Third Eye - DS Lasser Series 25 (2021)

by Robin Roughley

  Lasser thought for a moment. 'Perhaps he wasn't as squeaky clean as he appeared to be.'

  Bannister nodded in agreement. 'I know they are only young, but we all know that kids grow up quick these days, and if he was meant to be with this Morgan girl then why wasn't she the one at the party?'

  'Well, whichever way you look at it she was lucky, if she'd been with Clark then chances are, she would have been the one who was snatched.'

  Pulling the cigarettes from his pocket, Bannister lit one before holding the pack out.

  'No thanks,' Lasser replied, the cigarette smoke being sucked out through the window as Bannister slid it down a fraction.

  'Strange the way the world turns, Morgan Pence might have gone to the party if her father hadn't collapsed and…'

  'That's not right,' Lasser interrupted.

  Bannister frowned slightly. 'What are you talking about?'

  'Well, Sally said that Morgan's father became ill yesterday morning, but the party was the night before.'

  Bannister eye's widened slightly as the penny dropped. 'That could mean they'd had some sort of argument on the day of the party, Morgan stays at home and Scott takes Clara instead.'

  'Like I said, it was a lucky escape for Morgan Pence, you can get over a broken heart, but with the way things are going, Clara Bell will be lucky to get away with her life.'

  Bannister sighed, then he looked at the half-smoked cigarette in disgust before tossing it out of the window.

  'Listen, Lasser, if you see me reaching for the cigs within the next couple of hours, then don't let me have one, OK?'

  'You want to cut down?' Lasser asked as he dipped into his pocket and lifted his own pack out.

  Bannister watched in disbelief as Lasser lit up.

  'Jesus Christ, here's me trying to cut down and now you're smoking one.'

  'Look upon it as a test.'

  The DCI shook his head in anger before sliding the window down further. 'It was you who got me back into the cigs in the first place, you're nothing but a bad influence on me, do you know that?'

  'That's rubbish, you've never really stopped, you were always cadging them off me and smoking them on the quiet.'

  Bannister opened his mouth to argue the point, and then he closed it as he suddenly pictured Suzanne, and the times she had caught him having a cigarette on the sly.

  She had never told him to put it out or complained about the health hazard, all she'd had to do was raise an eyebrow, and he would be flooded with guilt and immediately stub the cigarette out with an apologetic smile.

  Now she was gone, and he was smoking more than ever, the sudden sense of disgust rose inside to such an extent that he pulled the pack from his pocket and flattened it between his clenched fists.

  Lasser saw him from the corner of his eye as he checked the mirrors.

  'I mean it, Lasser, that is the last cigarette I will ever smoke.'

  'Good for you.'

  'And what about you, do you fancy giving up with me?'

  Under normal circumstances Lasser would have flatly refused the invitation but there was something in Bannister's voice that stopped him, an underlying hint of desperation, a kind of subtle pleading as if he realised he was incapable of doing it alone.

  Plucking the cigarette from his mouth, he looked at Bannister before handing it over. 'Get rid of that, will you?'

  The DCI's eyes widened in shocked surprise. 'Are you serious?'

  Dipping a hand into his pocket, Lasser lifted out the pack and handed that over as well. 'I'll give it a go.'

  'Really?'

  Lasser nodded. 'Truth is, it's about time I gave them up.'

  'But why now?'

  Lasser shrugged as he turned back to keep an eye on the road. 'I'm not getting any younger, in fact, neither of us are, and besides, they cost a fortune, I've given enough cash to Mr Benson and Hedges over the years so it's time some other mug lined their pockets.'

  Bannister grinned widely. 'That's the bloody spirit,' he said as he tossed the two flattened boxes onto the back seat.

  Inside, Lasser felt the urge for the nicotine flare and then he gritted his teeth and got his foot down.

  44

  Every time Clara Bell tried to move, her muscles screamed out in pain, she had spent countless hours curled on the mattress, the temperature had dropped, and she had lain there shivering with the cold. Despite her best efforts to keep the thoughts of horror at bay they had seeped into her mind before entering her heart, lodging there and spreading until she had been panting, trying to draw air through her flared nostrils, trying to pull her hands apart. It had all been hopeless, the tape held her tight and now she could feel the blood wet on her wrists, the tape slicing at her skin.

  In the end, she had been forced to give up, her body and mind going into shock, she was going to die here, she knew it. The man had killed Scott, turning his head into a mangled pulp of red, his face blown away in a second, and now she was here in this concrete room, on a single mattress with the pitiful bulb hanging above, waiting to die.

  Dark thoughts had bombarded her mind, she had never really bothered watching the news, after all she was fifteen so why should she bother about the world and what went on in it.

  Her life revolved around school and doing her homework, reading the gossip magazines, and keeping up with friends via social media, yet as she lay still, her eyes screwed shut, small memories filtered through the fear.

  She could remember having her breakfast, the radio on, her mother busying about and then the news had come on, and the reporter had started to talk about the murder of the woman at some place called Dove Cottage, the name must have lodged in her brain and now it opened the floodgates and snippets of death and horror came tumbling down, memories that she hadn't even realised existed.

  ''Young man stabbed to death in Wigan last night.''

  ''Girl attacked in local park.''

  ''Toddler left for dead.''

  ''Mass fight at night club, one man in hospital with brain injuries.''

  One after another the soundbites of terror flooded her mind.

  ''Girl still missing.''

  ''Raped.''

  ''Mutilated.''

  They were just words, but each one filled her with horror, each one cracked away another chunk of her resolve until it was all gone, smashed to pieces, leaving her naked and bare, her soul shrinking, she was going to die, no one would find her, no one would save her. She thought of her mother and tried to hold onto the image but all she could see was her mum in floods of tears as the police told her about finding her daughter's body. Suddenly, Clara Bell saw it all with such startling clarity, she would become nothing but a snippet of news, those who knew her would go on twitter and Facebook to say how shocked they were, posting memories and sad emojis. The school would no doubt talk about it in assembly, and for a few brief days she would be at the forefront of things and then it would all fade away and over time she would be forgotten, leaving only one or two close friends and her mother to remember her. She pictured a grave smothered with flowers, flowers that would rot to nothing, grass would grow above her, and her mother would visit, placing a small posy of flowers on her daughter's grave. Time would move on and eventually no one would come to visit, and she would be just another marker that would become smothered with weeds, lost and forgotten as the world moved on.

  Her eyes sprang open and she stared at the grey block wall, then somewhere deep inside she heard a small voice whispering, at first, she was unable to understand what it was saying, the words inaudible, and then the voice suddenly rose into a scream, a single word that shredded her brain tearing through and washing everything away with it.

  'NO!' the word filled her head and suddenly Clara Bell surfaced from the horror like someone drowning who breaks the surface of the water and feels the brief glimmer of light on their face.

  Whoever had killed Scott, and taken her, was made of flesh and blood, they could be hurt, they could be made to pay for the things the
y had done.

  She felt the fear trying to reassert itself, the other voice telling her that it was hopeless, there was no escape, no way out of this horror, she was only a girl, she had no real power and…

  'NO!' the voice boomed again, Clara latched onto it and then she was whisked away, holding on tight as the word continued to rise above, the fear taking her with it.

  'You have to be ready; you have to be strong!'

  Clara started to nod her head in agreement, the determination erupting inside.

  'He will come for you, but he doesn't know the real you, he doesn't know what you are capable of, he has no idea who he is dealing with,' the voice insisted.

  She nodded again, her eyes now bright with a burning hatred for what the man had done, he'd killed Scott and kidnapped her, he had no right to do that, he was a coward, a nobody, and when he came, she would pick her moment and then she would fight back.

  When she heard the key turn in the lock she tensed and closed her eyes, the determination still echoing through her fevered brain.

  45

  Wind lashed at the window as the three of them sat in front of the computers, Spenner took a sip from the coffee cup as he read about the murder of Pamela Frost, she had died in nineteen eighty-five, her body had been found in a ditch on the outskirts of town, according to the records, Pamela had not had the easiest of lives. She had never known her father, and her mother had struggled with a drug addiction that had led her into a life of prostitution. Pamela had been taken into care until she was sixteen and then drifted through life until she had ended up like her mother, on the game to try and make ends meet, she had been working when the killer had struck.

  Tapping at the keys, he found himself looking at old images of the crime scene, Pamela lay at the bottom of the waterlogged ditch, her hair entangled in the brambles, bare feet submerged beneath the water. She lay face down, dressed in a short denim skirt and crop top, her legs were bare. Magnifying the image, he sighed as he saw the stab marks in her legs, deep slashes in the flesh, moving up the body he could see where the knife had left rips and tears in the material of her top from where the bastard had stabbed her multiple times.

  'You OK? '

  Turning to Odette, he nodded. 'I just hate the thought that no one was ever caught for doing something like this,' he admitted.

  Leaning over, she glanced at his screen and slid a strand of hair behind her right ear. 'I know what you mean.'

  'I know this is all in the past, but it should still matter,' Spenner said with a sad sigh.

  'You're right, it should, but perhaps in the future someone will look at the cases that we haven't managed to solve and say the same thing.'

  Spenner looked at her in surprise. 'Come on, we normally catch the bad guy.'

  'I suppose so,' she said with a tired smile.

  Roger leaned forward slightly. 'I just can't believe that in all six murders not one of the women were sexually abused.'

  Spenner threaded his hands behind his head. 'That doesn't mean the murders were not sexually motivated.'

  Roger nodded in understanding. 'I get that, but doesn't it seemed strange to you that all of the unsolved murders we've found since Ethel Brab died have all been violent deaths, yet not one of them shows signs of actual sexual assault, there's no mention of penetration or anything like that in the autopsy reports?'

  Spenner glanced at Odette who raised an eyebrow.

  'What are you saying exactly?' Spenner asked.

  Roger paused for a moment as he tried to fathom his own reasoning, and then he sighed, a hint of colour rose in his cheeks. 'Ethel Brab died in nineteen seventy and the last unsolved murder was Sharon Bliss in nineteen ninety-nine.'

  'We know that, Rog,' Spenner said with a frown.

  'That's a span of almost thirty years,' Roger paused, his face creased with uncertainty, 'and I know it sounds crazy, but it could be one person responsible for all six murders.'

  Placing the cup on the desk, Odette thought about what he was suggesting. 'You're right it does sound crazy, but not impossible.'

  'But that would mean the killer had been murdering woman for almost three decades at least,' Spenner said, his voice hinting at disbelief.

  The three of them looked at one another, and then Odette started to tap at the keys. 'OK, we keep looking, and keep your eyes peeled for any links that might tie the victims together.'

  Seconds later, they all went back to work with matching looks of dread slowly creeping onto their faces.

  46

  The wheels bumped through the twin troughs of mud, overhanging trees dripped water onto the roof of the Audi, sounding loud as the car lurched from side to side.

  Bannister held onto the strap above the door, his face set in a frown as the water splashed and the uneven ground scraped on the underside of the car. 'Carry on driving like this and we can say, ''Bye'' to the exhaust,' he grumbled.

  When they came to a bend in the track, Lasser saw a small passing place on the left and pulled into it, bringing the car to a halt, and lifting the handbrake.

  'I think coming out here was a waste of time,' Bannister said as he looked along the lane, the rain lashed down, obscuring the view. 'We should be trying to find Clara Bell, not sitting here like this.'

  Lasser turned slightly. 'We have nothing to go on, and as soon as something turns up then we can get to work,' he suggested.

  Bannister didn't look convinced as he ran a frustrated hand across his face. 'I get that, but we have nothing to link the killer of Julie Rawlins to the disappearance of Clara Bell, and if there is no link then driving around looking at old crime scenes isn't going to help us save the missing girl.'

  Lasser had no answer to give as he turned and looked through the side window, perhaps his boss was right, but he couldn't ignore his gut feeling that there was a link, they just hadn't found it yet.

  'Look at this place, Lasser, there are dozens of lanes around the town exactly like this one.'

  'Yeah, but this is where Sharon Bliss was murdered.'

  'But there were no clues or evidence twenty-odd years ago so what can we hope to find on a piss-poor day like this.'

  Lasser knew the DCI was right, and yet looking out into the rainswept day he suddenly pictured Sharon Bliss sprawled in the grass, victim to a murderer who had never been caught. The lane was long, and he knew that the stables lay at the end of it, the stables that she had been trying to reach when she was attacked. To his left and right the trees were tall and dense. Turning in his seat, he looked back along the lane, there had been no turnings left or right, and this was the first passing place they had come across. His face settled into a frown as he turned back to the dense woodland. He knew the area, and he was sure that the woodland stretched out for over a mile until you came to a B-road, it was the same with the trees on the left, he automatically dipped a hand into his pocket and his frown grew into a scowl as he realised that the packet of cigarettes lay ripped and flattened on the back seat.

  'What are you thinking?' Bannister asked.

  'I was just wondering how the killer got here, did he come through the trees, was he waiting for the girl, did he know her movements?'

  'Bloody hell, slow down, Lasser,' Bannister demanded.

  Lasser turned and raised an eyebrow. 'Or did he come here by car?'

  Bannister thought for a moment before answering. 'If I had to hazard a guess then I'd say he was waiting in the trees for her to walk past, and that's where he murdered the poor girl.'

  Lasser nodded in agreement. 'She was found shortly after the attack, but, like you say, the killer could have vanished into the trees within seconds.'

  'Makes sense,' Bannister reluctantly agreed.

  'But what if they did come by car?' Lasser asked again.

  'Come on, Lasser, that would have made no sense and been way too risky, I mean, I don't know what's down there,' he nodded forwards. 'There might be a turn-off between here and the stables but…'

  'There is no turn
-off,' Lasser interrupted.

  'Which only goes to prove my point, imagine you are the killer and you were parked here, then Sharon Bliss appears, are you really suggesting you would kill her here and then risk having to back up for over a mile to get back to the main road?'

  'That's not what I'm suggesting at all.'

  Bannister's face was suddenly sharp with confusion. 'So what the hell are you talking about? The killer must have been waiting, hiding in the trees, he pounced, the girl dies, then he vanishes back into the woods and makes his escape.'

  'There is one other option.'

  Bannister sighed heavily. 'OK, come on let's hear your conspiracy theory.'

  'What if the killer was at the stables and he drove away from there, killed the girl and then continued on his way?'

  Bannister opened his mouth to pooh pooh the idea, and then his eyes widened slightly. 'Right, let's get down there and take a look.'

  Lasser didn't need telling twice, he selected first gear and moved forward through the miserable downpour.

  47

  Hannah watched in dismay as the female police officer asked Morgan about the dead boy named Scott Clark, they were standing in the corridor, she could see James through the window, unconscious and still linked to the machines. Her mind already thrumming with fear, now she had the added trauma of listening to Morgan admit that she had been Clark's girlfriend.

  'You should have been going to the party with Scott?' Sally Wright asked.

  Morgan glanced at her mother, and the look of disbelief on her face made the shame bloom in her heart.

  'That's right,' she admitted lowering her gaze.

  'Can you explain why you didn't go?'

  Morgan felt like running away, this was just so embarrassing, so painful that for a few seconds she didn't know how to reply.

  'Please, Morgan, this is very important, I'm sorry that Scott was killed, but whoever is responsible also took Clara Bell, and we need to find her as soon as possible.'