Desolate Hearts

by Robin Roughley

  'Can I get you a drink?' Bannister asked.

  'Thank you for the offer, but I left my good lady wife at home making mince pies and I swore I wouldn't be longer than an hour.'

  'Well, I hope you have a four-wheel drive, the snow's a nightmare.'

  The man lifted a Barbour coat from the stool at his side and smiled as he slipped it on. 'Actually, I'm on foot, I only live ten minutes away, so I left the car in the garage, better safe than sorry.'

  The landlord placed the drink on the bar and Bannister nodded his thanks before picking it up.

  'Right, well, all the best to you,' the man said as he headed for the door.

  Bannister smiled, collecting his change he backtracked to the seat in front of the log fire and sat down. He thought of the man walking back through the snow to a wife, no doubt a family as well, who would welcome him home with smiles and hugs.

  'You have a family at home, you soft shit,' his conscience echoed through his mind making him feel an even bigger bastard.

  Staring at the drink in his hand, he leaned forwards and placed it on the table before slumping back in the chair.

  What he wanted to do was get home as soon as possible and apologise for the way he had behaved, but he knew that by now he was well over the limit and would have to wait for Lasser to arrive. He groaned as he looked towards the window, the snow was falling again. He should be at home now with his family, not sat in some boozer out in the middle of the sticks like some sad bastard drinking to try and forget was a prize arsehole he was.

  He kept seeing the girls, Kelly looking upset as he barrelled towards her, Belle crying silent tears, the images branding him with shame.

  'I'll sort this,' he whispered as he took his woe-is-me attitude and crushed it underfoot. Even if it did mean getting help, there was no shame in admitting he was struggling. Christ knows he had pointed that fact out to others often enough during his career. At one time he had prided himself on keeping an eye on whatever team he was working with, but somewhere along the line he had lost that empathy.

  Closing his eyes, he yawned as the heat from the fire pulsated towards him, half a minute later, he was snoring lightly.

  At the bar the landlord shook his head. 'Typical wino,' he mumbled as he polished a glass.

  49

  The anger grew as the man trawled the streets looking for someone to take the pain away. Hands grasping the wheel, he battled the turmoil that raged inside, sweat coated his brow, his skin seemed to crawl with the need to kill, the pain in his head throbbed to the beat of his galloping heart. Yet he knew now that he would never be satisfied until his bitch wife and her bastard boss were dead.

  He felt like a junkie who needed a quick fix until he could get his hands on the good stuff.

  Now, he found himself on the country lane, the fields around him illuminated by the pale moon, the light shining off the snow revealing miles of countryside swathed in white. He could even see the backbone of the Pennines, the television mast standing on top of Winter Hill, lit up red and clear over eight miles away.

  The only people he had seen was a group of men walking along one of the main roads that led into town, laughing and joking and throwing snowballs at the van as he drove past. The urge to leap out and start swinging the delving spade at their heads had been enormous, but he had managed to quell the beast inside before it had the chance to smother any common sense. Reaching the junction, he rubbed at his temples in an effort to ease the pain, if he turned left it would eventually lead him back home, but the thought of returning with the burning need still raging was not an option.

  So, he turned right, the rear wheels kicked out and he expertly handled the slide before getting the van back under control.

  The narrow lane twisted left and right, bordered on either side by skeletal hawthorn bushes, their branches topped with strands of freezing snow.

  When he caught a flash of colourful light to his left he eased off the gas, recognising the lights shining from the tree in front of the Blue Bell pub, lights still shone from the windows, the only sign of warmth for miles around.

  The bend approached, and he gently tapped the brakes before easing the van to the left.

  When the headlights picked out the solitary figure walking along the lane the beast inside roared in anticipation, and the man sat bolt upright behind the wheel. Flicking the lights to main beam, he watched as the walker raised his right arm against the glare.

  'Yes,　yes,　YES!'　the voiced inside screeched in delight.

  Checking the mirrors, he brought the van to a halt and yanked on the handbrake before opening the door and leaping out, his whole body thrumming with excitement, the pain in his head subsiding slightly as he went quickly to the rear of the van.

  Snatching the door open, he reached inside and grabbed the spade, then headed back to the front of the van. The man was still approaching, his head turned slightly to the left against the headlights, hands now back in his pockets.

  When he was fifteen feet away, the man started to shovel snow from the front wheel.

  'Having problems?' the walker asked, his feet crunching in the snow as he approached.

  The man waited, his ears attuned to every sound.

  'Bad weather to be driving around in.'

  The killer smiled as he spun around, swinging the spade in a vicious arc, the man in the cable-knit sweater and Barbour jacket didn't even have the time to register surprise before his face was demolished by the flat of the blade. He toppled backwards – hands still in pockets – falling with a thump into the snow, blood from his mashed faced splashed onto the white ground in a grotesque halo.

  Moving forwards, the man placed his booted feet either side of the victim's neck, he could hear him trying to breath behind the froth of bubbling blood.

  With a sigh of pure ecstasy, anticipating the pain-free bliss to come, he placed the blade across the exposed throat before slamming his right foot down, the head was severed, the body writhed, legs thrashed in the snow. Quickly he bent down and lifted the head by the hair before hurrying back to the Transit.

  Tossing the head onto the metal floor of the van, he watched as it bounced, leaving a trail of gore in its wake, then he slid the spade inside before closing the door. Seconds later, he was back behind the wheel, the headlights showing the decapitated man sprawled in the red-tainted snow.

  Selecting first gear, he drove forwards and felt the thud of the body hit the underside of the van. As he pulled away he checked the wing mirror and grunted in satisfaction as he saw the body still sprawled in the snow.

  At last the feeling of fury began to subside, the pain in his mind had vanished though he knew it would soon be back, and this time only the death of his wife's Jaguar-driving lover would quell the need for revenge. Then he could start to make plans for the woman he had once loved but now loathed with a passion that burned inside like the heat of the sun.

  Driving past the pub, he glanced to his left, the lights in the tree flashed, the car park was deserted apart from a gleaming black Range Rover, slowly being covered in a fine dusting of snow.

  Turning back to the road, he concentrated on the driving, to make a mistake now would prove disastrous, so he kept his speed down, making small adjustments to the wheel as he tiptoed his way back home.

  'Slowly,　slowly,　catchee　monkey,'　the voice warned.

  'Oh yes,' he replied in a dull, dead voice.

  50

  Lasser battled with the wheel, trying to keep the car out of the twin tyre tracks that snaked along the lane. On the back seat, Poppet looked out of the window enjoying the dip and sway of the vehicle.

  'I know it's not nice to drive in, but the fields look beautiful tonight,' Jackie commented.

  Lasser risked a quick glance to the left, the snow looked crisp, the surface glittering in the moonlight, stars shone, tiny pinpricks of light in the black void.

  'Yeah, it does,' he admitted. 'And soon I'll have Bannister sat where you are, moaning and groaning ab
out everything and stinking like a brewery.'

  'Well, I know he's opinionated, but things must be bad if he blew up at home.'

  'It was only a matter of time,' Lasser told her as he eased up to the junction, the tyre tracks in the snow angled right and Lasser followed.

  'Because he explodes at work a lot?'

  'It's his way, but he's great at the job and he fights tooth and nail for the team, which believe me isn't always the case with some of the buggers I've worked with in the past.'

  'He feels things deeply, doesn't he?'

  Lasser relaxed his grip on the wheel slightly. 'Yeah, he does, of course he tries not to show it, but it seems as if this time he couldn't stop himself from letting off steam.'

  'What do you think will happen?'

  On the back seat, the dog curled up nose to tail.

  'Like I said, he rants and raves but never at home. One thing I do know is that Suzanne will want him to get it sorted.'

  'And what if he can't or refuses to?'

  'God knows, but if he flat-out refuses, Suzanne will not be happy.'

  Jackie slid the zip down on her jacket. 'It's obvious they love one another, so let's hope he does the right thing.'

  The left-hand bend approached, and Lasser scowled as the wheels of the Audi bumped over the pitted troughs of snow, feathering the brakes he eased the car around the corner.

  When he felt Jackie grab his arm, he glanced at her, but seeing the look of horror in her eyes he frowned.

  'What's the matter?' he asked.

  'Oh my God, look!' her voice rose, sounding shrill in the confines of the car.

  The frown was still in place as Lasser faced front, the headlights illuminating the body in the snow.

  Beyond that, he saw the lights of the Blue Bell shining out in a world of white.

  Snatching on the handbrake, he thrust the door open, aware that Jackie was doing the same, leaping out he started to run forwards through the snow.

  When he was ten feet away, he slithered to a halt as the full horror was revealed to him, the snow splashed with red, the man still had his hands in his pockets, his legs spread, his head…

  Jackie screamed, the sound of horror rocketing out into the freezing air.

  Lasser threw a look over his shoulder, she had fallen to her knees, her eyes saucer-like, hands planted in the snow, her face bleached of colour.

  'Is it him?' she managed to ask before lowering her head.

  Lasser felt her words cut into his brain like a scalpel wielded by a maniac, turning, he swallowed the fear as he took five steps forwards and stopped.

  His eyes scanned the clothing, walking boots, jeans… Lasser heaved a massive sigh of relief. Bannister never wore jeans, he remembered his boss saying that at his age jeans looked ridiculous. ''I'm buggered if I'm going to be called the oldest swinger in town,'' he had said with a grim shake of the head.

  The stump of the neck still leaked blood into the white snow as he pulled the phone from his pocket and put in the call for assistance. His eyes followed the twin trails that snaked off along the lane.

  Turning, he walked back towards Jackie who remained on her knees, her head tilted skywards, her mane of black hair flecked with snow.

  'It's not Bannister,' he said tapping at the screen.

  'Are you sure?' she asked, as she started to shake with shock.

  'Positive,' he held out his right hand, the phone in his left.

  Reaching out, she grasped it and Lasser led her back to the car, closing the door once she got into the passenger seat.

  'What time is it?' Bannister asked, his voice sounding thick with sleep.

  'We're on the lane, about three hundred yards from the pub and…'

  'Don't tell me your crap driving has left you in a ditch?'

  'No, we…'

  'I tell you now, Lasser, if you've totalled another car I won't be happy.'

  'Shut the fuck up and listen.'

  'What did you…?'

  'There's a body on the lane and…'

  '''A body''?' Bannister interrupted.

  'A fucking headless body,' Lasser hollered and heard Bannister gasp. 'So, put your sodding drink down and shift your arse.'

  'I'm on my way,' the DCI said, suddenly sounding wide awake.

  Ending the call, he looked back towards the headless body, his eyes locked on the fading tracks in the snow, tracks left by a van of some sort.

  Suddenly, he pictured Dorothy sitting at the kitchen table, her hands clasped together in prayer.

  ''Transit, short wheelbase.''

  He felt the tension crank up in his mind, as a thin cold wind blew in over the open fields, freezing him to the bone.

  51

  Lasser stood at the French doors absently looking out at the garden, the robin was back, head cocked, red breast flaring.

  'I didn't think you would be up yet.'

  He turned to find Suzanne standing in the doorway to the kitchen, dressed in red pyjamas, her feet bare, fair hair tied back in a ponytail.

  'I managed about three hours and then woke up.'

  'Is Jackie still asleep?'

  'Yeah, I managed to sneak out without disturbing her.'

  Moving into the room, she stood by his side and he looped an arm around her shoulder, letting her rest her head against him.

  'What about you?' he asked.

  'I'm worried about him, Lasser, he hasn't been sleeping, he…'

  'Kelly told me about him crying in his sleep.'

  Suzanne sighed in distress. 'I don't know what to do, he denies there's anything wrong.'

  'Perhaps he just needs a holiday.'

  When he felt her tense, he winced.

  'That's exactly what he said, but we both know that's a crass response.'

  'It might be crass but it's the standard idiotic reply we always make,' he admitted.

  'So, you cry in your sleep and shout out the name of a dead colleague, do you?' she asked.

  Lasser kept his arm tight around her shoulders. 'Susan?'

  'Yes, and it's happening more frequently.'

  'Been there and got the sodding T-shirt.'

  'Honestly?' she asked, easing away to look at him.

  He looked at her and nodded. 'Gospel truth, sometimes there's nothing you can do about it, but he will get himself sorted.'

  'You mean he'll become better at hiding the truth, don't you?'

  Lasser rubbed a hand across the back of his neck watching as the robin took to the air and vanished into one of the snow-sculptured bushes. 'I still have nightmares but they're not as bad as they used to be, and let's face it, he leads the team, so he feels more responsibility.'

  'You're saying I should leave him to sort it out himself?'

  'I know it sounds lame, but seeing a shrink isn't always the answer. I've seen people go down that route and they can do more harm than good.'

  'But…'

  'It's hard seeing him struggle, I get that, but give him a little longer and see what happens.'

  'I've already given him six months and if anything, things have got worse.'

  'The time limit won't help, he'll see it as the point at which you bugger off and leave him.'

  Suzanne's eyes widened slightly as she thought about what he was saying.

  'You think I've made things worse, don't you?'

  'God, no, in fact he told me a few months ago about all this and he admitted he was the one who mentioned changing jobs in six months if he couldn't control his temper.'

  'What should I do?' she asked, her voice laced with desperation.

  'Do nothing, let him sort it out, if he can't then he'll tell you, and then take it from there.'

  Turning, she kissed his cheeks. 'I don't know if you're a wise man or an idiot,' she said with a tearful smile.

  Lasser pulled a face and then smiled. 'I prefer idiot to be honest.'

  'Put my wife down, you molesting bugger.'

  They turned to find Bannister smiling sheepishly.

  'Right
, I would imagine you two will be heading out shortly, but not before I cook you breakfast,' Suzanne said.

  'I'm starving,' her husband rubbed his hands together with relish.

  'OK, sit yourselves down and I'll make a start.'

  They backtracked into the kitchen just as Jackie walked into the room, her hair looking thick and mussed with sleep.

  'Morning, all,' she smiled, though Lasser could still see the remains of the horror in her eyes from finding the headless body on the country lane a few hours earlier.

  'Can I give you a hand, Sue?' she asked.

  'Love one,' Suzanne replied.

  Bannister and Lasser hovered in the middle of the room.

  'Er, we're just going to step outside for some fresh air,' Bannister said as he gave Lasser the nod.

  Suzanne turned from the open fridge door. 'We know you're going for a smoke, just don't leave the door open and let all the heat out,' she said with a half-smile.

  Bannister turned away to hide his embarrassment before leading Lasser back into the conservatory and out onto the patio, making sure he closed the doors behind him.

  Seconds later, they were standing beneath the gazebo, the canvas roof bowed with the weight of the snow.

  Cigarette on the go, Bannister blew out with a heavy sigh as he thought back to snow-covered lane. After help had arrived, he had made his way back to the pub to ask the landlord about the dead man. It had taken half a minute before the landlord had got over the shock and revealed the dead man's name. 'I still can't believe I was talking with Shaw in the Blue Bell, and half an hour later, you find him with no fucking head. I mean, what if it had been me who went walkabout, would Plymouth have cut my bloody head off?' Bannister asked with a shudder.

  Suddenly, Lasser was reminded of the facts and he felt himself cringe inside as he opened his mouth to explain his suspicions.

  By the time he had finished, Bannister had smoked his cigarette until only the filter remained. 'Are you sure about this?'