Steven Dunne - The Reaper

‘Thank you. I know what this is costing you.’

‘Don’t worry about me, Damen. I can always go to the tribunal. There’s big money in sex discrimination these days,’ she added with a laugh.

‘It’s never been about money for either of us, ma’am.’

‘Thank you for that. Now get out. And good luck.’

Brook unlocked his office and stepped through the door. He walked over to his desk, bent down then stopped dead. ‘Hello, Bob!’ he said, without turning round.

Greatorix stood in the doorway. He was taken aback for a second. ‘Hello, Damen. Come to clear your desk?’ Brook turned to catch a yellow grin of satisfaction, which Greatorix made no attempt to hide.

Brook sniffed the air without being too obvious. There was an unsanitary current wafting over from his dank colleague. Greatorix had clearly worked himself into a special lather of anticipation at Brook’s impending unemployment. Noble stood behind him, but not too close.

‘Something like that, Bob’

‘I can’t say I blame them.’ He stepped into the office, sizing it up for his own use. ‘A maverick like you on a case this important…’

‘Did you want something? I’m in a hurry.’

‘I don’t want to hold you up but you have some video tapes which belong to the Wallis investigation. I’d like them.’

Brook looked blandly at Noble who shrugged his apology. ‘From the station’s CCTV? Yeah, I took them home to watch. I forgot all about them.’

‘Did you? Well I want them.’

‘There’s nothing on them for you.’

‘Are you refusing to hand them over, Inspector?’

‘Don’t be crass. They’re at home. I’ll drop them off in the morning…’

‘I want them now!’

‘I don’t work for you, Bob’

‘You don’t work for anyone, Damen’.

Brook laughed. ‘Tell you what. Lend me DS Noble for an hour and I’ll give them to him. That suit?’

‘It’ll have to.’

‘Oh and Bob, speaking of mavericks, don’t you know it’s an offence to search the office of a serving colleague without some kind of permission?’ Brook exhumed a malicious grin of his own, to crank up Greatorix’s temperature. Greatorix turned to Noble with a malevolent expression. ‘No, DS Noble didn’t tell me, Bob, it was the smell.’

‘Smell?’ Greatorix narrowed his eyes. Noble stifled a laugh. ‘What smell?’

Brook took a pause to give his portly colleague time to stew. ‘Ambition, Bob. Unfettered ambition.’

‘Unfett…?’

‘It’s in the dictionary.’

Greatorix was on the wrong foot for a second before retrieving his own spiteful grin. ‘But you’re not a serving colleague. In the words of the great Norman Tebbit, you’re semi-detached.’

‘Shouldn’t you be out arresting Jason Wallis, Bob?’ asked Brook.

‘My, our enquiries,’ he added with a curt nod at Noble, ‘have put young Wallis in the clear.’

‘Really?’

‘He’s even going to help with an appeal.’

‘On TV?’

‘Of course on TV. I don’t know why you didn’t think of it.’

Brook nodded. ‘So Jason’s going to be a big-shot after all. Much as I dislike you, Bob, can I tell you that would be a mistake.’

‘Really? Why?’

‘Trust me.’

Greatorix smirked in Brook’s general direction. ‘Just get those tapes.’ He turned to walk past Noble. ‘You’ve got an hour, John,’ and walked out as haughtily as he could for a man of his girth.

‘Sir.’

Brook watched Greatorix retreat before continuing. ‘John, I don’t have much time. Have you got your mobile?’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Give it to me.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Don’t argue. I don’t have one. Now if I’ve already left, I need you to ring me on your mobile. I’m expecting a fax from Glasgow about a small-time villain called Roddy Telfer. When it arrives, ring me and tell me if there’s any mention of him outside of Glasgow and Leeds. Is that clear?’

‘I don’t know…’

‘And while you’re waiting for that, I want you to run a trace on a Petr Sorenson. P-E-T-R-it’s a Swedish name-Sorenson. Find out where he lives, his job etc.’

‘Has he got a record?’

‘Unlikely.’

‘Well it may take longer than Inspector…’

‘Forget him. Here. Take my office key. Lock yourself in, put a chair under the handle if you have to. Just do it. Tell him you were following another lead.’

‘O-kay.’ Noble was hesitant and Brook, for the first time, wasn’t sure he could trust him. Unlike Brook he had a career to think about.

‘Good. Let’s get those tapes.’

Brook led Noble into his front room, located the bag of video cassettes and held them out to him. Noble made no effort to take them and Brook saw he was distracted by the surroundings. He realised that Noble had never been inside his flat before and his DS was as stunned as every other visitor by its decrepitude. It was a familiar reaction and one that, until recently, wouldn’t have concerned him.

‘This is just temporary, John. ’til I can find a place to put down roots.’

Noble was embarrassed now and tried to cover his error. ‘It’s not bad to tide you over, it’s only been…’

‘Three years. Since the transfer. Come with me.’ He took Noble back into the kitchen and opened the fridge with a flourish worthy of Barnum. ‘Can I get you anything? I’ve got beer, cider, alcopops.’

‘No thanks.’

‘Something to eat then? Chicken, pate, dips, quiche, cocktail sausages?’

‘No really, sir.’

‘What about tea? Or I’ve got coffee or orange juice?’

‘Maybe an orange juice then,’ agreed Noble.

Brook cracked a carton from the brick, removed the attached straw and inserted it through the foil hole, before giving it to Noble with an air of quiet satisfaction.

Noble, unsure what to do, took it from him and waited. But Brook would only stare at his guest, looking first at the carton then up at Noble until he shoved the straw in his mouth and proceeded to suck. ‘Mmmm. Delicious.’ Noble finished his drink and handed the carton to Brook. ‘Sir? What’s wrong with Jason doing an appeal?’

Brook paused and thought for a while, the merits of long-life orange juice forgotten. ‘It will cause embarrassment to the Force and whoever organises it, John. I want you to promise me you’ll speak to McMaster and get her to block it.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Promise.’

‘Tell me why.’

Brook paused. ‘I think Jason was involved in the murder of Annie Sewell.’

Noble raised an eyebrow. ‘Annie Sewell?’

‘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.’