‘Okay. I’ll be back tonight. And for my sake, don’t say anything about my calling. I’ll brief McMaster when I get back. Got it?’
Brook turned off the phone and returned to the house. Rowlands was in the kitchen drinking coffee. A half finished brandy bottle stood on the table.
‘Any news?’
‘Not really. The Chief Superintendent wants to hear about progress so I didn’t speak to her.’
‘How do you get on with that dyke?’
Brook gave Rowlands a look which he pretended not to see. ‘She likes me, as much as anyone in her position can afford to.’
‘It’s all about image these days, Brooky The top brass won’t stand for egg on their faces. Being a copper is all about politics. I’d barely get above DC if I had my time again.’
‘Maybe.’
‘Drink?’
‘Of?
‘Something to keep the cold out. Don’t worry. It’s after twelve. You used to be able to fake drinking strong liquor pretty well, as far as I can recall.’
‘Was it that obvious?’
‘Blinding, laddie. I didn’t mind. You kept me company, in more ways than just that.’
‘Just doing my job, Charlie.’
‘Fuck off, Brooky. It was far more than that. You were doing both our jobs.’ Rowlands tipped a little more brandy into his coffee and looked at the floor. ‘I never had the chance to thank you. Not properly. Please let me finish,’ he insisted. ‘You saw me through that time. If it hadn’t been for you I wouldn’t have made it, I wouldn’t have wanted to make it. You gave me the strength…’
With a cute sense of irony, Rowlands’ rasping cough returned and Brook stood to clap him on the back. He poured himself a small measure of brandy and raised his cup to Rowlands. ‘Cheers, Charlie.’
‘Cheers, Damen. Here’s to you and that lovely girl. I hope you make a go of it, I really do.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come off it, lad. You deserve a chance at happiness.’ Rowlands was beginning to well up. ‘I blame myself, you know, for Amy…’
‘What?’
‘If I’d been able to look after myself at work…’
‘Forget that now, Charlie. Don’t even think it. There was nothing you could have done to save my marriage.’ Brook took a drink and winced at the unfamiliar heat. If he was to drive in the afternoon, he could drink no more so he put the cup back on the table. He looked at the floor. He didn’t know how to say what he wanted. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to say it. He decided, as usual, to keep it simple. ‘How long have you got?’
Rowlands looked up and smiled. He shook his head in wonder. ‘The best damn detective I’ve ever seen, Brooky, I swear to God. How did you know?’
‘You haven’t had a fag since we arrived. Not by choice I assume.’
‘You’re right. Physically I can’t handle them. One puff will have me on the floor, bringing me guts up. Lung cancer. Both barrels. Six months. More likely three.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be.’
Jones walked into the kitchen. Her hair was still wet from the shower. She wore a pair of dark trousers, baggy at the ankles but figure-hugging at the high waistband. She placed an empty cup and plate in the sink. ‘That was great. Thanks.’
‘Don’t mention it, love.’
‘Constable, we’re hitting the road again. You’d better dry your hair.’
‘Sir?’ She looked round at the two of them but their eyes were glued together, waiting to be left alone. ‘Right.’ She took the hint and went back upstairs. The blast of the hair dryer followed moments later.
‘Tell me about Sorenson, Charlie.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘When did he die?’
Rowlands grinned. ‘Around the same time as me.’
Driving or not, Brook needed another pull on the brandy. ‘You said he was dead.’
‘I said he was a goner.’
‘So he’s alive.’
‘Not really. Like me. Cancer. Getting in line.’
‘And how did you find this out?’
‘He was in hospital, same time as me. He came over to speak to me.’
Brook stared at the floor, eyes like flint. ‘Did he?’ he said softly. ‘I didn’t know you knew him.’
Charlie hesitated. ‘I didn’t know him. He knew me though. Knew I was your boss from the old days. He wanted…’
‘I know what he wanted.’
‘Do you?’ Rowlands smiled. There was pleasure in his expression but it was buried under a mask of pain. ‘Do you really?’
‘He wanted to know where I was.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you told him.’
Rowlands paused, examining Brook’s face. ‘Yes.’
‘When?’
‘A few months ago.’
Brook nodded. ‘And a family in Derby dies.’
‘You don’t know there’s a connection,’ said Rowlands.
‘Don’t I? So why speak to him at all, Charlie?’
‘Because he’s dying, Brooky. He said…’ Rowlands halted, unsure how to continue. His eyes began to water and Brook was eaten by guilt. He was giving his old boss a hard time but he had to know.
‘What?’
‘He said he had a bond with you-a friendship almost. He said he wanted to speak to you one last time. I understood.’ Rowlands darted him a look. ‘He said he had something to give you.’
Brook nodded. ‘What was that?’
‘Purpose. He said you needed purpose.’
Brook laughed bitterly. ‘And that’s what he’s given me, Charlie. Problem is he’s had to kill an innocent young girl to do it.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Come off it, Charlie. Don’t tell me about Sorenson. You don’t know the way he operates, the games he plays. Christ, I spent a year breathing the same air as him.’
‘If you say so.’
‘I do say so.’
‘So you don’t want to see him then?’
‘No, I damn well…’ The venom in Brook’s retort took Rowlands aback. Brook took a breath and softened his features. ‘No I don’t. But what choice do I have?’
Rowlands smiled in sympathy. ‘None. Not if you want to be sure, son.’
‘I’m sure. He did it. He did the London killings and now he’s killed in Derby.’
‘How can you be so certain?’
Brook locked his gaze onto Rowlands. Odd. For a second there was something…something in his old boss’s
