The Reaper

DS Noble’s face betrayed a caveat to Brook’s theory but he had trained himself, after several painful lessons, not to lay himself open to ridicule. That applied doubly in the presence of the Chief Super.

‘Couldn’t he have overpowered his father first, taken him by surprise?’ asked McMaster.

‘The mother as well? No, we checked. Again, subject to forensic confirmation, there are no marks on any of the victim’s wrists or ankles. They weren’t tied up. There were no injuries or contusions on the parents’ skulls so he didn’t creep up and knock them unconscious.’

‘What’s the second reason?’ asked McMaster.

‘Sergeant?’ asked Brook, fixing Noble with a stare. He couldn’t let him have it too easy.

Noble hesitated but knew not to wait too long. A swift error would pass notice much easier than a long anticipated one. ‘The baby?’ he offered, trying to keep the question mark out of his response.

‘Right. The baby completes the family. Its…’ Brook looked at Noble for a prompt.

‘It’s a girl, sir. Bianca.’

‘…her presence on the scene is part of the killer’s strategy. The baby was brought from her bed as part of a logical choice, as was the decision not to kill her. If Jason had done this under the influence of narcotics or alcohol, why bring the baby down? Surely, if it’s a drunken mindless act, he would have killed his baby sister upstairs, where he found her. It doesn’t make sense. Our killer sees it differently. He wants the baby in the family portrait but chooses not to kill it. Her.’

‘Why?’

‘Perhaps he’s showing us he has the intelligence and humanity to feel mercy. God knows. But he needs the baby there to fulfil his need.’

‘What need?’

‘Maybe he’s a Barnardo’s boy, an orphan in search of a family. Whatever that is,’ Brook added, with an unexpected trace of bile that surprised even himself. ‘It’s difficult to say.’

After a suitable consoling pause, McMaster ploughed on. ‘What about writing SAVED on the wall and cutting it on the girl? What’s that all about?’

Brook looked at the wall behind her head as though he were casting around for a solution to a question he hadn’t yet considered. It didn’t do to over-egg the pudding. ‘Some kind of religious claptrap I imagine. Maybe crowing that he’s saved her soul from a life of sin and packed her off to Heaven.’

‘A God squadder,’ she nodded. ‘Why he?’ she queried.

‘The usual reasons,’ replied Brook.

‘Statistically sound, I know,’ she countered, with a more confident edge in her voice. She was on her own turf. ‘But why so sure?’ She stood and picked up a small water jug on her desk.

‘Do you want the classic profile of the serial killer?’

She turned sharply from her spider plant, spilling a little water on the floor. ‘Is that what this is?’

‘I think so. This has been planned for a long time. All that was missing for the killer were the right victims.’

‘And if it is a God squadder we’re looking for a middle-aged male,’ nodded McMaster, ‘which rules out the Wallis boy.’

‘Why middle aged?’ asked Noble before he could stop himself.

‘Jason’s too young to be appalled by the moral cesspool of society,’ said Brook. ‘That’s more a function of my age group.’

‘Are you saying that whoever did this has picked the Wallis family out at random?’ Noble asked.

‘No. Our killer has sound reasons for wanting this family dead.’

‘Well,’ said Noble, deciding to risk humiliation in the hunt for brownie points, ‘if they weren’t selected at random, surely the killer must know the family, or some members of it.’

‘I don’t think so, John. He just thinks he does.’

‘This is idle speculation,’ rejoined McMaster, deciding she’d learned all she was going to learn. ‘I’m cancelling my course in Birmingham. I’ll be briefing the press this afternoon so I’ll need your CID/57’s as soon as possible. I think DS Noble has a point. I don’t like the idea of serial killings, Damen. This isn’t London.’

‘That’s what the Yorkshire Ripper team said. One of the reasons he was free to kill for years.’

‘Point taken,’ said McMaster, adopting her non-threatening, conciliatory body posture, ‘but I want all other avenues explored first. Use whatever resources you need. Bobby Wallis was a nasty piece of work–with previous. I want to know about enemies, neighbourhood feuds and so on. And check out this Mr Singh who found the bodies. Maybe he took his complaint about the noise too far. Maybe there was an argument about something. Who knows what people will do under stress? Have you run the MO through CATCHEM?’

CATCHEM, Central Analytical Team Collating Homicide Expertise and Management, a computer database introduced in 1992 which could build an identikit profile of any serial offender from the distinctive characteristics of the offence, one of the fruits of the review carried out after the Yorkshire Ripper debacle and an overdue response to the American violent crime profiling system, VICAP.

‘We will but it won’t yield anything new,’ said Brook.

‘Why so sure?’ she flashed back at him.

‘Because this isn’t a murder, it’s an execution. This family’s been punished.’ There was silence. Neither McMaster nor Noble understood his meaning and they waited for Brook to elaborate. He failed to take up their invitation. ‘Anything else, ma’am?’ he offered finally.

‘Yes. Be certain Jason Wallis is in the clear before you let him back into the community, assuming he has any living relatives. Better get someone onto Social Services come to think of it. Find out where he and the baby might go.’ Brook and Noble rose to leave. ‘And Inspector. You report directly to me on this. And only me.’

Brook nodded and ushered Noble out of the office. She knew. He could sense it in her demeanour. This was no domestic argument or spur of the moment killing. It was part of a series–the first as far as she was concerned. It made her uneasy, that was clear. And not just for the community at large. This could be a Godsend for the pack of hounds that dogged her every move.

Chapter Four

Back in his office Brook drained his coffee and massaged his eyes. He reached for the envelope left by Noble and flicked it open.

The top picture showed the pathetic, spindly corpse of Kylie Wallis, marble white, sightless eyes. It caught Brook momentarily unprepared and he recoiled as though from a red hot poker. Careless. Being tired he’d forgotten to erect the shield around his emotions, as much a part of his daily routine as pulling on his trousers.

Once his feelings were correctly attired, he looked again and began to sift through the evidence, these peep shows of insanity, with the detachment of the automaton.

He paused over a photograph of the wine bottle before putting it on one side. Then he extracted and retained a couple of others. Noble entered with two cups of vending machine coffee.

‘We can land a spacecraft on Mars, John, but we still can’t create a machine to deliver a decent cup of coffee,’ Brook grimaced, as he sipped the frothy liquid. ‘Have you got a cigarette?’

‘I thought you’d quit.’

‘Cut down, John. There’s a difference.’

‘Just quit buying,’ Noble said with a playful grin. Brook decided to deliver the chuckle Noble required as payment and accepted the proffered cigarette, inhaling deeply even before Noble had extinguished his lighter.

‘Sir.’ Noble was suddenly uneasy. ‘I wanted to thank you…’–Brook glanced at Noble with a look of mild bemusement though he knew what was coming–‘…for not mentioning my cock-up last night.’ Brook smiled.

‘Forget it, John. It wasn’t your fault. You had good reason not to enter the crime scene, especially as another officer had told you there were no signs of life. I’m not sure I can be quite so forgiving with Aktar though. Tampering with the evidence is a very serious matter.’

‘What do you mean?’

Brook searched for the relevant photograph. ‘Remember the pizza, the Four Seasons? Look at it. What do you notice?’

‘Notice?’

‘Be boring and factual.’

Noble hesitated briefly, unsure of what was required of him. After a pause to verify Brook’s serious intent, Noble took a stab at it. ‘It’s a half-eaten…’

Brook raised an admonishing eyebrow to Noble who knew the signal well and corrected himself.

‘…partially-eaten pizza.’

‘Better.’

‘It’s had two pieces taken from it.’

‘Go on.’

Noble looked at a loss.

‘Describe the pieces, John.’

‘Well, one’s a triangle cut out of the ham and mushroom bit…’

‘Triangle,’ said Brook with heavy emphasis. Noble looked back at him, perplexed, trying not to laugh.

‘The other piece,’ Noble smiled suddenly, ‘is torn from the salami segment. This pizza could have been eaten by two different people. Presumably Jason Wallis tore a piece off…and someone else took the trouble to cut a slice. The killer?’ he said hopefully, before shaking his head the instant Brook shook his own. ‘Aktar. The…idiot,’ barked Noble with real venom, remembering to omit the adjective.

Brook decided not to string it out any longer. ‘And what happened to both of them?’

Noble nodded now. ‘They both collapsed. The pizzas were doctored in some way. That’s how the killer was able to cut the family’s throats without a struggle.’

‘Right.’

‘That’s why you asked me about Aktar’s weight. Jason’s just a skinny kid. He fell where he was eating, where there’s tomato sauce on the floor, but the drug would take longer to be ingested by a heavier man so he would have finished his piece and still have been able to move around for a while. People would think he’d fainted after seeing the bodies.’

‘That’s very impressive, John.’

‘What? Telling you what you already knew?’

‘I only knew because I was looking for it.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well…I’ve seen this MO before.’

‘When?’

‘A long time ago.’

‘With throats cut and the blood on the walls?’

‘Similar.’

‘That’s how you knew there was a message for us.’

‘Yes.’

‘And the doctored pizza?’

‘No. That’s different. Things change each time–just enough to muddy the profile.’

‘But he immobilised and killed families?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who was the killer?’

‘We never found him.’

‘What…?’

‘I don’t want to say any more at the moment because the connection’s not certain. And I need you to keep an open mind about things so you can pull me up if I start barking up the wrong tree.’

‘Whatever you say.’ Noble was annoyed but did a good job of not showing it. ‘So what now?’

‘Now? Until we find the van we concentrate on the house.’

‘SOCO are still going over it.’

‘They won’t find anything.’

‘They might.’

‘Not a chance. The planning that went into this. He’s not going to take his gloves off and touch things, or get peckish and leave a perfect set of dentures in a lump of cheese.’

‘I guess not. He might have had a sip of wine though.’

‘Don’t bank on it. What about the weapon?’

‘Nothing so far.’

‘How many uniforms have you got looking?’

‘Dozens.’

‘Get more, at least for a day or two, and widen the search. Fingertip. Get onto the council and suspend refuse collection in the area. Search all dustbins and grates on the estate. We’re not going to find it but we need to have looked.’ Brook sighed and then yawned. This was the part of the job he hated most. Clearing away the debris, the procedural minutiae that delayed everything, prevented him bringing his skills to bear on the nub of the case. ‘There’s so much garbage to organise.’

‘When do we speak to Jason?’

‘This morning. But you’re going to Pizza Parlour first. We need to know how the killer set this up in case Jason doesn’t know.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well if Forensics confirms that the pizzas were drugged, it means our killer must have delivered them…’

‘So he’s used them to make sure the family are unconscious which suggests he came back later, after they’d been eaten.’

‘Right.’ Brook paused, waiting to see if his point had hit home.

‘But if he’s delivered them, how can Pizza Parlour have taken the order?’

‘Good question, John.’

Noble thought for a moment then his jaw dropped open. ‘Christ! The bastard rang the Wallis family. He’s taken the order pretending to be Pizza Parlour.’ Noble shook his head and squinted at the floor. ‘Hang on, you wouldn’t order food from a takeaway that called out of the blue. Not unless they were giving it away.’ Noble looked up at Brook’s expectant face and smiled. ‘Maybe they were. Of course–a free meal like a promotion or prize or something. Who’s gonna turn that down? Was that the MO in the other case?’

‘We thought so. Though we never had any survivors to confirm it.’

‘But not pizzas.’

‘No. A video recorder and a CD system.’

‘Like winning a competition,’ Noble nodded with a smile. ‘Neat.’

Brook checked his watch and helped himself to another cigarette, looking at Noble for an objection. He lit up and took another huge pull. Soon the news would be hitting the streets of Derby. Not that he expected The Reaper to be within earshot. He was long gone.

Having roused his complaining car for the fourth time that morning, Brook dropped in at his flat on the way to the hospital. He needed to shower and change before meeting Noble there.

After showering he lay on the bed for five minutes and closed his eyes to relieve the stinging. Before he left, he rang the station to requisition a car for the afternoon. He couldn’t keep traipsing around in the Sprite. The water pump wouldn’t stand for it.

He booked a taxi to take him to the DRI. As he waited for the cab, he stared at the still-flashing answering machine, but decided against ringing Terri back.

Too often, in the last ten years, he’d danced around his feelings for his daughter, curtailing difficult conversations with phoney interruptions. Sod’s Law dictated that the cab driver would honk his horn the moment he started talking to her. He didn’t want another, albeit genuine, interruption to reinforce her jaundiced view of his love for her. Now he needed to talk, needed to spend some time with her, even if all he could embrace was a disembodied voice.

Noble was late so Brook left him a message at hospital reception, telling him to wait. He didn’t want him seeing Jason Wallis on his own. Then he went to see PC Aktar. He was sitting up in bed reading The Sun. Fortunately, it wasn’t visiting hour so he was alone, though clearly his family had arrived with armfuls of provisions earlier that morning.

‘I hate to butt in on someone trying to improve himself Brook was amused by Aktar’s panic-stricken attempt to acknowledge his superior–lying horizontal in hospital-issue pyjamas–though he made sure he didn’t show it.

‘I’m sorry, guv. I wasn’t expectin’ yer, anybody…’

Brook noted Aktar’s broad northern accent. Not a trace of Asian inflection. He kept silent while Aktar flustered, determined to make him sweat. There was an empty plastic bag on a chair beside the bed. Brook picked it up and pulled out Aktar’s boots from the locker and slid them into the bag.

‘Give these to Noble when he comes in. Forensics needs all the shoes from the Wallis house.’

‘Guv? Is there…?’

Brook put a finger to his lips and held Aktar’s dark eyes in his own. ‘Don’t ever call me guv, Constable. If you’re still in the Force after today, you’ll call me sir or Inspector, is that clear?’

‘Guv?’

‘Is that clear?’

PC Aktar was suddenly very abashed and Brook began to feel sorry for him. ‘Yes sir.’

‘That’s better. Your career depends on the answers you give me in the next few minutes,’ said Brook, peeling one of the photographs he’d set aside earlier, from his jacket. ‘Look at this.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘What do you see?’

‘It’s the living room of Mr and Mrs…’

‘What do you see, Constable?’

‘The CD player in the Wallis house.’

‘What do you notice?’

‘N-Nothing, sir.’

‘Exactly. It’s been turned off. DS Noble tells me that a Mr Singh went round to the Wallis household to complain about the noise. Do you understand?’

‘Yes sir. I think so.’

‘Explain it to me then, Constable.’

‘It was Mr Singh, sir. He went round. Said the front door was open. He went in and turned off the CD player. Said it was on very loud. I told him he shouldn’t have but he said he had no idea, at that time, what had happened. Until he turned the lights on, he thought they were all asleep.’

‘The lights were off?’

‘Yes sir. According to Mr Singh.’

‘Then how did he manage to turn off the CD player?’

‘The display, sir. He said it was very bright, sir. He could see to move round the room okay and well…’

Brook’s tone softened. ‘I see.’ He tossed the picture of the partially eaten pizza towards Aktar who examined it briefly before looking away. He wouldn’t lift his eyes from the bed cover. He looked, and clearly felt, a fool. ‘You’re very lucky, Constable. I think we may be able to forgive one mistake as your actions haven’t compromised the case–this time.’

‘It won’t happen again, sir.’

‘It better not. And I wouldn’t mention it to anyone unless you want the Force and yourself held up to ridicule.’

‘Don’t worry, sir.’

‘When are you out of here?’

‘This afternoon, sir.’

‘Report for duty to DS Noble, he’ll have some chores for you. Who’s your partner?’

‘WPC Jones, sir.’

‘Wendy Jones.’ Brook felt a tic of apprehension. ‘Good officer. Take her with you. This order is direct from the Chief Superintendent and you take your orders from DS Noble and myself. Understand?’

‘Perfectly, sir.’

Brook made to leave but turned back. ‘And Constable. The next time you feel peckish at a crime scene, send out for a bag of chips.’

Aktar’s foolish expression returned. ‘Yes sir. Thank you, sir.’

Brook drained his third plastic coffee of the day and shuddered. He tossed the thin beaker into the adjacent bin. ‘What have you got, John?’

Noble flicked a notebook. ‘Pizza Parlour didn’t send anyone round to the Wallis house with anything last night and you were right, they don’t deliver in vans. I spoke to the manager. He said they did have an identical order to the one at the crime scene. A Four Seasons, an American Hot and a Seafood. All family size…’

‘Let me guess. They were collected, not delivered and the customer paid cash.’

‘Right.’

‘What about CCTV?’

‘They don’t have it.’

Brook smiled. ‘Our boy’s determined not to make it easy for us. Description?’

‘Nothing useable. A man. Middle-aged maybe.’

‘That’s it?’

‘Nobody remembers who picked it up. They only look at the money–as you suspected.’

‘Yeah, it’d be nice to be wrong for a change. What else?’

‘DC Morton took a formal statement from Mr Singh next door. Singh said he went round to the Wallis house about half an hour after midnight. The front door was open but he didn’t suspect anything. The CD player was on loud so he turned it down and then off. He said he had no idea the Wallis family were dead because the lights were off. When he turned on the lights–bingo!’

‘And the volume?’

‘He said the music was distorted.’

‘So it must have been on full. Interesting. Okay. Have Forensics got his clothes and shoes?’

‘They have.’

‘Prints?’

‘Yep.’

‘Did we ask him about times?’

‘He said he didn’t go round straight away. He said he heard the music start earlier but it got really loud just past midnight–he looked at his watch. He stood it until half past before going round.’

‘So our killer turned the music up and left just after midnight.’

‘It looks that way.’

‘And Jason got home soon after and had his pizza.’

‘Wouldn’t he have heard the music?’

Brook nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s a strange one. Even out of his head you’d think he’d hear it and investigate.’

‘Maybe he thought it was the TV.’

‘Even so.’

‘And there’s the baby. Surely it would have woken up.’

‘Babies are funny, John. They can sleep through anything. Maybe it did wake up, maybe not. But unless she was screaming her head off who’s going to notice? With Aktar struggling to stay conscious that leaves Mr Singh, who’s in a situation for which he has no training.’

‘I suppose.’

‘What about the CD?’

‘Sent for dusting. It was’–Noble checked his notes–‘Symphony No. 9 by Mahler. I thought he was reggae.’

Brook smiled at Noble. ‘Bob Mahler and the Wailers. You know your music, John. And the case?’

‘No sign. Looks like the killer brought the CD and took the case with him. So we’ve very little chance of tracing the purchase.’

Brook nodded. ‘Anything else?’

‘Yeah. DC Cooper found a phone number for a Mrs Harrison at the Wallis house. Apparently she’s Mrs Wallis’ sister. A nurse. Divorced. Lives in Borrowash. She’d just heard the news and was obviously in a bit of a state. Says she hasn’t seen the family for a couple of weeks, though Mrs Wallis phoned her two days ago. Nothing in her manner to suggest she was worried about anything. I sent a WPC round for tea and sympathy. She says she’s willing to do the formal ID.’

‘Good.’

‘We got a fax from BT. Every call to the Wallis house up to two days before the murder came from numbers listed in Mrs Wallis’ address book, except one. That came from a public phone the day before.’

‘So he could check out the menu before ringing to take their order. Is it close to Pizza Parlour?’

‘Near enough. And it’s coin-operated not card.’

‘Really?’

‘Hard to believe they still exist, I know. Forensics is giving it a quick once-over but there’s no telling how many people have been in there since.’

‘What about enemies?’

‘We asked Mrs Harrison. She says not. Bobby had an occasional word with a neighbour or someone down the pub at chucking-out time. But nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing on this scale.’

‘And nothing in his jacket about dealing?’

‘Not even a sniff of drugs, no joke intended. He wasn’t the type.’

‘Check with the Drug Squad anyway. Just to tick it off.’

‘A message from the Chief. There’s a press conference at four, in time for the local evening news and she wants you there.’

‘Damn. I wish brass could jump through these hoops by themselves.’

‘I reckon she needs a man there to give the public a bit of confidence.’

Brook turned to Noble, this time without amusement. He had to stop letting these remarks slide, if only for the sake of balance. ‘That’s right. Evelyn McMaster knows exactly what kind of small-minded bigots are out there, John. And to her credit she’s big enough to swallow her pride and pander to their intolerance if it will bolster confidence in what we’re doing. That makes our job that bit easier, don’t you think?’

Noble was suitably abashed.

‘Here,’ continued Brook, pointing to the photograph of the Wallis fireplace. ‘You’ll have to follow this up now. I’ll speak to Jason on my own. What do you see, John?’

‘A bottle of wine.’

‘Not quite. It’s a bottle of expensive wine. A Nuits-Saint-Georges to be precise. From Burgundy.’

‘How do you know that?’ asked Noble, with a hint of suspicion. It was still an offence in most station houses to drink anything other than lager and cheap whisky.

‘Because I spent my honeymoon on a barge in Burgundy and that was a wine we could never afford. We weren’t well off, but I imagine it would still cost you at least fifteen to twenty pounds in a supermarket. Assuming you can get it round here. I doubt the Wallis family are oenophiles,’ he flicked a glance at Noble but his constable was maintaining the face of a stoic, ‘so get someone to find out where it was bought and by whom, if you can. Who else is on the team apart from Cooper?’