Читать книгу The Reaper - Steven Dunne - Страница 10

Back in his office Brook drained his coffee and massaged his eyes. He reached for the envelope left by Noble and flicked it open.

The top picture showed the pathetic, spindly corpse of Kylie Wallis, marble white, sightless eyes. It caught Brook momentarily unprepared and he recoiled as though from a red hot poker. Careless. Being tired he’d forgotten to erect the shield around his emotions, as much a part of his daily routine as pulling on his trousers.

Once his feelings were correctly attired, he looked again and began to sift through the evidence, these peep shows of insanity, with the detachment of the automaton.

He paused over a photograph of the wine bottle before putting it on one side. Then he extracted and retained a couple of others. Noble entered with two cups of vending machine coffee.

‘We can land a spacecraft on Mars, John, but we still can’t create a machine to deliver a decent cup of coffee,’ Brook grimaced, as he sipped the frothy liquid. ‘Have you got a cigarette?’

‘I thought you’d quit.’

‘Cut down, John. There’s a difference.’

‘Just quit buying,’ Noble said with a playful grin. Brook decided to deliver the chuckle Noble required as payment and accepted the proffered cigarette, inhaling deeply even before Noble had extinguished his lighter.

‘Sir.’ Noble was suddenly uneasy. ‘I wanted to thank you…’–Brook glanced at Noble with a look of mild bemusement though he knew what was coming–‘…for not mentioning my cock-up last night.’ Brook smiled.

‘Forget it, John. It wasn’t your fault. You had good reason not to enter the crime scene, especially as another officer had told you there were no signs of life. I’m not sure I can be quite so forgiving with Aktar though. Tampering with the evidence is a very serious matter.’

‘What do you mean?’

Brook searched for the relevant photograph. ‘Remember the pizza, the Four Seasons? Look at it. What do you notice?’

‘Notice?’

‘Be boring and factual.’

Noble hesitated briefly, unsure of what was required of him. After a pause to verify Brook’s serious intent, Noble took a stab at it. ‘It’s a half-eaten…’

Brook raised an admonishing eyebrow to Noble who knew the signal well and corrected himself.

‘…partially-eaten pizza.’

‘Better.’

‘It’s had two pieces taken from it.’

‘Go on.’

Noble looked at a loss.

‘Describe the pieces, John.’

‘Well, one’s a triangle cut out of the ham and mushroom bit…’

‘Triangle,’ said Brook with heavy emphasis. Noble looked back at him, perplexed, trying not to laugh.

‘The other piece,’ Noble smiled suddenly, ‘is torn from the salami segment. This pizza could have been eaten by two different people. Presumably Jason Wallis tore a piece off…and someone else took the trouble to cut a slice. The killer?’ he said hopefully, before shaking his head the instant Brook shook his own. ‘Aktar. The…idiot,’ barked Noble with real venom, remembering to omit the adjective.

Brook decided not to string it out any longer. ‘And what happened to both of them?’

Noble nodded now. ‘They both collapsed. The pizzas were doctored in some way. That’s how the killer was able to cut the family’s throats without a struggle.’

‘Right.’

‘That’s why you asked me about Aktar’s weight. Jason’s just a skinny kid. He fell where he was eating, where there’s tomato sauce on the floor, but the drug would take longer to be ingested by a heavier man so he would have finished his piece and still have been able to move around for a while. People would think he’d fainted after seeing the bodies.’

‘That’s very impressive, John.’

‘What? Telling you what you already knew?’

‘I only knew because I was looking for it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well…I’ve seen this MO before.’

‘When?’

‘A long time ago.’

‘With throats cut and the blood on the walls?’

‘Similar.’

‘That’s how you knew there was a message for us.’

‘Yes.’

‘And the doctored pizza?’

‘No. That’s different. Things change each time–just enough to muddy the profile.’

‘But he immobilised and killed families?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who was the killer?’

‘We never found him.’

‘What…?’

‘I don’t want to say any more at the moment because the connection’s not certain. And I need you to keep an open mind about things so you can pull me up if I start barking up the wrong tree.’

‘Whatever you say.’ Noble was annoyed but did a good job of not showing it. ‘So what now?’

‘Now? Until we find the van we concentrate on the house.’

‘SOCO are still going over it.’

‘They won’t find anything.’

‘They might.’

‘Not a chance. The planning that went into this. He’s not going to take his gloves off and touch things, or get peckish and leave a perfect set of dentures in a lump of cheese.’

‘I guess not. He might have had a sip of wine though.’

‘Don’t bank on it. What about the weapon?’

‘Nothing so far.’

‘How many uniforms have you got looking?’

‘Dozens.’

‘Get more, at least for a day or two, and widen the search. Fingertip. Get onto the council and suspend refuse collection in the area. Search all dustbins and grates on the estate. We’re not going to find it but we need to have looked.’ Brook sighed and then yawned. This was the part of the job he hated most. Clearing away the debris, the procedural minutiae that delayed everything, prevented him bringing his skills to bear on the nub of the case. ‘There’s so much garbage to organise.’

‘When do we speak to Jason?’

‘This morning. But you’re going to Pizza Parlour first. We need to know how the killer set this up in case Jason doesn’t know.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well if Forensics confirms that the pizzas were drugged, it means our killer must have delivered them…’

‘So he’s used them to make sure the family are unconscious which suggests he came back later, after they’d been eaten.’

‘Right.’ Brook paused, waiting to see if his point had hit home.

‘But if he’s delivered them, how can Pizza Parlour have taken the order?’

‘Good question, John.’

Noble thought for a moment then his jaw dropped open. ‘Christ! The bastard rang the Wallis family. He’s taken the order pretending to be Pizza Parlour.’ Noble shook his head and squinted at the floor. ‘Hang on, you wouldn’t order food from a takeaway that called out of the blue. Not unless they were giving it away.’ Noble looked up at Brook’s expectant face and smiled. ‘Maybe they were. Of course–a free meal like a promotion or prize or something. Who’s gonna turn that down? Was that the MO in the other case?’

‘We thought so. Though we never had any survivors to confirm it.’

‘But not pizzas.’

‘No. A video recorder and a CD system.’

‘Like winning a competition,’ Noble nodded with a smile. ‘Neat.’

Brook checked his watch and helped himself to another cigarette, looking at Noble for an objection. He lit up and took another huge pull. Soon the news would be hitting the streets of Derby. Not that he expected The Reaper to be within earshot. He was long gone.

Having roused his complaining car for the fourth time that morning, Brook dropped in at his flat on the way to the hospital. He needed to shower and change before meeting Noble there.

After showering he lay on the bed for five minutes and closed his eyes to relieve the stinging. Before he left, he rang the station to requisition a car for the afternoon. He couldn’t keep traipsing around in the Sprite. The water pump wouldn’t stand for it.

He booked a taxi to take him to the DRI. As he waited for the cab, he stared at the still-flashing answering machine, but decided against ringing Terri back.

Too often, in the last ten years, he’d danced around his feelings for his daughter, curtailing difficult conversations with phoney interruptions. Sod’s Law dictated that the cab driver would honk his horn the moment he started talking to her. He didn’t want another, albeit genuine, interruption to reinforce her jaundiced view of his love for her. Now he needed to talk, needed to spend some time with her, even if all he could embrace was a disembodied voice.

Noble was late so Brook left him a message at hospital reception, telling him to wait. He didn’t want him seeing Jason Wallis on his own. Then he went to see PC Aktar. He was sitting up in bed reading The Sun. Fortunately, it wasn’t visiting hour so he was alone, though clearly his family had arrived with armfuls of provisions earlier that morning.

‘I hate to butt in on someone trying to improve himself Brook was amused by Aktar’s panic-stricken attempt to acknowledge his superior–lying horizontal in hospital-issue pyjamas–though he made sure he didn’t show it.

‘I’m sorry, guv. I wasn’t expectin’ yer, anybody…’

Brook noted Aktar’s broad northern accent. Not a trace of Asian inflection. He kept silent while Aktar flustered, determined to make him sweat. There was an empty plastic bag on a chair beside the bed. Brook picked it up and pulled out Aktar’s boots from the locker and slid them into the bag.

‘Give these to Noble when he comes in. Forensics needs all the shoes from the Wallis house.’

‘Guv? Is there…?’

Brook put a finger to his lips and held Aktar’s dark eyes in his own. ‘Don’t ever call me guv, Constable. If you’re still in the Force after today, you’ll call me sir or Inspector, is that clear?’

‘Guv?’

‘Is that clear?’

PC Aktar was suddenly very abashed and Brook began to feel sorry for him. ‘Yes sir.’

‘That’s better. Your career depends on the answers you give me in the next few minutes,’ said Brook, peeling one of the photographs he’d set aside earlier, from his jacket. ‘Look at this.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘What do you see?’

‘It’s the living room of Mr and Mrs…’

‘What do you see, Constable?’

‘The CD player in the Wallis house.’

‘What do you notice?’

‘N-Nothing, sir.’

‘Exactly. It’s been turned off. DS Noble tells me that a Mr Singh went round to the Wallis household to complain about the noise. Do you understand?’

‘Yes sir. I think so.’

‘Explain it to me then, Constable.’

‘It was Mr Singh, sir. He went round. Said the front door was open. He went in and turned off the CD player. Said it was on very loud. I told him he shouldn’t have but he said he had no idea, at that time, what had happened. Until he turned the lights on, he thought they were all asleep.’

‘The lights were off?’

‘Yes sir. According to Mr Singh.’

‘Then how did he manage to turn off the CD player?’

‘The display, sir. He said it was very bright, sir. He could see to move round the room okay and well…’

Brook’s tone softened. ‘I see.’ He tossed the picture of the partially eaten pizza towards Aktar who examined it briefly before looking away. He wouldn’t lift his eyes from the bed cover. He looked, and clearly felt, a fool. ‘You’re very lucky, Constable. I think we may be able to forgive one mistake as your actions haven’t compromised the case–this time.’

‘It won’t happen again, sir.’

‘It better not. And I wouldn’t mention it to anyone unless you want the Force and yourself held up to ridicule.’

‘Don’t worry, sir.’

‘When are you out of here?’

‘This afternoon, sir.’

‘Report for duty to DS Noble, he’ll have some chores for you. Who’s your partner?’

‘WPC Jones, sir.’

‘Wendy Jones.’ Brook felt a tic of apprehension. ‘Good officer. Take her with you. This order is direct from the Chief Superintendent and you take your orders from DS Noble and myself. Understand?’

‘Perfectly, sir.’

Brook made to leave but turned back. ‘And Constable. The next time you feel peckish at a crime scene, send out for a bag of chips.’

Aktar’s foolish expression returned. ‘Yes sir. Thank you, sir.’

Brook drained his third plastic coffee of the day and shuddered. He tossed the thin beaker into the adjacent bin. ‘What have you got, John?’

Noble flicked a notebook. ‘Pizza Parlour didn’t send anyone round to the Wallis house with anything last night and you were right, they don’t deliver in vans. I spoke to the manager. He said they did have an identical order to the one at the crime scene. A Four Seasons, an American Hot and a Seafood. All family size…’

‘Let me guess. They were collected, not delivered and the customer paid cash.’

‘Right.’

‘What about CCTV?’

‘They don’t have it.’

Brook smiled. ‘Our boy’s determined not to make it easy for us. Description?’

‘Nothing useable. A man. Middle-aged maybe.’

‘That’s it?’

‘Nobody remembers who picked it up. They only look at the money–as you suspected.’

‘Yeah, it’d be nice to be wrong for a change. What else?’

‘DC Morton took a formal statement from Mr Singh next door. Singh said he went round to the Wallis house about half an hour after midnight. The front door was open but he didn’t suspect anything. The CD player was on loud so he turned it down and then off. He said he had no idea the Wallis family were dead because the lights were off. When he turned on the lights–bingo!’

‘And the volume?’

‘He said the music was distorted.’

‘So it must have been on full. Interesting. Okay. Have Forensics got his clothes and shoes?’

‘They have.’

‘Prints?’

‘Yep.’

‘Did we ask him about times?’

‘He said he didn’t go round straight away. He said he heard the music start earlier but it got really loud just past midnight–he looked at his watch. He stood it until half past before going round.’

‘So our killer turned the music up and left just after midnight.’

‘It looks that way.’

‘And Jason got home soon after and had his pizza.’

‘Wouldn’t he have heard the music?’

Brook nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s a strange one. Even out of his head you’d think he’d hear it and investigate.’

‘Maybe he thought it was the TV.’

‘Even so.’

‘And there’s the baby. Surely it would have woken up.’

‘Babies are funny, John. They can sleep through anything. Maybe it did wake up, maybe not. But unless she was screaming her head off who’s going to notice? With Aktar struggling to stay conscious that leaves Mr Singh, who’s in a situation for which he has no training.’

‘I suppose.’

‘What about the CD?’

‘Sent for dusting. It was’–Noble checked his notes–‘Symphony No. 9 by Mahler. I thought he was reggae.’

Brook smiled at Noble. ‘Bob Mahler and the Wailers. You know your music, John. And the case?’

‘No sign. Looks like the killer brought the CD and took the case with him. So we’ve very little chance of tracing the purchase.’

Brook nodded. ‘Anything else?’

‘Yeah. DC Cooper found a phone number for a Mrs Harrison at the Wallis house. Apparently she’s Mrs Wallis’ sister. A nurse. Divorced. Lives in Borrowash. She’d just heard the news and was obviously in a bit of a state. Says she hasn’t seen the family for a couple of weeks, though Mrs Wallis phoned her two days ago. Nothing in her manner to suggest she was worried about anything. I sent a WPC round for tea and sympathy. She says she’s willing to do the formal ID.’

‘Good.’

‘We got a fax from BT. Every call to the Wallis house up to two days before the murder came from numbers listed in Mrs Wallis’ address book, except one. That came from a public phone the day before.’

‘So he could check out the menu before ringing to take their order. Is it close to Pizza Parlour?’

‘Near enough. And it’s coin-operated not card.’

‘Really?’

‘Hard to believe they still exist, I know. Forensics is giving it a quick once-over but there’s no telling how many people have been in there since.’

‘What about enemies?’

‘We asked Mrs Harrison. She says not. Bobby had an occasional word with a neighbour or someone down the pub at chucking-out time. But nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing on this scale.’

‘And nothing in his jacket about dealing?’

‘Not even a sniff of drugs, no joke intended. He wasn’t the type.’

‘Check with the Drug Squad anyway. Just to tick it off.’

‘A message from the Chief. There’s a press conference at four, in time for the local evening news and she wants you there.’

‘Damn. I wish brass could jump through these hoops by themselves.’

‘I reckon she needs a man there to give the public a bit of confidence.’

Brook turned to Noble, this time without amusement. He had to stop letting these remarks slide, if only for the sake of balance. ‘That’s right. Evelyn McMaster knows exactly what kind of small-minded bigots are out there, John. And to her credit she’s big enough to swallow her pride and pander to their intolerance if it will bolster confidence in what we’re doing. That makes our job that bit easier, don’t you think?’

Noble was suitably abashed.

‘Here,’ continued Brook, pointing to the photograph of the Wallis fireplace. ‘You’ll have to follow this up now. I’ll speak to Jason on my own. What do you see, John?’

‘A bottle of wine.’

‘Not quite. It’s a bottle of expensive wine. A Nuits-Saint-Georges to be precise. From Burgundy.’

‘How do you know that?’ asked Noble, with a hint of suspicion. It was still an offence in most station houses to drink anything other than lager and cheap whisky.

‘Because I spent my honeymoon on a barge in Burgundy and that was a wine we could never afford. We weren’t well off, but I imagine it would still cost you at least fifteen to twenty pounds in a supermarket. Assuming you can get it round here. I doubt the Wallis family are oenophiles,’ he flicked a glance at Noble but his constable was maintaining the face of a stoic, ‘so get someone to find out where it was bought and by whom, if you can. Who else is on the team apart from Cooper?’

‘DC Morton, DC Bull, DC Gadd.’

‘Jane Gadd? Good officer,’ said Brook evenly, ignoring Noble’s quick glance. Jane Gadd was Noble’s girlfriend. Brook wasn’t supposed to know that–nobody was–but receding proximity to sexual relationships had sharpened his antennae in such things. More importantly she was young and hungry for promotion, as were DCs Dave Bull and Rob Morton. This was a big opportunity for them and he knew they’d toe the line and work hard.

‘Try the big supermarkets centrally. They’ll know if they stock it. When Aktar’s discharged get him and Wendy Jones to help. Send them round the off licences.’

WPC Wendy Jones was reading a magazine as Brook peered through a crack in the curtains. He hesitated. This could be difficult and Brook wasn’t sure how to play it. That was nothing new. He hadn’t been sure on any of the chance encounters since their little fling the previous New Year’s Eve had left them both with a severe case of embarrassment.

Nearly a year ago. Brook could scarcely believe it. The power of alcohol had a miraculous power to transform behaviour. Brook could scarcely tally the demure, black-stockinged professional before him now with the reckless passion of that night. The energy and the urgency of her lovemaking had left its mark on Brook, a casualty of a more repressed generation.

It had been the best sex he could remember–and he had a good memory–and had offered him a glimpse of a happiness he thought he could never experience after his divorce.

He hated to admit it, but the touch of young flesh had thrown open the stable door on emotions he hadn’t allowed free rein in a long, long time–lust, the poignancy of retreating youth, the urge to retrieve his wasted life. For the first time in years, Brook had experienced fleeting optimism. It was a very unhealthy period.

He coughed as he entered to allow her a few seconds to prepare. Her generous mouth dropped open briefly to reveal a glimpse of her perfect teeth. Her large dark eyes met his and she stood up. Brook was reminded of her long legs and stunning figure–what one of his poker-playing colleagues in the Met used to call a ‘Full House’.

‘Sir!’ she said her eyes almost level with his. She was only a couple of inches shorter than Brook’s six feet.

‘I didn’t know you were riding shotgun, Constable.’ Brook decided only at the last second not to call her Wendy.

‘Only while PC Aktar’s in here, sir.’ She fiddled with the grip restraining her long brown hair.

‘I’ve just seen him.’

Jones seemed very nervous and Brook was reminded of her acute awkwardness at waking up, not just with a senior colleague, but in his hovel of a flat. She’d scuttled back to her riverside development as quickly as she could. ‘How is he, sir?’

‘He’s feeling a little sorry for himself.’

‘I daren’t imagine what he saw to cause him to pass out like that.’

‘No. It was pretty bad,’ he added, deciding not to expand. ‘How’s this one?’ Brook enquired, nodding towards Jason Wallis who was unconscious.

‘The doctor says he’ll be fine–unfortunately.’

Brook gave her a quizzical smile.

‘Sorry, sir. But the little girl…I didn’t see her.’ She looked to the ground, suddenly embarrassed, as though she’d let down her sex by not forcing herself to see such a sight. ‘And this…lowlife gets away with a headache and even more celebrity. There’s no justice.’

‘Celebrity?’

‘Young Wallis, sir. After that hoo-hah a few weeks back. He assaulted a teacher in a lesson at Drayfin Community School. Threatened to rape her.’

Enlightenment creased Brook’s features. ‘That was Jason?’ He nodded with satisfaction. ‘Thanks for the reminder, Constable. Has anybody spoken to him?’

‘About last night? No sir. He’s not really been conscious. Why?’

‘So he hasn’t said anything?’

‘Not a dickey bird,’ she replied with an unexpected, if hesitant, smile which vanished before it had a chance to wrinkle the edge of her mouth. ‘Doesn’t he know?’

‘I don’t think so. Given the state he was in, I’m pretty sure he couldn’t have killed anyone and…’ Brook tailed off, unsure of the words.

‘Would you eat pizza if you’ve just found your family butchered?’ concluded Jones with a nod. ‘Do you need me to stay?’

She seemed very efficient all of a sudden. There was also the merest whisper of affection in her voice and a small seed of pleasure took root in the barren soil of Brook’s ego. He smiled, trying to imagine the question in a different context. ‘No, take a break, but keep yourself handy. Shouldn’t there be a social worker with him?’

‘She’s gone for a coffee, sir. She’ll be back in a minute.’ Brook nodded. She made to leave the cubicle then turned. ‘One thing. Jason’s under technical arrest, as a suspect…’ she hesitated.

‘Go on.’

‘We emptied his pockets. He’s got a hundred pounds on him. And a strip of tablets. Ecstasy, I think. Might be helpful.’

She left and Brook turned to young Jason. He stared at the childlike face for a moment trying to square his innocent expression with a threat to commit rape. He was just a kid. What had gone wrong with the world when little idiots like this felt they could threaten such violence?

Jason’s mouth lay open and a small stalactite of saliva was hanging from his bottom lip. Brook frowned and shook his head. How old was he? Fourteen? Fifteen, same as Terri? Just a kid. Oblivious. Snarling defences taking a time out. Without the posturing, without his warped sense of self, Jason Wallis was just another scared little baby, needy and lost and dribbling.

If he was lucky–or unlucky–Jason might live another sixty years and Brook knew he could map out his sorry life now. From birth to death it was a story he’d heard many times before.

Drugs, booze, fags, the search for cheap thrills, school’s boring, skip it, hanging out with friends, no qualifications, no future, hanging out with more friends, now petty criminals, stealing for fag money, destroying stuff, windows are good, milk bottles, bus shelters, phone booths, yeah I did it, what you gonna do about it?

He does what he likes. No-one to stop him. Jason and his friends aren’t nobodies no more–they’re big fish in a tiny puddle of piss. They’ve got power, the power to change things, not people, people can’t hear them, people walk by them, unless it’s dark, then they cross the road. Not people. Inanimate objects. They can’t run; they’ve got to listen; they can be changed by the power, from one state to another; the alchemy of destruction.

And sex? Plenty of that. Sex with a minor, still at school, willing to bury her despair under his. No need to take precautions, that’s the girl’s job. So what if she’s up the duff? Her problem. But wait. There’s a baby, that’s a nailed on income, your own place. Respect. Give it a whirl. I can walk away any time.

Shut the fucking brat up! I’m off out. Few beers. With my mates. Roll a couple of drunks. I’ve got to live, haven’t I? They’re insured.

I’m better off in pokey. I’ve learnt some good stuff. Get out. Get some dosh together. Go back in. Lesson learned. If only I’d listened in school, made more of myself. Too late now. Gotta tough it out. Can’t admit I’ve gone wrong. What’s wrong with driving a minicab? Life’s okay. We’re coping, waiting for those numbers. Doing fine. Kids have left. We’ll get by. Is this it? All there is.

Brook looked at his watch. He had a lot to do. He looked around to see if anybody was watching then cocked his leg back to kick the bed but then thought better of it.

But suddenly the patient snorted and began to stir. Brook looked through the gap in the curtain for the social worker but saw no sign.

‘What’s happening? Where am I?’ he croaked.

Brook went to the bed and looked down at him. ‘You’re in hospital, Jason.’

Jason sat up and blinked at his surroundings. He rubbed at the tube inserted in his forearm then looked up at Brook.

‘I’m thirsty,’ he said in that whining voice children use to ask for something without the bother of having to ask. Brook poured him some water from a jug and he drank it down in one, occasionally darting an eye at his impassive visitor. The wariness of the guilty conscience was the first defence mechanism to be revived. He thrust the glass back at Brook for a refill and drank again, more slowly this time.

Thinking time, thought Brook. Eventually Jason cracked.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘Detective Inspector Brook.’ The answer didn’t seem to surprise Jason.

‘Fuck do you want?’ he snarled. The routine fear of authority, accepted in Brook’s distant youth, was now a faded memory–a museum piece of a reaction. Today the obligatory response of youth was contempt. Contempt for those who couldn’t stop them doing exactly as they pleased. Parents, teachers, coppers.

‘I can’t talk to you without an adult present. The social worker…’

‘What you on about?’

‘I can’t talk to you without another adult present. Those are the rules, Jason. I’m sure you know the procedure by now.’

Jason leered at Brook. ‘Oh I get it. It’s that fuckin’ teacher been spreadin’ her lies again. I told you lot before, I never laid a finger on it. Get my dad in here.’

‘That would be difficult.’

‘You can’t interview me without an adult.’

‘I just told you that.’

‘Then stop hassling me.’

‘I’ve gotta say, Jason, you’ve got this whole performance down perfectly.’

‘Fuck off! And who the fuck are you?’ demanded Jason looking past Brook.

‘My name’s Carly Graham, Jason. I’m a social worker.’

Brook turned and smiled at her. ‘Detective Inspector Brook.’ She was young and slim with long brown hair, attractive in a pale, mousy kind of way. She wore a tight brown sweater and a brown corduroy skirt down to her calves, where fur-lined brown suede boots took over. Jason looked her up and down, thinking what to say next.

‘Inspector. You shouldn’t be interviewing Jason without at least one adult present. He’s under age and vulnerable.’

‘I keep fucking telling him,’ spat Jason.

‘No I keep telling you, Jason. I’m not interviewing him, Miss Graham. I just got here and Jason just woke up and I’ve told him repeatedly I can’t speak to him on his own.’

‘It’s against the rules,’ she continued, to establish her firm grip on procedure.

‘That could’ve been me talking, Miss Graham,’ replied Brook, a half-smile on his lips.

‘I don’t feel too good,’ wailed Jason, holding his recently pumped stomach.

‘Under the circumstances, I don’t think you should be taking things so lightly, Inspector.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ replied Brook, making no effort to take things more seriously.

‘What circumstances?’ moaned Jason.

‘It can wait until…’ began Carly Graham.

‘No it fucking can’t. I want to know why he’s here so keep your mouth shut, bitch, until I tell you to open it.’

Carly Graham glanced at Brook. She didn’t show a flicker of emotion. Like Brook, she’d probably seen Jason’s expression of scorn and hatred a thousand times. Finally she shrugged and waved her palm from Brook to her client.

‘I’m here about a murder, Jason,’ began Brook.

‘What’s that got to do with me?’ Jason sneered. This conversation had a well worn path and Brook wondered whether he could see it through. The Jasons of this world went out of their way to alienate. Unless they were spraying their scent over everything and everyone they weren’t happy and Brook, in his fatigue, was tempted to jettison the script and give it to him straight. He fought the urge and tried to find his most sympathetic tone.

‘We’ve got bad news,’ he said.

‘Oh yeah. What is it?’

Brook smiled at Carly Graham. This was her field.

She sighed and took up the baton. ‘Jason, I’m afraid your father and mother are dead, your sister Kylie too. I’m sorry for your loss.’

They both looked at Jason’s uncomprehending face. After a moment Jason’s face broke into a wide grin. ‘You lying bitch,’ he finally said. ‘That’s bollocks.’

‘Jason…’ began Brook.

‘What are you trying to pull, you lying bastards? What do you take me for?’

Brook removed a crime scene photograph of Jason’s father from his pocket and held it in front of his face. Jason’s eyes widened then squinted in confusion. He made to grab the photo but Brook returned it to his pocket.

‘They’re dead. They were murdered last night.’ A tear began to dampen the corner of Jason’s eye. The baby had returned. Brook wondered whether to be sorry for his loss but was unable to dredge up any sincerity.

Jason seemed unable to take it in. ‘Fuck off, will yer. You’re doing my head in.’

‘Their throats were cut. The baby was unharmed. I’ve got more pictures if you don’t believe me.’

‘Inspector!’ warned Carly Graham.

He’d gone too far but knew in his heart that the longer he dealt with this boy, the more he’d be glad he was able to affect him, to hurt him, to reach behind that curtain of aggression and find the heart of a child.

Jason’s features crumpled and, like all but the newest men, he tried to hide his tears. Brook was pleased with the reaction despite the gnaw of guilt on his conscience.

‘Me mum and dad?’ he quivered.

‘Yes.’

‘Kylie?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Yes you do.’

Now the tears began to fall. He sobbed for a minute, Carly Graham’s hand patting his, before getting control of his emotions. ‘What’s going to happen to me?’ he sniffed.

Brook stared at the boy, then at Carly, trying to hide his disgust.

‘Don’t think about that now, Jason,’ cooed Carly. ‘Your aunt will be in to see you later. You should get some rest.’

‘And rest assured you’ll be fully protected.’

Carly Graham flashed Brook a warning look.

‘Protected?’ said Jason, almost to himself.

Brook wasn’t proud of his satisfaction at seeing Jason squirm but knew it was the best guarantee of cooperation. ‘If you’d been home a little earlier last night we wouldn’t be talking to you now. And it’s possible whoever did this may see you as unfinished business.’

Jason looked up, saucer-eyed. ‘Me?’

‘Inspector. What good is this doing? Can’t this wait?’

‘Not if we want to catch the murderer quickly. Particularly as Jason may have been the main target.’

‘What you talking about? This is so gay. Fuck off and leave me alone.’

‘I’m talking about you, Jason. You’re the celebrity in the family. There’s a chance whoever did this was after you.’

Jason began to sob again. A tear for his butchered father, a tear for his butchered mother, perhaps a couple for his torn sister and a bucketful for himself.

‘We need your help,’ continued Brook.

‘I don’t know nothing,’ he snorted, managing to resurrect a little aggression.

‘That’s a pity because the longer this man is free, the greater the danger to you.’ Brook’s reassuring smile had the desired effect.

‘You’re doin’ my head in. I don’t know nothing,’ he insisted.

‘So where were you last night?’

‘Hanging.’

‘Where?’

‘Around.’

‘Who with?’

‘Some mates.’

‘I want names.’

‘Fuck that. I’m no grass.’

‘Where did you get a hundred pounds?’

‘I won it on a horse,’ Jason sneered with the standard and-you-can’t-prove-otherwise leer.

‘Really Well as you’re too young to legally place a bet, that money will have to be confiscated.’

‘You can’t do that…’

‘And the Ecstasy?’

Jason’s triumphant manner subsided. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve planted that on me. I’ve been out cold. Anyone…’

‘Look,’ began Brook then paused for a deep breath to compose his thoughts, ‘I’m not interested in your…habits, Jason. If you want to pop a few pills to brighten your drab existence, who am I to care?’

Jason prepared to protest but was unsure how to go about it.

Carly Graham eyed Brook with concern. ‘Inspector, I don’t think…’

‘Under the circumstances, I can overlook possession. If you co-operate,’ said Brook, making an effort to keep to the script.

Jason withdrew his unformed objection and stared down at the bed, sullen but yielding. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Take me through what happened when you got home.’

Brook took a few notes although it wasn’t really his forte. Jason told him little that he didn’t already know so he didn’t have much to record. But he confirmed that his parents had ‘won’ a competition at the local Pizza Parlour and that he’d nearly stayed in. He had no idea what time he got home, though he had a feeling it was after closing time–he was self-absorbed enough not to worry about admitting he’d been in a pub. He’d got home starving and headed straight for the kitchen. He tucked into the first pizza to hand. And then…nothing. Until now. No, his parents didn’t drink wine and no, they didn’t listen to any of that classical bollocks.

‘But did you hear it when you got in?’

‘Don’t know, alright. I don’t remember.’ Jason lowered his head in despair at the thoughts and images crowding in. He sighed and looked up at Brook. ‘I don’t think I heard no music. Okay.’

‘Fair enough.’ Brook flipped his notes shut and stood up to go. Jason was leaving a lot out but it could wait.

Suddenly the patient seemed animated, as though Brook’s imminent departure left unfinished business. Then his face brightened. ‘What about the telly?’

‘Telly?’ asked Brook. ‘It’s still there.’

‘No, you know. An appeal for witnesses and stuff. They can interview me and I can ask people for help to catch the bastard. I can handle it.’

Brook stood motionless for a second, unable to think of a suitable response. He could see Carly Graham open-mouthed. ‘I bet you can,’ he said, and walked away.

Brook passed Jones at the coffee machine. ‘What happened about Jason’s clothes?’

‘Bagged up with his shoes and sent to Forensics, sir.’

‘Good. And you’ve booked in the money and the drugs?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Which means we’ve got Wallis on possession, possibly dealing. We’ll leave out suspicion of triple homicide.’

‘Sir?’

‘He’s a suspect, Constable. Possibly dangerous. Cuff him.’

‘The doctor said…’

‘Never mind the doctor. It’s procedure. Cuff him.’