‘Too late, in my opinion, Rose. By the time a local detective, Inspector Robert Greatorix, had been assigned to the case, valuable time had been wasted and the trail had gone cold. To this day, nearly two years later, not a single suspect has been identified. Sound familiar?’
‘Thank you, Brian, for taking time out from your book launch to talk to us.
‘Rose Atkins, with Brian Burton there. I should say that
‘On a related matter, troubled teenager Jason Wallis was released from a young offenders’ institution yesterday. Jason had served three months of a six-month sentence for shoplifting at White Oaks near Lichfield. Seventeen-year-old Jason survived the murder of his family by The Reaper two years ago, because he was out drinking with friends, and has been in trouble from a young age. This film of Jason was taken at the time of the Wallis family’s appeal against Jason’s permanent exclusion from Drayfin Community School after he allegedly assaulted a female teacher. Just a few weeks later, Jason’s family were brutally slain by The Reaper in their home. Before Jason Wallis was released, we sent Calum French to speak to John Ottoman, husband of the teacher involved.’
‘I’m standing outside the home of John and Denise Ottoman. Twenty-two months ago, Denise Ottoman, an English teacher for nearly thirty years, was teaching a group of Year 10 GCSE students when she was allegedly assaulted by Jason Wallis, one of her pupils. The assault, while never proven, led to Jason’s suspension from Drayfin Community School, though he was later reinstated after the death of members of his family in Derby’s first Reaper murders.
‘Denise Ottoman meanwhile has not returned to work and was granted early retirement on health grounds almost a year ago, at the age of fifty-one. I asked her husband about his reaction to news that Jason Wallis would soon be free.’
‘Appalled but resigned would be my reaction.’
‘Why do you say that, Mr Ottoman?’
‘Without wishing to personalise this and relive the events surrounding the assault on my wife, I should say that Jason Wallis has been a blight on this neighbourhood almost since he was old enough to shout an obscenity. He has been a violent and disorderly individual for much of his life and has shown scant regard for the feelings and welfare of anyone but himself.’
‘Surely his early release is a sign that the young man has turned his life around?’
‘More likely a case of the society we live in bending over backwards to accommodate anti-social elements. It’s no surprise to my wife and I that the authorities have seen fit to release him, but what I find upsetting is that Jason Wallis can walk away from his sentence after three months while my wife Denise has not been able to set foot outside our house since the assault — she’s a prisoner in her own home.’
‘What do you say to those who believe that Jason’s offending has its roots in his family’s murder and that he’s suffered enough?’
‘Simply that Jason’s anti-social behaviour started many years before the death of his family. His father and mother weren’t the most functional parents and seemed to keep Jason on a very loose leash, which only encouraged him to greater heights of unpleasantness. The tragedy is, I taught Jason’s sister Kylie at Drayfin Primary and I was as upset as her classmates that such a lovely girl should have been taken from this world so suddenly and so violently.’
‘So you’re suggesting it might have been better if The Reaper had murdered Jason instead of his sister Kylie?’
John Ottoman glared at the reporter. ‘That’s your interpretation of what I said, not what I actually said. I need to get back to my wife.’
‘Just one more question, Mr Ottoman. If you could speak to Jason now, what would you say?’
Ottoman turned back and faced the camera. ‘I’d remind him that The Reaper is still at large and to change his ways while he still can.’
Caleb Ashwell glowered at his son who stared sulkily at the neck of his Coca-Cola bottle, avoiding his gaze.
‘Send a boy to do a man’s work,’ growled Ashwell. ‘No word of a lie. Maybe you ain’t no boy. Maybe you a girl. How about it, Billy? You a bitch, Billy? Got too much of your whore momma in you? That true, boy?’
Billy’s face darkened, his mouth opening, but he knew better than to reply and kept his counsel, continuing to stare anywhere but at his father.
A noise from the next room broke the tension and Caleb looked up at Billy who was finally able to look back.
‘Go fix that, boy!’
Billy jumped up and went to the next room and Caleb stood to stretch his legs. He flung open the front door and stepped onto the stoop to roll a cigarette.
Billy came back to stand behind his father and eyed the tobacco tin. ‘Can I have one of them, Pop?’
‘These is for men, not boys, nor no cissies neither.’
‘I ain’t no cissy, Pop. I’m sixteen. Seventeen next month.’
‘What you say?’
‘I ain’t no cissy. It ain’t my fault Mr Brook don’t stop. He just kept right on going, Pop. I followed all the way to Echo Lake and he don’t stop. Just kept on going.’
Ashwell eyed his son with one final sneer of disdain then relented. He tossed over the tobacco tin. ‘Well, maybe I didn’t put enough sleep in the coffee. Pity we didn’t get an address.’ He struck a match and held it to his cigarette. ‘Probably flat out on his porch sleeping like a baby…’ He stopped when the flame illuminated a pale paper cup outside on the deck table. ‘What the hell?’
Billy turned and they both approached the coffee cup as though it were a landmine. Billy picked it up gingerly.
‘It’s full.’
Caleb’s realisation came a second too late — the baton was already travelling towards his head. As he turned to run into the cabin for a weapon, the tip crashed down on the front of his head, and he slumped onto the deck like an unsupported scarecrow.
Billy stooped to check his father, then looked up at his attacker as he stepped out of the shadows. ‘Mr Brook?’
‘Pick him up and get him inside.’ Brook held the baton in his right hand and a gun in the left. He gestured with it.
The boy dragged his father up into the sparsely furnished cabin as best he could manage and Brook followed. There wasn’t much to see inside — a blackened stove in the corner, a small dog-eared sofa and an old rocking chair with wooden spokes for a backrest. They faced the cold stove and an old TV, mounted atop a wooden crate. There was a rickety dining table and four matching chairs in another corner.
‘Over there,’ nodded Brook. Billy walked the staggering Caleb over to the old rocking chair and sat him down in it. Brook pulled a pair of cuffs from his belt and threw them at Billy. ‘Pull his hands through the back then put those on his wrists.’
Billy hesitated for a moment, then stepped behind his father and pulled his arms together before clicking the cuffs into place. Brook ordered Billy to sit on the floor before slapping Ashwell’s face to revive him.
Ashwell moaned and opened his eyes. He tried to rub his head with his cuffed hands, not yet registering the restraints.
‘What the fuck?’ He pulled urgently at the cuffs and tried to stand, but Brook raised the gun once more.
‘Better relax, Mr Ashwell. It’ll go easier that way.’
Ashwell looked up at Brook and shook his head to clear his vision. ‘Mr Brook. What the hell you think you’re doing?’
‘Apologies for the crude attack, Mr Ashwell. It’s not my usual style.’ Brook swung his rucksack down to his feet and started to rummage around in it. After a few seconds, he extracted the penknife he’d bought a few hours
