Steven Dunne - The Reaper

‘Did you know it was him, Inspector?’ Brook let his hand fall.

‘Why are you here, Mr Maples?’

‘I don’t know. Why are you here? To pay your respects?’ The venom from the old man wasn’t a surprise to Brook. He’d seen such bitterness fester in many victim’s families. It had no outlet over time and to store it was to nurture it, until the roots grew out of your soul.

‘Go home to your wife, Mr Maples.’

‘She’s dead.’ His eyes burned into Brook’s with a defiance borne of suffering. But suddenly a curtain fell over them and he lowered his head and cried. Brook took his elbow and guided him down the crisp drive towards the main road. Maples surrendered to his prompting and trudged in formation with Brook.

As they neared the gates, Maples pulled a hand from his pocket and offered it to Brook. ‘This is all we have left, Inspector. The only thing for all that love, all that work. The sleepless nights…’

Brook, long the custodian of the keepsake, gazed at Laura’s necklace wrapped around the withered claw, its little hearts reflecting the occasional peep of winter sun.

‘The man who killed your daughter is dead. Go home, sir. Keep Laura alive in your heart, as I do.’

Maples turned sharply to look at Brook’s face and saw the depth of feeling there. He was taken aback. For a moment he seemed nonplussed and Brook wondered if he’d said the wrong thing.

But suddenly Maples broke into a watery smile, tears trickling down his hollow cheeks. He wasn’t alone in his grief and it gave succour. ‘Thank you, Inspector.’

Now Brook stood with the rest of the congregation. All heads bowed so he let his eye wander around the crowd. He caught Brian Burton’s eye. Brook’s glare was greeted by a frosty smile and both looked away.

After the prayer, Brook-positioned at the end of a row for a quick getaway-excused himself and tip-toed out of the church. He grimaced as he went, holding his recently-pumped stomach in case anyone took exception to the speed of his escape. Once outside he pounced on a cigarette and inhaled deeply.

‘Inspector.’

Brook turned to see Habib smiling at him. ‘Doctor. You’ve slipped out for a quick one too?’

‘I’m sure I haven’t. Religious differences, so it is.’ Brook nodded. ‘And how are you, Inspector?’

‘Same as ever.’

‘Ah, still no improvement, eh?’ Habib chuckled.

‘None.’ Brook eyed the good doctor, thinking how to avoid causing offence. It wasn’t his strong suit. ‘Any developments in the Wallis case you haven’t told me about, doc?’

Habib looked at him shifting from one foot to the other. ‘Developments?’

Brook glared at him, wondering what nerve he’d struck.

‘This is hardly the place…’

‘Doctor.’ Brook continued his stare but Habib failed to meet it.

‘Inspector. I don’t think it’s right. It’s no longer your case.’

‘It was my case. And there’s something you didn’t tell me, isn’t there?’

‘Not exactly.’ Habib was embarrassed and continued to avoid Brook’s eyes.

‘Tell me.’

Again Habib cast around for suitable words. Brook let him sweat. It was coming. ‘We were short-staffed, Inspector. I wasn’t looking for it.’

‘Looking for what?’

‘Inspector. It’s not your case any…’

‘And Annie Sewell wasn’t my case. It didn’t stop you giving me a copy of the report.’

Now Habib looked into Brook’s eyes, clearly injured by the threat. ‘You wouldn’t?’

‘I won’t have to because you’re going to tell me.’

Habib was tight-lipped. Brook pressed him with his silence. Finally Habib said, ‘I begin to think you’re not a very nice person.’

‘Get used to it, doc.’

Habib sighed. ‘I should have spotted it sooner.’

‘What?’

‘There were four deaths in the Wallis family.’

Brook’s brow creased. ‘What are you talking about?’ Now it was Habib’s turn to be still and watch Brook thinking.

‘How do you kill two people and have one body, Inspector?’

Brook stared hard at Habib. ‘Mrs Wallis was pregnant?’ Habib shook his head. Light dawned and with no more than a croak Brook managed to wrench out one more word. ‘Kylie.’

Habib nodded.

‘God!’ said Brook. ‘How long?’

‘A month, five weeks. No more.’

‘At her age?’

Habib shrugged. ‘Girls these days…’ He let it hang.

‘And what’s being done about it?’

‘Done? Nothing. Kylie Wallis is dead. Inspector Greatorix and Chief Superintendent McMaster agreed that no purpose is served…’

‘No purpose. A young girl’s been raped. There must be tests…’

‘The victim is dead, Inspector. And most likely the culprit too.’

‘Most likely? You mean you’re not even sure it was Bobby Wallis?’

‘We know he didn’t kill her. No-one in her family did. And now I think I’ll bid you good day, Inspector.’

Habib walked away stony-faced. Brook felt the heat of the cigarette on his fingers and let it fall to the ground.

At that moment the doors opened and the coffins were carried out by the pallbearers. Brook stood aside to let them pass. As the coffin of Bobby Wallis passed him, Brook turned his back. One of the pallbearers noticed and narrowed his eyes at him.

Mrs Wallis followed and Brook turned to face the coffin. Kylie hadn’t yet cleared the doors so not one of the following cortege noticed Brook’s indictment.

A second later he was joined by Noble and Jones. McMaster was sticking close to Jason and his aunt to be sure she offered maximum comfort.

‘You didn’t miss much,’ said Noble, trying to keep levity out of his tone. ‘Feeling better?’

‘No.’ Brook was far away, thinking of Sorenson.

‘…the poor Wallis girl, her virginity torn from her at such an age. Of course I knew, Damen. Every sickening detail. More even than you.’

‘Every sickening detail.’ Brook stared without blinking.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Jones, concerned to see the expression he wore on Brighton Pier reappear. ‘Sir?’

Now Noble was curious and Brook became aware he was causing concern. He roused himself. ‘I’m fine, Wendy.’ He clenched his lips in an approximation of a smile to confirm his wellbeing. Jones and Noble mollified, Brook disappeared again into the comfort of the trance. Nothing much registered. Time passed without notice. When he needed to walk, he stumbled along with the herd. When he needed to stand still, he was kept upright by the proximity of others.

Senses returned. Brook knew he was still breathing because he saw the condensation leaving his mouth. He could feel the bite of the cold nipping his ears, hear the far-off cacophony of crows, the click of the cameras and the low hum of the generators feeding the news teams at a discreet distance.

He was okay. He wasn’t beaten yet. Sorenson couldn’t get him that way. He fumbled for another cigarette and somehow worked out a way to light it. McMaster glanced over with a tic of disapproval but soon regained her mask of professional sympathy.

And then it was over and Brook was able to walk where he chose. He broke away from the pack of stern-faced mourners hugging and clucking and kissing, and headed for a bench away from the tumult.

The next second Brian Burton was in front of him. Brook looked beyond him, searching for a way past. Freedom was only a yard either side.

‘Inspector,’ he said.

Brook tried to plot a way round him but Burton moved across to block him.

‘Inspector. Or should I call you Chief Inspector after your heroics in London?’

‘Whatever you call me, Brian, I suggest you do it from a safe distance.’