‘Let me guess. They were collected, not delivered and the customer paid cash.’
‘Right.’
‘What about CCTV?’
‘They don’t have it.’
Brook smiled. ‘Our boy’s determined not to make it easy for us. Description?’
‘Nothing useable. A man. Middle-aged maybe.’
‘That’s it?’
‘Nobody remembers who picked it up. They only look at the money-as you suspected.’
‘Yeah, it’d be nice to be wrong for a change. What else?’
‘DC Morton took a formal statement from Mr Singh next door. Singh said he went round to the Wallis house about half an hour after midnight. The front door was open but he didn’t suspect anything. The CD player was on loud so he turned it down and then off. He said he had no idea the Wallis family were dead because the lights were off. When he turned on the lights-bingo!’
‘And the volume?’
‘He said the music was distorted.’
‘So it must have been on full. Interesting. Okay. Have Forensics got his clothes and shoes?’
‘They have.’
‘Prints?’
‘Yep.’
‘Did we ask him about times?’
‘He said he didn’t go round straight away. He said he heard the music start earlier but it got really loud just past midnight-he looked at his watch. He stood it until half past before going round.’
‘So our killer turned the music up and left just after midnight.’
‘It looks that way.’
‘And Jason got home soon after and had his pizza.’
‘Wouldn’t he have heard the music?’
Brook nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s a strange one. Even out of his head you’d think he’d hear it and investigate.’
‘Maybe he thought it was the TV.’
‘Even so.’
‘And there’s the baby. Surely it would have woken up.’
‘Babies are funny, John. They can sleep through anything. Maybe it did wake up, maybe not. But unless she was screaming her head off who’s going to notice? With Aktar struggling to stay conscious that leaves Mr Singh, who’s in a situation for which he has no training.’
‘I suppose.’
‘What about the CD?’
‘Sent for dusting. It was’-Noble checked his notes-‘Symphony No. 9 by Mahler. I thought he was reggae.’
Brook smiled at Noble. ‘Bob Mahler and the Wailers. You know your music, John. And the case?’
‘No sign. Looks like the killer brought the CD and took the case with him. So we’ve very little chance of tracing the purchase.’
Brook nodded. ‘Anything else?’
‘Yeah. DC Cooper found a phone number for a Mrs Harrison at the Wallis house. Apparently she’s Mrs Wallis’ sister. A nurse. Divorced. Lives in Borrowash. She’d just heard the news and was obviously in a bit of a state. Says she hasn’t seen the family for a couple of weeks, though Mrs Wallis phoned her two days ago. Nothing in her manner to suggest she was worried about anything. I sent a WPC round for tea and sympathy. She says she’s willing to do the formal ID.’
‘Good.’
‘We got a fax from BT. Every call to the Wallis house up to two days before the murder came from numbers listed in Mrs Wallis’ address book, except one. That came from a public phone the day before.’
‘So he could check out the menu before ringing to take their order. Is it close to Pizza Parlour?’
‘Near enough. And it’s coin-operated not card.’
‘Really?’
‘Hard to believe they still exist, I know. Forensics is giving it a quick once-over but there’s no telling how many people have been in there since.’
‘What about enemies?’
‘We asked Mrs Harrison. She says not. Bobby had an occasional
‘And nothing in his jacket about dealing?’
‘Not even a sniff of drugs, no joke intended. He wasn’t the type.’
‘Check with the Drug Squad anyway. Just to tick it off.’
‘A message from the Chief. There’s a press conference at four, in time for the local evening news and she wants you there.’
‘Damn. I wish brass could jump through these hoops by themselves.’
‘I reckon she needs a man there to give the public a bit of confidence.’
Brook turned to Noble, this time without amusement. He had to stop letting these remarks slide, if only for the sake of balance. ‘That’s right. Evelyn McMaster knows exactly what kind of small-minded bigots are out there, John. And to her credit she’s big enough to swallow her pride and pander to their intolerance if it will bolster confidence in what we’re doing. That makes our job that bit easier, don’t you think?’
Noble was suitably abashed.
‘Here,’ continued Brook, pointing to the photograph of the Wallis fireplace. ‘You’ll have to follow this up now. I’ll speak to Jason on my own. What do you see, John?’
‘A bottle of wine.’
‘Not quite. It’s a bottle of expensive wine. A Nuits-Saint-Georges to be precise. From Burgundy.’
‘How do you know that?’ asked Noble, with a hint of suspicion. It was still an offence in most station houses to drink anything other than lager and cheap whisky.
‘Because I spent my honeymoon on a barge in Burgundy and that was a wine we could never afford. We weren’t well off, but I imagine it would still cost you at least fifteen to twenty pounds in a supermarket. Assuming you can get it round here. I doubt the Wallis family are oenophiles,’ he flicked a glance at Noble but his constable was maintaining the face of a stoic, ‘so get someone to find out where it was bought and by whom, if you can. Who else is on the team apart from Cooper?’
‘DC Morton, DC Bull, DC Gadd.’
‘Jane Gadd? Good officer,’ said Brook evenly, ignoring Noble’s quick glance. Jane Gadd was Noble’s girlfriend. Brook wasn’t supposed to know that-nobody was-but receding proximity to sexual relationships had sharpened his antennae in such things. More importantly she was young and hungry for promotion, as were DCs Dave Bull and Rob Morton. This was a big opportunity for them and he knew they’d toe the line and work hard.
‘Try the big supermarkets centrally. They’ll know if they stock it. When Aktar’s discharged get him and Wendy Jones to help. Send them round the off licences.’
WPC Wendy Jones was reading a magazine as Brook peered through a crack in the curtains. He hesitated. This could be difficult and Brook wasn’t sure how to play it. That was nothing new. He hadn’t been sure on any of the chance encounters since their little fling the previous New Year’s Eve had left them both with a severe case of embarrassment.
Nearly a year ago. Brook could scarcely believe it. The power of alcohol had a miraculous power to transform behaviour. Brook could scarcely tally the demure, black-stockinged professional before him now with the reckless passion of that night. The energy and the urgency of her lovemaking had left its mark on Brook, a casualty of a more repressed generation.
It had been the best sex he could remember-and he had a good memory-and had offered him a glimpse of a happiness he thought he could never experience after his divorce.
He hated to admit it, but the touch of young flesh had thrown open the stable door on emotions he hadn’t
