'Answer that will you?'
Taking the phone, she clicked it onto loudspeaker. 'Hello.'
'Coyle is that you?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Where the hell is wonder boy?' Bannister snapped.
'He's driving.'
'Right, get over to Warwick Road, there's been an incident.'
'Warwick Road?'
'Come on, Coyle, I didn't have you down as one of those morons who had to hear everything twice before it sunk in.'
'Sorry, sir.'
'Maybe Lasser's bad habits are starting to rub off on you?'
When she looked at Lasser, she was surprised to see him grinning.
'We're on our way, sir.'
'Quick as you can.'
The line went dead, still smiling Lasser swung around the roundabout and headed back into town.
47
'But there are things we need to sort out, Shaun.'
'Not now, Mother.'
He heard her sniffle down the phone. 'I still can't believe it's happened. I mean, we need to know what went wrong, we need…'
'Forget it.'
The line went quiet for a few seconds, 'You don't mean that.'
He could hear the shock in her voice, the disbelief. 'Look, I can't deal with it right now…'
'But the hospital's been trying to get in touch with you; we have to make arrangements…'
'You do it.'
'Me,' she gasped. 'I can't, I wouldn't know where to start.'
'Well, it'll have to wait.'
'Please, let me come round then we can at least talk about it.'
'No.'
'But…'
'Not yet,' Shaun sighed. 'I told you I need time to sort my head,' he could feel the tension begin to increase, the pain behind his eyes blooming.
'But this is your wife and daughter. You owe it them, Shaun. You can't simply pretend this hasn't happened,' her voice went up an octave.
Shaun looked up, he was crouched against the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak, the branches segmenting the swollen rainclouds, rain dripped from the leaves onto the leaf-littered ground. 'I'll go to the hospital tomorrow and get things sorted.'
'You promise?'
'Yes, Mother, now I have to go.'
'But where are you, I came to the house last night but the place was in darkness?'
'I'm never going back there,' he snapped.
'OK, OK, that's fine; you can move back into your old room and sell the house. Stay with me and your father until you feel…'
'I'll ring you in the morning…'
'But…'
'In the morning, Mother,' he ended the call and slipped the phone into his pocket. Pulling one of the newspapers free from the backpack, he studied the front page, looking at the photographs of the two women before reading the words beneath.
Halfway down he came to the addresses, a minute later Shaun hitched the bag across his shoulders and set off walking, his boots swishing through the fallen leaves.
48
The camera flashed and for an instant the room became bathed in stark white light.
Susan Coyle hovered in the doorway trying to keep control as her stomach lurched, the image of the body on the bed scorched onto her brain.
Bannister glanced towards her and frowned, 'Coyle, outside now.'
She nodded, white faced, before turning and scuttling down the stairs.
Doc Shannon was leaning over the corpse, his unruly beard inches from the dead man's face.
'What do you reckon, Doc, is it our man?' Lasser asked.
Shannon leaned in even closer as if he were getting ready to plant a smacker on the ruined face. 'It could be, but this attack was more frenzied than the last one,' he paused, 'definitely more stab wounds, as you can see a lot are centred on the head and neck.'
'Any clue on the murder weapon?'
'It's impossible to tell until…'
'You get him back to the lab?' Bannister finished with a sigh.
Lasser looked down at the severed fingers on the floor and grimaced.
'Right, as soon as you find out let me know,' Bannister gave Lasser the nod, as they headed to the bedroom door, he hissed into the Sergeant's ear; 'It's our man all right.'
Lasser raised a questioning eyebrow. 'But…'
Bannister yanked a rolled up newspaper from his coat pocket and thrust it towards Lasser. Following the DCI onto the landing, he flapped it open and looked at the front page.
'You've got to be kidding me?' he said in dismay.
'Idiots, the pair of them,' Bannister snapped.
'Where's Erin Nash now?'
'She's in the garden, in a state of shock.'
'I'm not surprised, finding him like that.'
'Come on, let's see what the distressed widow has to say for herself.'
Lasser followed him down the stairs and out into the damp day. A large group of people had gathered at the bottom of the drive looking up at the house. Lasser could see them gossiping to one another, some had arms raised as they snapped off photos using their mobile phones.
Bannister threw them a sour look before heading down the side of the house. Erin was sitting on a patio chair, her back to the house, a wad of tissue clasped to her face. Sally Wright was standing guard by her side, a comforting hand resting on her shoulder.
'Mrs Nash?'
She looked up at Bannister sniffed and nodded. 'Yes.'
'I believe you've met Sergeant Lasser.'
Erin glanced at Lasser; he could see the vacant look in her eyes, as if someone had pulled the plug leaving behind an animated empty shell.
Bannister slid out a garden chair and eased himself down. 'I realise this is a terrible time for you but we really need your help.'
She lowered her hands into her lap. 'Of course, I understand.'
'Now, can you tell me what time you arrived home this morning?'
'About nine o'clock.'
'And you went straight into the house?'
Erin nodded, a single tear slid down her cheek. 'As soon as I saw the broken window I knew something was wrong.'
'That's the kitchen window?'
'I thought Graham must have done it…'
'Why would your husband smash his own window?' Bannister asked.
Lasser looked at the house next door; a face appeared at the bedroom window, a man in his early to mid-forties peered down into the garden. When he saw Lasser looking up at him, he turned away and vanished from sight.
'We've been having some marital problems.'
'Yes, Sergeant Lasser mentioned you both seemed agitated at the hospital.'
Erin dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. 'If you must know I was going to leave him, I called this morning because I thought he'd be at work.'
'You came here to get a few essentials?'
Erin's eyes were suddenly full with shimmering tears. 'I didn't want to get into a slanging match. I thought if I came early…'
'So, you were surprised when you saw the car on the drive?'
'Very.'
'Mrs Nash.' She turned and looked up at Lasser. 'Whose idea was it to go to the papers over the attack on Sarah Palmer?'
A look of anger sparked in her eyes. 'I realise now it was a stupid idea but Sarah wanted to find the man who helped her. In fact, we both did…'
'But the reporter twisted your words, is that what you're saying?'
'He hardly mentioned the real reason; he made us sound like a couple of man-eating drunks.'
'What was the reporter's name?' Bannister asked.
'Brewster.'
'Michael Brewster?'
She looked at Bannister in surprise and then nodded. 'At first he seemed genuine but then he started to ask questions that had nothing to do with the night of the attack and I got suspicious, but Sarah wouldn't listen.'
Lasser glanced at Bannister; he could see the look of fury on his face, he'd had a run in with the reporter in the past and had plenty of reasons to despise the scribbler.
'I t
ake it he never mentioned he was going to print your address?'
'What do you think?'
Bannister sighed. 'In my experience reporters are not to be trusted, Mrs Nash.'
'Yes well, I think I get that now,' she sounded fraught and annoyed, twisting the plain wedding band on her finger as if she were trying to yank it free.
'Right, well, under the circumstances I think it's best if we have someone keep an eye on your friend's house…'
'You think he'll come back!' Erin shot to her feet; all she could see was the ragged remains of her husband on the bed, his fingers tossed around the room like discarded chunks of asparagus.
'Look, I'm not going to lie to you, the fact that your address was printed in the paper – coupled with the attack on you and your friend – well, let's just say it points to someone who feels they have a score to settle.'
'But why would he kill Graham?' her hands began to shake, and Lasser watched as she stuffed them into the pockets of her jeans.
'I'd guess he didn't know you were married and then your husband turned up and…' Lasser shrugged as if the rest was self-explanatory.
'Oh God, this is my fault, if we hadn't spoken to the paper then he'd never have found out where we lived,' her eyes swept back and forth until they settled on Lasser. 'That's the truth isn't it?'
'Like you said, you had no idea Brewster would have been so irresponsible.'
'But how could I have been so stupid; how could we not have realised?'
'Look, the only mistake you made was thinking Brewster was there to help.'
She shook her head, the weight of her own stupidity slammed down forcing her back into the chair. If she hadn't gone out on Saturday night then they would never have encountered the killer, and if they hadn't gone to the paper then Graham would still be alive. It was a vicious circle, the pain settled around her heart, a scar that would grow and fester, one that she would never be able to eradicate.
Lasser fiddled with the e-cig in his pocket. 'Where did you stay last night, Erin, was it at Sarah's house?'
She nodded. 'I had nowhere else to go and Sarah's my oldest friend and besides she was glad of the company.'
'I take it you'll want to go back there and see her?'
She looked at Lasser and frowned. 'Why, would that be a problem?'
Lasser looked at Bannister; he could see the boss working through the various scenarios.
'I don't think it would be advisable until we catch the man responsible.'
Erin scrubbed a hand through her hair. 'But we have nowhere else to go.'
'Well, we could sort you out with somewhere to live for a few days, I'm not saying it would be the Ritz but at least you'll be safe.'
She glanced up at the house and then quickly looked away. She'd never be able to set foot in the place again; she knew that for a fact. 'I need to speak to Sarah before I make a decision.'
Bannister nodded. 'Fair enough, but you need to do it soon. PC Wright will escort you back to your friend's house.'
'If we do decide to follow your advice…'
'Then we can get the ball rolling.' Bannister said.
Erin sighed and climbed to her feet. 'What about my husband?'
'Don't worry, Erin, we'll take care of everything,' Lasser said.
They were halfway down the side of the house when the paramedics came out of the front door, carrying the corpse of Graham Nash enclosed in a heavy-duty body bag. Erin staggered forward and Lasser grabbed her around the waist to save her from slamming to the ground.
Bannister flapped his hand at the medics. 'Get a bloody move on,' he hissed.
Erin turned and buried her face into Lasser's chest, her hands clawing at his shoulders. Bannister virtually chased the two men down the drive and into the back of the ambulance. When he looked up, he saw Mike Brewster standing amongst the onlookers, a half-smile fixed on his lips. Bannister opened his mouth, but before he could vent his frustration, Brewster had spun away swallowed by the crowd.
'Bastard,' he hissed to himself, another score to settle.
49
Robert had found it impossible to sleep, his mind too wired, his brain going over the murder in a series of delicious flashbacks. The way the cunt struggled until that first cut had opened his throat, then time had juddered into slow motion mode, the man had writhed on the bed as if in the midst of an orgasm. Blood had sprayed, Robert had felt it splash against his cheek, and leaned forward into the red fountain. It had felt slick and incredibly hot on his face, soaking his black hair. Standing back, he'd watched as the body jerked and thrashed, the man had tried to push himself upright, his eyes bright with the realisation that he was dying. It had been fascinating to watch, the way the blood had gradually subsided as the heart had ceased to function. Leaning down, Robert had grabbed the face in his hands steadying the head and peering into the eyes, he wanted his to be the last face the husband saw as his life ebbed away into oblivion. It had been like waiting for the second coming, waiting for the truth of everything to be revealed. Robert had felt the cataclysmic moment approaching. Then he thought he heard a sound from downstairs, the creak of a floorboard the squeal of a door. When he looked back down the man had gone, the eyes vacant, already glazing over. Suddenly he felt cheated; grabbing the left hand he'd hacked at the index finger with the bread knife, all the while keeping his eyes locked on the dead man's face, desperate to see a flicker of life. Five minutes later and the last of the fingers had dropped onto the carpet. Rage had taken over and Robert had lashed out, the knife parting flesh. Then he'd started to stab at the face and neck, faster and faster, the blade plunging in and out, grinding against bone though this time there was no cascade of red, no satisfying whimpers and squeals. In the end, he collapsed face down on the bed exhausted, the bitter tang of urine and the darker odour of excrement filled the air.
The giggle had started at the back of his throat, the dead man had pissed, and shat himself, the thought of his wife coming home and finding him like this had been sweet and satisfying.
Robert had waited in the dark, praying she would return, watching the clock on the wall tick away the minutes, then the hours, the disappointment had been tangible. As the pale light began to seep through the blinds, the voice had told him it was 'time to go'.
Rising from the bed, he'd headed downstairs; Robert glanced at his image in the mirror and took a step back in shock. His pale eyes peered out from a crimson mask, he smiled, his yellowing teeth had glinted dully back at him.
Ten minutes later he crept out of the front door, the blood washed from his face, he snatched a coat from the wardrobe to cover the bloodstained clothes.
All that had been hours ago and already the thrill was beginning to wear off, the itch in his brain beginning to build. It had been good, no, it had been fucking fantastic, but it hadn't been the bitch.
Looking into the bathtub, he could see the water tinged red, the clothes sunk beneath the surface. Picking up the brown bottle, he shook the pills into his open palm, eight left. Robert grimaced, he should have taken the time to search the house, the bastard would have had money stashed somewhere. Shaking his head, he cursed his stupidity. He could have come away with a fortune, gone straight round to Connelly's house and bought shit loads of the tablets, enough to keep him going for weeks, even months. Now he would have to find some other way to get his hands on the cash. Maybe he could go into town again tonight, go early before the bitches spent their cash on Vodka shots and Red Bull. Nodding, he wandered into the cluttered living room, the bare floor littered with newspapers and magazines, the sofa buried beneath a mound of dirty clothes. Tonight he would take a couple of the tablets that made him feel invincible and find himself another victim. Then he would go and see Connelly and buy as many of the pills as he could afford.
Sitting on the bed, Robert picked up the paper and studied the two women, one blonde, the other black haired. He wondered if she'd found her husband yet, an image floated into his mind. What must her reaction have been on
finding the man she loved on the bed like a carved up slab of meat. She would have seen the fingers on the floor; he giggled, his right hand reaching down feeling the hardness. He wished now he'd stripped the man bare and fucked his arse, but the voice wouldn't have allowed it, he knew that much. Though it didn't stop his brain from picturing the scene, the bitch arriving home to find her old man with his arse in the air and his face cut to bloody ribbons of flesh. The giggle built until it morphed into a full-blown belly laugh, the kind that hurt your sides.
His laughter rang around the room, his right arm pumping up and down, no need for porn now, no sitting in front of the computer watching lame actors pretending, no need when you had the real thing locked inside your head.
For the first time in his life Robert Flynn had a plan, a meaning to carry on, a reason to drag himself from his pit and it felt good, no, scrap that, it felt life affirming.
'I told you it would,' the voice said.
50
'Right, what do we know about Flynn?'
They were sitting in Bannister's car watching as PC Black stretched out a line of blue, crime scene tape across the bottom of the drive. The light was fading rapidly; heavy clouds obscured the weak, winter sun.
'Not much. According to Connelly he had a flat in Worsley Mesnes,' Lasser said.
'That shithole,' Bannister grumbled.
'Yeah, but apparently he did a runner because he owed money to some local nutters.'
'Right, I'll find his old address and we can go take a look.'
'What about Nash and Palmer, do you think they'll agree to lay low for a while?'
'They will if they have any sense, but after their stunt with the papers I'm not holding my breath.'
'What do you want me to do?'
Bannister checked his watch. 'Get over to Palmer's house. I want to know their decision and if they do decide to sit tight then get Rawlins and Cathy Harper to babysit them.'
'Will do.'
'Then you might as well double up with Coyle and hit the hotspots of Wigan. I want every available officer out there looking for this bastard.'
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