Steven Dunne - The Reaper

‘Come on, Inspector. No hard feelings.’ He held out his hand.

Brook ignored it. ‘Get out of my way, you parasite.’

Now Burton lowered his voice. ‘Listen, Brook, I can be a useful ally. Why don’t you do us both some good and start playing ball?’

Chief Superintendent McMaster had spotted the two old enemies locking horns and made her way across to them. Others followed.

‘Get out of my way,’ Brook insisted.

Burton saw McMaster coming and adopted a much friendlier expression. ‘How about a shot of the hero of the hour for the local taxpayers, Inspector?’ he shouted.

Burton’s increased volume alerted Brook to the presence of others. He looked round and saw McMaster marching purposefully towards them. He turned to walk to his superior but Burton grabbed his arm. Brook stiffened and clenched his fist.

‘Just one shot.’

‘Don’t tempt me,’ mumbled Brook.

Burton scanned the oncoming faces. ‘How about one of you with Jason, Inspector Brook? To show your support for his loss.’

Brook was aware of a warning glance emanating from McMaster and uncurled his fist. ‘Great idea, Brian,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘You could call it The Hero and the Zero.’

Burton stared at Brook for a second then broke into a grin. ‘Oh I will, Inspector. I will. Jason, I want a shot of you with the Inspector.’

‘Fuck that! The way he treated me after me family were killed,’ snarled Jason. A volley of abusive muttering from his posse of friends followed.

Brook smiled his apology. ‘Sorry, Brian. Looks like we’ll have to give it a miss.’ He saw McMaster nod her approval at his manner. She stepped towards Brook to escort him away.

But Burton wouldn’t be denied. ‘Come on, Jason. It’ll be on the front page.’

Jason affected reluctance but finally was able to give in. ‘Yeah, alright. But make it quick.’

‘That’s it, gents. Move a bit closer. Great. One more. Jason. Shake the Inspector’s hand.’

Before Brook knew what had happened his hand was being shaken by Jason. He blinked at the flash of the camera and stared at Jason who was posing for the cameras, affecting a brave smile. Jason caught Brook’s eye and felt the weight of his hand. His face clouded slightly and Brook could feel him attempting to pull his hand away-ever so gently at first but then more insistently. But Brook held on, narrowing his eyes as though to examine something close at hand, yet gazing, unblinking into the distance.

Now Jason struggled to remove his hand but Brook’s grip tightened.

‘Geroff, yer fucking headcase.’

Brook held on, eyes now fixed on Jason who tried to extricate himself with greater vigour. Then people began to huddle round, pawing at Brook’s arm. All the while Brook was vaguely aware of the urgent flash of the camera. Still he held on.

‘Geroff, yer twat!’ screamed Jason.

Suddenly a voice in Brook’s ear. It was Jones, insistent but calming. ‘Control is what they pay us for.’

Brook blinked and opened his hand. Jason pulled his own hand away, rubbing and flexing it and showing it to his aunt. ‘That’s assault, that is. You saw it. That’s assault. I’ll have you in court, yer fucking nutter.’ He marched away with his aunt ministering to his hand and his posse egging him on to greater heights of rhetoric.

Brook stood his ground, a strange grin contorting his features. It was an expression of resignation, of regret.

McMaster gripped his elbow and with Jones and Noble gathered around Brook, they marched him away from the cemetery as nonchalantly as they could.

‘Have you completely lost it?’ McMaster muttered.

Without changing his expression or even looking in her direction, Brook nodded. ‘Lost? Yes, ma’am. I’ve lost.’

The man brought the car to a halt. He killed the engine and lights and sat back, waiting for the rain to ease. He closed his eyes to let the music flow over him. It was difficult to hear over the beating of the rain on the bonnet and roof of the car. He turned it up.

He squinted through the rear window, trying to distinguish shapes through the distorting effect of the water. Nothing stirred. No cars. No pedestrians. No animals.

Every living creature had taken shelter tonight. It was a night to seal oneself off from the outside world and curl up to hibernate. Curtains were closed against the cold, fires were roaring, hot winter food was being consumed and the hypnotic pulse of the TV nurtured life in a flickering cocoon. Every home had returned to the womb. Comfortable. Safe. Warm.

The man located the wiper button and held it while the windscreen cleared. Mist rolled up Station Road from the Trent and for a moment he was sightless. A pocket of clearer air revealed a door opening across the road. A figure stepped through and out into the inhospitable gloom.

A moment later the figure stood next to a small red car, hesitating, rummaging. Keys found, the figure hopped into the car. Headlights snapped on. A cat skittered from beneath as the engine coughed into life. It ran to the next vehicle then turned to glare at its former shelter. Eyes unblinking. Head still.

The red car swung out into the road and away.

The man watched it recede then turned the music off. The rain had slowed to a steady rhythm. He stepped from the vehicle and retrieved a bag from the back seat. He closed the door, but didn’t lock it, then walked briskly across the road to the house the other driver had left.

He rang the bell, and stepped back from the mottled glass of the front door to look around. No reply.

He rang the bell again and looked around, humming the music to himself. He could see the cat beneath the parked car, flattened against the ground, inching forward, restrained power, eyes rigid, ready to pounce on unsuspecting prey.

Jason heard the front door bell and lowered his mobile, the text message forgotten for a moment. He stood up from the bed and picked his way carefully round the baby’s cot, to avoid waking her. The light was already off so he felt able to peer out of the window. He could make out a figure but couldn’t tell who it was in the dark.

It didn’t look like any of the officers assigned to protect him, since the slaughter of his family, so he decided to ignore it. Whoever it was carried a bag-probably someone flogging stuff. He tiptoed back to the edge of his bed and sat down.

Jason waited a few minutes in the dark, listening for the figure to go. He heard nothing except the wind and the gentle breathing of his baby sister.

After a few moments listening, Jason returned to the glowing display of his phone. As he started keying a message, the bell sounded again.

This time he growled in annoyance and made his way softly to the top of the stairs and squinted down at the door to the frame standing motionless on the other side of the mottled glass.

Again he hesitated, watching, waiting. When the bell sounded again he lost his patience and stomped down the stairs.

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s DI Brook.’

‘Fuck do you want?’

‘To talk.’

‘What about?’

‘Police business. And I want to apologise…’

‘It won’t do any good. We’re not dropping the complaint so fuck off!’

‘It’s important.’ He paused then dangled the carrot. ‘I’ve brought your money.’

Silence. ‘What money?’

‘The money we confiscated when we arrested you.’

Another pause. ‘All of it?’

‘All of it.’

Jason moved to unfasten the many new locks on the door. It opened and Jason peered out at Brook through a crack. ‘Give us it.’

‘I can’t just hand it over. You have to sign for it. Can I come in? It’s cold.’