Billy returned with a lidded paper cup and handed it to Brook. ‘Ten bucks even.’
Brook pulled a credit card from his wallet, thought for a second, then slid it back in. He then pulled out a large wad of notes, methodically looking for the right denomination, before pulling out a ten-dollar bill. ‘Pity they didn’t make these easier to use,’ said Brook, apologetically. ‘They all look the same.’
‘Just like niggers,’ chortled Billy, until his father’s hand caught him hard round the head.
‘Don’t you talk your foolishness round real people,’ shouted Ashwell. ‘Get on up the house.’ Billy’s head sagged onto his chest and, close to tears, he slumped away. ‘Sorry about Billy, Mr Brook. He ain’t bright but he ain’t usually that stupid.’
‘No need to apologise — must be hard out in this wilderness for a boy his age. Your wife too,’ said Brook, suddenly keen to make conversation.
‘It sure is a lonely stretch of blacktop, sir, no word of a lie — but beautiful too. ’Specially in the winter when the snow’s on the hills. Got a cabin up on the bluff,’ said Ashwell, indicating behind him with a flick of his head. ‘Momma’s gone. There’s just Billy and me.’
Brook nodded. ‘I see.’ He stared back at Ashwell but seemed lost in thought. He smiled. ‘I don’t suppose you sell corkscrews; lost mine last night at the campsite.’
‘No problem, sir.’ Ashwell slapped a penknife on the counter, which had various attachments including the corkscrew Brook was looking for. ‘Five bucks.’
This time Brook counted out five ones. ‘Well. Thanks again for the coffee.’
‘Don’t mention it, Mr Brook. Now you drink it while it’s hot. And we’ll hope to see you again soon,’ he called to Brook’s receding frame. Ashwell stood motionless, watching the Dodge pull away as the deathly quiet slowly engulfed the station again.
A moment later the silence was shattered as the sound of another engine signalled a different vehicle encroaching on the California night.
‘I still don’t see how you can rule out the wife and daughter.’ Chief Superintendent Donald Maddy stroked his beard as was his custom when ruminating over matters of detection. It didn’t help his deductive powers at all — he didn’t have any — but, whenever matters outside his comfort zone were presented to him, he subconsciously reached for his facial hair to mask his unease. Grant had read the textbooks and knew that psychologists attributed this kind of mannerism to a desire for concealment based on inadequacy. She also knew that had she, Hudson and the Chief Super been discussing community policing or traffic management, Maddy would have opened himself up by putting his hands behind his head, inviting contradiction so he could show off his in-depth knowledge of the subject.
She looked over at Hudson who nodded. He always encouraged Grant to take the reins in the Chief Super’s office, because he was too easily exasperated when those he dubbed ‘pencil necks’ didn’t accept his superior expertise.
‘It’s the way he was murdered, sir,’ answered Grant. ‘He was killed by someone who knew what they were doing. The wife and daughter wouldn’t have had a clue.’
‘They might have hired someone to do it,’ observed Maddy.
Hudson’s features began to darken but, before he could speak, he heard Grant say, ‘Good point, sir. We’ll certainly keep that in mind.’
Maddy seemed pleased that his impressions were of some value and attempted to gild the lily. ‘What was that drug again?’
‘Scopolamine mixed with traces of morphine.’
‘Ah yes,’ he said as though in recognition.
‘It induces a condition known as Twilight Sleep,’ said Grant. ‘It’s why Harvey-Ellis was so compliant with his killer, sir. We’ve got no material evidence here in Brighton apart from those drugs. Whoever did this has come and gone without a trace.’
‘No witnesses, nothing on CCTV?’
‘Not yet, sir.’
‘What about this Sowerby?’
‘A weasel, sir, and we’re not ruling him out. However, we’re dubious he could plan something this slick. And motive is weak — Harvey-Ellis was a good customer. There’s always money but Sowerby swears blind he didn’t sell him out. For the moment we believe him.’
‘And he didn’t notice anyone who might have been setting this up?’ asked Maddy.
‘No one.’
‘Which leaves only the wife and daughter,’ nodded Maddy. ‘As I said.’
‘Not quite true, sir,’ said Grant. ‘But this is where it gets tricky. The ex-husband also has motive and, what’s more, he has professional criminal know-how.’
‘Opportunity?’
‘We’re not sure yet. He lives in Derby. But he does know Brighton. Two years ago he found out his daughter and stepfather were lovers and marched into Harvey-Ellis’s office where he assaulted him and threatened him with arrest.’
‘Sounds promising.’
‘Yes, sir. But he’s a serving DI in Derby CID. Damen Brook.’
Maddy made eye contact for the first time.
‘The same.’
Maddy took a minute to process the information, then shrugged. ‘We must root out all bad apples, Detectives. That’s our job. Do what you have to do.’ He nodded at them both, clearly expecting this to be the end of the meeting. When they showed no sign of moving, he held out his hands. ‘Something else?’
‘We ran the combination of drugs through the database,’ said Hudson, deciding it was time to contribute. ‘The only recent incidence of those two drugs being used in a crime was during the last Reaper killings in Derby.’
‘What are you saying?’ asked Maddy, this time unashamed to have it spelt out for him.
Hudson paused for a second to be certain there would be no misunderstanding. ‘We’re working on the theory that Brook learns about the drugs while working the Reaper murders and then puts the same drugs to use when he kills Tony Harvey-Ellis.’
‘Sounds reasonable. What’s the problem?’
‘If we clear Brook, it means Brighton may have had its first Reaper killing.’
The man listened to the music over the quietly chugging engine. He checked his map one more time then turned off the headlights to enjoy the music in the dark. Faure’s Requiem seemed appropriate to the grandeur of the landscape, not that he could see much of it now, tucked away as he was in a side road that had been cut into the terrain to allow the US Forest Service to do its work in the thick woodland.
He ejected the tape, turned off the engine and stepped out of the car. He left the door open and allowed the light to illuminate his work as well as the thousands of excited insects heading for its unexpected balm. He produced a flashlight from a small rucksack and tucked it into his black boiler suit. Other items had already been carefully packed but the man extracted one and examined it. The 9mm M9 semiautomatic pistol was not his tool of choice — brutish and unsubtle things, guns — but when spur of the moment work raised its head, he would have to put it to use. He’d bought it from a pawn shop in LA last year but had never intended to fire it. Now that it was to be pressed into service, the man had to be sure he knew how to use it. He checked the safety lever again as the pawn shop owner had shown him and made sure that a bullet from its 15-round magazine was in the chamber.
When he was ready, he placed the gun back in the rucksack and pulled the bag over his shoulder. He reached back into the car to pick up the drink from the cup holder and closed the door quickly to extinguish the light.
In the dark he gazed at the cloudless heavens. All unnatural illumination now extinguished, the man marvelled at the
When he could bear to close his eyes to the majesty above him, his ears were invaded by nature’s symphony.
