The Reaper (42 page)

‘The old woman in the sheltered housing.’

‘You’re joking?’

‘There were traces of cocaine in Jason’s system. There was cocaine in Annie Sewell’s flat. She was forced to take some before she was killed.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I sneaked a look at her autopsy.’

‘That’s Inspector Greatorix’s case.’

‘So what? He wasn’t interested in it. Has he made an arrest?’

‘It could be anyone. A burglary gone wrong…’

‘It was a contract killing.’

‘What? Who’d put out a contract on an old woman like that?’

‘Good question.’

‘Are you saying Jason was paid to kill Annie Sewell then stole drugs and money from her?’

‘He stole nothing. The tablets and cash were his payment.’

‘Someone hired him?’

‘Not Jason directly. I suspect his participation was a
mistake. He was supposed to be at home, remember. One of his lowlife friends probably asked him along for the ride.’

‘Why, for Christ’s sake? Who’d put a price on a harmless old girl’s head?’

Brook paused, aware of the effect his words would have. ‘The Reaper.’

‘The Reaper? What would The Reaper want with Annie Sewell? It doesn’t make sense.’

‘It only makes sense if it
is
The Reaper. Think about it, John. Two sets of murders in one night. In Derby! The first, Annie Sewell, takes Bob Greatorix away because he’s on duty. I’m on call so the Wallis case falls into my lap. Coincidence? I don’t think so. But there’s one screw-up. Whoever The Reaper hires to kill Annie takes Jason along to help, when he should be at home eating drugged pizza and getting his throat cut. You see?’

‘So killing Annie Sewell saved his life.’

‘Ironic, isn’t it?’

Noble was silent for a moment, casting his eyes around, trying to find an objection. ‘Why not just kill the Wallis family on a night you
are
on duty?’

‘You’ve got me there, John. But I think her death serves some other purpose. I think
she
was punished for something–some skeleton in her cupboard. Like the others.’

‘What exactly?’

‘No idea.’

‘I don’t buy it. And even if I did, you’re saying whoever had Annie Sewell killed, had a thorough knowledge of our duty roster.’

‘Mmmm,’ nodded Brook. ‘Interesting, eh? But not too
hard. What with all the leaks we had last year on the Plummer rape, and Brian Burton spilling the beans on the Wallis deaths.’

‘Can you prove any of this?’

‘I could do, given time.’

‘That’s why you asked about forensics on Jason’s clothes?’

‘Right. If he was involved there might be fibres or hair samples on them.’

‘And if not?’

‘There’s the cocaine. Have it analysed. If both samples are the same purity it might be enough to have him in and lean on him. But he’s a cool customer. He wouldn’t crack. We’d need more.’

‘You think he’s a killer yet you don’t sound too bothered he’s still out there.’

‘It’s essential, John. We can’t arrest him. Greatorix thinks he’s in the clear…’

‘I don’t believe it…’

‘It’s not professional jealousy. You should know me better than that. He could have the collar if I was sure he’d put Jason away for a lot of years. But he wouldn’t.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Suppose Jason’s clothes are clean and you tell Greatorix about the cocaine. He hauls Jason in but he toughs it out. What do you think Bob would do, given there were multiple assailants?’

Noble thought for a second, running his tongue over his bottom lip. He eyed Brook with a quizzical look. ‘Offer him a deal?’

‘Exactly. Possible reduced sentence, maybe even immunity, for putting his friends in the frame. Which
stinks, you’ll agree. No, Jason deserves what’s coming to him. So he’s best left for the moment. Wait for Forensics. He’s under virtual house arrest as it is, afraid to go out, afraid to sleep with the light off. The Reaper’s out there, remember, waiting to finish the job.’

When Noble had left, Brook gathered a few things for his own journey. Finally he descended the cellar steps to retrieve the folder from where he’d taken the necklace belonging to Laura Maples. He debated whether to put it back in but decided to keep it handy. Then he emptied out all the papers to get at the remaining artefact, small and slim and tightly wrapped in clear plastic. Without disturbing the plastic shroud, Brook placed it in his breast pocket and returned to the flat upstairs.

Brook finished dialling Noble’s mobile and returned his eyes to the white lines of the M1 flashing past him in the dark.

‘Hello
.’ The voice sounded weary and under huge strain.

‘Charlie. It’s me.’

‘Brooky!’
There was a pause.
‘I haven’t much time…’

‘I know. I’m coming tonight.’

There was a noise of muffled emotion from the other end.

‘Bless you, Damen. You’ve always been…I didn’t want to be alone.’

There was silence for a moment then Brook said. ‘Leeds was a washout. Telfer’s flat’s been bulldozed.’

No reply from Rowlands so Brook rang off. He didn’t
want to miss the call from Noble. Not that he needed it. It all fitted together now. Not for a court of law perhaps, but that was never the final destination in Brook’s mind–or The Reaper’s.

He thought of Terri for the first time since he’d seen her on the pier. Fathers and daughters. The things they do to each other. And yet the things they do
for
each other. He thought of Tamara Wrigley and what she’d done for
her
father.

What had Laura Maples done for hers? And Kylie Wallis? Fathers and daughters–a love that burned at both ends. Until girls became women. If they lived that long.

Half an hour later Noble’s mobile rendered its tinny version of Volare. It was the owner. Brook listened. ‘When did Telfer move to Leeds, John?’ He nodded. ‘And what about Petr Sorenson? Well, keep trying. Anything else? I’m sorry to hear that. Did you tell McMaster I was against it? I see. As a friend, my advice is to be elsewhere. You don’t want to be sat next to Jason when they’re filming it. Find a way, John. It’ll be played again and again if the shit hits the fan.’

It was nearly two in the morning when Brook edged the car onto the drive of Rowlands’ home and stepped up to the front door. It was a mild night for January with plenty of cloud cover. All was dark except for a dim glow somewhere in the back of the house. On a hunch Brook jabbed at the door with a finger and it creaked open an inch. He pushed again and the entrance yawned at him.

He looked around the front of the house again before crossing the threshold, closing the door behind him. He dropped the latch and adjusted his eyes to the gloom.

He could see light coming from the patio round the back. He moved towards it, not expecting to see Rowlands through the French windows on a winter’s night, but there he was, loosely wrapped in his blanket on the sun lounger, head slumped to one side. In the pale gleam of the patio light, Brook could make out the dull sheen of a gun, an automatic, resting on his lap.

He stepped through and bent over the old man. He listened and watched the emaciated chest swell into a shallow pull for oxygen. He was alive.

Brook put two fingers onto the barrel of the gun and eased it away from Rowlands’ papyrus hand. The safety was on. He checked the clip. It was full. His old boss stirred and opened his eyes as Brook pocketed the gun.

He smiled in recognition–a smile of love. He held out his hand. ‘Laddie,’ he croaked. ‘Thanks for coming.’

Brook smiled back. He slid his hands under Rowlands’ meagre frame and hoisted him into the air like a child. With a speed which belied his condition, Rowlands darted a hand back to the lounger to clutch the half bottle of whisky to his chest.

‘This doesn’t mean we’re married, does it?’ said Rowlands as Brook crossed the threshold out of the cold. They both laughed. Brook placed his old boss onto the sofa and arranged a thin blanket around his legs. He sat down in the chair opposite. ‘What was the gun for?’

‘In case the cold don’t finish me. I’m off tonight, Brooky To see my Lizzie.’ His eyes moistened.

‘I need to know everything, guv.’

‘I know. He said you would. It’s all written down. It’s in the kitchen.’

‘How did you manage that in your condition?’

Rowlands smiled. ‘I did most of it years ago. Confession is good for the soul, they say. Well it’s bullshit.’ He lifted the bottle to his mouth and took a long pull.

‘And Derby?’

‘It’s all there. You’ll be a hero again.’

‘I’ve never been a hero.’ He pulled up a chair and sat down with a sigh. ‘The things we do for love, Charlie.’

‘Ay How long have you known?’

‘A few hours. I went to Leeds. There’s nothing to see. My Chief mentioned daughters and then I knew. It all clicked. It’s a place I’ve been. With Terri. With Laura Maples. The Wrigley girl. The anger, the pain. I remembered your pain, Charlie. And then I knew what to look for. It didn’t take long to find out Roddy Telfer lived in Edinburgh, for a couple of years, the same time as Lizzie. He was dealing, wasn’t he, though he never got tugged for it? It didn’t take a great leap to connect him with Lizzie. But it was still a leap. But that’s part of my problem, Charlie. Everything I know about Telfer requires a leap. There are no solid facts. So tell me. How could you possibly have known Telfer supplied Lizzie’s heroin?’

Rowlands shook his head. ‘I’ve written everything…’

‘Tell
me, Charlie.’

Rowlands nodded after a long silence. ‘Ay I suppose I owe you that much.’ He sat up now and beckoned for Brook to help with his cushions. ‘I need a cigarette.

In the bureau.’ Brook fetched them and they both lit up. Rowlands nearly retched after the first mouthful and didn’t inhale again but let the smoke curl up into his face.

‘It was about a year after Brixton, you were still on sick leave after your…thing…’

‘Breakdown.’

‘Right. Sorenson contacted me, said he had some interesting information, that we should meet and that I wasn’t to mention it to you. Not that I had any intention, in your state…’

‘And you went along with it?’

‘Not at first. But then he mentioned Lizzie.’

‘Go on.’

‘So I met him. And he told me he knew who’d sold Lizzie the heroin that killed her.’

‘And you believed him?’

‘Course not, lad. Give me some credit. But he had dates, he had times, he knew her friends, her movements and he had Telfer. He knew all about him, told me who he was, what he was like, where he was on the day of Lizzie’s death…’

‘All circumstantial.’

‘I know. But then he showed me this.’ Rowlands fished out a thin gold ring with an inlay of tiny sapphires and showed it to Brook. ‘It was hers. I got it for her eighteenth. Said she’d paid for her gear with it. Then he showed me a pawn ticket with Telfer’s name and a description of the ring on it. And a price. Twenty pounds. A score for my daughter’s life. It cost me four hundred.’

‘But Charlie, how did
he
know all this? Where does
he get knowledge of things he can’t possibly have witnessed and aren’t a matter of record?’

‘I don’t know, lad. But I didn’t need to know. I was hooked.’

‘Then what?’

Rowlands flicked ash onto the floor and had another slug of whisky.

‘Then it was just a question of when I’d kill Telfer. Sorenson offered to do it for me but he wasn’t serious. He knew it had to be me. He knew I had to face Telfer–to look into his eyes. So we started planning it.

‘I needed a gun, so I redirected a sawn-off from some blagger’s car into mine. When the time came, I’d let myself in and wait for Telfer to come home. Then I was supposed to handcuff him to the chair. If not there was the radiator. I was supposed to do the girlfriend too. Sorenson gave me a bottle of chloroform and a scalpel but I was never going to fuck around with that. I think he knew I wouldn’t do it his way.

‘It was already winter so it had to be done soon. Dark nights, bad weather, you know the routine. I had no problem with that. The sooner the better. I wasn’t sure about writing the blood on the wall but if Telfer was already dead…well, why not? I figured I owed Sorenson that much.’

‘Why did he need you to be The Reaper?’

‘I honestly don’t know. I think to get your attention again. He has a great respect for you. For your abilities.’ Brook snorted and Rowlands looked down at the floor.

‘Did he give you music or a picture?’

‘Music–a CD and a cassette. Beethoven’s Ninth. Telfer
had to hear it as he died. I didn’t ask why and he didn’t offer to tell me. Listen, Brooky. There’s one thing you’ve got to understand.’

Brook looked at the floor. Finally he returned his eyes to Rowlands. ‘The girl?’

‘Right. You know…you know I’d never…I didn’t mean to…do the girl. Sorenson insisted. For the MO. I agreed but I was never going to.’

‘So what happened? From the beginning.’

He took another large pull on the whisky. ‘I went to Leeds. I stayed in a seedy hotel in Armley. Near the prison. A right shit-hole. Full of hollow-eyed wives and kids on the social, visiting husbands, brothers, fathers in the nick. Two weeks I waited…’

‘Two weeks?’

‘Yeah, I had two weeks leave in ’93. Compassionate, remember. I was having a bad time over Lizzie.’

‘But you went to Leeds…’

‘Damen, my marriage was over. Lizzie had choked on her own vomit. Making sense of her death was all I lived for.’

‘And what did you do for two weeks?’

‘Waited. And watched. Watched that bastard go about his tawdry business, making a living out of other people’s misery. But mostly I watched his girlfriend, to see when she’d be out of the flat so I could be alone with Roddy, so I could tell him why I’d come, watch him squirm, watch him beg me for his pathetic life as I begged God for Elizabeth’s.’ He stopped to compose himself. Brook borrowed the whisky bottle from him and took a slug before placing it back in his bony talon.

‘And then I was ready. Wednesday nights the girl had ante-natal classes and Roddy always walked her to the bus stop. That was the kind of guy he was. He had his own van you know, but he let his eight-month pregnant girlfriend get the fucking bus in winter.