The Disciple

by Steven Dunne

  Charlton thought for a moment then nodded, looked over at DCI Hudson, who shrugged his agreement, and turned to look at Brook.

  Brook put his hand inside his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. ‘I received this email yesterday.’ He unfolded it and slid it across the table towards the Chief Superintendent. Charlton read the brief document aloud, then passed the paper round the table for examination.

  Damen,

  I’ll be at the Wallis house at two o’clock tomorrow morning. It’s vital I see you. Come alone. I hope you remember how to get there?

  Victor

  ‘Who’s Victor?’ asked Hudson.

  ‘Victor Sorenson is … was a suspect in The Reaper inquiry in both London killings in the 1990s.’

  ‘Was?’

  ‘He died two years ago.’

  Charlton, Hudson and Grant watched Brook and Noble leave the office. As soon as the door closed, Charlton arranged to have Brook’s office computer taken away, to have the hard drive examined.

  ‘You don’t really believe this email guff, do you, guv?’ Grant said to Hudson. ‘It’s easily faked.’

  ‘Give me some credit, Laura. It’s about as convincing as the evidence that Brook’s The Reaper.’

  ‘What does that mean, Chief Inspector?’ asked Charlton.

  ‘This email is a pretty terrible alibi and Brook must know that,’ Hudson replied.

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, we’re looking for a killer who’s been active for nearly twenty years and Brook must know his methods better than anyone.’ Charlton was still confused. ‘In all those years, a viable Reaper suspect has never been identified. The Reaper’s killed two families in London, one in Leeds, two now in Derby. Five crime scenes. And what did Forensics find at the first four crime scenes?’

  ‘What?’ asked Charlton.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Grant. ‘No fingerprints, no DNA, no witnesses, no CCTV, no fibres. Nothing.’

  ‘Add to that the fact that The Reaper has no clear motive,’ added Hudson. ‘Even a copper as good as Brook can’t beat those odds.’

  ‘I see,’ said Charlton, clearly not seeing.

  ‘And now we’re supposed to believe that Damen Brook, the man who has hunted The Reaper for all these years, is actually The Reaper. If so, he wouldn’t be caught at the crime scene with only a poxy email as an alibi,’ said Hudson, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it before Charlton could object. ‘If someone as smart as Brook was The Reaper, he would’ve been better organised than that, believe me.’

  ‘Okay,’ nodded Charlton doubtfully.

  ‘And that’s not the only strange thing. Suddenly there’s more evidence at the Ingham house than we can shake a stick at. I spoke to one of the SOCOs. The killer used a mobile phone to alert the emergency services to the murders. Not only have we got a useable print on it, but we’re going to have the killer’s voice on tape.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’ said Charlton. ‘It’ll tell us about Brook one way or the other.’

  ‘Yes. But it also tells us that either The Reaper has got very sloppy or we’re dealing with a copycat, like Brook says. Whatever you think of him, Brook is a brilliant detective. Believe me, nothing we have will point to him for this – nothing.’

  Hudson took a large pull on his cigarette and exhaled towards the window, suddenly aware of Charlton’s aversion to the smoke.

  ‘What about this Sorenson that Brook talked about?’ asked Charlton.

  ‘You’re welcome to have a look, sir, but if there was no evidence to prove Sorenson was The Reaper when he was alive, it’ll be ten times harder if he is dead. And it almost certainly won’t help you with the Ingham investigation.’

  ‘Unless we can trace that email, guv.’

  ‘Don’t hold your breath, luv.’

  ‘And can you think why someone would want to copy The Reaper?’ asked Charlton.

  ‘Good question,’ said Hudson; Charlton tried to hide his pleasure. ‘His methods provide a workable blueprint for anybody wanting to be a serial killer,’ answered Hudson. ‘After all, he’s never been caught.’

  ‘But it doesn’t fit the profiles,’ added Grant.

  ‘Profiles?’ said Charlton.

  ‘Serial killers fall into two categories,’ explained Hudson.

  ‘By definition, the compulsive killer can’t stop himself,’ said Grant. ‘He repeats because he has a compulsion, one which eventually trips him up, because he has to kill even if it means taking risks.’

  ‘And there’s often a sexual angle, which generally leads to DNA,’ put in Hudson.

  ‘Then there’s The Reaper. A killer like that is more organised and gets his kicks from power, not sex. He enjoys the fear of the public and the inability of the police to find him. These killers use their crimes as a secret well of omnipotence, to dip into when their self-esteem needs it.’ Grant looked at her two superiors with a frown. ‘However…’

  ‘Problem?’ asked Charlton.

  ‘Vanity,’ said Hudson.

  ‘Right. This type of serial killer wouldn’t usually copy another killer’s MO. His ego needs to know he’s an original, a one-off. If caught, he can revel in that knowledge, show off his superiority.’

  ‘Then again, Laura, leaving a print is not evidence of great organisation.’

  ‘We still don’t know it’s the killer’s, guv.’

  ‘Well,’ said Charlton with an air of finality. ‘This is all very interesting but gets me no closer to solving my dilemma. Even if Brook scrubs up clean over last night, can I afford to keep him as SIO?’

  Hudson smiled at Charlton. ‘Can I make one further suggest ion, sir?’

  DI Brook and DS Noble hurried down the stairs two at a time and arrived at the entrance to the lab. The place seemed deserted so Noble rapped on a frosted glass door and entered. A portly, completely bald, middle-aged man chewing on a slice of pizza turned towards the door. He wore a white coat flecked with crumbs and sported an ID badge with a picture of a thin long-haired stranger, taken many years before, and the name ‘Donald Crump’.

  ‘Hello, John, Inspector Brook,’ Crump said, not looking at the senior officer. ‘What do you want? Haven’t you given us enough to do?’

  ‘Where’s Benny?’ asked Noble. ‘We need a quick scrape and tape. Clothes, fingernails, hair – the lot. Urgent.’

  ‘He’s next door sorting out the photos and sketches. Then he’s off to the mortuary to record the autopsies.’

  ‘You’ll have to do it then, Don,’ said Noble.

  ‘I’ve already got six sets of bloodstained clothing on their way over,’ Crump complained. Noble grinned and raised his eyebrows. ‘So it looks like I’ve got a bit of time to do a rush job,’ he added through gritted teeth. ‘I’ll get my gear. Where is it?’

  ‘Right here, Don.’

  Crump turned around to see Inspector Brook removing his clothes.

  It was afternoon by the time Brook got home. Noble had returned to the Drayfin Estate to coordinate activity around the murder scene so that the Chief Super could go into the press briefing fully informed. Meanwhile, the key pieces of evidence to emerge were being walked through by individual detectives. DS Morton was the exhibits officer and was following the bloodied mobile phone through its various examinations, the lifting of the fingerprints being the most important. DS Gadd was walking through the scalpel, also to be tested for prints and DNA, and DS Grant was collating the information on the 999 call.

  When he pulled up, Brook was relieved to see his new neighbour’s hire car was absent and he could pass unseen between his car and his front door. He was tired from his labours but Brook hadn’t come home to rest. Although unable to bring his skills to bear on the current case until formally cleared by Donald Crump’s various tests, his experience of The Reaper was a unique resource and Charlton was expecting him to deliver his opinions at the initial briefing.

  However, much to his relief, Brook was to be allowed nowhere near the media. Charlton, at Josh Hudson�
�s instigation Brook suspected, would handle the public face of the inquiry and be its titular head, with the occasional support of one of the senior officers if needed. Both DCI Hudson and Brook, assuming he was cleared, would lead a joint taskforce investigation into the deaths at the Ingham house.

  Brook had to admit he was impressed by this sleight of hand. Instead of throwing him off the investigation and creating a media storm, Hudson had ensured that Brook was kept close to the inquiry while at the same time seeing to it that his power to influence events would be severely restricted. Although nominally in charge, Brook knew he would be under intense scrutiny; his every move would need to be approved by Hudson and Charlton, both of whom would be mindful of any attempt to sabotage the hunt for The Reaper. As far as Hudson and Grant were concerned, regardless of forensic tests on his clothes, Brook would remain a suspect, and what better place to keep an eye on him than right under their noses?

  After a quick shower and shave, Brook settled down with a cup of tea to gather his thoughts. He fired up the computer and clicked on his Hotmail account to double-check he’d already deleted the first email from the fake Reaper, the message congratulating Brook on the murder of Tony Harvey-Ellis. He had, and he’d already emptied the deleted folder. Brook was confident he hadn’t opened the first email in his office so unless they took his home computer as well as his work laptop, it was unlikely the document would ever see the light of day again.

  An hour later, Brook, suitably attired, went out to his car. He hesitated a moment, then flung the bag of protective clothing in the back seat and marched quickly round to the back garden of Drexler’s cottage. The Weber barbecue was still there – the same brand as the one at the Ingham house, whatever that was worth. He examined it briefly without knowing what he was looking for. On an impulse Brook knocked on the back door, though he knew Drexler was out. He turned the handle and was surprised to feel the door open.

  ‘Hello. Mike?’

  Brook stepped into the small kitchen and looked around. He poked his head through the door into the tiny living room and noticed Drexler’s passport on the arm of a chair. Looking around furtively, Brook gathered it up and something fell onto the floor as he did so. Brook picked it up. It was a train ticket. He stared at it for longer than was really necessary, then flipped open the passport. When he found the page he wanted, he examined the immigration stamp closely. Putting the train ticket back inside the booklet, he placed it back on the arm of the chair. He left quickly, stepping smartly back to his BMW in case Drexler drove up and saw him.

  The taxi pulled up outside the Midland Hotel and Grant and Hudson stepped out, walking quickly to the reception desk. They leaned against it pensively and waited to be noticed. ‘I only brought a holdall,’ said Grant.

  ‘Me too,’ answered Hudson, trying to get some attention from the hotel staff.

  ‘I mean, I’ll have to get some more clothes from somewhere,’ she insisted.

  ‘Funny. I’ve got enough for two weeks.’ Hudson grinned back at her.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘See, guv, I tend not to wear clothes until they rot on my body.’

  ‘Interesting idea.’

  ‘It’s a girl thing.’

  ‘Well, let’s make sure they haven’t given our rooms away first, and then I think I’m finally ready for a bite to eat.’

  A few minutes later the pair sat in the Midland Hotel lounge, both feeling the effects of a disturbed night – two in Hudson’s case. Grant poured two coffees from a coffee pot and handed one to Hudson who took a hearty draught around a mouthful of ham sandwich.

  Finally Grant broke the silence. ‘Guv. You were pretty sure about Brook.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Telling Charlton he’s not The Reaper.’

  Hudson rubbed the six o’clock shadow on his chin. ‘It’s all wrong, luv. Five families killed in their own homes and sandwiched in between The Reaper supposedly kills a fit jogger in a public place. It makes no sense. The only connection we’ve got here to Brighton is the drug used in the Wallis killings, two years ago in Derby. Apart from that, nothing else The Reaper’s ever done connects with Harvey-Ellis. Wrong MO, wrong victim. The Reaper didn’t kill Harvey-Ellis.’

  ‘Then why dangle his murder in front of Charlton?’

  ‘It got us on the taskforce, didn’t it? Let’s face it, the Chief Super didn’t need much pushing. This way he covers all bases. Besides we’re getting bugger-all-where with the Harvey-Ellis Inquiry and our chief suspect is here. This is where we need to be. This is where we find our killer.’

  Laura Grant nodded. ‘Brook.’

  ‘It’s possible. He has motive and opportunity for Harvey-Ellis. But there’s no way Brook killed this or any other family. It’s not him. Not without a good reason.’

  ‘Maybe he has finally gone off the deep end and is starting to become what he’s hunted all these years.’

  ‘Bollocks. You’ve seen him. He’s as cool as they come. And he wouldn’t have been caught red-handed. No, there’s something going on here … something interesting.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know yet but I’d like to find out. If we flip this thing over and assume Brook’s telling the truth about that email, and that he didn’t kill that family last night, it means that somebody took the trouble to lure him there and make it look like he did.’

  ‘And you want to know who, guv.’

  ‘I want to know why. And there’s something else. I don’t know anything about this Victor Sorenson being tagged as The Reaper, but he’s the guy Brook nailed for killing that schoolgirl, Laura Maples and got him to confess. The one who tried to poison Brook – I remember the name now.’

  Grant nodded. ‘Interesting.’

  Hudson yawned and looked at his watch. ‘The briefing’s at four. I think I’m going to have a shower and grab an hour’s shut-eye.’ He pulled a book from beneath his overcoat. ‘Then I’m going to do a bit more background.’ He flashed Grant the cover of Brian Burton’s book.

  ‘Where did you get that?’

  ‘I borrowed it from the desk sergeant, Hendrickson. The one I spoke to on the phone. He had several copies, couldn’t wait to give me one. I’ll see you in here at three. What are you going to do?’

  ‘Same as you – after I buy some underwear.’

  Chapter Twelve

  When Chief Superintendent Charlton entered the Incident Room with DCI Hudson and DI Brook, the hum of conversation stopped immediately. The room was filled with about twenty officers, some CID, some senior uniformed officers – Traffic, Community and others – whose input might initially be called upon in a potentially massive inquiry.

  Charlton walked over to the table, hesitated for a second while he assessed whether he could ask everyone to sit, then, realising there wouldn’t be enough chairs, he leaned against the table. Brook was next to him, standing several inches taller.

  ‘Stand easy, everyone,’ he said and most of the assembled throng either sat down on chairs or sagged onto nearby tables.

  Brook looked around at the crowd. As well as Hudson and himself, there were several detective sergeants, including newly promoted Jane Gadd and Rob Morton, who’d both worked on the Wallis Inquiry two years before, in addition to Laura Grant and John Noble, who were chatting in one corner of the room. Another six detective constables had been added to the team, including DCs Bull and Cooper who had also been in Brook’s previous team to catch The Reaper.

  ‘We don’t want this to take long because we’ve got a killer to apprehend,’ continued Charlton. ‘But I want to know that this inquiry has everyone on the same page,’ he added. ‘I can confirm that DCI Hudson and DI Brook are jointly heading up the taskforce to find this man; but this is a Derby inquiry and I will have ultimate responsibility.

  ‘I will also take charge of the public face of the investigation as much as possible, and will deal with the media, allowing senior detectives to focus all their powers on bringing this madman to justice. Now,
this is most important. My predecessor brought me up to speed on mistakes that were made on the Wallis Inquiry two years ago. One thing beyond her control was the leaking of information to the local media and this is something I will not tolerate. Anybody undermining this investigation with little whispers to the press, will find themselves back in uniform doing match-day duty at Ilkeston Town.’ A general groan was followed by a few guilty titters. ‘And I mean anybody!’ He glared around the room. ‘Anything to add to that, Inspector Brook?’ Brook shook his head. ‘Chief Inspector Hudson?’

  Unlike Brook, Hudson had a few people skills and grinned at the assembled team. ‘I’d like to thank everyone at this station for the warm welcome. I know it can’t be easy to integrate new officers into a successful CID unit overnight, especially a hand-picked and talented team like yourselves. DI Brook and I know we can rely on your support to get a result.’

  Brook darted his eyes around the assembled faces – all seemed to be buying into the middle-management drivel.

  ‘I’ll be leaning heavily on the expertise of all Derby officers,’ continued Hudson. Brook was almost relieved to spot the expression of scepticism flash across Laura Grant’s face. ‘Because they have more direct experience of this killer and this MO. But remember, anything anybody wants to say to me or DI Brook about the direction of the inquiry, please don’t hesitate to speak. My door is always open.’

  ‘Where is your door?’ asked a likely-lad DC. A peal of laughter broke out around the room. Only Charlton didn’t join in.

  Hudson smiled. ‘It’s a symbolic door at the moment, but we’re sorting something out.’ He glanced at Brook, who stood to address the briefing.

  ‘DS Noble has been organising most of the information we’ve gathered so far, but we’ll assemble again tomorrow morning to talk through further developments. John.’