by Steven Dunne
‘And he provided that living because if his paternity ever came to light, he would be ruined,’ said Brook. Yvette shrugged as if only just realising. ‘So wherever he moved, he would send for you and set you up in a place nearby.’
She smiled. ‘Something like that.’
‘And give you money.’
‘Yes.’
‘Cash?’
‘Always.’
‘Even after he married his late wife?’
‘Len was aware of his responsibilities,’ said Yvette carefully.
Brook paused before the next question. ‘Did the sexual relationship continue after Russell’s birth?’
‘I’m not a whore,’ repeated Yvette. ‘I don’t have sex for money.’
‘Is that a no?’
‘That’s a no.’
‘Because once you left the orphanage carrying his child, you had the upper hand in your relationship.’
She shrugged again. ‘You could say.’
‘But something changed recently, didn’t it?’ Yvette opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it. ‘When I called last night, Len was at your house, wasn’t he?’
She looked up, startled. ‘How did you know?’
‘I didn’t. But I knew you had somebody with you and I suspected it was either Adam Rifkind or Len.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘You know about Adam?’
‘Not for certain, but he called you Eve when we dropped in on his lecture. That automatically makes him a special friend.’
‘It was only that one time at his holiday cottage,’ she mumbled.
‘So last night it was Len.’
‘Yes.’
‘You had sex with him?’
Yvette grinned at Brook. ‘For what it’s worth.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that two minutes is all the old bastard can manage these days.’
‘You don’t sound very fond of him.’
‘I hate him,’ spat Yvette.
‘Then why did you have sex with him?’ No answer. ‘He demanded sex, didn’t he?’
Yvette looked down at the floor. ‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s a dirty old man,’ she replied sourly, looking at Brook with contempt. ‘Like all men. Like you. Wherever I go you look at my body as if it belongs to you. Lusting after me. You, your Sergeant, Adam, that dopey kid Wilson. You only want one thing and you won’t be satisfied unless you get it.’
Brook’s expression was unmoved by the accusation. ‘Does that mean you refused?’
The wind taken out of her sails, eventually she answered, ‘No.’
‘Because you didn’t have the upper hand any more?’
A pause. ‘No.’
‘Because he knew about Russell’s death.’
Yvette shook her head. ‘No. He didn’t know the first thing about Russell. Len wasn’t interested and never had been.’
‘But he knew something was wrong.’
Yvette sighed. ‘Me and Russell bumped into Len from time to time as he grew up. Small towns — you couldn’t help it.’
Brook nodded. ‘But when you followed him to Derby six months ago, he knew Rusty wasn’t his son.’
‘Yes. After Russell. . we tried very hard to make sure Len never saw Rusty and it worked fine until Len spotted him at Parents’ Evening. He came to pick Alice up and Kyle introduced them. He knew straight away he wasn’t Russell.’
‘So what did Len do?’
‘At first he threatened to stop the money, but then he seemed to change his mind. Said he was sorry, that he’d been hasty. A couple of days later he came round with the money, as usual. But instead of just dropping it off, he said he needed to use the bathroom.’ She laughed. ‘Well, Rusty was wise to that.’
‘He was there?’
‘No, Rusty was never at home, always out filming stuff in the streets. But he knew after meeting him that it wouldn’t take Len long to look for proof he wasn’t his father. And then. .’
‘No more money,’ finished Brook.
‘Right. So we were careful. Rusty’s bedroom was a fake — his idea. His books, his posters — simple. His room but he never went in there, not once, so he couldn’t leave DNA, hairs, that sort of thing.’
‘So you set the room up to make it look like his.’ Brook nodded.
‘And when Len called we knew he’d be straight in there looking for DNA. Well, it used to be his job, didn’t it?’
‘And when he went to the bathroom he stole Rusty’s toothbrush,’ said Brook.
‘No. Rusty wasn’t stupid. He hid his toothbrush in the bottom of my knickers drawer.’
Brook picked up an evidence bag and placed it down in front of Yvette. ‘This toothbrush?’
Yvette stared at it. ‘Where did you find that?’
‘Where you said. In your underwear drawer, in your bedroom.’
‘In my bedroom,’ she echoed.
‘Is that Rusty’s toothbrush?’ Yvette stared some more.
‘Yvette.’
She looked up at Brook and nodded faintly.
‘Please answer yes or no.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Thank you. Now this is where I get confused. If Rusty hid his toothbrush in your bedroom, how did Len get proof Rusty wasn’t his son?’
‘He didn’t. But he did the next best thing.’
Brook stared at her for a moment, processing the information. ‘Of course. He took your toothbrush instead. That’s why you had to buy a new one.’
‘Yes,’ said Yvette.
‘Len didn’t need to prove that he wasn’t Rusty’s father, just that you weren’t his real mother. And if you weren’t Rusty’s real mother then he couldn’t be the father.’
‘Sly old bastard. We didn’t think of that.’
‘But that still begs the question: if Rusty’s bedroom was clean, how did Len get a sample of Rusty’s DNA?’
Yvette shrugged. ‘That I don’t know.’
‘Where is Rusty?’
‘I don’t know,’ she repeated with more force. ‘Everything I’ve told you about his disappearance is true. I haven’t seen him since the day before Kyle’s party. I don’t know where he is. I wish I did. You’ve got my phone. You must know how many times I’ve tried to get in touch with him.’
Brook took the phone from the evidence bag and handed it to her. ‘Show me a recent picture of Rusty.’
‘I told you. We had to be careful. There aren’t any pictures of him.’
Brook took the phone from her and, following Cooper’s instructions, scrolled down several photographs until he had the one he wanted. ‘Then who’s that?’ He turned the phone round to show Yvette the picture of the dark-haired boy with a small goatee beard. It had been taken three weeks previously.
Yvette gazed at the picture and smiled faintly. Her expression returned to neutral and she pushed the phone back to Brook. ‘That’s Philippe.’
‘Philippe?’
‘I called him Phil. He was an exchange student from Paris.’
‘Was?’
‘He went back to France two weeks ago. I met him at the college.’ She smiled fondly. ‘He’s an orphan like me.’
‘Is he a friend of Rusty’s?’
‘Rusty doesn’t know him. He’s a student, that’s all. Rusty was spending more and more time. .’ Yvette pursed her lips around the rest of the sentence.
‘And did you sleep with Philippe?’
This time there was no tantrum. She sighed. ‘He was nice to me.’ She looked at her solicitor who picked up the baton.
‘Is this relevant?’ said Roger Sands. ‘Is my client being charged with being friendly to her fellow students?’
Brook smiled. ‘Sorry. Just trying to be thorough. Let’s talk again about the boy filming on Exeter Bridge. You said you weren’t sure if it was Rusty. Was that a lie?’
She nodded. ‘I think it’s him. He looked like Rusty, moved like Rusty.’
Brook sat back
in the chair. ‘Tell me about him.’
‘I love him.’
‘Don’t tell me about you. Tell me about him,’ insisted Brook.
‘Don’t you think we ought to take a break there, Inspector?’ interjected Sands, the solicitor. ‘My client has cooperated fully.’
Brook didn’t take his eyes from Yvette as he raised his hand to halt the interruption. ‘What about the other students? What do you think he’s up to?’ continued Brook.
‘I honestly don’t know,’ said Yvette. ‘But as soon as he arrived he latched on to that Adele Watson. She felt sorry for him at first but she’s smart. She knew he had. .’ she paused, looking for the right words ‘. . hidden depths.’
‘So he became her friend.’
‘Sort of.’
‘Like he became Russell’s friend?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you think Rusty saw Adele as another soul in torment? Do you think he’s encouraging her to end her suffering? And Kyle? And Becky?’
‘You think he enjoys it!’ exclaimed Yvette.
‘I do.’
‘Rusty could be dead, for all you know. He could be the victim. Somebody could be hurting him as we speak.’
‘You still protect him even though he’s not coming back.’
‘What do you mean?’ she flared. ‘He loves me. Of course he’s coming back.’
‘He doesn’t love you any more, Yvette. That’s why he gave you to us.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Three years ago he helped Russell kill himself then took photographs of his dead body. And when he decided the time was right, he included the picture of your dead son in the Deity broadcast for the whole world to see. He’s moving on, Yvette.’
‘No.’
‘Was it jealousy? Couldn’t he stand sharing you with Len? Or Wilson? Or Rifkind?’ Brook studied her as she processed the information.
‘It must have been a mistake,’ protested Yvette. ‘He wouldn’t betray me.’
‘He already has. How long do you think it took us to make the link? He knew we’d be doing background checks on all the parents. He knew we’d find the link with Len. He knew we’d spot the picture and work out that you were living in the area at the time of the hanging. He knew we’d get a sample of Russell’s DNA to compare with yours. He’s given you to us on a plate, Yvette, because he’s done with you. Now, why don’t you tell us where he is?’
Her eyes blazed. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,’ she screamed, sobbing furiously now.
Brook looked at his watch and then at Sands for the first time. ‘Now we can take a break.’
‘Do we believe her?’ asked Charlton, staring at the monitor showing Yvette Thomson, head in her hands, in the Interview Room.
‘I think so,’ said Brook, draining his tea. ‘Don’t forget she rushed down to the river when Len told her we’d found a body. She wouldn’t have done that unless she thought it might be Rusty. And if she’d had anything to do with Wilson’s death she wouldn’t have set foot near the place.’
‘So what are you thinking? This fake Russell Thomson is responsible for all this?’
‘He’s the fox in the henhouse, sir. He doesn’t belong. He’s not a teenager and he’s not vulnerable. But everyone he meets who is disposed to suicide is at risk from him.’
‘And Wilson?’
‘My guess is he went to pester Yvette for sex after the assault on Kyle. Rusty was filming the assault and must’ve followed him. Somewhere along the line, Rusty got hold of him and got into his head. And then he killed himself.’
‘Softened up with drugs?’ asked Charlton.
‘We get the autopsy results today. But I’m betting he was. By all accounts Wilson was too stupid to be vulnerable otherwise.’
Charlton blew out his cheeks. ‘Why’s he doing this, besides messing with our heads?’
‘Rusty?’ Brook thought about it for a second. ‘The short answer — fun.’
‘And the long one?’
‘It’s about control,’ said Brook. ‘Taking power from others gives him a control he needed in his early life but never had. Persuading people to kill themselves puts him in charge of his destiny — and others’. Maybe Yvette’s son was the first. But after that he got a taste for it.’
Charlton sighed and looked at his watch. ‘Four hours to the next broadcast. What are we charging Yvette with?’
‘We’re holding her under the murder warrant at the moment until the DNA checks are done.’
‘But you don’t think that will stick.’
‘Do we really want it to?’ said Brook. ‘I mean, she’s almost as much a victim as her son.’
‘I know, but Assisting a Suicide or Allowing the Death of a Child hardly seems sufficient,’ replied Charlton.
‘No charge does. Reserve your anger for Leonard Poole, sir. Noble’s picking him up now.’
‘No Sergeant Noble today?’ asked Dr Petty.
‘We’re a bit stretched at the moment,’ said Brook with a smile. ‘Don’t worry. He’s working.’
‘That’s no comfort for my loss of a Sunday lie-in.’
‘No. We appreciate it, believe me,’ replied Brook, deep in thought.
‘Glad to hear it.’ She held his gaze a moment, waiting for more concrete evidence of his appreciation but Brook was oblivious. ‘So, Osiris, eh? Some people are never happy in their own skin. And making sure he has a few helpers in the afterlife — seems logical when you think of it like that. Any news?’
‘He won’t get far. Not that he wants to. He’s digging in somewhere.’
‘Here we are. Phencyclidine,’ she read. ‘PCP or angel dust on the streets. Wilson had high levels in his bloodstream and would’ve been prone to hallucination and in a severe dissociative state.’
‘So — easily handled or manipulated.’
‘Very suggestible,’ agreed Petty. ‘But even without someone egging him on, anything is possible. There have been numerous cases of suicides, self-mutilations. .’
‘Anything else of note?’
‘Yes. I skipped breakfast this morning and I’m starving.’
At that moment Brook’s mobile began to vibrate. ‘John.’ He listened for a moment. ‘I’ll be right there.’
‘Rain check?’ ventured Petty.
Instead of staying to ask if she was American, Brook raised a hand in acknowledgement and headed for the door.
Brook stood staring at the Jaguar. ‘Len’s precious Jag, not even locked.’
‘The keys are in the ignition.’
‘You’ve tried his house and Alice’s.’
‘No sign. She hasn’t seen him.’
Brook moved round to the driver’s door and peered inside. He took out a handkerchief and opened the door and examined the cracked leather seat. ‘You’re right. It’s blood. You checked the boot?’ Noble answered with a mocking eyebrow. ‘Sorry.’
‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’ asked Noble.
‘That maybe someone was waiting here for him and took him.’
‘But who? Yvette?’
‘She had motive and plenty of opportunity,’ said Brook.
‘But if she was going to abduct or attack him she could have done that at her house and she wouldn’t have had to sleep with him first.’
‘Who then?’
‘Only one other candidate,’ answered Brook. ‘Rusty.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he does have feelings for Yvette and he wants to even the score for her. Wilson’s been dealt with. .’
‘. . andnowLen’sstoppedpayingthebills,he’s expendable,’ finished Noble.
‘Get a team over here. Have you canvassed?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Get Cooper to help you.’
‘Not your skill set?’ teased Noble.
‘I promised Gadd I’d run my eye over Lee Smethwick’s boat.’
Twenty-Five
Brook parked next to the Scientific Support van a
nd stepped from the car. The sun was shining and the Trent sparkled invitingly. He checked his watch — two hours until the next broadcast, maybe the final one — then stepped under the police tape. A watching elderly couple billed and cooed their excitement at living so close to a potential crime scene and gaped at Brook in wonder, as though he were the star of a film premiere.
‘Sir.’ DS Gadd beckoned Brook on to the narrow boat.
‘Jane. Found anything?’
‘A treasure trove of evidence — he’s got books about Egyptian funeral rites, Ancient Egyptian gods, embalming, mummification. .’
‘All circumstantial — anything linking him to the vagrants?’
Gadd shook her head. ‘Not yet. He knew we were coming. There’s no paperwork and no hint of where he might have gone. Maybe Forensics can turn something up.’
‘You’ve worked up his background?’
‘Yes, sir. Lee Smethwick. Forty-four years old. Originally from Bradford. No wife, no children, no living relatives. He’s widely travelled with the Merchant Marine but that was nearly twenty years ago. One thing — Smethwick has lung cancer and he found out six months ago that it was terminal.’
‘Sounds like a trigger.’
‘He’s got a year at most.’
‘The same as most of his victims,’ said Brook. ‘No criminal record, you said.’
‘No.’
‘Work record?’
‘Varied. He doesn’t seem to stay in jobs longterm. He’s worked as a chef at Derby College for the past year and before that, cooking at various pubs. He did a turn at Rolls-Royce ten years ago. Not in the kitchens though. He’s a qualified engineer, which may explain something we found on the boat.’
‘Show me.’
She ushered Brook through the only door. The boat was sparsely furnished befitting the single male — a shelf of books, a sofa which doubled as a bed, a small television, a stove and a tiny galley. Dominating the middle of the cabin was a table with a scale-model of some kind of building on it. Gadd walked over to it.
‘A model of a building,’ said Brook.
‘Yes, sir, but here’s the interesting part.’ She pointed at a doorway on the model which had a small rectangular piece of stone balanced on its end in front of it. The stone was held up by an intricate web of string which was trapped under another small block of stone, itself balanced over a hole. ‘Watch.’ Gadd removed a pin from a small hessian pouch, containing sand. The sand began to trickle out into the hole beneath the second stone. As the hole filled, the pressure of the rising sand increased on the second stone until it was lifted sufficiently to allow the string to be freed, thus lowering the first stone across the doorway. ‘Wherever he is, we think Smethwick may be intending to seal his victims inside the building.’
