letting The Reaper slip through his fingers and still look like he’s doing his job properly.’
Brook eyed his host for a moment, trying to organise his thoughts. The gloves had been peeled off and he would finally get some answers. Time to throw his first punch.
‘Well, on this side of the pond, Mike, we have something called the rules of evidence. We’re not allowed to execute suspects just because they have a knife in their hand.’
Drexler smiled back. ‘I see you’ve been doing your own background reading. You’re referring to the Reverend Hunseth. Seems like a long time ago.’ He looked off into the fire, as Sorenson had all those years before. Then he looked back at Brook. ‘I got some grey hairs over it, sure, but I’m fine with it now. Nobody missed him. Nobody mourned him — ’cept maybe the local liquor mart. But you’re wrong, Damen. Even on my side of the pond they don’t like unexplained shootings. Questions were asked. People were interviewed. But I was a federal agent and my partner was in danger. I was able to answer them and that was enough. See, back home, the good guys have guns too.’ He laughed at a private joke. ‘I suppose that makes
‘You were for the Reverend.’
‘Hunseth got what he deserved.’
‘Did your father?’ Brook was pleased to see the icy expression infect Drexler’s face, his knuckles whitening for a few seconds.
Finally Drexler smiled and affected a slight nod, to acknowledge a blow well aimed. ‘Always go too far, because that’s where you’ll find the truth.’
Brook nodded. ‘Albert Camus.’
Drexler eyed him. ‘You know Camus. Why am I not surprised?’ He took a sip of whisky. ‘So tell me, Damen. Is this teacher, Ottoman, getting what he deserves? Is he The Reaper’s disciple?’
‘He didn’t do it, Mike.’
‘You amaze me,’ said Drexler in a monotone. He cocked his head and considered Brook as though anew. ‘What happened? Were they getting too close? Was it too obvious to your superiors? Did you have to throw them a bone? The professor wouldn’t be pleased. He’s not keen on civilians getting hurt in the crossfire.’
‘Sorenson’s dead.’
Drexler nodded. ‘That’s the rumour.’
‘That’s a fact,’ said Brook. ‘I was there.’
Drexler took another sip of his drink. He walked over to a small stereo and switched it on. He checked the disc then pressed play. ‘But he lives on through others, Damen. His will be done.’ A deep sonorous note sounded from the speakers and a choir took up the opening verse.
‘And what’s that exactly?’
Drexler swivelled to face Brook. ‘Cutting out the dead wood, Damen. So the tree can grow stronger.’
‘Is that what you’re doing here, Mike — strengthening the tree?’
‘I’m writing a book, my friend, for the good guys who already died. That’s why I’m here.’ He reached into the drawer of a nearby chest. He pulled a gun from it and placed it on the arm of the chair then looked away, remembering, a sudden sadness invading his features. He closed his eyes, but Brook resisted the urge to make a lunge for the gun. ‘Faure’s Requiem. Imagine heading for the next world with this rolling around in your head.’
Brook’s eyes burned into Drexler’s death mask. ‘There isn’t a next world.’
Drexler grinned, his eyes still closed. ‘No, there isn’t.’
‘But I’d prefer the Debussy if I have a choice.’
Drexler opened his eyes. ‘I don’t have any.’
Brook nodded. ‘No, of course.’ He looked at the weapon and then at Drexler. ‘If this is my reward for breach of contract,’ Brook paused for effect, ‘then I’m ready.’
‘Ready?’
‘But first I’ll tell you what I told Sorenson. The Laura Maples case … I was young and in a bad place. I made a mistake. Floyd Wrigley was a mistake and one that I am never going to repeat. No matter what Jason Wallis has done to me I’m not going to kill him, nor am I going to join your little network. I’m not like Sorenson and I never was.’ Drexler stared at him and Brook fancied he could detect uncertainty for the first time tonight. His hesitancy pleased Brook, so he continued. ‘So if it’s all right with you, I’d like a last cigarette and then you can do what you’ve got to do.’
‘Last request — just like in the movies.’ Drexler looked down at his gun, then smiled. ‘Don’t get the wrong idea, Damen. I’m no tough guy. Just careful. I don’t know how far off the reservation you’ve strayed. But one thing about Sorenson, you of all people should know, is that when the good guys get in the way, that’s when you get out. Those are the rules. No civilians. No John Ottomans. No matter what the cost. You’ve served. I’ve served. We’re the thin blue, my friend. We’ve got rights.’
Brook’s eyes narrowed. Answers. Fat chance. All he was getting here were more questions. Why had Drexler killed Harvey-Ellis? And why was he still in Derbyshire? The Inghams were dead. His work was done. Was he hanging on for Brook to deliver on his contract with Sorenson? Or was he planning another atrocity?
‘You can forget about me, Mike. I won’t kill Jason Wallis.’ Brook stared hard at Drexler who wouldn’t look back. Instead he put his hands together, immersed in the music. ‘When are you leaving?’
‘Soon. A week.’
‘You paid six months’ rent in advance.’
Drexler smiled. ‘I won’t starve. My research is nearly done. I just need to speak to one last person and I’ll be on my way.’ ‘And who’s that?’
Drexler fixed him with a twisted smile. ‘Don’t you know?’
Brook rose to leave, declining to finish his drink. ‘Thanks for all your hospitality, Mike.’ Drexler accepted with a nod of the head. ‘I won’t bother you again. But don’t contact me and don’t send me any more emails. And, rules or no rules, if you come back to Derby…’ Brook turned to be sure he locked onto Drexler’s eyes ‘…I’ll kill you.’
Drexler picked up the gun and followed Brook to the door, pulling a cigarette from a pocket and throwing it into his mouth. Brook walked into the blackness without looking round. ‘Goodbye, Damen.’ Drexler aimed the gun at Brook’s retreating back. He squeezed the trigger briefly then relaxed and let the gun fall to his side. He went back inside and lit his cigarette, removing the clip from the M9.
He sat down to finish his drink, examining the weapon. Sorenson’s gun. It had never been fired in anger since the professor had given it to him. Maybe it never would be. Maybe Sorenson really was dead. Maybe he really was chasing ghosts.
When Brook woke the next day, it was to the sound of knocking on his door. He jumped out of bed and glanced at the clock. To his surprise it was ten past nine. He padded to the window overlooking the lane and saw a taxi in the road. A second later, Grant stepped back from the door and looked up. She was dressed for walking. She saw him at the window and waved.
Brook acknowledged her and pulled his trousers on, fastening them up as he skittered down the stairs to open the front door. On the way, he picked up the folder on Mike Drexler and put it in a desk drawer. For the first time since moving to Hartington, Brook had bolted his door and he slid it open as she turned away from the departing taxi.
‘Laura? What are you doing here?’
‘I’m here to go walking, remember?’
Shivering in his T-shirt, Brook looked at her. He hadn’t thought she was serious, but he beckoned her in and returned to the semi-warmth of the kitchen to turn on the kettle.
‘We said nine o’clock,’ he threw over his shoulder in mock admonishment.
‘Yeah, sorry to keep you waiting,’ she smiled back. ‘I had trouble finding a cab to come all this way.’
‘I’ll bet.’
‘Brought you the local paper.’
Brook looked across at the headline: CHIEF SUSPECT INNOCENT, SAYS REAPER DETECTIVE He smiled faintly and continued to make tea. ‘I suppose I’m back in the doghouse,’ he muttered, handing Grant a mug.
‘Not with us. Joshua doesn’t care. But I haven’t spoken to Charlton. There’s more,’ she said, turning to page three. ‘We got a DNA match from Stephen Ingham and Benjamin Anderson to the two samples taken from Annie Sewell’s sheltered accommodation the night she was murdered. Jason Wallis was telling the truth…’
‘…but not the whole truth,’ added Brook. Grant raised an eyebrow. ‘Never mind.’
