‘Hello, John, Inspector Brook,’ Crump said, not looking at the senior officer. ‘What do you want? Haven’t you given us enough to do?’
‘Where’s Benny?’ asked Noble. ‘We need a quick scrape and tape. Clothes, fingernails, hair — the lot. Urgent.’
‘He’s next door sorting out the photos and sketches. Then he’s off to the mortuary to record the autopsies.’
‘You’ll have to do it then, Don,’ said Noble.
‘I’ve already got six sets of bloodstained clothing on their way over,’ Crump complained. Noble grinned and raised his eyebrows. ‘So it looks like I’ve got a bit of time to do a rush job,’ he added through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll get my gear. Where is it?’
‘Right here, Don.’
Crump turned around to see Inspector Brook removing his clothes.
It was afternoon by the time Brook got home. Noble had returned to the Drayfin Estate to coordinate activity around the murder scene so that the Chief Super could go into the press briefing fully informed. Meanwhile, the key pieces of evidence to emerge were being walked through by individual detectives. DS Morton was the exhibits officer and was following the bloodied mobile phone through its various examinations, the lifting of the fingerprints being the most important. DS Gadd was walking through the scalpel, also to be tested for prints and DNA, and DS Grant was collating the information on the 999 call.
When he pulled up, Brook was relieved to see his new neighbour’s hire car was absent and he could pass unseen between his car and his front door. He was tired from his labours but Brook hadn’t come home to rest. Although unable to bring his skills to bear on the current case until formally cleared by Donald Crump’s various tests, his experience of The Reaper was a unique resource and Charlton was expecting him to deliver his opinions at the initial briefing.
However, much to his relief, Brook was to be allowed nowhere near the media. Charlton, at Josh Hudson’s instigation Brook suspected, would handle the public face of the inquiry and be its titular head, with the occasional support of one of the senior officers if needed. Both DCI Hudson and Brook, assuming he was cleared, would lead a joint taskforce investigation into the deaths at the Ingham house.
Brook had to admit he was impressed by this sleight of hand. Instead of throwing him off the investigation and creating a media storm, Hudson had ensured that Brook was kept close to the inquiry while at the same time seeing to it that his power to influence events would be severely restricted. Although nominally in charge, Brook knew he would be under intense scrutiny; his every move would need to be approved by Hudson and Charlton, both of whom would be mindful of any attempt to sabotage the hunt for The Reaper. As far as Hudson and Grant were concerned, regardless of forensic tests on his clothes, Brook would remain a suspect, and what better place to keep an eye on him than right under their noses?
After a quick shower and shave, Brook settled down with a cup of tea to gather his thoughts. He fired up the computer and clicked on his Hotmail account to double-check he’d already deleted the first email from the fake Reaper, the message congratulating Brook on the murder of Tony Harvey-Ellis. He had, and he’d already emptied the deleted folder. Brook was confident he hadn’t opened the first email in his office so unless they took his home computer as well as his work laptop, it was unlikely the document would ever see the light of day again.
An hour later, Brook, suitably attired, went out to his car. He hesitated a moment, then flung the bag of protective clothing in the back seat and marched quickly round to the back garden of Drexler’s cottage. The Weber barbecue was still there — the same brand as the one at the Ingham house, whatever that was worth. He examined it briefly without knowing what he was looking for. On an impulse Brook knocked on the back door, though he knew Drexler was out. He turned the handle and was surprised to feel the door open.
‘Hello. Mike?’
Brook stepped into the small kitchen and looked around. He poked his head through the door into the tiny living room and noticed Drexler’s passport on the arm of a chair. Looking around furtively, Brook gathered it up and something fell onto the floor as he did so. Brook picked it up. It was a train ticket. He stared at it for longer than was really necessary, then flipped open the passport. When he found the page he wanted, he examined the immigration stamp closely. Putting the train ticket back inside the booklet, he placed it back on the arm of the chair. He left quickly, stepping smartly back to his BMW in case Drexler drove up and saw him.
The taxi pulled up outside the Midland Hotel and Grant and Hudson stepped out, walking quickly to the reception desk. They leaned against it pensively and waited to be noticed. ‘I only brought a holdall,’ said Grant.
‘Me too,’ answered Hudson, trying to get some attention from the hotel staff.
‘I mean, I’ll have to get some more clothes from somewhere,’ she insisted.
‘Funny. I’ve got enough for two weeks.’ Hudson grinned back at her.
She rolled her eyes. ‘See, guv, I tend not to wear clothes until they rot on my body.’
‘Interesting idea.’
‘It’s a girl thing.’
‘Well, let’s make sure they haven’t given our rooms away first, and then I think I’m finally ready for a bite to eat.’
A few minutes later the pair sat in the Midland Hotel lounge, both feeling the effects of a disturbed night — two in Hudson’s case. Grant poured two coffees from a coffee pot and handed one to Hudson who took a hearty draught around a mouthful of ham sandwich.
Finally Grant broke the silence. ‘Guv. You were pretty sure about Brook.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Telling Charlton he’s not The Reaper.’
Hudson rubbed the six o’clock shadow on his chin. ‘It’s all wrong, luv. Five families killed in their own homes and sandwiched in between The Reaper supposedly kills a fit jogger in a public place. It makes no sense. The only connection we’ve got here to Brighton is the drug used in the Wallis killings, two years ago in Derby. Apart from that, nothing else The Reaper’s ever done connects with Harvey-Ellis. Wrong MO, wrong victim. The Reaper didn’t kill Harvey-Ellis.’
‘Then why dangle his murder in front of Charlton?’
‘It got us on the taskforce, didn’t it? Let’s face it, the Chief Super didn’t need much pushing. This way he covers all bases. Besides we’re getting bugger-all-where with the Harvey-Ellis Inquiry and our chief suspect is here. This is where we need to be. This is where we find our killer.’
Laura Grant nodded. ‘Brook.’
‘It’s possible. He has motive
‘Maybe he
‘Bollocks. You’ve seen him. He’s as cool as they come. And he wouldn’t have been caught red-handed. No, there’s something going on here … something interesting.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know yet but I’d like to find out. If we flip this thing over and assume Brook’s telling the truth about that email, and that he didn’t kill that family last night, it means that somebody took the trouble to lure him there and make it look like he did.’
‘And you want to know who, guv.’
‘I want to know why. And there’s something else. I don’t know anything about this Victor Sorenson being tagged as The Reaper, but he’s the guy Brook nailed for killing that schoolgirl, Laura Maples and got him to confess. The one who tried to poison Brook — I remember the name now.’
Grant nodded. ‘Interesting.’
Hudson yawned and looked at his watch. ‘The briefing’s at four. I think I’m going to have a shower and grab an hour’s shut-eye.’ He pulled a book from beneath his overcoat. ‘Then I’m going to do a bit more background.’ He flashed Grant the cover of Brian Burton’s book.
