Desolate Hearts Page 11

  Tanner swallowed the unfamiliar feeling of fear and nodded. 'What can I do for you?'

  'I was just passing and…'

  'Passing!? I live five miles from the nearest B-road, nobody is ever just passing.'

  Suddenly, the smile was back in place. 'There are no flies on you are there, Charlie?'

  'But…'

  'Let's just say I'm here to,' he paused the smile growing ever wider, 'pick your brains,' he finished.

  It was right then that Tanner realised he would have to tread very carefully if he wanted to survive. One mistake and he had no doubt that his body would be left in the snow to be picked to pieces by the foxes and carrion birds, his bones would still be here in the summertime being bleached by the sun.

  'What can I help you with?' Tanner asked.

  'Let's go inside then we can chat near the fire,' the man named Plymouth said as he turned and walked into the house.

  For the first time ever, Tanner regretted the fact that he lived off-grid, rather than in a busy city centre. He looked around at the barren landscape and realised there was no escape.

  With a heavy sigh he followed, his steps forced, shoulders slumped as the fear took over, the dog followed, its tail no longer wagging.

  32

  'But what were you doing here?' Odette asked, her voice no more than a whisper.

  They were standing in the churchyard, she could see officers on one side blocking off the ginnel that led to the church and also at the lychgate, although one or two people had managed to brush the snow off the boundary wall and were perched precariously on top in an effort to see what was happening.

  By way of explanation Craig lifted the bag. 'I'd been shopping and saw the sign for the church, so I thought I'd take a look.'

  Odette flicked a look towards the entrance, Lasser and Bannister were both on their haunches looking at the gruesome remains in the hessian sack.

  Mia stood with her back to the church wall, her face pale with shock, Spenner by her side, the young guy who had attacked Craig being led away in handcuffs by Steve Black.

  'Was there anyone walking through or just leaving who might have witnessed this?'

  Craig thought for a moment and then scratched at his chin. 'Well, there was one guy, but he wasn't near the church entrance.'

  'Where was he?' she asked, her hands in her pockets in an effort to keep them warm.

  'Standing about halfway between the church and the lychgate.'

  'Doing what?'

  'Looking up at the sky.'

  Odette felt her forehead crease in bafflement. 'Then what happened?'

  Craig sniffed and swiped the snow from his hair with a gloved hand. 'He smiled then walked away.'

  'You got a good look at this man?'

  'Well, yeah, but…'

  'Describe him?'

  Craig looked at her and smiled. 'So, this is Odette, the detective, rather than Odette, my girlfriend?'

  She felt the hint of a blush rising in her cheeks. 'Craig, this is serious…'

  'I know and I'm sorry,' he said apologetically, the smile falling from his face.

  'So?'

  'OK, he was around six-three, lean but not thin.'

  'What about clothing?'

  'Waist-length grey padded jacket, I think it was a Paramo, black jeans and brown walking boots, Berghaus or possibly Mammut.'

  Odette looked at him admiringly. 'You noticed a lot.'

  Craig shrugged. 'Like I said, he was just standing there looking up at the sky, I don't think he knew I was even here at first. Besides, I know quality outdoor clothes when I see them. Oh, and the boots were worn but well-looked after.'

  'What about his hair?'

  'White.'

  Odette felt something in her mind shift. 'White?'

  'Yeah, white like the gargoyles,' he replied, pointing up at the church.

  Odette glanced up to see the stone demons, each topped off with a splodge of white snow. 'What about his eyes, did you see his eyes.'

  Craig raised an eyebrow as her voice rose slightly. 'Blue.'

  When she took a step back, his eyebrow rose even higher. 'Are you OK?'

  Odette frowned and loosened the scarf around her neck, the heat continuing to rise in her cheeks. 'You're sure they were blue?'

  Craig nodded. 'To be honest, even from this distance they were kind of startling.'

  Odette suddenly felt the temperature drop, she turned as Bannister walked towards them through the snow, Lasser was still on his haunches in the doorway as if frozen there.

  'What a bloody horror, we have to…'

  'I need a word,' Odette interrupted.

  Bannister glanced at her and nodded before turning to Craig. 'You're Odette's boyfriend then?' he asked, thrusting out his hand.

  'You must be Alan Bannister,' he replied in answer, shaking the offered hand, surprised by the strength of the grip.

  'Whatever she's said about me then I can guarantee it's a lie,' Bannister dragged up a tired smile.

  'Craig saw someone in the churchyard,' Odette interrupted again.

  Bannister looked at her inquiringly. 'Really?'

  'Tall, around six-three, lean build. With a shock of white hair and blue eyes,' she finished in a rush.

  With every word the DCI's eyes grew wider, then he turned to Craig. 'Are you sure about this?'

  'I'm positive but…'

  'Plymouth!' Bannister spat out the word, his face suddenly twisted in anger.

  'I'm sorry, you've lost me?'

  Bannister glanced at Craig, his eyes suddenly cautious. 'Right, thanks for the help,' he said over his shoulder, taking hold of Odette's arm and leading her towards the church doors. 'Jesus Christ, it can't be that bastard, can it?'

  Odette tried to think but her mind was clogged with an image of the man named Plymouth, his warm smile and piercing eyes, strangely at odds with the terrifying violence he could dish out in a heartbeat.

  'Well, the description fits,' she replied lamely.

  Bannister dragged a hand across his face, a frantic look in his eyes. 'But why the hell would he kill Lambert and Marsh?'

  Odette lifted her shoulders in a shrug. 'The one thing I've learned about that man is the fact that you can never fathom why he does the things he does until it's too late.'

  Over Odette's shoulder, Bannister saw Carl from the SOCO team approach, against the backdrop of snow he looked almost invisible in his white paper suit. 'You're right, but if it is Plymouth then we are in deeper shit than we thought.'

  Odette saw Lasser walking towards them, his face set in grim lines, the anger sparking in his dark eyes.

  'Shall I tell him, or do you want to do it?' Odette asked.

  Taking a deep breath Bannister blew it out in a cloud of vapour. 'I'll light the blue touch paper and retire to a safe distance,' he replied with sigh.

  Odette nodded, her mind still bemused by this latest bombshell.

  At her back, Craig pulled out his phone and retrieved the text he had received earlier before firing off a quick reply, his face impassive, his eyes hardening.

  33

  Lasser felt his heart sink as the desktop showed nothing but a screen of white.

  'I'm sorry, but it looks as if snow has covered the camera lenses,' Mia said apologetically, as she pushed the chair back from the desk.

  They were sitting in the small side room of the vicarage, the back wall lined with leather-bound books, the clock on the wall ticking the seconds away. Lasser could hear faint laughter floating from outside the mullioned window.

  'Are you OK?' he asked before taking a gulp from the cup of hot chocolate.

  'I'm fine now,' she replied with a shiver. 'Was it Mr Marsh?'

  'You've been watching the news then?'

  'It's hard not to, every time you put the television on it's there.'

  'No doubt the vultures are loving this, the more blood and gore, the more papers they sell,' he said as he rose to his feet and walked over to the window. The view beyond looking ma
gical as winter sunlight sparkled on the snow. He could see a group of teenage girls all wrapped up in thick coats, gloves and scarves, busy building a snowman on the front garden. Using dark wool for hair, a bit of black material for a cassock and an old dog collar, it didn't take too many guesses as to who Mrs Snowman was based on.

  'I see you're still helping look after the kids.'

  Rising, Mia joined him at the window. 'They're all doing well now, some are back at school, one or two of the older ones have joined the college, one got a job, it's not much but it's giving her back some pride and confidence, so they're all keeping busy.'

  Lasser smiled in satisfaction at the news, then his face dropped as he thought about what Bannister had told him.

  'Penny for them?' Mia said when she saw his expression change.

  'I'm just trying to figure out why the killer hung the head on the church doors,' he explained.

  Mia closed her eyes for a moment, hoping that divine intervention would throw her a bone, but all she could see behind her closed lids was the head in the sack, the skin grey, the…

  Her eyes sprang open as she tried to swallow the sense of disgust. 'What was Mr Marsh like?' she asked in an effort to fill the silence and dislodge the distressing image from her mind.

  The clock on the wall chimed the half hour.

  Lasser turned to her. 'Well, let's just say that if he had ventured into your church, then he would probably have gone up in flames.'

  Mia frowned at the choice of words. 'I don't follow?'

  Lasser thought for a moment before starting to speak, by the time he had finished explaining all about Bernard Marsh, what little colour Mia had in her cheeks had bled away.

  'That poor woman,' she said in a heartfelt whisper.

  'She also had three children, but they blame her for what happened to them and want nothing to do with her. In fact, one of the sons died last year and they never bothered telling their mother.'

  'I know under the circumstances this might sound crass, but do you know if Dorothy is a churchgoer?' Mia asked.

  'To be honest, her husband had set times for everything, eating, cleaning, abusing, so no, he wouldn't have allowed her to go anywhere that would have interfered with his routine.'

  Mia heard the distress in Lasser's words, his face like stone, eyes chock-full with compassion for Dorothy Marsh.

  'But I do know she was a believer,' he offered almost as an afterthought.

  'She told you that?'

  'When I questioned her about her husband, she said her prayers had been answered at last.'

  Mia looked confused, trying to fathom how Dorothy Marsh could imagine that the beheading of her husband had been an act of God. 'Would it be OK if I went to visit her?'

  Lasser thought for a moment before answering. 'I think she'd like that, let's face it, she has no friends or family, her husband saw to that.'

  'OK. Listen I have a carol service at midnight, do you think that can still go ahead?'

  'It should be fine, SOCO are at the scene now, and let's be honest, there won't be much to find.'

  'Right, I'll try and get over to see Mrs Marsh now, that should give me plenty of time to get back here and sort things.'

  'I'm heading over there myself, so I can give you a lift and drop you back here if that's OK?'

  Mia smiled in relief. 'That would be great, I'm not the world's greatest driver and this snow only makes it worse.'

  'Sorted then.'

  Lifting her coat from a peg on the back of the door, she slipped it on. 'Ready whenever you are.'

  Outside, the snow had stopped, Lasser climbed into the car and immediately clicked the heater on full blast.

  'I'm going out girls,' Mia shouted to the teenagers who all stopped to wave and smile at her. 'Catch you later,' she said before stepping into the car.

  Making sure Mia had her seat belt on, Lasser pulled out onto the road, ready to do battle with the elements again, his mind swirling with images of severed heads and the tall white-haired man named Plymouth smiling amongst the gore and horror.

  34

  The man read the letter for the third time, the snow melting from the soles of his boots onto the oak flooring, the fury mounting inside.

  Phrases leapt out at him from the sheet of lined A4. ''Time to think, room to breathe, doing what's best for OUR SON.''

  'I　told　you　so,'　the inner voice said with grim satisfaction.

  Screwing the letter in his clenched fist, he strode across the kitchen, planting his hands on the worktop, his face stamped with disbelief.

  The German shepherd walked to the small pools of melting snow and licked them up before wandering off into the lounge.

  He had known it was coming, though he had convinced himself that it would have been months away before she decided to cut and run to her sister's, taking Sam with her.

  'She's　been　planning　this,　she's　going　to　screw　you　to　the　fucking　floor.'

  Closing his eyes, he felt the fury build inside as he thought back over the years. The truth was neither of them had ever wanted children. His wife had always claimed she would be content with her job at a local accountant's, she had told him she wanted to take the exams and qualify herself. He had sat and listened as she planned out their lives, the holidays they would take, the places they would see, the people they would befriend who could help them get on in life. As always, he had nodded and smiled, though inside the now-familiar voice had raged.

  'Selfish　bitch!'

  The plans she made had all been for her benefit, not once had she asked him what he wanted from life. Then she had fallen pregnant and he could remember vividly the conversations that had followed the shattering news. At first, she had been adamant that she had wanted to get rid of the child growing inside her, after all, how could she forge ahead with her plans with a baby to drag her back.

  He had watched as she considered all the options, and then miraculously she had changed her mind saying she wanted to keep the baby. When he had tried to get her to explain her change of heart, she had merely shrugged saying it was her body, her decision.

  As he glared out of window, the truth was at last revealed to him, she had played the long game and worked out exactly what she wanted and how to get it. Even back then, before Sam had come along, she had talked about moving to one of the new estates on the edge of town. Huge four-bedroom houses, built to look like they would stand the test of time, but he had known it was all a cheap façade. Built with sub-standard materials, the gardens tiny and cordoned off from the house next door with a wood-stained fence.

  She had suggested they get their house valued, just to see what it was worth, and he had flatly refused, shortly after that she was pregnant and now their son was six years old and his wife was forging ahead with her devious plans.

  She had waited until the bond between father and son was firmly established and now she intended using that to twist the knife. The fury continued to rise, the paper in his hand scrunched into a ball as his fist tightened.

  'Oh, you bitch, you total fucking bitch!' he spat as the anger roared through his mind.

  If she thought she would get away with it then she had another think coming, he would fight her all the way and…

  Suddenly, a thought lanced through his mind, if she continued to push him into a corner then he would turn and bite. Shuddering out a gasp of fury, he nodded to himself. In fact, if she were no longer around then he would be left here with Sam, teaching him the realities of life and making sure he was equipped with the skills that would protect him into the future.

  The smile of satisfaction crept onto his face and then he shook himself before turning and heading into the lounge. The dog was curled in front of the fire and he stopped to poke the embers back to life before tossing on another log and turning on the television. Sitting on the sofa, he placed his booted feet on the coffee table and eased back into the cushions; remote in hand he flicked between the news channels searching for the latest
report on the severed head of old Bernard Marsh.

  'Like being at the cinema,' he whispered before breaking into gales of laughter. For a few seconds, his wife and son were forgotten about as he guffawed at the image.

  From the rug, the German shepherd watched its master, tail thumping, before closing its eyes and going to sleep as the flames hungrily devoured the wood on the fire.

  35

  Craig stood by the cenotaph as the police went about their business, he watched the hessian sack being removed from the handle, the head still inside. One of the SOCO team placed it carefully inside a plastic box before sealing the lid, then two of them trudged through the snow, the box held between them. Officers had managed to push the crowd well back and now blocked their view, allowing SOCO to place the box into the rear of a small white van without smartphones recording every move. They drove away, closely followed by a squad car, lights flashing, the siren screaming.

  Bannister and Odette remained in the archway of the church door, occasionally one of them would glance over towards him, their faces serious, although Odette did manage to smile at him once or twice.

  Ten minutes later they split up, the DCI heading towards the lychgate as Odette walked over to him.

  'You OK?' she asked.

  'My feet are cold, but apart from that I'm fine.'

  'Come on, I'll take you to the flat.'

  'Look, Odette, if there are things you need to be doing then I can make my own way back.'

  'It's fine,' she said. 'We've done all we can here.'

  They started to walk from the churchyard, Odette caught sight of the reporter, Michael Brewster, in his element, doing a piece to camera, his poodle hair looked almost grey as he waxed lyrical about the grim discovery.

  Once free of the ginnel, Odette moved to the Audi parked by the kerb and climbed in.

  Craig got into the passenger seat as she started the engine and turned the heater on full.

  'What happens now?' he asked as she clipped her seat belt into place and blew onto her cupped hands.

  The street was still busy with shoppers, seemingly unaware of what had happened in the churchyard, the Christmas market was crammed with people grabbing last-minute bargains.