by Steven Dunne
‘Good job I didn’t die then,’ she joked. Brook allowed her a thin smile but it didn’t last and Terri looked away.
‘They’re dead, you know,’ she said softly, a moment later. ‘If not now, then soon. The website is the hook. It hits all the right buttons. First the violence – perhaps sex, tomorrow. Make sure everyone’s watching them, talking about them, analysing their pain. Like they probably analysed Miranda’s pain and the other girls who disappeared on Hanging Rock. That’s where they got the idea, isn’t it? That’s when they realised they didn’t have to continue suffering.’
Brook shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But you’re wrong – they’re not dead. It’s a game. Adele, the girl who reminds me of you, she’s smart, she’s got things to say.’
‘Maybe she’s already said them.’
‘I don’t think so. Not yet.’
‘Is she smart enough to do what I did?’
Brook looked into Terri’s eyes, then down at her wrists. ‘Let’s hope not.’
Terri sat in silence, sipping her wine. Brook checked his watch. ‘I should go to bed.’
‘Tell me about The Reaper, Dad.’
Brook turned to her. The second elephant was in the room and she’d spotted it. ‘What about him?’
‘Who was he?’
‘Haven’t you heard? I never caught him. He’s still at large.’
‘I mean, what did he do? What was it like finding all those … ?’
Brook looked across at her. ‘Bodies?’
Terri nodded.
Brook was silent. ‘It was terrible,’ he said finally – Brook’s first lie to his daughter. At least, the first he could remember telling. Nineteen-ninty. Twenty-one years ago and he could remember it like yesterday. He’d felt nothing. Standing beneath the corpse of a child hanging from a rope, then the year after, a young girl tied to a chair on its side, throat cut from ear to ear. It had left him cold. No, it was worse than that. He’d felt excitement at the first one. It was just a case, another puzzle. Who and why? He’d seen too much, even as a mere thirty year old in the Met. He was dead inside, hollowed out. Looking back, that was the problem, the first step on the road to his breakdown.
‘Go on.’
‘It’s a matter of public record, Terri. I’ve got a book you can read …’
‘I want you to tell me.’
Brook drained his glass. ‘He killed families. Cut them up in their own homes. He did it quickly and efficiently and without pleasure, like it was work, something he had to get done.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’d decided that society would be better off without them. They were always petty criminal families who made other lives a misery. He figured that no one would miss them, no one would mourn their passing. Know what? He was right.’
‘North London was the first, correct?’
Brook nodded imperceptibly. ‘Harlesden, 1990. Sammy Elphick and his wife and boy.’
‘You remember their names after all this time?’
Brook just smiled at her without showing his teeth. ‘The year after, Floyd Wrigley and his girlfriend were … killed. Their daughter Tamara had her throat cut.’
‘How old was she?’
‘Ten or eleven.’
‘God. Is that what started it?’
‘My breakdown? It’s hard to say. But it was a difficult time. You’d just been born, yet I was spending every waking hour looking for The Reaper. I became obsessed.’
‘Didn’t you have any suspects?’
Brook refilled his glass. ‘No.’ His second lie.
‘And then you had your breakdown?’
Brook sighed. ‘When your mum and I … I came to Derby to get away, to find some peace.’ He managed a bitter laugh.
‘But The Reaper followed you to Derby.’
‘Not at first. But yes, he followed me here.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’ A hat-trick of lies. To his own daughter.
‘And two more families died.’
‘Yes.’
Terri appeared satisfied, but Brook knew she was preparing the ground or soon the elephant in the room would be shattering the windows. ‘Tony was murdered three years ago. Just before that last family were slaughtered in Derby.’
Brook looked her in the eye. ‘I know.’
Terri continued, staring off intently as though at an invisible script. ‘The police interviewed me after Tony’s murder. They were very interested in you. They said you had no alibi. They said you had motive – because of Tony and me. They said you came down to Brighton five years ago and assaulted him. You’d found out about our … affair.’ She swallowed. ‘Is that true?’
‘Affair,’ he sneered. ‘Adults have affairs.’
‘Is it true?’ she persisted.
Brook could see his daughter was short of breath, anticipating the answer to a question long in the forging. ‘Yes, it’s true. I went to Tony’s office. I was only going to threaten him, warn him off. Guess I lost control. Two years later, after he was murdered, they came to Derby to interview me. I was an obvious suspect.’
Terri said nothing but her mind was in turmoil, willing her on, willing her to stop.
Brook put her out of her misery. ‘You can ask me.’
She took a sharp intake of breath and sought the right words. They were deceptively simple. ‘Did you kill him, Dad?’
Brook smiled now. No more lies. He looked her straight in the eye. ‘No.’
When Terri trudged back to the sofa, it was nearly two in the morning. Brook finally dragged himself up the stairs an hour before he had to set off back into Derby for his shift in Leopold Street. He didn’t sleep, didn’t even undress, just lay on the bed staring at the ceiling. Eventually he hauled himself back down the stairs to leave, slipping the new Poe anthology into his pocket.
On his way out, he spotted a note on the table.
Dad, you said this Adele was a poet and she bought the Edgar Allan Poe anthology the day she disappeared. But if she’s anything like me she’s been thinking about things for a long time. Have a look at the other books in her room. She would read poets who actually killed themselves and wrote poems to that end. They’d probably be women e.g. Anne Sexton or Sylvia Plath. Just a thought.
Glad we had a chance to talk and don’t worry.
You’re my immortal love now.
Love you. T x
Brook felt a childish rush of pleasure. He was loved. He glanced across at the closed door behind which his daughter slept. He wanted to sneak in and check she was safe and warm, as he’d done when she was a baby. Brook would sit for hours next to her cot just watching her, feeling the exquisite dread of the protector, the bulwark against the horrors of the outside world beyond the nursery door. He’d failed her; let her fall into the clutches of Tony Harvey-Ellis. Maybe he had another chance.
DS Morton rolled down the window. ‘You’re early, sir.’
‘Couldn’t sleep. All quiet?’
‘As the grave.’ Morton yawned.
‘Go and get a few hours’ sleep, Rob. Busy day tomorrow.’ Morton raised an eyebrow. ‘Today,’ Brook amended with a smile.
‘What time do we start at the college?’
‘Nine-thirty.’
Brook manoeuvred his BMW into the tight space left by Morton. He poured a tea from his flask and texted Noble to have SOCO gather all the artefacts like books and posters from Adele Watson’s bedroom. He wanted another look at her Sylvia Plath book.
He opened his anthology of Edgar Allan Poe, rereading ‘A Dream Within a Dream’ then skimmed through some of the other works. He alighted on Poe’s most famous long poem, ‘The Raven’, and read it thoroughly, all eighteen verses, alighting on the lines,
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;
’Tis the wind and nothing more!
Brook woke with a start, strange lights dancing around in his head. When he was able to fully open his eyes, he saw the reason why. Emergency lights wer
e flashing across the road. He jumped from his car and ran towards the derelict house, shielding his sleep-deprived eyes from the blinding glare. He could make out a figure, walking unsteadily towards the rear of an ambulance, and quickened his pace.
‘Phil,’ shouted Brook. ‘Is that you?’
The hunched form of Phil Ward turned. He screwed his eyes to try and focus on Brook.
‘Damen?’ he slurred, swaying from side to side. The uniformed ambulanceman was helping him find the bottom step of the vehicle.
Brook drew to a halt. ‘What happened, Phil? Are you okay?’
‘He’ll be fine,’ said the man in uniform, not looking at Brook. ‘He’s just had a bad fall.’ He eased Phil carefully up the first step and on to a padded bench.
‘Where are you taking him?’ asked Brook.
‘The Royal,’ answered the man, closing the first door.
Phil gazed glassy-eyed at Brook, his head sagging, his eyes bleary with drink. ‘Zat you, Damen?’ He sat inside the ambulance, brought his hand to his mouth and took a long draught of barley wine.
Brook froze in realisation and he turned just in time to see a gloved hand holding something black and hard describe an arc towards the top of his head. The lights this time were multicoloured as Brook’s knees buckled and he fell to the pavement. He managed to stay upright long enough to watch the burly figure close the second door on a bewildered Phil, before plummeting to the ground with a thud.
Brook heard footsteps and tried to look up through the lights but blood had trickled into his eyes. He could just see the black shoes standing beside him and tried to store more information, but he couldn’t focus. Then he felt liquid splash over him, burning into his eyes and soaking his clothes. Whisky. When the bottle was empty the man placed it in Brook’s hand and the lights went out completely as he fell, spinning head first, into a bottomless black pit.
Seventeen
Friday, 27 May
BROOK’S NOSE WAS THE FIRST of his senses to return. He could smell a sickly-sweet chemical odour that told him immediately he was in a hospital. He hated hospitals. People died in them. People he knew.
‘Welcome back, sir.’
Brook opened his eyes to pain and closed them at once. When the pain remained he opened them again to see Noble, grinning at him. Terri stood next to him and grabbed his hand.
‘Dad, are you okay?’
‘Never better,’ he groaned and tried to sit up but thought better of it immediately.
‘What happened?’ asked Noble.
‘Somebody hit me. I think.’
‘One of the tramps,’ began Noble.
‘Well, well,’ said another voice. ‘How’s my patient? No, I wouldn’t advise moving for an hour or two, Inspector.’
Brook brought his hand to his nose and sniffed. ‘Whisky.’
‘Yes, we thought you were a down-and-out at first, what with the clothes and all.’ Brook narrowed a beady eye at the young doctor, who continued to study Brook’s chart, oblivious to the implication. ‘Probably why people left you lying in the street so long.’ Terri and Noble stood by, trying not to smile. ‘But your blood alcohol was low so we had to rethink. It’s lucky no one took your mobile phone or we wouldn’t have been able to ring your daughter and your colleague.’
‘They probably looked at him and thought he couldn’t afford one.’ Terri laughed.
Brook ignored her. ‘Doctor …’
‘ … Roberts,’ smiled the young physician. ‘No need to worry. You’ve had four stitches in a head wound and you’re going to have headaches for a day or two, but that will pass. You may have a slight concussion but I don’t think we need to admit you. Don’t drive for a couple of days, drink lots of hot sweet tea and see your GP in a week for a check-up. Peace and quiet should do the trick – shouldn’t be a problem for someone with only two contact numbers on speed dial.’ He joked, ‘I envy you, Inspector. My phone rings so often I can’t hear myself think.’
‘Lucky you,’ observed Brook drily.
The doctor moved to the privacy screen. ‘Back in a moment.’
‘What time is it?’ asked Brook, after Roberts had left.
‘Four o’clock,’ said Noble.
‘In the afternoon!’ exclaimed Brook. ‘We’ve missed the Deity broadcast.’
‘No, we haven’t,’ said Terri, indicating a laptop case under her arm.
‘You’ve seen it?’ he asked. And when Terri and Noble nodded, tightlipped, ‘Well?’
‘Best you see it for yourself when you’re better, Dad.’
‘When’s the next one?’
‘Three o’clock tomorrow.’
‘And college?’
‘It wasn’t a complete waste of time,’ answered Noble. ‘We’re still collating.’
‘Oh, you’re collating, are you?’ Brook said tiredly. ‘When are you briefing?’
‘Sir, we can handle things without you for a couple of days,’ said Noble, looking at Terri for support.
‘You need to rest, Dad. I’ll take you home.’
‘I’m fine.’ He looked around for his jacket and began to sit up.
‘Dad, you heard the doctor.’
‘When are you briefing?’ Brook insisted.
‘In an hour.’
Brook nodded. ‘Good. Where’s my car?’
‘Outside,’ said Noble. ‘Terri gave me a lift so I could drive it back to St Mary’s. The ambulance—’
‘Ambulance,’ Brook remembered, staring at Noble. ‘It was an ambulance driver that hit me.’
Noble looked quizzically at Brook. ‘Sir, I …’
‘Not a real one, John. I mean, it was a real ambulance, or had been at one time, but the driver must have been Ozzy Reece. He was taking Phil from the house to the ambulance.’
‘Phil?’
‘Phil Ward. He was one of the tramps.’
‘You got a name?’ asked Noble.
Brook hesitated. ‘I knew him once – at university. I ran against him.’ He decided not to mention the lap and a half. ‘He was there in the squat when I was undercover. And now thanks to me, he’s the next victim.’
‘Funny he’s abducted this Phil when he hasn’t dumped Jock’s body yet.’
‘We don’t know he hasn’t dumped him, just that we haven’t found it.’ Brook flicked his eyes in Terri’s direction to tell Noble they shouldn’t be discussing corpses in front of her. She caught it.
‘Dad, I’m a big girl now.’
‘How the hell does a university graduate end up sleeping rough?’ said Noble.
Brook looked into Terri’s eyes as he spoke. ‘Weakness.’
‘An ambulance,’ said Noble. ‘That does make sense. People are rarely suspicious of ambulances and it would be much easier for one person to manhandle a body off a bridge from a trolley. Did you get a look at him?’
‘Only briefly. Middle-aged. Well built. And a slight northern accent.’
‘Is that all?’
Brook remembered with a flush of guilt that he’d fallen asleep and was barely awake when he’d approached the ambulance. ‘The lights were very bright.’ He swung his legs gingerly to the floor.
Dr Roberts returned. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Don’t want to take up a valuable Casualty bed, Doctor. I’m fine.’
‘You’re not fine, you need rest.’
Brook thrust his hand into the doctor’s and shook it. ‘Thanks, Doctor, I know.’ Then he marched out a little unsteadily, flanked by Terri and Noble.
Brook examined the artist’s composite of Ozzy Reece.
‘Ring any bells, sir?’ asked Gadd.
Brook stared at the face, trying to place it. He had the feeling it was a face he’d seen before. ‘It could be the ambulance driver. It’s pretty nondescript.’ Brook glanced at Gadd – she was holding her head away from him. Brook sniffed his arm. He still stank of whisky but had no clean clothes in his locker. ‘How many people contributed?’
‘Two of the hearse drivers at Duxbury and Du
xbury. They’re adamant it’s a good likeness.’
‘Okay. Put it out there. On the ambulance angle, assuming it’s a rogue …’ began Brook.
‘… we nail down the whereabouts of the bona fide fleet between four and five this morning and maybe we can match up some CCTV to The Embalmer’s vehicle,’ said Gadd. ‘On it. Also I’ve set DC Read and DC Smee on to the private companies who sell secondhand ambulances. There are more than you’d think.’
Brook raised an eyebrow. ‘Read and Smee?’
‘The Chief assigned them to me to take over surveillance but I assume we’re scrapping that.’
‘We are. Reece won’t go back to Leopold Street now he knows we’re on to him. Clear it out and get a SOCO team in to go over the place.’
‘Already in motion, though SOCO are getting pretty stretched,’ said Gadd. ‘On the plus side, I got a batch number from some of the bottles of barley wine and whisky I picked up last night. We’ve traced them to a Cash and Carry in Nottingham that took a bulk order from an Oz Reece.’
‘Any details? Credit card? Address?’
Gadd shook her head. ‘The clue’s in the name. We got a mobile number but it’s a dud.’
‘Cameras?’
‘Too long ago for film.’
Brook nodded and went to sit on a desk at the back of the darkened Incident Room, trying to tune out the pounding in his head. Charlton came to sit next to him. He looked over at Brook’s bandaged head and grimaced when the odour of whisky hit his nostrils but he didn’t offer comment.
Terri had gone for a walk around the centre of Derby. Brook had tried to persuade Charlton that Terri should stay and offer valuable insights into the teenage psyche but Charlton wasn’t to be swayed and Brook didn’t have the strength to argue.
The whiteboard screen came to life at Noble’s bidding and the Deity film started. For four minutes the officers in the room watched spellbound, despite this being the second viewing for some. Brook immediately recognised Becky Blake from her photo. She was sitting in her bedroom. The picture was a little jumpy at first and it was hard to see what she was doing. Fortunately the picture improved and the bright lighting around her make-up table clearly showed Becky’s reflection in the mirror. She was sitting on her bed working on her laptop.