The Reaper

She sat up, wincing at the pain in her lower back, and stood to stretch her legs. Where was he?

The noise of the shower offered first comfort, then anxiety.

She lifted a hand to tap on the bathroom door then stopped. There was an unusual noise coming from the bathroom. It was so commonplace, yet so unexpected, that Jones could only stand and listen, a baffled expression creasing her face.

No. There was no mistake. Someone, presumably Detective Inspector Damen Brook, was whistling. In fact, more than that, he was breaking into song as well.

Jones was worried. She raised her hand again but, as she did, the water stopped. A second later the door opened and Brook stood before her, one towel round his waist and another being rubbed vigorously through his thinning hair.

‘Morning, Wendy. Shower’s free.’ He beamed at her.

‘Thanks.’ She continued to examine Brook for signs that all was not well. ‘Are you alright, sir?’

‘Never better, Wendy. Never better.’

‘Good. It’s just that for the last few days…’

‘I know. I’m the weak silent type.’ He smiled as he came over to hold her shoulders then stooped to kiss her on the cheek. ‘I can’t thank you enough. In fact, I can never repay you for what you’ve done for me. Now hurry and get cleaned up. I’m starving.’

Brook buttered his fifth piece of toast and devoured it with the same gusto as he had the others. He poured himself another tea and sat back to enjoy the view out of the window and lick the butter from his fingers. The food on the table had been annihilated. Two full English breakfasts, both eaten by Brook, had followed two mini-packs of cereal and several unsanctioned refills of economy orange juice.

Brook purred as he picked at his teeth.

‘You eat like a condemned man.’

Brook smiled. ‘On the contrary, I’ve been reprieved.’

Jones drained her tea and excused herself for a few minutes. When she returned to the dining room and sat down, Brook followed her progress, not hiding his attraction. She smiled back at him, still puzzling over the enigmatic grin, now a permanent fixture on his face.

‘Let me guess. Charlie?’

‘Still the great detective.’

‘It wasn’t difficult. Navy rum with sugar. Doctor Rowlands’ Miracle Cure All. I suppose he said I don’t drink enough.’

‘He says you’re in denial.’

‘He may be right. But if so I recommend it.’

‘The Chief Super rang him. If we don’t get in touch, we’re off the case. That was two days ago.’

‘I’m off the case. I won’t let her tar you with the same brush.’ Jones pulled a face. ‘What? I can handle McMaster. Trust me, Wendy.’

‘So you’re going to speak to her?’

‘Eventually, but not on the phone. I’ve got an errand to run in town then we can head back to Derby.’ Without irony he added, ‘Home.’

Brook turned to give Jones a final reassuring wave then pushed his way into the smoked glass of the revolving door.

On the fourth floor he was ushered into a swish outer office and asked to wait. Leather sofas, soft lighting, tinted windows, tasteful, understated Christmas decorations. PR was clearly a good business to be in.

A colour co-ordinated brunette strode confidently towards him, default smile in place. Her hair was flawless, her teeth blue-white and her make-up without blemish.

‘I’m Mr Harvey-Ellis’ secretary. Can I help you?’

‘Yes I’d like to see him.’

‘Is he expecting you, Mr…?’

‘Detective Inspector Brook. By now, I would say, yes. Ms Gibbs,’ beamed Brook, scrutinising her nametag.

Ms Gibbs seemed unsure. She disappeared for a moment then returned. ‘I’m afraid he’s in a meeting at the moment and can’t be disturbed.’

‘You astonish me.’

‘We’re closing at lunchtime, we’re very busy. It’s Christmas Eve. But if you’d like to wait…’

‘No. I’d hate that. I’m easily bored. You trot along and tell him to disturb his meeting or I’ll come along and disturb it for him.’

Ms Gibbs stood open-mouthed, darting her Siamese eyes around the reception area in the vain hope that someone would come to her assistance. ‘I…’

‘Still here?’

At this Ms Gibbs turned and scuttled away. Brook followed her into another office.

Unaware of him, she paused to compose herself outside a large pair of doors sporting the sign ‘Conference One.’ She brushed herself down, as though in the twenty seconds between the reception area and the conference room she’d been strewn with litter, and knocked timidly on the door before entering. Brook marched in behind her.

Perhaps a dozen people sat at the long polished table. Twelve pairs of eyes moved their curious gaze from the flustered Ms Gibbs to the encroaching Brook.

Only one person was standing, furthest from Brook, a burly man, an inch or two shorter than Brook, with a heavy-set face, partially obscured by thick wavy black hair. The jacket from his expensive suit had been discarded onto the back of a chair and he stood in shirtsleeves and loud braces. He had a pointer in one hand and stood to the side of a data projector. It was Tony Harvey-Ellis.

Only his eyes didn’t engage Brook with curiosity. Only his eyes didn’t bore into Brook’s granite expression with a mixture of annoyance and interest. In fact, he didn’t look at Brook at all. Terri must have poured it all out to him and now Tony stood on the scaffold of his own folly, resigned to his fate. Humiliation? Violence? Arrest? Perhaps all three. Resignation flowed from his every pore. No fear, just a hint of sorrow perhaps. Sorrow for the end of self-esteem, the end of a persona carefully constructed for others.

In those few seconds Brook almost felt sorry for the man. Then he remembered Amy. Poor Amy. Her world would fall apart again. Only one thing was a consolation to Brook at that moment-the thought that soon, perhaps today, his star would begin to rise in Amy’s eyes again. It was an unworthy thought but it caused him no guilt. In fact, he liked the idea. Without wishing to, Amy would have to reassess her previous marriage in the light of damning new evidence against her current arrangements. There was no way back for Brook and Amy but it was nice to think of their history together being rewritten, if just a little.

A distinguished man in his fifties, with thick grey hair, stood to take charge of proceedings. ‘Can I ask what the hell you think you’re doing?’

‘No you can’t.’ Brook beamed at him in such a polite manner it caused an immediate tremor of unease.

‘Look here…’

‘Sit down.’

‘Ms Gibbs. Call the police.’

‘The police are here, PR man,’ said Brook. ‘Tony Harvey-Ellis.’ He looked at Brook now, a grim smile glued to his face. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Brook. I’d like to speak to you in connection with several serious offences, including the corruption of a minor and rape.’

Gasps exploded round the room. Tony’s smile faded. He nodded at nobody in particular. He certainly didn’t acknowledge any of his colleagues, now turned towards him, jaws sagging.

‘Must we do this here, Damen?’ His voice was calm.

‘Do what?’ Brook’s air of bewilderment was over the top, as was his subsequent embarrassment. ‘Oops. Silly me. Have I been indiscreet? Have I said the wrong thing? Me and my big mouth. Then let’s go to your office, Tony.’ Brook turned to the throng as he made to walk out. ‘Everyone just forget I said anything.’