The Reaper

and picked up Noble’s mobile and dialled.

‘Can you speak, John?’

‘Yes.’

‘Anything on Petr Sorenson yet?’

‘No form at all but he’s local. A student. He lives in halls at Nottingham University.’

‘Really.’ Brook was thoughtful. Vicky’s brother was not more than fifteen miles from Derby. He had a more than reasonable excuse to meet his sister’s train. On the other hand if Sorenson’s nephew had taken up the mantle from his uncle, what better place to revive The Reaper murders than Brook’s new home?

‘Sir…’

‘What’s he studying?’

‘Er…Chemistry? Inspector…’

‘Interesting but not surprising. That’s how the family made their money.’

‘Inspector Brook, listen. We’ve found something. I put a rush on Jason’s clothes.’

‘I knew it. Get a team to Annie Sewell’s…’

‘It’s not fibres. They’re still working on that. It’s not what we expected. It’s blood.’

‘Blood? Whose?’

‘His father’s…’

‘What? That means…’

‘No it doesn’t. Let me finish. We found minute traces in a series of small cuts on his jacket.’

‘Did you say cuts?’

‘Yes. Cuts. Very thin. With what looks like the murder weapon. Someone cut the letter R into the material-R for REAPER. That’s how the blood got there. It was very small and under his arm so it wasn’t spotted at the scene.’

‘Jesus.’ Brook’s mind was flooded with images and scenarios. Noble kept silent at the other end of the line to let the implications sink in. ‘The Reaper was still there when Jason got home, John. That’s why Jason didn’t hear music.’

‘Right. The neighbour, Mr Singh, said it was turned down for a few minutes. The Reaper turned it down after he killedBobby. He saw Jason coming and waited for him in the living room. When he didn’t show he guessed what had happened and went to find him spark out in the kitchen.’

‘So he cuts his signature on Jason, turns the music back up and then leaves. God.’ Brook shook his head in dismay, not bringing himself to say what needed to be said. But Noble said it for him.

‘But why didn’t he kill him? He had him.’

‘I’m not sure, John. The only thing I can think of is that Jason was in no condition to know he was about to die. And that’s key for the man we’re dealing with. That’s what gets him off. It’s the knowing…’

‘With respect, sir, that’s fucking bullshit. If Jason’s the reason he’s chosen this family he should do him right there. I mean, he’s never going to have him in his sights again. He’s left him for a reason, something we don’t know yet.’

‘Maybe he knows Jason’s a killer. Maybe he’s leaving him to us.’

‘What? So we can send him to prison-maybe. You don’t believe that for a second.’

Brook sighed. ‘All right, all right. It’s a mystery. We’ll figure it out. Anything else? What? Is he?’ He looked up at the TV. Jason Wallis filled his screen. ‘I’m watching it now, John.’ Brook stayed on the line but turned the sound on the TV back on.

‘I just wanna say if anyone knows anything to come forward. Speak to the police. Whoever did this to my family is sick. Dangerous.’ Pause for slumping of head and wiping of tear. Jason’s aunt tightened her grip on his arm to give him the strength to get through. ‘Me mum and dad and me sister…’

But Jason couldn’t go on and the camera moved onto McMaster and Greatorix seated next to one another.

McMaster, as usual, was immaculate and the same could almost be said for Bob Greatorix, now basking in the limelight he so craved, a hint of a smirk submerged beneath his mask of fake sympathy.

Brook grimaced at the sight of McMaster. After all her support he should have warned her about young Wallis personally. Now she was between a rock and a hard place. With Charlie’s confession, Brook had the evidence to charge Jason with at least conspiracy to commit murder. Sorenson too. But now, after this debacle, even bringing her The Reaper wouldn’t wipe the tape of her sitting next to a teenage killer, comforting him in the regulation manner. The press would tear her to pieces.

He turned off the phone, forgetting Noble was still on the other end, turned off the TV and finished dressing. Then he packed his bag and prepared to leave.

There was a knock at the door. ‘Who is it?’

A pause. ‘Daddy’s special girl.’

Brook put his bag and coat on the bed and walked to the door. ‘Vicky?’

‘Yes. Let me in.’

Brook raised a hand to the door but hesitated. ‘How did you know I was here?’

‘Can we talk inside?’ Still Brook waited. ‘Please!’

Finally, curiosity got the better of him and he turned the handle. Before he could pull the door open it crashed against his right shoulder and he was sent spinning onto the bed, knocking his bag and coat to the floor. He tried to right himself, but a wiry figure was on him, forcing a cloth into his mouth. Brook could taste a pungent chemical aroma and had already taken an involuntary gulp before swinging back onto the mattress and bringing his knee up into his assailant’s crotch.

Brook felt the gust of breath through the man’s teeth as he doubled up. His grip eased so Brook was able to flex his left foot into the man’s chest and heave him off the bed. He fell heavily into the doorframe of the bathroom.

Vicky shrank back, unsure what to do, but a second later she flung herself onto Brook’s legs and clung on tight while the man staggered back to the bed with the cloth.

Brook was already feeling the effects of one lungful of the chemical and tried to wriggle free from Vicky’s grip. But the man fell on Brook’s chest and forced the cloth back over his face. Brook grabbed his right arm to hold him off but he was young and strong.

As the man edged his arm closer to his face, Brook’s head was forced off the bed towards the floor. The more the man pushed, the further off the bed Brook slipped until the back of his head was touching the floor. Now there was no retreat from the fumes as the man pressed his weight against Brook’s defensive arm.

Finally, Brook felt the cloth against his mouth and held his breath. His eyes darted at the bag by his head. His coat, which had lain on his bag, was on the floor next to it.

With his free hand, Brook dragged the coat to him and slid his fingers into the pocket. After a few seconds scrabbling to get the correct hold, Brook pulled out Charlie’s gun and thrust the nozzle against his attacker’s forehead.

‘Get off!’ he grunted through the cloth. ‘Now!’ Brook fixed his eyes onto the man, trying to look calm. He didn’t feel calm. His heart was pounding against his ribs and his head spun from the chemical.

‘He won’t shoot, Pete. I know him,’ urged Vicky, still clamping Brook’s legs.

Brook screwed his eyes in what he hoped would appear a display of quiet determination. ‘Now!’ he gasped.

Brook felt the man’s arms relax and the cloth retreat from his face as he stood back from the bed. Brook leapt up to open the window and gulp in fresh air all the while keeping the gun trained on his assailant.

Petr Sorenson was a young man of medium height, a little taller than Vicky, and with the same slant to his eyes, the same blond hair. His face was flushed and he panted heavily, all the while looking at Brook with that sullen hatred Brook had seen in Jason.