‘To being a killer.’
‘The Reaper?’ Brook saw the hesitation in her manner.
‘Well, no. He said he killed his brother…’
Brook closed his eyes and nodded. Of course. Closure for Vicky-the dying act of a loving uncle. But not The Reaper. He would never admit to that. Sorenson can die but The Reaper must live.
‘…there was also a girl.’
Brook sat bolt upright despite the tubes restraining him. ‘Girl?’
‘Yes. One of your old cases, from your time at Hammersmith. He had her bracelet in his hands…’
‘Laura.’
‘That’s right. Laura Maples. He confessed everything. He knew all about it.’ Brook was sombre. ‘And that poor old woman in Derby, Annie Sewell. He said he arranged it.’
Brook was deep in thought. ‘Did he say why?’
‘He claimed she killed several babies when she was younger. She was a midwife…well? Who knows? It was a long time ago. They’re looking into it.’
‘Did he say who he got to kill her for him?’
‘No. When we get back to Derby…’
‘Derby? Where the hell am I?’
‘Still in London. Hammersmith Hospital. You were too ill to move.’
‘Terminal ward?’
‘That’s not funny, sir.’
He stroked her hand. ‘No it’s not. And please call me Damen.’
‘I
‘I’m listening.’
‘Sorenson thinks he killed you. On the tape he said he poisoned you. Said he was sorry because you were such a brilliant detective and nobody else could have caught up with him.’
Jones smiled with pleasure but Brook was sombre. ‘Then why am I alive?’
‘He must have got the dosage wrong.’
‘I don’t think so. If I’m alive it’s because Sorenson wanted it that way. He staged it.’
‘Staged it?’
‘To convince me he was going to kill me. Otherwise it would have been phoney. I wouldn’t have believed it, wouldn’t have gone through what the others went through. It had to be authentic.’
Jones was baffled. ‘Authentic?’
‘The same as the other victims. He needed to show me things, the despair and the hope and the beauty of dying. The joy of letting go. Of being saved.’ Brook could see he was losing her. ‘He wouldn’t kill me. I was his friend.’ Brook took a sip of water. ‘He said I was a brilliant detective?’
‘Words to that effect-what’s wrong with that?’
‘He’s trying to manipulate me, Wendy.’
‘He’s dead. How can he manipulate you?’
‘You didn’t know him. He never said or did anything without an ulterior motive. And now, being a hero, I get to stay in the Force. That’s what he wants.’
‘Sorenson. Why?’
Brook pondered how to say it. ‘Access.’
Jones was mystified but Brook showed little sign of enlightening her. ‘Access to what?’
Brook had closed his eyes and was drifting off to sleep. ‘Deserving cases.’ In a barely audible voice he added, ‘He came to Derby for me, Wendy. And dead or alive, he’s not going to give up until he gets me.’
The next day Brook demanded his clothes and insisted on leaving his sick bed despite the protests of Wendy Jones and the doctor. The toxin pumped from his stomach had yet to be identified.
‘What’s the worst that could happen, doc?’
‘You could collapse and die, Inspector Brook,’ she replied.
‘Then you better get me an organ donor card.’
‘If you died we couldn’t use them.’
‘You could if I stepped under a bus.’
‘Then take a cab.’
Having discharged himself, his first task was to recover his car from the Hilton. His bag, containing Charlie’s confession, was in the boot and Brook couldn’t risk leaving it. Jones refused to let him go alone in case he became unwell.
After picking up the car, their first call was the local police station for Brook to make a statement about the events at Sorenson’s house. Jones assured him it would be routine as McMaster had already liaised with the Met over Brook’s presence in London. The fact that Sorenson had confessed to a murder in Derby was a plus, but Brook knew how sensitive locals were about jurisdiction and suspected the Hammersmith crew would be gearing up to give him a hard time.
Sonja Sorenson, Vicky, Petr and the nurse had already been questioned about Victor Sorenson’s state of mind. All were able to suppose that Sorenson was a potential suicide because of the nature of his illness. But nobody could shed any light on his videotaped confessions or his relationship with DI Brook.
Sonja had been questioned closely about her husband’s death but could offer up no useful leads and because of her history of mental fragility she wasn’t pushed too hard. After all, the murder was an old one and they had a confession. Case closed.
Brook believed the Laura Maples murder would be the fly in the ointment, and for that the local CID would need to speak to him. It was his case. It was unsolved. Unsolved murders spawned obsessive behaviour. And if by chance the obsessed detective found his killer but was unable to prove it…
Jones was directed to the canteen when they arrived and Brook was ushered towards an interview room once his refreshment order had been taken.
He sat down in a bare, windowless room. It was illuminated by cheerless strip lighting, had a battered table and three chairs-two on one side, one on the other. A clean ashtray sat in the middle of the table. Bad sign-the room wasn’t left over from a previous interrogation, it had been chosen for a purpose and set up with forethought. Now he was alone with a chance to stew and coffee was being brought to maintain the pretence of routine friendliness. Brook knew what would come up-his breakdown.
The two detectives entered the room together and sat opposite Brook. One of them smiled a welcome. The senior man. ‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Fulbright. This is Detective Sergeant Ross.’
‘Detective Inspector Damen Brook, Derbyshire CID.’
‘Feel free to smoke, Inspector,’ said Fulbright.
‘No thank you.’ Brook wanted a cigarette but still felt queasy. He decided against it. In Brook’s experience, the guilty smoked like chimneys during an interview.
‘Given up?’ Brook turned to look at Fulbright more closely. ‘You don’t remember me, do you, Inspector?’
‘Should I?’ Brook knew he’d made a mistake as the words left his mouth.
‘No reason at all. I was just a lowly PC back then, on crowd control at the first Reaper killing. Harlesden. A family was butchered. Do you remember that case?’
‘It rings a bell. And no…’
‘No what?’
‘…I haven’t given up.’ Better. He smoked but didn’t need a cigarette because he had nothing to hide. Brook hoped that would cancel out the disrespect he’d shown.
‘Now…’ began Fulbright.
‘Before we start I think I need to see the video.’
‘So you can get your story straight?’ DS Ross had a thin wiry body and complementary mean features. He was quite small, close to minimum regulation, and Brook had never yet met a male officer of similar height who hadn’t overcompensated with an aggressive manner.
