Steven Dunne - The Reaper

‘Sometimes. Things got a good bit quieter when they had the baby though. Do you mind if I smoke, Inspector?’

‘As long as I can join you,’ replied Brook.

‘Of course.’ Mr Singh took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from his dressing-gown pocket and lit up with a heavy sigh then studied Brook, wondering why he hadn’t done the same.

Eventually Mr Singh retrieved his cigarettes, shook one out for Brook and handed him the lighter.

‘Thank you. I left mine in the car.’

‘No problem. That’s where I’ll have to hide mine when my wife gets home.’

Brook smiled but resisted the invitation for man talk. ‘What about Kylie?’

Mr Singh was puzzled. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You said Mr and Mrs Wallis and Jason were racists. You didn’t mention Kylie.’

Mr Singh hesitated for a moment then smiled sadly. ‘She was a lovely girl. Lovely. They didn’t deserve her, the rest of them. They were scum. I’m sorry to speak ill of the dead, but they were. They were trash and won’t be missed. But Kylie was always nice to my girls.’

Brook nodded. ‘When you went next door, you went into the living room first and turned off the CD player.’

‘Yes.’

‘You turned the volume down first?’

‘Yes.’

‘Were you aware that Jason was in the kitchen at that time?’

‘No. I turned the CD player off then turned the big light on at the wall…’

‘You could see to do that?’

‘Yes. The hall light was on.’

‘Then what?’

‘I saw…’ Mr Singh took a more urgent draught of tobacco and hung his head. ‘…then I went to the kitchen to phone 999.’

‘You didn’t touch the bodies?’

‘No!’

‘Not even to check for signs of life?’

‘No. They were dead. Or I thought they were. I was glad to hear about the baby…’

‘Then you saw Jason in the kitchen?’

‘Yes.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I called the police.’

‘You didn’t check Jason’s pulse.’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. I assumed he was dead.’

‘Then you went outside to wait.’

‘Yes.’

‘And you saw no-one and heard no vehicles?’

‘That is correct.’

Brook nodded and pocketed his notebook. ‘May I use your phone, Mr Singh?’

‘Please.’

Brook drew out a piece of crumpled paper from a pocket and proceeded to dial. ‘Constable Feaver, it’s me. Okay. Half way.’ He put his hand over the receiver and smiled at Mr Singh.

From the Wallis house a barely audible noise could be discerned. Brook listened, watching Mr Singh closely. Singh nodded. ‘That’s how it started out.’

‘What time would that have been?’

‘Twenty minutes to midnight.’

‘Why so exact?’

‘When you’re disturbed by neighbours you look at the time. In case…’ He hesitated, then looked away, unwilling to finish.

‘…in case you want to charge round there and have it out with them.’ Brook smiled politely.

‘I suppose so. I wouldn’t have. My wife…’ Again he left the sentence hanging.

Brook spoke into the phone. ‘All the way up, Constable.’ The music was no longer muffled. It pounded through the wall and crashed onto Mr Singh’s floor which vibrated in tune. Then it died somewhat but that was more down to Mahler’s composition. Before long the horns were hammering on the floorboards again.

‘And it was midnight when it became that loud?’ Singh nodded. ‘Okay. Thanks Constable,’ said Brook into the phone. ‘Turn it off.’ Brook replaced the receiver and turned to Mr Singh. ‘I admire your patience. I would have gone straight round and hammered on the door.’

‘I was going to but they turned it off a couple of minutes later.’

‘Sorry. I thought you told DC Noble you put up with it until half past twelve before going round?’

‘I did. I mean I got my slippers on to go round but it stopped completely. So I went upstairs to get ready for bed then it started up again. Really loud. As you said, I stood it for as long as I could then I went to complain.’

‘And that would have been at half past.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t you tell us this before?’

‘I’ve only just remembered with you playing the music.’

‘And how long was the music off?’

‘A few minutes, Inspector. Maybe five, no more than ten.’

‘I see.’

‘Is it important?’

Brook shrugged. ‘It could be.’

‘Is there anything else, Inspector? I’m very tired.’

‘Me too. Thanks for answering my questions at this hour, Mr Singh.’

Singh took the hint and set off for the front door. As Brook passed through the entrance Singh smiled at him. It was a bleak expression which Brook recognised as that of a fellow insomniac.

‘When will my clothes be returned to me, Inspector?’

‘As soon as we’ve finished with them. Assuming you still want them. There’ll be blood on the shoes and probably the garments too.’

Mr Singh nodded. ‘Yes. I didn’t think.’

Brook left and returned to the Wallis house to retrieve his tape then set off for home.

After a hot shower, Brook lay on his bed to rest his eyes for a few moments. He nodded off but woke a few minutes later. Nonetheless he felt refreshed and rang Noble for a progress report.

There was news on the van. They hadn’t found it but they’d had a hit from the partial plate. It had been hired locally. Brook had expected this. He made a mental note of the van hire company and told Noble to save the rest for the briefing.

Also, the bottle of wine hadn’t been bought in a Derby supermarket, Noble confirmed. They were checking French suppliers and off-licences the next morning.

Brook told Noble about the discovery of the drugs and cash on Jason. He also mentioned Jason’s involvement in the near rape of a teacher at the local school to see if it seemed equally significant to Noble.

‘Pity we can’t leave him unguarded so the killer can finish the job then,’ said Noble.

‘Maybe,’ replied Brook. ‘You know, his family are dead and all he could think about was getting on TV for his fifteen minutes of fame.’ Mr Singh was right. The Wallis family were trash. Only poor Kylie had ever held a thought for the sensibilities of others. Her death was the real tragedy. Suddenly Brook had a brainwave.

‘John, have you set up the ID with the aunt?’

‘Tomorrow afternoon. Why?’

‘Good. They’re releasing Jason from hospital tomorrow. Have him brought there so we can hand him over to his aunt for safe keeping. His reaction might tell us something.’

‘We’re not charging him with possession?’

‘No. His family are dead, John. Let’s give the kid a break.’

Their conversation meandered on for a few more minutes then eventually there was silence and Brook could think of nothing else to say. He noticed the puzzled tone creeping into Noble’s voice. Brook rarely spoke to him on the phone and had even chided him for it once. ‘Always better in our job to talk face to face, John,’ he’d said. ‘You get the full picture that way.’

All possible distractions exhausted, Brook rang off, then, with a deep breath, dialled his ex-wife’s number. He had to look up the number for Brighton and felt a pinprick of shame-it had been months since he last spoke to Amy and Terri. He told himself it was pressure of work but knew that was no excuse. Nor was it a lingering sense of awkwardness-he enjoyed talking to Amy, better than when they were married, in fact. Even Tony, Number Two Dad, was okay. For a PR man.

‘Hello stranger,’ said Amy smoothly. ‘It’s late.’

‘Is it?’ Brook was struck by the self-confidence his ex-wife had acquired since the divorce. Certainly her new husband was bland enough to make anyone feel worthy but there had to be something more to her new-found contentment.