not sure. Then he said he’d do anything. Anything. He even offered to help me kill the other members of his gang to make it right. Can you believe it? Then he shit his pants — I could smell it.’ Ottoman nodded. ‘Know what? I was pleased. It was what he deserved … to live in fear like my Denise.’ His saucer eyes blinked and he looked round at Hudson. ‘But I didn’t kill anyone.’
In the anteroom, Brook was nodding. That’s why Jason had gone to the barbecue. He’d known it was a trap but, thinking he’d made a pact with The Reaper to spare his life, had gone anyway.
‘Tell us about the Inghams.’
Ottoman nodded and looked away. ‘That night, after that poor Asian lad got beat up, I hung around at the front of the Ingham house waiting for Jason. To teach him a lesson, give him a proper scare. They were having a party, I could hear the music. Thud, thud, thud — very loud. Anyway, time wore on until it got really late. The music had stopped, or so I thought, and I began to think Wallis wasn’t going to leave, so I crept closer to see what was happening. That’s when I saw her.’
‘Her?’
‘A woman I think, climbing over the fence. I only saw her for a second.’
‘Did she see you?’
‘No.’
‘Was it this woman?’ asked Grant, slapping down a picture of the middle-aged woman from the North house.
‘I can’t tell. She had her head and face covered like me.’
‘Then why think it was a woman?’
Ottoman stared into the distance and shook his head. ‘I don’t know. The way she moved, maybe.’
‘You didn’t see two people? A man with her.’
‘No. Just the woman.’
Brook nodded. ‘Her partner would’ve been manning the camera at this point,’ he whispered to Charlton.
‘What was she wearing?’
‘Dark overalls and a balaclava or ski mask like me. She had blood all over her but it was going on the sheet…’
‘Sheet?’
‘There was a sheet thrown over the fence. She dropped over the other side and pulled it over. And then she was gone. I didn’t know what was happening or what to think. I heard the music, only this time it was soft. Classical. Then I saw the Ingham lad.’ He shook his head. ‘Terrible. All that blood. I looked round for Jason and…’
‘You saw the scalpel on the ground,’ prompted Grant. Ottoman nodded. ‘Why did you put it under his hand?’
‘I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking straight. I saw the phone and I realised what I had to do. But I didn’t know what to say.’
‘You said “They’re all dead.” You thought Wallis was dead?’
‘Why wouldn’t I? There was blood everywhere. Even on my clothes by now. Then it hit me, what I was seeing, and I started to fall apart. When Jason came round I just froze.’
‘Jason was conscious?’
‘Briefly.’
‘What happened?’
‘Something strange.’ Ottoman shook his head and his eyes narrowed in confusion. ‘He looked at me. I think he might even have smiled. He said “I’m ready” then passed out again.’
‘I’m ready?’ Hudson nodded. ‘What do you think he meant?’
‘No idea.’
‘Then what?’
‘I got scared. I thought I heard someone coming so I left the same way the woman left — over the fence. When I got down I saw there were two bikes. I took one. The next day we…’ Ottoman took a deep breath. ‘What about my wife?’
‘She’ll be on her way home soon, Mr Ottoman,’ said Hudson. ‘Trust us.’
‘Trust you. Like I trusted you to deal with Wallis after he assaulted my wife.’ Ottoman hung his head.
‘This is different, John. Six people are dead.’
Ottoman’s head lifted like a hunted deer. ‘Six? What do you mean?’
Hudson glanced at Grant. ‘Three people died in an upstairs bedroom, Mrs Ingham and her boy among them. It was all over the news.’
‘I didn’t know. The last thing we wanted was to listen to the news or read a paper. Six? Oh God. I didn’t kill them. You must believe me.’
Both Grant and Hudson stared at the mirror through to Brook and Charlton. Hudson nodded.
‘We believe you.’
‘It’s fine, love. They believe us, I think. I just need to stay a bit longer.’ Ottoman pressed his hands into the knots of tension in his wife’s back then held her away and looked at her tear-streaked face. ‘You go with this officer. He’ll take you home. I’ll see you soon.’
‘Don’t be long,’ she whimpered.
Brook opened his eyes and lifted his head from the desk and yawned. He looked at his watch and had to rub his eyes to see properly. It was past midnight. He hadn’t been this tired for two years and he was unlikely to get much rest any time soon. His hunch about Ottoman having come good, he was back on the team. Charlton had already held a press conference to ‘de-emphasise’ — his very word — the significance of the arrests and to insist the Ottomans were witnesses not suspects. Denise Ottoman had been taken home and her husband would probably be released tomorrow after another interview.
Brook stood and walked around for a few minutes to stretch his legs, having already decided not to go home. Being in the house next door to Mike Drexler made him edgy and he had resolved to keep away from Hartington as much as possible until he had gone.
He sat back down at the desk and shook his flask. There was a little tea left in it so he poured it out and took a swig. It was cold.
He looked around the room and his bleary eye fell on the photo array on the boards. The sky had cleared and a full moon had cast its light onto the ghostly image of the middle-aged woman sitting in Dottie North’s bedroom — the picture that had erroneously led them to Denise Ottoman. Brook picked up his pencil and looked at the anagram again. This time he looked for a female name among the letters. After ten minutes he’d come up with only three — Pat, Rae and Petra.
One at a time, he mangled all the remaining letters into unlikely sounding surnames and one by one typed all the options into the search bar for the electoral roll on the computer. He expected nothing and wasn’t disappointed when he found nothing. However, after a dozen or so attempts, Brook keyed in ‘Petra Heer’ and was surprised to be rewarded with an address — 1b Magnet House, Derby.
His pulse began to quicken. 1b suggested a flat and Magnet House suggested a larger building. He reached for an A-Z and looked up the address. Magnet House was just down the road from the railway station and the Midland Hotel. In fact he must have passed it on his nocturnal ramble with Laura Grant.
He hastily wrote a note:
He dropped it on DS Gadd’s desk, gathered up his car keys and hurried out of the door.
Sorenson drove away from the motel, crossing 395 back towards Tahoe. Drexler reached for the keys.
‘I say we wait, Mike.’
‘What? Why?’
‘There’s somebody still in that cabin and I’d kinda like to know who.’ Drexler hesitated, poised to spark the ignition. ‘And I’m guessing Sorenson’s headed home. It’s way past his bedtime.’
Drexler exhaled and sat back. ‘Okay. We wait.’
