The Unquiet Grave (45 page)

‘I’m not going back in the box,’ bristled McCleary. ‘Not for a day. I didn’t touch that boy and that kiddie porn ain’t mine.’

‘I know.’ Brook took a sip of tea and tried to think. ‘This is my fault. I flagged up your name to the Wheeler task force.’

‘But if someone was planting evidence against my Bren, his name would’ve come up sooner or later,’ said Amelia. ‘Wouldn’t it?’

‘Yes, it would.’ Brook smiled at her. ‘I’m sorry for underestimating you, Amelia.’

‘I’m old,’ she replied. ‘It comes with the territory. And
I’m
sorry for acting gaga. You have a nice face. I should’ve trusted you.’

‘Why?’ said Brook. ‘The way your brother’s case has been mishandled over the years, you had every reason not to.’ He hesitated, glancing between the pair. ‘So you do remember Matilda Copeland.’

Brendan looked uncomfortable. Amelia grabbed his hand in hers. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘And I didn’t blame the poor lass falling for my Bren.’ She glanced at the awkward, untidy figure, gripping his hand. ‘It’s all water under the bridge now. If you want to be happy, sometimes you have to forgive even if you can’t forget.’ She smiled at McCleary who managed to hold her eyes for a second.

‘I don’t deserve you, Amelia Stanforth,’ he mumbled.

‘You do now,’ she replied, patting his rough hand.

‘I have to ask, Brendan,’ said Brook. ‘Were you meeting Matilda the night she was abducted?’

McCleary nodded, eyes glued to the table. ‘Halfway – Brickyard Wood on the common. She never showed. I wasn’t best pleased but I didn’t think anything of it because she didn’t always manage to get away. Her dad watched her every move after DS Laird tipped him the wink about me, even two years after Billy died.’

‘And were you and Matilda. . .’ Brook hesitated, looking solicitously at Amelia.

‘Yes, they were sexually active,’ replied Amelia matter-of-factly. Brendan tried to bury his head in his chest.

‘And did she say anything in the months before she died?’ asked Brook.

‘About what?’

‘Men looking at her sexually, making her uncomfortable when she was around them.’

‘Not really,’ said McCleary, shaking his head. ‘Except that neighbour of hers.’

‘Trevor Taylor?’

‘I know the name now,’ replied McCleary. ‘But she never said it. She knew if she told me who he was, I’d end up decking him.’

‘What did this neighbour do?’

‘What you just said. Looking at her all sly, like. Gave her the willies, she said.’ Still McCleary studied the table when talking about his former love. Brook glanced at Amelia, gripping McCleary’s calloused hand, eyes glued to her man. So much love, so much strength drawn from adversity.

Brook slid out from the banquette to his feet. ‘I can’t let you keep the rifle. Will you have enough food?’

‘For a few days,’ answered McCleary uncertainly. ‘You’re not taking me in?’

Brook took a breath, still not sure of his reasoning. ‘No.’

‘Won’t you get into trouble?’ asked Amelia.

Brook shrugged. ‘No one knows I’m here.’

‘Well, they won’t find out from us,’ she said, also standing. ‘Thank you, Inspector. We treasure every day together.’

‘Making up for lost time?’

Amelia shook her head. ‘Think of it like that and you waste even more time.’

Brook was taken aback when she stepped in to hug him, unsure where to put his hands. Eventually he settled for a stroke of her bony shoulder.

Picking up the rifle, Brook made for the door. ‘One final question, Amelia, I hope not too painful,’ said Brook softly. She smiled minutely and Brook needed no further prompting. ‘Your sister Francesca. . . at her funeral, there was a policeman, DCI Bannon.’

‘I remember,’ said Amelia. ‘He was horrible to Mum.’

‘I think I already know the answer, but can you tell me why?’

A few minutes after eight o’clock, Brook arrived back at the car. The sun was beginning to burn off the morning mist. He placed the rifle in the boot, changed his shoes and socks and sat in the driver’s seat. He turned his phone on and, ignoring the vibrations of at least a dozen missed calls and texts, began composing a message to Noble, agonising over its content before deciding to keep it simple.

McCleary no longer armed. Downgrade search if you can
.

A second later the phone vibrated. ‘John?’

‘Inspector Brook.’ Chief Superintendent Charlton’s voice.
Brook hesitated. ‘I know you’re there, Brook,’
said Charlton impatiently.

Brook plumped for breezy. ‘Hello, sir. I thought you were DS Noble.’

‘Never mind that,’ interrupted Charlton. ‘What’s this about McCleary?’

‘McCleary?’ answered Brook. ‘What about him?’

‘You’ve seen him.’

‘No, sir.’

‘You’re lying. I read your text.’

Brook took a deep breath. ‘Yes, sir.’

‘So tell me where he is.’

‘I can’t do that, sir.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘McCleary is a harmless ex-convict. He’s got nothing to do with Scott Wheeler.’

‘That’s not your call, Brook. Now tell me where he is or you’re finished at Derby CID.’

Brook thought hard, looking for a way round. There wasn’t one. ‘Very well. I resign.’

‘What?’ exclaimed Charlton. ‘You’re throwing in the towel to protect a convicted killer? You could face charges.’

Brook prepared to ring off but then he thought about Scott Wheeler. It would be hard enough to do what needed to be done without losing his warrant card. A better strategy offered itself. ‘You’re right, sir. I’m coming in. Your office in half an hour.’

‘Just a bloody minute. . .’

Forty minutes later, Brook knocked and entered Charlton’s office. The Chief Superintendent looked up from behind his desk while three other heads turned and looked at Brook. There were no other empty chairs available and Brook was forced to stand.

Charlton stared at Brook without expression while Copeland and Noble avoided eye contact. DI Ford, however, could barely disguise his contempt and he leapt up to confront Brook.

‘Where’s my suspect?’

‘Sit down, Frank,’ ordered Charlton.

‘Brook’s taking the piss. . .’

‘Sit down,’ Charlton repeated. ‘There’s a right way to do this.’ Ford returned reluctantly to his chair.

‘Well, Brook. Are you going to tell us where McCleary is?’ asked Charlton, his voice clipped.

‘McCleary didn’t take Scott Wheeler.’

‘That’s not for you to say,’ Ford spluttered, squirming in his seat.

Charlton grimaced, as though confirming what he already knew. ‘What gives you the right to interfere with an active case by withholding information from a colleague? I want your resignation on my desk by the end of the day.’

‘About fucking time,’ snarled Ford.

Brook could see the unhappy faces of Copeland and Noble. Worse, he could also see Scott Wheeler smiling on a leaflet on Charlton’s corkboard. His career might be over but without Charlton behind him, a boy might lose his life and he knew he had to gamble.

‘I think Scott Wheeler’s alive and I think I know who abducted him.’

Charlton looked up at Brook, his hands clasped in front of his face to hide his surprise. ‘We’re listening.’

‘You’re not taking that seriously?’ cried Ford.

‘Frank. . .’

‘Brook’s blowing smoke in your face to save his arse,’ insisted Ford.

‘There’s a child in danger, Frank,’ said Charlton. ‘A boy that you and Noble have failed to find.’ Ford looked angrily at Charlton but kept his counsel. ‘If Brook knows something. . .’

‘The only thing I know for certain is McCleary is a blind alley,’ said Brook. ‘He didn’t take the Wheeler boy.’

‘He’s a paedophile and a killer,’ spat Ford. ‘And what’s more he’s armed.’

‘He’s not armed because I took his rifle,’ said Brook. ‘It’s in my car. He’s also not a paedophile and I’m even beginning to doubt that he’s a killer.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ snarled Ford.

‘Never mind,’ said Brook.

‘It is possible the pornography was planted, sir,’ said Noble. He felt the sudden heat from Ford’s glare on the side of his face. ‘It was very easy to find.’

‘But DI Ford’s right,’ said a serious Copeland. ‘McCleary served twenty years for killing his old man. He pleaded guilty and took the full hit. There’s never been any bleating about a miscarriage, even from him.’

‘There wouldn’t be if he thought he
was
guilty,’ replied Brook, beginning to wish he hadn’t thrown this hand grenade into the conversation.

‘Make sense, Brook,’ said Charlton quietly. ‘Your career depends on it. Ancient history has no bearing on how we proceed.’

‘You’re wrong,’ said Brook. ‘Ancient history is all too relevant in this case because Scott Wheeler’s abductor was identified by the SIO in one of my cold cases. It’s the Pied Piper.’

‘Not this Sam Bannon rubbish again,’ sighed Copeland.

‘Sam Bannon?’ exclaimed Ford, laughing in disbelief. ‘He died in nineteen seventy-eight.’

‘And went to his grave believing there was an unknown serial killer abducting and murdering young boys,’ replied Brook.

‘What young boys?’ demanded Ford. ‘When?’

‘There’s been a. . . respite but essentially a boy died every fifth year up to nineteen eighty-eight.’

There was stunned silence, particularly from Ford and Charlton.

‘Jesus Christ,’ laughed Ford eventually. ‘You’re crazier than Bannon was.’ He looked at Charlton for a similar response but his expression darkened when it didn’t arrive.

‘You think this Pied Piper took Scott Wheeler?’ asked Charlton.

‘This is bullshit!’ said Ford.

Brook hesitated, unsure about nailing his colours to the mast but decided he had no choice. ‘I do.’

‘And if this Pied Piper exists, what makes you think Scott Wheeler is still alive?’

‘Because he keeps them alive and kills them on December the twenty-second,’ said Copeland.

‘You know about this, Clive?’ asked Charlton.

‘I know Bannon’s fantasy inside out,’ Copeland answered. ‘And that’s exactly what it is – a fantasy.’

‘It’s bullshit, that’s what it is,’ said Ford.

Copeland turned to Brook. ‘Frank’s right. The whole idea is insane.’

‘I know,’ said Brook. ‘And that was Sam’s biggest problem.’ He hesitated. ‘His other problem was nobody believed him because he was mentally unbalanced.’ He hesitated. ‘So disturbed that I think he may have murdered your sister.’

‘What?’ said Charlton.

‘Sam Bannon murder Tilly?’ exclaimed Copeland. ‘You can’t be serious.’

‘I wouldn’t joke about a thing like that, Clive,’ said Brook.

Copeland narrowed his eyes to concentrate. ‘Can you prove it?’

‘I think so.’

‘Sir, aren’t we getting off the subject. . .’ began Ford, only to be silenced by Charlton’s hand.

‘I want to hear this, Frank,’ said Charlton, waving a hand for Brook to elaborate.

‘Colin Ealy was a gamekeeper on the wooded estate where Matilda’s body was found,’ Brook explained for Charlton’s benefit. Oddly, he seemed to take the information in his stride. ‘When Bannon drove out to Osmaston Park Lake a few days after Matilda’s body was recovered, Ealy recognised him. Sam was aware of it. Others were too. Walter Laird and DS Graham Bell both noticed but said nothing to protect their boss. The next day Ealy dropped out of sight.’

‘He ran off to Scotland,’ said Copeland, still in shock. ‘He was seen.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Brook quietly. ‘I think Sam killed him that same night to shut him up. Either the sighting in Scotland was a mistake or a deliberate attempt by Sam to throw the inquiry off the scent.’

Charlton was sombre. He looked at Copeland. ‘What do you think, Clive?’

Ford was aghast. ‘You’re not buying into this? What about hijacking my case and concealing the whereabouts of my suspect?’

‘Frank,’ said Charlton, ‘would you and DS Noble leave us for a moment?’ Noble pushed back his chair and headed for the door.

‘I’d like DS Noble to stay,’ said Brook. He declined to elaborate with Ford present but the senior detective needed no explanation.

‘Oh, I see,’ said Ford, sneering at Noble. ‘You been keeping Brook in the loop behind my back, have you, Johnny boy?’ Ford’s scowl followed Noble back to his chair. ‘And you wonder why you’re still a DS.’

Brook turned on Ford. ‘Sergeant Noble has behaved impeccably.’

‘Not another fucking word from you,’ spat Ford, standing to poke a digit into Brook’s chest. ‘You’re a fucking nut job.’

Brook pushed Ford back to arm’s length before Copeland and Noble jumped in to hold back the senior man.

‘You’re finished, Brook,’ screamed Ford, struggling to get to Brook. As usual, Brook’s response was a wide grin, which wound Ford up further. ‘You hear me? Finished.’

‘That’s enough, Frank,’ shouted Charlton above the scuffle. ‘I have to explore every avenue if it helps us find a missing boy. You had your chance. Please leave.’

Emboldened by his sense of grievance, his face like thunder, his fists balling, Ford made another attempt to move against Brook but Copeland and Noble wouldn’t budge.

‘You piece of shit,’ shouted Ford, eyes bulging with sudden fury. ‘You should’ve been drummed out of CID years ago.’

‘Get out,’ Charlton roared at Ford. ‘And close the door behind you.’

All four detectives froze at the unaccustomed violence in Charlton’s voice. Then all eyes turned to Ford. A moment later, the veteran detective snorted his disdain and stomped towards the door. He turned and extended his scorn to Charlton. ‘Why we bend over backwards for this washed-up. . .’ He shook his head in disgust and slammed the door on his exit.

Charlton looked after Ford, briefly assessing the diplomatic effort required to bring him back into the fold. He turned to Copeland. ‘Sam Bannon, Clive?’

Copeland shook his head. ‘I don’t know. Not in a million years did I suspect. . .’

‘Why would a DCI abduct Tilly, a girl he doesn’t know, and kill her?’ demanded Charlton.

‘Why do people do anything?’ said Brook, puzzled by Charlton’s easy familiarity with the case.
Tilly?
‘He wasn’t in his right mind. His wife had died and he was unbalanced by her death. My guess is he saw Matilda walking up the common to meet her boyfriend and stopped to pick her up.’