They had stayed with the elderly woman, all sat around the table and drinking tea from the chipped mugs.
Jackie had noticed that the mouse droppings had vanished, no doubt swept up by Dorothy, the table top had been scrubbed, the floor mopped, the faint smell of pine disinfectant in the air.
They had left Dorothy sitting in the ramshackle conservatory, in the lumpy chair her husband used to sit in, a warm bowl of soup on the tray perched in her lap, listening to the new radio playing carols in the background and a smile on her face as she looked out at the spot where her animal of a husband had died.
'I couldn't believe it when we called yesterday and saw how she was living,' Jackie admitted.
They were heading back to the boat, Suzanne taking her time in the thick snow, the fields on either side looking barren in the pale winter sun.
'It makes me realise how fortunate I am, that's for sure,' Suzanne replied as the canal bridge came into view, the traffic lights turning from red to green as the Range Rover inched over and turned left onto the small car park at the side of the frozen canal.
'Do you fancy a coffee?' Jackie asked.
'Love one.'
Climbing out, Jackie opened the back door and Poppet jumped down, immediately putting her nose to the ground sniffing in the snow.
Five minutes later, they were sitting on the boat, hot drinks in hand.
'You have a beautiful home,' Suzanne said in appreciation.
'Thanks. I love living on the water.'
'Alan's often spoken about getting a canal boat, he fancies himself as Captain Hornblower I think.'
Jackie smiled at the image.
'I bet Lasser loves it on here as well?'
'He seems to,' Jackie admitted.
'It suits him,' Suzanne paused, 'in fact you two look great together.'
Jackie felt the blush grow in her cheeks. 'He's a great guy.'
Suzanne nodded in agreement, her face pensive, then suddenly she smiled. 'The first time I met Lasser I couldn't stand the man.'
Jackie's eyes widened in surprise. 'Really?'
Suzanne thought for a moment and then she started to talk, telling Jackie all about Lasser and the first time she had met him. Kelly had gone missing, and she had been at her wit's end, desperate to find her safe and well. Lasser had asked her all sorts of questions and Suzanne had been furious, believing he was wasting time instead of finding her daughter.
'I called him an inept fool,' she admitted with a sigh. 'But the truth is he found her, and to be honest if it wasn't for Lasser I would be dead.'
'''Dead''?' Jackie asked, sounding stunned, the shock growing more acute in her eyes.
Taking a deep breath, Suzanne continued to talk.
Jackie didn't move a muscle, transfixed as the woman she hardly knew unburdened her soul.
58
The man walked beneath the trees, cigarette smoke trailing over his right shoulder, the German shepherd lolloping through the thick snow, stopping occasionally to cock a leg or sniff a scent.
When his phone rang, he ignored it again, knowing it would be his wife. She had already tried ringing him twice, and for once he decided to make her wait. After half a dozen rings, the phone fell silent and he continued to trudge along the path.
He had fallen asleep on the double bed, waking with a start, and for a few seconds he had wondered where he was. For the past few months he hadn't been sharing a bed with his wife. According to her, he snored ''like an animal'' and she had asked him if he wouldn't mind spending a few nights in the spare room while she caught up on her sleep.
Of course, he had agreed, after all he did snore, his mother had told him years ago before she died that he sounded like a foghorn in the middle of the night. So, he had made up the single bed and slept there for a few nights before returning to the marital bed. For a while, things had been fine and then his bitch wife had told him again that she wasn't getting any sleep, so once again he had found himself back in the tiny room, trying to squash his large frame onto the narrow mattress. Only now was he starting to realise that it had nothing to do with any snoring. The truth was she simply didn't want to share a bed with him any longer, didn't love him, hated him in fact, and all that time she had been rutting with Ashley fucking Dean.
'Dirty, cheating whore!' the voice inside spat.
He snarled as he walked, the fury ramping up in his mind, the pain starting to squirm in his brain as he thought of the pair of them together, fucking and laughing at him, taking the piss and making plans.
Before heading out of the house, he had watched the local news, the pain in his head slowly diminishing, the smile creeping onto his face as the camera showed the Dean house, resplendent with a miasma of flashing lights decorating the large property.
The reporter had spoken of the horror of what had been found at the house, police cars had been parked on the snowy drive along with the sleek Jaguar, two officers – looking frozen solid – stood guard at the front door of the property.
Coming to a halt, he flicked the spent cigarette to the floor before pulling up the collar of his jacket.
Setting off again, the ground started to climb, the dog wandered ahead, its tail now decorated with baubles of snow, somewhere close by he heard a blackbird singing loudly in the still air.
Five minutes later, the trees ended and the view below unfolded. To his right, the sandstone cliffs of the old quarry rose towards the washed-out sky, most of the ledges carved in the rock were piled high with snow. He could see the skeletal branches of small trees that had somehow managed to take root in their precarious positions, waiting patiently for winter to end and spring to begin before unfurling their tender leaves.
His eyes moved left, the hill rolling down to the bank of the huge reservoir, the edges frozen over with ice that gradually faded to the deep water. Swans floated by in the distance, accompanied by a flotilla of ducks, their squawks travelling through the freezing air. He thought of all the times he had walked up here, it had always been a favourite place, his father would often bring him as a child and they would stand and look out at the view in all sorts of weather. When he had first met the woman who would later become his wife they would picnic up here, spread a blanket on the ground and talk the day away. Once Sam had been born the ritual had continued, although gradually his wife had started to make excuses to avoid the long trek to the summit of the hill. So, he would bring his son alone whilst she went shopping in town or gossiped with her sister in her fancy four-bed monstrosity.
'Or fucking the man in the fancy car!' the inner voice tormented him with the poisoned words.
Lifting out his phone, he turned slightly to get a better signal and smiled when he saw the voicemail message appear. Lighting another cigarette, he held the phone to his ear as he listened to what the bitch had to say.
'Have you seen the news?' her voice sounded laden with fear. 'That madman who's been killing people has left the head of the last victim at the Dean's house!'
The terror in the recorded message continued to climb, making the smile on his face spread.
'The police are over there now, I mean, God, they live out in the middle of nowhere just like we do, so do not even ask me to come back, the answer is no. In fact, none of this is working, and there's no easy way to say this but I want a divorce. I mean it, I don't love you and…'
The message ended as she ran out of time.
Dropping the phone to the snow, the man closed his eyes, his teeth bared in fury. She was fucking unbelievable, using the fact that the head had been found in the freezer to hammer another nail in his coffin. Closing his hand into a fist he felt the heat of the cigarette searing into his palm, his fist closed tighter, extinguishing the ember. Ignoring the pain, his mind emptied until only one thing remained, an image of his hated wife and her bastard lover dead in the back of the van, a mass of jumbled limbs strewn together as the blood ran across the metal floor to drip down onto the frozen snow, staining it red.
Bending, he picked up the phone and thrust it into his pocket, suddenly the thought of living any sort of life with Sam evaporated. Eventually, the police would start to form the links, links that would bring them to his doorstep and then they would search the van and find the bloodstains. He had no alibi for the times the three men had been killed, and somehow, he knew that his wife would see this as an opportunity to put an end to him. The realisation that at last she would get what she wanted ripped through his mind. If he was locked up then the house would be sold, she would bank every last penny from the sale, allowing her to move on with her life with the cunt Dean.
Suddenly, he felt an urgency quicken his heart, time was running out, an image of his son flitted through his mind and he banished it without a second thought.
All that mattered was killing his wife and the man she had cheated on him with. Those two deserved to die… and die badly.
Turning, he started to walk back along the path, his body now coated with sweat. After a few seconds, he broke into a run, his mind howling with molten fury, his heart racing, the dog trotting along by his side, faithful to the last.
59
Bannister adjusted the wheel as the Audi lurched in and out of the tractor ruts in the snow.
'Jesus Christ, this bastard snow is getting on my nerves now,' he moaned.
'You still feeling bitter after losing the downhill sledge race?' Lasser asked.
Bannister whipped his head around, his eyes narrowing. 'I still say you are a cheating sod!' he bawled before turning his attention back to the treacherous lane. 'So, what do we know about the people on the list?'
Lasser studied the sheet of A4 paper in his hand. 'There were twelve people who attended the Dean's party at the Bistro…'
'I know that,' Bannister interrupted.
'Of the twelve, four turned up with their partners and four came alone.'
The track came to an end, joining the B-road, and Bannister gingerly turned right. 'I still don't see the point in this.'
Lasser sighed as he continued to study the paper, doing his best to block out the DCI's negativity. 'Look, I've been in touch with Rog and he's looking into the Deans to see if he can up with something.'
'Like what?'
'I have no idea but if this is personal then perhaps something will show up.'
Bannister didn't look impressed with the idea, but before he could start to snipe Lasser filled the gap.
'Did you sort someone out to check on Odette?'
Crawling along in second gear, Bannister's face was starting to heat up with aggravation. 'Is that your subtle way of telling me to change the fucking record?'
'Got it in one.'
'Thought so, and yes I've spoken with Spenner, he's off shift later and he passes Odette's place on the way home, so he said he'll call in and get back to me.'
'Good,' Lasser replied as the car slid left and right.
'Now, this list you have, how do you want to do it?'
'When I spoke to Carmen Dean she said of the four who came alone one of them is having marital problems, so I think it's best we start there.'
'Why?' Bannister demanded.
'Why not?' Lasser fired back.
Bannister fumed as he weaved his way along the road, trying to think of something they could be doing that would be more productive. Yet the truth was they had bugger all to go on apart from the white transit van that Dorothy Marsh had claimed to see driving away from the farm. Shannon had said a spade had been used to decapitate the victims, but then again that didn't really help them much, as every bugger in Wigan would have had a spade in their sheds or the back of their car or van – especially in weather like this.
'There's sod all to link the three dead men,' Bannister moaned, the scowl deepening even further. 'How the hell are we meant to catch the bastard when he's up for killing any poor bugger he sees?'
'Yeah, but like you said earlier, there must be a link between whoever is doing this and the Deans.'
'Yes, but what is it?'
'That's what we're trying to find out.' Lasser ground out between clenched teeth, trying to cling on to the last vestige of his self-control.
'And you think questioning someone about their marital problems will miraculously provide the key, is that it?' Bannister's voice oozed scorn.
'OK, listen, why don't you drop me off at the bottom of Red Rock and I'll walk up to the boat?'
Bannister lifted his foot from the gas and the car drifted to a halt. 'What are you talking about?'
Lasser turned in his seat and fixed the DCI with a hard stare. 'Well, according to you, going to see this…,' he glanced at the sheet of paper in his hand. 'Sarah Shipley is a complete waste of time, if that's the case then drop me off and I'll go and chill on the boat with Jackie.'
'Chill on the fucking boat!' Bannister roared in astonishment.
'Why not, I mean, what's the point in doing anything? The nutter will kill again, but who knows, somewhere down the line we might get lucky and he may slip up.'
'Are you taking the piss, Lasser, because I will…?'
'Will what?'
Bannister's mouth opened and closed, his eyes widening as if he were suddenly fighting for breath.
'Someone targeted the Deans and they would only do that if they hated either Ashley or Carmen, and…'
'Or hated them both,' Bannister barged in, his face glowing red.
Lasser nodded. 'So, either they're completely in the dark over this or they are not being straight with us.'
'I'd be bloody straight if some sick fuck left a severed head in my freezer.'
'Agreed, but the killer obviously thinks they deserve to suffer.'
Bannister eased back down on the accelerator, the wheels spun for a few seconds then the car started to move again. 'What did you make of the Deans?'
'Like you, I think they're clueless over this.'
'I get that, but what about their marriage?' the DCI asked.
'When we went into the kitchen, he was standing by her side with his hand on her shoulder, and when he sat they were holding hands like Hansel and Gretel in the woods.'
'Yes, but that could just have been the shock of finding Shaw's head in the deep freeze.'
Lasser thought about what his boss was saying, he had been in the job long enough not to take things at face value. Sometimes, the most dysfunctional of families could have the strongest loving bond and he had come across people who seemingly had everything and yet it was all a pack of lies. Suzanne's face rose in his mind and he felt the blush of heat in his face. When Kelly had gone missing, Suzanne had been married to a man named Jonathon, they had the big house, the flash cars on the drive and yet the marriage had been one of mistrust and lies, culminating in Kelly doing a runner from the seemingly warm and welcoming home.
'What's the matter with your mush?' Bannister asked, flicking a sideways glance at Lasser.
Clearing his throat, Lasser glanced through the side window to hide his face.
'So, come on, what do you think, are the Deans Mr and Mrs Perfect or could there be cracks?' Bannister asked as he risked another gear.
'Too early to say,' Lasser replied lamely.
'My God, that must be the first time you've not had some half-baked conspiracy theory ready to spout at me.'
'Turn left at the junction,' Lasser said.
With a scowl Bannister did just that.
60
Lanark sat at the small kitchen table, a bottle of beer in his hand. Taking a gulp, he rose and wandered over to the window, looking out over the rapidly darkening town with narrowed eyes, his brow furrowed in aggravation.
The ring road was gridlocked, the roadside lights looking hazy as the dying sun tried to punch a hole through the clouds as it slid towards the horizon.
Things were starting to unravel, the careful plans he had made were not bearing fruit in the way he had hoped. Closing his eyes for a moment, he tried to think how best to proceed. The truth was his options were limited, though h
e still had one or two aces to play, the question was when should he up the stakes?
Opening his eyes, he sighed as the snow started to fall again, big fat flakes that fell in a lazy side to side motion before landing far below, adding to the blanket of white.
Turning, he looked around the room, when his eyes fell on the figure slumped in the corner he smiled.
Odette lay on her side, hogtied, the rope attaching her to the radiator on the wall; her fair hair covered the bruises and the blood, gaffer tape stretched over her split lips.
'Bitch,' he hissed.
Grabbing his thick winter coat from the sofa, he headed for the door, collecting Odette's car keys as he left.
61
Sarah Shipley lived in a new-build, semi-detached on the outskirts of town, the central heating on full, Lasser and Bannister were sitting at the kitchen table as she clicked the kettle on and made the drinks.
On arrival, the woman had looked at them both with suspicion until Bannister, his tie askew, stubble on his cheeks, pulled out his identification.
Drinks made, she handed them over before leaning against the sink. 'I still can't believe what's happened, I mean, what sort of animal would do something like that?'
'You were at the party last night?' Bannister asked, ignoring the question.
Sarah was in her mid-thirties, tall with short brown hair that followed the contours of her neck, the fingers of each hand sported a ring, some plain bands, some with stones.
'Yeah, we had a great evening and…'
'What time did you leave?' Lasser interrupted and saw the quick look of annoyance pass over her angular face.
'We all left at the same time, around quarter past one.'
'And how did you get home?'
'Ashley and Carmen dropped me off, neither of them had been drinking. I offered to grab a taxi, but they said it was no problem as they had to pass the end of the street on their way home.'
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