Closing his eyes, he pictured the inside of the cottage on Skye, his mind reliving the meeting with Charlie Tanner.
They had sat in front of the log burner, Plymouth stretching out his long legs as the spaniel curled up on the rug.
Taking a gulp of single malt, Tanner had glanced sideways at him. 'So, what are you actually doing here?' he'd asked.
Plymouth remembered watching the logs burn, the flames licking at the glass. 'A few weeks ago, I bumped into an old friend.'
'''Old friend''.' Tanner had parroted in disbelief.
Plymouth had turned his head and fixed Tanner with an ice-cold laser look. 'She's a detective and the fact is I saw her close to home.'
'You think she might have been looking for you?'
Plymouth had see-sawed a hand. 'It hardly seemed likely, but you know me, I like to be sure of things.'
Tanner had drained the glass and nodded. 'Did you find out what she was doing there?'
'Turns out she was on a walking holiday,' Plymouth had replied before turning back to the fire.
'So, what's the problem?'
'Just to be on the safe side I decided to follow her to see where she was staying.'
'Makes sense,' Tanner had agreed.
'She met with a guy and I think it's safe to say they were more than friends.'
Plymouth fell silent, the clock on the wall ticking the seconds away, watching Tanner pour himself another drink while trying to control the slight shake in his hand.
'Do you believe in ghosts, Charlie?'
Tanner had paused, the glass halfway to his lips. 'Can't say that I do,' he'd replied.
Plymouth remembered smiling. 'Neither do I,' he'd paused, 'though the man who was with the detective was known to me.'
'Known? How?'
'I killed him over six years ago.'
Tanner's hand had jerked, spilling the single malt into his lap, the dog had looked up in surprise before yawning and falling back to sleep.
Dipping a hand into his pocket Plymouth had pulled out his phone and scrolled through the images, before handing it over.
'Does he look familiar?' he'd asked, his eyes locked on Tanner's face.
When he saw the slight flicker recognition in Tanner's eyes Plymouth had his answer. 'Tell me, Charlie?'
'Tell you what?'
'You know the man, don't you?'
Charlie Tanner had handed the phone back without taking a second look at the image. 'I'm not sure.'
Plymouth had arched an eyebrow. 'I've been doing this job a long time and normally when I kill someone they tend to stay dead.'
Tanner had nodded. 'I know they do.'
'Now, I'm either losing the plot or the man I killed has a brother, a twin perhaps.'
'Possible, I guess.'
'You have an alternative?' Plymouth had asked, his lips curling into the familiar smile. 'Come on then, Charlie, I love a tall tale, so let's hear it.'
Tanner had sucked in a thin breath as Plymouth studied his face.
'He looks like Tom Bradford.'
'Is the name meant to mean something to me?'
Taking another sip of single malt, Tanner had eased forwards before placing the empty glass on the wooden coffee table. 'Bradford used to do some work for me.'
'When you say work, I take it you mean he killed people for money?'
'Yeah, but he was never really cut out for the job, he was too hot-headed, not overly bright, never stopped to think, he just acted.'
'A blunt tool then?'
Folding his arms, Tanner had nodded. 'About nine years ago, I gave him a job down in London, a simple hit, one target but he went haywire and two innocents were killed.'
'So, you ceased using his services?'
'I did.'
Plymouth had turned back to the fire. 'Do you know what happened to him after you cut the ties?'
'Not really.'
The silence fell again, Plymouth closed his eyes. 'I'm giving you some time to revaluate your answer.'
Tanner had sighed, the sweat breaking out on his forehead. 'He ended up working for a team down south, surveillance mainly. Like I said, he was too hot-headed to work in the field, especially in situations that needed self-control.'
Plymouth had thought back to the moment that he had ended Tom Bradford's life, the cut-throat razor flashing across his exposed throat, the sheet of blood spraying from the gaping wound.
'Like you said, it's safe to assume the guy on the phone is related to Bradford but I know nothing else about the man,' Tanner had said as a log crackled.
Rising from the chair, Plymouth had walked to the fire and turned as if warming the back of his legs. 'I'm under no illusions, Charlie, I take precautions as you well know, but, let's face it, no man is ever an island.'
Tanner had looked up at him. 'I don't follow?'
Plymouth had smiled again, before raising his right hand to tug at his earlobe. 'In this job we all like to stay as anonymous as possible, I like to think that no one knows where I live, and I suppose that's true to a certain extent, but when I saw this man, well, you can imagine it made me wonder what he was doing there and why he was spending time with someone I know.'
Tanner had shrugged his wide shoulders. 'No idea.'
'Really?'
'Look, Plymouth, you're the best at what you do – no doubt about that – and I know what you're thinking, you think I had something to do with this nobody turning up on your patch.'
'My ''patch''?'
Tanner had held up his hands apologetically. 'If the image of the guy on the phone is this Tom Bradford's brother and he knows that you were responsible for his death then it's logical to assume he would be looking for you.'
'Oh, I have no problem with that, Charlie, but what I want to know is why he targeted the detective and why did he do it on, ''my patch''? You know the way we work, every part of the business is done electronically, targets, details, payments. The last time we met was over five years ago on neutral ground and…'
'I know it was and yet somehow you found out where I live and now you're here giving me the third degree,' Tanner had remarked.
'Yes, well, I'm like you, Charlie, I like to keep my eye on the ball. So, what I want to know is how this guy knew where to look for me and how he knew about the detective.'
'And I'm telling you I have no idea. OK, I will admit that I know you live somewhere in Cumbria, but that's all.'
'Keeping tabs on me, are you, Charlie?'
'In the same way you've kept tabs on me? Yeah, I have.'
Plymouth had stared down at Tanner, his right hand still absently tugging at his earlobe. 'You think I've come here to kill you, don't you?'
'The thought had crossed my mind,' Tanner had admitted, wiping the sweat from his brow.
'Well, you'd be right to make that assumption, but you know me, I can be somewhat unpredictable, and the truth is I believe you.'
'So you should, we've worked together for a long time, and I have never tried to shaft you in any way, shape or form.'
'But everything has a shelf life, doesn't it, Charlie?'
Tanner had shrugged. 'It does.'
'Have I reached mine?'
'Not to my knowledge.'
Plymouth's smile had widened, white teeth flashing. 'I'll be making some inquiries, and while I do that I'd like you to find out who the man on the phone is. That's all, nothing more.'
'I'll see what I can do.' Tanner had offered.
'As soon as you know the details then you can contact me in the usual way.'
'No problem.'
Plymouth opened his eyes and peered out of the window of the house, his eyes raking back and forth, the quad parked in front slowly vanishing beneath the snow.
'Daddy, look!'
He turned and smiled as the lights on the tree sparkled, the girls all smiling at him, Carla stood over near the kitchen door, a slight frown of concern on her face.
56
Bannister ran a hand across his head, dislodging
the flakes of snow in frustration as he looked down into the freezer.
'It's Shaw,' he said with a sigh as he thought of the man in the cable-knit jumper wishing him well before heading out of the Blue Bell to be slaughtered in the snow.
Lasser stood by his side, his face grim as he peered at the head, the eyes were frozen open and looked opaque, the neck had dripped gore onto the Bernard Matthews's gold standard turkey before freezing solid.
They heard Carl, from the SOCO team, arrive and a couple of minutes later he came through the house, suited and booted, joining them in the garage.
'Right, Carl, the bastard must have come in through the garage doors so check for prints, find out what you can, we'll be inside having a word with the Deans,' Bannister said.
Carl took a quick look into the freezer, his face impassive. 'Will do, boss.'
Bannister walked through the adjoining door and into the kitchen, Lasser following closely behind.
Carmen Dean was sitting at the kitchen table, her husband by her side, one hand resting on her shoulder, both looking shocked to the core with the horror of what had been discovered in the freezer.
'I know this must have been terrible for you both, but I'm afraid we need to ask you a few questions,' Bannister said, keeping his voice pitched low and as comforting as he could ever manage.
Lasser hung back slightly as the DCI pulled out a chair and sat down.
Carmen looked at him, eyes blank, as Ashley sat down by her side and gripped her hand tight.
'Anything we can do to help then obviously we will,' he said.
Bannister nodded. 'Can you tell me if you knew Mr Shaw?'
'Is that his name?' Carmen whispered.
'It is.'
Husband and wife looked at one another before turning back to Bannister and shaking their heads like synchronised swimmers. 'We've never heard of the man.'
'So, you have no idea why his head was placed in your freezer?'
'God no!' Ashley said, his voice quivering with disgust.
'Can you tell me your whereabouts last night between eleven and twelve?' the DCI asked.
Lasser's eyes flicked from one to the other before he edged forwards slightly.
'We were in the town centre at the Balla Bistro,' Ashley answered. 'It was our office Christmas party and we left around quarter past one.'
Carmen glanced at her husband and nodded in agreement.
'How many were at the party?' Lasser asked.
'Including myself and my wife, there were fourteen of us.'
'Did that include partners of the people who work for you?'
Carmen lifted some tissue from her pocket and dabbed at her eyes. 'Yes, but some came alone.'
'Any idea why?' Lasser enquired.
'I think their partners were working today or babysitting their children,' Ashley replied.
'And you're positive you didn't know Shaw?'
They both turned back to Bannister, their hands still locked together.
'Honestly, we have never heard of the man, and we have no idea why someone would want to do something so horrible,' Carmen said as the tears shimmered in her eyes.
When Sally Wright appeared in the doorway, Bannister got to his feet. 'Look, I understand how horrific this whole experience is, but I need you to be absolutely sure about this. Someone planted the head in your freezer, you live well off the beaten track, so why would the killer decide to approach your house and place the head here?'
At last, the tears spilled from Carmen's eyes and she lowered her head in despair.
Ashley sucked in a huge breath. 'I'm sorry, but we can't offer any explanation. I know I went to the freezer yesterday afternoon and it wasn't there then.'
Bannister sighed as he eased past Sally, Lasser following.
'Just stay with them, Sal,' he said following the DCI down the hallway and through the front door.
'The Deans might not have known Shaw, but I can guarantee the killer knows them,' Bannister said as he pulled out two cigarettes and lit them before handing one over. Half a minute later, they were back in the car, the snow dancing over the windscreen.
Taking a pull on the cigarette, Lasser blew the smoke through the gap in the window. 'I still don't get why the killer would plant the head in the freezer. He put Lambert's head in the tree and Marsh's on the handle of the church, so why suddenly change to something so low key?'
'Because this is personal and the other two weren't.' Bannister replied as he glared through the cloud of smoke.
'But they claim they don't know Shaw.'
'And I believe them,' Bannister said. 'I think the victim was random, but all this,' he waved at the house, 'this is the personal part.'
Lasser found himself nodding in agreement. 'The Deans are accountants so maybe at some point they invested money for the killer and it went tits up and he lost the lot.'
'If that were the case why kill Shaw in the first place? If what you say is true, then I would have expected the killer to take his anger out on the Deans not some random stranger.'
Lasser took another pull on the cigarette, his face thoughtful, then he turned to look at the house, the front of the property smothered with lights. His eyes moved left and right counting four security lights – no doubt motion sensored.
'I wonder if the killer knew the Deans would be out last night,' he pondered.
Bannister grunted. 'Look at this place, Lasser, you have a field in front with a lane on the opposite side, the killer could have sat there and kept an eye on the place and then when they headed out he came like Santa bearing shitty gifts.'
'No. I meant what if he had already known that the Deans would be away from the house?'
Bannister paused, the cigarette two inches from his mouth. 'And how would he have known that?'
'I have no idea, but…'
'Like I said, he could have been watching the place and…'
'So, he kills Shaw and comes straight here and his luck's in, the house is empty?'
'That's about the size of it,' Bannister muttered before turning on the engine and flicking the heater up a notch.
'OK, but why didn't he place one of the other heads here, why wait till he killed for a third time before coming out to this place?'
This time, Bannister had the cigarette clamped between his teeth. 'Perhaps he was building up to it,' he offered and then shook his head as if unhappy with his own analysis.
'Unless it's something that's happened in the last couple of days that's made him hate the Deans?'
Bannister sighed as he slid the window down and spat the cigarette out into the snow. 'You could be right, but what could have rattled the killer's cage to that extent?'
Before he could answer, Lasser's phone beeped and he fished it from his pocket as Bannister drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
When Lasser saw Odette's name he heaved a sigh of relief before opening the message.
'Sorry for being off the radar, I've got some kind of virus and can't stop being sick. Craig is the same, will be in touch when I feel back in the land of the living.'
'Who is it?' Bannister asked, closing the window against the flakes that were drifting in.
Lasser handed over the phone and watched as Bannister read the text.
'What do you reckon?' Lasser asked.
The DCI sighed as he passed the phone back. 'Well, at least we know she's OK, and let's face it, there's all sorts going around at the moment.'
'But what about Lanark?'
Bannister loosened his tie before scratching at his stubble. 'We can check up on that later, but for now we have enough to be doing.'
Lasser didn't look happy as he warmed his hands over the vents.
The DCI glanced at him. 'I want to get to the bottom of why Lanark lied as much as you do, but we have a maniac out there and he isn't going to stop, so for now we concentrate on that and once it's sorted we can go and see Odette and…'
'Come on, when was the last time Odette didn't answer her phone
and then sent a text saying she feels crap, she's not like that?'
Bannister opened his mouth to snap a rebuke and then closed it again as he realised Lasser was right. Odette wasn't the type of woman, the type of officer to go to her bed, especially not with a triple murderer out there getting busy with his spade.
'I'll get someone to call around at the apartment just to double-check,' Bannister decided.
'I could go,' Lasser offered hopefully.
'No, we have enough to do…'
'Such as what?'
Bannister glared at him for a moment, his fingers still drumming on the wheel. 'We need to find this fucker and bring him down!'
Lasser could see the familiar glint of anger in Bannister's eyes as he fumed.
'Do you want me to find out who was at this party and check them out?' he asked.
The DCI nodded sharply. 'Good idea, get back in there. We need names and addresses, otherwise we'll be sitting around here doing fuck all while he searches for his next victim. While you're doing that, I'll get someone to check on Odette.'
Pushing open the door, Lasser climbed out, Bannister shivered as the warmth was sucked out, replaced with a freezing blast of cold air.
He watched as Lasser tramped back towards the house, his feet leaving tracks in the snow.
Seconds later, he was scrolling through his phone looking for someone to play Florence Nightingale.
57
'My God, that poor woman,' Suzanne said.
They were driving away from Marsh farm, Jackie in the passenger seat of the Range Rover.
After Bannister and Lasser had headed out, Jackie had told her all about Dorothy Marsh. Half an hour later, they had called at the farm to take an astonished Dorothy shopping at the local Tesco, the three of them had walked up and down the aisles filling a trolley with shopping, Dorothy looking agitated as they approached the tills. When Jackie had paid, tears had spilled from Dorothy's bewildered eyes, unused to any sort of kindness as she wiped at her wet cheeks with a crumpled piece of tissue.
Once they had manhandled the trolley through the snow and loaded the bags into the boot, Suzanne had driven across town to the derelict farm.
Dorothy had still been silently crying as Suzanne placed the tins in the cupboards, putting the perishable goods into the ancient fridge, whilst Jackie plugged the electric heater into the kitchen socket and turned it on full, before placing the DAB radio on the worktop.
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