.
Closing the door, he headed down the flight of metal steps and into the small courtyard, the smell of curry filled the air, the small yard littered with empty boxes, the bins overflowing with rotting food. He felt the anger rise, why should he have to live in a place like this, surrounded by people who spoke only broken English, the stench of their fucking food seeping into his pores.
Sliding down the alleyway he emerged onto the street, pulling the peak of the baseball cap low over his eyes. He hated this half-light, the way people would glance at him as if passing judgment, labelling him as a scumbag no-hoper.
Yeah well, he had showed that bitch last night, showed her good, the memory filled him with a sense of excitement, he wanted – no he needed – more of the same. It was a new craving, stronger than any drug, though he knew unless he managed to get the tablets his body would be ineffectual, his mind could crave all it wanted, but he needed the pills to function.
Trudging down the street, he felt his mood lighten as the light began to fade, the streetlights popped into life, the sickly, sodium glare made him smile.
Ten minutes later, he pushed open the garden gate and walked up the weed-covered path. The front door of the council house was scratched and pitted as if some huge dog had been clawing at the woodwork. Rapping his knuckles on the door, he stood back and looked up at the bedroom window, a moment later it swung open and a face peered down at him.
'Go around the back, dickhead,' the man hissed down at him before slamming the window shut.
Robert slouched down the side of the house, pushing his way through a ramshackle gate and into an overgrown garden; propping himself by the back door, he waited.
Five minutes later it swung open and Kyle Connelly glared out at him, dressed in a pair of boxer shorts, his torso covered with tattoos, head shaved close to the bone.
'How many fucking times do I have to tell you not to knock on the front door?'
'Sorry, Kyle,' Robert took a step forward.
Connelly rested an arm against the doorframe blocking his path. 'Where's my money?'
'I've got it here.'
'Fucking show me.'
Reaching into his pocket, Robert pulled out four crumpled twenty-pound notes.
Connelly raised an eyebrow. 'Oh aye, and where did you get that lot from?'
'I had a win on the slots.'
'Bollocks, you never win at anything.'
Robert licked his lips and shrugged. 'Got lucky I suppose.'
Kyle reached out and plucked the money from his fingers. 'Right, wait there.'
'Can't I come in?'
'No you can't, I've got my daughter staying for the weekend and I don't want her clocking you and having fucking nightmares, do I?'
Robert felt the anger ripple through his brain, he imagined himself yanking out the knife and plunging it into Connelly's right eye, leaning down as the dealer coughed out his last breath, whispering in his ear. 'I'll give your little girl nightmares, you cunt.'
Instead, he shrugged and sniffed. 'No probs, Kyle.'
The door slammed in his face, Robert leaned against the wall, a multitude of cravings jostled inside his head, clamouring for attention. Seconds stretched into minutes and then it felt like hours; the garden was in total darkness by the time the door reopened.
'Fuck me I almost forgot you were there!' Connelly grinned out at him and tossed the small brown bottle. Robert snatched at it and missed, scrabbling on the floor in the darkness his fingers plunged into something cold and slimy.
Kyle burst out laughing. 'That's a pile of dog shit, you thick bastard!'
Robert blinked up at him in confusion and then looked at his hand, the fingers smeared with dark excrement.
'Twat!' he hissed before dragging his hand through the thick grass. All the time his eyes scanned the floor, when he spotted the bottle he snatched it up and rammed it into his pocket.
'Dirty fucker,' Connelly said, before slamming the door closed.
'Don't worry, Robert, we'll put Mr Connelly on our things-to-do list,' the voice sounded confident.
'You promise?'
'Would I lie to you, Robert?'
Robert didn't reply.
22
Mike Brewster slapped on his Brad Pitt smile, the one he liked to think could melt even the most sceptical of hearts.
'And you say this man just appeared out of nowhere?' he asked with a hint of incredulity.
Sarah sat on the sofa facing the reporter; Erin stood in the doorway to the lounge, a concerned expression on her face.
'That's why I got in touch with your paper. I want to find this man and thank him for what he did.'
'It must've been a terrifying experience for you both,' he turned and looked at Erin. She saw his gaze flick to her breasts before he turned his attention back to Sarah. 'So what have the police said about the attack?'
'Not much to be honest. I mean, they interviewed us both, but I think they've more than enough on their plate at the moment.'
Brewster nodded and began to scribble onto a notepad. 'I can imagine,' he paused, 'so, let me see if I've got this straight, you two went out together for a quiet drink, is that right?'
'Yes…'
'And yet you didn't leave the pub together?' Brewster raised a questioning eyebrow.
'That's right, the place was packed and we kind of got separated.'
'And you'd both been drinking?'
Erin threw her friend a look but Sarah seemed to be miles away. This had been a stupid idea, but Sarah had been adamant that it could be a way of finding her knight in shining armour, maybe the only way of tracking him down. Now Brewster was here, Erin was beginning to think it was a very bad idea. There was something about the man that screamed scumbag, the way he nodded every time Sarah said anything, the condescending tone of his voice, the sly look in his eyes.
'Well, I'd had one or two.'
Brewster smiled and nodded, pen scratching at paper. 'So, if Erin had turned left instead of right then you'd have been left at the mercy of this madman?'
'It wasn't me that chased the man off.'
Brewster swivelled his head. 'No, but you raised the alarm.'
'I screamed if that's what you mean, but…'
'Had you been to that particular public house before?'
Sarah shook her head.
'So, why didn't you stick to the town centre?'
'I don't know we just fancied somewhere different…'
'So, normally you'd frequent the pubs and clubs in the town centre?'
Sarah didn't answer.
Erin moved into the room. ''Frequent'' makes it sound as if we're always out drinking.'
Brewster ignored her, the pen moved in a blur. 'And you have absolutely no idea who attacked you?'
'Of course
she doesn't. I mean, what the hell are you suggesting?'
Brewster threw Erin another disposable smile. 'I'm just trying to get the detail down, the more you can tell me the more chance we have of tracking down the man who came to your aid.'
'So why are you asking about the attacker? She told you why she wanted you here…'
'I realise that, Mrs Nash, but if I'm to get this past my editor then I need as much of the back story as possible…'
'This isn't a story; it isn't something we made up just for the fun of it.'
Brewster held up a hand. 'Of course not, you misunderstand me. I'm merely trying to get a complete understanding of the events. I mean, if you'd sooner terminate the interview then that's up to you, but…'
'No, I need to get this sorted,' Sarah was leaning forward on the sofa, a look of panic in her eyes.
Brewster flicked a cunning smile at Erin before turning away. 'Believe me, Sarah, I want to help, and I realise this is hard for you…'
'I was drunk OK? I can't remember leaving the pub, I don't remember walking down the road…'
'I see,' Brewster smiled.
Erin sighed and walked from the room.
23
As soon as he walked into the office, Lasser could feel the waves of animosity coming from the man behind the desk.
Bannister looked up from the stack of papers. 'What do you want?'
Lasser resisted the urge to simply turn and walk out of the room. 'I've just had a message from the tech guys; they've had no luck cleaning up the image.'
'Bloody typical, it cost nearly half a million to have those cameras installed, the first sign of rain and they're worse than useless.'
Lasser crossed the room and sat down facing the DCI.
'And, just to ice the cake, forensics said no match on the DNA database.' Bannister tossed his pen onto the desk and sighed heavily.
'Are they sure?'
'I wouldn't trust those bastards as far as I could throw them; it seems to me as if it's a geek with a computer and the computer's one that does all the work.
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