The Reaper

‘Celebrity?’

‘Young Wallis, sir. After that hoo-hah a few weeks back. He assaulted a teacher in a lesson at Drayfin Community School. Threatened to rape her.’

Enlightenment creased Brook’s features. ‘That was Jason?’ He nodded with satisfaction. ‘Thanks for the reminder, Constable. Has anybody spoken to him?’

‘About last night? No sir. He’s not really been conscious. Why?’

‘So he hasn’t said anything?’

‘Not a dickey bird,’ she replied with an unexpected, if hesitant, smile which vanished before it had a chance to wrinkle the edge of her mouth. ‘Doesn’t he know?’

‘I don’t think so. Given the state he was in, I’m pretty sure he couldn’t have killed anyone and…’ Brook tailed off, unsure of the words.

‘Would you eat pizza if you’ve just found your family butchered?’ concluded Jones with a nod. ‘Do you need me to stay?’

She seemed very efficient all of a sudden. There was also the merest whisper of affection in her voice and a small seed of pleasure took root in the barren soil of Brook’s ego. He smiled, trying to imagine the question in a different context. ‘No, take a break, but keep yourself handy. Shouldn’t there be a social worker with him?’

‘She’s gone for a coffee, sir. She’ll be back in a minute.’ Brook nodded. She made to leave the cubicle then turned. ‘One thing. Jason’s under technical arrest, as a suspect…’ she hesitated.

‘Go on.’

‘We emptied his pockets. He’s got a hundred pounds on him. And a strip of tablets. Ecstasy, I think. Might be helpful.’

She left and Brook turned to young Jason. He stared at the childlike face for a moment trying to square his innocent expression with a threat to commit rape. He was just a kid. What had gone wrong with the world when little idiots like this felt they could threaten such violence?

Jason’s mouth lay open and a small stalactite of saliva was hanging from his bottom lip. Brook frowned and shook his head. How old was he? Fourteen? Fifteen, same as Terri? Just a kid. Oblivious. Snarling defences taking a time out. Without the posturing, without his warped sense of self, Jason Wallis was just another scared little baby, needy and lost and dribbling.

If he was lucky–or unlucky–Jason might live another sixty years and Brook knew he could map out his sorry life now. From birth to death it was a story he’d heard many times before.

Drugs, booze, fags, the search for cheap thrills, school’s boring, skip it, hanging out with friends, no qualifications, no future, hanging out with more friends, now petty criminals, stealing for fag money, destroying stuff, windows are good, milk bottles, bus shelters, phone booths, yeah I did it, what you gonna do about it?

He does what he likes. No-one to stop him. Jason and his friends aren’t nobodies no more–they’re big fish in a tiny puddle of piss. They’ve got power, the power to change things, not people, people can’t hear them, people walk by them, unless it’s dark, then they cross the road. Not people. Inanimate objects. They can’t run; they’ve got to listen; they can be changed by the power, from one state to another; the alchemy of destruction.

And sex? Plenty of that. Sex with a minor, still at school, willing to bury her despair under his. No need to take precautions, that’s the girl’s job. So what if she’s up the duff? Her problem. But wait. There’s a baby, that’s a nailed on income, your own place. Respect. Give it a whirl. I can walk away any time.

Shut the fucking brat up! I’m off out. Few beers. With my mates. Roll a couple of drunks. I’ve got to live, haven’t I? They’re insured.

I’m better off in pokey. I’ve learnt some good stuff. Get out. Get 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.