Steven Dunne - The Disciple

A rope tied to a rafter in identical fashion to the one used in the Ingham house had fallen into the bedroom. It swayed through the air gently and, at the business end of the rope, another young boy swung stiffly from side to side, his feet no more than five feet above the floor.

‘Fuck me.’ Hudson held out a hand to halt the motion of the body, as the noise of everyone’s quickened breathing began to ease. He turned the form round and stared into the face with its sightless open eyes, abnormally red cheeks and happy grin. Hudson smiled back at the boy and tapped on his plastic mannequin’s head with a knuckle.

‘He did a dry run,’ said Noble, now able to manage a relieved grin. Brook smiled back at him and Grant joined in. ‘That’s how he knew how much rope to bring.’

‘The clever bastard,’ nodded Hudson.

It was gone midnight when Brook pulled up outside the Midland Hotel to drop off the weary Hudson and Grant. It had been a long day — two days in Brook’s case. They exchanged goodnights and Brook pulled away from the entrance and into the deserted streets. A moment later, he turned into a parking bay beside a line of former railway workers’ terraced houses and turned off the engine. It was cold and a light rain was in the air again. Winter was on its way.

He stepped out of his car and shook out a cigarette from a near empty pack that had been donated by Hudson. He looked at his watch again. Less than twenty-four hours ago he’d set off to meet The Reaper not knowing what to expect, being sure only that Victor Sorenson wouldn’t be on hand to greet him. So why on earth had he gone? He took a pull on his cigarette and faced up to the facts. How could he have stayed away? Whoever was doing this knew that he wouldn’t be able to resist. Just as Sorenson would have known.

Brook pondered his options. Dr Habib had been prevailed upon to arrange a seven a.m. meeting to give up his findings on the Ingham killings and Brook debated the value of driving the forty-minute journey home. He’d have a couple of hours’ more rest if he went straight back to his office and dozed at his desk rather than drive out to the Peaks.

He dropped the unpleasant cigarette down a sewer grate and got back into his car. He was about to turn the engine on when in his driver’s mirror he saw a figure emerge from the hotel on the other side of the street. He turned around to be sure. There was no mistake: it was Laura Grant. What’s more, she was walking his way. Brook wondered what to do. He’d already bade his politest farewells to Hudson and Grant when he dropped them off and his already low reserve of social skills was severely depleted. Laura (he could call her that in his thoughts at least) seemed to have softened towards him as the evidence began to point away from Brook, but he knew she — and Hudson for that matter — would still be harbouring a kernel of suspicion about him, if only in relation to the death of Tony Harvey-Ellis.

He looked in the mirror again and reached for the ignition. But to turn on the engine would draw further attention, with Grant now only twenty yards away.

Feeling a fool, Brook resolved just to sit there and let her pass. If she spotted him, so be it.

A few seconds later, Grant drew level with Brook’s car; out of his peripheral vision, Brook could see she had stopped. For a few seconds neither of them moved, then Grant crossed the road towards his car. There was now no doubt she had seen him. He turned to meet her advancing frame, tossed his head back in feigned surprise and lowered his window.

‘Sergeant,’ he said. ‘Still awake?’

She reached his car door and, although not annoyed, she seemed a little puzzled. ‘Are you stalking me, Inspector?’ she asked with as mild a reproach as she could manage.

Brook grinned now and opened his door to get out. ‘Actually no,’ he said. ‘Why, what are you up to?’

Grant looked at him, thinking. ‘I’m about to arrest a kerb crawler.’

‘Really? Need back-up?’

She laughed easily, the condensation from her amusement blowing between them. ‘No. But what are you doing?’

‘Honestly? Just thinking things through and wondering whether it’s worth driving all the way home. You?’

She studied him for a moment then said, ‘Don’t laugh, will you? But I’m a bit of an insomniac, especially in the middle of a case. I often walk late at night by the sea. I love it. It clears my head.’

Brook smiled faintly, remembering his many battles with slumber. ‘Why would I laugh? Must be common in the job.’ ‘It’s a weakness,’ she replied, betraying a hint of self-disgust. ‘And you need to be strong.’

‘In a man’s world? Yes.’ She smiled. ‘So I handle it.’

‘I’m sure you do,’ he said. ‘Mind if I walk with you?’

She looked at him and considered the question for a moment.

‘Why not?’

Brook got out of the car and together they ambled off in the direction Grant had been taking, neither feeling the need to speak. After a few minutes Brook smiled. ‘Four words,’ he said. ‘That was impressive.’

‘Sorry?’

‘“They’re all dead.” You said that was four words. In the briefing. You must have noticed everyone looking confused, mentally counting out the words. Most coppers would think it was three words. Some even two. Not you.’

She smiled but not at Brook. ‘My dad was a real stickler for that sort of thing when I was at school.’

‘Glad to hear it. But I must warn you to be careful about appearing too brainy if you don’t want people to dislike you. In the job, I mean.’

‘I know — it can cause resentment. I’m not very good at hiding things, I’m afraid.’ She flashed a sideways grin at him. ‘Like giving you a hard time. You may have spotted that.’

Brook laughed. ‘I believe I did.’

‘Sorry.’

‘No need. That’s nothing to the hard time I give myself.’

Grant looked up into his eyes. ‘You too? Figures. I wish I could be more like Joshua — DCI Hudson.’

‘Oh?’

‘You know, relaxed about things. Treat it like any other job. Also he’s very clever but he doesn’t let it show.’

‘He’s got the common touch, has he?’ smiled Brook.

‘I thought you two knew each other?’

‘Hardly at all. Mainly through a mutual colleague — Charlie Rowlands.’

‘His old boss.’ She nodded.

‘And mine.’

They walked in a large circle through the darkened city centre of Derby for another twenty minutes, neither talking, simply walking and enjoying the freshness of the night air now that the rain had stopped and the sky had cleared. Brook felt comfortable in Grant’s presence and she apparently felt the same.

They arrived back at the Midland’s entrance. As Grant prepared to go inside, Brook said, ‘If you love walking, Sergeant, you should come up into the Peaks. There’s some wonderful scenery.’

She turned back to him and for a split second Brook thought he might have said the wrong thing, might have implied she come to his home and spend the night.

But a moment later she smiled.

‘I’d like that.’ She turned to go and Brook, already heading for his car, turned back at his name. ‘Inspector Brook. Call me Laura.’

He smiled and continued on the way to his car. Laura. Beautiful name.

Forty minutes later, Brook pulled the BMW up to the door of his cottage and got out. Drexler’s hire car was on the small drive next door and the house was in darkness. He held the car door open for a second then slammed it hard and locked up. He ran his eye over Rose Cottage to see if his lack of consideration had registered. It appeared not. Brook stepped softly onto the neighbouring drive and put his hand onto the bonnet of Drexler’s car. It was still warm.