by Steven Dunne
‘What reason?’ demanded Grant, her eyes boring into Brook.
‘Like I said, we were never sure…’
‘I mean, why kill the daughter and not the Wallis boy? Sounds like a vicious little thug,’ she added.
Brook shrugged, unable to meet her eyes.
‘We asked the same question,’ replied Noble. ‘We’re open to suggestions.’
Charlton spoke up while looking at his watch. ‘I don’t think we should get too bogged down in the past no matter how much it informs the present. Anything else, Sergeant Noble?’
‘Just to remember that maybe there’s a domestic lurking in here somewhere. The Ingham boys had two different fathers, one’s out of the country but maybe there’s an ex-boyfriend in the works. Even a neighbour pushed over the edge. Who knows? You’ll get your assignments from DC Bull in a minute.’
‘Thank you, John,’ said Brook, pausing for a second to look around at the throng, some of whom were fingering coveted cigarettes in pockets. He could see in all of them that sliver of suppressed excitement that such a high-profile investigation generated; he wished he could share it. ‘There is some good news before we get back out there. DS Grant.’
Grant stood up and nodded at all the strange faces. ‘Yes, we think we have the killer’s voice on tape.’ There was an immediate murmur from the assembled officers. ‘If it’s him this would be a big leg-up. This 999 call was recorded this morning at 1.53 a.m.’
Brook looked at the floor. Around that time he’d been just yards from the killing ground. The killer had probably finished his work long before but the questions still nagged at him. Why lure him there? To make him think The Reaper was still out there? Or to try and frame him for the Ingham murders? He shook his head as minutely as he could. Surely this wasn’t another attempt at recruitment? Get him to take up The Reaper’s mantle? Is that why Jason was left alive again? Another gift for Brook. Like Floyd Wrigley all those years ago in Brixton.
Grant, with a little prompting from Jane Gadd, pressed the appropriate button on the machine.
‘Emergency. Which service do you require?’ The voice of the operator boomed out and Grant adjusted the volume. There was a pause, filled by an indistinct noise which might have been breathing, might have been the wind. Then Brook heard it, soft at first but still quite clear in the background. If he hadn’t already known what it was, it might have taken him longer to identify. Clair de Lune. The soft melody tinkling away gently, distant but audible. Then the operator tried again. ‘Emergency. Which service do you require? Hello. Are you able to answer?’
A few seconds later Brook heard the sound of a breath being exhaled into the phone, then a man’s voice, ‘They’re all dead!’ followed by a buffeting sound. Then nothing but the faint sound of the music with occasional interruptions by the operator trying to elicit further responses.
Grant waited a moment before switching off the machine. ‘Now it’s hard to distinguish from just four words, and whoever that was may have tried to disguise his voice, but you’ll agree that’s still clearly a male voice. And in the background is the music that was playing at the scene when DI Brook and the patrol car arrived to investigate.’ Grant shot a glance his way;
‘How did they know where to go?’ asked Jane Gadd.
‘The call was unbroken,’ answered Grant. ‘It was Jason’s phone, found on his lap, covered in blood and a print, which is still being processed. I don’t know Wallis but it’s not the voice of a teenager as far as I’m concerned.’
Brook shook his head. ‘It’s not Wallis,’ Noble agreed.
‘What about the music?’ asked DC Cooper.
‘It’s called Clair de Lune by Debussy,’ said Grant. ‘You may have heard it in the Ocean’s Eleven film.’ There was an outbreak of nodding from the cinema-goers in the room. ‘Two years ago in the Wallis house it was Gustav Mahler playing, isn’t that right, DI Brook?’
‘As far as I can remember,’ he answered, without looking at her.
‘Any impressions about the voice, anyone?’ inquired Hudson.
‘Sounds local to me,’ added Rob Morton. ‘The way he said “They’re all”, like it was one word instead of two.’ Brook looked over at him with a thin smile.
‘Must be local if he’s working the same street as two years ago,’ someone said.
‘Great. All we need now is a name and address,’ grinned Hudson to induce a round of chuckles. ‘There’s a university here, isn’t there? Maybe they’ve got a language guy,’ he added quickly, suddenly aware that some might think he was having a dig.
‘Linguistics,’ said Grant, smiling — Hudson knew the correct word, she was sure.
‘That’s the one. Put that on your list, Rob.’ Hudson nodded at DS Morton before looking over at Brook.
Brook stood up from the table. ‘Before we get onto our assignments I want to give you some idea what we’re up against.’ He paused. He knew the words but he had to weigh them carefully. ‘Two years ago this Christmas, and just a few doors away on the same street, the Wallis family was executed. I’ve chosen that word deliberately because these crimes aren’t personal and, if this is The Reaper, he has no contact with his victims until he goes to take their lives. The only clues left behind two years ago, and in London twenty years ago, were what The Reaper wanted us to see. We got no weapon, no prints, no fibres or hairs or anything that might have been used to make a case against a suspect, even if we’d been able to identify one.’
Grant looked up at him with a half-smile on her face.
‘This time it’s different. The killer has left us with a lot of evidence to go at. For that and other reasons that we’ll go into tomorrow, we’re working on the theory that this may be a copycat. Certainly there was no suggestion of a Derby man being involved in any of The Reaper killings, including the Wallis case two years ago. That is a piece of information to be given to no one outside this room.’ Brook paused to look round the room to ensure his message had been understood. ‘And with the evidence we’re compiling there’s a much better chance of catching last night’s killer. However, if it is a copycat, there’s a much higher probability of him striking again soon so we need to be on our mettle. Even more so than usual,’ he added as an afterthought to stroke a few egos. Brook wasn’t a natural people person, but bitter experience had taught him that most people needed encouragement.
‘All your assignments are absolutely crucial to the investigation as a whole so please don’t think that if you’re being asked to trace the origin of the barbecue from the scene, you’re just following up a minor lead. Nothing we ask you to do is unimportant and the smallest detail could be critical.’
Brook turned to Charlton.
‘And let me say again so there’s no confusion,’ said Charlton. ‘Anybody who thinks it’s okay to talk about details of this investigation to anybody, even if it’s about the colour of the elastic bands in the Incident Room, will find themselves in serious trouble. Now let’s move with a purpose, people.’
Brook stood back slightly from Hudson and Grant as they spoke to the hospital reception and fished the vibrating phone out of his pocket. He located and pressed the answer button, gluing it to his ear.
‘John. What?’
‘Good news. Ish.’
‘Go on,’ he said, ignoring Noble’s linguistic mangling. ‘The thumbprint on the mobile phone is not yours and it’s not Jason’s either.’
‘So it could be the killer’s.’
‘Looks that way. However, there are no matches on the system. Whoever did this has a clean record.’
‘It’s something to go on.’ Brook was silent for a moment. ‘John. Any chance you could check the print against IAFIS?’
‘IAFIS?’
‘That’s the US fingerprint database.’
‘You’re well informed.’
‘There’s a civil section for government employees, FBI, people like that. You might need some kind of permission.’
‘Care to tell me why?’
‘I see. It’s keep me out of the loop time again, is it?’
‘It’s only a hunch. But forget I asked, John.’
‘Okay, okay, I’ll see what I can do. Is Hudson with you?’
‘Why?’
‘We’ve got the results from your tests and I want him to hear them from me. Pass him the phone please, sir.’
Brook waved the phone at Hudson. ‘For you, Joshua.’
Hudson took the phone. After listening intently for a few seconds, he nodded. ‘Very good, John. Never doubted it.’
The police constable babysitting Jason Wallis stood behind the doctor. He made a drink signal to Brook who inclined his head and the fresh-faced young PC turned and headed down the corridor.
Brook peered at the curtain, behind which lay Jason Wallis, and wondered how the youngster would react to seeing him again. The morning after Jason’s family had been butchered, Brook had been greeted by a face of hate as Wallis, unaware of events, had paraded his contempt for the police and all authority. By the end of that interview, the fifteen-year-old Jason had been jolted back to his childhood with questions about the murder of his parents and younger sister. A few well-chosen photographs had sealed the deal. Jason’s lip had wobbled and he’d wept for the first time in years — for his family, yes, but primarily for himself. What’s going to happen to me? What would his reaction be now?
‘We’ve sent a blood test off to your Forensics people but physically he seems fine, if a little out of it,’ said the doctor, addressing Hudson. ‘If you ask me he’s probably just had too much to drink and maybe a few too many puffs of marijuana. These substances always lower body temperature which explains the mild hypothermia. We’ll keep him in overnight to be sure, but the main problem is likely to be shock.’
‘What about stomach contents?’ asked Brook.
‘We did pump his stomach in case of toxins but it was virtually empty,’ replied the doctor, checking his chart.
Brook’s eyes narrowed. ‘Empty? He went to a barbecue. You’re saying he didn’t eat any meat?’
‘Some breakfast cereal, that’s all. Your people can tell you what kind,’ he added with a shrug.
‘Thanks, Doctor.’ Hudson turned towards the screen as the doctor strode out of the ward. ‘Well, if he saw anything of what went on last night he could be in shock for a while.’
Brook smiled. ‘Don’t underestimate the power of self-absorption, Joshua.’ Neither Hudson nor Grant understood his meaning.
A middle-aged woman with short grey hair and sober apparel emerged from behind the screen. ‘Hello, officers. I’m Maureen Welch. The social worker,’ she added in lowered tones, looking around as though hoping no one else would hear.
‘How is he?’ asked Grant.
‘See for yourself.’ She stood aside and ushered them to Jason’s bedside.
Jason Wallis had grown since Brook had last seen him, doped up and helpless in his aunt’s house in nearby Borrowash. That wild and stormy night Brook had donned The Reaper’s mantle and confronted young Wallis, offered him a way out from under the knife. But Jason Wallis had called his bluff.
Maybe he should have arrested Jason for Annie Sewell’s murder when he had the chance. But it wasn’t his case and, after much soul-searching, he’d decided that fear of The Reaper’s return would be a more effective deterrent to Jason and his gang of teenage killers, robbing them of the peace of mind they might achieve in a locked cell. For all Jason knew The Reaper could return at any time to finish his work in Derby. Funny thing: The Reaper had returned but Jason was still breathing.
Brook looked him full in the face. His hair was a little longer than before and his face less spotty and perhaps a touch thinner. What was more striking, however, was Jason’s demeanour. Where once he was snarling and scornful, now he seemed quiet, reflective. Instead of looking up to greet his visitors with suspicion and loathing, Jason remained motionless, merely glancing up. His eyes flicked momentarily towards Hudson and Grant but when he spotted Brook, they lingered for a few seconds longer.
Brook prepared himself for accusations, for finger-pointing. But if Jason remembered that night, he showed no sign. He was sitting up in bed, his eyes open, but seemed hardly aware of his surroundings. His eyes looked glazed as he resumed his thousand-yard stare, not even flinching when Grant waved her hand in front of his face. Brook wondered if he’d been given some kind of sedative.
‘The doctor didn’t tell us he’d been doped up,’ grumbled Hudson.
‘Oh, he hasn’t,’ offered Maureen Welch. ‘They’ve given him nothing. That’s how he is.’ She moved to sit in a visitor’s chair at the side of the bed.
‘Jason. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Hudson. This is Detective Sergeant Grant and this is…’
‘I’m ready.’ Jason spoke softly but his voice seemed to echo around the room like a clap of thunder. For a moment the three officers looked at each other blankly.
‘That’s what he keeps saying,’ chipped in Maureen Welch. ‘“I’m ready.” That’s what he says.’
Then Jason did the last thing Brook had expected. His face was suddenly transformed by a friendly grin. ‘Hello, Inspector Brook.’
Hudson and Grant were puzzled. Brook was surprised but managed not to show it in front of his new colleagues. He’d expected hate. He’d expected fear or babbled accusations, but not this.
‘I’d like to talk to you about what happened last night…’ continued Hudson but broke off when Jason showed no sign of having heard.
Eventually he stopped grinning at Brook and turned to Hudson. ‘Last night?’
‘You were at your friend Stephen Ingham’s house. Having a barbecue and a few drinks in the backyard, remember? Somebody killed your friend Stephen. Somebody killed your other friends too.’ No reaction. ‘Ben Anderson and David Gretton. Did you see who it was? Can you remember anything?’
‘Did somebody use your phone, Jason?’ asked Grant, holding a pencil superfluously above a virgin page of notepad. ‘Was it The Reaper?’
At this Jason blinked.
‘That’s right, Jason,’ coaxed Hudson. ‘The Reaper! Did you see him? Do you know who it was?’
Finally Jason looked down at the bed, nodding. ‘I saw him.’
Hudson and Grant exchanged a glance. ‘Did you recognise him?’ breathed Grant eagerly.
Jason’s grin returned and he looked up at Brook and nodded his head gently. ‘I recognised him.’
Grant sneaked a glance at Brook for signs of worry but he seemed equally eager for the reply.
‘Who was it?’ prompted Hudson, trying to fight the rising tide of excitement. After twenty years he was going to find The Reaper. A day on the case and one of the world’s most sought-after killers was about to be unmasked.
‘It was The Reaper.’
Hudson and Grant crowded closer in on young Wallis. ‘How do you know?’
Now Jason fixed Brook with his grin once more. ‘We’ve met before.’
‘Can you describe him?’ said Hudson.
‘Bit smaller than Inspector Brook … chubbier. Not like you at all,’ he said to Brook, with a suggestion of a tease.
To Hudson and Grant’s consternation, Brook smiled back at Jason. Jason was telling him something. Telling him he remembered. Jason remembered their last meeting, but could only drop hints. Jason was as vulnerable as Brook to exposure. He was a killer, after all. If Jason was going to accuse Brook of being The Reaper he would’ve done it already.
‘But who was it?’ asked Hudson.
Jason shook his head. ‘He wore a mask as usual. A woolly thing…’
‘Balaclava? Ski mask?’
‘S’right. It covered his face.’
‘So you can’t identify him,’ said Grant. No reply.
Jason looked down at his sheets. ‘I told you. He wore a mask.’ He hung his head in shame briefly, remembering the tears and the terror of the chase. ‘They’re all dead.’
‘I’m
afraid so, Jason.’
Jason looked up. ‘No. He said they were. The Reaper. That’s what he said. I heard him. “They’re all dead”, he said.’
‘Do you know why he didn’t kill you?’ asked Hudson. ‘After all, he couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t identify him.’
Jason’s grin returned and he looked from one to the other. ‘He can’t.’
‘Can’t what?’ echoed Grant.
‘Can’t kill me. We’re squared away, see.’ Jason chuckled now.
‘Squared away?’
‘The Reaper and me. He can’t kill me now.’
‘You don’t seem worried,’ continued Grant.
Brook watched a more familiar expression, recalled from their first encounter, infect Jason’s teenage face. ‘Told you, you thick bitch. He blatantly can’t touch me. You think I’m gonna walk into a trap if…’ He stopped abruptly and returned his eyes to the bedsheets.
‘Trap?’ said Brook sharply.
‘Never mind,’ replied Jason with a cryptic smile and a dissembling touch of his nose with his finger.
Brook cracked a bitter smile and nodded. ‘You didn’t eat anything, Jason. Is that because you knew? You knew The Reaper was coming to the Ingham house, didn’t you?’
Jason became hesitant, evasive. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘How did you know, Jason?’ asked Hudson, trying to inject a little aggression into his voice.
‘The brand new barbecue,’ said Brook to Jason. ‘The Inghams won it, didn’t they? In a competition.’
‘No. Sting said they nicked it last week.’
‘Where from?’
‘Dunno.’
‘Then how did you know last night was a trap?’
‘Stinger texted me. They won stuff — a load of burgers and sausages and shit. Booze too,’ replied Jason after a pause. ‘They was having a party with it.’
‘And you knew, didn’t you, Jason? You made the connection.’ Brook stood back from the bed, now a little more animated. ‘Just like the pizzas your mum and dad won two years ago. It was a gift from The Reaper to get access. And you knew he was coming but you said nothing.’
Jason’s grin returned. ‘I told you. He can’t touch me.’