The Reaper. Steven Dunne

some dosh together. Go back in. Lesson learned. If only I’d listened in school, made more of myself. Too late now. Gotta tough it out. Can’t admit I’ve gone wrong. What’s wrong with driving a minicab? Life’s okay. We’re coping, waiting for those numbers. Doing fine. Kids have left. We’ll get by. Is this it? All there is.

      Brook looked at his watch. He had a lot to do. He looked around to see if anybody was watching then cocked his leg back to kick the bed but then thought better of it.

      But suddenly the patient snorted and began to stir. Brook looked through the gap in the curtain for the social worker but saw no sign.

      ‘What’s happening? Where am I?’ he croaked.

      Brook went to the bed and looked down at him. ‘You’re in hospital, Jason.’

      Jason sat up and blinked at his surroundings. He rubbed at the tube inserted in his forearm then looked up at Brook.

      ‘I’m thirsty,’ he said in that whining voice children use to ask for something without the bother of having to ask. Brook poured him some water from a jug and he drank it down in one, occasionally darting an eye at his impassive visitor. The wariness of the guilty conscience was the first defence mechanism to be revived. He thrust the glass back at Brook for a refill and drank again, more slowly this time.

      Thinking time, thought Brook. Eventually Jason cracked.

      ‘Who are you?’ he asked.

      ‘Detective Inspector Brook.’ The answer didn’t seem to surprise Jason.

      ‘Fuck do you want?’ he snarled. The routine fear of authority, accepted in Brook’s distant youth, was now a faded memory–a museum piece of a reaction. Today the obligatory response of youth was contempt. Contempt for those who couldn’t stop them doing exactly as they pleased. Parents, teachers, coppers.

      ‘I can’t talk to you without an adult present. The social worker…’

      ‘What you on about?’

      ‘I can’t talk to you without another adult present. Those are the rules, Jason. I’m sure you know the procedure by now.’

      Jason leered at Brook. ‘Oh I get it. It’s that fuckin’ teacher been spreadin’ her lies again. I told you lot before, I never laid a finger on it. Get my dad in here.’

      ‘That would be difficult.’

      ‘You can’t interview me without an adult.’

      ‘I just told you that.’

      ‘Then stop hassling me.’

      ‘I’ve gotta say, Jason, you’ve got this whole performance down perfectly.’

      ‘Fuck off! And who the fuck are you?’ demanded Jason looking past Brook.

      ‘My name’s Carly Graham, Jason. I’m a social worker.’

      Brook turned and smiled at her. ‘Detective Inspector Brook.’ She was young and slim with long brown hair, attractive in a pale, mousy kind of way. She wore a tight brown sweater and a brown corduroy skirt down to her calves, where fur-lined brown suede boots took over. Jason looked her up and down, thinking what to say next.

      ‘Inspector. You shouldn’t be interviewing Jason without at least one adult present. He’s under age and vulnerable.’

      ‘I keep fucking telling him,’ spat Jason.

      ‘No I keep telling you, Jason. I’m not interviewing him, Miss Graham. I just got here and Jason just woke up and I’ve told him repeatedly I can’t speak to him on his own.’

      ‘It’s against the rules,’ she continued, to establish her firm grip on procedure.

      ‘That could’ve been me talking, Miss Graham,’ replied Brook, a half-smile on his lips.

      ‘I don’t feel too good,’ wailed Jason, holding his recently pumped stomach.

      ‘Under the circumstances, I don’t think you should be taking things so lightly, Inspector.’

      ‘No, I suppose not,’ replied Brook, making no effort to take things more seriously.

      ‘What circumstances?’ moaned Jason.

      ‘It can wait until…’ began Carly Graham.

      ‘No it fucking can’t. I want to know why he’s here so keep your mouth shut, bitch, until I tell you to open it.’

      Carly Graham glanced at Brook. She didn’t show a flicker of emotion. Like Brook, she’d probably seen Jason’s expression of scorn and hatred a thousand times. Finally she shrugged and waved her palm from Brook to her client.

      ‘I’m here about a murder, Jason,’ began Brook.

      ‘What’s that got to do with me?’ Jason sneered. This conversation had a well worn path and Brook wondered whether he could see it through. The Jasons of this world went out of their way to alienate. Unless they were spraying their scent over everything and everyone they weren’t happy and Brook, in his fatigue, was tempted to jettison the script and give it to him straight. He fought the urge and tried to find his most sympathetic tone.

      ‘We’ve got bad news,’ he said.

      ‘Oh yeah. What is it?’

      Brook smiled at Carly Graham. This was her field.

      She sighed and took up the baton. ‘Jason, I’m afraid your father and mother are dead, your sister Kylie too. I’m sorry for your loss.’

      They both looked at Jason’s uncomprehending face. After a moment Jason’s face broke into a wide grin. ‘You lying bitch,’ he finally said. ‘That’s bollocks.’

      ‘Jason…’ began Brook.

      ‘What are you trying to pull, you lying bastards? What do you take me for?’

      Brook removed a crime scene photograph of Jason’s father from his pocket and held it in front of his face. Jason’s eyes widened then squinted in confusion. He made to grab the photo but Brook returned it to his pocket.

      ‘They’re dead. They were murdered last night.’ A tear began to dampen the corner of Jason’s eye. The baby had returned. Brook wondered whether to be sorry for his loss but was unable to dredge up any sincerity.

      Jason seemed unable to take it in. ‘Fuck off, will yer. You’re doing my head in.’

      ‘Their throats were cut. The baby was unharmed. I’ve got more pictures if you don’t believe me.’

      ‘Inspector!’ warned Carly Graham.

      He’d gone too far but knew in his heart that the longer he dealt with this boy, the more he’d be glad he was able to affect him, to hurt him, to reach behind that curtain of aggression and find the heart of a child.

      Jason’s features crumpled and, like all but the newest men, he tried to hide his tears. Brook was pleased with the reaction despite the gnaw of guilt on his conscience.

      ‘Me mum and dad?’ he quivered.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Kylie?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘I don’t believe you.’

      ‘Yes you do.’

      Now the tears began to fall. He sobbed for a minute, Carly Graham’s hand patting his, before getting control of his emotions. ‘What’s going to happen to me?’ he sniffed.

      Brook stared at the boy, then at Carly, trying to hide his disgust.

      ‘Don’t think about that now, Jason,’ cooed Carly. ‘Your aunt will be in to see you later. You should get some rest.’

      ‘And rest assured you’ll be fully protected.’

      Carly