voice that suggested he was probing. Probing not for impartial clarification, but for information he needed. Brook wondered whether to give it then answered softly.
‘Peter Hera.’
‘Say what?’
‘Peter Hera.’ Brook nodded. Back on the case he could put his baggage down and revel in the gratification of detection. ‘It didn’t take long. You see Sorenson thinks I do crosswords. I was doing one the night he first invited me into his house for a drink.’
‘So?’
‘It’s an anagram. Not difficult. Peter Hera. The Reaper. It was the name on the fake licence given to the van hire company in Derby. In case I was in any doubt.’
‘Just that?’
‘No, but that was the clincher.’
Rowlands nodded. ‘So The Reaper is back.’
Chapter Twenty-one
‘So will you see Sorenson?’ Jones looked up from the map book to study Brook’s face. It was fixed on the road ahead.
He sighed, showed some signs of having heard her. A few minutes later, he said, ‘I can’t avoid it. When Victor Sorenson wants something he usually gets it.’ Brook pulled over to the kerb and killed the engine. ‘We’re here.’
‘What time does she get out?’
‘I’m not sure. Three-thirty?’
As if on cue, a stream of uniformed girls disgorged from the double doors of the handsome building at the end of the avenue and streamed towards the gates where the Mondeo was parked.
Brook took the time to run his eye over the beauty of the surroundings, the immaculate cut of the grounds, now covered in a patchwork layer of frost. As on his previous visit, he had to douse the fires of resentment against a system which allowed some children, through no merit of their own, to grow tall in these Elysian Fields, while others, through no fault of
Brook stepped out of the car, motioning Jones to wait, and walked to the gate. He tried not to appear careworn. He didn’t want to burden her with more of his woes. She might get the idea he was too much effort in the long term.
The first gaggle of girls passed him, pulling on coats and mufflers against the chill seaside air. They were utterly carefree in their privileged cocoon. He was struck by their energy and zest, that sense of unabashed expectation that clung to them. They screamed and strutted and giggled and teased, some fingering cigarettes, longing, anxious, anticipating sufficient cover to don the cloak of adulthood, some chewing gum like it was going out of fashion.
And like all of their generation, they were afflicted by that selective blindness which prevents the young seeing anyone of Brook’s age, even someone standing so self-consciously, staring in their direction, wondering what he must look like, a man in his forties, loitering outside a girls’ school on the last day of term.
They walked past him as though he wasn’t there. He didn’t exist, at least not until a middle-aged woman with a tight bun came out of a side door and proceeded to march to the gate, all the while her eyes boring into Brook.
‘Daddy!’ screamed a voice from within a pack of high-pitched banter and a slender dark-haired girl came out of the crowd to fling herself at him.
‘Terri.’ Brook raised his arm with a glance at the matronly figure who, somewhat reassured, slowed her approach to her duty position. There would be no abductions on her watch, after all.
Terri threw herself into Number One Dad’s arms and he swung her round with less ease than he used to. Still, this bridge to the past was important to him. She was the best thing he’d ever done with his life. Perhaps the only thing. In spite of his trepidation, Brook’s tension vanished and he cracked into a wide smile.
‘Daddy. What are you doing here? I can’t believe it.’ She was breathless and a little more self-conscious now, as a couple of her friends had planted themselves against the escaping tide and were looking on with interest. ‘Daddy, this is Cynth and this is Marsha.’
‘Hello Mr Brook,’ said the one identified as Marsha, sheepishly.
‘We’ve seen you on the telly,’ added Cynth with a sidelong leer at Marsha. Ah, he was a celebrity. Now he was visible. Brook smiled back, unaccustomed to star-struck fans.
‘Can we have your autograph, Mr Brook?’ added Marsha.
‘I can do better than that. Give Terri your address and I’ll get my agent to send you a couple of signed photos.’
‘Cor! Would yer?’
‘Take no notice, Cynth. He’s teasing you…’
‘Course I am. I don’t have an agent yet. Now where do you want me to sign, girls? A body part perhaps…’
‘Dad!’
‘Or a piece of underwear?’
‘Stop it!’
‘Or would you like some of my DNA? I’ve got a sample in my pocket.’
‘DAD!’
‘Well…we’ve got homework, Tel, we’ll see you later, yeah.’ They rushed away.
‘That’s got rid of them,’ observed Brook.
Terri turned to her father, still open-mouthed. ‘How could you embarrass me like that, Dad?’
Brook laughed in disbelief. ‘Well, for God’s sake, Terri. My autograph? Doesn’t the real world touch young people? I’m a policeman. The reason I’m on
‘And why shouldn’t it? I’m a girl like that. We’re only young once. Maybe we don’t want the real world to touch us yet, Dad. Is that a bad thing?’ She was calm but furious.
Brook looked at his daughter. He hadn’t seen her for so long. She seemed tall. And beautiful. And intelligent.
‘That’s a good answer,’ he conceded. He was suddenly very proud of her.
‘
‘Sorry.’
Terri fixed her eyes on Brook. Her attempt to stop her lips curling up was in vain and she burst out laughing. ‘Their faces though. You’re
‘I know. Will they be okay? I mean…’
‘Those two? They’ll be fine. That’s nothing to the things they come out with.’
‘Spare me.’
Brook took her hand and led her towards the car, he beaming at her, chattering away. She was so…mature. Fifteen and so old. The outside world encroached too quickly these days, like it or not. But then it had to if they were to be kept safe. Brook, of all people, knew that.
‘Why are you here, Dad?’
Brook opened the car door for her and introduced her to Wendy Jones. He didn’t register his colleague’s puzzled expression as she eyed Terri’s auburn hair. ‘Come on. I’ll take you for a Coke.’
