Driven by Fear (The DS Lasser Book 27)

by Robin Roughley

  107

  Jepson came to a halt on the path, the torchlight picking up Max who stood less than ten feet away. The guests had arrived, and Jepson had greeted them all, shaking hands, and clapping one or two on the back.

  Some of the older ones had brought their sons with them, young men who on the whole looked like clones of their fathers. Money tended to do that, it all added to the illusion, though Jepson liked to think he had only ever dressed like his father when there was something important to be done, some event to attend, then he would don the suit albeit reluctantly and act the part of the lord.

  Now, he came to a halt and frowned. 'Where's Nash?' he asked in confusion, then the light picked up the blood on Max's hands. 'What have you done?' he demanded.

  'He's dead,' Max replied in his familiar monotone voice.

  'Dead, what are you talking about?'

  'I killed him.'

  'Fucking killed him?' Jepson fumed, the anger flaring in his narrowed eyes.

  'He deserved it.'

  Jepson seemed to expand in the darkness. 'I know he deserved it, you idiot, but I am the one who gives the orders, and I wanted him alive, you know that, you stupid bastard! I mean, you never lose control until I give you the order to go on the rampage.'

  'Well, this time I did.'

  Jepson dragged a hand through his hair, trying to come to terms with what Max was saying and yet he couldn't seem to manage it. 'I told you to bring him to the stables and…'

  'I'll bury him later,' Max interrupted.

  'But he was going to fight the bitches, it was going to be a taster before the main event.'

  Max shrugged. 'That won't be happening now.'

  'What the fuck is the matter with you?' Jepson demanded as he moved forward until they were three feet away from one another.

  'Nash was a wife beater and…'

  'We already knew that but what has it got to do with anything, what does it have to do with the here and now?' Jepson spat out the words as he tried to come to terms with the change in Max Abbot, a man he had trained, a man he thought he knew better than anyone.

  'My old man was the same, he…'

  'Killed your mother, yes I know, but that didn't give you the right to slaughter Nash, did it? I was the one who gave you reason to live when you came out of jail. I was the one who saved your skin, and this is how you repay me!' Jepson's voice rose, any thought of expanding one's mind vanished.

  'He would have died anyway,' Max claimed, his bloody hands hanging limp by his side.

  'I know that, you idiot, but at my request, and only when I said so, it wasn't your place to decide that, was it?'

  'The women aren't killers,' Max replied as he remained unmoving in the darkness.

  'What are you talking about?' Jepson asked, his anger and astonishment growing by the second. In all the time he had known Max he had never really known him to voice an opinion, but now he seemed to be full of them.

  'Rea Lomax doesn't deserve any of this and neither does the reporter.'

  For a few seconds, Charles Jepson was utterly speechless and then the rage roared into his mind. 'It's a little late to start developing a conscience, you are a blunt tool, you are here to do exactly what I say and to act out my commands. Now, thanks to you Nash is dead, and I shall have to change my plans, which means that the bitches will now fight one another and that is all your fault, so go and fucking get them right now!'

  Max slowly shook his head. 'I'm not going to do that.'

  Jepson took a backward step unable to believe the sudden level of insubordination, it was as if someone had rewired Max's brain, taking out the will to obey and replacing it with something faulty. 'What did you say?'

  'This is wrong, I knew what I was getting into, I did it willingly, the two women didn't volunteer, they had no choice.'

  'What has choice got to do with anything? My God, you have killed more men than anyone I have ever known!' Jepson hissed in disbelief.

  Max merely shrugged.

  'And what the hell is that meant to mean?' Jepson asked as he mimicked the shrug.

  'You can't force people to fight, it's not right.'

  Jepson took a huge gulp of the cool evening air and thrust his hands onto his hips. 'That comment just shows how little you know and what an idiot you are. My family made their money forcing others do exactly what we wanted them to do.'

  'Slavery is wrong.'

  'Jesus Christ, listen to you, from the beginning of time there have been leaders and followers, the strong survive – you should know that better than anyone.'

  'Then why do the ''strong'' never do the fighting, why are they never in the ring?'

  Jepson tried to think of an answer, but his brain was in a turmoil of emotion, all his life people had done what he asked of them. Even as a child it had been the same, adults would treat him with respect, some had even called him ''young master'' and he had always loved it. His father had been the one who had told him all about the family history and again, he had been thrilled by the tales of how the Jepson empire had been built. The fact that they had used slaves to enable them to succeed had never concerned him in the slightest, after all he was special and one day, he would become a lord and…

  'It's easy to use others to do your killing,' Max paused, 'but this isn't right. Rea Lomax stopped to help Julie and yet you brought her here, and the truth is you never had any intention of letting her go.'

  'And how can I let her go, how can I let either of them go, you moron?'

  Max said nothing as Jepson continued to fume.

  'Now, we need to get moving, people are waiting, and I won't have them disappointed.'

  'Let the women go.'

  Jepson felt the fury peak and for a few seconds, he almost attacked the man in front of him and then the internal voice warned him what would happen if he did. Yet it still took a few seconds for the rage to subside a little, just enough to allow him to think of a plan. 'Listen to me, Max, I shall make you a deal, you fight, and I will let them go.'

  Max made no reply.

  Behind pressed lips Jepson gritted his teeth. 'Have I ever broken my word to you?'

  'No,' Max paused, 'but this is different.'

  'What do you mean by that?'

  'Because normally I do everything you ask… this time I'm refusing.'

  Jepson closed his eyes, suddenly realising that Max Abbot had a mind of his own and the thought was one he instantly hated. 'Without trust we have nothing,' he said as he opened his eyes. 'You know that more than most, you fight, and they get their chance to escape, simple as that.'

  Max thought for a moment and then nodded slowly. 'Agreed.'

  Jepson felt the relief wash through his mind, leaving only one thing behind, the fury, Max Abbot would pay for his insolence, they would all fucking pay.

  108

  Lasser pulled up in front of the house, and they both stepped out, torches in hand, over to the left Lasser could see a white Astra parked at an angle and he frowned as he walked over, Bannister close on his heels.

  'This is Gemma Fox's car,' Lasser said with certainty as he shone the beam into the empty interior.

  Moving to his side, Bannister sighed heavily. 'Which means that Brewster followed her again, left the MG on the lane and came here on foot.'

  They turned to look at the house, one or two windows were lit though the bulk of the massive frontage was in darkness.

  'What do you think?' Bannister asked.

  'Guess we knock and see if the butler serves us sausage and pineapple on sticks.'

  'Another nugget of Lasser wisdom,' Bannister replied sarcastically.

  Crunching across the gravel they reached the heavy door and Bannister used the butt of the Maglite to hammer on the solid oak.

  They waited, seconds later, the DCI hammered again.

  'What's Gemma Fox's car doing here at this time of night?' Lasser pondered.

  Bannister looked at him before stepping back from the door.

  'You're not goi
ng to try and kick it down, are you?' Lasser asked with a raised eyebrow.

  'Knob head,' Bannister snapped. 'Now, come on, let's try around the back.'

  They set off walking, darkened windows passing by to their right, the moon rising above the trees, bathing the surroundings in a pale grey half-light.

  Reaching the corner of the house, they angled right and when they came to the kitchen door Bannister tried the handle, grumbling in disappointment when he found it locked.

  'We should have come in a squad car then we could have turned on the whistles and bells, that would have got Jepson's attention.'

  'I think we need to go quietly,' Lasser said.

  Bannister glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

  'Gut instinct?' he asked.

  Lasser nodded slowly. 'I don't like this; it doesn't feel right.'

  'Agreed,' the DCI replied without hesitation. 'Truth is, I don't even think Jepson is in the house.'

  'If that's the case then where is he and does he have Gemma Fox with him?'

  They looked at one another, and Lasser knew that Bannister was picturing not only the reporter but Rea Lomax as well.

  'I'm going to ring Odette, we need help out here, we can't just go wandering blindly through the forest like Hansel and Gretel,' Bannister said before lifting out his phone.

  Lasser continued to move alongside the house, Bannister's voice fading as he reached the corner and peered out over the formal gardens to the dark block of forest in the distance. When he saw the flicker of light, he narrowed his eyes and watched as it continued to jitter in the trees and then it vanished for a few seconds only to reappear.

  'Could be Brewster sneaking about,' Bannister said as he moved to Lasser's side.

  'Only one way to find out.'

  They set off walking over the close-cropped grass, a sudden urgency in their stride.

  Overhead a bank of cloud momentarily obliterated the moon, and darkness once again descended, though neither of them flicked on their torch, both aware that to do so could alert whoever was skulking about in the trees.

  Seconds later, they broke into a jog.

  109

  Max blocked out the baying of the crowd as he stood in the middle of the barn, he was aware of the people surrounding him in a circle, though he made no eye contact with any of them. It was his way, he knew there would be familiar faces in the crowd, rich old men who had lived long lives though in most cases they hadn't deserved their longevity.

  Over the years he had met many of them, old families who came from old money, Jepson made sure of that, there were never any young self-made men at the fights. As far as Jepson was concerned new money was not to be trusted.

  He could remember once walking in on Jepson, he had been in his study watching some documentary on a man called Fripp, wheelchair bound from birth, the man had defied all odds and had ended up making more money than even Charles Jepson could have dreamt of.

  'What do you make of the cripple?' his lordship had asked.

  As usual Max had made no reply.

  Jepson had continued to fume at the television screen. 'All that money and yet he doesn't have the capability to enjoy any of it, how pathetic is that, to be a billionaire and yet money cannot buy you respect? People will always see the cripple first, never the success, never the wealth.'

  Fripp would never have been allowed here, Max knew it for a fact, yet as he flicked a glance to the left, he saw the old man in the wheelchair, his middle-aged son standing behind, the father dressed immaculately with a travel rug over his knees.

  Clark Benshaw came from old money and was accepted, no questions asked.

  'Hypocrites,' Max whispered to himself.

  Seconds later, a loud cheer went up and the crowd parted, and he watched as his opponent came into view.

  It was always the same, every fight he had ever taken part in started with the roar of the crowd and this was no exception. Max's mind cleared of everything but the moment and the man in front of him, six-four, seventeen stone of muscle and bone, his body glistened with sweat. As he drew closer, Max studied his face, the eyes wide, the pupils dilated, teeth grinding together as his face seemed to shift and writhe.

  Drugged up, Max knew in an instant and sighed. He had fought enough men like this in the past and it made them not only fearless but seemingly oblivious to pain.

  Then suddenly Jepson appeared, the cheers went up another notch as he moved between the two fighters, then he waved his hands up and down and the crowd instantly fell silent.

  'Welcome, old friends and new.' He looked around at the faces all smeared with eagerness. 'I want to thank you all for coming here tonight at such short notice. I realise that things have had to change and for some of you that is disappointing, though let me assure you I shall endeavour to make sure that you don't have to wait too long before the next hunt takes place. Though after the tragic events of the last few days, I am sure you can appreciate this is not something that can be rushed.'

  'Here, here!' someone shouted from the crowd.

  Jepson smiled in appreciation. 'But be assured that when the time arrives, when the quarry is ready then it will provide the most thrilling of sports.'

  'Beats hunting the foxes!'

  Laughter rang out at the quip and the smile on Jepson's face grew wider. 'Indeed. So, although I realise that tonight's event is not to everyone's taste, it will offer some sport and there shall be no charge!'

  This time the whole place erupted in whoops from the younger ones and polite claps from the elderly.

  Max watched Jepson, he was like some ringmaster, flourishing his hands and smiling in appreciation.

  'So, without further ado, let's all enjoy the spectacle!' he backed off, the crowd now bellowing in anticipation.

  Here we go again, Max thought as the drugged-up maniac dashed towards him, his face blank of any emotion other than the need to break bone, the need to kill shining in his demented eyes.

  110

  They moved through the trees, but the torchlight had vanished, and, in the end, Bannister clicked on the beam and swept it back and forth.

  'Which way?' he asked in frustration.

  'Well, the light was heading to the left so we may as well try that way,' Lasser suggested.

  They cut left moving deeper into the trees, the light leading the way through the ancient woodland, twice they came across small streams and leapt over before continuing through the darkness.

  Five minutes later, they came to a lane dissecting the land and Bannister wiped the sweat from his brow before shining the torch left and then right, the beam flashing on the paintwork of the gleaming row of cars.

  'What the bloody hell is all this?' Bannister hissed.

  They strode forward side by side, both perplexed by the dozen or so vehicles parked in the clearing.

  Lasser spotted several BMWs, 4x4s alongside Mercedes, top of the range Audis and even three Bentleys.

  'Some money's worth here,' Lasser said.

  'I know that but why are they parked up in the middle of a frigging forest?'

  Before Lasser could answer they saw the torchlight flicker again to their left, the path narrowed, and the DCI flicked off the Maglite. Without a word they set off along the path, breaking into a run as the light ahead continued to twinkle.

  Their shoes caused small clouds of dust to rise in the cooling air as they ran, the light ahead gradually growing closer, occasionally it flicked left and right as if whoever was holding the torch was trying to get their bearings or searching for something.

  They were twenty yards away when the torch swung towards them, shining directly into their faces, and forcing them to squint against the onslaught. Then Bannister flicked on the Maglite, the two beams colliding, and they saw the figure ahead turn to run, the poodle curls of grey briefly illuminated by Bannister's beam of light.

  'Brewster,' the DCI hissed.

  Lasser said nothing as they dashed forward, closing quickly on the fleeing reporter.


  'Get away from me!' Brewster screeched over his shoulder, his voice full of fear.

  They closed the last fifteen feet easily and by the time they reached him, Brewster was almost shuffling along the dry-stone path.

  When Lasser grabbed him by the shoulder, the reporter threw his arms into the air and shrieked, a high, piercing sound.

  Spinning him around, Brewster gasped when he saw the two men he hated the most in the world glaring at him.

  'What the fuck are you doing here?' Lasser demanded.

  'Get your hands off me!'

  Bannister shone the Maglite full into Brewster's face and grimaced at the sight, the light gave the reporter a ghoulish look, his skin mottled, jowls quivering.

  'Christ, you are one ugly bugger,' Bannister mumbled.

  'I said what are you doing here?' Lasser demanded again.

  'That's none of your business, I'm breaking no law and…'

  'You've been following Fox again, haven't you?'

  Brewster suddenly appeared furtive as he narrowed his eyes against the bright light. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'

  Bannister lowered the torch, the reporter's face was suddenly shadowed.

  Lasser tightened his grip on the reporter's shoulder. 'Her car is parked in front of the house and here's you sneaking through the trees, now if you insist on lying then I will cuff you to one of the trees and leave you here while we go on, it's up to you.'

  They could hear Brewster breathing heavily, smell the sweat of fear as he shivered under Lasser's heavy hand.

  'OK, OK, I did follow her, and I've been waiting hours for her to show, and then I saw all the cars go by and I started to wonder if perhaps something bad had happened to Gemma, so I came to try and find her, to try and help her.'

  'Even when you try to tell the truth you still can't resist the bullshit, can you?' Lasser snarled as he stepped back.

  'It's the truth,' Brewster insisted.

  'The part about sneaking about is true but you have no intention of helping your colleague, you followed her out of jealousy in the hope that you would get a story out of this,' Bannister claimed keeping the torch aimed at the woodland floor.