Desolate Hearts

by Robin Roughley

  'How is she?' he asked, flicking a glance in the rear-view mirror.

  Shaun looked at him with wide, panicked eyes. 'I've still got a pulse but it's faint.'

  Lasser grunted, acutely aware that moving the woman could very well end her life, though he also knew that leaving her in the car waiting for an ambulance to arrive would have meant certain death. The narrow lane unfolded before him, the engine clicking smoothly through the gears as the car tore along the lane, the tyres ripping at the snow.

  Reaching the junction, he snatched at the wheel, the car fishtailed and then they were off again, riding the frozen troughs left by the milk wagon.

  Lasser automatically pulled out his cigarettes but grimaced as he realised that lighting up with Carmen Dean fighting for her life on the back seat would not be such a good idea.

  It took eight minutes to reach the main road, eight tortuous minutes of slipping and sliding, a couple of time the Range Rover scraped along the branches of the trees that grew close to the road. Lasser heaved a sigh of relief as he saw the snow ploughs had been busy and at last he could hit the gas. The car shot forwards, the engine roaring, forcing him back into his seat as they hurtled along the wide, deserted road.

  'Any change?' he asked, dreading the reply.

  'No, boss, she's still with us,' Rourke answered, his voice no more than a murmur of tension.

  Lasser felt the flutter of relief as he sped down the road, his hands gripping the wheel, eyes narrowed, sweat standing out on his brow, every second that passed ate away at his brittle emotions. When he saw the slow-moving taxi in front he hit the spotlights, the twin spears of light lanced out and the taxi moved left as the Range Rover hurtled past.

  Then he saw the lights of the hospital on the right and left it to the last second before hitting the brakes, despite the cold conditions smoke poured from the tortured tyres as he sped through the opening, driving straight for the entrance to the hospital, his hand hitting the horn as he approached.

  As he pulled up, he recognised the security guard who appeared in the doorway, fingers hooked over his belt like an ageing gunslinger, his gut hanging over the top of his trousers.

  Thrusting the door open, Lasser bellowed over the roof of the car. 'Norman, we need help here, right now!'

  Norman Rasp's eyes widened as he recognised Lasser.

  'Now!' Lasser hollered.

  Rasp turned and vanished as Rourke opened the door and scrambled out, Lasser looked into the rear of the car, Carmen Dean lay on her side, her face bleeding onto the cream leather upholstery.

  Then the doors hissed open, and two porters dashed out wheeling a trolley between them, closely followed by a doctor and nurse.

  'What's happened?' the nurse asked as the doctor leaned into the rear of the car.

  'I'm not sure but I think she could have been shot,' Lasser explained hurriedly.

  The doctor reappeared. 'Get her out,' he snapped.

  The porters leapt into action, seconds later the injured woman was on the trolley and they vanished through the doors leaving the security guard blowing out through inflated cheeks. 'Christ, Lasser, she looked in a bad way.'

  Dragging the cigarettes from his pocket, Lasser pulled one free. 'Yeah, I know,' he said as he sparked the lighter.

  'Er, sorry, but this is a no-smoking site now.' Rasp said apologetically.

  'Fuck that,' he replied as he lit the cigarette, blowing the smoke out on a shivering sigh.

  Shaun stood by his side staring at the blood on his hands.

  'Go and get that washed off and bring a shit load of wet paper towels,' Lasser said, grimacing at his own bloodstained fingers.

  Shaun blinked at him and cleared his throat before nodding. 'Will do, boss,' he replied before heading, zombie-like, through the sliding doors of the hospital.

  Rasp walked over to Lasser breathing in the smoke as Lasser blew it out.

  'Christ, that smells good.'

  'Are you working over Christmas?' Lasser asked.

  Rasp nodded, his face taking on a sorrowful frown. 'Drew the short straw again.'

  Studying the glowing end of the cigarette Lasser sighed. 'Story of our lives, Norm.'

  'Ho, ho, ho,' the security guard replied without any hint of humour.

  77

  Arriving back at Tasha's house, Lasser had let himself in quietly before heading upstairs to take a shower, his hands planted on the tiles as the water pummelled his body, removing the taint of blood from his fingers. Now, he lay in bed, Jackie by his side, her black hair spread over the pillow, one leg poking out from beneath the duvet.

  She stirred, and then he sighed as her arm went across his chest, her leg sliding over his waist as she moved her warm body close to him. Closing his eyes, he relaxed as she settled, he could smell her scent, feel her heat.

  Then an image of Carmen Dean burst into his brain, her face bloodied, her body slumped forwards, held in place by the seat belt. After he had got her to the hospital, Bannister had rung from the scene of the crime demanding to know why he had left the scene unattended.

  By the time he had explained about Carmen still being alive, Bannister had stopped the burgeoning rant.

  'How is she?' the DCI had asked hopefully.

  'Not a clue, they rushed her into theatre, but it didn't look good.'

  'Jesus Christ, what the fuck happened?'

  'No idea, but there was no sign of the husband.'

  'Perhaps he went to get help or…'

  'I think she'd been shot,' Lasser interrupted and waited for the usual explosion.

  'Fucking shot!?'

  'Look, the car had nudged into the bushes, they won't have been travelling at speed, not in these conditions. She was still wearing her seat belt, no damage to the windscreen, but the side window was gone. Glass everywhere inside the vehicle, and the damage to her face was all on the left-hand side.'

  'And you think some bastard shot her?' Bannister repeated, his voice low and full of brutal frustration.

  'Yeah, her face was peppered with holes and…'

  'Shotgun?' the DCI snarled.

  'I'm no expert, but yeah, I think a shotgun was used.'

  'By the twat who left the head in the freezer?' Bannister sounded beaten, as if he blamed himself for what had happened.

  'More than likely.' Lasser had taken a deep breath before uttering the words. 'The seatbelt on the driver's side had been cut high up at shoulder level.'

  'What do you mean cut?'

  'It looked as if someone had slashed at the belt with a knife,' he explained fully aware that he was adding another vicious spike to Bannister's self-inflicted crown of thorns.

  'Jesus Christ, the bastard shot the wife and snatched the husband,' Bannister sounded distraught.

  'It looks that way.'

  The silence had stretched out and then Bannister had cleared his throat. 'Right, I'm having the vehicle moved back to the station then SOCO can make a start, so I'll meet you there.'

  'No problem.'

  Bannister had ended the call and Lasser had climbed into the Range Rover, waiting for Rourke to come back from washing the blood from his hands.

  Ten minutes later, they were heading back to the station.

  'What about my car?' Shaun had asked.

  Lasser had another cigarette on the go. 'Forget about it for now, we can sort it later.'

  Shaun had closed his eyes, resting back against the headrest.

  Lasser felt Jackie sigh in her sleep, as he pondered what the hell had happened to Carmen Dean.

  Arriving back at the station, he had seen Carole standing at her office window beckoning to him, he had raised a hand in acknowledgment before walking into the station with Shaun at his side.

  Half a minute later, they'd entered her office, Carole was still by the window, her face etched with fatigue, the small fake Christmas tree in the corner flashed silver before changing to blue.

  Turning, she'd looked at them both before telling them to sit down. 'Do we have any ide
a what happened out there tonight?' she'd asked.

  Lasser had started to talk, Shaun by his side rubbing his hands together like Macbeth trying to remove the invisible stains.

  'So, you think this animal – who has already killed three times – now has Ashley Dean?'

  Lasser had thought before answering. 'It's the only thing that makes sense.'

  'Why wasn't someone posted at their house?' she had asked, her normally calm eyes hardening.

  'Come on, Carole, who the hell have we got to stand guard? The Deans rang earlier asking if they could go to a place they have in the Lakes, I think they were heading out when…'

  'Someone should have been keeping an eye on them.'

  Lasser felt the first stirring of anger plucking at his frazzled senses. 'We're short-staffed at the best of times, half the force is off with the bloody flu and those that are left are trying to catch this maniac.'

  'That's not the point,' she'd fired back. 'I have no problem with the Deans getting away from here, but they should have been escorted, not left to go it alone.'

  'I…'

  'Alan knows that, he should have covered all bases, he should have made sure that someone was there until they were safely away.'

  Folding his arms, Lasser had felt the anger go up another notch. 'OK, who would you have put there?'

  Carole had sighed. 'Calm down, Sergeant, no matter how you look at it, the Deans should have been protected.'

  'Yeah, and we should have more officers out there on the street, but you don't always get what you want in life.'

  Shaun had looked from one to the other as he continued to rub his hands together in agitation.

  'Where is DCI Bannister now?' she'd asked.

  'A few seconds ago, it was ''Alan'' now it's DCI Bannister,' Lasser had said, his face twisting in disapproval.

  'I'll let that remark go, Sergeant,' she'd replied, through thinned lips. 'It's late and it's been a hard night…'

  'A hard bloody night! We have a killer out there who's taking the piss and the team are either fucked through lack of sleep or stuck out there somewhere trying to get answers and you seem to think we have a spare man to stand guard over a couple who were buggering off to the Lakes.'

  'Yes, but they didn't, did they!?' Carole had suddenly lunged forwards, her face animated with anger. 'Carmen Dean was wounded, perhaps fatally, and her husband has been spirited away, and we could… should… have stopped that happening.'

  'Or we could be scraping up a dead colleague from the snow. I mean, this guy has no qualms about killing, and say Shaun here had been posted at the front of the house or following them in the car. What do you think the bastard would have done?'

  'I…'

  'He would have shot Carmen Dean, and then while Shaun was leaping out of the car armed with his bloody torch, the bastard would have blown his head clean off his shoulders!' Lasser's voice had boomed around the room.

  Carole had planted her hands on the desk, her chest rising and falling rapidly in anger.

  Shaun had waited with bated breath, Lasser had remained in the chair, arms folded, fists clenched.

  Then she had sat back down in her chair, back straight, her hands still splayed on the desk. 'Like I said, it's late and you two look worn out, so head home and get some rest.'

  'What about Bannister?' Lasser had asked.

  Carole had smiled wearily. 'You're right of course, we had no one to spare, and even if we had then you're right again and we could be sat here mourning the loss of a fellow officer.'

  When he felt Jackie kiss his shoulder, he jerked as if the touch of her lips had sent a bolt of electricity through his body.

  'You're cold,' she whispered.

  Lasser turned his head on the pillow, her brown eyes watching him closely.

  Rolling onto his side, he kissed her, sliding his hand through her hair, desperate to lose himself in the moment.

  When he felt her nails on his back he groaned and surrendered completely, any thought of death and mayhem vanished as he took her in his arms, pulling her ever closer, drinking in her scent and taste as the need rose inside washing his soul clean, albeit it momentarily.

  78

  Ashley lay hunched in the back of the van, his body shaking with fear, his hands strapped behind his back, knees drawn up, tears leaking from his eyes.

  If he kept his eyes open then all he could see were the dirty metal walls surrounding him, the truth of his situation drilling into his heart. Yet when he closed them, he pictured Carmen as the side window exploded inwards, the blood spraying as she slumped forwards.

  His mind seemed to delight in showing him the damage as he was dragged away from the stranded Jaguar. Carmen seen through the snow-speckled windscreen, blood pouring down, covering her lovely face that was torn to shreds, her eyes that looked on him with love now closed forever, lips that kissed him with passion now oozed blood. His wife – his beautiful wife – dead, murdered by the bastard that now had him.

  His body continued to spasm, his mind overwhelmed with the horror of what had happened, and now he was here locked away waiting to follow the same fate.

  'Oh, Jesus, help me,' he prayed through chattering teeth.

  When the rear doors were flung open, he gasped and winced against the sharp winter light that suddenly flooded the rear of the van.

  He felt the suspension dip slightly as the man climbed in, yet still he couldn't open his eyes, the fear of what he might see blinding him and filling him to the core with terror.

  'You've been fucking my wife, and later on today I'm going to fuck you,' the voice said.

  The words sank down into his soul, causing ripples that spread out like a cancer eating away at his senses.

  'I'm going to give you plenty of time to think about the error of your ways, Mr Ashley scumbag Dean.'

  At last, Ashley opened his eyes, when he saw the face looming towards him he tried to scuttle back but nothing seemed to work, fear had welded him to the metal floor. 'YOU!' he gasped.

  The man's face broke into a ghastly grin, his eyes swimming with madness, spittle, white and crusty, coated the corners of his twisted mouth.

  'Once I get my slut wife here then we can start, and you can watch one another bleed before you die.'

  He clicked his fingers and the huge German shepherd jumped into the back of the van.

  Ashley could smell its pelt, damp and musty, clotted with snow, teeth bared as it glared at him with blazing amber-coloured eyes.

  'When I'm finished with you both, he's going to get fat on your remains.'

  Ashley felt the true horror of those words spiral his body into shock, his shoulders jerked, his limbs trembled as madness pushed at the boundaries of his quaking mind.

  79

  Lasser had done his best to clean the back seat of the Range Rover, now he parked up at the front of Bannister's house, giving a quick blast on the horn before climbing out. The front door opened, and the DCI walked out, his padded jacket on and open, his chin freshly shaved, his hair for once neat and tidy.

  When he was ten feet away he stopped and looked at the scratches down the side of the gleaming black paintwork.

  'Sorry about that, the hawthorn bushes scraped down the side, but I'll get it sorted for you.' Lasser explained apologetically.

  Bannister studied the paintwork then glanced at Lasser and shook his head.

  'Sod it, it's only a few scratches. You might as well still leave your car here, we need to get this sorted and we don't want to get bogged down every few miles.'

  Pulling open the passenger door, Lasser got in as Bannister sat behind the wheel and sniffed the air.

  'There was some blood on the back seat, but I managed to get rid of most of it.'

  'You've been smoking in here, haven't you?'

  'Yeah,' Lasser cringed, waiting for the inevitable roasting.

  'Good, that means we can have a cig, and I can blame you later when Suzanne smells the smoke.'

  'So, I'm the scapegoat?' />
  Bannister smiled grimly. 'Got it in one.'

  Lasser clicked the seat belt into place as the DCI drove away from the house, taking his time on the narrow lane.

  'What's the plan?' Lasser asked.

  Bannister fumbled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket. 'Light a couple, will you?' he asked as he tossed them over.

  Lasser did as he asked before handing one back.

  'I was talking to Carole earlier, trying to work out what to do, but the trouble is we still have no idea why the killer targeted the Deans.'

  Lasser eased back in the plush leather and sighed slightly in relief, it was obvious that Carole hadn't voiced her concerns over the Deans being left alone at the house.

  'I should have made sure someone was watching the pair of them,' Bannister suddenly said.

  The relief Lasser felt evaporated in an instant. 'Come on, we couldn't spare anyone…'

  'That's what Suzanne said, and she was right. I'm sick of carrying the can when the budget keeps getting slashed by those faceless bastard politicians.'

  Lasser looked at his boss in surprise.

  Bannister glanced at him and nodded. 'I know you think I'm talking bollocks, but…'

  'I don't think that at all,' Lasser interrupted.

  Taking a pull on the cigarette, Bannister turned, facing front again. 'Why the fuck should we crucify ourselves when it goes pear-shaped?'

  'We shouldn't.'

  'So, from now on we do the best we can and if it's not good enough then tough shit, but I for one intend living a life rather than tearing myself up about the way we have to work.'

  Lasser felt like clapping in agreement, instead he took a deep pull on the cigarette.

  Ten minutes later, they were heading into the town centre when a McDonald's came up on the left, Bannister indicated and pulled onto the drive-thru. 'I'm starving, now what are you having, my treat?' he asked, pulling up to the order point.

  'Strawberry milkshake.'

  'Is that all?'

  'Yeah.'

  'I'll get you some nuggets,' Bannister said as he slid the window down and bellowed his order into the speaker.