The Reaper

‘So why would our nosy neighbour not see that if she can remember a partial?’

‘Exactly.’

‘I’ve been onto Traffic to be on the lookout on all the major roads.’

‘Good. Give it to the motorway boys as well though he may be long gone. And tell them we’ll need to look at all the CCTV for our time slot.’

Brook waited while Noble got on the radio to Dispatch, all the while scanning the uniformed officers for the chance to bum a cigarette. But no-one would light up until the senior officer had disappeared into the house.

Noble rejoined Brook. ‘Well, let’s take a peek, John.’ And with that Brook attached his mental blinkers and concentrated fully on Noble’s brisk summary as they walked towards the front door.

‘The next door neighbour found them, sir. A Mr Singh. He came round at about half past twelve to complain about noise–loud music–the front door was ajar so he walked into the front room and there they all were. Apart from the son–Jason–who was flat out in the kitchen.’

‘How were they killed?’

‘Throats cut, and, well, you can see for yourself. You won’t believe it.’ Noble’s recollection began to gnaw at his composure. His features adopted the pained squint of a man holding on to himself, so useful at funerals.

Brook stopped and almost to himself echoed his DS. ‘Throats cut.’ Then with a turn of the head he roused himself to keep step with Noble. ‘I’ll believe anything where people are concerned, John.’

‘The weird thing is the victims were just sat there, facing the telly, like they were watching Big Brother’

‘Big…?’

Noble looked at Brook with a momentary puzzled expression then looked away, realising his mistake. ‘Big Brother. It’s a TV programme, sir. Very popular, with ordinary people, I understand.’

Brook caught the undertone of Noble’s gibe with a flush of pleasure. He was learning a healthy disrespect for superiors. It would make him a better copper. ‘Please don’t explain the tastes of the nation to me, John, I’m tired. Sitting around the TV like a normal family, you say.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Since when has it been normal for a family to sit down together–as a family. Not since the golden age of Ovaltine and Dick Barton.’

‘Dick Barton?’

‘The radio. Or the wireless, to be strictly accurate.’

Noble nodded. ‘You mean kids have a TV in their own room…’

‘Or their own music or computer. The point being, never fail to question what initially hits you as normal. Families rarely socialise as a unit these days.’ A sliver of personal grief deformed Brook’s features for a second and was gone.

‘So having the family in one place is part of the MO. The killer’s staged it.’

‘It’s possible.’

‘Well that would rule out Jason as the perp.’ Noble was conscious of his gaffe before he’d finished the word and prepared himself for Brook’s disapproval.

Instead Brook smiled thinly and looked him briefly in the eye. ‘Perp? Have you got indigestion, John?’

Noble smiled back.

They stopped at the Wallis front door. It was open. Noble handed Brook a pair of latex gloves which he pulled on.

‘Was the front door forced?’

‘No obvious sign of it.’

‘How many have tramped through already?’

‘Besides myself, PC Aktar and the neighbour, Mr Singh. Also the ambulance crew had to stretcher Jason out from the kitchen.’

‘What about Aktar? Where was he?’

‘He fainted out here.’

‘Did he? That’s interesting.’

‘Delayed shock maybe.’

Brook nodded. ‘Maybe.’ Avoiding the handle, Brook pushed the front door back with a latex finger. There was another door on the right off the hallway with red smears on the handle. The door was open just a crack and Brook noticed Noble make a conscious effort to suppress a shudder at the thought of what lay beyond. Ahead, in full view, lay the brightly lit kitchen, door wide open. The sink was visible, as was the lid of a cardboard pizza box lying open on the drainer.

‘How many have been in the living room?’ asked Brook, fleetingly aware of his unintended joke.

‘Mr Singh went in and found them. Aktar had to go in to check for signs of life. He went in the kitchen to check on Jason too. I only looked in at the door. I didn’t want to disturb anything.’

‘I don’t think we can compromise the hall any more than it is but watch out for any obvious bloody footprints, John. Step right up against the wall.’ With that Brook picked his way past the murder room, towards the kitchen, Noble following in his superior’s footsteps.

Once in the bright stark room, Brook knelt down to examine the linoleum. ‘What do you think that is?’ he said, indicating a small knot of dark red matter on the floor.

Noble felt his gorge rising. He managed to wrench out a, ‘Dunno,’ keeping his eyes averted from the offending unction.

Brook removed a pencil from his coat and prodded the floor then raised the red tip of the pencil to his nose. He sniffed, suppressing a smile, aware of the discomfort of his audience. This must be how the boy who ate earwigs at Brook’s primary school had felt. He stood and turned to look at the open pizza box on the drainer. Two closed boxes were neatly stacked under the top one.

‘Tomato sauce. From this pizza. Pizza Parlour’s Quattro Stagioni–Four Seasons to you and me,’ he added with a smile. ‘And very good they are too.’

‘You know your takeaways,’ said Noble.

‘I went to university, John. That’s how I was able to read it off the box. Note two pieces missing. One cut from the ham and mushroom segment, the other torn from the pepperami. Jason Wallis was found unconscious here, this is where he fell, but the rest of the family are in the living er…lounge?’

‘Right.’

‘Good. Remind me. Is PC Aktar heavy?’

Noble was taken aback but had become accustomed to not reacting to Brook’s odd questions.

‘Fairly heavy, yes.’

‘Right.’ Brook’s expression took on a faraway look. There was silence as both men realised they’d used up all their distractions. Suddenly, with a full swallow of air for Dutch courage, Brook sought the eye of his DS and nodded towards the living-room door. ‘Am I right in thinking the killer’s left us a message in there, John?’

Noble’s lips parted in surprise. ‘How did you…?’