by Lauren Algeo
The man sounded impatient and Brewer guessed he wasn’t the first person to call the murder squad that evening. All the press would be sniffing around, trying to get inside information so they could run an exclusive story over their competitors in tomorrow’s papers.
‘I’m not from the press,’ he told the man. ‘I really am an old friend. Tell Marcus it’s Scott.’
‘Ok,’ the harassed man relented.
There was silence then a muffled voice, and Brewer imagined the guy standing in the bustling room, with his hand over the mouthpiece, shouting to Marcus. He waited patiently.
‘I’ll put you through,’ the man said when he came back on the line.
His voice was replaced by a soft purring noise then Brewer heard a familiar sound.
‘Hello? Scott?’ Marcus sounded flustered.
‘Hi Marcus. It’s been a long time.’
‘That’s because you don’t answer any of my calls or texts! Or Trudy’s birthday and Christmas cards. Where the hell are you anyway?’
‘On a train back to London.’ He lowered his voice slightly as the woman next to him gave a sharp glare.
There was a ‘quiet zone’ message above her head but Brewer pointedly ignored it – he didn’t follow the rules any more.
‘I, um, I kind of need a favour,’ he told Marcus.
There was a barked laugh on the other end of the phone. ‘Unbelievable! You call me up after nearly two years of silence and want a favour?’
‘You know me, wouldn’t be right unless I was pressing my luck.’
‘Same old Scott,’ Marcus sighed. ‘I’ve missed you mate. Things are different around here now and there’s so much you’ve missed.’
‘I know. I really am sorry.’ He was sincere but Marcus wouldn’t understand if he knew what he had been doing with his time. ‘I promise I’ll be coming to see you – it’s kind of part of the favour.’
‘So, what do you need?’
‘I need to know everything you know about the shootings in Waterloo today.’ He paused a beat. ‘And I want you to get me into the station to talk to the man you’ve arrested.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding!’ Marcus paused. ‘But it’s you so I know you’re not. Why the hell do you want to speak to him?’
It was Brewer’s turn to pause; his reason would sound crazy. ‘I can’t really tell you mate, just trust me that it’s important. I only need five minutes to talk to him. Please.’
It was as close to begging as he ever got. Marcus was quiet for a moment then he sighed loudly. ‘How do you always get me to give in? If you come to the station as soon as you can, I’ll see what I can do. We’ll be questioning him for most of the night but I’ll try and get you in during any breaks.’
‘Has he said much?’
‘No. He was babbling when we arrested him, protesting his innocence, but now he’s just sitting and staring. It’s as if he’s in shock.’
Understandable, Brewer thought. The poor guy wouldn’t have a clue what had happened to him; he’d think he had gone mad.
‘Thank you mate, I owe you big time.’ Brewer checked his watch. ‘I’ll be there by midnight.’
‘Call me when you get near – don’t go through the front desk,’ Marcus told him. ‘It’ll be good to see you.’
‘You too,’ Brewer replied quietly and hung up.
It had been a long time.
Brewer paced around the outside of Lewisham police station, nervous about seeing Marcus again. His friend must think he was crazy; no one had any clue what he’d been up to for the last couple of years.
It was just after midnight – the witching hour – and the streets were nearly deserted. It was a weekday night so there weren’t many drunken revellers staggering home. He’d called Marcus a few minutes ago and had been told to stay put.
The station was busy, with lots of officers working overtime after the shootings. Brewer hoped enough time had passed so there wouldn’t be as many people there he’d used to work with. He didn’t want to deal with curious questions right now; Marcus’s would be more than challenging enough.
He shuffled his feet and pulled his dark, trench coat tighter around his body to ward off the cold night. He could feel winter looming in the air.
‘Scott!’ A voice called from the shadows at the side of the building.
Brewer walked quickly over and embraced Marcus in a tight hug.
‘It’s good to see you,’ he said, standing back and looking at his friend.
Marcus had put on a few pounds round the middle since Brewer had last seen him, and there were more lines around his blue eyes. His blond hair was a little longer these days but there was no sign of grey yet.
We’re not as young as we used to be, he thought.
He took in the smart shirt and trousers Marcus was wearing, and wondered if he’d been present at the press conference earlier.
‘You look well,’ Marcus said, studying Brewer in the same way.
Brewer knew he didn’t, not dressed in his well-worn coat and dark, scruffy jeans. He had on old Timberlands that had seen many miles of walking in the last couple of years.
‘How are Trudy and Ella?’ he asked.
‘They’re great… fantastic. Ella is five now and she’s started school. Trudy’s still working as a receptionist at the doctor’s surgery,’ Marcus replied.
It was the small talk Brewer would expect from an acquaintance rather than his best friend, however he knew he‘d been gone for a long time.
‘Are you still at the West Dulwich flat?’ Marcus asked.
‘Sometimes,’ Brewer replied carefully. ‘I travel around a lot so I haven’t been there for a while.’
Marcus nodded as if he understood. ‘There’ll be some letters and cards from us when you do go there.’
They stood awkwardly for a moment, not sure how they had become strangers to each other.
‘So… what have you been up to?’
Marcus finally asked the question Brewer had been expecting, and dreading. He launched in to the speech he had rehearsed a thousand times in his head.
‘Researching. I’ve been travelling around, studying brain tumours and how they can be caused. Looking in to pioneering treatments. I’ve been doing the odd bit of charity work.’
‘You know it won’t bring her back,’ Marcus said softly, looking down at his feet.
‘I know,’ Brewer replied. ‘But it comforts me somehow. I want to do everything I can to help other people.’
Marcus nodded and patted Brewer’s arm. ‘Then that’s a good thing; Karen would be proud.’
Brewer wondered what Marcus would say if he knew how he was really trying to help people.
‘Let’s go inside and get a cup of tea,’ Marcus shivered. ‘It’s freezing out here.’
Brewer followed him round to the back entrance of the station and through the swipe-access doors. It was a route he’d taken hundreds of times before. The station smelled exactly like he remembered – a mixture of bleach, coffee, and sweat. Marcus led the way down to the staff canteen, even though Brewer could have walked there with his eyes closed.
He took a seat in one of the plastic chairs at a nearby table while Marcus got them tea. He didn’t need to ask how Brewer took his – it was always black with no sugar.
Brewer took in the familiar room. The layout was the same, although it seemed somehow smaller to him now. There were a few officers occupying the other tables but he didn’t recognise any of them.
On his way back over, Marcus had a brief exchange with a surly looking man who was sitting alone. The man was dressed in a light, yellow shirt and dark trousers, with a round, balding head and a jowly chin.
Should lay off the fried food, Brewer thought as he watched the man shovelling eggs and bacon into his mouth.
Marcus settled in to the chair opposite him and slid across a Styrofoam cup.
‘They’re still questioning the suspect,’ he said. ‘He’s not talking. They have his crazy, babbled confes
sion at the scene, and witness statements, but they need more details. This guy might belong in the nut house.’
‘Is he due a break soon?’
Marcus nodded and gestured towards the balding man. ‘They’re going to break shortly and try a new tactic. DI Banks and his partner, DI Nye, are going to question him.’
Brewer didn’t think two-chins would get very far; he looked like a man who spent all his time at his desk.
‘So do you think I can talk to the guy before they switch over?’ he asked.
Marcus leaned in closer and lowered his voice. ‘I’m going to let you go in for five minutes while we get the suspect a drink and change the tapes. But that’s all you get. I’m seriously putting my neck on the line doing this.’
‘I know, and I really appreciate it.’ Brewer said.
‘Are you planning on telling me why you want to speak to him so badly?’ Marcus asked.
‘I can’t,’ Brewer shook his head. ‘But it’s something I need to do.’
He hated keeping so many secrets from his friend, only no one would understand.
‘Ok, I trust you.’
They both sipped their teas.
‘What do you know about what happened today?’ Brewer asked.
‘It’s a strange one,’ Marcus said, settling back in to his chair. ‘At lunchtime today this guy, his name’s Jeremy Rankin, goes into Waterloo station. He calmly walks over to where they’re filming for some TV drama then he pulls out a gun and opens fire on the main cast member, and the girl he was talking to. Then he just seems to fire at people at random until the gun’s empty. He killed five people and injured about seven others. Two of the victims were high profile – the TV actor, who he killed first, and a politician, who was killed by a single shot to the chest. We’ve got the man who did it, the CCTV of him doing it, and fifty or so witness statements implicating him, but we’ve got no idea why he did it yet. No motive.’
Marcus shook his head in disbelief. ‘You know the guy stayed at the scene after he did it? He didn’t even try to run. Even when the police arrived, he just stayed sitting on the floor, mumbling to himself. Witnesses said he was hysterical immediately after the shootings, crying and screaming, but now he’s completely mute. We’ve had him here for nearly ten hours and he hasn’t said a word. He’s just sitting and staring blankly ahead. I mean, maybe he’s just crazy, but we don’t know yet. We’ve got officers out there finding out everything about his life, there has to be something.’
‘I’m sure you’ll get to the bottom of it,’ Brewer assured him, even though he knew they would never get the answer they were looking for.
‘Maybe he had a grudge and was going after the actor, and just killed the other people for the sake of it afterwards.’ Marcus speculated. ‘He started with him so you’d think that would be the reason. We’re trying to dig and see if they’ve ever had contact before.’
Brewer hoped that wasn’t the case. He drained the last of his tea and waited for Marcus to finish his. Marcus gave a nod over to the balding detective and got to his feet. ‘Showtime.’
Chapter 3
Brewer and Marcus left the canteen, and walked along the washed out corridors to the interview rooms.
‘Wait here,’ Marcus instructed.
He went on ahead to interview room 3 and rapped on the door. Brewer leant against the cool wall and waited patiently. There was an unmarked door to the left, and he wondered who was lurking in there, carefully monitoring the video footage from the attempted interview.
A couple of the interview rooms were empty, their doors propped half open, but two others were in use and had their doors firmly shut. Marcus was instructed to enter, and as he opened the door, he gestured to Brewer to hide in one of the empty suites.
Brewer ducked into the nearest room, interview room 1, and nudged the door until it was only an inch from the frame. He braced himself against the wall and peered out through the tiny crack of light. He was at an awkward angle, however he would hear what was being said, and see who went past.
There was silence in the corridor for a moment then a door squeaked open to the right and several voices drifted out.
‘… He’s crazy.’ The door creaked shut.
‘Let Banks and Nye see if they can get anything out of him.’
‘Go get some rest,’ Marcus said to the officers Brewer couldn’t see. ‘You’re way in to your overtime.’
Two officers walked past Brewer’s door. He got a glimpse of a tired looking man, with the figure of his equally tired, but taller, partner behind as they crossed his line of sight. Their dejected voices murmured down the corridor then faded as they went through the double doors at the end.
There was a knock at a different door, this one closer to where Brewer was. He knew it was the one with the video equipment in but he couldn’t see much from his viewpoint.
There was a squeak as Marcus went in to the room, then muffled voices. Presumably he was telling whoever was in there that he was changing the tapes and would be monitoring the next interview, so they could go off for a break.
After a minute, Brewer heard footsteps in the corridor, only they walked away from where he was hiding and he saw nothing. Suddenly Marcus appeared in front of the door, filling his vision and making him jump back in surprise.
‘You’ve literally got five minutes,’ Marcus said, pushing open the door. ‘I’m going to get Rankin a drink from the crappy machine and when I bring it in, your time is up.’
‘Ok,’ Brewer nodded. ‘Thanks.’
He paused outside the door and glanced back. ‘Do me one last favour. Don’t monitor us from the surveillance room… please.’
Marcus gave him a curious look then shrugged. ‘You’ve got five minutes.’
Brewer opened the door and took a deep breath. He’d never actually spoken to anyone who’d survived after a hiker encounter before.
Jeremy Rankin was sitting in one of the plastic chairs at the table. He was staring blankly at the wall in front of him and didn’t look up when Brewer walked in. He bore a resemblance to the man in the picture Brewer had seen on the news, although this man was a lot thinner. His face was pulled tight and his cheeks looked hollow. The man in the photo had only had grey peppering the sides of his dark hair but this man was grey all over. Hikers seemed to age people quickly.
Brewer crossed to the table and sat down in the chair opposite him. Rankin shifted his eyes to focus on a new point as Brewer filled his line of sight, however he remained rigid in the chair.
‘Hi Jeremy,’ Brewer said gently.
He tried to appear relaxed and unthreatening. He used to interview suspects for a living but coercion tactics weren’t going to work on this guy. Rankin didn’t react to the sound of his voice; he carried on staring at his new spot on the floor.
‘I’m not a policeman,’ Brewer told him. ‘I used to be, but now I have a different job. I’m here as a friend. I’m here to help you.’
No reaction.
‘I want to talk to you about what happened at the station today.’
Nothing.
Brewer took a breath and tried to slow his racing heart.
‘I want to talk to you about the voice in your head. The voice that whispered to you in the dead of night.’
A blink from Rankin.
Brewer fidgeted in his chair, trying to fight the urge to lean forward in anticipation. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans.
‘The voice that suddenly isn’t there anymore.’
He saw recognition in Rankin’s eyes as they slowly moved up to focus on his.
‘It was there though,’ Rankin croaked, his voice rusty with ten hours of silence.
Brewer nodded in agreement. ‘Yes it was,’ he assured him. ‘I know. I’ve heard a voice like that before.’
‘I’m not crazy,’ Rankin said desperately. ‘You have to tell them.’
‘Other people won’t understand, but I know what happened to you Jeremy.’
Rankin looked do
wn at his hands, which were balled up in his lap. ‘I can’t believe what I did… what the voice made me do. It doesn’t seem real. The whole thing was like a dream.’
Brewer knew too well what it was like, feeling as though you’d just woken up from a bad dream, only it turned out to be a living nightmare. Thankfully Karen had saved him from committing his hiker’s plan but Rankin wasn’t so lucky.
‘What can you tell me about the voice you heard?’
Rankin frowned, confused. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Was it male? Female? Softly spoken or loud?’
Rankin thought. ‘It was male. At first it seemed a bit like my own voice, only a version I’d never heard before. It was quite softly spoken, until the end…’ His voice trailed off and he swallowed hard.
‘Do you remember when you first heard the voice?’ Brewer asked.
‘It was about four days ago, I think.’
‘Did anything else happen around that time? Anything strange?’
‘I… I seem to remember feeling like I was being watched. And I started to get very paranoid,’ Rankin said.
‘Has anything stressful happened to you recently?’
Rankin nodded. ‘Yes. I’ve just been made redundant from my job. They were having to let people go, you know ‘cause of the recession. I guess about two weeks before that I broke up with my partner too. So yeah, quite stressful.’
Definitely a suitable vessel, Brewer thought.
‘I only have a minute or so left to talk to you and it’s very important. I need you to tell me exactly what the voice was saying to you.’
Rankin took a shaky breath. ‘It started with light whispering during the night. Taunts about how my life was unfair. Reasoning with me that other people should be made to suffer too.’
Brewer felt a shiver run down his spine – Rankin could have been describing his own hiker experience.
‘I was spending all my time alone in the house, getting more and more bitter. The voice seemed to grow inside me, until it was the only sound I could hear. It told… it told me to make people pay for my life, and it encouraged me to plan today.’ Rankin rubbed his hands over his face in disgust. ‘It’s so hard to believe what I was thinking. What I did.’
