The Reaper. Steven Dunne

had happened. Until he turned the lights on, he thought they were all asleep.’

      ‘The lights were off?’

      ‘Yes sir. According to Mr Singh.’

      ‘Then how did he manage to turn off the CD player?’

      ‘The display, sir. He said it was very bright, sir. He could see to move round the room okay and well…’

      Brook’s tone softened. ‘I see.’ He tossed the picture of the partially eaten pizza towards Aktar who examined it briefly before looking away. He wouldn’t lift his eyes from the bed cover. He looked, and clearly felt, a fool. ‘You’re very lucky, Constable. I think we may be able to forgive one mistake as your actions haven’t compromised the case–this time.’

      ‘It won’t happen again, sir.’

      ‘It better not. And I wouldn’t mention it to anyone unless you want the Force and yourself held up to ridicule.’

      ‘Don’t worry, sir.’

      ‘When are you out of here?’

      ‘This afternoon, sir.’

      ‘Report for duty to DS Noble, he’ll have some chores for you. Who’s your partner?’

      ‘WPC Jones, sir.’

      ‘Wendy Jones.’ Brook felt a tic of apprehension. ‘Good officer. Take her with you. This order is direct from the Chief Superintendent and you take your orders from DS Noble and myself. Understand?’

      ‘Perfectly, sir.’

      Brook made to leave but turned back. ‘And Constable. The next time you feel peckish at a crime scene, send out for a bag of chips.’

      Aktar’s foolish expression returned. ‘Yes sir. Thank you, sir.’

      Brook drained his third plastic coffee of the day and shuddered. He tossed the thin beaker into the adjacent bin. ‘What have you got, John?’

      Noble flicked a notebook. ‘Pizza Parlour didn’t send anyone round to the Wallis house with anything last night and you were right, they don’t deliver in vans. I spoke to the manager. He said they did have an identical order to the one at the crime scene. A Four Seasons, an American Hot and a Seafood. All family size…’

      ‘Let me guess. They were collected, not delivered and the customer paid cash.’

      ‘Right.’

      ‘What about CCTV?’

      ‘They don’t have it.’

      Brook smiled. ‘Our boy’s determined not to make it easy for us. Description?’

      ‘Nothing useable. A man. Middle-aged maybe.’

      ‘That’s it?’

      ‘Nobody remembers who picked it up. They only look at the money–as you suspected.’

      ‘Yeah, it’d be nice to be wrong for a change. What else?’

      ‘DC Morton took a formal statement from Mr Singh next door. Singh said he went round to the Wallis house about half an hour after midnight. The front door was open but he didn’t suspect anything. The CD player was on loud so he turned it down and then off. He said he had no idea the Wallis family were dead because the lights were off. When he turned on the lights–bingo!’

      ‘And the volume?’

      ‘He said the music was distorted.’

      ‘So it must have been on full. Interesting. Okay. Have Forensics got his clothes and shoes?’

      ‘They have.’

      ‘Prints?’

      ‘Yep.’

      ‘Did we ask him about times?’

      ‘He said he didn’t go round straight away. He said he heard the music start earlier but it got really loud just past midnight–he looked at his watch. He stood it until half past before going round.’

      ‘So our killer turned the music up and left just after midnight.’

      ‘It looks that way.’

      ‘And Jason got home soon after and had his pizza.’

      ‘Wouldn’t he have heard the music?’

      Brook nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s a strange one. Even out of his head you’d think he’d hear it and investigate.’

      ‘Maybe he thought it was the TV.’

      ‘Even so.’

      ‘And there’s the baby. Surely it would have woken up.’

      ‘Babies are funny, John. They can sleep through anything. Maybe it did wake up, maybe not. But unless she was screaming her head off who’s going to notice? With Aktar struggling to stay conscious that leaves Mr Singh, who’s in a situation for which he has no training.’

      ‘I suppose.’

      ‘What about the CD?’

      ‘Sent for dusting. It was’–Noble checked his notes–‘Symphony No. 9 by Mahler. I thought he was reggae.’

      Brook smiled at Noble. ‘Bob Mahler and the Wailers. You know your music, John. And the case?’

      ‘No sign. Looks like the killer brought the CD and took the case with him. So we’ve very little chance of tracing the purchase.’

      Brook nodded. ‘Anything else?’

      ‘Yeah. DC Cooper found a phone number for a Mrs Harrison at the Wallis house. Apparently she’s Mrs Wallis’ sister. A nurse. Divorced. Lives in Borrowash. She’d just heard the news and was obviously in a bit of a state. Says she hasn’t seen the family for a couple of weeks, though Mrs Wallis phoned her two days ago. Nothing in her manner to suggest she was worried about anything. I sent a WPC round for tea and sympathy. She says she’s willing to do the formal ID.’

      ‘Good.’

      ‘We got a fax from BT. Every call to the Wallis house up to two days before the murder came from numbers listed in Mrs Wallis’ address book, except one. That came from a public phone the day before.’

      ‘So he could check out the menu before ringing to take their order. Is it close to Pizza Parlour?’

      ‘Near enough. And it’s coin-operated not card.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Hard to believe they still exist, I know. Forensics is giving it a quick once-over but there’s no telling how many people have been in there since.’

      ‘What about enemies?’

      ‘We asked Mrs Harrison. She says not. Bobby had an occasional word with a neighbour or someone down the pub at chucking-out time. But nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing on this scale.’

      ‘And nothing in his jacket about dealing?’

      ‘Not even a sniff of drugs, no joke intended. He wasn’t the type.’

      ‘Check with the Drug Squad anyway. Just to tick it off.’

      ‘A message from the Chief. There’s a press conference at four, in time for the local evening news and she wants you there.’

      ‘Damn. I wish brass could jump through these hoops by themselves.’

      ‘I reckon she needs a man there to give the public a bit of confidence.’

      Brook turned to Noble, this time without amusement. He had to stop letting these remarks slide, if only for the sake of balance. ‘That’s right. Evelyn McMaster knows exactly what kind of small-minded bigots are out there, John. And to her credit she’s big enough to swallow her pride and pander to their intolerance if it will bolster confidence in what we’re doing. That makes our job that bit