'OK, but is it all right if I stay here tonight?'
'Of course it is, Medea, you don't need to ask.'
'When was the last time you had any sleep?'
Lasser drew hard on the cigarette. 'To be honest I have no idea.'
'Right well, if you're not home in the next couple of hours I'm going to give Alan a ring and tell him you've done enough for one day.'
Lasser flicked the ash onto the floor. 'Good luck with that.'
'I'm serious…'
'The woman he killed? She was an ex-girlfriend of mine.' Lasser had no idea why he said it, but when the line went quiet, he suddenly wished he'd kept the information to himself.
'Oh God, Lasser, I'm so sorry.'
He blinked and looked at the phone before pushing it back to his ear. 'I shouldn't have sprung that on you, it wasn't fair.'
'Come on, it's not as if we're little kids. I mean, I guessed you were no virgin when I met you.'
'I just can't believe she's dead,' he mumbled.
'Listen, get back here when you can, I'll be waiting.'
Lasser looked up; he could see Bannister silhouetted at the corner of the house. 'I've got to go.'
'OK, you take care.'
'I will.' Ending the call, he slid the phone back into his pocket.
Bannister walked towards him and held out his hand. 'Come on, Lasser, I'm gasping.'
Pulling out the pack of cigarettes, he tossed them over.
'Shaun Carver is ex-army, he was discharged twelve months ago.'
'That's why he stepped in to rescue Palmer?'
Bannister's face illuminated for a second as he touched the flame to the end of the cigarette. 'Two days ago his wife went into labour, but there were complications and she died on the operating table.'
'Christ.'
'Along with his unborn daughter.'
Lasser flicked the cigarette over next door's fence. 'Poor bastard.'
'I've got the address of his parents, you fancy a ride?'
'Is there any point?'
Bannister frowned. 'Look, we've got everyone out there looking for Flynn. I mean, you might think Wilson is a tosser…'
'I used the word ''cunt'' not ''tosser''.'
'Whatever, but he'll drag in all the help he needs to catch Flynn.'
'So why couldn't we do the same?'
Bannister blew smoke towards the sky. 'It's too late in the day to talk politics. Now are you coming or not?'
'Of course I'm coming.'
'Right, let's go and see what the Carvers have to say about their only son going AWOL.'
141
Robert shovelled another handful of chips into his mouth. One dropped to the floor and he slammed a foot down on it, grinning as he made his way through the tunnel. Life didn't get much better than this. He was on his way back to his special place with a full stomach and a small wad of money tucked into his sock, yeah, life was good.
Exiting the tunnel, he looked up at the troubled sky. Popping the last of the chips into his mouth, he tossed the empty paper into the bushes before taking a leak on the path. Robert broke into a tuneless whistle, a gust of wind blew into his face, and he smiled.
'Thank you,' he said.
'You've had a hectic time, Robert, you need to rest.'
Robert's smile grew wider. In another ten minutes, he would be curled on the earth floor, recharging his batteries. He would take a couple of the small white pills and when he awoke, he would feel revitalised.
Then the smile slipped from his face, he stood in the washed-out moonlight with his member in his hand, his mind suddenly erupted in blind panic.
'Oh no,' he gasped.
'Is something the matter, Robert?'
'The tablets!' Robert stuffed his cock back into his trousers and set off running. In all the excitement, he'd forgotten about the man who'd tied him to the tree. 'I told him where the tablets where hidden,' he shouted the words as he ran.
The voice in his head tut-tutted. 'Silly boy.'
'Shut the fuck up!' he screamed.
The voice laughed aloud.
142
Lasser recognised the face in the frame; it showed Shaun Carver in full uniform, a broad smile plastered across his face, his hair cut short, the beret tilted at an angle.
Catching Bannister's eye, he nodded.
The Carvers sat opposite, the mother looked bemused, dark smudges beneath her eyes, her hands twisted in her lap.
'I don't understand, Shaun's a good boy…'
'I'm sure he is, Mrs Carver,' Bannister replied. 'But we need to catch up with him before he does anything stupid.'
Alan Carver frowned and sat forward on the sofa. 'Look, Shaun's had a rough couple of days…'
'We know about his wife and daughter.' Lasser said, and watched as tears leaked from the mother's eyes. 'We know he's been through a lot, that's why it's important we find him.'
Bannister reached over and picked the photograph up from the coffee table. 'How long was he in the army?'
Alan cleared his throat. 'He joined when he was sixteen and left last year.'
'So how old is he?' Bannister asked.
'Twenty-seven.'
'Can I ask why he left?'
'The same reason they all leave, as soon as the army think they've served their purpose they get shut.' Carver said in disgust.
'He was forced out?' Lasser asked.
'Well, let's just say he jumped before he was pushed,' Carver spat.
'Was there any particular reason why they wanted him out?' Lasser asked.
'They don't need a reason…'
'Oh come on, Alan, he wasn't well.'
Carver snapped his head around and glared at his wife. 'Don't give me that, Catherine, he was perfectly fine…'
'Fine!' she shot from her seat as if it were spring loaded. 'That's always been your problem; you never admit what's staring you in the face.'
Carver threw an embarrassed look at the two men sitting opposite, before turning back to his wife. 'He would have been fine; he was having treatment…'
'No, Alan, he stopped going, you know he did.'
'So he was undergoing therapy, is that what you're saying?' Bannister asked.
Catherine nodded. 'When he came out, he'd changed, he started having nightmares. He wouldn't talk about what had happened but we know he lost a couple of close friends out there.'
'Where did he go for his treatment?'
She glanced at her husband, but he turned away as if disgusted by her outburst.
'Well, at first he went to Wrightington,' she continued. 'But that was only for a couple of weeks and then he was transferred over to Leigh Infirmary.'
Bannister placed the photo frame back onto the table; he could feel Lasser's eyes boring into him. 'Do you have the name of his doctor?'
Alan folded his arms and eased back into the chair.
Catherine threw him a look and then shook her head. 'I think he saw someone called, Dawes at Wrightington, but whilst he was at Leigh he was under the care of a doctor…'
'Fleming?' Lasser asked.
She blinked at him in confusion. 'Yes, but how did you know?'
'Tell me, Mrs Carver, do you know anyone called Robert Flynn?'
'No.'
'Are you sure?'
'Of course she's bloody sure, now what the hell is this about?'
Bannister loosened his tie, it felt hot in the small living room, waves of heat were being pumped out of the radiators, and he tried to stifle a yawn.
'I'm sorry are we boring you?' Carver snapped.
Bannister frowned. 'It's been a long couple of days.'
'I'm not interested! What I want to know is why you're looking for my boy?'
Bannister cleared his throat.
'Do you know why Shaun was transferred from Wrightington to Leigh?' Lasser asked.
'I'm answering no more of your questions until you tell me what this is all about.' Carver's chin jutted out and Lasser had a sudden urge to plough his fist into t
he man's face.
'Did he say anything to you about chasing off an attacker three nights ago?'
'What!' Catherine sprang forward again.
'Are you talking about the woman in the paper?' Alan asked.
Bannister sighed and nodded. 'We have reason to believe that your son has taken it upon himself to try and hunt this attacker down.'
'Good lad,' Carver beamed, as if proud of his son's actions. Catherine looked at him in disbelief.
'You're missing the point, Mr Carver, it's our job…'
'Yes well, you haven't been making a good fist of it so far, have you?'
Lasser felt his temper begin to unravel. 'You might think your son's a hero, Mr Carver, but earlier this evening he warned me off whilst brandishing a knife in my face.'
Catherine Carver slumped back onto the sofa as if her legs had given way. 'Shaun wouldn't do something like that. He's never been in trouble with the police.'
'I don't doubt it, but nevertheless it's the truth. We came across your son leaving a barge on the canal, a barge that contained the body of Doctor Nathaniel Fleming.'
'Get out!' Alan Carver's face was ruddy with fury.
Lasser looked at the man in disbelief. 'I'm afraid it doesn't work that way. Now do you have any idea where your son could be?'
'No and even I did I wouldn't bloody well tell you lot.'
Catherine looked at her husband in shock.
Bannister slapped his hands onto his knees as pushed himself to his feet. 'OK, have it your own way. But believe it or not, we're trying to do you a favour here…'
'Some favour,' Carver barked.
Bannister looked long and hard at the couple. 'If he does turn up, then you'd do well to bring him down the station.'
'Why, just so you can stitch him up?'
'Come on, Sergeant, we're done here.'
Lasser followed Bannister out of the room; they were halfway along the narrow hallway when Lasser felt a tug on his sleeve. Catherine Carver looked up at him in anguish. 'If he turns up then I'll make sure we call you.'
Lasser nodded. 'We'd appreciate that, like we said Shaun hasn't done anything wrong at the moment and we want to try and make sure it stays that way.'
'It's just that he's been under a lot of stress with Gemma and the baby…' her voice drifted to a standstill, tears leaked down her cheeks.
'I understand, Mrs Carver, but we need to get this sorted.'
She nodded a response and then watched as the two men made their way down the drive, when she turned around her husband was glaring at her from the doorway.
Lasser sat in the passenger seat, the view from the window was uninspired, wet tarmac and drenched gardens all bathed in the pathetic glow of the streetlights.
'Well, that was a complete waste of time,' he mumbled.
Bannister glanced at him before starting the car. 'At least we know Carver is the one who collared you in the woods.'
Lasser fiddled with the cigarettes in his pocket, every time he closed his eyes, he could see Cathy's legs poking out onto the lawn, a dark shape slumped by the side of the shed. Somehow, he knew he would always see her that way. Her smile, her laugh, everything that had made him fall in love with her would vanish, leaving only the shadowed body in the overgrown flowerbed.
Banister flicked on the wipers. 'Right, sitting here is getting us nowhere.'
'What do you suggest we do?'
'When you saw Carver he was drenched, right?'
Lasser frowned. 'Yeah, so?'
'So, if I were in his position I'd be looking for a change of clothes. Now as far as he's concerned we have no idea who he is…'
'He might go home to grab a few things!' Lasser dragged the seat belt across his shoulder and snapped it into place.
'We might as well give it a shot.'
'Do you think he knows Flynn's escaped?'
Bannister sparked up a cigarette and offered the packet, Lasser shook his head, and Bannister raised an eyebrow in surprise. 'Well, I would imagine after giving you the slip he would have headed straight back to have another word with Flynn.'
Lasser nodded, it made sense, but what would he do when he arrived only to find his prisoner had escaped? Bannister was right, chances are he would head home, a quick change of clothes and then out again to try to track Flynn down.
Bannister slid the gear lever forward, a few seconds later they were accelerating down the avenue.
143
'Where are you going, Robert?'
Robert skidded to a halt, suddenly realising he was lost, in his blind panic he'd run straight past the narrow path that led to the old house.
'Oh God, where am I!' he twisted his head, but everything looked the same, shadows and trees seemed to crowd in around him.
'Turn around and walk along the path.'
'But…'
'Do you doubt me, Robert?'
Flynn shook his head. 'No, but how do you know these things?'
'Well, one of us has to keep an eye on the ball.'
Robert turned and began to walk back along the shale path, his body felt clammy with sweat; the side of his head throbbed, matching the thrum of his racing heart. When he saw the narrow path on the right, he sighed in relief.
'Thank you.'
'Not a problem.'
Robert hurried through the tall grass, his feet sinking in the muddy trough of dirty water. When he saw the house, he stopped as if seeing it for the first time, a black shadow hunched low into the ground. It seemed strange that he should feel so at home here. Under normal circumstances a place such as this, all shifting shadows and darkness would have conjured nightmares and left him paralysed with fear. So why was this place different?
Robert frowned and tried to figure out when he had stopped coming to the house in the woods. For a couple of years this dilapidated building had been a sanctuary from a life filled with pain and despair.
Robert remembered running here when he couldn't wake his mother. After the man with the fixed smile had left, he'd sneaked from his hiding place in the airing cupboard and walked slowly into her bedroom. As always, the room had smelt of cigarette smoke and sex. Though this time there had been another odour that Robert couldn't identify. His mother had been sprawled on her back, her legs – like her neck – had been gaping wide, both slits red and open.
Robert stood on the waterlogged path and reached out a hand as his mind travelled back over the years, locked in that fetid bedroom. He'd stroked her hair as he always did, though this time his hand came away sticky red. Robert had sniffed his fingers before rubbing them together and then he'd looked down at her sex. His eyes flicked back and forth between her face and the open space between her spread legs.
A gust of wind ruffled his hair and Robert licked his lips the way he had done all those years ago.
Robert had run from the charnel house to this special place of magic and rebirth.
Blinking, he was suddenly back in the present, wiping a hand under his nose, he shivered.
It had been six months before the authorities had found out what had happened. In those six months, Robert Flynn had become lost. His mind had morphed until he was no longer the terrified boy. He'd spent the time talking with his mother, telling her how he felt and after a while, she had started to talk back to him. Robert had changed the sheets on the bed, he'd even managed to straighten and close her legs though he had been left red with embarrassment and sweating with the effort.
Then they had talked late into the night and he'd fallen asleep by her side, his arms wrapped around her bloody neck. This had quickly become a ritual, Robert would dash home from school, and she would be waiting in bed with the same smile fixed on her face. Sometimes he would call at the chip shop though his mother always refused the food.
'You're a growing boy,' she used to say. 'And I need to watch my figure.'
Robert would smile, nod, and shovel another handful of chips into his mouth.
Over the following weeks, Robert had plucked up the coura
ge to ask her about the men who used to come to visit and the night they found him watching on the landing.
His mother had been quiet for a long time. Robert had sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the threadbare carpet wishing he'd kept his mouth shut.
Eventually she had started to talk. She spoke of his father whom Robert had never met. Her voice had been no more than a whisper and Robert had leaned forward, crinkling his nose at the fetid smell. She'd smiled at him and told him that he was her big boy, he was growing up so quickly, he would make a fine man. Robert had blushed in pleasure and then she had told him to pull back the duvet. Robert had shaken his head, he hadn't wanted to, but she'd insisted and he didn't like to disappoint.
Robert had slid the cover from the bed and looked down.
'Kiss me there, Robert,' she said.
Robert gasped and thrashed his head in an effort to break the spell. Rain dripped from the overhanging trees as his eyes refocused.
'Ah there's nothing like revisiting old memories, is there, Robert?' The voice asked.
Robert swallowed and walked towards the house. As soon as he clambered through the doorway, he knew something was wrong.
'Hello, Robert.'
The shadows seemed to swirl and meld together. When the figure walked forward from the corner of the room, Robert felt his bladder twitch; hot piss ran down his right leg.
'You!'
The myth made real, smiled.
144
'There!' Lasser lunged forward, the seat belt snapped against his shoulder. Bannister spotted the figure thirty yards ahead, a rucksack strapped to his back.
'Are you sure?' Bannister asked.
Lasser squinted through the windscreen. They were driving down the road that led to Shaun Carver's house. 'Who else would be walking along at this time of night with a backpack on?'
Bannister grunted and eased off the gas until the car was crawling along in the gutter. 'Right, out you get.'
Lasser released the seat belt and opened the door, before climbing out onto the pavement. 'Don't forget, he's carrying a knife.'
Bannister gave him a mirthless smile. 'Thanks for reminding me, Sergeant.'
Closing the door, Lasser jogged across the street as Bannister pulled away. The figure was about twenty yards ahead; shoulders hunched, head lowered as he strode through the rain. Lasser moved forward, watching closely as Bannister drove past the man. When the tail lights flashed, he broke into a run.
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