settle the debt.’ The other officers exchanged a look and stopped to listen. ‘Because you don’t care, do you? You don’t care about anyone but yourself. You fear your own death, not your daughter’s, not your wo-man’s.’ Brook spat out the word in the loud Jamaican patois he’d heard so many times from bejewelled Yardies. There was silence for a moment. Nobody moved. Only Mozart.
‘Why no art to look at while they die?’ Rowlands asked.
‘Maybe he brought something but they were in no state to appreciate it so he didn’t put it up.’
‘Or maybe he’s changing his MO every time to try and fool the profilers.’
‘Could be.’
Rowlands studied his friend. ‘I’ve seen enough. Let’s go. Be quick if you want that serial number.’
Brook stopped the music and pocketed the disc. He knelt down behind the CD player with a small pad and pencil.
Rowlands was already on his way back down the steps. Brook watched him go and jumped up to follow. He put the pad and pencil away then paused and turned to one of the officers still toiling away.
‘Have you found anything useful?’
‘It’s not looking good apart from that footprint. No fingerprints, no weapon, no DNA, no fibres. This guy knows what he’s doing.’
‘If you do find something, anything from the killer, I want you to get it DNA tested.’
‘Obviously.’
‘I mean anything. And if you don’t think the sample is usable, make sure you still store it carefully. It may be usable in the future. Clear?’ With that triumphant demonstration of his interpersonal skills, Brook followed his boss out into the crisp, winter afternoon.
‘And you can blow it out your arse, you fucking nutter,’ mumbled the officer to his retreating back.
‘Wanker,’ agreed his colleague with venom.
Brook took the cigarette thrown in his direction and placed it in his mouth. The lighter followed. Rowlands sat opposite refilling his flask from a half bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label. It was unavailable in Britain, but he had a friend in Customs and Excise who sent him seized contraband from time to time. When he’d finished he took a swig first from the bottle, then the flask. Finally he looked back over at Brook. ‘Well?’
‘Guv?’ Brook looked back at his boss.
‘Does the serial number match?’
Brook fished for his notebook and flipped it open. He stared at the blank page. Then rummaged around his drawer and drew out the delivery note he’d taken from the boxed CD player in Sorenson’s house. It still had the brown tape clinging to it. Brook located the serial number and held it next to the blank page away from his boss.
Brook smiled. It was a bittersweet smile. A smile of loss. A smile that wished things could have been different.
‘Are they the same, lad?’
Brook picked up the lighter from his lap and ignited his cigarette. Then he held the flame to the edge of the delivery note. The tape crinkled and smouldered before the paper took light. Brook held it up for a moment to ensure the conflagration then dropped it into the metal bin at his feet. ‘No.’
Chapter Twenty-seven
‘Well?’ McMaster sat with her back straight and her hands interwoven on the desk. Her stony gaze was supposed to penetrate him, her silence pierce him.
But Brook stood impassive, staring at a fixed point above her blonde bob. He understood Sorenson’s story about the terminal ward now. Brook was the same. Finished with life. Nothing anyone did could affect him, nothing anyone said could bring him back.
But he had a job to finish and a lack of concern, a refusal to play out this scene along its scripted course would lose him the support he needed for a little longer. So Brook fought his instincts and concentrated hard to remember the next line.
‘I screwed up, ma’am. I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry? Sorry is the pause you should’ve taken between thought and deed. I’ve had the DCC of West Yorkshire barking down the phone at me for half an hour…’
‘I can explain…’
‘Can you? I wish you would.’ She broke her gaze and unclasped her hands. She picked up Brook’s warrant card from the blotter and began to fiddle with it. Brook shot a look at her spider plant. It was brown and withered.
McMaster waited but Brook said nothing.
‘For God’s sake, stand easy and speak to me, Damen. Don’t give me this strong, silent number. I’ve seen it a million times from coppers who aren’t fit to lick your shoes. I thought I knew you. But I don’t, do I? It’s always the same. Whenever you bloody men are in trouble you clam up and play the hard nut…’
Her volume subsided and she put her head in her hands, before looking back at him. ‘And, no, I’m not going to cry.’ Brook’s face softened into a half smile.
‘No, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Not you.’ He relaxed his shoulders into the break of tension.
‘Well, thanks. I think.’ Her voice was soft and measured once more. ‘They could have your job for this, Damen. Do you care?’
‘Not really.’
‘I didn’t think so. Well, what now?’
‘Now? I’m going to Glasgow, ma’am. I’m going to do what I should’ve done years ago. It’s in the past. Something they’ve done that’s got them killed. Bobby Wallis abusing Kylie, Floyd Wrigley selling his daughter for sex. It’s The Reaper, ma’am. I’m sure of it now. He’s back and he wants me to know it. So I need to go to Glasgow and find out about Roddy Telfer’s past. That’s why I went to Leeds.’
‘Did he have a daughter too?’
‘What?’ Brook looked at her as though he hadn’t understood.
‘Did Roddy Telfer have a daughter? I assume that’s the connection you’re talking about.’
Brook stood there like a fish in a bowl staring out at a world misshapen by glass. He was rooted for several seconds while his superior looked on. ‘Are you all right, Inspector?’
Brook’s mind was in turmoil at this sudden spark. It was difficult not to show it. ‘Yes. I mean no. He didn’t have a daughter, at least, none that I know.’
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
‘I’m fine. I’ve got to go, ma’am. I need your help.’
‘Oh, now you need my help. Well you…’
‘Look, ma’am. Evelyn.’ McMaster blinked in surprise. ‘They can have my job after I’ve been to London. But do you really think that will satisfy them?’
‘I thought you were going to Glasgow…’
‘No. Maybe. It may not be necessary. Look, ma’am. You must see. They don’t want my job. I’m a harmless washout. But you, you’re a woman in a man’s world. And they’re waiting and watching, every second of every day. Waiting and hoping for you to screw up. It’s you they want, you must know that…’
‘Inspector Brook…’
‘I’m close. I’m close to The Reaper. After all these years. What better thing to give them? What better way to make yourself fireproof than to give them The Reaper?’
‘And for yourself, of course?’
‘I don’t care about that.’
McMaster looked down at her desk in apology. ‘No.’
‘There’s my warrant card. Take it now if you think it will help your career, but I’m following this up to the end. I’m going to finish this, with or without your help.’
