Desolate Hearts

by Robin Roughley

  Bannister ran a hand across his wet head and grimaced. 'What I want to know is where the hell the body is?'

  Odette shrugged as Lasser turned away, watching the snow gather on the windscreen. Flicking a switch, the wipers moved the white stuff, revealing the snow-covered deserted street.

  'Right, get yourselves home, we can do bugger all until Shannon gives us a call, but make sure you answer your phones,' he said before climbing from the car.

  They watched as he strode towards his own car, a couple of times he almost fell flat on his arse and Lasser smiled, imagining the DCI cursing every step of the way.

  'Are you going back to the boat?' Odette asked.

  Turning towards her, he nodded. 'Yeah, Jackie was making a curry and…'

  'Say no more,' Odette smiled as she clicked the door open. 'I'll catch you tomorrow.'

  He watched as she stepped out of the car and walked away, her shoulders hunched against the freezing night air. When she vanished around the corner he sighed, suddenly feeling the weight of sadness in his heart.

  Taking a final pull on the cigarette, he tossed it through the window before driving away, the tyres crunching on the packed snow.

  12

  At the sound of the door clicking open, Craig turned and smiled as Odette came into the apartment, her fair hair tied back in a ponytail, her cheeks rosy red.

  'So much for a quiet Christmas,' he said, as she slipped out of her jacket, tossing it onto the sofa on her way over to the radiator to warm up, the back of her legs almost touching the hot metal as she rubbed her cold hands together.

  'Sorry about the time, but it's been hectic.'

  'I heard on the radio, they made it sound like a horror movie,' he was standing in the kitchen, a pan simmering away on the hob.

  'Well, for once they got it about right,' Odette admitted as she sniffed the air, her mouth watering at the delicious smell that wafted across the room.

  'You warned me about making a meal that could dry out, so I decided to rustle up a stew,' he explained. 'I thought you might be hungry after being out most of the day and this stuff can stay simmering for hours.'

  Odette smiled as she moved away from the radiator and crossed the room. 'It smells delicious,' she admitted.

  Craig shrugged. 'It's a bit basic, but I guarantee it will help to warm you up.'

  'Good, because it is freezing out there,' she said with a shiver.

  Looking towards the window, he nodded. 'It looks it. Now, this is ready to serve, so do you want a shower, or would you sooner eat now?'

  'Dish up, I'm starving,' she said, sniffing the air again in appreciation.

  Craig smiled as Odette sat down at the small table tucked away in the alcove. 'How did your day go?' she asked.

  Turning off the gas, he lifted two bowls from the cupboard and placed them on the worktop. 'I went out around Rivington – its impressive countryside. I ended up on the moors, the views were stunning.'

  'Bet it was cold up there,' Odette said, kicking off her boots.

  'Bit chilly but well worth it,' he admitted before turning away to dish up the stew.

  Half a minute later, they were tucking in, Odette could feel the steam from the bowl warming her nose and cheeks.

  'Good?' Craig asked.

  'Wonderful,' she replied, before spooning more stew into her mouth.

  They fell silent, both enjoying the late-night meal, meanwhile the snow continued to drift down past the window.

  'I take it you'll have to be out early in the morning?' he asked, placing the spoon into the empty bowl.

  'The phone could go as soon as my head hits the pillow, it wouldn't be the first time.'

  'I still can't believe they found the head in the bloody Christmas tree.'

  Odette glanced across the table, the spoon hovering close to her mouth, then an image of the severed head sprung into her mind, ginger hair like rats' tails, the eyes open and glassy, the mouth stretched in a scream of agony – and suddenly her appetite evaporated.

  'Unfortunately, it's true.'

  'What about the rest of the body?'

  Odette felt the barriers start to come up as she eased back in the seat. 'We'll find the remains.'

  'Any idea why someone would go to the trouble of placing the head there?'

  Odette raised an eyebrow. 'To be honest, Craig, I'm not allowed to discuss my job.'

  He looked at her and raised his hands. 'Sorry, I can be a nosey sod, but this is the first time I've seen you as a detective, I guess I'd better learn to keep my mouth shut.'

  Odette looked into his eyes, seeing the apology there, his hands still held up by his shoulders in supplication.

  When he grinned, she found herself smiling.

  'It was the same in the army,' he admitted. 'You soon learned not to ask questions and just do as you were told.'

  'I bet you found that difficult at times?'

  Lowering his hands, he gave a slight shrug. 'Ours not to reason why…' he said.

  '… Ours but to do and die,' Odette finished the adage.

  Craig looked at her, the smile slipping, his eyes losing any hint of amusement. 'Got it in one,' he replied before rising, collecting the bowls he quickly turned away, crossing to the sink.

  Odette frowned slightly, her own smile faltering.

  13

  Abigail Lambert looked into her son's bedroom, her eyes widening as she saw that his bed had not been slept in.

  The walls were covered with posters depicting moto GP riders, Valentino Rossi's face was prominent, in some he had corkscrew hair, in others the hair had been shaved close to the bone, in most he was grinning like a loon.

  Backtracking along the landing, she stopped to tap on the bathroom door. Receiving no reply, she pushed it open, checking the empty room before heading downstairs.

  After a quick look into the lounge to make sure that Paul wasn't asleep on the sofa, she entered the kitchen and stood in the centre of the room, a look of confusion on her face.

  It had been late by the time she arrived home from the airport, being an air stewardess wasn't the best job in the world, but at least she had two weeks holiday to look forward to. It was almost forty-eight hours since she had spoken to her son, he had told her that the snow was still coming down and he fancied going out for a walk.

  The conversation had been brief, but he hadn't mentioned anything out of the ordinary and yet now she felt the first flutter of anxiety as she looked out into the white sculptured garden, illuminated by the moon, the bird bath brittle with ice, the shed roof covered with deep snow.

  Lifting the phone from the pocket of her dressing gown, she tapped at the screen before walking across the room to flick the kettle on.

  The phone droned as she waited for her son to answer. When it went through to voicemail, the anxious look on her face grew deeper.

  Abigail spoke hesitantly when the automated voice told her to leave a message after the tone. 'Can you give me a ring, Paul, just to let me know you're OK?'

  Ending the call, she made herself a coffee, standing at the French doors trying to figure if there was anyone else she should ring to check on his whereabouts.

  The trouble was, at nineteen her son was something of a loner. His father had died when he was ten, and Abigail knew that Paul still found it hard to come to terms with his death. Steam rose from the cup as her eyes lost their focus, the truth was she still missed her husband as well. It was almost nine years since Steven had died of a heart attack, aged just forty-two. Abigail sighed at the memory, she pictured the scene, picking Paul up from school before taking him to football practice. It had been a lovely summer's evening, she recalled looking up at the contrails in the blue sky, thankful that she wasn't on board heading off to God knows where.

  Only later had she realised that while she was watching her son practicing taking penalties, Steven had been dying on the patio. They found him dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, the wine glass shattered at his side, ironically, the digital radio on the
table had been playing Mr Blue Sky.

  Paul had been the first to see his father, Abigail had walked to the fridge to get a cold drink and then her son had been screaming and she had dashed outside; Steven had been sprawled on the wooden decking, his face almost blue, his eyes permanently closed.

  Ever since that day, her son had withdrawn into himself, her sister had said he had simply grown into a sulky teenager, but Abigail knew better.

  Even now, there were times when she walked past his bedroom and heard the muted sound of Paul sobbing.

  Her eyes refocused, watching the flakes falling to earth, the snow growing ever deeper, the concern rising as she turned and looked around the empty kitchen, the house suddenly feeling as silent as the grave.

  14

  Lasser stood ankle deep in the white stuff, the station at his back, cold winter sun shimmering through the snow that continued to fall from the tinfoil sky. He tracked a couple of ravens flying through the blizzard before they landed with a hop and a skip, black-gloss bodies stark against the pristine white field.

  The briefing had consisted of Carole Henson giving the team a pep talk before allocating jobs to individuals.

  When he heard the crunch of boots in snow, he turned to find Spenner approaching, a smile on his freckled face.

  'Bannister says I've to team up with you, boss.'

  'Doing what?'

  Spenner looked perplexed for a moment, the snow making him squint as a couple of flakes landed on his eyelashes. 'I think he wants us to go and check with Doc Shannon, see what he can tell us about the head.'

  Lasser scratched his chin thoughtfully. 'I was just getting ready to build a snowman, but I guess that will have to wait,' he replied before heading over to the Audi.

  Once inside the car, Lasser started the engine and turned the heater up to full, while he waited for Spenner to slither and slide his way through the snow and get in the car.

  'Whoever killed the poor guy must be one twisted individual,' Spenner said clicking his seat belt into place as Lasser backed out of the parking bay.

  'I prefer to use the technical term, ''sick fuck'',' Lasser stated, pulling up to the gates, the wheel feeling light beneath his hands as the tyres searched for grip.

  Checking the coast was clear, he pulled out onto the gritted road, the grimy snow piled into the gutters, the pavements treacherous.

  'But why put the head there in the first place?' Spenner pondered.

  'To make sure they terrified as many people as possible,' Lasser replied.

  'Like you said, boss, ''sick fuck''.'

  Lasser grunted in agreement and selected third gear, taking his time around the bends, his eyes flicking between the mirrors as he navigated his way along the road. 'Hopefully, the doc will be able to tell us what actually happened to the poor sod.'

  'Well, it's going to ruin someone's Christmas that's for sure.'

  Lasser glanced at Spenner and opened his mouth to point out that the victim's Christmas had been ruined big time when his head had been removed from his body, then he changed his mind and faced front again as a truck drove past on the opposite side of the road, the driver looking uneasy as he tried to keep the truck going in a straight line.

  'I wonder where the rest of the body is?' Spenner deliberated. 'I mean, he could have cut it up and placed it around the town for people to find.'

  'It's a possibility,' Lasser agreed as they approached a set of lights that had just turned to red.

  'Imagine, finding a hand in a litterbin, or a leg propped up outside Burger King, that would be enough to put you off your whopper.'

  Lasser grimaced at the image as he came to a stop, watching a man dressed in waterproof jacket and trousers cross in front of the car, a black Labrador by his side. Halfway across the road, the animal stopped for a dump and the man hesitated as the lights turned green, fumbling the black poop bag from his pocket, he hurriedly scooped it up along with a handful of snow before dashing to the other side of the road.

  'Yuk,' Spenner said as Lasser pulled through the lights and turned left.

  'You looked as if you were enjoying yourself at the Christmas do,' Lasser commented before flicking the heater down a notch.

  'Well, I was, but I'm not sure Tess felt the same way.'

  Lasser glanced sideways. 'What do you mean?'

  'She said my dancing was ridiculous and embarrassing.'

  'She's right, it was.'

  Spenner rubbed a hand across his distressed eyes. 'You saw it then?'

  'Everyone saw it.'

  'That's what she said, but I can't even remember doing it.'

  'It was proper dad-dancing.'

  This time Spenner groaned, Lasser eased past a parked van, keeping his eye on the idiot behind who came up fast in the mirror.

  'If it's true love then she'll forgive you,' Lasser offered with a smile.

  'But what if she thinks I'm an immature muppet?'

  'No comment,' Lasser replied as the car behind drew closer.

  Spenner folded his arms in a sulk, squinting out at a world of white. 'She even said I was dancing to the bloody Bee Gees!'

  'She didn't mention the birdy song then?'

  Spenner whipped his head around, his eyes springing wide in panic. 'Oh shit, don't tell me I danced to that as well?'

  Lasser kept his face impassive as he nodded. 'Oh yes, and you knew all the moves. In fact, everyone moved back in a circle to give you more room and to watch, and there you were flapping your arms and squawking like a chicken.'

  'Oh God,' Spenner almost wailed at the image.

  The car behind flashed its lights, and Lasser saw the driver gesticulating behind the wheel.

  Checking his speed, Lasser slowed down a little.

  He saw the driver's mouth twist as he hit the brakes to avoid running into the rear of the Audi.

  'I can't believe I threw some shapes to the birdy song,' Spenner said, his face tormented.

  '''Threw some shapes''?' Lasser raised an eyebrow at the antiquated term.

  A horn blasted out, and the grin fell from his face replaced by a scowl, he reached down and turned on the siren and flashing blue lights.

  Immediately, the car behind started to fall back, and Lasser eased over to the side of the road, watching to make sure the idiot behind did the same.

  'Problem?' Spenner asked, twisting in his seat to look through the rear window.

  'Someone driving up my arse, and I'm going to give the tosser a roasting.'

  Spenner stayed in the passenger seat, still trying to come to terms with the dancing fiasco, while Lasser thrust the door open and stepped from the car.

  The man behind the wheel of the Mondeo tried a hesitant smile as Lasser approached. By the time he arrived at the side of the car, the driver had slid the window down, his cheeks glowing red with embarrassment.

  'Do you have a wife at home giving birth?' Lasser enquired, placing his hands on the lip of the door.

  'No, officer, I…'

  'Any family member in distress?'

  The driver shook his head.

  'House on fire?'

  'No, I…'

  'Do you know what that white stuff on the ground is?' Lasser's eyes were narrowed in anger.

  'Snow,' the man whispered.

  'Yeah, the slippery stuff, so why were you driving like a dickhead?'

  'Late for work,' he mumbled apologetically.

  Leaning down, Lasser fixed him with a stare as cold as the snow on the roof of the car. 'Do you know it's ill-advised to drive around with the roof of your vehicle covered in snow?'

  'I'm sorry, I overslept and normally I take my time especially when the weather's bad, but I have a presentation to do in an hour and…'

  'All I'm asking is that you slow down, sod your presentation, driving like you were you could have left the road and probably wiped out a queue at the bus stop.'

  The driver's eyes widened as Lasser glared at him, then he licked his lips and nodded. 'Sorry, officer, I promise to sl
ow right down.'

  Suddenly, Lasser's face was split by a warm smile. 'Thank you, sir, that would be appreciated. Now, as soon as you've cleared the roof you can be on your way,' he said before turning and walking back towards the Audi.

  Behind the wheel, the man blew out a gasp of relief and opened the door. He hesitated for a moment and then started to push the snow from the roof with his bare hands, hurrying around the car, hands going numb with cold.

  By the time he jumped back behind the wheel he was shivering, teeth chattering as he held his hands over the hot air vent.

  Half a minute later, he drove slowly past the police car, Lasser raised a hand, the smile still locked onto his face.

  The driver smiled back, his face coated with sweat, his freezing hands gripping the wheel tight.

  15

  Without the pain ram-raiding his head, the man found he was actually enjoying the challenge of the drive. The back roads were clogged with snow, the fields beyond hidden under a covering of freezing white. He took his time making small adjustments to the wheel as the van fought for grip. After dropping his son off at school he had considered heading back to the house to slaughter his wife, but then the voice had started to chatter in his mind.

  'Remember,　fun　and　games,　she　will　be　taken　care　of　but　not　now,　not　yet.'

  So, the man had taken a detour away from the road that led to his house in the woods. The truth was he had no idea where he was going, and it was taking all his concentration to cope with the treacherous conditions. Thankfully, the road was flat and deserted and he paused for a moment to light a cigarette, the smoke trailing from his nostrils as he looked out over the snow-blanketed vista. When his eyes lit on the farmhouse in the distance he felt the sudden rush of anger fly through his head. The building sat to his right, the place looked all but derelict, looking even worse than he remembered, against the backdrop of untouched snow.

  He could see the outline of a tractor parked to the left of the house, a barn to the right, the corrugated roof had at some point crashed to the ground below leaving rusted metal struts rising into the air.