D.S. Lasser
Beginnings
The Needle House
The Way That It Falls
Tethered To The Dead
Twisted
More Equal Than Others
Vanished Beneath
Riven
Bad Self
Crave
Moments Back
Conspiracy of Ravens
Dark Necessities
Living Ashes
Stations Of The Cross
The One With All The Pain
Shadows Cast
Blood Bought
Desolate Hearts
Winter's Lament
Shedding Skin
Dark Of Mind
Tears For The Living
Constructing A Killing
Pain Of Never
Third Eye
D.S. Marnie Hammond
Whippersnapper
Rain Of Souls
Day Is Done
Plymouth
Stormcock
Shrive
The Strife And Grime Of Charlie Roebuck
Pinches Of Salt
Standalone
Imprint Of The Past
Tunny
Axe To Grind
Third Eye – DS Lasser 25
Author Robin Roughley
Copyright © 2021 by Robin Roughley
Published on Amazon 2021
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
1
Shaun Rourke shone the powerful beam across the field, the light picking up the bulk of the derelict house in the distance and illuminating the driving rain that blasted down from the darkened starless sky. Wiping the mixture of rain and sweat from his brow, he moved through the knee-high grass, his trousers soaking up the water, his shoes leaking as he sloshed through the long troughs of water.
He could hear Steve Black lumbering behind him, puffing and blowing like a hippo having an asthma attack.
For the briefest of moments, Shaun almost stopped to wait for his colleague but then changed his mind, knowing that Black was deliberately lagging behind to avoid catching the man they were chasing.
They had been heading to the station after an eight-hour shift, Black in the passenger seat, arms folded, his fat face as always set in a morose frown. As soon as Shaun had started his shift, he had known he was in for a crap night when he saw Black waiting in the squad car. The truth was nobody ever wanted to be partnered with Steven Black, he was bone idle – which was bad enough – but it was more than that, he was obnoxious, a man who had nothing likeable in his character and to make matters even worse he was dangerous. Every member of the team knew he couldn't be trusted, and trust was the one thing you had to have in this job.
When the call about the break-in had come over the two-way, Black had shifted in his seat.
'Ignore it,' had been his stock reply.
Disregarding his request, Shaun had answered the call about a possible forced entry and burglary taking place at a housing estate that was literally half a mile away.
Black had sighed heavily as Shaun hit the accelerator and flicked on the siren and lights. Less than a minute later, they had spotted the figure that fitted the description of the thief hurrying along the pavement with the backpack slung across his shoulders.
At the sound of the siren, the man had turned, and immediately set off running. Shaun had planted his foot to the floor, reaching the dead end just as the runner vanished down a narrow path that led into open fields. Bringing the car to a halt, they had given chase on foot, though Black had done so reluctantly, cursing low under his breath as he made a token attempt to keep up with Shaun who sprinted over the uneven ground, the beam of the Maglite leading the way.
Now, as they approached the house, Shaun slowed to a walk, sweeping the beam left and right in case the thief had decided to lay low in the long grass, hoping to stay undetected as they moved along the path.
'I'm telling you, he's long gone,' Black complained as he caught up and wiped the sweat from his wide brow.
'We're going to have to check the house,' Shaun said before striding forward, unwilling to listen to Black's whingeing ways.
'Jesus, Rourke, it was a robbery not a frigging murder!' Black raised his voice, his annoyance booming out into the darkened rainswept night.
Shaun stopped and turned, looking at his partner in disbelief. 'Can you shout any louder, I mean, are you doing it deliberately so the prick will hear us?'
Black scowled, his thinning hair plastered to his skull, his uniform drenched. 'What are you talking about?'
'Don't act dumb, you know exactly what I mean,' Shaun warned as he spun around and headed towards the house.
'Jumped-up bastard,' Black hissed under his breath. He hated working the night shift, but nights like this when it was pissing it down, and he was out of the warmth of the car were the worst.
He had been thinking of a ready meal for one and perhaps a movie when the call had come in, and now here he was trudging through the pissing rain chasing a scrote who had robbed one of the ho
uses on the Landgate Estate. Black grimaced, he could feel his feet going numb as the freezing water pooled in his shoes.
Glaring at Rourke's back, he cursed again, Shaun Rourke was an arse-licker, always wanting to shine for the bosses, always willing to throw himself into the thick of things, he was the type of colleague that Steve Black hated more than any other.
When his right foot sunk into a deep divot of mud, he hissed a curse as he yanked it free, trudging forward, his face gnarly with anger and spite.
Long ago, he had learned that being a police officer was a shit job, no matter what you did you were treated like dirt by those above you. So, he had decided not to bother making the effort, why should he, what was the point when you were never anything more than a donkey, a beast of burden as those in charge took all the glory?
Looking up, he grimaced as the beam of light illuminated the front of the ramshackle house, the windows had long since vanished, no doubt smashed by the local kids, little bastards who would grow into big bastards, drunks and drug addicts, just like their useless fathers.
As far as Black was concerned, the whole lot of them should have been drowned at birth, simple as that.
Shaun didn't even glance at Black when he caught up, instead he moved the beam of light slowly over the property, the brickwork crumbling, the light showing the missing roof tiles and the absence of a front door.
'That building's not safe,' Black complained, swiping the rain from the top of his head with the palm of his hand.
'What are you talking about?' Shaun asked.
'Well, look at it, it's falling down, I refuse to go in there and put my life at risk just to try and catch some little tosser who's probably nicked nothing of value.'
Shaun gave him a hard stare, but Black held his gaze without flinching.
'If you want to play the hero then be my guest, but there's no way I'm setting foot in that death trap.'
'''Death trap''?' Shaun asked in disbelief.
Black nodded and folded his arms, his face defiant.
'Nice to know you can be relied on,' Shaun spat before moving forward through the grass.
Reaching the gap where the door used to hang, he shone the light into a hallway littered with chunks of bricks and plaster that had fallen from the walls, the beam lancing out along the length of the house to what he assumed was the kitchen.
Stepping over the threshold, he caught the tart stink of stale piss, mould and the dark odour of wet earth. Lowering the light, he picked his way through the debris, his booted feet cracking on the shards of glass from the broken beer bottles that lay strewn across the floor. When he reached the room on the left, he stopped and shone the beam into the grim space, grimacing as he saw the two rats vanish into the innards of the filthy mattress that lay in the centre of the room.
To the right, he could see a fireplace, the hearth littered with empty tin cans and more smashed bottles. Blackened walls adding to the forbidding interior. With a sigh he turned away and moved along the hallway, passing the stairs to his left, before arriving in the kitchen. The back door had been forced off its hinges and lay on the floor, half in, half out of the property.
Shining the torch around the room, he doubted whether the place had ever been fitted with cupboards and drawers. Although there was a cooker rusting away in the corner of the room, the type that had the old-fashioned upright grill, the oven door was open and he briefly shone the torch inside to see yet another rat sitting in the dim interior, whiskers quivering, nose twitching.
Shaun's face registered disgust as he moved to the back door and shone the torch out over the open field, seeing the path of flattened grass he knew that whoever was responsible for the robbery had dashed straight through the house and made their escape.
He felt the brief flare of disappointment as he turned and headed back along the hallway.
When he heard the strange metallic clang from above, he came to a halt and frowned, unsure if his mind was playing tricks on him. Then it came again, a heavy ringing thud. Moving to the foot of the stairs, he shone the light to the top, several of the wooden boards were missing, the handrail had been removed leaving just a few of the upright spindles to his right.
Testing his weight on the first step, he pursed his lips as he felt the board flex beneath his feet, the timber spongy with age and damp. The next step was missing, and he stretched his leg forward to bridge the gap, his face tense with concern as he climbed higher, the torch clasped in his right hand, the beam of light bouncing off the grotty wall to his left.
Reaching the top, he breathed out a thin stream of tension before turning to the right, several floorboards were missing, then the beam hit a closed door at the end of the landing, the paint peeling in long curling strips.
Straightening his shoulders, he moved forward, careful to avoid the gaps in the floor, keeping as close as he could to the wall on his left, his shoulder brushing against the flaking plaster.
Reaching the end of the landing he paused, then the clang came again from behind the closed door. Steeling his nerves, he reached out his left hand and grabbed the pitted handle, twisting it, he pushed it open, then reeled backwards as the figure slammed into him, thrusting him back along the landing, the torchlight careering off the walls. By the time he hit the floor, the door had been snatched shut again. Rourke scrambled to his feet, heart pounding, his body coated with sweat, and then with gritted teeth he ran forward, barging the door open in time to see the darkened figure leap through the broken window before vanishing from sight.
Shaun gawped in astonishment, then he crossed the room in four long strides and shone the light downwards, for a few seconds he tracked the running figure as he dashed around the rear of the property, and then he was gone.
'Black, get after the sod!' he bellowed, leaning out of the window.
It took Steve Black almost twenty seconds before he lumbered into view, looking annoyed. 'What's with all the shouting?' he demanded, glaring up at Shaun.
'There was someone up here, they leapt out of the window and headed that way,' Shaun said as he flicked the light to the left.
'Well, they'll be long gone by now,' Black replied with a shrug.
With a heavy sigh, Shaun shook his head before turning, his heart rearing as the horror slammed into him. The woman sat slumped in the fireplace, her chin on her chest, fair hair matted with blood, shards of white skull shining through the red. Her denim jacket and white T-shirt were drenched with blood, her arms were outstretched, hands pinned to the wooden fireplace. Suddenly, Shaun knew exactly what the strange metallic sound had been. The shining head of the six-inch nails – driven deep into her hands – shone in the fan of torchlight. Shaun Rourke felt the bile rise, his stomach lurched, and he spun away as the sour liquid jetted into his mouth, then he was vomiting through the broken window, the bitter stream falling onto the top of Black's head in a shower of splattering bile and half-digested food.
'Arghh!' Black screeched as he leapt to one side, his hands flapping above his head. 'Oh, you bastard, you filthy rotten bastard!' he twisted and looked up to see Rourke's pale blob of a face, his mouth hanging open, eyes screwed shut.
Steven Black could feel the vomit trickle down his forehead, and he swiped it away with the sodden sleeve of his jacket, his face writhing with rage and disgust as the rain continued to pummel his head and shoulders.
2
Placing the glass of white wine on the table, Lasser sipped the froth from his pint of Guinness before sitting by Jackie's side.
They had chosen the Lion because the pub was quiet – no doubt the incessant rain was keeping people at home in front of the television. The open log fire was giving out warm waves of soporific heat, the occasional spark breaking free before vanishing up the chimney.
'How was Alan today?' she asked before taking a sip from the glass.
Stifling a yawn, Lasser loosened his tie. 'He seemed OK, no shouting or bawling, in fact, he was almost mellow.'
'I'm just surprised
he's come back so soon.'
Taking a gulp of the Guinness, Lasser licked the froth from his top lip. 'He said sitting at home was driving him mad. Kelly and Belle are away most of the time studying so he has the house to himself, and that's never easy – sitting there with the memories pecking your head.'
'He still blames himself for not seeing that Suzanne was ill, doesn't he?'
Placing his hand on her jean-clad leg he gave her a squeeze and nodded. 'That will never change no matter what anyone says to him.'
'Why do men like you always insist on doing that?' she asked.
'Doing what?'
'Taking the blame for things that are beyond your control?'
Lasser watched the logs crackle in the hearth. 'The truth is Bannister was right, he should have known that Suzanne was ill.'
Jackie looked at him in disbelief. 'Surely to God you don't mean that?'
Glancing at her, Lasser nodded. 'Of course I mean it.'
'Jesus, don't ever let him hear you say that, he feels bad enough as it is.'
Taking another gulp from the glass, he turned back to the fire. 'It's not meant as a criticism, the truth is we all get wrapped up in the job, at the funeral he talked about our partners and how special you all are. We have no right to expect anyone to stay with us,' he paused, 'we're all selfish buggers, deep down you know that's the truth.'
'That's nonsense,' she replied, placing the glass back on the table.
Lasser glanced at her and raised a questioning eyebrow. 'You think?'
Turning, she looked into his dark eyes. 'The job demands your dedication, I know that and so did Suzanne, that doesn't mean you're selfish, it just means you're focused, but you bring that same focus to our relationship so it's all good.'
Lasser pulled a face, half-smile, half-grimace. 'I try to, but I still know it isn't always easy for you when I'm dashing out in the middle of the night or staying away for what feels like days on end.'
'I get that, but I know you love me and that's all that matters,' she paused, 'it makes me feel safe and, believe me, that hasn't always been the case.'
Lasser looked at the woman he loved, and for a fleeting moment he saw a look of remembered pain in her eyes.
It seemed strange but they had never talked about her past relationships, it had never seemed important, and Jackie had never offered any information, besides, as she said, they were happy and that was all that mattered.
Third Eye - DS Lasser Series 25 (2021) Page 1