Most of the room was filled by a metal-framed bed on which the cat lay. It glared nervously as Brook entered. It was a little black kitten with wide wary eyes. Brook cautiously held out a hand to stroke it and it immediately careened itself towards the pressure of Brook’s fingers.
From a flat nearby a dull thudding music sprang up. Brook continued to look around. There wasn’t much to see. A small coffee table, a wooden-framed armchair with a uniform draped over it, a gas fire and a straight-backed chair with a small TV resting on it.
Brook could only stand and stare. It wasn’t possible to move around, as the other pitiful scraps of furniture were jammed against the far wall. A deep sadness filled him. He couldn’t explain why. He took no great pains over his own living conditions and it wasn’t as though he hadn’t seen such poverty before. Perhaps it was the denial of the occupant. Like poor dead Laura in her pathetic squat, clinging to the pretence that she was in control of her own life, her own environment.
‘My alarm call,’ beamed Mac, holding a mug of tea towards Brook and nodding vaguely in the direction of the music.
Brook took it and had an appreciative swig. ‘Thanks. Just what I need.’
Mac set his own mug on the floor and lifted one end of the bed. ‘Off you get, Blot,’ he soothed, as he raised the bed into a recess and closed two doors on it. Now there was a little space and Mac moved the table and chairs to the middle of the room and sat in the stiff-backed one, resting the TV on the floor, before taking a sip of tea.
‘Mince pie?’ Mac held a plate towards Brook who took a mince pie and bit into it. It was stale.
‘Very nice.’
‘I get ’em from the hotel.’
‘Right. Nice view,’ nodded Brook.
‘We like it. The moggy and me.’
Brook smiled, glad of common ground. He didn’t know how to talk about the weather. ‘I’ve got a cat. It’s a pain in the neck.’
‘I know what you mean. Bloody nuisance, this little puss. Aren’t you? I’m stuck with you now though, aren’t I?’ Mac smiled with pleasure. ‘Found him out in the alley a couple of months back. Wet through he was. No bigger than my hand. Mewling and shivering. Must’ve been chucked out. Some people. Who’d do that to such a defenceless little mite?’
‘How long have you got?’ replied Brook.
‘Now what did you want to talk about, Inspector? A Mr Elphick, you said.’
‘That’s right. Do you remember him?’
‘Should I?’
‘He stayed a few nights the week before Christmas. Old, not very well.’
‘Oh, him with the gloves and glasses?’
‘That’s him.’
‘I remember. Only ’cos he was such an odd looking sort. I don’t know what else I can tell you, ’cept he wore a wig.’
‘Sally told me. Was there anything else? His voice? His height? Anything he said.’
‘He didn’t say a word to me, Inspector, and that’s a fact. Not even thank you, when I opened the door. Not that he weren’t polite. Just that he preferred to nod than speak, that’s one of the things that made him stick in the mind. That and his appearance.’
‘Did he tip you?’
‘He did. He was a good tipper for these parts. I only saw him twice and each time he gave me a pound. Tips like that make all the difference. My army pension goes nowhere. Not now I’ve got two mouths to feed.’ He beamed at Blot who was caressing his ankle.
‘And his height?’
‘Tallish. About your height I’d say. Even with a bit of a stoop.’
‘You’re sure he wasn’t smaller? Nearer five eight.’
‘Certain. I’ve seen over a lot of men and you gets to know these things without really looking. You’d know what I mean about that, Inspector.’
‘Yes I suppose so.’ Brook was unhappy. The waters were muddying. The Reaper had gone out of his way to get Brook’s attention and now all his long nurtured certainty about the case, about Sorenson, was being undermined.
‘Was there anything else? Did you get him cabs?’
‘No. He walked the night I saw him.’
‘Did you see how he arrived?’
Mac’s face widened. ‘That’s right. That
‘What?’
‘Well, when he arrived he was dropped off down the road.’
‘By a cab?’
‘No. A cab wouldn’t have gone past the front entrance.’
‘And that was odd?’
‘There were no cars parked outside the hotel. Why not just drop him off there? And the car was on the hotel side of the road, so it must have driven past deliberately. It was almost as though…’
‘As though the driver didn’t want to be seen,’ concluded Brook. Sammy Elphick had been a dummy, a distraction. Sorenson had been driving not staying at the hotel. But why bring somebody else to Derby? To flag up a name so Brook would realise The Reaper had been to town? Why, when there were so many other pointers at the crime scene? It made no sense.
There had to be another reason. There had to be a purpose, a need for Sorenson to have company. Perhaps he was too ill for the ‘job’ and needed stronger hands to do the deed while he supervised-Brook had a momentary flash of Sorenson ticking off chores on a clipboard, with his assistant.
1) Deliver pizzas
2) Bring down baby
3) Cut throats.
But all the evidence pointed to a single killer, someone of Sorenson’s height and stature, entering the Wallis house that night. But then again, he’d only been seen delivering the pizzas-even a sick old man could do that. Nobody had seen who returned later to kill the victims.
Brook showed Mac the picture of Sorenson but without success.
‘Well thanks, Mac,’ said Brook standing. ‘You’ve been a big help.’
‘My pleasure. What’s he done by the way?’
Brook walked to the door and glanced again at the door of the empty fridge.
‘I can’t discuss it.’
‘Ere, he’s not the one that did that family, is he?’ Brook’s silence confirmed it. ‘The bastard. That poor little girl. What had she done to deserve that?’
Interesting how everyone zeroed in on the only aspect of the killings that was truly tragic, thought Brook.
‘We don’t know for definite. Listen. If this man comes back, I’d like you to ring me on this number.’ Brook wrote his home number on a piece of scrap paper knowing it wouldn’t be needed for anything other than the smokescreen he was about to throw up. He handed it to Mac with a twenty-pound note.
‘You don’t need to pay me for doing my duty, Inspector Brook. I’m glad to do it.’ The wound in the old man was stark.
‘Oh I know, I just thought…I need a good man on the job…’
‘You’ve no call to insult me like that. I don’t do the right thing for profit…’
‘Please take it. Treat it as a tip. Get some toys for the cat.’
Mac eyed the money with a mixture of longing and deep bitterness. Brook was appalled at the effect of his actions.
The old man stood before him, bereft even of the dignity he so scrupulously nurtured, unable to lift his dampening eyes from the money, the life-giving money. Every instinct told him to refuse it. He’d invited another
