Hudson and Grant were puzzled. Brook was surprised but managed not to show it in front of his new colleagues. He’d expected hate. He’d expected fear or babbled accusations, but not this.
‘I’d like to talk to you about what happened last night…’ continued Hudson but broke off when Jason showed no sign of having heard.
Eventually he stopped grinning at Brook and turned to Hudson. ‘Last night?’
‘You were at your friend Stephen Ingham’s house. Having a barbecue and a few drinks in the backyard, remember? Somebody killed your friend Stephen. Somebody killed your other friends too.’ No reaction. ‘Ben Anderson and David Gretton. Did you see who it was? Can you remember anything?’
‘Did somebody use your phone, Jason?’ asked Grant, holding a pencil superfluously above a virgin page of notepad. ‘Was it The Reaper?’
At this Jason blinked.
‘That’s right, Jason,’ coaxed Hudson. ‘The Reaper! Did you see him? Do you know who it was?’
Finally Jason looked down at the bed, nodding. ‘I saw him.’
Hudson and Grant exchanged a glance. ‘Did you recognise him?’ breathed Grant eagerly.
Jason’s grin returned and he looked up at Brook and nodded his head gently. ‘I recognised him.’
Grant sneaked a glance at Brook for signs of worry but he seemed equally eager for the reply.
‘Who was it?’ prompted Hudson, trying to fight the rising tide of excitement. After twenty years he was going to find The Reaper. A day on the case and one of the world’s most sought-after killers was about to be unmasked.
‘It was The Reaper.’
Hudson and Grant crowded closer in on young Wallis. ‘How do you know?’
Now Jason fixed Brook with his grin once more. ‘We’ve met before.’
‘Can you describe him?’ said Hudson.
‘Bit smaller than Inspector Brook … chubbier. Not like you at all,’ he said to Brook, with a suggestion of a tease.
To Hudson and Grant’s consternation, Brook smiled back at Jason. Jason was telling him something. Telling him he remembered. Jason remembered their last meeting, but could only drop hints. Jason was as vulnerable as Brook to exposure. He was a killer, after all. If Jason was going to accuse Brook of being The Reaper he would’ve done it already.
‘But who was it?’ asked Hudson.
Jason shook his head. ‘He wore a mask as usual. A woolly thing…’
‘Balaclava? Ski mask?’
‘S’right. It covered his face.’
‘So you can’t identify him,’ said Grant. No reply.
Jason looked down at his sheets. ‘I told you. He wore a mask.’ He hung his head in shame briefly, remembering the tears and the terror of the chase. ‘They’re all dead.’
‘I’m afraid so, Jason.’
Jason looked up. ‘No. He said they were. The Reaper. That’s what he said. I heard him. “They’re all dead”, he said.’
‘Do you know why he didn’t kill you?’ asked Hudson. ‘After all, he couldn’t be sure you wouldn’t identify him.’
Jason’s grin returned and he looked from one to the other. ‘He can’t.’
‘Can’t what?’ echoed Grant.
‘Can’t kill me. We’re squared away, see.’ Jason chuckled now.
‘Squared away?’
‘The Reaper and me. He can’t kill me now.’
‘You don’t seem worried,’ continued Grant.
Brook watched a more familiar expression, recalled from their first encounter, infect Jason’s teenage face. ‘Told you, you thick bitch. He blatantly can’t touch me. You think I’m gonna walk into a trap if…’ He stopped abruptly and returned his eyes to the bedsheets.
‘Trap?’ said Brook sharply.
‘Never mind,’ replied Jason with a cryptic smile and a dissembling touch of his nose with his finger.
Brook cracked a bitter smile and nodded. ‘You didn’t eat anything, Jason. Is that because you knew? You knew The Reaper was coming to the Ingham house, didn’t you?’
Jason became hesitant, evasive. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘How did you know, Jason?’ asked Hudson, trying to inject a little aggression into his voice.
‘The brand new barbecue,’ said Brook to Jason. ‘The Inghams won it, didn’t they? In a competition.’
‘No. Sting said they nicked it last week.’
‘Where from?’
‘Dunno.’
‘Then how did you know last night was a trap?’
‘Stinger texted me. They won stuff — a load of burgers and sausages and shit. Booze too,’ replied Jason after a pause. ‘They was having a party with it.’
‘And you knew, didn’t you, Jason? You made the connection.’ Brook stood back from the bed, now a little more animated. ‘Just like the pizzas your mum and dad won two years ago. It was a gift from The Reaper to get access. And you knew he was coming but you said nothing.’
Jason’s grin returned. ‘I told you. He can’t touch me.’
‘But what about your friends?’ asked Hudson. ‘Why didn’t you warn them? Why didn’t you tell the police?’
He snorted. ‘Tell the leng? Tell them what? I don’t know nothin’. Anyway, it’s not like they didn’t deserve it.’
‘What do you mean?’
Jason turned to Brook with a taunt in his eye. ‘What they done. They told me. Stinger, Grets, Banger. They ’fessed up. Two years ago. They said they done some old woman over. Croaked her.’
Brook’s jaw tightened.
‘Old woman?’ asked Grant. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘They strangled her in her flat. They told me about it. Same night as mi mum and dad and our Kylie.’
Hudson turned to Brook and shook his head. ‘Do you know what he’s talking about?’ Brook was either unable or unwilling to speak.
‘He knows,’ Jason nodded at Brook. ‘Ask him. Annie something. Same night, weren’t it, Inspector?’
Brook nodded imperceptibly, finally able to comprehend what he was hearing. So there it was. The pay-off. Six lives lost to clear the slate for Jason. Three murderers, Jason’s friends, were dead, unable to drag their accomplice down with them, with Brook, hands tied, unable to put the record straight. Neat. And Brook had thought him stupid.
‘Annie Sewell,’ he finally said.
‘That’s her,’ nodded Jason cockily.
‘Well, this is unexpected,’ said Hudson, shaking out a cigarette. Then, remembering he was in a hospital, he slid it quickly behind his ear. ‘And it looks like we’ve found a reason for The Reaper’s visit…’
‘You don’t even know her name. You should at least know that.’ Brook looked at the floor, unable to meet the triumph in Jason’s eyes. ‘Stephen’s mum died too,’ added Brook, trying to pick at a vestige of conscience.
‘She weren’t no MILF — a right sket, she were,’ replied Jason.
‘What about her young boy?’ Brook spoke wearily, aware of the futility of his question and his search for a dormant indignation.
‘Okay, Damen, it’s not our job to judge…’
‘Yeah an’ he weren’t no saint neither,’ added Jason with a shrug. ‘Worst o’ the lot.’
‘Nine years old,’ said Brook.
‘Still had an ASBO, din’ he?’ Jason sneered back.
Brook rose from his chair. ‘He was hung by the neck.’
Hudson stood in front of him, assuming imminent violence. ‘Okay, Inspector. Go and get some air. That’s an
