The Disciple

by Steven Dunne

  ‘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 the 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.’

  In the anteroom, Brook was nodding. That’s why Jason had gone to the barbecue. He’d known it was a trap but, thinking he’d made a pact with The Reaper to spare his life, had gone anyway.

  ‘Tell us about the Inghams.’

  Ottoman nodded and looked away. ‘That night, after that poor Asian lad got beat up, I hung around at the front of the Ingham house waiting for Jason. To teach him a lesson, give him a proper scare. They were having a party, I could hear the music. Thud, thud, thud – very loud. Anyway, time wore on until it got really late. The music had stopped, or so I thought, and I began to think Wallis wasn’t going to leave, so I crept closer to see what was happening. That’s when I saw her.’

  ‘Her?’

  ‘A woman I think, climbing over the fence. I only saw her for a second.’

  ‘Did she see you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Was it this woman?’ asked Grant, slapping down a picture of the middle-aged woman from the North house.

  ‘I can’t tell. She had her head and face covered like me.’

  ‘Then why think it was a woman?’

  Ottoman stared into the distance and shook his head. ‘I don’t know. The way she moved, maybe.’

  ‘You didn’t see two people? A man with her.’

  ‘No. Just the woman.’

  Brook nodded. ‘Her partner would’ve been manning the camera at this point,’ he whispered to Charlton.

  ‘What was she wearing?’

  ‘Dark overalls and a balaclava or ski mask like me. She had blood all over her but it was going on the sheet…’

  ‘Sheet?’

  ‘There was a sheet thrown over the fence. She dropped over the other side and pulled it over. And then she was gone. I didn’t know what was happening or what to think. I heard the music, only this time it was soft. Classical. Then I saw the Ingham lad.’ He shook his head. ‘Terrible. All that blood. I looked round for Jason and…’

  ‘You saw the scalpel on the ground,’ prompted Grant. Ottoman nodded. ‘Why did you put it under his hand?’

  ‘I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking straight. I saw the phone and I realised what I had to do. But I didn’t know what to say.’

  ‘You said “They’re all dead.” You thought Wallis was dead?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I? There was blood everywhere. Even on my clothes by now. Then it hit me, what I was seeing, and I started to fall apart. When Jason came round I just froze.’

  ‘Jason was conscious?’

  ‘Briefly.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Something strange.’ Ottoman shook his head and his eyes narrowed in confusion. ‘He looked at me. I think he might even have smiled. He said “I’m ready” then passed out again.’

  ‘I’m ready?’ Hudson nodded. ‘What do you think he meant?’

  ‘No idea.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘I got scared. I thought I heard someone coming so I left the same way the woman left – over the fence. When I got down I saw there were two bikes. I took one. The next day we…’ Ottoman took a deep breath. ‘What about my wife?’

  ‘She’ll be on her way home soon, Mr Ottoman,’ said Hudson. ‘Trust us.’

  ‘Trust you. Like I trusted you to deal with Wallis after he assaulted my wife.’ Ottoman hung his head.

  ‘This is different, John. Six people are dead.’

  Ottoman’s head lifted like a hunted deer. ‘Six? What do you mean?’

  Hudson glanced at Grant. ‘Three people died in an upstairs bedroom, Mrs Ingham and her boy among them. It was all over the news.’

  ‘I didn’t know. The last thing we wanted was to listen to the news or read a paper. Six? Oh God. I didn’t kill them. You must believe me.’

  Both Grant and Hudson stared at the mirror through to Brook and Charlton. Hudson nodded.

  ‘We believe you.’

  ‘It’s fine, love. They believe us, I think. I just need to stay a bit longer.’ Ottoman pressed his hands into the knots of tension in his wife’s back then held her away and looked at her tear-streaked face. ‘You go with this officer. He’ll take you home. I’ll see you soon.’

  ‘Don’t be long,’ she whimpered.

  Brook opened his eyes and lifted his head from the desk and yawned. He looked at his watch and had to rub his eyes to see properly. It was past midnight. He hadn’t been this tired for two years and he was unlikely to get much rest any time soon. His hunch about Ottoman having come good, he was back on the team. Charlton had already held a press conference to ‘de-emphasise’ – his very word – the significance of the arrests and to insist the Ottomans were witnesses not suspects. Denise Ottoman had been taken home and her husband would probably be released tomorrow after another interview.

  Brook stood and walked around for a few minutes to stretch his legs, having already decided not to go home. Being in the house next door to Mike Drexler made him edgy and he had resolved to keep away from Hartington as much as possible until he had gone.

  He sat back down at the desk and shook his flask. There was a little tea left in it so he poured it out and took a swig. It was cold.

  He looked around the room and his bleary eye fell on the photo array on the boards. The sky had cleared and a full moon had cast its light onto the ghostly image of the middle-aged woman sitting in Dottie North’s bedroom – the picture that had erroneously led them to Denise Ottoman. Brook picked up his pencil and looked at the anagram again. This time he looked for a female name among the letters. After ten minutes he’d come up with only three – Pat, Rae and Petra.

  One at a time, he mangled all the remaining letters into unlikely sounding surnames and one by one typed all the options into the search bar for the electoral roll on the computer. He expected nothing and wasn’t disappointed when he found nothing. However, after a dozen or so attempts, Brook keyed in ‘Petra Heer’ and was surprised to be rewarded with an address – 1b Magnet House, Derby.

  His pulse began to quicken. 1b suggested a flat and Magnet House suggested a larger building. He reached for an A-Z and looked up the address. Magnet House
was just down the road from the railway station and the Midland Hotel. In fact he must have passed it on his nocturnal ramble with Laura Grant.

  He hastily wrote a note: Everything you can get on a Petra Heer if she exists. Birth certificate, nationality, passport, picture of any kind, etc. DIB.

  He dropped it on DS Gadd’s desk, gathered up his car keys and hurried out of the door.

  Sorenson drove away from the motel, crossing 395 back towards Tahoe. Drexler reached for the keys.

  ‘I say we wait, Mike.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘There’s somebody still in that cabin and I’d kinda like to know who.’ Drexler hesitated, poised to spark the ignition. ‘And I’m guessing Sorenson’s headed home. It’s way past his bedtime.’

  Drexler exhaled and sat back. ‘Okay. We wait.’

  McQuarry pulled out her cigarettes and lit up. She looked over at Drexler and on an impulse offered the pack. Drexler hesitated then plucked a cigarette and put it shamefacedly into his mouth. McQuarry lit it for him and he inhaled and exhaled like it was his first kiss.

  ‘Taste good?’ grinned McQuarry, opening her window. Drexler smiled back a little sheepishly. ‘I’ve not seen you like this, Mike. Not since the shooting.’ He looked over at her. ‘You really want this one, don’t you?’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Why?’

  Drexler thought for a minute. ‘The wreckage.’

  ‘What wreckage?’

  ‘The wreckage of families. My family. The Campbells. The Baileys. Even the Ashwells. I thought when I killed Hunseth I was done with it.’ He took a large pull on the cigarette and scowled at the taste. When he exhaled he looked over at his partner. ‘I killed him, you know, Ed.’

  ‘I know, Mike. I was there.’

  ‘I didn’t have to…’

  ‘You saved my life.’

  ‘But I could have brought him down alive. Somehow Sorenson knew that. I don’t know how.’

  ‘You were cleared, Mike. It was a good shoot.’

  ‘I was cleared by the Board, Ed. I haven’t cleared myself. Sorenson’s a smart man. He told me I shot my father when I killed Hunseth. He was right. I saw Hunseth as I’d seen my father so many times, staggering drunk, carrying that bat around looking for my mom, looking for me, spitting rage and the Bible between slugs of moonshine. And Sorenson knew that, like he just reached into my mind and pulled it all out.’