Desolate Hearts Page 9

  When she turned, he could see the crocodile tears shining in her eyes. 'When he was a baby it was fine, but now he's growing older he needs to see more of his friends.'

  'He sees his friends every day at school.'

  'It's not the same and you know it.'

  'Actually, I don't. Sam loves living here and yet you make it sound as if we live on the surface of the moon.'

  'OK, tell me the last time he did anything with other kids out of school hours?'

  Leaning forwards, he picked up the coffee mug and drained it, his eyes flicking to the television, the reporter was still standing in the snow talking to camera about the grim discovery made at the farm.

  'OK, I will admit that living here isn't always easy, but the benefits outweigh the occasional hiccup.'

  'What benefits?'

  'The fresh air, the countryside. Our son is learning things he would never learn if he lived on some estate, surrounded by kids roaming the streets and getting into bother.'

  'I hardly think that learning to skin a rabbit, aged six, is going to help him in life, do you?'

  He could hear the frustration in her voice and despised her for it.

  'We'll　skin　you　soon　enough,　you　slut,　bitch,'　the voice hissed with glee.

  Turning, he looked at her keenly. 'OK, let's stop the pretence. This has nothing to do with our son and his education, you're doing this because you want to be closer to your friends and family, so you can go around to each other's houses and gossip about one another…'

  'Gossip!?' she spat.

  'You forget, I've been with you a few times and whoever doesn't turn up is the one you all slag off.'

  He almost smiled when he saw the truth in her eyes, her cheeks flooding with embarrassment.

  'Bastard,' she hissed before storming across the room.

  Turning, he watched her jean-clad legs vanishing up the stairs.

  At last, the smile appeared, and he turned and picked up the TV remote before rewinding to the beginning of the report on the death of old Bernard Marsh.

  'Where to put the head,' he whispered as the flames continued to devour the wood in the fire.

  'Make-your-mind-up　time,'　the inner voice proclaimed.

  25

  Lasser sat behind the wheel of the car watching the snow slowly flutter across the windscreen as he tried to decide whether to risk getting closer to the canal. The lay-by he was parked in was five minutes from the boat, but the road itself was packed with snow.

  Decision made, he reached into the back seat, grabbed his padded jacket and struggled into the coat.

  Sliding the zip up, he lifted the bob hat from his pocket and warmed it over the vents before pulling it on.

  Seconds later, he stepped out into the freezing air and set the alarm before setting off walking, the snow ankle-deep, the air icy as he breathed in through his nose.

  After leaving the crime scene, Sally Wright had phoned with Bernice Marsh's address, surprisingly she had lived less than a mile away from her parents' dilapidated house, in a small semi-detached on a bog-standard estate.

  Lasser had stood by the living room door as Odette explained about what had happened to her father. Even when she had finished, Bernice Marsh's face hadn't changed one iota.

  'Is that it?' she'd asked, taking a puff on an e-cigarette, the sweet-smelling vapour flooding the small room.

  'I realise this must be a terrible shock and…'

  'I haven't seen my father in over twenty years, and the fact that he lived less than a mile away should tell you all you need to know.'

  'You didn't get on?' Lasser asked, even though he already knew the answer.

  Bernice had shaken her head, her eyes diamond-hard. 'That man was a total bastard and I'm glad he's dead.'

  'Your mother said roughly the same thing, but without the expletives,' Lasser admitted.

  'Yeah, well, it's a pity the killer didn't do her as well while he was at it.'

  'He?' Lasser asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

  'Figure of speech,' she had replied with a shrug.

  'If what we know about your father is true then you have every right to be angry, but what has your mother done to deserve a comment like that?'

  She had looked up at Lasser, her plump face blotchy with anger. 'She knew how he was and did nothing about it. My father used to batter us any chance he got, and she would just stand there crying.'

  'Perhaps she had no choice,' Lasser suggested.

  'Yes, well, if I had kids I wouldn't stand there bawling like a baby while my husband beat the shit out of them.'

  'What about your brothers?' Odette had asked, her hands thrust into her jacket pockets, her ponytail trailing down her back.

  'Our Tom's in the nick at the moment and George died twelve months ago.'

  'Died?'

  She nodded. 'Drink.'

  'Does your mother know?' Lasser asked.

  'No, we decided not to tell her, the last thing we wanted was those two turning up at the funeral.'

  As Lasser trudged through the snow, he felt the anger resurface as he thought about Bernice Marsh, sitting there, her heart made of stone because of the things she had endured as a child.

  'Do you realise that your mother suffered decades of abuse at your father's hands?'

  'Karma,' Bernice replied, her voice filled with hate.

  Lasser heard Odette sigh at the harsh-spat word.

  'You knew and did nothing,' Lasser said, his anger starting to surface.

  'And what did she do to stop him beating me?' she had leaned forwards, her face fraught with bitter anger.

  Lasser had opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, realising that he could say nothing to break through the hard core of hate that Bernice Marsh felt for her mother.

  Now, he swiped the snow from his face as the traffic lights came into view, the trees on either side were thick with the white stuff, slender branches bending under the weight.

  Reaching the bridge, he stopped and looked down to the right. Jackie's wide beam was locked solid in the ice, smoke trailed from the chimney, pale light visible behind the blinds at the windows.

  Hands in pockets he smiled, the snow swirling, the frozen canal covered by a blanket of white.

  Pulling the phone free, he squinted as the screen illuminated his face, before tapping at her name.

  Seconds later, Jackie answered. 'Hi, is everything OK?' she asked.

  'Everything's fine, I was just wondering if you fancied some company?'

  'I'd love some, but to be honest you might find it hard to get up here, it's not stopped snowing all day.'

  'Ah, I'd not thought of that,' he said, walking to the narrow path that led down to the canal bank.

  'I don't want you battling out here and getting stuck. I mean, I do have a spade to dig you out but I'm watching something good on the telly,' she joked.

  Taking his time, he ploughed down to the water's edge. 'You're right, it is bad tonight and I'd hate you to miss Coronation Street.'

  'Actually, I've just been watching the news, God, I can't believe that someone else has been murdered,' she said, her voice suddenly serious.

  'Yeah, I know,' he replied, the smile slipping as he approached the boat.

  'Listen, if it's going to be too hard for you to come to the boat, then go home and I'll catch you tomorrow.'

  'Well, I would but I'm afraid it's a little late for that.'

  'I don't follow?'

  Bending slightly, he tapped his knuckles on one of the circular windows. 'Ding dong, Avon calling,' he said into the phone, the smile back on his face.

  He heard the phone beep and seconds later the doors opened, and Jackie stepped out onto the rear of the boat, her dark hair being tossed by the wind, a beaming smile on her face.

  She threw herself into his arms, almost barrelling him off his feet.

  'Glad to see me, I guess,' he grinned as he breathed in the scent of her.

  Burying her head again
st his shoulder, she sighed as he folded his arms around her.

  'You have no idea,' she murmured, her breath warm on his neck.

  Lasser shivered with delight and want as she led him back into the boat.

  26

  Odette slipped into her jacket, she was standing by the window looking out over the frozen town, the pale morning sun appearing hazy behind yet more clouds of grey. The occasional car battled along the ring road, to her left, the canal boats sat motionless, the towpath for once devoid of dog walkers and early morning joggers.

  Checking her watch, she sighed, three days before Christmas and it looked as if she wasn't going to get the chance to do any last-minute shopping.

  When she heard the bedroom door open, she turned to find Craig cracking a yawn, dressed in just boxer shorts, his bicep bulging as he ran a hand through his tousled hair.

  'I didn't hear you come to bed,' he said as he walked towards her.

  'It was late when I got in, so I slept on the sofa,' she explained.

  'Oh right,' he looked surprised at the admission.

  'I checked on you, but you were fast asleep, and I thought the last thing you would want was me climbing in and freezing you to the bone.'

  'Come on, Odette, I've slept in icy ditches before now, so a few cold fingers and toes wouldn't have bothered me.'

  'I'll remember that next time,' she smiled checking her pockets for the car keys.

  'You're going out?' he asked, stifling another yawn.

  'Meeting at nine,' she explained.

  'About the second murder?'

  Odette nodded. 'Yeah, so I'd better get a move on or I'll be late – especially in this weather.'

  'OK.'

  'So, what will you do today?' she asked, zipping up her coat.

  'Well, I was hoping to persuade you to come back to bed, but I can see that won't be happening, so I might have a walk around the town centre. I still need one or two things for Christmas, I've checked your freezer and there's no sign of a turkey.'

  'Oh, I forgot to mention it, we've been invited out for Christmas dinner but at this rate God knows when that will be.'

  'Invited where?'

  'My boss insisted weeks ago that we go to his house to eat, in fact it's becoming something of a tradition.'

  'Really?'

  'Mm, but the truth is I think he's just being nosey.'

  'About me?'

  'Got it in one.'

  Craig smiled. 'Well, that would be great.'

  'You don't mind then?'

  'Not at all. Will there be others there?'

  Odette glanced back to the window, watching a bus inch along the road, she couldn't see a single passenger on board. 'Lasser and Jackie are going, not sure who else.'

  'No need to buy a turkey then,' he smiled.

  Odette gave him a quick kiss on the lips before heading for the door. 'Catch you later.'

  'Be careful out there,' he replied as she left the flat.

  He was still standing at the window as she emerged from the building and walked over to her car. Craig watched as she shovelled snow from the roof and windows with the small plastic scraper, grey vapour drifting from the exhaust as she tossed the scraper into the boot before climbing behind the wheel.

  Even after she had driven away, he remained looking out at the view, his eyes moving left and right as if searching for something, a thin smile plucking at the corners of his mouth.

  27

  Lasser had set off early, knowing it would take him longer to get to the station due to the bad weather. Heading back down Red Rock was out of the question, especially after his near-death experience the day before with Spenner in the passenger seat. So, he had taken the long route and even that had been fraught with spinning wheels and arse-clenching moments as the Audi battled through the snow, Lasser behind the wheel, teeth gritted, eyes narrowed in concentration.

  Now, he fed change into the drinks machine as Bannister and then Odette pulled onto the station car park.

  'You made it OK then?'

  He turned to find Carole Henson standing in the doorway of the canteen, looking wide awake though he could see concern in her eyes as she walked over and peered through the window just as it started to snow again.

  'It was touch and go a few times,' he replied.

  'I've just been talking to Doctor Shannon; dental records have been checked and have confirmed the dead man is Paul Lambert.'

  'Was he known to us?' Lasser asked as Bannister and Odette battled towards the station, their heads turned to one side against the thin, biting wind.

  'As far as we can gather he was a normal lad, a bit on the quiet side, he attended Wigan College, and according to the principle he was a good student who got on well with others.'

  'And the mother had no idea where he was the night he died?'

  Carole unbuttoned her coat against the heat that poured out from the radiators. 'She spoke to him briefly on the phone and he did mention that he was going for a walk, but that was the last time she heard from him.'

  'Perhaps once the snow melts we'll find the body dumped by the side of the road.'

  Carole nodded in agreement. 'What about Marsh?'

  'We checked with the daughter, one of her brothers is dead and the other is serving time.'

  'I take it the daughter is out of the picture?'

  'Yeah, she works at Tesco and was on shift when her father died.'

  Carole sighed, then turned as the door opened and Bannister and Odette came in, the snow melting on their shoulders, both looking frozen to the bone.

  'Two coffees, we're freezing here,' Bannister demanded.

  Lasser nodded, feeding more money into the machine and tapping at the buttons.

  'Odette's just been telling me about Bernice Marsh,' Bannister said as he rubbed his hands together.

  'It sounds as if the whole family suffered at the father's hands, but the question is where is the killer going to place the head?' Carole asked.

  'Well, if they follow the pattern of the first one, then they seem to like an audience,' Odette offered.

  Collecting one of the drinks, Lasser placed it on the table before hitting the buttons again. 'Trouble is, with it being Christmas there are things going on all over town, carol concerts in the street and the churches, we have the market on the High Street that's going to be mad busy over the next couple of days, same with the shopping centres.'

  'For all we know the killer could have already planted Marsh's head somewhere in town and he's sat at home waiting for some poor bugger to find it,' Bannister pondered.

  'I've been thinking, and I reckon the killer was taking a risk when he targeted Marsh farm,' Lasser said as he pocketed the change.

  'What's risky about it?' Bannister asked, his chin jutting slightly.

  'Well, the Marshes could have owned a dog, something to alert them to people approaching the farm.'

  'A guard dog?'

  Looking at Carole, Lasser nodded.

  'Yes, but they didn't own a dog,' Bannister said as he took another sip from the cup. 'Christ, this stuff is awful,' he grimaced before throwing it into the bin.

  'Perhaps the killer knew there wasn't a dog,' Lasser finished.

  'You're suggesting they could have known the Marsh family?' Odette mused.

  Lasser shrugged. 'Possible, but it still doesn't help us find whoever did it.'

  Carole checked her watch. 'Right, let's go and sort this briefing, we need to catch whoever is responsible, and soon. I have the feeling once they plant Mr Marsh's head they will be looking for the next victim.'

  With the grim reality permeating the warm air they traipsed after her, fully aware that the clock was ticking faster than the falling snow.

  28

  Standing the note up in front of the toaster, the man grabbed the van keys and opened the back door, the German shepherd padded into the kitchen, tail wagging, claws clicking on the wooden floor.

  'Come on, lad,' he said, stepping out into the snow.
r />   The dog followed and immediately wandered off into the trees, before cocking its leg, a yellow stain spreading across the virgin white.

  Lighting a cigarette, he closed the door and looked around the immediate area. Once again, the van was smothered, the snow piled against the tyres. Inhaling the smoke, he breathed it out on a sigh as the dog wandered back towards him, paws leaving deep holes in the snow.

  Ten minutes later, the van was cleared of snow, the engine running in an attempt to warm the interior. Opening the door, he gave a sharp whistle and the dog leapt up into the front of the van, crossing over to the passenger seat and sitting down, tongue hanging out as it panted.

  Flicking the remains of the cigarette to the floor, he climbed in and closed the door, his eyes fixed on the house.

  After the argument with his wife, he had stayed up watching the news, occasionally tossing another log on the fire to keep the room warm. It had been one o'clock by the time he climbed the stairs to sleep in the spare room.

  He had lived in this house his whole life, born and bred here, he knew the surrounding area like the back of his hand, he loved the solitude and the fact that he didn't have any nosey neighbour observing his life from behind net curtains.

  Looking up at the bedroom window, he sighed, the argument about moving was not a new occurrence. For the first few years, his wife had seemed happy living in the middle of the woods, she used to call it her fairy-tale cottage. In fact, during their first year of marriage, he had built a frame around the front door and planted a rambling rose to complete the idyllic picture she had in her mind. They had settled into their life and she had seemed happy, although occasionally she would complain about living in isolation, bemoaning the fact that she couldn't just nip to the shops or to see her friends when she felt the urge. Although overall, she had seemed content, then gradually her complaints had grown more regular. When she had first raised the possibility of moving, he had looked at her in disbelief.

  'But I thought you loved living here?' he had asked.

  His wife had smiled, though there had been a sly look in her eyes. 'Don't get me wrong, I do, but sometimes I feel life is passing me by out there and I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere.'