The Disciple didb-2

by Steven Dunne

  The Reaper. Brook nodded. This was no copycat. Even from beyond the grave this carried Sorenson’s mark. No copycat would have lured Brook to the scene and left young Wallis for him to finish.

  Half an hour later he pulled up outside his cottage. To his relief Drexler’s car was nowhere to be seen. Brook knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep so he made a cup of tea and fell into a chair, pulling out a notepad. A couple of minutes later Brook heard a car and pulled the curtain aside.

  Drexler extinguished the headlights, locked his car and walked to his side door, unhurried and without the briefest glance over at Brook’s house.

  Brook picked up his pen and tried to put himself in Sorenson’s shoes. If the professor had wanted a safe house in Derby how would he go about it, given his almost limitless finance? Brook made a list:

  Purchase property in cash. Rented accommodation may involve landlord visits.

  No mortgage arrangements so less ID needed.

  All bills on direct debit to account with appropriately large balance.

  Low maintenance. No garden, etc.

  Probably a flat. Secure/secluded parking space required.

  Good security required because of infrequent use. Possibly upmarket block with janitor, entry phone, etc.

  Cant be on ground floor or lack of occupancy easily noticed. Some kind of high rise?

  Close to railway station and/or M1.

  Brook crossed out M1. It was miles away. If it was too far from Derby, journeys to the Drayfin would become more hazardous. So instead he wrote:

  Flat needs to be central and anonymous.

  Brook sat back and examined his list. Then he wrote down some of the problems he might encounter if he owned such a property:

  Utilities need annual access to meters.

  Council tax requires entry onto electoral roll.

  Unforeseen, e.g. burst pipe.

  He fell asleep in the chair, still trying to think of number 4.

  Brook woke at six the next morning, still in the same chair. Without changing his clothes, he made a flask of tea and put it in his backpack along with the notes he’d made the night before and the folder on Mike Drexler. He drove through the darkness to St Mary’s Wharf and entered the deserted Incident Room before seven. Charlton wouldn’t be around until mid-morning, not that Brook cared about disobeying orders. He poured tea and began to distil some of his notes in order to create a profile of likely properties to send to estate agents. After sending out the emails, he sat back to rub his eyes. It was still too early for any response to his inquiries from last night or this morning so he clicked on his Hotmail inbox to read the sole email waiting for him. It was from The Reaper.

  Whether it was frustration with the case, or lack of sleep, or both, Brook felt a rare anger bubble up through him. When would this stop? What did they want from him? This constant prodding — was this his life now? What did he have to do to be left alone? Kill Jason Wallis? Would that stop it or did they want more murders, more victims?

  Brook walked around the room to calm down. He returned to the computer and clicked on the email. It was blank but a file was attached. He clicked on the attachment and after a few seconds a film began to play. It was poor quality and badly lit, but Brook knew at once it was the yard at the Ingham house. There was no doubt. In the bedroom of Mrs North, one of the killers had set up a camcorder on a tripod and filmed the crime scene. The fire in the oil drum still blazed and provided sufficient light to pick out the faint outline of bodies on the two sofas. Brook watched mesmerised, his eyes gradually adjusting to the gloom either side of the fire. He stared at the side of the Ingham house by the drive, waiting for his own arrival. It never came.

  Instead another figure appeared from the same spot, dressed head to toe in black, wearing some kind of mask of the same colour. He — it looked like a man — crept towards the warmth of the fire but seemed to be staring towards Mrs North’s house. A moment later he turned and approached the bodies. A few feet away the figure seemed to recoil as though in horror. Hands went to head and he was rooted to the spot for several minutes. Eventually the figure moved away towards where Brook knew Jason had been sitting.

  ‘Ottoman.’

  The man bent down to the ground, as though to pick something up, and moved towards the boy. Brook could only guess what was happening as the shadows hid the man’s actions, but a few seconds later he could see the figure remove a glove then put something to his ear. After a minute or so the man threw what Brook assumed was Jason’s mobile, onto Wallis’s lap. His movements became jerky and his limbs seemed to have trouble obeying their master. Knowledge was starting to bite and panic would follow. A second later the man sprinted towards the shiplap fence and vaulted onto the top, climbing clumsily over. The film ended.

  Brook was initially pleased — this could clear John Ottoman. But then he began to feel uneasy. Perhaps his own appearance had been filmed but had been edited out for later release. He wondered what it would show. According to the time and date display, the man (Ottoman?) had entered the crime scene some fifteen minutes before Brook. It seemed about right. And the fire would have been much dimmer when Brook arrived, making it even harder to see the action. Brook shook his head. He couldn’t worry about that. He clicked off the film and logged off.

  One thing was certain. If Ottoman’s account tallied with the actions of the man in the film, he could be in the clear.

  Brook stayed in the Incident Room most of the morning, hoping not to be noticed. At intervals the room began to fill up with CID who noted his presence but, unusually, said nothing. News of his disgrace was clearly on the grapevine.

  Noble arrived at ten o’clock and smiled at Brook. ‘Morning, sir. Back on the case?’

  ‘Not exactly, John. Just here to see justice done. Pretend I’m not here.’

  Noble nodded. ‘Shouldn’t be a problem — though you might be better in your office.’

  ‘I haven’t got my computer back. Where’s Charlton?’

  ‘Gone to the airport to pick up the Ottomans. DCI Hudson and DS Grant are driving straight there too.’

  Brook nodded and resumed his work. When DS Gadd arrived to finish off some paperwork, Brook passed her some papers and began to brief her about phoning the estate agents. She looked over at Noble, who nodded, and she was able to listen more attentively before getting to work.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ asked Noble.

  ‘I think Sorenson has a safe house in Derby.’

  ‘Sorenson’s dead.’

  ‘But the house remains, John. And somebody used it to store the meat for the barbecue. And everything else probably.’

  Noble didn’t seem excited by this theory so Brook returned to his notes. After half an hour he began doodling to soothe his overheating brain. He wrote ‘The Reaper’ at the top of a page followed by ‘Peter Hera’, arranging the letters in a disordered circle as he might when trying to solve an anagram from a crossword.

  Finally he yawned and flung the pencil down. He put his hands behind his head and closed his stinging eyes.

  Charlton led the way with Hudson, followed by John Ottoman in handcuffs being guided by a uniformed constable. Mr Ottoman was very pale and seemed to be in shock. Denise Ottoman, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, and a female constable were behind him, and Grant brought up the rear. She smiled weakly at Brook as she passed. She looked very tired from the strain of travelling down to Brighton and having to turn straight round and come back at news of the arrests; Hudson didn’t look much better.

  Only Charlton seemed ebullient, a mood which faded quickly when he caught sight of Brook. To his credit, he said nothing in front of the throng of officers, instead busying himself directing the two prisoners to separate interview rooms. Then he turned back to Brook and glared at him for several seconds before marching off with Hudson, Grant and Noble. Brook leapt up to follow.

  ‘Forgotten something, Mr Hera?’ said Carlson.

  ‘Not at all. I’ve had what I came fo
r so I’m checking out.’

  The night manager’s grin returned. ‘What about your lady friend?’

  ‘She … will check out tomorrow. I don’t know what time, but don’t disturb her. And when she does wake, she may be a little groggy and confused as to how she got here. She’s a little forgetful. I’d appreciate it if you were the same.’ Sorenson grinned, as if to say ‘we’re all men of the world here.’

  ‘Discretion.’

  ‘Exactly. Now what do I owe you?’ smiled Sorenson and began peeling twenties from a roll. He stopped at four hundred dollars after a nod from the manager. ‘Nice to do business with you.’ Sorenson pocketed his remaining notes and made for the exit.

  ‘Same here, Mr Hera,’ said Carlson, counting his bills. ‘You come back and visit soon. Always welcome.’

  ‘This had better be good,’ said Charlton, sitting on his desk. Hudson, Grant and Noble all pretended to be absorbed in something requiring intense concentration.

  ‘Something’s come up, sir. Another message from The Reaper.’ Suddenly all eyes were on Brook.

  ‘Saying what?’ said Charlton.

  ‘It’s better if I show you — with your permission.’

  Fifteen minutes later, Brook turned off Charlton’s computer and looked around the room.

  ‘You think that’s Ottoman?’ asked Grant.

  Brook nodded. ‘It’s not me.’

  ‘According to that he came in by the front gate and didn’t even go in the house.’

  ‘And when he arrived the three boys were already dead,’ nodded Hudson.

  ‘He may have been in the house before that,’ said Charlton. ‘This could be a second visit.’

  ‘So he left a murder scene with six bodies, then came back to phone it in. Doesn’t make sense.’

  Charlton accepted Brook’s point with a few sage nods, momentarily forgetting his animosity towards him.

  ‘So what are you thinking?’ said Hudson.

  ‘I’d say we treat Ottoman as a witness,’ said Brook. ‘For some reason he was on the estate and stumbled into the middle of the Ingham killings…’

  ‘What reason?’ asked Charlton.

  ‘Best guess: Jason Wallis. Maybe he was keeping tabs on him after his release.’

  ‘In a black ski mask?’ said Noble.

  ‘He’ll have a chance to explain himself,’ added Grant.

  ‘Well, you’re not interviewing him, Inspector Brook,’ barked Charlton, resurrecting a little righteous indignation. ‘Not after your stunt with Brian Burton. Whether you’re right about Ottoman or not.’

  ‘That’s okay, sir. Joshua and Laura know the questions.’ Brook smiled over at Grant, who acknowledged his confidence with a nod.

  Momentarily appeased, Charlton returned his thoughts to the film. ‘I don’t get it. If Ottoman’s not our man, it means the killer shot these images. Shouldn’t he be getting away?’

  ‘And why send us the film at all?’ asked Hudson. ‘If Ottoman goes down for this, the real killer’s off the hook. This film means we’re still looking.’

  ‘It’s not about that,’ said Grant, looking over at Brook again. ‘Ottoman’s a civilian. The Reaper doesn’t want the innocent coming to harm. This film gets him off.’

  ‘But that’s not why they were shooting a film,’ said Brook. ‘You see, they lured me there hoping to shoot something to blackmail me.’

  ‘Blackmail? You?’

  Brook sighed. ‘The Reaper has killed everyone but Wallis. He, or they, left him there for me. They thought I’d kill Wallis if they set it up.’

  The room erupted.

  ‘You?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Why?’

  When it died down Brook picked his way round the words. ‘Two years ago Wallis broke into my flat and killed my cat. The Reaper thinks I’ll take my revenge. He lures me there with the promise of a meeting and leaves the weapon for me to cut Jason’s throat. He sets up a camcorder in the North house and shoots the film we just saw. Up to that point, everything has run smoothly. The Ingham family are dead, so are two of Stephen’s friends. Protective sheets and bloody garments have been packed into rucksacks. The mountain bikes are waiting in Mrs North’s yard for a quick getaway. They’re just waiting for me. But there’s a rogue element they haven’t factored in.’

  ‘Ottoman,’ said Grant.

  ‘He arrives and finds the bodies. Remember the phone call. “They’re all dead.” Ottoman has found Jason’s phone and does what any good citizen would do. He takes off his glove without thinking and leaves a print. Only he gets it wrong. He thinks they’re all dead but Jason’s alive — ironically the one person on earth he’d like to see dead.

  ‘Ottoman had already seen the scalpel and in his fevered brain thought he could lay these killings off on Jason. Some kind of payback for everything his wife has suffered. He picked up the scalpel and put it under Jason’s hand. After the phone call it all started to crash in on him. Maybe he hears a noise, maybe Jason starts moving, but he gets spooked and jumps over the fence leaving us his DNA. But he has one piece of luck. There are two bikes in the yard. He grabs one and rides home as fast as he can. The next morning Ottoman is haunted by what he’s seen. He has to get away. He argues with his wife, who is terrified to leave the house, but in the end persuades her to come with him and off they go to Dover.’

  ‘Very interesting,’ said Charlton. ‘But what about our killers?’

  Brook shrugged. ‘They do what’s necessary. They’ve done this before, they don’t panic, they improvise. One of them gets away on the remaining bike, the other … on foot, I hope.’

  ‘Where do they go from there?’ asked Hudson.

  Brook looked up at Noble. ‘I’m starting to think they may have a safe house in the city. A property The Reaper’s had for a while, maybe from before the Wallis killings even.’

  ‘It would explain a lot,’ conceded Hudson after a pause.

  ‘What do you mean, you hope one got away on foot?’ asked Charlton.

  ‘He means that with one bike gone, the second Reaper either got away on foot or…’ Grant hesitated, looking over at Brook. He confirmed her analysis with a nod.

  ‘Or what?’ demanded Charlton.

  ‘Or he may have had to sit tight in the North house and watch us at work,’ answered Grant. Brook smiled at her. ‘Then how did he get away?’

  ‘Oh shit!’ exclaimed Hudson, putting a hand to his forehead. Charlton looked at him, still none the wiser. ‘How many dozens of people did we have working on the scene in protective suits and masks?’

  Charlton’s brain was working overtime and a second later his mouth fell open. ‘You mean he may have walked out of Mrs North’s house pretending to be Scene of Crime? Oh God. If the press ever find out…’

  ‘Let’s just hope we didn’t give him a lift back into town,’ added Brook, with a grimace.

  Brook and Charlton were forced to sit side by side. They were in the anteroom behind the one-way mirror that showed only Hudson, Grant and Ottoman in reflection on the other side. So far John Ottoman had refused to speak.

  ‘Mr Ottoman, we have a witness who saw someone of your height and build, wearing a ski mask identical to the one recovered from your home, loitering outside the Ingham house just a few hours before a multiple murder. Any comment?’ Ottoman looked away from Hudson, tight-lipped.

  ‘We also have a witness who puts you on the estate at the time of an assault earlier that evening — an assault involving Jason Wallis, which you broke up. We know you were on the Drayfin that night.’

  Ottoman ignored Hudson and stared saucer-eyed into the mirror. Brook felt as though he were visible and shifted his position.

  Finally Ottoman relented. ‘I’ve told you. Let my wife go first. Then I’ll talk to you.’

  ‘We can’t do that, sir. One of you was at the Ingham house at or near the time of the murders,’ said Grant. ‘We’ve matched DNA left on the fence with a hair found in your home. Unless you confirm it was you at t
he Ingham house, your wife stays here until Forensics gives us a definitive match.’

  Ottoman looked at her impassively, knuckles white.

  ‘We have a thumbprint on Jason Wallis’s mobile phone and your voice on tape, not to mention blood from the victims on your clothing and a mountain bike found in your home. Do yourself some good here, Mr Ottoman. If you’ve got a reasonable explanation for all this, now’s the time to tell us.’

  Grant looked over at Hudson, then back at Ottoman. She stood up and wandered away, affecting disinterest. ‘One thing I don’t understand, John. Why murder these people but leave Jason Wallis alive? With your history,’ she shrugged, ‘it should have been easy to cut the dirty little bastard’s throat. And let’s face it, nobody would ever miss him. If anyone deserved killing, it was that little shit.’ Grant looked over at the two-way mirror and Brook stared back.

  Ottoman looked at the floor then shook his head. He’d reached the tipping point. ‘Scare him. That’s all I wanted. Not kill.’

  ‘You just wanted to scare him but the other boys wouldn’t let you so you killed them. That what happened?’

  Ottoman squinted into Hudson’s face. ‘I didn’t kill anyone.’

  ‘Then who did? Tell us.’ Hudson paused. ‘Give us a full statement now and I promise your wife will go home tonight.’

  Ottoman stared at the wall, processing the deal as best he could. ‘She’d need a lift. She doesn’t like being outside.’ Hudson held his hands out in agreement. Ottoman sighed. ‘I was there. I’d been following Jason for a while, since news of his release. I waited outside his aunt’s house. You know — the one in Borrowash. He was scared, I knew. Like all bullies. The Reaper was still at large so…’

  ‘So you put on the black garb and stalked him.’

  ‘That’s right. To frighten him. That’s all I did. I didn’t kill anyone. I couldn’t. All I did was stalk Jason. I followed him in Borrowash and round the Drayfin. He was afraid of The Reaper. Terrified.’ Ottoman cracked a bitter smile. ‘That first night he saw me and ran. I chased him for miles, up by the river, round the back of Elvaston. He hid. But near dawn I caught him. And you know what? He collapsed — a young lad like that. I thought he was having a heart attack.’ Ottoman laughed, forgetting his guilt for a moment. He remembered a second later, restoring solemnity. ‘I stood over him and he cried at my feet. He begged me not to kill him, said he was sorry about some cat, sorry about some old woman.’ Ottoman shrugged. ‘I thought he meant Denise at first, but now I’m not sure. Then he said he’d do anything. Anything. He even offered to help me kill the other members of his gang to make it right. Can you believe it? Then he shit his pants — I could smell it.’ Ottoman nodded. ‘Know what? I was pleased. It was what he deserved … to live in fear like my Denise.’ His saucer eyes blinked and he looked round at Hudson. ‘But I didn’t kill anyone.’