Desolate Hearts

by Robin Roughley

  Opening her eyes, she wiped at her wet cheeks with a shaking hand. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered.

  'You've nothing to be sorry for,' he said crouching down by the side of her chair.

  Over near the sink, Jackie watched Lasser's face flood with sympathy.

  'I told a lie,' Dorothy said as the tears spilled free again. 'When I saw he was dead I thought God had answered my prayers.'

  'I know you did, Dot, you've already told me that and you have nothing to feel bad about.'

  'But I saw a white van driving from the house,' she whispered.

  Lasser managed to keep the look of reproach from his face. 'A white van?'

  'I should have told you, but I thought if God had taken my husband then I daren't tell you what I'd seen. I thought I would be going against God's wishes.'

  Lasser tried to get his head around the reasoning, while Dorothy looked at him with pleading in her eyes.

  'I understand what you mean,' Jackie said as she walked towards the table. 'You prayed, and God sent someone to kill your husband for the things he had done to you.'

  Dorothy started to nod her head rapidly. 'That's it, that's exactly it and if God sent this person then surely he wouldn't want me telling tales that would help you catch him.'

  'OK, Dot, I kind of understand, but did you see who was driving the van?'

  Turning to Lasser, she licked her lips. 'No, I was parked at the end of the drive and the van went the other way down to Crick Lane.'

  'Do you know what sort of van it was?'

  'Transit, short wheelbase,' she replied in an instant.

  Rising to his feet, Lasser patted her shoulder. 'Thanks for telling me,' he said.

  Jackie turned away and made the drinks, a couple of minutes later the three of them were sat around the table, hands around mugs in an effort to warm their freezing fingers.

  'Do you think God will punish me for this?' Dorothy asked.

  'No, Dot, I'm sure he won't.'

  'How do you know?' she asked.

  Taking a sip from the cup, Lasser struggled to find an answer.

  'Because God didn't actually show you who had killed your husband,' Jackie answered. 'And I'm sure he wants you to be honest about what you saw,' she finished, her voice full of compassion.

  Lasser glanced at her and smiled in thanks.

  Dorothy seemed to visibly relax and then she was smiling again. 'Tell the truth and shame the devil,' she said with satisfaction.

  Lasser found himself nodding in agreement.

  45

  Bannister felt the anger and shame collide in his brain, the pressure building, his body shaking as he tried to hold onto the last vestige of sanity.

  He wanted to plant his foot on the gas, he needed speed in an effort to escape his stupidity, but the conditions wouldn't allow it.

  So, he crawled along the country lane, the big wheels of the four by four biting into the thick snow, occasionally they would lose traction and he would hit the gas until the car started to move again. The image of what he had done swept through his mind, a tsunami of shame. He pictured Kelly looking genuinely terrified as he strode towards her, Belle silently crying as he grabbed the car keys and stormed from the house, the freezing air making him shake his head in the same way an old drunk will sober up once they leave the warmth of their favourite pub.

  Swiping at his eyes, he loomed over the wheel, his teeth locked together as the lane twisted and turned across the expanse of white, in a field to his right he glimpsed a murder of crows strutting around in the snow-infused moonlight.

  Suzanne had said he had shouted out Susan's name more than once in his sleep, yet in all honesty he'd had no recollection of any of it. Of course, he thought of Susan, but not daily and never with any sense of guilt. It was always with sorrow at a young life lost, a woman taken in her prime who had so much still to offer.

  Pulling up at the junction, he rested his forehead against the wheel, his breathing rapid as he tried to get to grips with what his wife had said.

  She had been right, he worked in a stressful environment, but then again so did the rest of the team, they had all suffered when Susan had been shot and killed, her brains splashed all over the…

  Bannister snapped his head up as the dream exploded into his conscious mind.

  He blinked at the stark world of white as he realised that the dream of her death had been a constant night-time companion, buried deep by his psyche but still making its presence felt.

  'Jesus,' he whispered.

  The death of Susan had been the catalyst and other woes had attached themselves to the fact that she had been killed and he had not been able to stop it. He pictured the hull of some ancient rust bucket encrusted with barnacles. Above the surface of the choppy waves the vessel remained afloat, yet below the boat was springing leaks and taking on water that would eventually pull it down to the sea bed.

  The veil of denial was torn away, and he felt the tears roll down his cheeks as he started to cry. Terror gripped his heart as he thought of the damage he had done to those he loved, for once they had seen his true self, seen beyond the mask that he always wore when he was at home.

  Then he pictured himself at work, screaming and bawling, he saw the looks on the faces of those he worked with. Some looked uneasy when he was around, others looked scared, none of them ever appeared genuinely pleased to see him.

  He thought of Lasser and Odette and the despair deepened, they were colleagues, yet they were so much more than that. The mere word ''friends'' came nowhere near to describing the bond between them. He knew that either one of them would lay down their lives for him. He almost snorted in derision at the overblown cliché and then he stopped as he realised that it was the truth. In fact, they had done it more than once, put themselves in the firing line to save him and he had done the same for them.

  Finally, another realisation slammed into him, Susan Coyle had been of the same ilk, part of the same close-knit team. For some absurd reason he thought of the Musketeers and then dragged a hand down his face. As ridiculous as it seemed that was the only analogy he could come up with, four people who had been willing to die for one another and Susan had been the one to make the ultimate sacrifice.

  He felt the walls in his mind come crumbling down as the truth spewed forth, the reason he was finding it so hard to cope was the fear that it would happen again. Closing his eyes, he pictured the morgue, Doc Shannon pulling back the plastic sheets to reveal Lasser on one gurney and Odette on the other, their skin grey, eyes closed for eternity, each with a matching hole in their foreheads, mirror images of how Susan had looked after the gunman had shot her.

  The engine purred, warm air flowed from the vents as his hands closed ever tighter on the steering wheel, while outside the snow began to fall again.

  Yet even now, knowing the truth, he still couldn't envision walking away from the job. He had no doubt he could probably get a desk job though he also knew that wouldn't provide any sort of solution. It could even make things worse, knowing that the team was out there in danger while he was safe, sat behind a desk tapping at a keyboard. His mind chock-full with concern and fear in case something happened again, and he wasn't there to try and intervene.

  Fighting the emotion, he tried desperately to see a way forwards, he was caught in a terrible limbo, knowing that he simply couldn't carry on like this and yet terrified to walk away. If he did nothing he knew Suzanne would not put up with it, he also knew she was raising her concerns because she loved him and wanted him to be happy.

  With a shuddering sigh he turned right, he needed a drink, something to cleanse his mind – if only for a few hours – he needed to unplug from the system and Mr Jack Daniels would help him do just that.

  46

  The man tried his best to quell the hatred, though he knew he was fighting a losing battle. As he paced the room, the German shepherd watched, tail thumping occasionally on the rug, as he strode past before turning and walking back, his lips moving, mumbled wo
rds of fury.

  Stopping, he looked at the Christmas tree, the lights flashing, the presents placed underneath, but he now knew that Sam would not be here on Christmas Day to open them. Closing his eyes, he pictured his wife and her boss fucking on the back seat of the fancy car, her legs spread, her eyes alight with wanton pleasure.

  'They're　laughing　at　you,　taking　the　piss,'　the voice casually informed him.

  The man nodded in agreement. In the aftermath of their rutting, he could imagine them laughing together, laughing at him, making plans that would see him estranged from his son while they played happy families.

  'Over my dead body!' he hissed as the pain in his head suddenly raged.

  On the rug, the dog whimpered, sensing the vitriol coming from its master.

  Spinning, he headed back into the kitchen and grabbed his coat before storming through the door. Coming back home after what he had witnessed had been a mistake, he should have stayed out until he found someone to take his fury out on, someone to take the pain away. In an ideal world it would have been his wife and her fuck buddy, though even through the throbbing pain he knew he would have to plan that particular event carefully.

  As he climbed into the van, he tried to think of a way to achieve his goal. The problem was he would need an alibi, if he had his way then he would have killed them together, he pictured his wife caught in the act of fucking with her boss. He could see her cowering in the corner of some fancy bedroom, black satin sheets on the bed soaked in blood as he cut off the man's head. She would scream as he tossed the severed head at her, blood and gore splattering her naked body, her mind cracking under the horror.

  And then he would end her fun and games forever and the pain in his head would vanish for eternity.

  Starting the engine, he shook his head, no, as pleasurable as the scenario was he knew a better way. He would kill the lover and then watch his bitch wife suffer as she tried to come to terms with what had happened, her plans falling apart as the sugar daddy was obliterated.

  'That's　for　later,' the internal voice reminded him.

  Behind the wheel, the man grunted before turning the van around and driving down the lane.

  Time to kill again, he thought as the rage and mingled pain roared through his mind.

  47

  'Did you see the cupboards, they were virtually empty?' Jackie asked in disbelief as she handed Lasser the hot drink.

  'I know,' he looked around the boat, the space warm and snug with all mod cons accounted for, a far cry from the grim hovel that Dorothy Marsh lived in.

  'God, I felt so guilty when we left her there,' she said, sitting down in the rocking chair, as always, her right foot was tucked beneath her.

  Lasser nodded, trying to find the words for the way he had felt as Dorothy waved from the front window, smiling as if she were living in a place of warmth and light instead of the dismal, freezing house of horror.

  'First thing in the morning I'm going to get some shopping in and take it to her,' Jackie said.

  Lasser looked at her and felt the emotion tug at his heart. 'That would be a nice thing to do.'

  'I'll get her a radio as well.'

  Dipping a hand into his pocket he pulled out his wallet and held out some folding cash. 'Take this, I want to help too.'

  Jackie looked into his eyes before taking the money and slipping it into the pocket of her jeans. 'I'll make sure I get stuff she can warm up, at least that way we'll know she's eating.'

  'And see if you can pick her up a heater of some kind, its bloody freezing in that house.'

  'Will do.'

  Lasser took a gulp from the cup, his face still marred with unease. 'It's the long term that concerns me,' he said as he stretched out his legs.

  'Well, for the time being we can make sure that she eats and gets out.'

  'Gets out?' he asked in confusion.

  'Well, I've just thought, rather than me going alone, she can come with me to the shops, it's a start and it will do her good to get out of that house.'

  'Agreed,' he replied before stifling a yawn.

  'Right, time for bed,' Jackie said.

  Dragging up a smile, he drained the cup and was just standing up when his phone rang, he felt the familiar sense of dread kill the warm fuzzy feeling in his mind.

  Sitting back down with a thump, he pulled it from his pocket as Jackie collected his cup and walked the short distance to the sink.

  When Lasser saw Kelly's name on the screen, he frowned in surprise before tapping the speaker icon. 'Hi, Kelly, is everything OK?'

  'Have you seen my dad?'

  As soon as he heard the words Lasser knew something was wrong, her voice was full of nervous emotion, sounding on the verge of tears.

  'Not since earlier today. Why what's the matter?'

  'He stormed out a couple of hours ago, I've never seen him so angry. My mum doesn't know I've rung you, but me and Belle thought you might know where he is?'

  Jackie turned from the sink, a look of concern on her face, the whippet appeared and sat down by her side.

  'Why was he angry?' Lasser reached out, grabbing his cigarettes from the table.

  'He's not been sleeping very well, Mum says he's having nightmares all the time,' she paused, 'she said when he does fall asleep he keeps crying.'

  Lasser felt the alarm bells clanging in his mind as he lit the cigarette and took a hurried pull. 'I take it he took a car?'

  'He took the Range Rover, but he'd been drinking before he stormed out and I don't know if he's over the limit and the weather's so bad.'

  Lasser closed his eyes for a moment, holding the sigh deep inside. 'Have you tried ringing him?'

  'Twice, but Mum says to leave him alone, he needs time to think things through, but I'm really worried, Lasser.'

  'OK, give me a couple of minutes, I'll ring him, if he thinks it's to do with work he might answer.'

  'Will you let me know if you get in touch with him?'

  'Of course I will, keep your phone on and try not to worry, Kell, we both know he has a short fuse at times.'

  'I get that, but he's never done it at home, and he scared me,' she paused, 'I actually thought he was going to push me out of the way or something.'

  The bells rang ever louder as he realised that his boss must have had a complete meltdown to lose the plot in front of the ones he loved.

  'Two minutes,' he said before tapping at the screen.

  'Do you have any idea where he could have gone?' Jackie asked.

  Lasser glanced up. 'Chances are he'll either be parked up in a lay-by somewhere or he's stuck in the snow and attacking the car with a branch.'

  Jackie searched his eyes for any hint of humour but found none.

  Seconds later, he rang Bannister as he took another drag on the cigarette.

  The DCI answered on the fourth ring. 'Yes, Lasser, what do you want?'

  'Where are you?'

  'Is it anything to do with the head-hunter?'

  Lasser grimaced at the grisly term. 'I've just had Kelly on the phone, she's worried about you.'

  The sigh, when it came, was heavy and fraught with heartache. 'I've been a prize tit,' he admitted.

  'So, where are you?'

  'At the Blue Bell.'

  'Pissed?'

  'Getting there.'

  'I take it you can't drive?'

  'Of course, I can't bloody drive, I'm an officer of the law, I don't drink and drive.'

  'Of course not.'

  'So, you'll have to come and get me.'

  Rubbing a hand across his eyes, Lasser pursed his lips. 'OK, but it'll take me a while.'

  'Don't worry about me, I'm in front of a log fire with a Jack Daniels in my hand.'

  'All right for some,' Lasser bit back then hung up when he heard the DCI's pissed-up laughter drift from the phone.

  By the time he had dragged Kelly's number back onto the screen, Jackie was slipping on her winter coat, Lasser looked at her in surprise as Kelly answered.<
br />
  'It's OK, Kelly, I've just spoken to your dad, he's in the Blue Bell, I'm heading out there now to pick him up and drop him back home.'

  'Oh, thank God,' Kelly gasped in relief.

  'So, you can relax, he's fine.'

  'Are you sure you're OK picking him up, because I can always go and…?'

  'No, you stay there, the roads are bad, and your dad would kill me if I let you drive in weather like this.'

  'Thanks, Lasser,' she replied.

  'No worries, I'll see you later.'

  Pocketing the phone, he looked at Jackie as she slid the zipper up on her jacket. 'If I come with you, I can drive Suzanne's car back to the house.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'Positive,' she replied.

  Ten minutes later, they were in the Audi, Poppet sitting on the back seat, happy to be going on an adventure.

  Leaning over, Lasser kissed Jackie's cold cheek. 'This is above and beyond,' he said.

  'Beats sitting watching something drab on the telly,' she replied with a smile.

  On the back seat, Poppet yapped as Lasser backed the car up before heading for the road, the warm glow

  inside keeping the cold at bay.

  48

  When the image of Suzanne looking at him with sadness in her eyes started to surface, Bannister tilted the glass and drained it in an effort to keep the torment at bay.

  With a shivering sigh, he rose from the chair and walked over to the bar to order another drink.

  The place was quiet, all oak beams and mullioned windows, one or two people sat at the tables, chatting and drinking.

  Ordering another Daniels, he slapped a tenner down as the landlord pushed the glass under the optic.

  'What do you reckon to this weather?' a man perched on one of the barstools asked as Bannister waited for his drink.

  'It's shite,' he replied.

  'Nice assessment.'

  The DCI shrugged as he looked at the man dressed in a thick cable-knit jumper and jeans, in his mid-fifties sporting horn-rimmed glasses – the trendy type – he looked like a professor and Bannister was convinced that if the law had allowed it then the man would be puffing a pipe as he sat on the stool.