let them pass. As the coffin of Bobby Wallis passed him, Brook turned his back. One of the pallbearers noticed and narrowed his eyes at him.
Mrs Wallis followed and Brook turned to face the coffin. Kylie hadn’t yet cleared the doors so not one of the following cortege noticed Brook’s indictment.
A second later he was joined by Noble and Jones. McMaster was sticking close to Jason and his aunt to be sure she offered maximum comfort.
‘You didn’t miss much,’ said Noble, trying to keep levity out of his tone. ‘Feeling better?’
‘No.’ Brook was far away, thinking of Sorenson.
‘Every sickening detail.’ Brook stared without blinking.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Jones, concerned to see the expression he wore on Brighton Pier reappear. ‘Sir?’
Now Noble was curious and Brook became aware he was causing concern. He roused himself. ‘I’m fine, Wendy.’ He clenched his lips in an approximation of a smile to confirm his wellbeing. Jones and Noble mollified, Brook disappeared again into the comfort of the trance. Nothing much registered. Time passed without notice. When he needed to walk, he stumbled along with the herd. When he needed to stand still, he was kept upright by the proximity of others.
Senses returned. Brook knew he was still breathing because he saw the condensation leaving his mouth. He could feel the bite of the cold nipping his ears, hear the far-off cacophony of crows, the click of the cameras and the low hum of the generators feeding the news teams at a discreet distance.
He was okay. He wasn’t beaten yet. Sorenson couldn’t get him that way. He fumbled for another cigarette and somehow worked out a way to light it. McMaster glanced over with a tic of disapproval but soon regained her mask of professional sympathy.
And then it was over and Brook was able to walk where he chose. He broke away from the pack of stern- faced mourners hugging and clucking and kissing, and headed for a bench away from the tumult.
The next second Brian Burton was in front of him. Brook looked beyond him, searching for a way past. Freedom was only a yard either side.
‘Inspector,’ he said.
Brook tried to plot a way round him but Burton moved across to block him.
‘Inspector. Or should I call you Chief Inspector after your heroics in London?’
‘Whatever you call me, Brian, I suggest you do it from a safe distance.’
‘Come on, Inspector. No hard feelings.’ He held out his hand.
Brook ignored it. ‘Get out of my way, you parasite.’
Now Burton lowered his voice. ‘Listen, Brook, I can be a useful ally. Why don’t you do us both some good and start playing ball?’
Chief Superintendent McMaster had spotted the two old enemies locking horns and made her way across to them. Others followed.
‘Get out of my way,’ Brook insisted.
Burton saw McMaster coming and adopted a much friendlier expression. ‘How about a shot of the hero of the hour for the local taxpayers, Inspector?’ he shouted.
Burton’s increased volume alerted Brook to the presence of others. He looked round and saw McMaster marching purposefully towards them. He turned to walk to his superior but Burton grabbed his arm. Brook stiffened and clenched his fist.
‘Just one shot.’
‘Don’t tempt me,’ mumbled Brook.
Burton scanned the oncoming faces. ‘How about one of you with Jason, Inspector Brook? To show your support for his loss.’
Brook was aware of a warning glance emanating from McMaster and uncurled his fist. ‘Great idea, Brian,’ he muttered under his breath. ‘You could call it
Burton stared at Brook for a second then broke into a grin. ‘Oh I will, Inspector. I will. Jason, I want a shot of you with the Inspector.’
‘Fuck that! The way he treated me after me family were killed,’ snarled Jason. A volley of abusive muttering from his posse of friends followed.
Brook smiled his apology. ‘Sorry, Brian. Looks like we’ll have to give it a miss.’ He saw McMaster nod her approval at his manner. She stepped towards Brook to escort him away.
But Burton wouldn’t be denied. ‘Come on, Jason. It’ll be on the front page.’
Jason affected reluctance but finally was able to give in. ‘Yeah, alright. But make it quick.’
‘That’s it, gents. Move a bit closer. Great. One more. Jason. Shake the Inspector’s hand.’
Before Brook knew what had happened his hand was being shaken by Jason. He blinked at the flash of the camera and stared at Jason who was posing for the cameras, affecting a brave smile. Jason caught Brook’s eye and felt the weight of his hand. His face clouded slightly and Brook could feel him attempting to pull his hand away-ever so gently at first but then more insistently. But Brook held on, narrowing his eyes as though to examine something close at hand, yet gazing, unblinking into the distance.
Now Jason struggled to remove his hand but Brook’s grip tightened.
‘Geroff, yer fucking headcase.’
Brook held on, eyes now fixed on Jason who tried to extricate himself with greater vigour. Then people began to huddle round, pawing at Brook’s arm. All the while Brook was vaguely aware of the urgent flash of the camera. Still he held on.
‘Geroff, yer twat!’ screamed Jason.
Suddenly a voice in Brook’s ear. It was Jones, insistent but calming. ‘Control is what they pay us for.’
Brook blinked and opened his hand. Jason pulled his own hand away, rubbing and flexing it and showing it to his aunt. ‘That’s assault, that is. You saw it. That’s assault. I’ll have you in court, yer fucking nutter.’ He marched away with his aunt ministering to his hand and his posse egging him on to greater heights of rhetoric.
Brook stood his ground, a strange grin contorting his features. It was an expression of resignation, of regret.
McMaster gripped his elbow and with Jones and Noble gathered around Brook, they marched him away from the cemetery as nonchalantly as they could.
‘Have you completely lost it?’ McMaster muttered.
Without changing his expression or even looking in her direction, Brook nodded. ‘Lost? Yes, ma’am. I’ve lost.’
Chapter Thirty-four
The man brought the car to a halt. He killed the engine and lights and sat back, waiting for the rain to ease. He closed his eyes to let the music flow over him. It was difficult to hear over the beating of the rain on the bonnet and roof of the car. He turned it up.
He squinted through the rear window, trying to distinguish shapes through the distorting effect of the water. Nothing stirred. No cars. No pedestrians. No animals.
Every living creature had taken shelter tonight. It was a night to seal oneself off from the outside world and curl up to hibernate. Curtains were closed against the cold, fires were roaring, hot winter food was being consumed and the hypnotic pulse of the TV nurtured life in a flickering cocoon. Every home had returned to the womb. Comfortable. Safe. Warm.
The man located the wiper button and held it while the windscreen cleared. Mist rolled up Station Road from the Trent and for a moment he was sightless. A pocket of clearer air revealed a door opening across the road. A figure stepped through and out into the inhospitable gloom.
A moment later the figure stood next to a small red car, hesitating, rummaging. Keys found, the figure
