Steven Dunne - The Reaper

They walked back to the main entrance and stepped outside. The rain had stopped for the moment though the sky was still leaden. Brook looked at his watch. ‘Young Wallis is due in half an hour. Who’s with him?’

‘DC Gadd, sir.’

‘Right. And Mrs Harrison?’

‘Coming under her own steam. She knows the way, she’s a nurse.’

‘Fine. We’ll wait. There’s a chuck wagon in the car park. We’ll have a proper cup of tea. My treat.’

Brook walked next to Habib, followed by DC Gadd, petite and pretty with short, bobbed blonde hair and pert features, guiding a handcuffed Jason Wallis with one hand. His aunt, a portly woman in the mould of her dead sister, walked on the other side of Jason. She seemed preoccupied but, being a nurse, was inevitably calmer than most faced with such an ordeal. Noble brought up the rear, next to the social worker, Carly Graham, and the duty solicitor who had picked up Jason’s case.

Brook glanced over his shoulder at Wallis with a mixture of satisfaction and pity. The cockiness was gone and he was concentrating hard on the floor. The baby was back, trembling below the surface, ready to bawl.

Carly Graham detached herself from the back and quick-marched to speak to Brook. ‘Inspector…’

‘Nice to see you again, Miss Graham.’ He held out his hand to shake hers.

‘Inspector, can I speak to you?’

Brook slowed to listen. ‘No problem.’

‘Is it necessary that Jason be handcuffed?’

Brook looked aghast then smiled appreciatively at Miss Graham. ‘Miss Graham, I hadn’t realised. Thank you for mentioning it. Constable Gadd, why is Jason handcuffed? I don’t think that’s necessary. He’s not going anywhere.’ DC Gadd raised an eyebrow and looked over at Noble who looked away. Then she removed the handcuffs from Jason who massaged his wrists in time-honoured fashion. ‘I’m sorry about that, Miss Graham-crossed wires somewhere along the line.’

‘Thank you, Inspector.’

‘No thank you for pointing it out, Carly. May I call you Carly?’ She flushed and Brook beamed at her. ‘Sometimes official procedures can be quite heartless.’

Brook turned and caught Noble’s amused eye. Then he looked at the boy and felt a pang of guilt. This was tough on him. Perhaps, no matter what he was or what he’d done, he didn’t deserve what had happened to him. Then Brook remembered the face of hate from the hospital, remembered the ordeal of the teacher threatened with rape. Unless something was done, Jason Wallis would end up like his father.

The thought of Bobby Wallis-and Kylie-brought Terri and her stepfather to mind. Brook tried to clear it away. Then something else drifted into his mind. He thought of Laura Maples again-for once outside of his dreams. Perhaps seeing her necklace again…or perhaps being in a mortuary with grieving relatives…

DS Brook stopped at the end of the corridor and stood in front of the door, barring the way, arms outstretched like a bouncer outside a nightclub. ‘This isn’t necessary, Mr Maples. Your wife…’

Maples turned his heavy-set face to Brook and fixed him with his bloodshot eyes. The silence was massive here. No longer the distraction of footsteps clattering around the white-tiled walls. No more the need for monosyllabic cliches to divert the mind. There was nothing now to drown the well-mannered snuffling being suffocated behind Mrs Maples’handkerchief-it was rude to impose grief on others where they came from. Grief was private tragedy, not public embarrassment.

Suddenly aware of the genteel noise being suppressed by his wife, Maples turned and hugged her to his chest. She was tiny, diminished against her husband, who wasn’t tall himself. It was as though she were folding in on herself to touch the parts that mattered. Her spirit. Her womb.

Then Maples held his wife away from him and bent his head close to hers. ‘It’s okay, love. You stay here, Jean.’ She didn’t reply, or couldn’t, so he guided her to a nearby bench and eased her down. The sobbing was hushed a little, as though the prospect of not seeing revived hope. Perhaps their daughter was still missing. Alive somewhere. Happy.

Maples stood up to face Brook as best he could. His forehead was creased in pain and confusion. His greying hair was wilder than the rest of his appearance. Even for this, or perhaps especially for this, Maples wore a neat, slate-grey suit with a pale yellow shirt and dark green tie, knotted harshly into his flabby chin.

‘Not necessary, Sergeant? Not necessary? Do you have children?’

Brook nodded. ‘A baby girl, sir. Theresa.’ Brook felt a sudden rush of shame. His daughter was alive. Laura Maples was dead. There was no call to goad the poor man with his good fortune.

Maples nodded back. His eyes pierced Brook and a bitter smile sympathised with him. They shared the look that spoke of secret dread, the dread that gripped all fathers of daughters.

Words weren’t required for Brook but they were forMaples. ‘We haven’t seen Laura for over a year. We can’t stop the images unless we see her, I see her. She’s all we have and whatever condition she’s in, we want to talk to her. Then we want to take her home with us. Lay her to rest. Does that sound unnecessary?’

Brook acquiesced with a prolonged blink of his eyes. He understood very well. Her dental records couldn’t bring comfort. Her parents might. They could be a family again.

Brook opened the double doors to the tiny Chapel of Rest, tucked away in one corner of the sprawl of Hammersmith Hospital. The technician, who had stood apart during all the heart-wrenching, head bowed, hands clasped in front, the professional invisible, moved forward at Brook’s nod and eased himself between Maples and the cheap coffin perched on the plinth at the far end of the chamber.

With practised ease he removed the lid and stood back into the shadows. Brook watched from the door as Maples inched forward.

A few feet from the coffin, he staggered slightly then fell forward onto the container. He turned away then looked back. His shoulders began to shudder and his head began to shake. Brook heard, ‘Why did you leave us, love?’ and stepped outside the door. He beckoned the mortician to join him. The mortician obeyed without looking up or unclasping his hands.

Eventually Maples walked out of the chapel, his face blank, eyes like small planets. ‘Mr Maples, I’m very sorry. If there’s anything I can do…’

Maples turned, wild-eyed, tears trickling down his face. He nodded, emitting a bitter laugh. ‘There is. Lock yourdaughter in a room and keep her there until her wedding day.’

Brook stepped over to Jason and took him by the sleeve. ‘That’s far enough, Jason. You and Miss Graham can wait here until we’re done.’ Jason heaved a sigh and leaned back against the wall. He continued to look at the floor until the attendant arrived and opened the double doors of the mortuary. Unfortunately Brook had positioned Jason a few feet too near the entrance and when the doors opened his head lifted towards the sudden shaft of bright sunlight from the high windows which streamed across three sheet-covered mounds. His lip began to quiver and Brook motioned Gadd and the duty solicitor to stay with Jason, while he, Noble, Mrs Harrison and the attendant slipped quickly into the bright room, closing the doors behind them.

Dr Habib had returned to his office. The mortuary attendant stood ready. Noble and Brook hung back, looking at each other rather than towards the bodies.

One by one, Mrs Harrison, head bowed, was shown the bodies. No words were exchanged, just a look from the attendant and a nod back from the nurse towards Brook.

Only when the smallest mound was revealed to Mrs Harrison did her composure begin to crumble. She turned towards Brook and nodded then she bowed her head again and began to sob gently. ‘Poor Kylie,’ she gulped. ‘She didn’t deserve to die like that.’