The Disciple

locals hanging around the taped-off area, and media organisations were still represented, but the weather and the lateness of the hour had thinned out the crowd.

As Brook pulled the car into the nearest parking space, a few lights and cameras swung in its direction. A few friendly cries hoping to elicit an interview could be heard above the drone of the generators.

‘Inspector. What progress are you making, if any?’

Brook turned to see Brian Burton grinning at him. ‘No comment at this time.’

‘Should I ask the Senior Investigating Officer?’ Burton added with a leer. If Burton had been expecting a reaction from Brook, he was disappointed. ‘Had a chance to read my book yet, Inspector?’

‘I don’t read fiction, Brian,’ Brook replied coolly and the throng of Burton’s colleagues bellowed with laughter. Brook walked calmly past the clutch of journalists and ducked under the tape, following Hudson and Grant to the crime scene. Cameras flashed behind him and Brook was halted in his tracks. Mike Drexler stood at the back of the crowd. He’d only caught a glimpse as the camera flash died, but he was sure it was him. He was standing some way off behind a knot of onlookers and seemed to be smiling in Brook’s direction.

Brook stood and waited for the next camera flash. When it came a few seconds later there was no sign of Drexler.

The sound of booing erupting from a small huddle of people beyond the tape distracted Brook’s attention. He turned to the group of no more than four people gathered in the dark, at least one of which was an elderly woman.

Hudson and Grant halted and came back towards him. ‘What is it?’ asked Grant.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Brook. ‘Are they booing us?’

Grant narrowed her eyes against the slanting rain. ‘I think they are.’

Seeing the three detectives now paying attention to them, the small group of people became more voluble. One shouted, ‘Let The Reaper alone. If you can’t keep the streets safe, let someone else do it for yer.’

Another shouted, ‘Good riddance to the scum. Long live The Reaper.’

And yet another chanted, ‘Scum in fear. The Reaper’s near. Scum in fear. The Reaper’s near.’ The chant was taken up by the others.

‘Fuck me!’ said Hudson, throwing a cigarette into his mouth and continuing towards the house. ‘That’s a first. Three cheers for The Reaper? You weren’t wrong, Damen.’ Brook merely grunted.

Once inside the relative comfort of the police marquee, the detectives were joined by Noble.

‘I take it you heard the Neighbourhood Watch out there?’ asked Noble.

‘Hell, yes,’ answered Hudson. ‘Bizarre.’

‘Maybe you wouldn’t find it so bizarre if you had to live next to the Inghams, guv,’ observed Grant.

‘She’s right, sir. Door to door all round the estate, everyone we spoke to told us they lived in fear. Seems they were a constant nuisance and worse. The noise, the loud music at all hours, routine thefts, threats. They behaved like they owned the estate. Apparently the little kid was the worst. He was even put up for an ASBO. Nobody would raise their face to them, never mind a hand. And nobody went out without leaving lights and the TV on.’

‘So good riddance to bad rubbish, eh?’ nodded Hudson.

‘It fits The Reaper’s MO, guv. Target the troublemakers, the petty criminals,’ added Grant. ‘Maybe people are seeing the connection now.’

‘Connection?’ said Brook, fixing her with a look.

‘The pattern. After five of these, people are starting to realise that if they’re minding their own business and behaving themselves, they’re safe. A few less villains on the street — who cares?’

Brook smiled. She caught on quickly. Under his breath he said, ‘Nobody cares.’

Only Grant heard him above the background hum of the generators and she turned to him for the first time without hostility, giving him a bleak smile in return.

‘Maybe we should piss off back to Brighton then, Laura. Let someone turn this road into a Reaper theme park,’ Hudson observed, to his own amusement. ‘Thought not. Bring us up to speed, John.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Call me guv, will you, John? Sir makes me sound like a fucking teacher.’ Noble looked over at Brook, who affected disinterest. ‘What about the bodies?’

‘All gone and Dr Habib says he’ll have something preliminary first thing in the morning. Forensics too.’

Hudson looked at his watch. ‘Hopefully that’ll give us something to chew on at briefing.’

‘And you know the good news,’ said Noble with a glance at Brook. ‘We’ve got a clear thumbprint from the mobile phone. There are a few other smudged marks which are partials of Jason’s. But the thumb isn’t his. It doesn’t match any print on the database. Criminal or internal!’ he said, with more than sufficient emphasis. But, as if he were addressing first-day cadets, he felt compelled to add, ‘DI Brook is in the clear. If there was any doubt.’ Noble looked pointedly at Grant, who nodded.

‘We never doubted it, did we, Laura?’ said Hudson, encouraging his sergeant with a look.

‘Not for a second, guv,’ she answered in a monotone.

‘And did we get anything useful from the street, Sergeant?’

Noble nodded. ‘One lead — Mrs Patel, our nosy neighbour from two years ago, said she saw someone standing outside her house, watching the Ingham house. All the streetlights round here have been vandalised so she couldn’t give us anything more than she thinks it was a man.’

‘Doing what?’ asked Brook.

‘Like I said — just standing, watching.’

‘Sounds promising. What time?’

‘Around ten. She watched him for a few minutes and then he moved away.’

‘That’s a long time to hang around waiting for his opportunity,’ said Hudson. ‘Risky.’

‘May not be our guy,’ said Grant.

‘If he moved off towards the Wallis house, it might still be him,’ said Brook. ‘But I agree. If he’s using the Wallis house as cover, why stand in the road getting noticed? Anything else, John?’

‘Just background. No other witnesses. Every curtain, every blind facing the Ingham house seems to be permanently drawn. Everybody on the Drayfin just wanted to block them out. Getting nosy invited trouble. And it was past one in the morning. Too late for most.’

‘Did people hear the music?’ said Brook.

‘Everybody close by heard it but nobody looked at their clock. It was normal and people were used to tuning it out. One minute it was pounding out, the next morning it had stopped.’

‘Pounding?’ said Hudson.

‘Some kind of rap music was on. Nobody heard the Chair de Lune.’

Brook smiled. ‘The Moon Chair, John? No, they wouldn’t have. The rap was for the neighbours. Debussy was only for the victims.’

‘We found melted plastic in the oil drum. It’s probably the CD the Ingham boy had on. My guess is that once they were out cold, The Reaper takes it off, tosses it in the fire and puts his own stuff on.’

‘Did you find a case for it, John?’

‘For the Debussy, no — could have been on the fire as well. But there’s an empty case for a gangsta rapper on the kitchen table.’

‘What about clothing? Anything dumped nearby?’ asked Grant. ‘Not that we’ve found. So far we’ve got some clear footprints round the barbecue but they match up with the victims’ shoes.’

‘What about the path and the gate?’ said Brook, nodding at the darkened house that backed onto the Ingham house.

‘If that’s how he got away he left no sign and no one in the next street saw anything either,’ replied Noble. ‘They’ve taken the gate away for further tests.’

‘No footprints or marks of any kind? With all that blood on him?’

Noble shrugged. ‘Not that they can find. There’s been some rain.’

‘Maybe the killer left the Ingham house at the front?’ offered Hudson.

‘Then why the blood on the fence at the back?’ persisted Brook. ‘Did you find out who lives there?’

‘Mrs Dorothy North. A pensioner. Lives alone.’

‘Did she see or hear anything, anyone in her garden?’ asked Grant.