The Reaper didb-1

by Steven Dunne

  ‘Most of us don’t feel compelled to scrub up every fifteen minutes,’ observed Brook.

  ‘Indeed it is so. What else? There were no alien fibres on any of the victims, no skin, no foreign hairs. He’s been very careful. Assuming he has hair. Lots of people don’t, you know.’

  ‘Most people have skin though,’ Noble chipped in.

  The good doctor could only shrug. ‘Maybe your own forensics people can find something on the clothing. The parents had drunk a little wine before they died, if that helps. The killer must have drunk the rest. Not a surprise, it looked expensive…’

  ‘How do you know he had a drink?’ interrupted Brook.

  ‘Because of the bottle.’ Brook and Noble showed no signs of enlightenment so Habib continued. ‘There isn’t enough wine left, Inspector.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Noble.

  ‘I’m guessing, of course. I saw the bottle at the scene. Going by what was in the glasses and the minute amount ingested by the victims…’

  Brook nodded. ‘If we add what’s in the glasses to the bottle, some will be missing. More than Bobby and Mrs Wallis can account for.’ Habib smiled his assent. ‘Just because he left no trace of having drunk any wine, doesn’t mean he didn’t raise a glass of his own to celebrate then take it with him.’

  ‘Christ,’ muttered Noble.

  ‘Only a small one. He wouldn’t want to contravene Her Majesty’s drink driving laws,’ added Habib, with a guilty chortle.

  ‘No,’ agreed Brook. ‘He wouldn’t want to get himself in too deep.’ He was pleased to see Noble taking offence. ‘Go on, doctor.’

  ‘Well. Let’s see.’ Habib adjusted his glasses. ‘The blood on the wall, the writing, is from the girl I think, AB negative, quite rare. Your lab people will have to confirm that as well but the smears on her neck indicate that someone has pushed their fingers into the wound.’

  ‘Have you got anything we can use to catch this man, doctor?’ asked Noble impatiently.

  Dr Habib smiled back at him. ‘Yes, yes. Of course. Two things, don’t you know?’ Habib removed his glasses and looked grim. ‘Bad business, bad business,’ he said shaking his head. ‘How old was the girl, Inspector?’

  ‘Eleven. Why?’

  ‘Well, when I said there was no sign of sexual assault that wasn’t strictly true.’

  ‘You mean she was raped.’

  ‘Oh no. I mean. Well yes. How can I put this?’

  ‘Any way you like, doctor. As long as it’s quick.’

  ‘The girl’s hymen was no longer intact.’ Again Habib turned to Noble to spell it out for him. ‘She wasn’t a virgin, Sergeant.’

  ‘The bastard raped her!’ said Noble, through gritted teeth.

  ‘Yes, Sergeant. As a minor, legally speaking, she must have been raped. But…’

  Brook nodded. He knew where this was going. ‘But not last night.’

  Habib pointed his forefinger at Brook. ‘Exactly, Inspector Brook. It is just so.’

  ‘You mean…?’ Noble was taking his time. He hadn’t been around as long as Brook.

  ‘Yes, John. That’s what he means.’

  ‘Who could do that?’

  ‘Assuming the girl wasn’t in a consensual sexual relationship…’

  ‘She was eleven years old, for Christ’s sake,’ pleaded Noble.

  ‘Well then.’

  ‘You mean her father…?’

  ‘It fits. There was a girl in one of the Reaper killings in London. The father was a pimp. She’d been sexually abused. Fathers and daughters, John-it’s an old song.’ Brook thought of Terri and just as quickly pushed it out of his mind. ‘And it would explain where Jason gets his own violent inclinations.’

  ‘I suppose,’ agreed Noble softly.

  His incomprehension touched Brook, reminded him how young he was. ‘What was the second thing, doctor?’

  ‘The second thing?’ Habib had been momentarily distracted by the bad business. ‘Yes. You’re looking for a medical man. An older, medical man, I would say: someone who may have access to a dispensary and has a sophisticated knowledge of drugs. Remember there was no struggle? There was a good reason. All the victims were poisoned-Scopolamine, sometimes called Hyoscine. It’s a narcotic and mydriatic. It induces sleepiness and dilation of the pupil…’ he added for Noble’s benefit. ‘…in the eye.’

  ‘There are also traces of morphine. Doses are very difficult to get right so he’d have to know what he was doing. We’ve found traces ingested by all the victims. It could have been administered in powdered extract on top of the pizzas. It would look a bit like parmesan cheese or salt. From the stomach contents I’d say the girl ate from only one pizza, the parents had pieces of them all-they had pepperoni, prawns, ham-in their stomachs.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘There was enough to kill, which is rare with Scopolamine, but I’m supposing this wouldn’t be too big a problem for him. They wouldn’t have been able to ingest it all before they started feeling unwell, so the parents didn’t receive a fatal dose. However, it would take a lot less to kill the girl and she would probably have died whether her throat was cut or not.’

  ‘And would it paralyse them?’ asked Brook.

  ‘Most likely. If conscious they’d find it quite difficult to move, though not impossible. They’d be seriously disorientated, somnolent and delirious.’

  ‘Why do you say an older man?’ asked Noble.

  ‘Because of the history of the two drugs. Scopolamine used to be combined with morphine as an anaesthetic but that was many years ago, before the Second World War. It induced an effect known as Twilight Sleep. The same procedure was used in childbirth in the sixties but it fell out of use because the patient would be conscious but unable to feel or move which often caused complications. The parents had a larger dose than the girl. It’s almost as if he knew which pizza they were going to eat.’

  ‘He did,’ said Noble. ‘He rang to take their orders.’

  ‘Blimey! This gentleman’s very good.’

  ‘Would it affect the vocal chords?’

  ‘Indeed it is so, Inspector. How would you know that?’

  ‘They weren’t gagged.’

  ‘That’s right. They would have been suffering from laryngeal paralysis.’ Habib turned to explain himself to Noble but was halted by a raised hand.

  ‘I understand,’ he countered.

  ‘Quite so, Sergeant,’ Habib nodded. ‘Although in this case, suffered is the wrong word.’ Brook was broken from his thoughts. ‘They wouldn’t have felt much. A mild discomfort, perhaps, even when they were cut open.’

  ‘They didn’t suffer?’

  ‘Very unlikely.’

  ‘Well done Wendy…PC Jones,’ Brook muttered in appreciation before glancing covertly at Noble to see if his carelessness had registered. It appeared not. ‘Anything else, doc?’

  ‘Not for the moment. I’ll let you have my report as soon as it’s typed up. We’re short-staffed…’

  ‘Thank you, doctor. We’ll take a break before the ID. Let you get on with things.’

  Brook started to follow Noble before turning back to the doctor. He hesitated and looked to the retreating Noble, who held the door for him before realising Brook wasn’t behind him.

  ‘Get me a coffee, would you, John? There’s a machine round the corner.’

  Brook waited for him to disappear before facing the expectant Habib. ‘Doctor.’ He hesitated again. He was about to commit a severe breach of protocol. If he wasn’t careful he wouldn’t have any friends left in the Force. ‘Inspector Greatorix asked me to run my eye over the Annie Sewell case, if it’s ready. I know you’re short-staffed…’ he interjected to forestall yet another airing for Habib’s favourite topic.

  ‘Bad business, Inspector. Bad business. Do you want to give him the report? I’ve got it here,’ he said, rummaging for another folder.

  ‘Well no. He said to take a photocopy and to be sure not to tell him that I’d got one.’ Brook spoke
as emphatically as required and lifted his eyebrows into a quizzical half-smile. Dr Habib stopped and looked at him carefully to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood. Then he broke into a broad eighteen-carat grin.

  ‘Inspector Brook, you’re such a naughty boy, very naughty indeed. Take this one,’ he said, shaking his head in amused disbelief. ‘I have other copies. But if he finds out…’ he shouted at Brook’s back.

  Brook raised a hand to acknowledge.

  ‘Problem, sir?’ Noble gingerly held out the hot liquid in the too-thin cup.

  ‘Not at all, John. Just thought I’d better tell the good doctor not to suggest looking for an elderly Asian medical expert in his final report. We wouldn’t want him ending up in a cell, would we? Throw that garbage away, John. Are you trying to give me heartburn?’

  They walked back to the main entrance and stepped outside. The rain had stopped for the moment though the sky was still leaden. Brook looked at his watch. ‘Young Wallis is due in half an hour. Who’s with him?’

  ‘DC Gadd, sir.’

  ‘Right. And Mrs Harrison?’

  ‘Coming under her own steam. She knows the way, she’s a nurse.’

  ‘Fine. We’ll wait. There’s a chuck wagon in the car park. We’ll have a proper cup of tea. My treat.’

  Brook walked next to Habib, followed by DC Gadd, petite and pretty with short, bobbed blonde hair and pert features, guiding a handcuffed Jason Wallis with one hand. His aunt, a portly woman in the mould of her dead sister, walked on the other side of Jason. She seemed preoccupied but, being a nurse, was inevitably calmer than most faced with such an ordeal. Noble brought up the rear, next to the social worker, Carly Graham, and the duty solicitor who had picked up Jason’s case.

  Brook glanced over his shoulder at Wallis with a mixture of satisfaction and pity. The cockiness was gone and he was concentrating hard on the floor. The baby was back, trembling below the surface, ready to bawl.

  Carly Graham detached herself from the back and quick-marched to speak to Brook. ‘Inspector…’

  ‘Nice to see you again, Miss Graham.’ He held out his hand to shake hers.

  ‘Inspector, can I speak to you?’

  Brook slowed to listen. ‘No problem.’

  ‘Is it necessary that Jason be handcuffed?’

  Brook looked aghast then smiled appreciatively at Miss Graham. ‘Miss Graham, I hadn’t realised. Thank you for mentioning it. Constable Gadd, why is Jason handcuffed? I don’t think that’s necessary. He’s not going anywhere.’ DC Gadd raised an eyebrow and looked over at Noble who looked away. Then she removed the handcuffs from Jason who massaged his wrists in time-honoured fashion. ‘I’m sorry about that, Miss Graham-crossed wires somewhere along the line.’

  ‘Thank you, Inspector.’

  ‘No thank you for pointing it out, Carly. May I call you Carly?’ She flushed and Brook beamed at her. ‘Sometimes official procedures can be quite heartless.’

  Brook turned and caught Noble’s amused eye. Then he looked at the boy and felt a pang of guilt. This was tough on him. Perhaps, no matter what he was or what he’d done, he didn’t deserve what had happened to him. Then Brook remembered the face of hate from the hospital, remembered the ordeal of the teacher threatened with rape. Unless something was done, Jason Wallis would end up like his father.

  The thought of Bobby Wallis-and Kylie-brought Terri and her stepfather to mind. Brook tried to clear it away. Then something else drifted into his mind. He thought of Laura Maples again-for once outside of his dreams. Perhaps seeing her necklace again…or perhaps being in a mortuary with grieving relatives…

  DS Brook stopped at the end of the corridor and stood in front of the door, barring the way, arms outstretched like a bouncer outside a nightclub. ‘This isn’t necessary, Mr Maples. Your wife…’

  Maples turned his heavy-set face to Brook and fixed him with his bloodshot eyes. The silence was massive here. No longer the distraction of footsteps clattering around the white-tiled walls. No more the need for monosyllabic cliches to divert the mind. There was nothing now to drown the well-mannered snuffling being suffocated behind Mrs Maples’handkerchief-it was rude to impose grief on others where they came from. Grief was private tragedy, not public embarrassment.

  Suddenly aware of the genteel noise being suppressed by his wife, Maples turned and hugged her to his chest. She was tiny, diminished against her husband, who wasn’t tall himself. It was as though she were folding in on herself to touch the parts that mattered. Her spirit. Her womb.

  Then Maples held his wife away from him and bent his head close to hers. ‘It’s okay, love. You stay here, Jean.’ She didn’t reply, or couldn’t, so he guided her to a nearby bench and eased her down. The sobbing was hushed a little, as though the prospect of not seeing revived hope. Perhaps their daughter was still missing. Alive somewhere. Happy.

  Maples stood up to face Brook as best he could. His forehead was creased in pain and confusion. His greying hair was wilder than the rest of his appearance. Even for this, or perhaps especially for this, Maples wore a neat, slate-grey suit with a pale yellow shirt and dark green tie, knotted harshly into his flabby chin.

  ‘Not necessary, Sergeant? Not necessary? Do you have children?’

  Brook nodded. ‘A baby girl, sir. Theresa.’ Brook felt a sudden rush of shame. His daughter was alive. Laura Maples was dead. There was no call to goad the poor man with his good fortune.

  Maples nodded back. His eyes pierced Brook and a bitter smile sympathised with him. They shared the look that spoke of secret dread, the dread that gripped all fathers of daughters.

  Words weren’t required for Brook but they were forMaples. ‘We haven’t seen Laura for over a year. We can’t stop the images unless we see her, I see her. She’s all we have and whatever condition she’s in, we want to talk to her. Then we want to take her home with us. Lay her to rest. Does that sound unnecessary?’

  Brook acquiesced with a prolonged blink of his eyes. He understood very well. Her dental records couldn’t bring comfort. Her parents might. They could be a family again.

  Brook opened the double doors to the tiny Chapel of Rest, tucked away in one corner of the sprawl of Hammersmith Hospital. The technician, who had stood apart during all the heart-wrenching, head bowed, hands clasped in front, the professional invisible, moved forward at Brook’s nod and eased himself between Maples and the cheap coffin perched on the plinth at the far end of the chamber.

  With practised ease he removed the lid and stood back into the shadows. Brook watched from the door as Maples inched forward.

  A few feet from the coffin, he staggered slightly then fell forward onto the container. He turned away then looked back. His shoulders began to shudder and his head began to shake. Brook heard, ‘Why did you leave us, love?’ and stepped outside the door. He beckoned the mortician to join him. The mortician obeyed without looking up or unclasping his hands.

  Eventually Maples walked out of the chapel, his face blank, eyes like small planets. ‘Mr Maples, I’m very sorry. If there’s anything I can do…’

  Maples turned, wild-eyed, tears trickling down his face. He nodded, emitting a bitter laugh. ‘There is. Lock yourdaughter in a room and keep her there until her wedding day.’

  Brook stepped over to Jason and took him by the sleeve. ‘That’s far enough, Jason. You and Miss Graham can wait here until we’re done.’ Jason heaved a sigh and leaned back against the wall. He continued to look at the floor until the attendant arrived and opened the double doors of the mortuary. Unfortunately Brook had positioned Jason a few feet too near the entrance and when the doors opened his head lifted towards the sudden shaft of bright sunlight from the high windows which streamed across three sheet-covered mounds. His lip began to quiver and Brook motioned Gadd and the duty solicitor to stay with Jason, while he, Noble, Mrs Harrison and the attendant slipped quickly into the bright room, closing the doors behind them.

  Dr Habib had returned to his office. The mortuary attendant stood ready.
Noble and Brook hung back, looking at each other rather than towards the bodies.

  One by one, Mrs Harrison, head bowed, was shown the bodies. No words were exchanged, just a look from the attendant and a nod back from the nurse towards Brook.

  Only when the smallest mound was revealed to Mrs Harrison did her composure begin to crumble. She turned towards Brook and nodded then she bowed her head again and began to sob gently. ‘Poor Kylie,’ she gulped. ‘She didn’t deserve to die like that.’

  Brook opened the door before Mrs Harrison rejoined them. Jason was still outside so Brook pulled the door back as far as he could to let him see the re-covered corpses. ‘Jason, why don’t you wait outside in the fresh air?’ If Jason heard, he didn’t react. Instead he stared, saucer-eyed, beyond Brook towards the stainless steel trolleys, eyes wide but not appearing to see.

  Then Jason clamped his eyes shut and began to pant. Brook grabbed his arm and held it tight, feeling him trying to peel away. He felt Jason shivering beneath his grubby jacket and guided him away from the piercing winter sunlight back towards the gloom of the corridor. Then the boy started to sob. Carly Graham appeared at Jason’s other arm to help support him.

  Out in the cold air, Jason could hold his stomach no longer and he ran behind a parked car to vomit. Eventually he was able to stand upright. DC Gadd produced a bottle of water.

  Brook offered Jason one of Noble’s cigarettes, which he accepted and smoked urgently. From time to time he would spit to expunge any stray morsels of his last meal. He wouldn’t, couldn’t speak.

  Brook watched him, guilt tugging at him. He felt sorry for the lad now but was still pleased with the result. That was the reaction he wanted. The reaction that showed him not only had Jason not killed his family-which he knew-but that in there, somewhere deep inside his layers of hatred and mistrust, Jason was hiding a proper person, someone who could distinguish right from wrong, someone who knew how to treat others and could be a useful member of society. Perhaps it wasn’t too late for Jason. Perhaps he could be saved. Saved? Brook nodded. Saved. The writing was on the wall.