'What did you make of that?' she asked before starting the engine and turning the air-con to full.
Clicking the seat belt into place, Roger thought before answering. 'It's obvious that Mrs Evans thought a great deal of Julie, and she sounds as if she was pretty special kind of woman.'
Odette nodded in agreement. 'According to Bannister, Jepson hadn't been back here for a decade and yet Elizabeth Evans saw him in Bangor around the same time Julie Emmeret vanished.'
'Well yes, but technically Jepson was telling the truth, because he never actually came here to the garden centre.'
Odette rested one hand on the steering wheel as she thought things through. 'I get that, but it proves he was in the area around the time that Julie went missing.'
'But you heard what she said, she's not even sure if Jepson ever met Julie Emmeret, and even if they had it would only have been briefly and ten years ago, so she would only have been fifteen.'
'We don't know that for a fact, just because Elizabeth Evans can't say if they met or knew one another it doesn't mean they hadn't been in touch.'
Roger thought about what she was saying, as Odette pulled off the gravel drive and onto the road.
'I suppose it's trying to separate where coincidence and the truth part company.'
'True enough,' Odette replied as she went smoothly through gears, the sun still bright in the clear sky.
'So, what do we do now?'
'Can you ring Carole and put her on loudspeaker, we need to pass this information on.'
Roger nodded before pulling out his phone.
64
'I'm sorry but I have no idea where Michael is,' John Karmen said.
Bannister sat opposite the editor, his arms folded, face stern. 'No doubt he will be out there somewhere causing trouble.'
Karmen shrugged, before loosening his tie. 'Michael is a valued member of this team and…'
'If you value someone like Brewster, then you need to take a long hard look in the mirror, pal, because that man has no interest in the truth, all he cares about is himself.'
Karmen tilted his head slightly, a small smile briefly curled his lips and then vanished. 'He is rather old school I'll give you that.'
'Since when did ''old school'' mean bare-faced liar?'
Karmen's eyes widened slightly at the slur. 'He's tenacious and likes to get out there rather than wait for the story to land on his desk, and there is a place in this world for every kind of reporter. I mean, I've known reporters of Michael's vintage who never move from behind their desks.'
'Brewster gets ''out there'' because he still believes he is one story away from making it big.'
Karmen shrugged his narrow shoulders. 'Perhaps he's right, and I admire that trait.'
Bannister looked at the man opposite and felt his dislike increase. 'Doesn't it bother you that he lies and cheats and makes up his own version of events?'
'I've never known him to do that,' Karmen replied.
Bannister saw the lie in his eyes and drew the air in through his nostrils in an attempt to keep a lid on his anger. 'Gemma Fox went to see Mr Lomax about the disappearance of his daughter and…'
'How's that going, are you any closer to finding her?' Karmen interrupted.
Bannister said nothing, the silence stretched out and after a few seconds, Karmen frowned.
'Is there a problem?' he eventually asked.
'There is, and that problem is you and your kind,' Bannister replied, his voice no more than a low rumble, like distant thunder.
Karmen eased the chair away from the desk, the chair's wheels moving silently over the carpet tiles. 'When I first came to this town, I asked Michael about the local force, he'd been here the longest and it always pays to pick the brains of people with experience.'
'Let me guess, he called us all bent bastards, not to be trusted?' Bannister asked as he raised a questioning eyebrow.
Karmen smiled as his finger tapped on the arm of the chair. 'Along those lines, though he did get quite irate about you and a sergeant Basser.'
Bannister ignored the deliberate mistake. 'And no doubt you believed his lies?'
'Well, I do realise that there are two sides to every story, and I am always more than willing to listen to anything you have to say to defend your reputation.'
Unfolding his arms, Bannister placed his hands on his knees. 'Tell me, has there ever been a conversation between you and Brewster where he has praised anyone, anyone at all?' he asked.
'Michael is paid to be suspicious, not to sing anyone's praises.'
'So am I and with that in mind I would like to know how you knew about Rea Lomax and her father?'
Karmen pursed his lips before loosening his tie a little more. 'I have my sources.'
'I'm sure you do, but I would still like to know who told you?'
Karmen spread his hands, his face impassive. 'And as I'm sure you are aware that is confidential information.'
'Why would it be confidential, you're not a priest or a doctor, you're a reporter?'
'There are rules, Mr Bannister, and protecting a source is one of them and I am well within my rights not to divulge their identity.'
'You know who the source is then, you have a name?'
Karmen smiled. 'No comment.'
The anger continued to rise, Bannister could feel it heating up his cheeks and then a sudden image of Suzanne popped into his mind, her beautiful face serene as she looked at him.
'You're smarter than this, you're smarter than this worm.'
Her voice was crystal clear, he blinked twice, she slowly faded, and for a few seconds he felt his heart ache at the loss.
Then he refocused on Karmen who was now sporting a puzzled expression as if he had seen something on Bannister's face that he couldn't quite nail down.
'You think you have the measure of Brewster, don't you?' the DCI suddenly asked.
The look of confusion on Karmen's face grew deeper. 'I'm sorry you've lost me.'
'Oh dear,' Bannister said with a sad shake of his head.
'''Oh dear''? What?'
'It doesn't matter,' Bannister replied as he checked his watch.
'Are you trying to warn me of something?' Karmen asked as his finger continued to tap.
Bannister looked across the desk. 'What would be the point?'
'You've lost me again?' Karmen said as he popped the top button on his shirt as if finding it suddenly difficult to breathe.
'You do realise that Brewster despises you, despises everything you stand for?' Bannister asked.
'What in earth are you talking about?' Karmen asked.
'I realise ''despises'' is a strong word, perhaps a bit over the top, but believe me it's the truth.'
'We have our differences, but…'
Bannister barked out a raucous laugh as he rose to his feet.
'What's so funny?' Karmen demanded.
The DCI was smiling as he looked down at the editor.
'Lamb to the slaughter,' he turned and headed for the door.
'What the hell is that meant to mean?' the editor demanded.
Coming to a halt, Bannister turned. 'I know for a fact that Michael Brewster is trying to end you.'
'End me?' Karmen asked amazed by Bannister's words. 'And what makes you think something like that?'
'I don't ''think'', unlike you and most of the people in this building, I deal in facts, do you even know what a fact is?'
'I…'
'Of course you don't but believe me you soon will,' Bannister said cryptically.
'Is that some kind of threat?' Karmen asked, his face starting to redden.
Taking two steps back towards the desk, Bannister grabbed the chair he had been sitting in before pushing it under the desk, his hands resting on the back of the headrest. 'What are you talking about?'
'You sounded as if you were threatening me.'
Bannister looked pained at the accusation and then he shook his head. 'That's just typical, you choose to see a warning as
a threat.'
'Well, what did you mean about Brewster?' Karmen snapped, his face no longer calm and serene.
'It's not difficult to comprehend, you think Brewster is ''old school'', but really you think he's a dinosaur, a throwback and someone to be humoured. After all he is a ridiculous man with that seventies glam rock hairdo and his stupid little sportscar, it's easy to imagine that he's harmless – and that will be your downfall.'
Karmen cleared his throat and then shoved the sleeves of his shirt to the elbows. 'He said you had plenty of axes to grind, he warned me about you and Lasser.'
Bannister nodded. 'No doubt he did, but let's just say you are not the only one who uses sources.'
'Meaning?'
'It means I have been told things by someone in the know and let's face it, information often comes from the unlikeliest of places.'
Karmen's eyes widened slightly. 'You're talking about someone here aren't you, someone has been talking to you about me?'
Bannister spread his hands. 'Why so shocked? You make a living out of gossip, out of sources, and I have my own, closer to your home than you think. Brewster hates everyone – you already know that – but more than anything he hates anyone who is sitting in that chair,' he jabbed a finger at Karmen. 'You could be the best boss in the world, but it would make no difference to that snake, the truth is he believes he should be doing your job, he should be the one in charge.'
'That will never happen, Brewster doesn't have what it takes to be an editor.'
'Really?' Bannister raised an eyebrow.
'Look, tell me who you've been talking to?'
'No comment,' Bannister replied with a smile.
Karmen fumed, his face flushed red. 'This is different, if someone has told you that I am under threat then you have a duty to tell me!'
Bannister leaned forward over the chair, his eyes narrowing in anger. 'You sent a junior reporter out alone, and she could easily have died at the hands of a fucking madman, so don't you dare talk to me about ''threat'' and ''duty''.'
Karmen could feel the sweat begin to leak onto his forehead. 'Every reporter knows what they sign up for, they know that there could be danger, that things can get sticky.'
'Well, you're a reporter so surely you'll be used to ''sticky'' moments or do you see yourself as somehow separate from your colleagues?'
'We are a team,' the editor barked in reply.
'Glad to hear it,' Bannister said as the smile reappeared on his face. 'But I am telling you, warning you, offering advice, it's up to you how you choose to interpret it, but Brewster is gunning for you, and I hope for your sake that he doesn't dig any dirt on you because believe me he already has his spade out and that man can dig deep.'
Karmen opened his mouth to reply but Bannister spun around and strode for the door.
'Wait, you can't just walk away without telling me…'
The door slammed and John Karmen looked on agog, his brow now peppered with sweat, his face contorted as an image of Brewster shot into his mind, his sly eyes narrowed, spade over his shoulder, like the grim reaper hunting his next scoop.
65
Lasser listened as Carole explained about what Odette had found on her trip over to North Wales with Roger.
'So, Jepson had been over there about four months ago?' he was parked in a lay-by at the top of Parbold Hill, the view stretched out to Southport to the left and Blackpool to the right, he could even make out the big dipper and a sliver of silver sea on the shimmering horizon.
'Yes, but as Roger pointed out he didn't actually go to the garden centre, so in truth he wasn't being dishonest when he told you it was ten years since he'd been to see Elizabeth Evans.'
'I get that, but you have to admit that if she's right about the dates then Jepson was in the area, he could even have drove past the track where Julie Emmeret's car was found.'
'And four months later she was knocked down and killed by Draper on land owned by Charles Jepson.'
'Yeah, seventy miles away from where she was taken,' Lasser said as his mind started to filter through the new information.
'Where are you now?' Carole asked.
'Parked on Parbold Hill,' he replied.
'What are you doing up there.'
'I was going to Jepson's mansion to have another word.'
'Right, wait there, I'm on my way.'
Lasser slid the window down slightly the car buffeted as a truck went rumbling by, ready to tackle the steep drop into Parbold village.
'No problem,' he replied.
'I'll be there in fifteen minutes.'
'The ice-cream van's here, do you fancy a ninety-nine?'
'If you get it now, it'll only melt.'
'I don't mind waiting.'
Carole laughed lightly. 'OK, but I will want a flake and raspberry sauce as well, I want the works.'
'Sprinkles?' Lasser asked with a smile as he lit a cigarette.
'That would spoil perfection,' she replied.
Ending the call, Lasser placed the phone in his pocket as he looked out over the landscape, the sun blazing down, bathing the open miles in bright spring light.
Glancing left, he sighed as he saw the sign nailed to a telegraph pole. ''No landfill for Parbold!''
How typical was that, he thought, the council deciding that a local beauty spot would make a great place to dump the town's shit.
Pushing the annoyance from his mind he thought about Rea Lomax, and his grim expression turned into a scowl. He tried to hold onto the hope that she was still alive, just as Julie Emmeret had been before being struck by the drunken Mark Draper. When he thought of Draper and Clifton Nash he sighed, two men who had probably been taken by the same man, but for what purpose? Rea had vanished and shortly after Draper had been snatched and…
Pushing the door open he stepped out of the car, tired of going over the same thing, he walked to the grass verge on the left and looked out over rolling fields. Then his eyes fell on the huge yellow dumper truck chewing up the ground below, he could see a Portakabin to the right, a tall mesh fence made of shining metal encircled the field.
'Can you believe they would turn all that into a tip?'
Lasser glanced over his shoulder as the ice-cream man appeared, wearing a truncated chef hat with the words Mr Softie Top embroidered on the white material.
'I'll never understand the decisions those in charge make,' Lasser admitted as he took a pull on the cigarette.
The man took out a tobacco pouch and rolled one of his own. 'When you look at all the waste land around town, they could have used any number of places, but no, they open it here. In summertime you get loads of people sitting here to admire the view and now they're going to have the stink of all that waste coming up to greet them as they eat their picnic eggs and sarnies.'
'I've done it myself,' Lasser admitted.
The man took a pull on the roll-up. 'People tried to fight it you know, they always do, but it never makes a blind bit of difference, money talks, not that the bugger who owns the land needs the money.'
Lasser glanced at the man. 'Who are we talking about?'
'His name is Lord bloody Jepson and let me tell you that bastard is stinking rich.'
Lasser scratched at his chin as he took in the news. 'You've had dealings with the guy?' he asked.
'Oh aye, he owns that place,' the ice-cream man hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the large public house on the opposite side of the road.
'I never knew that.'
Mr Softie Top nodded and sniffed loudly. 'Fact is Jepson's never liked ice-cream vans parked up here, he's tried to get us shifted more than once but as long as you pay your licence, there's bugger-all he can do about it. So now he does this, lets the council use his land to dump crap on and…'
'But that hardly seems likely, I mean, it might put people off sitting on the grass verge, but it could affect the pub as well.'
The man looked at Lasser through a cloud of drifting cigarette smoke. 'The stinking rich always get thei
r own way, and they don't care how much it costs them.'
Lasser thought about what the man was saying though it still seemed extreme to open a landfill site just to get rid of the occasional ice cream and burger van.
'I can see you're not convinced but it's the truth, that bastard Jepson is responsible for loads of local businesses going down the pan.'
'And how has he managed that?' Lasser asked as he stubbed the cigarette out on the rubbish bin at the side of the road.
'He owns half the town centre, market hall, the old shopping arcade, that's all his and he took a backhander when they were building the fancy grand arcade, the bigger retailers didn't want to move in until the smaller businesses had been wiped out, they didn't want the competition.'
Lasser scowled, it was as if the man was reading his thoughts, long ago he had been convinced that the council had done dirty deals to make life harder for the small shop owners and market traders.
'I know it for a fact because I used to have a stall on the market, selling broken biscuits and cakes, my father had it before me and we made a living, and then the rent started to climb. Don't get me wrong, you expect that but within a twelve-month period the rent tripled, and we couldn't manage any longer. There's only so many times you can up the price on a box of custard creams that had been rejected for being the wrong size or shape.'
'And you're saying this was Jepson's doing?'
'Come on, that man has his fingers in God knows how many pies so a place like the market is nothing to him.'
'But surely it makes more sense to have some rent coming in rather than pricing people out of the building?'
'Oh, he owns a chunk of the Grand Arcade as well and he can charge what he likes for the rent, plus he gets rebates from the council as do all the big shops and it's the taxpayer who coughs up the difference.'
Lasser's cheeks inflated at the news as he shook his head. 'Stinks worse than that lot will do,' he nodded down the hill to where the fledgling tip was being constructed.
'Ah well, there was a few of us got pissed off with it all and we marched on Jepson's gaff, I never even knew it was there and forgive my French but fuck me, I have never seen a place like it.'
'You ''marched'' on his house?' Lasser asked with a hint of admiration in his voice.
Driven by Fear (The DS Lasser Book 27) Page 21