'You OK?' Bannister asked.
Before he could answer, the DCI's phone started to ring. 'Christ, what now,' he said, pulling to the side of the road and lifting the phone from his pocket.
Lasser could hear Bannister talking though his words were nothing but a jumble that failed to register in his suddenly-panicked mind.
All he could think about was Jackie being chased along the canal and what could have happened if his sister hadn't turned up. Wiping his moist palms on his jacket, he chewed his lips as all the old familiar fears rose through his mind.
In the past, everyone he cared for had at one time or another been in danger, and normally it was down to the job he did, it seemed to draw people into its dangerous embrace. In fact, after Medea had left he had made himself a promise not to get involved with anyone again for fear of losing them.
Now, Jackie had been targeted, only this time he had no idea who or why they would want to get at her. The fact that he was clueless simply made the fear more acute.
Taking a long draw on the cigarette, he pictured the woman he loved, her free spirit, her caring ways, then he thought of the fear she must have felt trying to escape the man who was chasing her, and the anger came roaring to the surface.
'Fucking bastard!' he raged.
When Bannister thumped his arm, he turned to find the DCI glaring at him.
'Yes, I'm sorry about that, Mr Dean, my sergeant here suddenly seems to have developed Tourette's. That will be fine, just make sure we can contact you if need be.'
Seconds later, the DCI dropped the phone into the cup holder, checked his mirrors and pulled back onto the road. 'That was the Deans, they've got a place in the Lakes, they don't fancy staying at the house until this bastard is caught.'
Lasser grunted an acknowledgement.
Glancing at him, Bannister sighed. 'It could have been a jogger,' he said.
Lasser shook his head. 'I don't buy that, I mean, who the fuck goes jogging in eight inches of snow.'
'You'd be surprised, for some people it's an addiction, and they have to run no matter what the weather.'
'OK, but why would they suddenly stop, turn and walk away when Tasha showed up?' Lasser asked, his dark eyes narrowed.
Bannister tried to think of a rational explanation and then gave up, in situations like this it was always best to work on the worst-case scenario. 'Any idea who it could be?'
Lasser shook his head as the DCI reached the junction and turned right onto the A-road, for once the snow ploughs had been out and Bannister went through the gears, hitting the warp speed of thirty miles per hour in seconds.
'I know this is difficult but…'
'I need to forget about it for now and concentrate on the job?' Lasser finished the inevitable sentence.
'Hard I know, but we need to find this Mark Shipley and question the bugger.'
With a mammoth effort, Lasser managed to clear his mind of Jackie on the towpath, taking a final pull on the cigarette, he slid the window down and tossed the stump through the gap.
'You're thinking Shipley could have had reason to hate the Deans?' he asked.
Bannister slowed down for the traffic lights. 'You heard what his wife said, he was a control freak, he even turned up at her place of work. She said the whole office could see what was happening. Perhaps Shipley blames the Deans in some way for the breakdown of his marriage.'
'He wanted her at home and she refused, so he blames them for providing her with a job and a means of independence?'
Bannister pursed his lips and nodded. 'Control freaks hate it when they start to lose their grip, they always look for someone to blame when their partner starts to break free.'
Lasser checked his watch before peering out of the side window as Bannister drove across the junction. 'I get that Shipley sounds like a slimeball, but is he the killer?'
'Well, there's only one way to find out, and let's face it it's not as if we have a long list of suspects to work through.' Bannister replied glumly as they drove out of town. 'Besides his job description fits,' he finished with a hint of hope in his voice.
Lasser said nothing but kept his gaze locked on the side window.
Gradually, the houses started to thin out, occasionally Lasser spotted a snowman in a garden, but the pavements were relatively free of pedestrians apart from the occasional intrepid dog walker braving the elements. No doubt most people were sitting in front of warm fires, already worn out from the mad run up to Christmas, buying presents, sending cards to people they barely knew, baking mince pies, with still a list of things to do and wishing it was all over for another year.
Lasser sighed heavily.
'What's with the sigh?' Bannister asked.
Lasser turned to face him. 'I'm getting sick of all this.'
'Come on, Lasser, we can sort it, we…'
'But we never sort anything, not really, we both know even if we catch the killer another one will pop up like a fucking weed to take his place.'
'And good people will still die,' Bannister finished with a sigh of his own.
'Like Susan.'
The DCI found himself nodding as the sense of despair suddenly filled the car. 'I suppose you were talking about that when I caught you manhandling my wife in the conservatory.'
'You make us sound like Cluedo characters,' Lasser said, managing to drag up a weary smile.
'Do you ever dream about the bad stuff?'
'I used to dream about it all the time.'
Bannister glanced sideways in surprise. 'But you don't now?'
Lasser thought for a moment before answering. 'Not since I met Jackie.'
At the roundabout, Bannister went straight over and continued along the road, his hands making slight adjustments to the wheel. 'What do you think I should do?' he eventually asked.
'You have two options, either take time off to sort it or do it yourself.'
'How the hell can I take time off with this maniac running around with his spade of death,' Bannister grumbled.
'You can't, but like you said, we will catch the killer and then you'll have to make a decision.'
'I told Sue all I needed was a holiday…'
'She's a bright woman and we both know that's bollocks.'
'OK, smart arse, you didn't take a holiday or go to a shrink, so what makes you different to me?'
'The truth is, you have more pressure on your shoulders than I do.'
'God, you talk some shite at times,' Bannister grumbled as the road in front started to thicken up with snow again.
'I'm being serious, you run the team, you're the boss, so you feel responsible for us all.'
Bannister kept his mouth shut, his hands tightening slightly on the wheel.
'Then you had Suzanne's illness to contend with and I know you come across as a prize bastard at times, but you love the bones of her and the girls.'
Bannister felt the familiar flare of anger rise up from the pit of his stomach and then the flames were doused, and he dragged a hand quickly across his face. 'I'm terrified the illness will come back again,' he admitted.
'I would be the same.'
Bannister reduced his speed, as the road narrowed it became obvious that the snow plough must have turned off at some point, leaving the rest of the road packed white.
'But I can't live my life thinking the worst.'
'With the things we see on a daily basis it's natural to be a pessimist,' Lasser offered.
'I am not a sodding pessimist, you cheeky bugger.'
'Just make sure you don't run out of time.'
'I could say the same to you.'
'True, but you're older than me.'
'Not by bloody much!' Bannister fired back.
'Turn right,' Lasser said.
Bannister scowled before easing to what he hoped was the middle of the road, feathering the brakes before turning down the long street.
'Look at the state of all this snow, the bastard council are useless,' Bannister moaned as he eased his way betw
een a line of cars parked left and right, missing the wing mirrors by inches.
Lasser kept his eyes on the house numbers as they crawled along. 'It should be coming up on the left.'
Bannister looked for a parking space but found none, so he stopped in the middle of the street. 'Go and knock on the door, I'll have to pull up further along and backtrack.'
Lasser opened the door and climbed out, walking between two parked cars while Bannister drove away looking for a space to park the Audi.
Checking the numbers, he stopped and knocked on the door of number thirty.
As he waited, more flakes started to fall from the dishwater sky, glancing at the window he saw the blinds were drawn. He knocked again, louder this time, making a fist of his hand, feeling the door in the frame shudder slightly.
When the door of the house next door opened, Lasser stepped back.
'What's all the racket?' the man asked, his face blotchy, his nose bulbous.
'I'm looking for Mark Shipley,' Lasser explained.
'Well, his car's there but I haven't seen him for, ohh, must be four days.
Lasser stepped towards the man who continued to look at him with rheumy eyes, soft flakes of snow settled in his Brillo pad comb-over, his cheeks covered with tiny, red, thread veins.
Pulling out his warrant card, Lasser held it out and the man gave it a cursory glance.
'Can I have your name please?' Lasser asked.
'Brian Bradbury, what do you want with Mark?'
'We want a word.'
'Aye, well, like I said, I haven't seen him for days.'
'Lived here long, has he?'
Bradbury glanced to his left, watching Bannister slither along the pavement towards them.
'Mr Bradbury?' Lasser asked.
'Oh, right, sorry, he's lived here about eight months.'
'Has he given you any trouble?'
'Nah, he's a quiet lad, never hear a peep out of him.'
Bannister made it to Lasser's side, his eyes glancing at the front of Shipley's house.
'And you're sure it's been four days since you saw him?' Lasser asked again, more for Bannister's benefit.
He heard the DCI sigh in disappointment.
'Yeah, I was coming back from the corner shop and saw him pull up and walk into the house.'
'Does Mr Shipley own a van?' Bannister asked.
'Not that I know of, that's his Astra parked at the front.'
Both Lasser and Bannister gave the car a cursory glance.
'But he's a landscape gardener, right?' Lasser asked.
'No idea what he does, but I've never seen him in a van, I suppose he could have a yard somewhere, after all there's no way you would ever get a big van down this street let alone find a parking space.'
Bannister pulled a face before crouching down and lifting the letterbox, as soon as the stench hit him he let the flap snap into place and heaved out a choking cough, right hand raised to his mouth and nose.
'Problem?' Lasser asked.
Bannister glanced at him, his eyes streaming, the colour bleeding from his face almost matching the snow.
'Lasser, kick the door down, right now.'
Lasser didn't bother asking why, instead he stepped to the right and lashed out, the heel of his boot slammed into the lock and the door bounced open, suddenly he was reeling away as the horrific stench blasted out into the crisp, clean air.
'Jesus Christ, what a bloody stink!' Bradbury gasped before stepping back into his house but still making sure he could see what was happening.
Bannister wafted a hand in front of his face to shift the foul odour. 'Mr Bradbury, you stay right there,' he said before giving Lasser the nod.
Stepping into the short hallway, they moved forwards over a threadbare carpet to the living room on the right.
Bannister coughed again, resisting the urge to draw air in through his nose as he moved into the room.
The man they assumed to be Mark Shipley sat slumped on the sofa, his legs stretched out in front of him, the gas fire on full, pumping out waves of heat, adding to the stench of death.
He was dressed in nothing but a pair of baggy boxer shorts, the blood from the long gashes that ran from bicep to wrist on each arm had spurted out, hitting the facing wall in a spray of red. His legs and stomach were coated with blood, his face grey, the flesh seemed to have slipped from the skull beneath, leaving his face looking twisted in a grimace of pain.
'For Christ's sake, turn that fire off,' Bannister mumbled.
Moving past him, Lasser did as he asked before turning to look down at the body, the red razor blade poked out between the fingers of his right hand.
Pulling out his phone, the DCI tapped at the screen, calling the cavalry.
Lasser sighed as he realised that Mark Shipley might have been a control freak, but there was no way he could be their killer.
65
Odette tried to move but the pain in her muscles wouldn't allow it, her sweat-drenched body seemed to shriek with even the slightest movement. Her left side was the worst from where she had been forced to lie for countless hours. When she felt the fear rise through her mind she tried to quell it, knowing that if she gave way to the terror then she would struggle to breathe. The gaffer tape stretched over her mouth would see to that. Nostrils flared, she drew air in through her nose, aware only of the sound of blood thundering through her head and the feel of her heart pounding in her chest. Cracking open her eyes, she blinked several times but the fall of hair covering her face blinded her to anything that could help make sense of all this.
When she felt the tears slide down the side of her face she screwed them shut again. She thought of the people she felt closest to, and immediately Lasser's face came into her fear-filled mind. Then Bannister appeared, ranting and raving at some injustice, his face red with rage.
Other images flashed through her mind, Susan Coyle, Spenner, Suzanne and the girls, Belle smiling as she told Odette she was thinking of trying to join the police force.
Suddenly, the weight of the images vanished, and the feeling of fear was replaced by one of shame, shame at her own stupidity.
Then Craig's face gate-crashed its way into her brain, smiling as his fist had slammed into her face and she'd reeled back into the wall. The rest was a mad jumble of thoughts as he tied her up against the radiator and knelt by her side, gaffer tape in hand.
'All you had to do was fucking tell me what you knew and none of this would have been necessary.'
'I've told you, I don't know what you're talking about, I…'
He had slapped the tape over her mouth, her eyes wide with fear as he leaned down towards her.
'Then I'll have to see what Lasser has to say on the subject, and just so you know, once I've done questioning the cunt I'll be bringing his head back to you, see if that will loosen your tongue a bit.'
Behind the tape, Odette had screamed, then Craig had hit her again and the darkness had come to claim her.
Now, she lay on the hardwood floor, the despair eating away at the heart of her as she thought of Craig making good on his promise. She pictured him returning here, and the thud as he dropped Lasser's severed head before her like a gruesome offering to a dark goddess. His eyes wide open and staring at her in bewilderment.
Tugging at the ropes that cut into her flesh, Odette ignored the pain as the terror escalated, dragging her kicking and screaming towards total madness.
66
Lasser drove away from Bannister's house in the Range Rover, giving a beep on the horn as Suzanne waved from the front door.
On arriving back at the house, as Bannister quickly explained to her about the man chasing Jackie down the towpath, Lasser had headed towards his snow-covered Audi parked on the drive. Walking over, Suzanne had thrust the key fob to the car in his hand.
'Take the Rover, Lasser, it's a lot easier in this snow.'
'Are you sure?'
'Positive, I know you want to get over to Tasha's and the last thing you ne
ed is to get bogged down.'
Kissing her cheek, he had climbed into the car and started the engine before pulling away from the house.
The large four-wheel drive ploughed through the snow, the grip sure and firm as he sped around the country lanes before reaching the main A-road. The headlights lanced out into the darkness, illuminating the snow-coated roads as the engine thrummed with power.
By the time help had arrived at Shipley's house the light had faded, and the street was blocked off by police cars and Shannon's battered Land Rover.
Twenty minutes later, the doctor had given them the lowdown on the dead man while a couple of SOCO officers painstakingly moved around the body looking for clues.
Shannon had stroked his beard. 'Suicide, the man's been dead for at least four days, perhaps a little longer.'
'So, he can't be the nutter with the spade?' the DCI had asked.
Shannon had shaken his head. 'Not a chance.'
Half an hour later, the body had been removed, and Bannister had driven away from the house with Lasser in the passenger seat.
Now, Lasser sat hunched over the wheel of the large car, his brow creased in concentration as he drove through the town, trying to figure out if there was something they had missed, something obvious. But the truth was he was finding it hard to think past the image of Jackie being chased through the thick snow, the bastard closing in behind her, intent on bringing her down and…
With a snarl he stamped his foot down as he came across a stretch of the road that had been cleared by the ploughs.
Ten minutes later, he pulled up outside the house, he could see the curtains drawn over the windows, Tasha's car parked on the drive already taking on a covering of snow.
Climbing out, he beeped on the alarm before heading up the drive and ringing the doorbell. When he saw his sister's face appear in a gap in the curtain he raised a hand.
Seconds later, the door opened, and he stepped forwards giving Tasha a big hug. 'You OK, Sis?'
'I'm fine.'
Lasser closed the door and followed her down the hallway and into the lounge.
Jackie was standing in front of the fire, her dark hair tied back from her face by a thick black band.
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