And it was a pleasant surprise to be reminded what a legend Charlie was in the capital’s law enforcement annals. Anybody who was anybody in West London policing was there. They’d even managed to dig up a junior minister for the occasion.
DCI Fulbright and DS Ross were there and a few other faces from the past. No relations though. Charlie had outlived all the ones he’d ever bothered with. His ex-wife wasn’t there and Brook wondered if she was still in London but couldn’t think of anyone to ask.
Fulbright exchanged a polite nod with Brook but Ross wouldn’t even look at him, which was a disappointment as Brook had prepared a couple of visual taunts about his height.
After the service, in which he did a reading from John Donne, Charlie’s favourite poet, Brook swapped a few pleasantries with barely remembered colleagues and made his excuses. His main excuse being that he had another funeral to attend-Sorenson’s. Before he left, Brook lingered by Charlie’s newly dug grave, next to his Lizzie.
‘Goodbye, Charlie, and God bless.’ Then he bent over Lizzie’s unkempt grave and burrowed six inches into the soil. He pressed in the ring from which she’d been separated before her death, and filled in the hole.
Sorenson’s funeral was a much more sombre affair. The piercing winter light had given way to gun-metal skies and the whole process was suddenly oppressive to Brook as only he and the family were attending.
Petr looked more strapping than Brook remembered. He was flanked on each arm by Vicky and Sonja, sobbing throughout. He was the man of the family now.
Again nods-the chief currency of funeral communication-were exchanged. Nothing was said. No readings were given. No stories were told. Sorenson left this life without ceremony and without sentiment and Brook felt it appropriate to the way he’d conducted himself in life. Few words were needed for someone who had so much to say for himself.
As the priest rattled through the service, Brook left the tiny chapel. He didn’t look back. If he had, he’d have seen Vicky turn to watch him go. He would never see her again.
Outside stood Laura Maples’ father. Brook didn’t know him at first. He was a defeated old man. He stared at Brook leaving and walked towards him. Brook halted in sudden recognition and held out his hand. Maples ignored it.
‘Did you know it was him, Inspector?’ Brook let his hand fall.
‘Why are you here, Mr Maples?’
‘I don’t know. Why are you here? To pay your
‘Go home to your wife, Mr Maples.’
‘She’s dead.’ His eyes burned into Brook’s with a defiance borne of suffering. But suddenly a curtain fell over them and he lowered his head and cried. Brook took his elbow and guided him down the crisp drive towards the main road. Maples surrendered to his prompting and trudged in formation with Brook.
As they neared the gates, Maples pulled a hand from his pocket and offered it to Brook. ‘This is all we have left, Inspector. The only thing for all that love, all that work. The sleepless nights…’
Brook, long the custodian of the keepsake, gazed at Laura’s necklace wrapped around the withered claw, its little hearts reflecting the occasional peep of winter sun.
‘The man who killed your daughter is dead. Go home, sir. Keep Laura alive in your heart, as I do.’
Maples turned sharply to look at Brook’s face and saw the depth of feeling there. He was taken aback. For a moment he seemed nonplussed and Brook wondered if he’d said the wrong thing.
But suddenly Maples broke into a watery smile, tears trickling down his hollow cheeks. He wasn’t alone in his grief and it gave succour. ‘Thank you, Inspector.’
Now Brook stood with the rest of the congregation. All heads bowed so he let his eye wander around the crowd. He caught Brian Burton’s eye. Brook’s glare was greeted by a frosty smile and both looked away.
After the prayer, Brook-positioned at the end of a row for a quick getaway-excused himself and tip-toed out of the church. He grimaced as he went, holding his recently-pumped stomach in case anyone took exception to the speed of his escape. Once outside he pounced on a cigarette and inhaled deeply.
‘Inspector.’
Brook turned to see Habib smiling at him. ‘Doctor. You’ve slipped out for a quick one too?’
‘I’m sure I haven’t. Religious differences, so it is.’ Brook nodded. ‘And how are you, Inspector?’
‘Same as ever.’
‘Ah, still no improvement, eh?’ Habib chuckled.
‘None.’ Brook eyed the good doctor, thinking how to avoid causing offence. It wasn’t his strong suit. ‘Any developments in the Wallis case you haven’t told me about, doc?’
Habib looked at him shifting from one foot to the other. ‘Developments?’
Brook glared at him, wondering what nerve he’d struck.
‘This is hardly the place…’
‘Doctor.’ Brook continued his stare but Habib failed to meet it.
‘Inspector. I don’t think it’s right. It’s no longer your case.’
‘It
‘Not exactly.’ Habib was embarrassed and continued to avoid Brook’s eyes.
‘Tell me.’
Again Habib cast around for suitable words. Brook let him sweat. It was coming. ‘We were short-staffed, Inspector. I wasn’t looking for it.’
‘Looking for what?’
‘Inspector. It’s not your case any…’
‘And Annie Sewell wasn’t my case. It didn’t stop you giving me a copy of the report.’
Now Habib looked into Brook’s eyes, clearly injured by the threat. ‘You wouldn’t?’
‘I won’t have to because you’re going to tell me.’
Habib was tight-lipped. Brook pressed him with his silence. Finally Habib said, ‘I begin to think you’re not a very nice person.’
‘Get used to it, doc.’
Habib sighed. ‘I should have spotted it sooner.’
‘What?’
‘There were four deaths in the Wallis family.’
Brook’s brow creased. ‘What are you talking about?’ Now it was Habib’s turn to be still and watch Brook thinking.
‘How do you kill two people and have one body, Inspector?’
Brook stared hard at Habib. ‘Mrs Wallis was pregnant?’ Habib shook his head. Light dawned and with no more than a croak Brook managed to wrench out one more word. ‘Kylie.’
Habib nodded.
‘God!’ said Brook. ‘How long?’
‘A month, five weeks. No more.’
‘At her age?’
Habib shrugged. ‘Girls these days…’ He let it hang.
‘And what’s being done about it?’
‘Done? Nothing. Kylie Wallis is dead. Inspector Greatorix and Chief Superintendent McMaster agreed that no purpose is served…’
‘No purpose. A young girl’s been raped. There must be tests…’
‘The victim is dead, Inspector. And most likely the culprit too.’
‘Most likely? You mean you’re not even sure it was Bobby Wallis?’
‘We know he didn’t kill her. No-one in her family did. And now I think I’ll bid you good day, Inspector.’
Habib walked away stony-faced. Brook felt the heat of the cigarette on his fingers and let it fall to the ground.
At that moment the doors opened and the coffins were carried out by the pallbearers. Brook stood aside to
