The Reaper (45 page)

Sorenson groaned and Brook glanced across at the sleeping old man. Even unconscious the pain came, though you wouldn’t have guessed from his countenance. Despite his years, despite the cancer, despite his every terrible deed, his expression was that of a dozing newborn.

Brook got up from his chair and tiptoed to the desk. After a moment rummaging in the shelves, he emerged with a disc and dropped it on to the turntable in the corner.

As he returned to his chair the first strains of the lament from La Wally rent the air. Brook waited for Sorenson to wake, pleased with his little conceit.

Sorenson filled his chest and sighed though he kept his eyes closed. ‘Is that you, Inspector?’

‘Yes.’

Sorenson’s lids lifted and his black eyes blinked up at Brook then creased into a smile of warmth and welcome. ‘I’m glad you came.’

‘I’m here for your confession.’

Sorenson grinned. ‘Why, what are you going to do with it?’

Brook was startled by the simplicity of the question, realising he didn’t know the answer.

Sorenson smiled an apology for putting his guest on the back foot. ‘Thank you for coming. I’m tired.’

‘Charlie’s dead.’

Sorenson looked down at the floor in genuine sadness. ‘He was a good man.’

‘Tell me about the Dentist Game.’ Brook saw Sorenson flinch. He recalled, years before, bringing up the subject of his brother Stefan’s death and seeing a similar reaction. Sorenson’s eyes closed for a moment and when they opened there was the ghost of a tear.

‘Ever since Vicky crossed my path, I’ve assumed you sent her to check on my progress. I was wrong. You didn’t know she came to Derby. And she has no idea what you are or what you’ve done. That’s why, when she stole a look at my Reaper file, she was stunned to see a picture of you there.
Uncle Vic.’

‘She would be.’ Sorenson paused. This hesitancy was new. It pleased Brook. He’d finally got to Sorenson and would soon know it all. But a small corner of his mind told him to beware. He was in the presence of a heartless killer and manipulator.

Brook continued to wait but his normally garrulous
host didn’t seem to know how to continue. Vicky was the key to Sorenson. She was the person he cared about most. Brook knew every sickening detail. Getting Sorenson to talk about it would be difficult. But when he did, if he did, the dam would burst.

‘Tell me about the Dentist Game.’

‘You’ve seen what Stefan did to Vicky?’

‘She told me.’

Sorenson nodded. ‘But you’ve seen other things, haven’t you? You’ve had episodes before.’

‘Episodes?’

‘Visions, a sixth sense which allows you to picture things that have happened, that are going to happen.’

‘We all have empathy. We can all imagine another’s plight.’

‘As you imagined young Laura’s.’

‘I’m a policeman. It’s my job. When I put a sequence of events together it’s almost like writing a script or shooting a film.’

‘And the future?’

‘Everyone gets a sense of something about to happen from time to time. Is that why you came to Derby for me? Because you think I have a talent.’

Sorenson smiled. ‘No. If put to good use it will be a useful tool, no more.’

‘Good use?’

‘Something to guide your future work.’

Brook laughed. ‘You mean arrest people because I’ve had a vision of them committing a crime. Is that how you choose? You’re crazier than I thought.’

‘The Reaper’s victims choose themselves.’

‘But you’re prepared to execute a family on the strength
of a feeling or a vision you think you’ve had. You’re a madman.’

‘Your contempt would be deserved if so. Those feelings, as you call them, merely point the way. The Reaper has great resources of time and money. Only when he’s sure does he take his prey.’

‘So you
see
your victims before you kill them? Some kind of sixth sense. Do you touch them? Is that how it works?’ asked Brook, remembering the handshake on his last visit.

Sorenson was silent. ‘You continue to personalise these acts, Damen. Is it deliberate? I can only help you understand The Reaper’s work if you see it in its proper context.’

‘Which is what?’

‘The Reaper is an entity, Damen, not a person. He’s an idea that cannot die. He is not motivated by ego. He doesn’t act for personal gain and takes no pleasure from his work.’

‘Semantic nonsense…’ Brook took a breath. He had his own agenda and realised he was being drawn from it. After a moment he nodded at Sorenson to signal acceptance of the rules. ‘So The Reaper meets his victims and discovers the crimes they’ve committed.’ Sorenson nodded. ‘And these meetings are social?’ Sorenson nodded again. ‘And accidental?’

Now he smiled. ‘Usually.’

Brook nodded. ‘Unless The Reaper needs a…project in a specific city like Derby. Then you, sorry, The Reaper has to find somebody suitable.’

‘Exactly.’ Sorenson nodded, suddenly animated. ‘But it depends who The Reaper is helping. Roddy Telfer was
difficult to find because he’d moved away from Edinburgh by the time…’

‘By the time The Reaper wanted to help Charlie Rowlands.’ Sorenson smiled at Brook, taking no offence at his tone. ‘What about Floyd Wrigley? How could The Reaper prove he killed Laura Maples, even with all
his
time and money? There was no evidence to connect him once the rats had done their work.’

‘On the contrary, there was the best evidence of all. A witness.’

‘Second sight isn’t evidence, Professor.’ Sorenson said nothing but his eyes continued to bore into his opponent. Brook’s eyes narrowed. ‘You mean a proper witness–someone actually saw him? You?’

‘On the night of her death. I was in a cab, coming from Heathrow. I’d been in Stockholm for a few days. The cab stopped at lights, I looked out of the window and there they were, walking along Goldhawk Road together. It was very late. Three in the morning. But they held me, interested me. They were an odd couple. Ill matched. I knew something was wrong. She was nervous but he gave off an aura of tremendous self-assurance. But I could sense it was a sham. His inadequacy filled him with a rage I could almost touch. They turned into Ravenscourt Gardens and were gone.’

‘What happened then?’

‘I went home to bed.’

‘You did nothing?’

‘What was I going to do? I didn’t know he was going to kill her. It was only later. You said it yourself many years ago, on one of your first visits here. You can only
act retrospectively. Your ‘after sales service’ you called it,’ Sorenson chuckled.

‘But afterwards you tracked him down.’

‘Not at first. It was of no interest until you told me how her death haunted you. And then…’

‘Then The Reaper wanted to help me.’

Sorenson beamed. He seemed pleased with himself suddenly. ‘Yes. Help you. Show you what was possible. It was the perfect opportunity.’

‘Why won’t you tell me about the Dentist Game?’

‘Vicky, darling. Where are you? Where’s Daddy’s Special Girl?’

Sorenson looked away. ‘My brother’s dead.’

‘Yes. The year before Sammy Elphick and his family were butchered. Cancer, wasn’t it?’ Brook’s face was hard. He’d trained for this moment, rehearsed every sentence and polished every nuance until the script gleamed like Greatorix’s forehead.

‘Vicky where are you? Where are you hiding? It’s Daddy. I’ve got something for you.’

Sorenson held his gaze for a long time. Brook didn’t look away. The old man nodded at him, forcing his cracked features into a pained smile–Charlie’s smile–communicating warmth and impending death.

‘There you are, Vicky. What are you doing under there?’

‘You’re everything I could have wished for, Damen. Everything.’

‘It’s okay, Daddy. My teeth are nice. See.’

‘You can’t protect him any more, Professor.’

‘I’m protecting her.’

‘But I know what he did.’

‘Then it needs no further discussion.’

‘Open wide. That’s good. Oh dear. I think you need some of Daddy’s special toothpaste. Keep still. You’ll wake your mother.’

‘My teeth are okay, Daddy. They’re new ones. Please Daddy! I don’t like it.’

‘It won’t take long. Open wider. Only the best for Daddy’s Special Girl.’

Sorenson’s faraway look as he stared into space reminded him of Charlie at the end. Charlie on the way to his Lizzie. The pair did have a lot in common. Brook too. They had Vicky, Lizzie, Laura. And now Terri. Fathers and daughters and the unspoken sexual bond that tugged at both. Daddy’s umbilical. Even death couldn’t sever such a tie. Especially death. Death strengthened it, magnified it. Only life could break the bond–when a blossoming young woman tired of vicarious sex with her father in the beds of men who weren’t him, yet were so like him. But sometimes Daddy insisted on first refusal. If she only wanted to sully herself, he figured he’d earned it. A reward for everything he’d done for
her. And all the things he didn’t do because he was civilised.

‘Only the best. That’s it. That’s it, Vicky. It’ll come. Good girl. Good girl, good girl, good girl, good girl…Now swallow and rinse, Vicky, swallow and rinse.’

‘How long had it been going on?’

‘I don’t know,’ answered Sorenson. ‘He died before…’

The music stopped which broke their concentration. There was silence for a while as each considered their next utterance. Especially Brook. This wasn’t working out as planned. The spectre of death should have been a spur to confession but instead Sorenson had never been so reluctant to talk. The subject matter was delicate and perhaps too close to home. He decided to change tack.

‘So, in a way, Sammy Elphick deserved a medal…’

‘A medal?’ Now Sorenson became animated. He pushed back his blanket and hauled himself to his feet. For a second Brook wondered if he was about to be attacked and fingered the gun in his pocket. Instead Sorenson moved over to the cabinet–Brook was surprised how steady he was–and pulled out a pair of leaded tumblers. He didn’t ask Brook if he wanted a drink but came back with two generous measures all the same. Brook took his glass. ‘A medal for what? Bringing that brat into the world.’

‘Come on, Professor. Sammy Elphick was a petty criminal, and maybe his kid wouldn’t have amounted to much but neither deserved what you did to them…’

‘Didn’t they?’ Sorenson smiled at Brook’s anger.
Control had changed hands with frightening rapidity and Brook was annoyed for letting it slip.

‘No they didn’t. I knew Sammy. He was small time. He wasn’t violent. Killing your brother was accidental, I’m sure. He was backed into a corner and probably struck out…’ Sorenson’s smile widened. Brook was on the verge of pulling out the gun just to wipe the expression off his face and had to control himself with a few deep breaths and a large slug of whisky.

When he spoke again his voice was deliberate, restrained. He’d waited too long to spoil it now. ‘What Sammy did to your brother saved Vicky. No matter how much you loved Stefan you must see that.’

Now Sorenson laughed but it wasn’t an articulation of pleasure. ‘Loved? Stefan?’ Suddenly his gaze was far away. He spoke almost to himself and Brook had to strain to hear. ‘I hated him. From the moment he was born I hated him. Stefan was a monster. And you’re right. He deserved to die.’

Brook held the drink from his lips, his face impassive but his mind in turmoil. All his carefully constructed assumptions lay in tatters before him. Then he knew.
‘You
killed him.’

‘Of course.’

‘And Vicky?’

‘After what he did to her, she hated him then. She hates him still. Everyone hated him.’

‘And Sonja?’

‘Especially Sonja.’

‘She knew about Vicky.’

‘Of course she knew, Damen. How can a mother not
know these things?’ He shot Brook a penetrating glance and he looked away, remembering Amy and Terri. ‘That’s why Stefan put her in an institution.’

Sorenson took a drink and considered how to begin. ‘When we were born, Steffi and I, in Stockholm, our paths were mapped out as soon we left our mother’s womb. Steffi was first. The elder. The heir. Thirteen minutes. I took that as an omen. And so it proved for our mother. At the end of the thirteen minutes, she died. I left her body at the same time as her final breath.

‘If you hadn’t been there,’
Steffi told me when we were old enough to understand these things,
‘our mother wouldn’t have died. You killed her.’
Sorenson shook his head. ‘What sort of mind can conjure up that much cruelty? Steffi must have thought I was a complete fool. I knew I hadn’t killed her. He had.’

‘What are you talking about? You were babies.’

‘Identical twins, Damen. There’s a difference. You see even in the womb I could feel him, his presence, his evil, attacking me, suppressing me. I was supposed to be first, you see.’

‘What?’

‘I was supposed to be born first.’ He smiled and looked at Brook. ‘I know what you’re thinking and I know how it sounds. You can’t understand.’ Sorenson’s expression darkened. ‘Before we were born I could feel him. At first, just the occasional kick or fist, nothing important, but gradually, as we grew, I could feel him manoeuvring himself, pushing me behind him, thrusting himself to the fore. Even then he had to be first. He wouldn’t accept second place even if it meant
doing down his own brother. And so he was first and Mother died of
complications.

‘First in all things. Bigger than me, stronger, faster, healthier. I was the sickly one, prone to colds and headaches, minor things. I was smaller, thinner, not as confident, and Steffi lost no opportunity to keep me that way. Generally I was less than him and our father, who was a good man, strict but loving, he tried his best to hide his preference for Steffi, but being such a weakling, I was cursed with great sensitivity and not just in my health. I knew. I could read it in everything Father did, everything he said.

‘It didn’t matter too much when we were young. Boys will be boys. They can be very cruel, worse than girls sometimes. But they grow out of it. Steffi didn’t. And, as we grew up together, things became worse. This knowledge lay between us, what had happened to our mother. I knew what he’d done to hurt her and he knew I knew and never stopped punishing me for it. I hated him for that. But that would have been all right if he hadn’t made Father hate me with his tricks and insinuations and lies. Father always took his side. He couldn’t see what Steffi was.’