by Steven Dunne
‘Don’t be,’ said Brook. When she went to fetch the keys he added, ‘Nobody else is.’
After phoning Noble to update him about Mrs North, Brook and Grant walked back towards the crime scene.
‘So the house opposite the Inghams is empty for a reason,’ said Grant.
‘So much for luck and coincidence,’ replied Brook. ‘It’s all been arranged well in advance.’
Grant nodded. ‘I’m beginning to see why The Reaper’s been at large for so long. The scope of this is breathtaking. Not to mention the resources behind it.’
Brook stood by the gatepost of Mrs North’s house waiting for Forensics to arrive. He patted his coat pocket for his cigarettes.
‘You left them at Mrs Petras’s house, Inspector. I saw you drop them under the table.’
‘Did I?’
‘If you felt that sorry for her, why not just offer them some money?’ inquired Grant.
‘They’re not kids standing outside an off-licence Laura,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want her to lose her dignity.’
Laura Grant smiled and held her eyes on the back of Brook’s head as he turned towards the Scientific Support van pulling up outside Mrs North’s house. Noble approached them from the Ingham house, his mobile in his hand.
‘It’s legit, sir. Dorothy North did get on a plane to Sydney two weeks ago. The return flight is due back in a month. The ticket was bought in her name on a prepaid credit card assigned to a Mr Peter Hera — our old friend The Reaper using his anagram again.’
Brook smiled at Grant and explained. ‘Two years ago The Reaper used that name to hire a van. He turned back to Noble. ‘How much was the ticket?’
‘Three grand.’
‘Christ,’ said Grant. ‘What the hell are we dealing with here?’
Brook said nothing. If he didn’t know that Sorenson was already dead…
‘If she’s in the way, wouldn’t it have been easier to just bump her off?’ shrugged Noble.
For some reason Brook took umbrage at this. ‘An innocent old lady. The Reaper would never stoop to something like that.’ Brook examined the house keys given him by Mrs Petras. ‘This looks like the one.’ He handed them to the lead Scene of Crime Officer. ‘Quick as you can, Colin.’ He missed the look of reproach from beneath Colin’s protective mask.
‘What are we looking at?’ asked Brook, bending down to peer at the stain at the rear of Mrs North’s house.
‘Oil,’ said Colin, through his mask. ‘Two different spots. Here and here,’ he said pointing. ‘It’s Three in One.’
Brook looked around the backyard. They were on a small pathway culminating at the kitchen drain. Beyond that, the yard was paved around a bordering flower bed with a few desultory plants trying to survive. There was no shed. ‘From what?’
‘Best guess — mountain bikes.’
Brook nodded. ‘Two separate stains, maybe two bikes propped side by side. Perfect getaway. How do we know they’re mountain bikes?’
Colin pointed at a colleague a few yards away preparing a bucket of plaster of Paris. ‘We’ve got a tyre impression near that bush.’
Brook nodded and stood upright. ‘How long before I can get in the house?’
‘Half an hour.’ Colin walked away.
‘Okay. Good work, Colin,’ Brook said after him, a second later. ‘Thank your team for me.’ A raised latex hand was the only acknowledgement. Brook turned to see Grant’s smile. ‘What?’
‘Two bikes, two perps,’ nodded Hudson, sipping his tea in Charlton’s office. ‘You were right, Laura. Nice catch.’ Charlton, Brook and Noble nodded in agreement.
‘So assuming Mrs North isn’t The Reaper and is unlikely to own a mountain bike, let alone two, where are we?’ asked Charlton, seated behind his desk. His eyes alighted on the four detectives one by one.
‘We’re in awe, sir. That’s where,’ said Grant finally.
‘Why so?’
Brook took a deep breath. ‘The scale of the planning that’s gone into this is so meticulous that it almost makes me begin to doubt that we’re dealing with a copycat. Leaving aside the elementary blunder of leaving us a fingerprint and the traces of his DNA from the fence panel, I’d say this was planned as thoroughly as any previous Reaper killing. If not more so.’ ‘Go on.’
‘Two weeks before the Inghams die, the killer or killers spend a small fortune persuading Mrs North, an elderly widow, to move out of her house and go to Australia for six weeks. All expenses paid. Somehow they know she had a brother in Sydney that she hasn’t seen in years. The house is to be looked after as part of the prize and they take a set of keys. It’s perfect. They have time to prepare and quietly amass all they need in Mrs North’s house, so they didn’t need to risk storing things like the rope and the barbecue in the derelict Wallis house.’
‘I thought the Inghams stole the barbecue?’ interrupted Charlton.
‘They did and they didn’t,’ said Grant. ‘Explain.’
‘It’s so simple, sir, it makes me want to cry with admiration,’ she continued. ‘SOCO found the box and all the packaging for the Weber in Mrs North’s house. So instead of wheeling it round to the Ingham house or risk being seen delivering it, they just let them have it.’
‘I don’t follow,’ said Charlton.
‘What’s the best way to get something nicked on the Drayfin, sir?’ asked Noble.
Charlton thought for a minute then shook his head. ‘Tell me,’ he said with a hint of shame in his voice.
‘Carelessness. They just left it out in the backyard in plain sight — probably the week before the murder, I’d say,’ said Brook. ‘Mrs North’s yard backs onto the Inghams’…’ He shrugged as though the rest were too obvious for words.
‘…and all they had to do was wait for one of the boys to see it, knowing they’d just help themselves,’ concluded Grant.
‘They probably even watched from an upstairs room to make sure,’ said Noble.
‘It’s brilliant,’ conceded Charlton.
‘And when the Inghams won the meat from the phoney competition, the killers knew the Inghams would have something to cook it on…’
‘And, as they’re watching, they can see when they’re going to cook it,’ added Hudson.
Charlton nodded. ‘Okay, I’m impressed.’
‘It gets better,’ said Grant. ‘We found plastic wrappers for a tray of premium cider in Mrs North’s house.’
‘So…’
‘We have a theory why no one saw any deliveries of food and drink,’ said Brook. ‘The killers have bought everything in advance, long before it was needed and transported it to Mrs North’s house. The day before the murder, we know from Stephen’s text to Jason that the Inghams had won a competition and were expecting a delivery, let’s say sometime later that evening or the next day. Now The Reaper knows for sure someone’s going to be at home waiting for their winnings. When it’s darker, the killer or killers carry all the stuff from Mrs North’s front room to the bottom of their yard. The Reaper knocks on their door. Or maybe even waits in the yard for someone to come outside, then calls over the fence. “Hey, are you expecting a delivery of meat and booze because it seems to have been delivered here by mistake?” Then they just hand it over.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ agreed Hudson.
‘Wouldn’t they be suspicious of a neighbour handing over this stuff? Especially someone they don’t know,’ asked Charlton.
‘Not enough to refuse them,’ said Grant. ‘They’re on benefits after all. And the killer or killers could easily pass themselves off as relatives looking after Mrs North’s house.’
‘Don’t forget people like the Inghams think all honest people are stupid,’ observed Hudson. ‘They wouldn’t be suspicious of anyone. They’d probably have contempt for them. They certainly wouldn’t be afraid.’
‘So everything’s in place,’ nodded Charlton.
‘Now all they have to do is watch and wait,’ said Brook draining his coffee. ‘The Inghams fire up the barbecue the next ni
ght and our killers start to prepare. They fill their syringes and prepare the rope. They’re wearing some kind of protective clothing, gloves, overshoes, hairnets — assuming they have hair.’
‘Like our own Scene of Crime clothing?’ asked Charlton.
‘Very likely,’ agreed Brook. ‘As a further precaution, key rooms in the house are covered with sheets to collect hair and fibres just in case. They touch nothing without gloves on and never put on a light.’
‘Hang on. If the killers have access to Mrs North’s house for two weeks, why don’t they practise the hanging in her bedroom?’ asked Noble.
‘Mrs North’s away and her next-door neighbour knows it,’ replied Brook. ‘Any noise could end up with the police being called. If anyone hears them in the Wallis house they’ll think it’s just kids.’ Noble nodded. ‘Now as soon as the barbecue is lit they spring into action and move down to the kitchen. They bring all the sheets down and carefully fold them into two backpacks or something they can carry with them and still cycle.’
‘How do you know they put down sheets if they took them away?’ asked Charlton.
‘They left a new one behind in the kitchen, still in the plastic,’ said Noble.
Charlton nodded. He wondered fleetingly whether to ask if they’d checked the wheelie bin outside but managed to stop himself. ‘What then?’
‘The bikes were kept in the living room — there’s a small trace of oil on the carpet there. When all’s quiet they wheel them outside, leave them out of sight from the road for a quick getaway. They wait for the boys to pass out. They lock the house and climb over the fence to the Ingham house. The rap music should cover any noise. And maybe they put a sheet on top of the fence as an added precaution…’
‘Then why have we got fibres and DNA from it?’ asked Noble.
‘I don’t know. Maybe something went wrong and they had to hurry, but that’s what I’d have done.’ Brook remembered the few seconds after arriving at the crime scene. The feeling of being watched, coldly, scientifically, like a lab rat caught in a maze.
‘One of them has already been to the Wallis house with the wine and glasses,’ continued Grant. ‘He just has to open the wine and go upstairs to light the candle and it’s all ready for DI Brook.’
‘And the point of that?’ asked Charlton staring at Brook.
‘Take your pick, sir. Maybe they were trying to spook me, maybe they were trying to frame me instead of Jason.’
‘Then why not lure you to the Ingham house? And at the right time?’ asked Hudson.
Brook shook his head and looked at the floor.
‘Maybe they wanted you there when they were done,’ said Grant. ‘To humiliate you.’
Brook glanced up and held her gaze. ‘Maybe.’
‘So then what?’ said Charlton.
‘Then it’s all on,’ said Hudson.
‘We think that both killers are present when the boys have their throats cut, just in case someone comes round. Maybe one is ready with a syringe while the other does the cutting. It makes life easier if they both go upstairs as well,’ added Grant. ‘Which would explain the different size footmarks in the house.’
‘Once they’ve finished in the bedroom they go back down to the kitchen. One of them writes “SAVED” on the wall, dipping his latex fingers in Stephen Ingham’s blood.’ Brook stopped now, not sure how to go on. They all looked over at him. ‘And this is where it gets a bit hazy. Maybe they get careless. Why, I don’t know.’
‘Panic?’
‘It hardly seems possible but there it is. Anyway, the scalpel is placed under Jason’s hand, maybe a last-minute idea to frame him, but how people this meticulous think that’s ever going to stand up to examination beats me.
‘Even more out of character they find Jason’s mobile phone and, incredibly, one of them takes off a glove and rings 999, leaving us a print and his voice on tape.’ Brook shook his head before continuing. ‘They leave the phone on Jason’s lap, not realising he’s heard the phone call-’
‘Jason didn’t mention two killers when we spoke to him,’ interjected Hudson.
‘Maybe he didn’t see both of them,’ surmised Brook.
‘The amount of drugs and alcohol in his system, I’m surprised he saw anything, guv,’ added Grant.
‘I suppose,’ conceded Hudson. ‘What then?’
‘That’s it. They vault back over the fence, depositing DNA and fibres on the top. They stuff their protective clothing into their rucksacks and ride away.’
‘Where to?’
‘No idea for now,’ answered Brook. ‘A van maybe. Parked a few miles away.’
‘None were spotted by Traffic,’ said Noble.
‘Maybe they slept in it. Left the next morning,’ said Hudson. ‘But why don’t they kill Jason? It still makes no sense.’ Brook shook his head again.
‘Maybe the sight of what they’d done started to affect them,’ offered Noble.
‘Both of them — after killing six people in cold blood?’ queried Grant. Noble accepted this dismissal with a shrug.
‘And were they so affected that after the 999 call they left the line open so we could run a trace and charge over there?’ added Hudson.
‘It’s out of character,’ nodded Noble.
‘As is the killer’s memory loss,’ added Brook.
‘What do you mean?’ asked Charlton.
‘“They’re all dead.” That’s what the killer said, sir,’ explained Noble.
‘What of it?’
Grant turned to him. ‘Jason Wallis was alive.’
All heads except Brook’s bowed for a few minutes to consider this anomaly. Finally Hudson broke the silence. ‘I suppose Jason may not have been on the killer’s hit list so they didn’t count him.’
‘That doesn’t explain why they didn’t kill him,’ said Charlton. ‘Surely these Reapers, whoever they are, have to consider that he’s likely to be cut from the same cloth as the others.’
‘And, more importantly, he’s a living witness,’ added Grant. ‘Sorry, guv, but in their shoes what’s one more body?’
Brook, Noble, Hudson and Grant walked with Charlton to the media room for the four o’clock briefing. Hudson and Charlton stepped inside to face the assembled media. Charlton had been fully briefed, more fully than he’d really wanted, because he now knew things he would have liked to share with the world in order to show his division, and perhaps himself, in a favourable light. But to his credit he would stick to the script.
His appeal for witnesses to any unusual events on the Drayfin Estate up to two weeks before the murders unleashed a volley of follow-up questions, which he batted away with all the skill of the political animal.
The investigation team was now seeking two individuals who had spent the two weeks previous to the murders bringing occasionally bulky items to Mrs North’s house on Drayfin Park Avenue, the road adjacent to Drayfin Park Road, site of the Ingham crime scene. The mountain bikes and the brand new Weber barbecue were the most distinctive items that the public may have seen. And the perpetrators may have either cycled their bikes to this safe house or transported them on a car.
Brook, watching from the sidelines, felt sure that the bikes would have been ridden to Mrs North’s house in the dead of night. The barbecue, however, would be more difficult and the appeal might just produce witnesses to its arrival.
A half hour later, Brook and Grant led a short debriefing for the dozen CID officers involved in the inquiry. Although the Forensics leads were strong, most of that evidence would only be of use once a suspect had been identified. Other leads hadn’t panned out. They were no nearer identifying a shoe type or size from the blood-smeared footmarks left at the Ingham house, despite the use of an electrostatic mat.
Although he hadn’t mentioned it to the other officers, Noble had taken Brook aside before the briefing to tell him that the email he’d received purporting to be from Victor Sorenson could not be traced. Brook had expected nothing less.
The bott
le of wine had not been purchased locally and Brook believed it had to be from the same case as the one brought by Sorenson to Derby two years previously. The link with Sorenson worried him. If they were dealing with a copycat killer, why did so many things point back to Brook’s original Reaper suspect? The wine, the financial resources, the meticulous planning. He thought back to the Wallis investigation when he’d wondered if Sorenson’s cancer had made it necessary for him to bring an assistant to help carry out the murders. Could Sorenson now have handed the baton to a trainee Reaper? The idea was becoming more attractive by the day. Somebody younger, perhaps overseen by a more experienced individual with a background in law enforcement. Someone like Drexler.
The search for hotels and B amp;Bs that had housed two men on or around the night of the murder was not proving fruitful and Brook told Rob Morton to cross it off the list. Once the killers had made the call to the Inghams the day before the murder, Brook was sure that he, or they, would have been holed up in Mrs North’s house, waiting for the off. And there was no telling how long they’d been staying there. Perhaps several days.
All grates, dustbins, manhole covers and even three skips within a five-mile radius of the Ingham house had been searched and nothing of interest found. Every garden on the two-street block had been fingertip-searched and this had also produced nothing. Brook was able to produce a cast of the mountain bike tyre taken from Mrs North’s garden and directed Uniform branch to concentrate on all likely, and then unlikely, cycle routes out of the estate. But given the design of the estate and its proximity to fields, there must have been a hundred different escape routes avoiding the roadblocks on major arteries.
The meat packaging had shown that the burgers, sausages and kebabs had been bought from a local butcher, Moorcrofts, in nearby Normanton, which didn’t have CCTV or any credit or debit card details for a similar purchase. The clear inference was the meat products must have been bought with cash and in small batches, which made it much harder to pinpoint a time of purchase and pointed to a local killer who could stockpile the meat at home in a freezer.
