The Reaper. Steven Dunne

you found the weapon?’ asked an attractive young woman with a microphone.

      ‘Not yet.’

      ‘But you do know what type of weapon was used?’ she said.

      ‘As I say, it would be inappropriate to comment further at this time.’

      ‘Could somebody be shielding this man?’ asked a man with a BBC microphone.

      ‘It’s possible,’ Brook nodded, unsure of the relevance of the question.

      ‘You don’t seem too sure,’ jumped in Brian Burton.

      ‘I’m sure it’s possible, Brian.’ Brook winced from a warning tap on the ankle bone from McMaster–another benefit of the enclosed panelling

      ‘I’m sure that most normal people, Inspector, find it hard to imagine that anyone could knowingly shelter such a monster.’

      ‘Then you don’t know a great deal about people, Brian.’

      ‘And you do?’

      ‘One man’s monster is another man’s saint. The man we’re looking for kills without pity, quickly, efficiently and for what he considers valid reasons, even if we can’t understand or condone those reasons.’

      ‘You sound like you know him, Inspector Brook.’

      ‘It’s my job, Brian, to get inside this man’s head, to see what he sees, think what he thinks. It’s not pleasant but that’s the nature of offender profiling. And although our picture of this man is far from complete, we are able to extrapolate certain scenarios from the details of the crime. So in a sense, although I can’t go into detail, we know things about him…’

      ‘And when you’ve finished extrapolating scenarios, Inspector, are you able to tell the public at large whether this man has killed before and if he’s likely to kill again?’

      Brook eyed Burton, barely masking his distaste.

      McMaster, sensing the rise in temperature, stepped back into the fray. ‘Obviously this man is very dangerous, Brian. Certainly he could kill again which is why we need to catch him before he does.’

      ‘But is it likely he’s killed before?’ asked another reporter, spotting the omission.

      ‘There’s no possible way we can answer that until…’ Brook rejoined.

      Burton interrupted. ‘So, Inspector, your profile contains no mention of the similarities between the murder of the Wallis family last night and the unsolved Reaper killings of the early nineties, in which investigation you played a leading part when you were stationed in London?’ The silence deafened Brook. He was vaguely aware of many faces looking at each other for assistance or clarification. ‘Well, Inspector?’

      ‘We’re not here to listen to wild speculation, Brian. Thank you for coming, ladies and gentlemen,’ McMaster said hurriedly, ‘and feel free to contact my office at any time.’ She stood, an amiable smile covering her face, and nudged Brook to leave.

      ‘Are you going to answer the question?’

      ‘We cannot give out specific details of last night’s murders until the appropriate time…’ began McMaster.

      ‘Is there a connection between the killer using the blood of the Wallis family to write on the walls and the Reaper murders in Harlesden and Brixton in 1990 and 1991 and Leeds in 1993?’

      Brook became aware of the low muttering of journalists, trying to gather scraps of information. He wanted to speak but McMaster had him by the elbow as discretely as she could and, ignoring the clamour for more sound bites, was pushing him through the door of the small antechamber at the back of the room. She closed the door behind them and turned on Brook.

      ‘What the hell was all that?’ she blazed, for once dispensing with the reflex niceties of her position. ‘Where has that hack got his information?’

      ‘I don’t know, ma’am.’

      ‘Don’t know. That’s not good enough. Now every crank and Edward the Confessor out there knows what we know.’ McMaster was silent. She strode to and fro, examining the floor, trying to regain her equilibrium. Eventually the pacing slowed and deliberation returned.

      ‘The Reaper. Yes, I remember. Ritual executions. Families cut up. They never caught him.’

      ‘I never caught him,’ said Brook bitterly.

      ‘You were on that enquiry?’

      Brook nodded. ‘I was a DS.’

      ‘Is it true, Damen? Could there be a connection after all these years?’

      ‘There are one or two similarities but, as you say, it’s been a long time. All the same, I’d like your permission to go to London, check it out.’

      ‘You have it.’

      ‘Then I’ll need a larger pool of officers here, ma’am. To help DS Noble.’

      ‘What do you need?’

      ‘We need the computer manned for logging in any information. We need the Incident Room phones manned to sift through calls from the public. We need the murder book compiled. There’s house-to-house to co-ordinate, the van and weapons search, family background…’

      ‘How many?’

      ‘I’ve got enough CID but I’d like to second the two uniforms who answered the call. If we keep them in-house, they’re less likely to gossip…’

      ‘Fine, fine,’ she replied, putting up a hand.

      ‘And authorisation for any overtime and unlimited uniform back up when needed.’

      ‘You have it.’ McMaster suddenly seemed very tired but her anger pulled her round almost immediately. ‘Where did Brian Burton get all that information?’

      ‘He’s local, ma’am. He’s got local contacts.’

      ‘But a crime scene is supposed to be sacrosanct, damn it. It’s the Plummer rape all over again.’

      ‘There were a lot of people there last night, ma’am. Not all on the Force. He’d only need a couple of details and any decent internet search engine would have done the rest. It would have come out sooner or later.’

      McMaster narrowed her eyes at Brook. ‘It shouldn’t have come out sooner than it was mentioned to me. Why wasn’t I informed?’

      Brook kept his gaze on the floor. ‘It’s not definite, ma’am. I didn’t want to jump the gun before I was sure.’

      ‘It’s a bit flimsy but we’ll gloss over that for the moment. When’s the full briefing?’

      ‘Eight-thirty in the morning.’

      ‘If I don’t make it, I want you to read the Riot Act on this. Somebody in this station is feeding titbits to that journalist. I don’t want anyone on the enquiry with loose lips. Clear?’

      Brook was home late that evening. After the press conference he’d made a conscious effort to clear away some of the unavoidable foot-slogging attached to the case. First he’d read up all that was available on file about Wallis and son, including Jason’s recent brush with notoriety in a back issue of the Derby Telegraph. There were few details and the teacher’s name had been omitted. Brook made a note to chase up the information.

      Noble was out checking a lead on the van used for delivering the pizzas so Brook rang the lab to check if they’d unearthed anything of use at the scene. They had nothing preliminary, which Brook had expected. Things would be gummed up for a while, what with staff shortages and the occurrence of separate murders on the same night.

      Then he rang Dr Habib, the pathologist, and was encouraged to hear that he was performing the Wallis post mortems at that precise moment.

      Finally, he made