Desolate Hearts

by Robin Roughley

  Reaching the warped back door, Lasser tapped before entering, his eyes widening when he saw the state of the kitchen. Most of the cupboard doors were hanging off, one was missing completely revealing a few tins of cheap economy beans and peas on the shelves. Looking down, he grimaced when he saw the scabby linoleum was littered with mouse droppings. The walls themselves were pitted, the damp plaster crumbling, everything looked ancient, not a modern convenience in sight. Certainly not most people's idea of what a cosy farmhouse kitchen looked like.

  Closing the door, he walked around the Formica-topped table, before moving along a gloomy passageway that led to the back room and the conservatory.

  At the sound of his approach Dorothy turned, the nervous smile still hovering around her trembling lips.

  'Are you sure he's dead?' she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

  Lasser came to a halt three feet from the woman, her right hand gripping the back of a lumpy chair – the stuffing poking out through the leather.

  'I'm sorry?' he asked in confusion.

  'Is he really dead?' she asked again.

  'I'm afraid so, Mrs…'

  'Oh, thank God!'

  Lasser looked at the elderly woman in shocked surprise, her watery eyes spilling tears onto her thread-veined cheeks, her shoulders slumping in relief.

  'Are you saying you're glad he's dead?'

  Dorothy nodded her head rapidly. 'The Lord God has answered my prayers at last!'

  Lasser took a step back as the woman shuddered, her whole body shaking, the tears flowing, unchecked.

  'Look, perhaps you'd better sit down, this has obviously come as a shock…'

  'I wanted him dead!' her voice rose in a quiver.

  'But why?' Lasser found himself asking.

  'Because he was a filthy beast of a man. Fifty years I've lived in this hovel, fifty years of abuse and torment.'

  'I…'

  'Come with me,' she suddenly demanded as she hobbled past him.

  Lasser felt dismay clattering around his head as he turned to follow her. 'Look, Mrs Marsh, this is serious and…'

  'Shush,' she replied as she made her way to the foot of the stairs with Lasser at her shoulder.

  He watched her climb, when she was halfway up he followed, the boards beneath his feet felt spongy, the walls crawling with mould.

  Reaching the top, she turned and shuffled along the landing to a door on the right.

  By the time she pushed it open, Lasser was right behind her.

  'This is my room,' she said, stepping inside.

  Lasser looked around the neat and tidy room, at odds with the rest of the squalor that he had seen. Floral curtains hung at the window, the bed was neatly made, the eiderdown pulled back slightly from the bedstead, the air tinged with the fresh scent of room spray.

  'You've seen the rest of the house, seen how he forced me to live, this is the one place I managed to keep sacred.'

  Lasser could hear the anguish in her voice, and then she slipped by him back onto the landing.

  Taking a final look around the room, he turned as she opened a door further down.

  'This is where he would abuse me three times a week, Monday, Wednesday and Friday night, at eight o'clock precisely, not a minute sooner, not a minute later.'

  Lasser felt his skin rise in goosebumps as he looked into the dim room.

  'Sometimes, he would fasten my hands to the foot of the bed and leave me there till the morning,' she said, her voice brimming with emotion.

  Lasser looked at the metal bed with the rusty springs, the handcuffs hanging from the corner struts.

  'See the stains on the floor?'

  Lasser looked down at the huge dark stains, ingrained into the warped floorboards.

  'That's my blood,' Dorothy said. 'Every stain was made by my husband's abuse of me, sometimes he used his belt, other times his walking stick.' She pointed to the left. 'That one was from when he forced the coat hanger inside me.'

  Lasser stood, frozen with shock, mute with horror at the thought of the pain this elderly lady had been forced to endure. His stomach shuddered as his brain conjured up the images her calmly-spoken words had supplied.

  'I know what you're thinking, my husband was an old man who needed a walking stick to get about, but don't be fooled, he was a demon straight from hell.'

  Lasser shivered as he looked at the woman, her eyes vacant as she relived the torment dished out to her by the man who now lay headless in the snow.

  'I was in my mid-twenties when we got married. I've had over fifty years of his filth and I refuse to pretend that his death is anything other than a prayer answered by a benevolent God.'

  Lasser remained lost for words as she turned her gaze towards him. 'I have no idea who killed him or why, but I would like to shake their hand if I ever get the chance.'

  'Can you tell me where you were when he died?'

  'I'd been in town to get the weekly shopping in, but the weather slowed me down and I knew I would in for a beating… or worse… so I parked at the end of the lane trying to pluck up the courage to come back here.'

  'And then you found him in the snow?'

  Dorothy nodded as she explained about arriving back at the house and the confusion when she failed to find her husband ranting and raving.

  'As soon as I saw the body I rang you,' she finished.

  Reaching out, Lasser grabbed the handle of the door and closed it before turning to her. 'Why don't I put the kettle on and make you a warm drink?'

  Dorothy looked at him with amazement. 'I can't remember the last time anyone did anything for me,' she whispered.

  Taking hold of her elbow, he led her back down the stairs and into the kitchen.

  Spenner was still standing in the garden, his head and shoulders covered with snow.

  'Why don't you ask your friend in, he'll catch his death out there? After all, there's nothing worth guarding, the only thing out there is vermin.'

  Lasser thought for a moment before walking over to the window and rapping his knuckles on the glass.

  Spenner turned and raised a grateful hand when he saw Lasser waving him in and hurried towards the rear of the house.

  They arrived in the kitchen just as Spenner stepped in through the back door, his face soured as he looked around the drab room.

  'I'm putting the kettle on, Spenner, what do you fancy?'

  'But what about…?'

  'Mr Marsh isn't going anywhere' Lasser said darkly.

  Spenner looked at him and saw the fury in his coal-black eyes. 'Er, tea please, boss.'

  'You look frozen,' Dorothy said with a smile.

  Spenner managed to drag up a smile of his own as the elderly woman looked at him with kind eyes that were full of tears.

  'I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs Marsh.'

  'What I've lost are the best years of my life, but what I've gained is peace at last.'

  Spenner glanced across the room just as Lasser turned and raised an eyebrow.

  'Believe me, Spenner, Bernard Marsh isn't worth the effort,' he said.

  Dorothy looked at Lasser before nodding her head vigorously in agreement.

  Spenner looked on in total bewilderment.

  23

  Bannister pulled hard on the cigarette, glowering with anger as Lasser explained about Dorothy Marsh and the abuse she had been forced to endure at the hands of her now-dead husband.

  'Christ, if I'd ever caught a bus then chances are I would have offered that man my seat.'

  Lasser was in the passenger seat of the Audi enjoying a cigarette of his own, Odette in the rear of the car, a scarf draped over her shoulders. Two officers were setting up the crime scene tent, covering the body as they waited for Shannon to arrive.

  'And do you believe her?' the DCI asked sliding the window down to let the smoke out, whilst white flakes skittered in.

  'Yeah, I believe her.'

  'Fifty years of putting up with that,' Bannister snapped in disgust.

  'Di
d she see anything that could help us?' Odette asked.

  Lasser twisted slightly in his seat and shook his head. 'Even if she had I doubt whether she would tell us.'

  'Why not?' Bannister demanded.

  'She said if she ever met the person responsible then she would like to shake their hand.'

  'That's a bit extreme.'

  Lasser fixed his boss with a hard stare. 'Wait until you see the bedroom, you'll think differently then.'

  Bannister sighed before rubbing at his tired eyes. 'The question is, why did the killer come out here to kill the old man?'

  Tapping ash through the window, Lasser looked out at the view now smothered with gloom, the snow still drifting down. 'Dorothy Marsh has three kids, they all left years ago, and from what I can gather they couldn't wait to get away from their father.'

  'Do we have names?'

  'Tom and George and a daughter named Bernice, all in their late thirties, early forties.'

  'Addresses?'

  'Not yet, I asked Dorothy, but she said she hadn't seen any of them in years and has no idea where they're living.'

  Bannister nodded before taking a final pull on the cigarette. 'Right, we need to check them out. If he was as bad as she makes out, then perhaps one of them had reason to come and kill the old deviant.'

  'What about the first head?' Lasser enquired

  Odette leaned forwards slightly. 'Dental records are being checked but it looks as if it could well be Paul Lambert,' she explained.

  'Well, if it is the same killer than we won't have to wait long before they place the head somewhere prominent,' Bannister added.

  The three of them fell silent, each lost in their own grim thoughts.

  When the headlights flashed at the rear window, Bannister glanced in the mirror. 'Shannon's here, I want you two to find out where the Marsh offspring live and check them out. Let's see how they react when they discover their old man is dead and his head is missing.'

  Opening the doors, they climbed out, Bannister walking over to the Land Rover as the doctor pulled up.

  Lasser raised a hand as he and Odette trudged over to his Audi, Odette on the phone as she gave Sally Wright the task of finding out where the three Marsh offspring lived.

  Once inside, Lasser started the engine and turned the heater to full blast as he rubbed his hands together.

  'They forecast more snow tomorrow,' Odette said as she pocketed the phone.

  Lasser grimaced as he looked out at the uninviting weather, the crime scene tent now swaying in the stiff breeze.

  'Imagine spending over half a century in a place like this, three times a week waiting to be abused and left bleeding on the bedroom floor.'

  'Like something from the dark ages,' Odette agreed.

  'Why did she put up with it?'

  Looking at him, she saw the hurt in his eyes, that familiar heartache that he seemed to bear every time they came across something harrowing.

  'Different generation,' she offered lamely.

  Lasser peered out at the fields, the truth was they were less than half a mile away from a major A-road and yet this place felt as if it were from another age. An age where husbands could treat their wives like dirt and no one would bat an eyelid. Closing his eyes, he sighed, the truth was it could happen anywhere, any time, he thought of all the times he had been called out to a case to find a woman living in fear of what their husband or partner would do if they opened their mouths to ''the filth''. He had come across them in squalid flats that stank of cannabis and unchanged nappies to swanky houses and apartments.

  'You OK?'

  Opening his eyes, he glanced at Odette and tried to smile. 'Do you ever feel it's time for a change?'

  'Frequently,' she replied, her face deadly serious.

  Their eyes locked, each seeing the mounting despair in the other's gaze.

  'Question is what would we do instead?' he asked.

  'Well, you could sail off into the sunset,' she replied with a half-smile.

  When his face remained serious, she realised he was actually giving the idea thoughtful consideration and she felt the hint of panic flash through her mind.

  Slotting into gear, he managed to turn the car around, his face still pensive as he drove away, Odette by his side trying to quell the feeling of unease.

  24

  The man sat facing the television, the news was on, his wife standing in front of the roaring fire as the reporter explained about the suspected murder at Marsh farm.

  The screen showed a world of white, police cars were parked up at the front of a house that looked derelict, the sagging roof covered with snow, the blue lights flashing in the background.

  'Have you ever done any work there?' she asked, her face clouded with disgust as she looked at the ramshackle building.

  'Once, years ago,' he admitted before taking a sip from the hot drink.

  'I've seen it from Jagger Lane, but I never realised the place was still occupied.'

  'I did a drainage job, must be about ten years ago now – before we met – and old Marsh was a right miserable sod. Took me ages to get paid, and even then, he didn't cough up the full amount.'

  A log on the fire crackled, the flames rising, throwing out even more heat.

  Through the small front window, he could see the top of the snowman standing on the front garden. He had helped Sam roll the snow into a ball, before he had hauled it onto the large squat body, then his son had rushed back into the house, rummaging in the vegetable rack until he found a suitable carrot, then he had dashed to the coal scuttle and picked two round chunks of black before heading back outside.

  The man had lifted his son onto his shoulders, while he placed both coal and carrot into the ball of snow, a wide smile on his face as his father stepped back admiring their labour.

  'What do you think, Sam?'

  'I love it!'

  The man smiled at the memory.

  'I wonder if it's anything to do with the head they found in the Christmas tree?' his wife asked, shivering slightly at the thought.

  The man blinked, his eyes refocusing on the television. 'No idea.'

  'I mean, what kind of twisted sicko would do that, especially knowing there would be loads of kids there?'

  Inside, he heard the small voice giggle at her words but managed to shrug his shoulders. 'Yeah, I know it was bad.'

  'Bad?' she asked, throwing him a look of disgusted disbelief.

  'You know what I mean,' he replied before taking another sip from the cup.

  'You were meant to be taking Sam for the big switch-on, imagine if he'd been the one to see the head. God, something like that could traumatise a child for life.'

  He looked at her and nodded in agreement whilst inside the voice screamed.

  'Shut　the　fuck　up,　you　stupid　cunt.'

  'Did Marsh have a family?'

  'Not a clue,' he replied, trying to block out her voice so he could listen to what the reporter was saying.

  'If it is the same killer then what are we going to do?'

  Placing the cup on the coffee table, he looked up at her as she warmed her legs against the fire.

  'What do you mean?'

  'Well, look at us, living out here in the middle of nowhere? The guy on the television said Marsh was killed a few hours ago…'

  'What's that got to do with anything?'

  His wife sighed as if she were trying to have a conversation with someone who wasn't too bright. 'It means that this animal isn't bothered about waiting for it to go dark before he kills. So, what's to stop him coming here and doing the same to me or, God forbid, our son?'

  'Come on, that won't happen.'

  'You don't know that, you can be gone for hours, and let's face it you never answer your phone, so what's to stop this maniac coming here and…'

  'Look, we don't even know if the two killings are connected, besides you are out at work most days and Sam is at school.'

  'What difference does that make? Two people have
been slaughtered and you sit there as if it's no big deal.'

  'But…'

  'Marsh farm is less than three miles away and isolated, just like this place. Perhaps that's what the killer is looking for, somewhere he can work undisturbed. Whoever is doing this could come here and wait for me to get home with our son, they could hide in the trees and…'

  'You read too many crime books,' he quipped in an effort to change the subject, but she was having none of it.

  'It's not bloody funny,' she fumed.

  'OK, what do you suggest we do?' he asked, folding his arms.

  When she came and sat by his side he knew exactly what was coming. 'We could move.'

  'And why would we want to do that?'

  'Because there's a killer out there,' she jabbed a finger towards the window, her eyes flashing in anger. 'Two people dead and you don't seem to care.'

  'Look, the police will catch whoever is responsible, and I do care, but I didn't know these people…'

  'You knew Marsh,' she fired back.

  'Christ, I met him a couple of times over ten years ago, and all he did was moan and groan about everything.'

  The snow continued to swirl at the window, another knot in the wood went with a sharp crack as the Christmas tree in the corner flashed, blue and red.

  'But we don't have to stay here, we could move closer to town and…'

  'Not a chance.'

  Turning away, his wife looked into the fire, her face set with annoyance, her hands clasped together, the fingers entwined. 'I used to have friends, but no one is willing to come out here, even my family stay away.'

  The man closed his eyes, his teeth clamped as he waited for her sob story to start.

  'Listen　to　the　whingeing　bitch,'　the voice echoed through his brain.

  'Look at the weather, we're all but cut off here and…'

  'You manage to get to your sister's three times a week no matter what the weather is doing,' he interrupted.

  'Yes,　yes　she　fucking　does!'

  Ignoring him, she continued to stare at the fire. 'I think living here is detrimental to Sam's upbringing.'

  He glanced at her, aware that this was a new line of attack. 'What are you talking about?'