‘He knows about it all right. Fucking nailed him, the useless toffee-nosed twat.’
‘Sarge?’ inquired the unsuspecting constable.
‘DI Brook!’ urged Hendrickson. ‘Fucking nailed him to a tree. This book,’ he continued, nodding at it to underscore his point. ‘Don’t tell me you don’t know about it …’
Dupree, Drexler and McQuarry stood huddled around the monitor in the back office of the gas station. The picture was nearly black and at first Drexler and McQuarry thought the monitor wasn’t working. Then they realised they were looking at the customer service area of the gas station. They couldn’t make out any detail because the building was cloaked in darkness. A second later the screen was flooded with light as the fluorescent strip sputtered into life. A slight figure, dressed head to toe in black overalls and black ski mask, carried a chair into shot and placed it down. The figure left the screen briefly, returned with a brightly coloured nylon rope, threw it over a beam and left the shot again, evidently to secure the other end, because they could see the rope moving.
A few seconds later, the figure returned, leading the boy to the chair.
‘He’s nearly a foot taller. Why doesn’t he resist?’ asked McQuarry.
‘Drugs.’ The two agents nodded in unison. ‘We figure. Though we ain’t found any on the premises,’ said Dupree.
They watched the rest of the show like automatons until the moment the figure in black kicked the chair away from the helpless Billy. Drexler stood up from the monitor as Billy fell. ‘I’ve seen enough. He’s just a kid, for God’s sake.’
‘Give it a minute, Special Agent.’ Dupree put the tape on fast forward. When the tape returned to normal speed, the body was dangling lifelessly in space. The figure in black returned to the middle of the shot and, in a gesture that chilled the two FBI agents to the bone, turned his covered face towards the camera and affected a slight but noticeable bow. Then he walked off camera.
DS Noble was sitting at Brook’s desk, reading his copy of Burton’s book, when Brook walked into his office. He closed it sheepishly and stood up as Brook entered.
‘Sir. Welcome back. You look well. Good holiday?’
‘Fine. Don’t get up, John.’ Noble sat back down. ‘Well?’
‘Sir?’ replied Noble.
Brook gazed at Noble, calm but unrelenting, waiting for Noble to crack. In the end Brook took pity on him. ‘Is it any good, John?’
Noble smiled into the break of tension. ‘Oh, this? Total crap. Burton doesn’t have a clue. He can’t even write that well.’
‘You don’t have to put him down just for me, John. But thanks.’
‘I’m not. It’s sh … rubbish and nobody in this station will believe a word of it.’
‘No, John. Everybody in this station and probably this city, apart from me and hopefully you, will believe every word of it. By the way, my chair suits you, John. So does my office.’
Noble pushed the chair back and swivelled violently round, stopping to give Brook a sly grin. ‘Maybe. But if they keep eking out the budget the way they are, we’ll both retire as DCs.’
‘Patience, John. These things move in cycles. Any news?’
‘Nothing that can’t wait — Greatorix is still on the sick.’
‘Anorexia?’
Noble laughed. ‘You really shouldn’t, sir. His weight problem is glandular.’
‘I should have paid more attention in biology lessons, John. I had no idea the mouth was a gland.’ Noble shook his head in mock censure. ‘Any messages?’
‘Only the DPP. They’re putting back the Andrews trial. And Charlton wants you as soon as you get in.’
‘Really?’
‘I think he wants to check you’re on side about the Burton book. Don’t worry. I told him you wouldn’t piss on Burton if he were on fire.’
Brook looked at Noble with a thin smile, dismayed by Noble’s imagery but amused that Brook’s inability to get on with virtually anybody might be news to the Chief Superintendent. ‘Thanks. I hope you made it clear that wasn’t a direct quote.’
‘I’m not sure,’ mocked Noble. ‘By the way, there were a couple of new faces in his office this morning. Rumour is they’re reinforcements to fill in for Greatorix. And one of them is a bit of a looker.’
Brook repeated ‘A looker!’, lingering over the phrase with distaste. He knew he was being teased and though he actively encouraged such mocking, he still felt obliged to reproach Noble for damage done to the English language. ‘Well, we can’t say we don’t need some new blood in CID. I just hope he doesn’t want me to play nursemaid like I had to with you.’ He turned to march out of the office, ignoring Noble’s offended expression, then turned back. ‘Mark the worst pages for me, John. I’ll need to take a look.’
‘You sure?’
‘Well, unless he says something
Noble laughed. ‘Sorry. Did I tell you? Jason Wallis got out of White Oaks yesterday. Good behaviour.’
Brook nodded. ‘So they do learn new skills there. Did anyone inform the Ottomans?’
Noble returned a blank look. Brook smiled sadly. ‘Denise Ottoman.’ No response. ‘The teacher Jason sexually assaulted during a lesson.’
‘Right — they already know. Someone said the husband was interviewed about it on the telly. Want me to send someone round for tea and sympathy?’
‘No need. I took care of it.’
‘Sheriff, it looks like you’ve got a real interesting case here. Real interesting,’ nodded McQuarry. ‘The Tahoe Satellite Office told the Sacramento Field Office this was a Federal case, but all you got is two dead locals. Now I know it’s the Ghost Road but I’ve got to say it’s a stretch. We’ll try and help you the best way we can. Our resources are available to any PD that wants to use them. But the only way we can take this from local state police is if it involves terrorism, or we know for sure the perpetrator or victims have crossed a state line…’
Sheriff Dupree smiled at Drexler. ‘What was it you said, son? Clearing up the ground. Follow me.’
Brook knocked on the door and entered. ‘Morning, sir,’ said Brook.
Chief Superintendent Mark Charlton declined to stand up behind his desk. He rarely did when Brook entered, the contrast between their heights causing a shift in the balance of their relationship with which Charlton wasn’t comfortable.
‘Morning.’ Charlton’s grey eyes bored into Brook in that well-practised show of openness that the lecturer on his senior management courses had tried to instil in him. ‘I trust you had a restful holiday, Inspector?’ offered the Chief Super with so little attempt at inquiry that Brook made no effort to answer, distracted as he was by Charlton’s guests who had both made the effort to stand. A man, a couple of inches shorter than Brook with a craggy, experienced face, and a woman in her late twenties/early thirties, with hazel eyes and a pretty, well-proportioned face, turned to acknowledge him. The man held out a hand which Brook, after a brief hesitation, gripped and shook quickly.
‘Hello, Joshua. How are you?’
‘I’m fine, Damen.’ Hudson smiled back at Brook and turned to give Grant a private look.
‘I didn’t realise you knew each other?’ said Charlton.
‘I saw you at Charlie Rowlands’s funeral,’ Hudson continued, as though Charlton didn’t exist, ‘though we didn’t get much of a chance to talk.’
‘I remember.’
‘A sad day.’
‘A sad day,’ answered Brook, turning to DS Grant.
