Arthur Brab looked perplexed for a moment, and then the tobacco pouch was back. 'Over the years they took another look at the case, I even had a couple of interviews with the newspapers, the last was in the mid-seventies, but nothing ever came of it.'
Warm air now flooded the interior of the car as Brab rolled another cigarette, his eyes haunted by the past.
'The report at the time said nothing was taken from the house, is that right?'
'Aye, it was no robbery, my mother used to keep a fair bit of cash in a biscuit tin on the dresser, it was still there when they let me back into the house.'
Lasser ran a hand over his forehead. 'I know this might sound daft, but did your mother or you have any enemies?'
'It doesn't sound daft, but the truth is there was no one, the coppers back then asked me the same thing, but we were just farmers. The family have been in Wigan for at least three generations and not one of us had even been in trouble with the law.'
Lasser watched as he lit the cigarette with the battered old Zippo, the smoke drifting from his nostrils. 'Do you mind me asking why you moved away from here and didn't sell the place?'
Arthur spat a flake of tobacco through the open window. 'I've never been wed, got no kids, so when I die this place will be sold and the money split between a few charities. As to why I never sold the farm, well I kept thinking that the police might find something and they'd want to look at the place again, but now I feel bloody awful. If I'd have had the place knocked down, then perhaps that poor woman wouldn't have ended up dead in there.'
'Believe me, in my experience when someone is determined to kill then they'll do it, geography seldom makes a difference,' Lasser replied, though he didn't quite believe his own reasoning. 'Now, can I give you a lift home?'
'Nah, it's OK, I don't mind walking.'
'But you're already drenched, and it's pitch black, besides, I can always come back here tomorrow.'
'Are you sure?'
'Positive,' Lasser replied as he turned the car around, the headlights lancing out over the fields as he made his way back along the rutted lane.
In the passenger seat, Arthur took another pull on the cigarette and sighed again as the rain lashed at the windscreen.
19
Bannister felt the boat sway gently as the wind picked up speed.
'That was so bloody good,' he said to Jackie as she handed him the cup of coffee. 'I didn't realise how hungry I was.'
'It's no fun cooking for one, is it?' she asked before sitting by his side on the sofa.
'No, it isn't, truth is I never did much of the cooking, but I always did the Christmas dinner, and meals at the weekend if I wasn't working.'
Jackie smiled in understanding. 'Until Lasser moved in, I used to survive on salad with the occasional meal for one thrown in the oven.'
'Yeah well, Lasser has always eaten like a horse, but at least now it's not burgers and the chippy every day.'
'He still likes to have a takeaway once a week.'
'Indian?'
'You know him well.'
Taking a sip from the cup, he eased back into the sofa and yawned, after they had arrived at the boat, Jackie had insisted he get out of the wet clothes, and now he sat in a black tracksuit, his clothing going around in the tumble dryer.
'Why did you leave the station?' she suddenly asked.
Bannister took another sip from the drink as he tried to find the right way to answer her.
'Is it because you can't concentrate on the job?'
'That's it exactly, and if I can't give one hundred percent then I'm nothing but a hindrance.'
'That isn't true, Alan, you're always dedicated, always committed to helping others.'
'Yeah, but right now I can't even trust my own instincts, we have that poor woman murdered, and in a murder case you can't afford to miss anything.'
'And that's what you're afraid of, missing some clue?'
'That would be unforgivable,' he replied placing the drink on the small coffee table.
Jackie did the same before turning to face him. 'A few weeks ago, you caught Aaron Crisp, Lasser told me the work you did, you saved a little girl and caught a maniac and that would not have happened if it hadn't been for you,' she tapped a finger against his chest. 'Don't you ever say you are not up to the job. I know that right now your mind is full of Suzanne, but that's natural, that house must feel so empty without her and the girls in it.'
Bannister swallowed the sense of despair and then he was talking, the words spilling out in a stream of anguish. 'I just sit there staring into space, smoking like a chimney – which Sue would have hated – but I can't seem to stop. I spend more time sitting out on the patio than actually in the house, a couple of times I've just slept out there for the night. It would be bad enough if the girls had still been at home, but right now every bedroom is empty, and it feels so wrong.'
'Lasser mentioned that you might consider selling the house?'
'I've thought about it and the girls are fine with that, but I keep thinking that if I move then the memories will be left back at the house,' he said, bowing his head.
Jackie's heart went out to the man, when she had first met Alan Bannister, she had thought him harsh, a bit of a dictator, and she hadn't liked the way he dished out the orders and then bellowed his head off when things didn't go his way. Once or twice, she had even asked Lasser how he put up with it, but he had always just shrugged and smiled.
'You get used to the miserable sod.'
'But you shouldn't have to, all that ridiculous shouting and jabbing his finger at you, it's just so outdated and wrong.'
Though as she looked at the broken man by her side, she realised that the shouting was just a barrier to hide his true feelings. No one cared more than Alan Bannister about the welfare of others, he was like Odette and Lasser, they were all the same, they hated to see people suffering, especially at the hands of the low lives of this world.
'I couldn't stand that, I couldn't stand to sell the house and lose the memories, it would be like losing her all over again,' he whispered.
For a brief moment, Jackie wanted to contradict him and then she changed her mind, instinctively knowing it would be the wrong approach.
'OK, then the only way to know if that would be the case is to spend time away from the house and see what happens,' she suggested.
Bannister raised his head and looked at her in confusion. 'What do you mean?'
'Well, think about it, you're worried that if you sell the house then it will be too late to change your mind. Of course most of your memories will be tied to those four walls, and I would be the same, I'd be worried about breaking the contact.'
'You would?' he asked, his voice full of uncertainty as if he had never expected to find someone who felt the same way, someone who understood his feelings.
'I know it sounds bizarre but it's the truth, we all have places we can go to when we lose someone we love, but the bulk of the memories are in the house, the day-to-day things that mean so much.'
'Yeah, yeah, you are so right!' his voice rose as he bolted forward on the sofa and sprang to his feet before turning to her.
'Listen, Alan, I don't know if you would be interested but I have a friend who owns a boat.'
'''A boat''?'
'It's moored at the Plank Lane marina; she's going travelling for six months and was looking for someone to keep an eye on it for her.'
Bannister scrubbed a hand across his head, his eyes widening. 'Really?'
'Mm, I mean, you wouldn't have to be there all the time, but she would feel happier knowing that there was someone she could trust who would be willing to sleep on board for a few nights a week.'
She watched as the gamut of emotions swept across his face, hope, fear and despair all came and went.
'Why don't you take some time to think about it,' she paused, 'It might help you decide what you want to do about the house, and it would give you a break, a chance to think things through properly.'
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Bannister looked at her and nodded. 'I'd have to check with the girls first to see how they would feel about it.'
'Of course,' she smiled.
His cheeks inflated, and then he sat back down. 'I've never lived on a boat.'
'Well, you like it here, don't you?'
Bannister looked up and down the vessel and smiled. 'Yeah, I do.'
'Right, do you want another drink?'
'You stay there, I might as well get used to how things work on the water,' he stood up again and headed for the kitchen area.
Jackie's smile grew wider as Bannister went to work.
20
Morgan Pence checked the time on her phone, the tension mounting with every second that passed.
If she was going to make it to the party, she would have to leave in the next half an hour, yet she was still clueless as to what excuse she could give to her parents, it was pathetic – she was fifteen, not five. Most of the time she could get what she wanted in life, she had no problem ignoring her parents and yet she knew that over something like this they would both put their foot down.
Rising from the bed, she walked over to the window and, at last, admitted to herself that there would be no party for her, it just wasn't possible. As soon as she acknowledged the truth, she felt the weight lift from her shoulders, though the relief only lasted for a few seconds, then the fear of losing Scott came flooding back. Though it was even worse than that, he had said that if she didn't make the party then he would take Clara Bell instead. The thought made her eyes suddenly fill with tears, she would lose him and everyone at school would know that he had dumped her, and her life would not be worth living. She needed to come up with some sort of excuse, something that would stop him ending the relationship, though her mind was blank of ideas, she could think of nothing that would sound believable. He would know she was lying, and he would still dump her, only this time he would let everyone know that she had come up with some pathetic excuse for not going to the party, and then that would make matters even worse than they already were.
The tears slipped free, her life was horrible and by tomorrow it would be a whole lot worse. All the girls who had looked at her with jealousy shining in their eyes would now sneer at her, looking her up and down with disdain.
She thought of Elle and even there she would get no sympathy, not after the way she had behaved towards her best friend. Elle would simply ignore her, or worse still she would join in with the others in making fun of her, it would be Elle's way of getting back at her for breaking their friendship over a boy. For the first time, Morgan saw things from Elle's point of view, before Scott had come along, they had been the best of friends, closer than sisters, and they had done everything together. She thought of all the times they had sat in this bedroom doing homework, and then lounging on the bed talking about anything and everything. They liked the same music, the same books and magazines, they had watched boxsets together, gone shopping together and for the last two years they had even shared the holidays. Last year, Elle had come with Morgan and her family to the south of France for two weeks, and the year before Morgan had been the one to go with Elle's family to America, Disneyland, in what had turned out to be the best holiday either of them had ever had.
Now the tears that slid from her eyes were not wholly for the demise of her relationship with Scott, this time she cried for the loss of her friend. Turning from the window, she fell onto the bed, her face buried in the pillow as she wept. When she had first started to go out with Scott, Elle had been fine with it, though over time things had changed. Morgan had managed to convince herself that it had been Elle who had changed, she had been the one to erect the fence and push her away. Though now she knew the truth, she had been the one who had been a bitch, not Elle, she thought of all the texts and emails she had ignored, Elle asking her if she was OK, and then eventually asking if she had done something wrong.
At school, Morgan had been busy strutting around the place bathing in the fact that she was on Scott Clark's arm, he had chosen her out of all the other girls to go out with, and the thrill had been immense. Now the truth was laid bare, Scott had kept all his friends, and yet she had pushed Elle away. During the week she rarely saw Scott after school, most nights he was out with his mates while she sat on her bed waiting for him to call or text, and yet he never did. Once or twice, she had almost questioned him about it, but in the end, she had always backed down, too frightened to risk him ending the relationship. Another skin was peeled away from her psyche, the truth was she was pathetic, the ''relationship'' was all one sided, Scott gave nothing, all he did was take, and now she knew that none of this was worth it. She had willingly sacrificed her best friend for a boy who cared more about himself than anyone else. Oh, he was good at strutting around the school, his hair done to perfection, his uniform always immaculate. He seemed to glide along the corridors, aloof, above everyone else, and she had loved bathing in his glow, but it had all been false. The other kids hadn't been fooled, she had been the one who had built up this façade, and now she recalled the couple of times that she had seen Elle as she walked through the school with Scott. There had been a kind of sadness in Elle's eyes and, up until now, Morgan had been convinced that she was like all the other girls in the school, jealous of the fact that she was with Scott Clark, the golden boy, the one most tipped to succeed in life. Yet now she recognised the fact that the look in Elle's eyes hadn't been jealousy, it had been pity for Morgan, as if she had known from the outset how it would end.
Morgan Pence broke down completely as the full weight of her stupidity came crashing down around her.
21
Parking the car on the patch of gravel, Lasser slid the last cigarette from the pack and sparked up, the headlights illuminating the two swans floating on the canal, heads tucked under wings as they slept.
After dropping Arthur Brab off at his small, neat bungalow, he had headed for home, and now he took a pull on the cigarette as he thought about the old man in the thick NHS glasses and flat cap. He was in his seventies now and for fifty of those years he had lived with the fact that his mother had been murdered, and her killer had never been found. He tried to imagine what it must have been like, the decades sliding by and never getting closure, never catching the person responsible.
Flicking ash through the window he sighed, the truth was any murder that went unsolved was a travesty, a cancer that ate away at those left behind. Then he thought of the woman who had been found the day before, nailed to the fireplace, the image made the anger rise inside and he took a shuddering breath and straightened in the seat. He pictured Dove Cottage, a dive, a rotten shithole of a place, and yet two women had died in the same room over fifty years apart.
Surely that couldn't just be a coincidence?
Scratching his chin, he tried to think things through, it was the decades between the two deaths that was hard to comprehend. Obviously, it couldn't be the same killer, but both victims had suffered a violent death in the same bedroom, and there was no way that could simply be a coincidence. Whoever had murdered the unknown woman had specifically taken her to the cottage against her will, their actions had been deliberate, after all if they had simply wanted to kill then he could have done it anywhere, any darkened lane, any place that offered an element of privacy, and yet he had taken her to Dove Cottage to commit the act.
It didn't make sense, Lasser thought as he tossed the cigarette into the wind and rain.
Unless the killer had known the history of the place and that's what had drawn him to the cottage.
'Copycat?' he whispered as he turned the headlights off.
Scrubbing a hand through his hair he sighed, the trouble was copycats normally acted out their pathetic fantasies at the same time as the real perpetrator was in full swing, they didn't pick a crime that had happened over five decades earlier. Then again it paid to keep an open mind, discount nothing and look at the cold hard facts.
Ethel Brab had been slaughtered in the sam
e room that the unknown woman had died in, that was a fact. Both had died violently, fact, an image of Black shot into his mind and he felt the anger rise again, bubbling close to the surface.
The killer had escaped, and Black hadn't even bothered trying to chase him down, as Lasser sat in the darkness he had the grim thought that the killer could well strike again, so in that case, as far as he was concerned PC Steve fucking Black would have blood on his hands for failing to do his duty.
With a snarl, he turned off the engine, and snatched the keys from the ignition before thrusting the door open and climbing out.
Seconds later, he saw the red ember glowing in the darkness.
'I thought you'd fallen asleep,' Bannister said as Lasser met him under the bridge.
'That tracksuit is too tight on you.'
By the light of the cigarette, Lasser saw the DCI scowl.
'Are you calling me fat?'
'Have you saved me any casserole?' Lasser asked, ignoring the question.
'Saved you the scraps and the smallest dumpling,' Bannister replied with a sly smile that fleetingly passed across his mouth then his face was serious again. 'I want to apologise for walking out of the station.'
'Forget about it.'
'I won't forget about it; I was unprofessional, and it won't happen again.'
Lifting the collar of his jacket against the wind that gusted under the bridge, Lasser shifted his feet until his back was to the onslaught. 'You're never unprofessional,' he eventually replied.
Bannister grunted as his eyes widened in surprise. 'Is that meant to be a compliment?'
'Could be,' Lasser replied, keeping his face impassive.
'Anyway, where have you been?'
Lasser told him about his trip back to Dove Cottage and finding Arthur Brab in the shadows, by the time he had finished Bannister had smoked the cigarette.
'And you think this could be some kind of copycat?' he asked.
Third Eye - DS Lasser Series 25 (2021) Page 8
