‘Who alerted us to the body?’
‘A security guard at the Council House saw the head bobbing and phoned it in.’
‘Time?’
Noble checked his notebook. ‘Dispatch took the call just after three.’ Brook continued to watch the film at normal speed. ‘Whoever tipped off Yvette didn’t need to be on the bridge.’
Brook nodded. ‘I know. It’s just a hunch. Wilson’s death has been staged and a good director would want to-’
‘There!’ Noble interrupted. Brook followed his digit. ‘Jeans, blue hoodie, sunglasses, scarf around the face. Caucasian male?’
‘Hard to be sure,’ replied Brook. ‘Walks like a man.’ He peered at the screen. ‘But unless my eyes are failing me, that does say G-STAR on his chest, doesn’t it?’
Noble froze the film and zoomed in. The brand was clearly visible across a white slash on the chest. ‘That’s Kyle’s hoodie, all right.’
‘Or we’re meant to think it is,’ said Brook.
‘Messing with our heads.’ Noble nodded.
‘What’s that in his hand?’
The film played on. The figure in the hoodie turned away from the CCTV camera mounted high on the Council building, to lean on the bridge wall. He watched the opposite bank where, off camera, Wilson Woodrow’s body was being recovered. A moment later he stood erect and lifted a camcorder to his right eye.
‘You were right. He filmed us. Cheeky sod.’
‘Did we see what direction he came in from?’ Brook asked.
Noble reviewed the images until they could make out the figure strolling past the Brewery Tap at the north end of the bridge, towards the city centre and the CCTV camera perched on the Council House. He kept his head bowed all the way, as though he expected to be filmed.
The film continued and the two detectives watched closely, hoping to glimpse a face under the hood but the figure never removed it, or the scarf and sunglasses, and the camcorder was rarely lowered from the face. Just after six thirty, the figure stopped filming, pulled out a mobile phone and thumbed at it for a few moments.
‘He’s texting,’ said Brook.
‘Yvette Thomson said someone phoned her.’
‘Text or call, it wasn’t him, John. Look at the time.’
‘Six thirty.’ Noble nodded. ‘She was already at the river.’
‘Check with the mobile operators. Maybe that phone belonged to one of our students. Start with Kyle’s.’
A second later, the hooded figure sauntered back up Derwent Street and out of sight.
‘Whoever that was, he didn’t tip off Yvette Thomson,’ said Noble.
‘Not in our time-frame at least,’ agreed Brook.
‘Then who did?’
Brook narrowed his eyes. ‘Somebody who knows her and has contacts in the Force. There’s no other explanation.’
‘A journalist?’
‘I wouldn’t put it past Brian Burton to be greasing the wheels, but if he did get a whisper from an inside contact, he wouldn’t be phoning Yvette Thomson.’
‘And he’d have been at the scene before us, being a pain in the backside,’ conceded Noble. ‘Who then?’
Brook smiled faintly. ‘How about somebody with a stake in our investigation, somebody with money who can be trusted to reward a heads-up, who used to be in the business and keeps in touch with some of the old guard.’
Noble nodded now. ‘Len Poole.’
‘There’s no one else. And if we make the connection, it proves they knew each other before they came to Derby.’
Twenty
Brook stared at the map of Derby on the wall. Cooper had added a second pin, this time south of the city in Pear Tree, nowhere near the first location in Allestree. The uploads to the Deity website were being carried out in seemingly random areas using wireless technology. No connection between the homeowners. The fact the addresses were both in residential areas also put paid to their chances of CCTV.
Noble walked in and handed Brook a sheaf of papers.
‘What am I looking at?’
‘School assessment reports for Russell Thomson. “Ysgols” in Welsh.’
Brook counted the pages. ‘He certainly went to a lot of ysgols.’
‘And that’s not all of them.’
Brook read quickly. The first school was Ysgol Emrys Williams near Rhyl in North Wales. Russell stayed there for only six weeks when he was twelve.
The next school was Ysgol Bryn Towyn near Holywell. It said much the same as the first school. Russell was there for three months when he was thirteen and taken out when the bullying became too much.
‘He and Yvette really moved around,’ observed Brook. He skimmed through the rest of the reports.
‘Now skip forward to 2008 when he was fifteen.’
Brook found the assessment from Ruthin Road High School near Chester.
Brook looked up at Noble. ‘Russell was the cyber-bully, not the other way round.’
‘I know,’ said Noble.
‘It’s like he’s two different people.’
‘And now we know why Russell felt able to have a Facebook account.’
Brook knocked softly on the glass panel and entered. Donald Crump turned his unshaven, heavily jowled face towards Brook, a length of sticky tape held in his hands.
‘Inspector Brook,’ he said without enthusiasm. ‘What brings you down to the vault?’ He turned back to the piece of clothing and continued dabbing it with the sticky side of the tape.
‘Don. Just thought I’d come and see how you were getting on,’ replied Brook, aware that his sickly grin wasn’t his best effort. ‘We’ve given you quite a workload, the last week or so.’
Donald Crump turned to Brook, his mouth opening to say something but he evidently thought better of it. He turned back to his work. ‘Aye, well, things generally pick up this time of year — all that summer drinking. If the twats aren’t driving into trees, they’re glassing each other over a funny look. Keeps us in a job, mind.’
