In the intervening years Julie Emmeret had come to no harm, as far as they knew she had led a normal life until she met her death on Hamley Road with Mark Draper pissed up behind the wheel.
'Shit,' he hissed under his breath.
'Flimsy at best,' Lasser commented with a sigh.
They passed the hospital, the car park almost empty though lights shone inside the building. Lasser pictured the broken body of Julie Emmeret in the morgue, her life a jigsaw puzzle of scattered pieces, the vital elements missing, elements they needed to put her life… and death together.
'Jepson fits the profile but it's more than that, he owns the land all the links are there, and…'
'A solicitor will laugh at that,' Lasser broke in. 'They'll say we are persecuting the man simply because he's a landowner. It was the same with Radfield and he had hardly any cash left, Jepson no doubt has millions, and we will be made to look like fools or worse still, we have our own axe to grind.'
Reaching the roundabout, Bannister slowed down before heading straight on. 'Are you saying this is a waste of time?'
'Course not, but so far we've seen nothing but the compassionate side of the man, only too willing to help, but once he realises that we suspect him then he will call in the cavalry.'
'Well, maybe he'll slip up,' Bannister replied, though his voice sounded devoid of confidence.
'Or his solicitor will tell him to say nothing, then look at the evidence we have and rip us to pieces.'
'Jesus, you're a miserable sod.'
'Just being practical.'
'And when has that ever happened?'
Lasser scratched at his chin as they swept along the road. 'Perhaps we're changing places, me being cool and collected and you getting all hot headed and irrational.'
Bannister glanced sideways but Lasser was still facing front, his face unreadable.
'You're talking shite again.'
Lasser shrugged. 'If you say so, but I remember a time when you would have been thinking the same thing as me. You would have been the one reining me in for going over the top.'
Bannister tried to think of a way to disprove Lasser's theory but in many ways he was right.
Over the years he had changed, he now found it harder to control his anger and the injustices of the world affected him more than they had ever done in the past.
It had become even worse since Suzanne had died, now the rage was always there inside, and the slightest thing could set it off. The truth was she should never have died, she had been way too young and when he thought of all those who still lived and breathed when they were nothing but takers or users it made his blood boil. The world was all wrong, then again it always had been, fairness was never guaranteed in this life and bad things always happened to good people.
'You've gone quiet.'
'I was just thinking things through,' Bannister paused, 'we've come across some animals in our time, haven't we?'
'More than our fair share,' Lasser admitted.
'I don't give a fuck about them but what about their victims?'
Lasser lit a cigarette as they made their way towards Standish. 'I try not to think of them.'
'That's a lie,' the DCI said as he quickly checked the mirrors, there was nothing behind them, no headlights to be seen.
'They're always there,' Lasser suddenly admitted with a sigh. 'Sometimes I lay awake at night and they're all there, Cathy, Susan and all the others we failed to help.'
The atmosphere in the car suddenly seemed to darken as Bannister shifted slightly in the seat. 'I thought I was the only one who did that,' he admitted.
'I would imagine we all do the same thing; Odette blames herself for Susan's death and always will.'
'Which is nonsense of course.'
'Makes no difference, we all carry the guilt inside,' Lasser replied, his shadowed expression strained with guilt.
'I feel that way about Suzanne, I know you will say it's different, it was the cancer that took her, but I never noticed the change, never saw how she was struggling and what she was going through and when she confided in you, I hated that.'
'I know,' Lasser said before taking another pull on the cigarette, trying his best to keep the dark thoughts at bay.
Bannister tossed the stub into the darkness before sliding he window back into place. 'That was wrong of me, and I'm glad she told you rather than carry the weight on her own.'
Lasser thought for a few seconds unsure how to reply. 'I wanted to tell you, but she'd asked me not to. I tried to explain that you all needed to know, but I gave my word, and she was convinced she was doing the right thing.'
'Trying to protect us from the truth.'
Lasser rubbed at his tired eyes as he pictured Suzanne, his heart aching at her loss. 'It was a mistake and she realised that in the end.'
'I'm still lost without her,' Bannister suddenly confessed, his voice ragged with emotion.
'I know.'
'But it's not as bad as it was, it's getting easier now.'
Lasser said nothing.
Bannister sniffed heavily and seemed to shake himself. 'Anyway, enough of that, we have Lord Bullshit in our sights and no matter what he says we have questions that need answering and by Christ he's going to talk, or I will lose it big time.'
'Ditto,' Lasser said as they barrelled into the night.
105
'Keep walking,' Max said.
Torchlight fanned out into the trees as Nash tried to keep placing one foot in front of the other, but it was getting harder to perform this simple act. His body continued to throb with pain from the beating, the bulk and muscle he had always been so proud of now felt like an extra burden to bear, one that seemed to be dragging him down with every shuffling step.
When he felt the hand push him forward, he almost cried out in pain and suddenly he thought of Erin and for the first time in his life he felt guilt at what he had put her through. Somewhere inside, he marvelled at the strength she had shown to keep going. How had she done that, how had she taken the beatings he had dished out and stayed with him?
The idea seemed unbelievable as he pictured the countless times he had lashed out, holding nothing back, loving it when she cried out and doubled over or even better still when she collapsed to the floor writhing in the pain that he had inflicted.
Now, the feeling of guilt was suddenly mixed with one of self-disgust that he could have done such a thing to a woman half his size. Now, at last he knew what it felt like to be crushed and broken, to be walking when every inch of you screamed to just stop and sink to the ground. He pictured his wife, feeling the same way and yet she had always cooked him a meal ready for when he had got in from work, the house had always been spotless, hovered and dusted daily, without fail. How had she done that, how was that even possible? He kept his eyes fixed on the torchlight but then the tears filled his eyes and this time they were not tears for himself but for Erin. The things he had subjected her to, simply because he could, because she was physically weaker than he was, yet now he knew that emotionally she was stronger than he could ever hope to be.
'I'm sorry,' he gasped out the two words, his anguish growing.
'Why are you apologising?' Max asked.
Clifton Nash never even heard the question, his mind was full of images of his wife and the things he had subjected her to, the mental and physical abuse, the way he had used her sexually now made his soul shrivel, and all it had taken was one beating to make him realise how abhorrent he had been and how truly weak and pathetic he was.
He stumbled and tried to raise his arms to protect himself, but they felt too heavy to lift and he hit the ground, grunting as the pain crashed through his body.
Then the tears came, and he simply couldn't stop them, his whole body going into a spasm of guilt and shame.
'Get up.'
This time Nash heard the voice, but he couldn't reply, he was too busy sobbing, his hands clawing at the soft earth, tearing at the grass as at last he admitted the truth
of what he really was, a bully, a bastard, a man who had never deserved the love of his wife.
How had it come to this, how had he turned into such an animal, one who was happy to beat the woman he loved, and he did love her, that was the worst thing of all? During their marriage he had lived a total lie, building his ego as he built his body, his grotesque body. He had convinced himself that the two went hand in hand, physical and mental strength. Though all he had done was lie to himself, he thought back to when he and Erin had first been married, images of them laughing together bombarded his senses. They had shared the same interests, and conversation had always been easy and full of… love. He gasped again as the shroud was torn away, and the reality of what he had become crushed him to the ground.
'Get up,' Max repeated, his voice devoid of emotion.
It took a mammoth effort, but Clifton Nash managed to roll over onto his back, arms outstretched as he blinked up at the shadowed figure holding the torch. 'My God what have I done?' he asked, his voice cracked and full of horror, tears of guilt streaming from his swollen eyes.
Max looked down and for the first time he scowled. 'What are you talking about?'
Nash's mouth seemed to chatter, his bottom lip trembling as he thrashed his head from side to side, his face riven with despair in the torchlight.
'I hit her, I beat her, and I don't know why,' he wailed, the image of Erin's bruised face emblazoned onto his mind, her eyes full of terror as he stalked towards her, loving her fear and eager to make her squeal in pain.
He pictured her naked, her body black and blue as she lay curled on the bed, the sheet beneath stained with blood as she cried silently. He had loomed over her, his muscles pumped to the maximum, his member shrunken and useless. It was all to do with his inadequacies, Erin had been the perfect wife and he was the one with the weaknesses, the one with the pitiful self-made problems, yet he had blamed her for it all, taken out his anger on her mind and body, whenever it suited him.
He saw the torch move slightly and then the man called Max was crouched by his side.
'You beat her because you're pathetic, because you equate bulk with strength, and they are never the same thing.'
'Please, I need to see her, I need to make her realise that I was the one to blame for everything…'
'She already knows that, you dumb prick. I know how the likes of you operate, my own father was the same, he would lash out and beat my mother for no reason. Afterwards he would always cry, I would hide on the stairs listening to him saying how sorry he was, but it was all a lie and days later it would all start again. And do you know the worst part?' Max asked the fury roaring through his mind.
All Clifton Nash could do was shake his head unable to break eye contact as the man loomed over him.
'After every beating when he was pretending to cry, she would to be the one holding him and saying she understood, while she was bleeding and battered, she would try to comfort the bastard. Is that what you did, did you tell your wife how sorry you were for the damage you did?'
'No!' Nash wailed as the horrific memories continued to cascade through his mind.
'And now you want the chance to try and make amends, don't you?'
'God, yes!' Nash gasped.
Max looked down and the man's face morphed and changed into that of his father, tears streaming onto his cheeks as he begged for forgiveness. Max had been seventeen when he had come home from a night out to find his mother on the kitchen floor, she had been wearing jogging pants that now lay in the corner of the room, her T-shirt had been yanked up, revealing the bruises and bite marks on her bare breasts. He could remember standing there with kebab in hand, lettuce, and chilli sauce spilling to the blood smeared linoleum as he fell to his knees by her side.
'Mum, wake up,' he had pleaded and then he had seen the bruises on her neck, her eyes open and bloodshot, and he had known that there would be no waking up for his mother.
He had found his father on the sofa, his head covered by a cushion, the sobs sounding loud in the stillness of the violent air.
Moving across the room, Max had snatched the cushion away before throwing it into the corner of the room, his father had looked up at him with pleading in his tear-filled eyes.
'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,' he had wailed up at his seventeen-year-old son.
Max had said nothing, seconds later, he was hammering his fists into his father's face, blood had spurted, his old man had thrashed on the sofa, arms waving in the air as he gurgled on the blood. A mere two minutes later, Max Abbot had fallen to his knees, his fists and clothing drenched in the blood of his father, his mind had blanked out, the body on the sofa was unrecognisable as his father, unrecognisable as a human being.
Now, he blinked again and looked down at the wreckage of Clifton Nash's face, the torch lay in the grass and Max held up his hands, hands that were now dripping with blood and gore.
106
Bannister turned off the A-road and flicked on the main beam, the lights lancing out, illuminating the familiar dry-stone wall to their left.
'Let's have a last cig before we tackle the bugger,' the DCI said.
Seconds later, Lasser handed one over and they both slid the windows down to let the smoke escape the confines of the car.
Cool air drifted in bringing with it the scent of the countryside, late spring growth and dark, turned earth.
'What about the gorilla?' Bannister suddenly asked.
'According to Jepson, he doesn't employ anyone who fits the description,' Lasser paused, 'though now we know he's a liar, we have to take everything he's said as a load of shit.'
'That's the problem when you have a fortune in the bank, you become used to having your cake and eating it.'
'And in Jepson's case that's even more relevant.'
'Explain?' Bannister asked, flicking ash through the window.
'Well, you have people who make money off their own back, they work hard and use their brains to get on in life, though prior to that they will have lived by the same rules that we all have to follow. But when you are born into money, when you come from a family as old as Jepsons then you grow up unaware of how the real world works. Let's face it, the Jepsons made their money through the abuse of others, no doubt they are told from a young age all about the proud historical line that they come from. They are raised to believe they are special, and they don't have to follow the same rules that the mere peasants have to live by.'
'You're sounding bitter again,' Bannister warned as they swept around a right-hand bend.
'I might sound bitter, but that doesn't make it any less true. Look at Dyer, he would have had us believe he owned the land, yet he was only a tenant farmer.'
'What's that got to do with Jepson?' Bannister asked, puzzled by Lasser's words.
'Well, the son was a miniature version of his old man, he even dressed the same and his attitude stank and that's because his father no doubt bragged about the land they owned, strutting around like the big man and yet the reality was that the lad had no idea that they paid rent to Jepson and that they actually owned fuck all.'
'The father bigged himself up and the kid swallowed his bullshit,' Bannister said as he took another pull on the cigarette.
'Then imagine Jepson brought up the same way, but this time it wasn't bullshit because they had the money they had the history, they lived in the big fuck-off house.'
Bannister nodded in agreement, his face stamped with anger at the unfairness of the world. 'Live a life of entitlement and you come to believe you are special and like you say, when you live in a house like the Jepson family seat, when you go to the best schools whether you deserve to be there or not then you think the rules don't apply to you.'
'But that's just it, the rules don't apply to them, you only have to look at how this country is run to see that, all old Etonians, all clueless about the real world.'
'Either clueless or they don't give a shit about the ''little people'',' Bannister growled.
The atmos
phere in the car seemed to intensify as they drove past the pub and post office, Bannister slowed down for the turn on the left and then the headlights picked up the small MG tucked away on the right.
'Brewster!' Lasser snapped as he leaned forward in the seat.
Bannister twisted the wheel and they shot across the road bringing the car to a halt, the headlights illuminating the empty interior.
'Might have known that slimy tosser would have been knocking about,' the DCI growled.
'I'll check that he's not hiding in the footwell,' Lasser quipped as he leapt from the Range Rover before striding to the MG.
Seconds later, he was back in the passenger seat.
'Empty, so wherever he is he must be on foot.'
'Which means he will be sneaking around on Jepson land looking for a story,' Bannister said as he turned the car around and headed back to the entrance of the estate.
'Obviously, locking him in your car and telling him some home truths didn't have the desired effect,' Lasser commented as he clicked the seat belt into place.
'Brewster is like a pig hunting out truffles, nose in the shit, arse in the air.'
Lasser smiled thinly at the description, picturing the reporter on all fours, his face buried in the mud and dirt.
'I suppose it was too much to hope that he would turn a new leaf.'
Bannister grunted. 'People like Brewster never change, they can't, it's in their DNA.'
The long line of trees passed on either side, the headlights illuminating the way as Bannister tossed the cigarette out of the window.
'Let's hope we find Brewster and his lordship in cahoots, it would be a good night if we nail the pair of them,' Bannister said with a sly grin.
Lasser rolled his head to ease the creak in his neck and said nothing.
Driven by Fear (The DS Lasser Book 27) Page 33