'Jackie's showing me the ropes, I've been putting off using the locks, so she said it was time to master them otherwise I would never move the boat,' she explained.
Raising his gaze, he looked over Martine's shoulder; Jackie was busy making sure the ropes were anchored to the bank.
'But you're enjoying it?' he asked, as he looked at Martine and smiled.
'Loving it, though the slower pace of life is taking a while to adjust to.'
The DCI nodded in understanding. 'I know what you mean, but you'll get there.'
'Do you miss it?' she asked.
Bannister watched as three swallows zipped over the surface of the water, feeding, and chattering as they flew by. 'To be honest I do, and I still might splash out and get one at some point.'
'But keep the house?'
On the way up to Lancaster to view the boat they had talked about all sorts of things, and then to his surprise he had told her about losing Suzanne and about his fears that the house no longer felt like a home.
'It's getting easier that's for sure.'
'Good, I'm glad, now I was just going to make a drink so have you got time for a coffee?'
Bannister checked his watch and thought of the team out there digging in the dirt, trying to identify the victim of the hit and run whilst struggling with the problem of what had happened to Rea Lomax.
'I've always got time for a quickie,' he replied and then almost groaned aloud as he realised what he had just said.
'No problem.'
Bannister saw the look of humour in Martine's pale grey eyes as she turned away, and he followed, his face now beetroot red.
30
Brewster's face was smeared with a bitter scowl as he watched Gemma Fox talk to the man at the front door of the small semi-detached property.
When they moved into the house, Brewster felt his animosity toward his colleague go off the scale.
'Little bitch,' he spat, his hands clamped on the wheel of the MG.
He had no idea who the man was, but it was obvious he had something to do with the hit and run, and more importantly, with the woman who had called the ambulance and then vanished.
'Husband or father?' he asked himself, his hands now twisting back and forth on the wheel.
Karmen had talked about a ''source'' who had let him know that the woman was missing and yet he had been unwilling to share that ''source''.
'Spiteful bastard,' he hissed, though deep inside he knew that if he had been in Karmen's shoes then he too would have kept the identity of the source to himself.
He had been in the job long enough to know that you shared absolutely nothing until you had to. Sources were to be nurtured and protected, although Brewster had often given up the name of a source but only when it suited him to do so, never before.
It was obvious that whoever Karmen had spoken to would have had information about what had happened to the missing woman, which meant they had to be a copper.
The scowl on Brewster's face hardened as he pictured the man he hated above all others.
Every time he thought of Lasser, he felt his heart quicken and the anger turn to fury as he recalled all the times he had been shafted by the bastard, ending in the time that Lasser had all but thrown him into the canal. The whole incident had been filmed by the cameraman Brewster had been using to film Lasser as he accused him of corruption.
Despite Brewster's fervent attempts to have the clip removed, it was there for all to see on YouTube, and the last time he had checked it had been viewed over half a million times and a quick look at the comments below always made his blood boil.
They were full of ridicule, taking the piss as he floundered in the drink, and to make matters worse Lasser had been the one to drag him from the mirky water, the cameraman zooming in on his drenched face, green scum and weeds clinging to his long hair.
Suddenly, Michael Brewster gasped as though he were breaking the surface of the scummy water once more, his face flushed with hatred as he closed his eyes against the fury.
No, Lasser would not be the one who had contacted Karmen, that would be the last thing he would ever do, he hated the media, hated everything they stood for. To Brewster, Lasser represented everything that was wrong with the police force, his superior attitude grated on his nerves, the people had a right to know what their servants were up to at all times and that's what Lasser was, just a servant, paid for by the taxpayer, by the common man. The rest of the team were the same, but Lasser was by far the worst, he had contempt in his eyes for Brewster, no, it was more than that, it was hatred.
'Fine by me,' he snarled. 'The feeling's mutual, you bastard.'
At last, his hands slipped off the wheel as he took several deep breaths to calm himself, though half an hour later, when the bitch reappeared, his anger was back in an instant.
He was the senior reporter at the paper, the one who had in the past put his life on the line to get to the truth, not just once, but several times and yet Karmen had seen fit to leave him out of the loop, giving the details to the snot-nosed bitch who waved to the man at the front door as she got behind the wheel and drove away.
'No one with messes with me,' he slammed both hands on the wheel in fury before following Gemma Fox, dark smoke pouring from the exhaust of the ''classic'' MG, rust blooming on the wheel arches and bonnet.
31
The man sat in the rocking chair, the old gamekeeper's cottage at his back, the sun was slowly fading over the horizon, the last rays dying, the shadows deepening. It was strange but he was finding that he spent more time in the empty house in the middle of the forest than the ancestral home. He knew that if he was to climb any of the trees then he would see the house, huge and imposing in the distance and yet the mansion had never held any great appeal for him. It was simply too big, too ostentatious and in parts it was simply grotesque with the ornate interior and family portraits hanging on the huge walls.
Over the past few years, he had cut down on staff to such an extent that now there was only himself living in the house, it had nothing to do with money, he had plenty of cash, no, it was more to do with privacy.
Occasionally he would invite people to the estate and if he needed people to help provide the food and drinks then he would simply get the caterers in, pay them handsomely knowing that at the end of the night they would all leave and he would once more be alone, which considering his hobby suited him just fine.
Now, he rocked slowly back and forth the chair creaking, as the sun slowly slipped from view.
When he saw the figure moving beneath the trees, he continued to rock, his eyes fixed on the man as he approached.
'Lovely evening, Max,' he said before bringing the chair to a stop.
Max made no comment as he came to a halt six feet away. 'You have a job for me?'
'I do,' the man broke out into a beaming smile and rose to his feet. 'Though it may prove a little tricky, a little dangerous perhaps.'
Max merely shrugged his shoulders, his expression remained unchanged, and the man marvelled at how he could stay so ambivalent to absolutely everything, nothing fazed Max, nothing ever made him feel uneasy. As far as he was concerned, Max Abbot was worth his weight in gold.
Lifting the note from his pocket he held it out, and Max took it before glancing at the name and address scrawled onto the paper.
'I take it you want him brought here?' he asked before screwing the note into a tiny ball and flicking it into the long grass.
'I do, and unharmed if possible.'
'Is it training time?' Max asked.
'Fast approaching,' the man admitted.
'I was sad when Julie died, I liked her, she showed great determination and would have done well.'
'You are right of course, she was very special,' he replied and then explained all about how Rea Lomax had escaped from the icehouse and made a break for it through the forest.
By the time he had finished, Max's expression showed a brief flicker of admiration. 'No one has done tha
t before,' he said, his voice flat and monotone.
'Not even you, Max, not even you did something like that.'
Max grunted in acknowledgment. 'When do you want this man?'
'Come on, do you really need me to answer that?'
'As soon as possible?'
'Correct,' the man replied before sitting back down in the rocking chair, watching as the crows appeared in the pale sky above, a mass of black that circled like vultures, it was the beginning of their nightly ritual as they prepared to roost.
By the time he looked back down Max Abbot had vanished.
'That's my man,' he said with a sigh of contentment.
32
Lasser pulled up at the pump and climbed out to fill the Audi, his mind preoccupied with the details that Shannon had provided about the as-yet unidentified woman who had been struck down by Draper.
The marks on her wrists and ankles proving that she had at some point been held prisoner and then perhaps set free only to be chased across the fields ending in her senseless death.
Sliding the nozzle into the tank, he pressed the trigger, not bothering to count the digits on the small screen.
Perhaps she hadn't been set free, after all she could have escaped and…
The thought dried up in his mind, that didn't feel right, no, as far as he was concerned, she had been released, offered the chance to escape and she had given it her all in an effort to get away from whoever had been chasing her.
The handle clicked and he replaced the pump into the slot before going in to pay, picking up forty cigarettes in the process before heading back to the car.
Half a minute later, he had pulled onto the car park of the ASDA store and parked up.
Ripping off the wrapper, he lit a cigarette and slid the window down before lifting out his phone.
Jackie answered on the second ring, Lasser could hear the sound of a boat engine in the background.
'Land ahoy!' he said in a deep, salty, seadog voice.
'Hi, you, I'm running a little late.'
'I take it you're still out with Martine, showing her the ropes?'
'Yes, but we should be back at Red Rock in half an hour.'
'How has it gone?' he asked.
'She's done really well, managed a couple of locks then Alan turned up and had a brew.'
Lasser frowned at the news. 'What was he doing there?'
'He parked up at the swing bridge, I think he was just walking to clear his head and Martine spotted him, so he came on board for half an hour.'
'How did he seem to you?' Lasser asked as he watched the traffic moving slowly around the car park.
'Better than he has been, in fact, he was quite chatty.'
'Good,' he paused, 'listen, do you want me to pick up a takeaway on the way home?'
'Er no, it's already taken care of.'
'You've cooked something?'
'No, Alan's sorted it, he said he'll meet us at the boat around seven.'
Lasser felt the hint of surprise as he flicked ash through the open window. 'What's he getting?'
'Nothing, he's suggested we all go out for a meal.'
'All?'
'Mm, the four of us.'
'Oh right,' Lasser replied, his surprise growing deeper.
'Is that OK with you?'
Suddenly, Lasser thought of the unknown woman running for her life and the missing Rea Lomax and for a moment he couldn't answer.
'Are you still there?'
He heard the hint of concern in Jackie's voice, and he straightened in the seat and shook himself slightly. 'Yeah, yeah, and it would be nice to get out.'
'Alan suggested The Owls.'
'He would, they do big portions.'
Jackie laughed lightly. 'OK, then, see you in about an hour.'
The phone beeped and he slipped it into his pocket before taking another drag on the cigarette as he tried to get his head around Bannister suggesting that they all go out for a meal.
It seemed out of character and then he found himself smiling though inside there was a hint of sadness as he pictured Suzanne, she was smiling, her eyes bright with happiness.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he pictured Martine, over the last couple of months she and Jackie had become friends, Jackie helping her to sort the boat and to learn all the ins and outs of life on the water. The truth was Martine reminded him of Suzanne, and he had no doubt that Bannister felt the same way, even if it was on a subconscious level.
Opening his eyes, he flicked on the sidelights.
The main thing was that at last Bannister was re-joining the real world.
'Good man,' he checked the clock on the dash.
He just had time to call on Draper to make sure he knew that this was far from over.
Clicking the seat belt into place, he pulled out of the parking space and joined the traffic heading away from the store, his face thoughtful, his mind turning things over as he drove away.
33
Nash watched as the car pulled onto the drive, his anger flaring as Barry Joy slid his key into the lock before opening the door and vanishing into the detached house.
He knew his bitch wife was in there, playing happy families with the new man in her life.
'Not for much longer,' he snarled as the streetlights came to life.
Reaching down he cupped his testicles, they still ached from where the bitch copper had planted her foot, she would pay – he would make sure of that – as would that twat Bannister.
The DCI was hassling him, there was no doubt about that, though he also knew that the copper's hands were tied, there was nothing he could do about the threats, he couldn't prove a thing and even if he had been able to, they still wouldn't be able to stop him. The law didn't work that way and he would make sure he made those threats become a reality.
He thought of Erin, the truth was he had never really loved her, but he had always liked the idea of having her there, after all she belonged to him. Deep down, she knew that. No matter how she tried to convince herself that she had at last broken free, she knew that he still owned her no matter what she did, and all this pathetic pretence of being with someone new was just a load of shit.
Over the years he had used her to take his frustration out on, and Christ alone knew that his life was full of frustrations, he thought about the job he did, a salesman, a pressure job having to arse-lick people who were not fit to lace his boots. He would store all the anger up inside, the daily grind of smiling and nodding, taking clients out to lunch and then coming away without an order. That drove him mad beyond belief, all they were doing was using him to get a free meal and bottle of house white with no intention of placing that all important order, he had seen it in their eyes, what made things even more galling was that he worked on commission, and every time the potential customer walked away with a full stomach, he didn't earn a penny.
By the time he arrived home the fury would be raging, and Erin would offer him an outlet for all that anger, whether she liked it or not.
Once she had even accused him of raping her but how could you rape your own fucking wife? That insult had cost her dearly and she had spent the next couple of days in bed unable to walk.
Then he had started to go to the gym in an effort to burn off the energy, burn off the anger and for a while it had worked, then keeping fit had become an obsession and taken over his life completely. He had become fixated with body mass, with muscle growth with getting bigger and stronger, the look of fear in Erin's eyes as he grew in size had been an added bonus.
It had been the same at work, the stronger he became the more respect he seemed to garner from bosses and clients alike, now when he took someone out for lunch, they usually put an order in as if intimidated by the sheer power of the man opposite.
It had been a win-win situation and he had felt immense and then the side effects had kicked in, the main one being that he could no longer get an erection, couldn't get hard and it drove him mad. On the outside he looked all man, strong,
powerful, almost brutish and yet his cock had seemed to shrink in size, payback for having the body he had craved.
Now, he glared at the house and pictured his wife with Barry fucking Joy, the man was a worm, a nothing, a nobody, and yet somehow, he had got his claws into Erin and for that he would be made to pay.
Taking a deep breath, Nash tried to calm his rage, but he was unable to master the bitter emotion and with a snarl he drove away, glaring at the house as he passed.
'You'll fucking pay soon enough!' he bellowed into the confines of the car as he tore off down the street.
34
Draper took another pull from the bottle of lager before wiping a hand across his lips, he was still sitting at the kitchen table, unaware that the room was now almost dark, too lost in the horror of how his life would now be. Time had passed as he tried to fathom how he would get another job. More than once, he had cried bitter tears of self-pity as he remembered that as well as being pulled by the police for something that wasn't his fault, he had also lost his job. As of now he had no income and he knew that the bills would soon pile up, mortgage, gas and electric, repayments on the car that would no doubt be taken from him when he lost his licence. The bills had paraded through his mind, a parade of upcoming debt, each one would go unpaid and eventually the building society would take his house.
Taking another glug from the bottle, he slammed it back onto the table.
This wasn't fair, none of it was his fault, it could have happened to anyone, even Lewis Hamilton would not have been able to brake in time to save the woman, it just hadn't been possible and now his life was in ruins.
The truth was there was no way to escape the nightmare, if the case went to court and even if he was found not guilty then the stigma would forever stain his name and reputation.
When the crash came from the front of the house he raised his head, blinking his drunken eyes, unsure if his mind was playing tricks on him just as it had the night before, an echo of the bang as the car slammed into the stupid bloody woman.
Driven by Fear (The DS Lasser Book 27) Page 10