Deity didb-3

by Steven Dunne

  ‘So Ozzy Reece. .’

  ‘. . is being sought by a very able detective.’ Charlton rubbed his chin. ‘Look, you’ve got my permission to offer advice at every stage. Gadd’s got extra people. If there’s anything else you think we need to do, tell me.’

  ‘We need to go public. We need people to be on the lookout for the ambulance, get the facial composite of Ozzy Reece into the local press and TV and put his name out there.’

  ‘Isn’t it an alias?’ said Charlton.

  ‘Doesn’t mean he hasn’t used it in front of others.’

  ‘Okay. And for good measure get Noble to prepare a statement for the end of our media briefing this afternoon,’ said Charlton. ‘Would that suit?’

  ‘It would,’ replied Brook. ‘And after that, maybe we could go door-to-door in Shardlow.’

  ‘Shardlow?’

  ‘There’s a chance that’s where he lives.’

  Charlton’s expression became pained but he knew not to mention budgets again to Brook. ‘Let’s see what the media can throw up for us first.’

  Brook stood next to Terri’s VW in the station car park, bringing Noble up to speed on the phone.

  ‘Should I mention any of this in the briefing?’ asked Noble.

  ‘Yes, but keep it broad. The suspect is English but may have a keen interest in Egypt, may have visited or even lived there. Something like that. I printed off Petty’s email for Jane so she can chase up the Interpol inquiry. She’s also putting in calls to the Foreign Office and the British Council, see if that shakes anything out. If Reece ever lived in Egypt he may have done something similar and hopefully there’s a record.’

  ‘You know we’re going to get nothing, the state the country’s in.’

  Brook rang off and waved to Terri, who was walking towards him beside a tall young man with short, bleach-blond hair, deep blue eyes and a neat beard. He wore a back-to-front baseball cap on his head and casual but smart clothing. Brook was faintly pleased to see his trousers weren’t held up by his knees. He carried several boxes and bags, only one of which appeared to be his. Terri was smiling and flirting all the way and only looked towards her father when she was in earshot.

  ‘Hi, Dad.’ She grinned.

  Brook nodded. ‘If you’re busy, I can drive myself home, Terri.’

  She blushed and looked at her companion. ‘Dad, this is Ray. He’s studying Law at Derby University. He helped carry my shopping.’

  ‘Hello, Ray,’ said Brook. ‘Another lawyer — great.’

  ‘Hello, sir.’ Ray beamed. ‘Where shall I put these, Terri?’

  She opened the boot and the obliging Ray packed the bags and boxes in the small space, while Brook ran his eye over the young man, looking for tattoos. What he could see of his hands and arms were blemish-free so Brook stopped playing protector and ambled a few yards away to give them some space.

  ‘I don’t know how to thank you,’ Terri gushed.

  ‘I thought we already covered that,’ he teased.

  ‘I know,’ she said, a little embarrassed. ‘But I’m doing a dissertation and I’m staying with my dad.’

  ‘Don’t put me in the middle of this,’ Brook shouted over, pleased to be able to embarrass her.

  ‘There you are, Terri. Your dad knows work isn’t everything.’

  Terri looked at her father. ‘I wouldn’t be so sure.’ She laughed her submission. ‘I’ve got your number, okay.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ replied Ray. ‘Nice meeting you, sir,’ he said to Brook, waving a farewell to Terri and wiggling his hand in the internationally accepted sign for ‘Call me’.

  ‘You didn’t waste much time,’ said Brook, restraining a smile.

  Terri glanced at him. ‘I’m twenty already, Dad. There isn’t much time to waste.’

  Eighteen

  Brook and Terri rolled along in silence, punctuated by his directions through the Brisbane Estate. They pulled on to Yvette Thomson’s road and Brook spotted Len Poole cycling arthritically along the pavement in front of them. He held a large envelope tightly against one handlebar.

  ‘A pensioner in a tracksuit,’ said Terri. ‘Could anything be more wrong?’

  To Brook’s surprise, Poole turned on to Yvette Thomson’s driveway, dismounted and rapped aggressively on the glass door.

  ‘Pull over, Terri.’

  Terri looked at him and followed his eyes back to the squat figure of Poole. Without asking for explanation she pulled to the kerb and turned off the engine.

  Brook kept his eyes trained on the house as Poole looked around at neighbouring houses while he waited, flicking the envelope against his thigh. When the door didn’t open he rapped on the glass more vigorously, then walked to the large bay window and peered inside.

  ‘What’s wrong, Dad? Why have we stopped?’

  Brook reached into the back seat without breaking his surveillance. ‘I’ve got to drop off this laptop.’

  ‘This piece of junk,’ said Terri, examining it through the plastic. ‘I wouldn’t bother. Just stick it in the dustbin.’ She reached for the other plastic bag on the back seat. ‘Are these Adele’s?’

  Brook nodded without taking his eyes from Poole, still banging impatiently at the door. Terri isolated a book through the plastic and held it up for Brook. ‘Sylvia Path, Dad. See?’

  ‘I know. You were right.’ Brook watched as Yvette Thomson finally opened the door. Unfortunately she moved back almost at once so he couldn’t see her reaction as Poole stepped purposefully over the threshold. But the way she had ushered Poole into her home told its own story. The two of them knew each other.

  Brook wondered whether to sit tight or gamble. A second later, he took the computer from Terri. ‘Won’t be a minute.’

  ‘Can’t I come with you?’ asked Terri.

  ‘What?’

  ‘This is where one of the students lived, isn’t it?’

  ‘Russell Thomson.’

  ‘Then get me in there, Dad. You want to find these kids, don’t you? I can have a look at his room. Let you know what I think.’

  Brook considered the ethics of involving civilians, let alone family, in police business. Talking things through with her was one thing, it helped him think. Giving her free rein in a missing person’s room was quite another. He gestured her out with a flick of the head, still not sure he was doing the right thing. ‘Don’t touch anything. Don’t speak.’

  Brook hesitated at the door. He could hear Poole shouting. He thought he heard, ‘All these years. .’ but he couldn’t be sure.

  Terri shuffled uneasily next to him and kicked over an empty plant pot near the step. It rolled noisily along the concrete of the drive. The shouting from within stopped while Terri stared apologetically at her father. Brook resisted the temptation to roll his eyes and knocked firmly on the door instead.

  ‘Hello.’ Yvette smiled hesitantly, failing to invite him in. ‘Oh my God, what happened to your head?’

  Brook smiled back to confirm his well-being. ‘I had a bit of a fall. Nothing serious.’

  ‘You want to be more careful at your age,’ she teased. Her smile disappeared as quickly as it arrived. ‘Are there developments?’

  He decided against getting drawn into the Deity broadcasts. If she didn’t already know about them from the news, she soon would. ‘Nothing concrete.’

  ‘I saw that film,’ she said. ‘Poor Kyle. You think Rusty shot it, don’t you?’

  She hadn’t yet seen the Becky Blake film and Brook wasn’t about to enlighten her. ‘We can’t rule it out. It was shot before the party so. .’ He held out Russell’s laptop which she took from him without enthusiasm, before looking across at Terri. ‘This is Detective Constable Terry. I wonder if we could come in for a moment. We need to check a detail in Russell’s room.’

  Yvette wavered but before she could refuse to invite them in, Len Poole appeared behind her in his bright blue tracksuit.

  ‘Inspector. I thought that was your voice. Goodness, you’ve been in the wars. Any
news?’ He looked across at Terri and gave her a lingering up and down. Brook hoped it was the unconscious habit of the ex-pathologist.

  ‘There’s a press conference shortly and my guess is it will make the TV news.’

  Len nodded. ‘Better get back and watch it then.’ He scratched his head in consternation. ‘It’s a difficult time. I just came round to meet Yvette. Let her know we’re there for her if she needs support,’ he added, answering a question that hadn’t been asked. ‘We need to pull together when something like this happens.’

  Brook just smiled.

  ‘Well, I’d best be off. Nice to meet you, Yvette,’ said Len, turning to leave.

  ‘You too, Len.’ Yvette smiled. ‘Thank Alice for thinking of me. I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘What do you need to check, Inspector?’ she said when Len had gone.

  ‘Just something one of my underlings needs to verify. Upstairs, Constable. Chop, chop,’ said Brook to his daughter. ‘First on the left.’

  ‘Right away, sir,’ replied Terri, making a show of pulling on the latex gloves Brook had given her, before heading up the stairs.

  Yvette followed her progress. ‘She’s very young,’ she said when Terri was out of sight. ‘I suppose that’s a sign of my age.’

  ‘Start worrying when you’re as old as I am,’ answered Brook. He looked beyond her to the interior. ‘Any danger of a cup of coffee while I’m waiting?’

  Yvette handed Brook a cup and darted her eyes anxiously round the room. She gestured him to a seat.

  ‘Inspector Brook, you’ve been so kind.’ She laughed nervously. ‘I can’t keep calling you that.’ She cocked her head at Brook.

  ‘Damen,’ he answered reluctantly.

  ‘Damen. Interesting name.’

  ‘It’s German for Ladies,’ he said. ‘Don’t ask.’

  She smiled fulsomely at him. ‘I didn’t know men like you existed any more. You know, all the men I’ve ever met, even the boys like Wilson — they look at me in a certain way, but not you. You look at me and see a person, not a MILF.’

  Brook smiled and took a sip of coffee.

  ‘You know what I’m trying to say.’

  The conversation was heading where Brook hoped it wouldn’t. ‘Yvette — Eve,’ he corrected himself when she prepared to protest. ‘I can’t begin to imagine what you’re going through.’

  ‘Can’t you? I think you can. I can see it in your eyes.’

  Brook took another sip of coffee. Perhaps he was expected to give clarification, something he’d rather avoid. He kept silent, but when Yvette said nothing and wouldn’t drop her gaze, he realised she wouldn’t be denied.

  ‘You’re not married, are you?’ she said.

  ‘Not any more.’

  ‘How do you cope with the loneliness?’ Brook stared back without expression. ‘I’m a very lonely woman, Damen. I have been all my life. I never knew my father, and my mother died when I was young. I was put in care until I was old enough to live my own life.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I had no idea,’ Brook lied.

  She smiled sadly. ‘I can’t be alone, Damen. I won’t be. Since Rusty-’

  A door closed on the floor above and Terri descended to the hall. ‘All done, sir.’ She pulled off her gloves with a satisfying snap.

  Yvette and Brook followed Terri to the front door.

  ‘Thanks for the coffee,’ said Brook.

  ‘My pleasure, Damen.’

  As Brook followed Terri outside, Yvette allowed her hand to brush softly against his.

  ‘See you soon,’ she said.

  ‘I reckon those two know each other, Dad — before today, I mean,’ said Terri, when they were on the A52.

  Brook smiled across at her. ‘Chester.’

  ‘Chester?’

  ‘Yvette Thomson’s only lived in Derby for six months — she’s from North Wales and once lived in Chester. Len went to Chester with Mrs Kennedy for the weekend, the night of the party. It could be a coincidence. Len said he didn’t know her.’

  ‘He’s lying,’ said Terri. ‘But why pretend they don’t know each other when they do?’

  ‘Why does anybody lie?’ said Brook, avoiding her eye. ‘Something to hide from the past.’

  Terri nodded. ‘Maybe it’s something to do with that envelope.’

  Brook squirrelled an admiring glance her way. ‘You’re good at this, aren’t you?’

  She grinned with pleasure. ‘Must be genetic. What do you think was in it?’

  ‘I don’t know but I don’t think he had it when he left so he must have taken great pains to hide it.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I couldn’t find it when Yvette was making coffee.’

  Terri narrowed her eyes at her father. ‘Isn’t it illegal to search a house without a warrant?’

  ‘Absolutely. It’s on a par with impersonating a police officer.’

  Terri laughed. ‘Yvette didn’t seem to catch on, Damen.’

  ‘Let’s hope she doesn’t remember you,’ said Brook, ignoring his daughter’s insinuating tone.

  But Terri wasn’t to be deflected. ‘Are you and her. .?’ She tilted her head suggestively.

  ‘Certainly not,’ replied Brook. ‘She’s part of an investigation. Her son is missing and she’s very vulnerable. That would be opportunism of the worst kind.’

  ‘But if she wasn’t involved in a case?’ Brook concentrated on the road. ‘Taking the fifth on that one, Damen? Well, she’s certainly pretty.’ Brook wasn’t to be tempted into an answer. ‘And far too attractive for that dirty old Len. Did you see the way he looked me over?’

  ‘I did. But he may just be Slab Happy.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘He used to be a pathologist. It’s a habit in people who work with the dead. They assess people’s height and weight. Just in case. They don’t know they’re doing it.’

  Terri pulled a face. ‘Gruesome.’

  ‘What about Russell? Did you get a feel for him?’

  ‘Sort of. There’s a poster missing. Do you know what it was?’

  ‘No. Miss Thomson couldn’t remember.’

  ‘Pity. And without books he’s a tough read but, no books,’ she raised an eyebrow, ‘that’s significant in itself.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He’s more of a plotter than a thinker.’

  ‘Plotter?’

  ‘Director would be a better word. Probably where he gets his love of films.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Look, this may be completely offbeam. He may just be a film buff and his tastes may be completely random. .’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But if you were to assume his character from the posters in his room, there are one or two pointers. The Blair Witch Project, for instance. Did you know the makers built its reputation by using the internet? They created a website that treated the disappearance of three students investigating reports of a supernatural entity, as a real event.’ Brook looked at her. ‘I know. Spooky, eh?’

  ‘And people got hooked on the mystery like they are with Deity?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘What happened to the students in the end?’

  ‘It was a bit vague but I think they died.’

  Brook nodded. ‘Similar to Picnic at Hanging Rock. Anything else?’

  ‘Have you seen Badlands?’

  ‘Actually I have. I saw it with your mother a long time ago. I can’t remember much about it.’

  ‘It’s about a mindless teenage killer played by Martin Sheen. He’s on the run and heading for the Canadian border and safety.’

  ‘Go on,’ said Brook, trying to remember.

  ‘He’s getting away — just a few miles from the border — but suddenly he stops and shoots out his tyres.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he’d rather die on the electric chair and be famous than live in obscurity for the rest of his life. Think that’s what Russell and the others were planning?’

  ‘Well,
they’re more famous than they were a week ago.’

  The press conference was now featured on the national news channels, as were parts of the two internet films from the Deity broadcasts. They didn’t carry the appeal for information about the suspect in The Embalmer case although it went out after the main news on the local East Midlands bulletins.

  ‘They’ve found their audience,’ said Terri, looking up from the Sylvia Plath book. ‘Are you feeling okay, Dad?’

  He snapped out of his reverie and switched off the TV. ‘Bit of a headache.’

  ‘I’m not surprised.’

  Brook padded into the kitchen for some tablets and returned to sink into a chair with the photocopies from Adele’s diary. He swallowed two aspirins with a gulp of Aberlour to wash them down. ‘I can’t help thinking I’ve seen The Embalmer’s face before last night — except it’s wrong.’

  ‘Wrong? What’s wrong?’

  ‘The face.’

  ‘Looked pretty regulation to me,’ said Terri. Then: ‘Listen to this, Dad.’ She read ‘Suicide Off Egg Rock’ from the Plath anthology. When she finished the line I am, I am, I am, she said, ‘Need I say more?’

  Brook nodded thoughtfully. ‘Adele wrote the same line in the front of her diary.’

  ‘You still won’t let me read it?’

  Brook grimaced. ‘There’s a big difference between giving your impressions on her collection of books or Russell’s taste in films and actually looking through their thoughts.’

  ‘I don’t see it.’

  ‘But I do. I’ve been doing this a long time and, believe me, putting yourself in someone’s head is not healthy. Doubly so if that person’s a victim. Or a killer. I’ll let you know if I need advice on something. That reminds me. What does,’ he checked a detail in Adele’s diary, ‘WGAF mean to you?’

  ‘Who gives a fuck?’ she answered.

  ‘I do.’

  ‘No, I mean. .’ Terri pushed back her chair at first sight of her father’s grin. ‘Very funny. I’m tired. If I’m driving you in early tomorrow, I’d better get some sleep.’