More Equal Than Others. The DS Lasser series. Volume five: Robin Roughley

  More Equal than Others- Robin Roughley

  Published on Amazon kindle direct.

  Copwrite Robin Roughley 2014

  More Equal Than Others- Rob Roughley.

  CHAPTER 1

  The pram went like a dream, old fashioned and sturdy it rolled along the gum tacky pavement, wheels quietly spinning, sunlight lancing off the silver spokes, the stiff hood raised. Strangely, the man pushing it seemed at one with the antiquated tansad. Dressed in a dark sombre suit topped with a black three quarter length overcoat, he strode along with a spring in his step, the embodiment of a proud father out for a stroll with his newborn child.

  Pausing at the roadside, he waited for a break in the traffic before striding across. A woman on the opposite side smiled and raised an eyebrow as he carefully tilted the front wheels onto the kerb. The man flicked a grin in return before turning right and heading through the wrought iron park gates.

  It was cooler beneath the tunnel of twisted trees, dense apple blossoms hung from the branches, the heady scent wafted along by the warm spring breeze.

  In the distance, he could see groups of people sitting on the short-cropped grass. Families with picnic blankets spread on the ground; individuals sprawled on their backs enjoying the warm spring weather.

  A couple of kids skimmed a Frisbee to one another whilst a Border collie dashed back and forth between them chasing the yellow disk as it zipped through the air.

  The sound of the traffic subsided, the pram rolled over tree roots that had broken through the perished tarmac path.

  He walked past a flustered ice cream vendor doing a roaring trade in lollies and fizzy drinks, the snake of customers shuffled forward like zombies at a buffet.

  Overhead, a fluttering kite dipped and swerved, startling red against the clear blue.

  At the bowling green, the man paused for a moment to watch the black ball curl slowly towards the white jack. Light applause came from a group of elderly people watching from beneath the shade of the red brick pavilion.

  The children's play area had a riot of kids dashing back and forth, every swing occupied; the roundabout crammed as it zipped around in dizzying circles. One small pigtailed girl looked forlornly at the blob of ice cream that had slipped from her cornet before bursting into floods of tears.

  When a football landed in front of the pram, the man frowned. It bounced twice before vanishing into a bank of dense laurel bushes. A thickset boy of about twelve dashed past before disappearing into the undergrowth in search of the wayward ball.

  When he emerged, the sour faced boy glanced at the tall man with the weird looking pram before spitting a missile of gum onto the parched ground. Bouncing the ball, he tossed it into the air and lashed at it with his right foot sending the ball rocketing skyward.

  'That was a close one,' the man said with a smile.

  The boy’s scowl grew deeper. 'What?'

  The collie flashed by, the Frisbee clamped between its laughing jaws.

  'The ball,' he explained. 'It nearly hit the pram.'

  'Bollocks, it was nowhere near.'

  The man tilted his head as if he were hard of hearing. 'I'm sorry, what did you say?'

  Hitching up his trousers, the boy sniffed. 'Are you deaf or what?'

  The pram rocked gently back and forth; the smile on his face flickered, on, off. 'Tell me son, are your parents with you?'

  'You what?'

  'It's a simple question.'

  'Piss off.'

  'Excuse me?'

  'Look, what's your problem, the ball came nowhere near...'

  'Craig, is everything alright?'

  The boy looked past the man with the pram and spread his arms wide before lifting his shoulders, as if to say, 'You tell me.'

  A gorilla of a man strode across the grass, stripped to the waist his shoulders flaking gossamer strips of sunburned skin, his gargantuan gut hung over the waistband of his jeans.

  'What's going on?' he asked, he had the ball clasped between his hands like a severed head.

  'Is this your son?' the man asked pointing towards the boy.

  'Yeah, why, what's it to you?'

  'I was just telling him he needs to be careful with the ball. This is a crowded place, lots of kiddies running around...'

  'Hang on, did the ball hit your pram, is that what you're saying?' Father copied son by hitching up his jeans, his stomach rose before spilling over the top and heading southwards.

  'I'm saying he needs to take care or someone might get hurt.'

  'I think he's a nutter, Dad.' Craig screwed his index finger to the side of his head and crossed his eyes. His father grinned and turned, the smile faltered when he saw the look on the man's face.

  'Find that amusing do you?' he asked in a quiet voice.

  Suddenly the sunlight seemed to intensify; Craig's father licked his fleshy lips. 'I don't know what all the fuss is about. I mean, there's no harm done and it's not as if the ball actually hit the baby.'

  Snapping the brake on the pram the man took a step forward. 'What's your name?' he asked.

  'What?'

  'I can see where your boy gets his stupidity from, now I'll ask you again...'

  'Tom Barber, but...'

  'Well Tom Barber, I was asking your boy to be careful; do you see that as a problem?'

  'Look...'

  'It's not a trick question, a simple yes or no will do.'

  'Well no, I suppose not,' Barber tried to hold the man's gaze and found that he couldn't.

  'You don't sound so sure?'

  The fat man tried a sickly smile. 'Look, it's just a misunderstanding.'

  'Not on my part. Now I'd suggest you tell your boy to think before he starts dishing out insults because not everyone is as understanding as I am.' He smiled and Tom Barber took a backward step, his man boobs wobbled.

  'Craig, come on, we're going.'

  The boy looked at his father, his face etched with disappointment. 'But...'

  'Don't bloody argue just get over here now!'

  Craig threw the man a savage look as he walked past. 'Tosser,' he hissed.

  Barber dropped the ball, grabbed his son by the shoulders, and spun him around. 'Apologise!'

  Craig tried to squirm free but his father tightened his grip. 'Get off me!' The boy bellowed.

  One or two people looked over towards the commotion; the fluttering red kite plummeted to earth. The man with the pram smiled and slipped his hands into the pockets of his long coat.

  'Apologise!' Barber repeated before thrusting his son forward.

  The man looked down at the struggling boy the acid smile still locked in place.

  'Sorry!' Craig snapped before spinning away and storming across the grass, his face infused with embarrassment.

  Tom Barber plucked the ball from the ground and thrust it beneath his right arm. 'Sorry about that,' he mumbled.

  'Lucky for you the baby didn't wake up,' he said as he kicked off the brake and stalked past.

  Barber watched as the man in the dark coat headed towards the duck pond. When he turned, he could see his son watching with a petulant frown on his face. 'Why don't we get an ice cream, son?' Tom asked lamely.

  Craig shook his head in disgust. 'Piss off,' he hissed before turning away his arms folded in a sulk.

  Skirting around the pond the man watched as a family of four-tossed stale bread onto the ground, a pair of swans stood on the bank hissing at him as he strode past. Once clear of the water, he veered right taking a narrow path through the trees. Beneath the canopy of leaves, the temperature
plummeted, belying the illusion of heat. The woodland was criss-crossed by numerous paths made by generations of kids on mountain bikes. Beneath his feet, the ground felt bone dry, last year's leaves scrunched as he moved deeper into the trees.

  The coach-built pram rode over the divots with effortless ease as spears of sunlight bathed the ground in splodges of honey coloured light.

  After ten minutes he stopped and pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, the man lit up and blew the grey smoke skyward. A squirrel skittered up the trunk of a gnarled oak flicking its tail as it vanished into a smothering of green.

  Taking one last look around, he lowered the hood of the pram, grabbed the handle, and lifted the back wheels from the ground tilting it like a wheelbarrow. The jumble of body parts slithered free and splattered onto the hard baked earth.

  He looked down at the chunks of flesh with indifference before plucking the cigarette from his lips. Grinning, he dropped the fag end into the quivering mass of grey and red.

  CHAPTER 2

  Medea kicked off her shoes before flopping back onto the bed with a sigh. Lasser stood in the doorway admiring the curve of her tanned legs. 'God I'm glad to be home,' she stretched her hands towards the headboard and yawned, the white dress rode up and Lasser shivered.

  Dragging the suitcase into the room, he abandoned it before joining her on the bed.

  'Are you saying going on holiday with me was a nightmare?'

  Turning onto her side, Medea smiled and popped a couple of buttons on his shirt. 'I never actually used the word, 'nightmare.'

  Lasser sighed. 'I'm sorry...'

  'Don't apologise, you weren't to know that the hotel was only half built.'

  'Yeah well, first thing in the morning I'm going straight down to the travel agents to rip someone a new arsehole.'

  'Forget it.'

  Lasser swivelled his eyes towards her. 'That's a joke right?'

  'Why make a fuss, I had a lovely time.'

  'But it rained every day and the coach broke down...'

  'It doesn't matter,' she held her hand up admiring the engagement ring. 'The important thing is we were together. I mean, when we're old and grey we'll look back and laugh about it.'

  Lasser dragged a hand across his short dark hair. 'I'm never going grey.'

  Medea propped her head with a hand. 'Oh God, don't tell me you're going to dye it?'

  'Course not, the first grey hair and I'll shave my head to the bone.'

  'So I'll have to marry a skinhead is that what you're telling me?'

  Lasser yawned. 'I thought bald headed men were meant to be sexy?'

  Medea slid her hand inside Lasser's shirt feeling the heat of his sunburned skin. 'Well that depends on the man.'

  'Oh, so I'm an ugly sod now is that it?'

  'No, you have your own,' she paused, 'unique charm.'

  He treated her to a lopsided grin. 'You mean I'm enigmatic.'

  Medea raised an eyebrow. 'I wouldn't go that far.'

  Five minutes later, they were both asleep.

  Warm spring sunshine spilled through the kitchen window lancing off the chrome taps in flashes of blinding light. Lasser sat at the table with a glass of fresh orange juice clasped in his left hand, his face etched with irritation. 'Look at this weather, we fly half way across the world to get drenched, and back here it's cracking the flags.'

  Medea stood at the kitchen sink, fastening her hair back into a ponytail before flicking the kettle on. 'So what do you want to do today?'

  Lasser yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. 'Well I'm back on duty tomorrow.'

  'Has Bannister been in touch yet?'

  Lasser grimaced at the mention of his boss; DCI Bannister hated it when people took time off work. The way he carried on anyone would think he paid the wages out of his own bank account.

  'Not yet.'

  'Well you know what he's like; sooner or later he's going to ring you...'

  'He can ring all he wants but it doesn't mean I have to answer.'

  Medea reached up to drag a cup from the cupboard; Lasser watched her calf muscles flex. 'You never know, everything might have run smoothly while you've been away,' she said over her shoulder.

  'God I hope so.'

  When his phone began to vibrate, he looked at Medea in dread. 'I'm not even going to look, if its Bannister then he can sod off.'

  'Fair enough,' she replied before spooning coffee into the cup.

  The phone continued to drone, Lasser gritted his teeth, thirty seconds later it stopped, and he heaved a sigh of relief. 'See, I told you I could do it.'

  Medea smiled sweetly. 'I never doubted you.'

  Draining the glass, he stifled a burp. 'Yeah well perhaps now he'll get the message...'

  The phone started up again, pulling it from his pocket Lasser slid it face down on the table before heading toward the back door. Medea watched him over the rim of her cup.

  Yanking the door open, he pulled out his cigarettes and sparked up, warm sunlight fell onto his upturned face.

  When he heard the side gate clatter open Lasser snapped left to find Bannister glaring at him, phone in hand, his hair standing on end, tie askew. 'You're back then?'

  Medea placed a comforting hand on Lasser's shoulders. 'Do you want a coffee, Alan?'

  'Love one, Medea.'

  Lasser tapped the ash from his cigarette and frowned at his boss. 'You do realise I'm not due back until tomorrow?'

  Bannister shouldered him out of the way and strode into the kitchen. 'So how was the holiday? I hope you're feeling refreshed and ready for action?'

  'The holiday was shite, it rained every day, and the hotel was a dive.' Lasser snapped.

  Bannister eased himself down into a chair and smiled as though pleased with the sergeant's response. 'You should have gone all inclusive. I told you it's no good being a tight arse...'

  'I am not a tight arse!'

  Bannister barked out a laugh and watched as Medea poured hot water into the cup. 'Come off it, everyone knows you're a miser.'

  Lasser flicked the cigarette stump into the garden. 'Who's everyone?'

  Bannister flapped a hand and smiled at Medea as she placed the steaming mug in front of him. 'I have to say, Medea, you're looking ravishing.'

  'How's Suzanne?' she asked throwing him a wry smile.

  'Fine, fine, she was saying you'll have to come over for a meal one night, you can even bring misery guts here.'

  Lasser hovered in the doorway his face flushed with colour. 'What are you actually doing here?'

  'Well I was just passing...'

  'Bollocks.'

  Bannister grinned. 'Am I really that transparent, sergeant?'

  'Afraid so.'

  The DCI loosened his tie before taking a gulp from the mug. 'Colin Philips.'

  'What about him?'

  'He's gone.'

  'Who's Colin Philips?' Medea asked.

  Lasser threw Bannister a cautious look, his boss shrugged.

  'A convicted sex offender,' The DCI replied.

  Medea folded her arms. 'You two need to talk, I'll make myself scarce.'

  'It's ok Medea, you might as well stay. I mean, as soon as I leave, Lasser here will fill you in on all the gory details...'

  'Hang on!'

  'Calm down, sergeant, it's not a criticism.'

  Medea hesitated by the sink. 'I...'

  'He was released eight months ago after serving a two year stretch in Strangeways,' Bannister continued. 'This is all old news, Medea, no big secret. He's from Liverpool originally but when he'd finished his sentence we had the privilege of re-housing the man.'

  'So when did he go?' Lasser asked as he closed the kitchen door.

  'Two days ago. He never turned up at the chemist’s for his medication, so they gave us a call; we went around to the flat and found the place empty.'

  'What do you mean empty?' Lasser asked.

  Medea placed the cup into the sink and folded her arms as if she could feel a chill in the air
.

  'Well you've been there, I mean it's not as if Philips had much in the way of creature comforts but the flat had been stripped. The portable telly was missing and the DVD player...'

  'What about the computer?'

  'Gone,' Bannister replied.

  'He had a computer?' Medea asked in surprise.

  'Sounds ridiculous, doesn't it,' Bannister admitted. 'But when he came out of the nick he had backdated benefits waiting for him, so he treated himself to a top of the range desktop.'

  Medea shook her head in disbelief.

  'It's not as bad as it sounds,' Lasser explained. 'The hard drive was checked every week.'

  'I should hope so,' she replied with a frown.

  'So he's sold everything and done a runner?'

  Bannister shook his head, 'Er, no, not exactly.'

  Lasser slumped down opposite his boss. 'What do you mean, if the flats empty then it stands to reason he's flogged the lot and scarpered?'

  For the first time, Bannister looked uncomfortable. 'There was one thing left behind.'

  Lasser waited, the clock on the wall ticked away the seconds. 'Well what was it?'

  Bannister looked towards Medea and then leaned across the table, Lasser could smell his aftershave. 'His head,' he whispered.

  Lasser rocked back in the chair. When Bannister looked across the room he sighed, Medea had a hand covering her mouth her eyes wide in shock.

  Lasser followed his gaze before turning back to Bannister. 'Big mouth,' he said.

  Bannister shrugged apologetically.

  CHAPTER 3

  Doc Shannon looked as if he'd lost weight, every few seconds he would tug at the waistband of his trousers hitching the pants up.

  'Are you on a diet?' Lasser asked.

  Shannon frowned. 'Wife's orders lose weight or no more rumpy-pumpy.'

  Lasser tried to dispel the image of the doc on the job; his gargantuan buttocks rising and falling like a pair of blubber whales breaking the surface of the sea. 'Right, well good luck with that,' he mumbled.

  Shannon grunted, yanked the door open, and slid the metal gurney free before flicking back the plastic sheet with a flourish. 'Ta dah!'

  Lasser looked down at the head of Colin Philips and grimaced. The eyes were open and opaque, tiny blue thread veins ran amok across his grizzled cheeks, the pale grey comb over hung down the left side of the head showing the flaky scalp beneath.