The Disciple

by Steven Dunne

  He stepped out of his car and shook out a cigarette from a near empty pack that had been donated by Hudson. He looked at his watch again. Less than twenty-four hours ago he’d set off to meet The Reaper not knowing what to expect, being sure only that Victor Sorenson wouldn’t be on hand to greet him. So why on earth had he gone? He took a pull on his cigarette and faced up to the facts. How could he have stayed away? Whoever was doing this knew that he wouldn’t be able to resist. Just as Sorenson would have known.

  Brook pondered his options. Dr Habib had been prevailed upon to arrange a seven a.m. meeting to give up his findings on the Ingham killings and Brook debated the value of driving the forty-minute journey home. He’d have a couple of hours’ more rest if he went straight back to his office and dozed at his desk rather than drive out to the Peaks.

  He dropped the unpleasant cigarette down a sewer grate and got back into his car. He was about to turn the engine on when in his driver’s mirror he saw a figure emerge from the hotel on the other side of the street. He turned around to be sure. There was no mistake: it was Laura Grant. What’s more, she was walking his way. Brook wondered what to do. He’d already bade his politest farewells to Hudson and Grant when he dropped them off and his already low reserve of social skills was severely depleted. Laura (he could call her that in his thoughts at least) seemed to have softened towards him as the evidence began to point away from Brook, but he knew she – and Hudson for that matter – would still be harbouring a kernel of suspicion about him, if only in relation to the death of Tony Harvey-Ellis.

  He looked in the mirror again and reached for the ignition. But to turn on the engine would draw further attention, with Grant now only twenty yards away.

  Feeling a fool, Brook resolved just to sit there and let her pass. If she spotted him, so be it.

  A few seconds later, Grant drew level with Brook’s car; out of his peripheral vision, Brook could see she had stopped. For a few seconds neither of them moved, then Grant crossed the road towards his car. There was now no doubt she had seen him. He turned to meet her advancing frame, tossed his head back in feigned surprise and lowered his window.

  ‘Sergeant,’ he said. ‘Still awake?’

  She reached his car door and, although not annoyed, she seemed a little puzzled. ‘Are you stalking me, Inspector?’ she asked with as mild a reproach as she could manage.

  Brook grinned now and opened his door to get out. ‘Actually no,’ he said. ‘Why, what are you up to?’

  Grant looked at him, thinking. ‘I’m about to arrest a kerb crawler.’

  ‘Really? Need back-up?’

  She laughed easily, the condensation from her amusement blowing between them. ‘No. But what are you doing?’

  ‘Honestly? Just thinking things through and wondering whether it’s worth driving all the way home. You?’

  She studied him for a moment then said, ‘Don’t laugh, will you? But I’m a bit of an insomniac, especially in the middle of a case. I often walk late at night by the sea. I love it. It clears my head.’

  Brook smiled faintly, remembering his many battles with slumber. ‘Why would I laugh? Must be common in the job.’ ‘It’s a weakness,’ she replied, betraying a hint of self-disgust. ‘And you need to be strong.’

  ‘In a man’s world? Yes.’ She smiled. ‘So I handle it.’

  ‘I’m sure you do,’ he said. ‘Mind if I walk with you?’

  She looked at him and considered the question for a moment.

  ‘Why not?’

  Brook got out of the car and together they ambled off in the direction Grant had been taking, neither feeling the need to speak. After a few minutes Brook smiled. ‘Four words,’ he said. ‘That was impressive.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘“They’re all dead.” You said that was four words. In the briefing. You must have noticed everyone looking confused, mentally counting out the words. Most coppers would think it was three words. Some even two. Not you.’

  She smiled but not at Brook. ‘My dad was a real stickler for that sort of thing when I was at school.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. But I must warn you to be careful about appearing too brainy if you don’t want people to dislike you. In the job, I mean.’

  ‘I know – it can cause resentment. I’m not very good at hiding things, I’m afraid.’ She flashed a sideways grin at him. ‘Like giving you a hard time. You may have spotted that.’

  Brook laughed. ‘I believe I did.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘No need. That’s nothing to the hard time I give myself.’

  Grant looked up into his eyes. ‘You too? Figures. I wish I could be more like Joshua – DCI Hudson.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘You know, relaxed about things. Treat it like any other job. Also he’s very clever but he doesn’t let it show.’

  ‘He’s got the common touch, has he?’ smiled Brook.

  ‘I thought you two knew each other?’

  ‘Hardly at all. Mainly through a mutual colleague – Charlie Rowlands.’

  ‘His old boss.’ She nodded.

  ‘And mine.’

  They walked in a large circle through the darkened city centre of Derby for another twenty minutes, neither talking, simply walking and enjoying the freshness of the night air now that the rain had stopped and the sky had cleared. Brook felt comfortable in Grant’s presence and she apparently felt the same.

  They arrived back at the Midland’s entrance. As Grant prepared to go inside, Brook said, ‘If you love walking, Sergeant, you should come up into the Peaks. There’s some wonderful scenery.’

  She turned back to him and for a split second Brook thought he might have said the wrong thing, might have implied she come to his home and spend the night.

  But a moment later she smiled.

  ‘I’d like that.’ She turned to go and Brook, already heading for his car, turned back at his name. ‘Inspector Brook. Call me Laura.’

  He smiled and continued on the way to his car. Laura. Beautiful name.

  Forty minutes later, Brook pulled the BMW up to the door of his cottage and got out. Drexler’s hire car was on the small drive next door and the house was in darkness. He held the car door open for a second then slammed it hard and locked up. He ran his eye over Rose Cottage to see if his lack of consideration had registered. It appeared not. Brook stepped softly onto the neighbouring drive and put his hand onto the bonnet of Drexler’s car. It was still warm.

  He resisted the urge to bang on Drexler’s door and ask him why he’d been at the crime scene. Instead he crept back to his own house and poured a small whisky before heading upstairs. He fell asleep before he’d taken a sip.

  Noble led the way to Pathology, Laura Grant beside him. Brook and Hudson brought up the rear, trudging in exhausted silence. They made their way to Dr Habib’s office. It was seven o’clock, barely light, and after the last twenty-four hours, no one was much in the mood for small talk.

  Habib was a short stocky man, in his early sixties and wore round pebble glasses. His unlined chubby face cracked into a soft smile when he saw Noble, though the sight of Brook chilled his cheery welcome somewhat. He hadn’t fully forgiven Brook for giving him a hard time during the Wallis investigation.

  However, he beamed at Laura Grant with undisguised pleasure. ‘And who is this pretty lady you’ve brought for me to meet, Sergeant?’ he said, grasping her hand and shaking it warmly. Grant, well used to the Jurassic outlook of men over a certain age, accepted his gushing with good grace.

  ‘This is DS Grant, DCI Hudson.’

  ‘Ah yes. You’ve taken over our CID, I hear,’ said Habib, finally able to let go of Grant’s hand to chortle conspiratorially.

  ‘It’s called liaison, Doctor,’ insisted Hudson.

  Habib grinned with pleasure. ‘Indeed it is so. Let’s hope you have more luck catching this killer than we had last time,’ he added, completely oblivious to the implied insult to Brook and Noble. ‘Bad business, bad business.’


  ‘What have you got for us, Doc?’ asked Noble.

  ‘Well. It could almost be the Wallis family again it’s so similar. It is the same gentleman, is it not?’ he asked with a brief sweep round all their faces, in case of correction.

  ‘We’re jumping to no conclusions,’ said Grant. ‘What you tell us will help determine that.’

  ‘Yes, yes. I see. Well. Let’s start with the three boys. Very straightforward really. All killed the same way. In each case the trachea was severed by a very sharp instrument – a scalpel, I gather. Makes sense. As with the Wallis case you’re looking for a right-handed individual as the cuts sweep from near the left ear and finish at the right ear. You won’t be surprised to hear the wounds were inflicted from behind – that’s standard with this kind of slaying. What else? Yes, all three victims were seated and lividity confirms that they died where they were found. I imagine the blood dispersal will show the same.’ Habib reached to consult a manila folder. ‘Ah yes. Can’t be as sure about the killer’s height, but no reason to suggest it’s any different from the Wallis murders. Below average certainly.’

  ‘Remind us, Doctor,’ said Hudson.

  ‘Between 1.70 and 1.74 metres. Five seven or eight for the dinosaurs among us,’ he added, with a cold glance at Brook.

  ‘Were they drugged at all?’ asked Brook.

  ‘Not by the killer, I think. Plenty of other drugs though. Marijuana, amphetamines. And an enormous quantity of alcohol in the blood – to give you some idea, they were at least five times over the legal driving limit. But the boys, I assume, had self-administered, so perhaps he needed no drugs to control them.’

  ‘So their food hadn’t been doctored in any way?’

  ‘Not the undigested meats they had in their stomachs.’

  ‘What about the couple and the boy?’

  ‘That’s different. Or rather the same.’

  ‘Same as what?’ asked Noble.

  ‘The Wallis family, John,’ nodded Brook.

  ‘That is so, Inspector. The Wallis family were poisoned with scopolamine and traces of morphine – our old friend Twilight Sleep. Although I can find nothing in the males, it was injected into the woman and the child.’ Habib turned to Grant and Hudson with an apologetic gesture. ‘I’m sorry. You don’t know about Twilight Sleep. Let me…’

  ‘Actually we do know about it, Doctor,’ smiled Grant. ‘It was used in a murder in Brighton only recently.’ She resisted a sideways peep at Brook.

  ‘Indeed? How interesting. Then you’ll know the history of the constituent drugs…’

  ‘And that we’re looking for a 150-year-old medical man, yeah, Doc,’ smiled Hudson, throwing his joke into the mix again, but with less success than before.

  ‘Did the woman’s partner not get a dose?’ asked Brook.

  ‘No. Only the woman and the little boy – the man had taken a similar cocktail of drugs to the boys outside. The other two had only drunk a little alcohol…’

  ‘Even the kid?’

  ‘Oh yes. He would have been quite intoxicated, but he hadn’t taken any of the other drugs, just the alcohol. Very strict some of these parents, you know.’ He chuckled guiltily. ‘There are differences though. The woman and the child received a much bigger dose than the Wallis family. Both would have died regardless of any other injuries; indeed the boy was near death before being hung. There’s not enough trauma and bruising around the neck, which you’d expect from a hanging, what with all that struggling. Also there was no sign that his wrists or hands were bound. If the boy had been hanged anywhere near consciousness, the hands would have needed to be immobilised.’

  ‘So the fingers were removed post-mortem,’ added Grant.

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘After he’d been hung?’

  ‘From the angle of the cuts, probably. But you’ll be able to determine that from the scene. Any spots of blood where he was hung would point to that.’

  ‘Would a scalpel get through bone that easily?’ asked Hudson. ‘I mean, wouldn’t the killer need some sort of saw?’

  ‘In an adult, maybe. But the boy was only small. The bones in his fingers were young and thin. They wouldn’t take much cutting with a precision instrument.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘As for the adult male and the female in the bed, they were still alive when their windpipes were cut. They had very powerful blood dispersal. But the other difference is the male was killed with a backhand slash.’

  ‘Why was that?’

  ‘With his head against the wall, presumably the killer couldn’t get behind him.’ The doctor shrugged to signal the end of his contribution. ‘Bad business.’

  ‘Would the murderer have been able to revive them before killing them?’ asked Noble.

  ‘Not this time. I very much doubt it, Sergeant. Was there any indication that he tried?’

  ‘None!’ said Brook, with a glance at Noble.

  ‘Is that significant, Damen?’ asked Hudson.

  ‘We think so.’

  ‘Tell me on the way out. Better yet, tell us all at briefing.’ Hudson looked at his watch. ‘We’d better look lively. One last thing, Doctor – we’re going to need a DNA profile from the three dead teenagers. They’re suspects in another crime.’ Noble raised an eyebrow at this, but Brook pacified him with a glance.

  ‘Of course,’ replied Habib.

  They turned to leave but Brook hesitated at the door. He looked back at Habib who had already removed his glasses and was wiping them on a clean apron.

  ‘Did you check whether the woman was pregnant, Doctor?’

  Habib pursed his lips and replaced his glasses before blinking up at Brook. ‘Yes. And no, she wasn’t. That’s why I didn’t mention it,’ he added tersely.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Due to the early hour the noise in the Incident Room was subdued and the yawning quotient high, the strong aroma of coffee testament to the preferred antidote.

  The pale sun was just beginning to peep through the high windows, catching the belt of dust orbiting the room. Apart from the Chief Superintendent, only CID officers were present. This time Charlton stood at the back of the room as Brook, Hudson, Grant and Noble collated the information. More photographs were arranged around boards to one side, some of them the grainy snaps downloaded from the mobile phones of the victims.

  When they were ready, Brook and Hudson faced the investigation team and silence fell. First Brook invited contributions from subordinates on various tangential aspects of the inquiry that had borne no fruit and Gadd, Morton and Cooper then skipped through the absence of leads from Traffic, Midland Mainline and the bus station. Trains and bus services were more or less nonexistent at the relevant time of night and they’d drawn the expected blank.

  As for vehicles, vans were scarce in the early hours of the morning in question. Not one had been stopped or even spotted in the Derby area during the relevant time slot, and those few seen on the M1 had not joined at any of the local junctions, according to the traffic cameras. The same applied to other major access roads, the A52, the A38 and the A50. Van hire checks were ongoing, but without witnesses or a number plate, inquiries were problematic and potentially endless.

  The corpses of the Ingham family had now been formally identified by a relative from Alvaston, as had the bodies of two of the boys killed in the yard, who had been named as Benjamin Anderson and David Gretton. Inquiries about family feuds were ongoing but not promising, and the fathers of both Ingham boys had alibis according to DC Jean Keys, who was acting as the Family Liaison Officer. Miss Ingham had had no assets of any importance and there were no financial incentives to murder either her or her boys. Her partner Ryan Harper had even less resources, having been living rent free with Miss Ingham and working casually as a labourer for cash-in-hand jobs on nearby building sites. He didn’t even have a bank account.

  DC Cooper worked through the inquiries made about single male guests in hotels and B&Bs but, again, there were few leads and those men who did ma
tch the descriptions they had for The Reaper either had alibis or had been in Derby on legitimate business.

  Brook made his first contribution of the day. ‘We may have to rethink on the lone gunman theory.’

  Charlton raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh? You’re saying he had help?’

  ‘He may have, sir. DS Grant spotted it. Laura.’

  Grant stood, not noticing DCI Hudson’s brief glance at Brook for using his sergeant’s first name.

  ‘We don’t have the relevant pictures as the SOCOs are still going over the scene…’

  ‘I thought they’d photographed everything already.’

  ‘Not the Ingham house, sir, we’re talking about the Wallis house a few doors away. The Reaper was there, presumably a few days before the Ingham killings.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Well, apart from the bottle of wine we found, which was identical to the one from the Wallis killings two years ago, we’re now sure he was also in the bedroom. All the houses on the block are of identical design, something we realised last night could be significant. With identical houses, The Reaper could test the hanging in the corresponding bedroom of the Wallis house.’ ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘He did a practice run using a beam in the Wallis loft and the same length of rope as at the crime scene. The same trapdoor was in the same position, giving the same drop. Even the knot was the same. We found a tailor’s dummy just above the trapdoor in the roof space. That’s how he knew he could bring rope and how much of it.’

  ‘Plus, he might have stored the rope and other stuff in the Wallis loft indefinitely,’ added Hudson. ‘Helps his organisation. SOCO are going over it now.’

  ‘Interesting,’ nodded Charlton. ‘But how does that lead you to conclude The Reaper had help?’

  ‘It’s not a definite conclusion, sir,’ continued Grant. ‘But if the assailant is five seven or five eight in height there’s no way he could’ve climbed into the roof space without a leg-up from someone. DI Brook’s six feet and even standing on a chair he couldn’t pull himself up there.’