The Unquiet Grave (8 page)

Needless to say, police are desperate to find witnesses to Scott’s disappearance and although there is no direct evidence of abduction, police say it cannot be ruled out.

At this stage, investigators have denied any connection with last year’s murder of Scott Wheeler’s friend and classmate, Joshua Stapleton, who died thirteen months ago, after an evening spent trick or treating with Scott. Joshua’s body was later found on the ground floor of a derelict house in Whitaker Road, Normanton. He had suffered severe head and spinal injuries.

Noel Williams, a fifty-five-year-old vagrant known to shelter at the house, was found guilty of the boy’s manslaughter and began a twenty-year sentence in April this year.

Chief Superintendent Mark Charlton says Derby Constabulary are interviewing everyone connected with the party but they urgently need witnesses to come forward, especially if they remember seeing a young man fitting Scott’s description in St Chad’s Road or Stone Hill Road or the wider Normanton area. Any sightings of Scott will be vigorously investigated.

When we spoke to Chief Superintendent Charlton earlier, he told us that officers on the task force are also keen to hear about other unusual occurrences in the area that night.

Brook braced himself for Charlton’s sickly smooth media voice.

‘Scott Wheeler is a happy and well-liked young man. We would ask the people of Derby, particularly in the Normanton area, to rack their brains about last Friday evening.

‘Even if you don’t remember seeing this young man walking the streets that night, maybe you saw something else, something that might have struck you as odd but, at the time, you dismissed it. We’re particularly interested in the hours between eight p.m., when Scott was last seen, and midnight. Did you see something that may have seemed trivial but which could yet have a bearing on the case? Maybe you spotted a car that you haven’t seen before; perhaps you saw a stranger in the neighbourhood, or even someone you know, behaving in a suspicious manner.

‘Did such a person catch your eye? If you can think of anything, no matter how unimportant it might seem, please contact us immediately. All information will be treated in the strictest confidence and it’s imperative. . .’

‘. . . that I get myself on the TV and radio a lot more.’ Brook depressed the button to silence his superior.

‘Four days missing.’ Brook didn’t need to look at the statistics to know the Wheeler boy was almost certainly dead. He knew nothing about the case except what he’d heard from the local media. And DI Frank Ford was in charge, a fact which didn’t fill Brook with confidence. As a result, and despite misgivings about resuming his career, Brook had even emailed Charlton to ask if he wanted him to return to duty early to help the investigation. The Chief Superintendent hadn’t seen fit to respond.

‘At least Noble’s on the case,’ said Brook, surprised and a little miffed his DS hadn’t been in contact for advice about the missing boy.

Glancing up at the building, Brook allowed his eyes to wander to the third floor and the window of the office he’d shared with Noble. A light was on. The churn of police work never ceased.

He peered across to the well-lit entrance of D Division, trying and failing to see who was on the reception desk, pondering whether to make a dash for the sanctuary of his office while the station seemed quiet and the sun was still no more than a suggestion in the east.

More chance of avoiding Sergeant Hendrickson and his ilk if I go now
.

In the end, Brook made no move to get out of the car. He poured more tea and flexed his damaged hand, almost good as new, the evidence of skin graft invisible to the eye, and only a slight tingling to remind him it had ever been injured. His head wounds had healed even earlier and only Brook knew about the scar and slight bump under his hairline.

As he drained his tea, Brook caught sight of headlights in his mirrors. A second later, a squad car drove under the barrier, followed by a civilian vehicle and another squad car bringing up the rear of the convoy.

Brook watched. Criminals tended to be night owls; they liked a lie-in after a long night’s lawbreaking which meant arrests were simpler in the early hours. He craned his neck to watch the vehicles drawing to a halt at the front steps and passengers begin to disgorge. The two police vehicles were full and contained eight officers in total. Their car doors opened and closed quickly as the officers jumped out to wait for the civilian car to empty. Three of the officers were CID, Noble amongst them. Brook also recognised DS Rob Morton and DC Dave Cooper, who opened the doors of the civilian car. A slightly built woman stepped from the passenger side and the male driver met her in front of the car and tentatively linked his arm with hers before all ten jogged up the steps to the glass vestibule that was reception and disappeared from sight.

No handcuffs. No separation of the couple. This wasn’t an arrest. They were ‘helping with inquiries’. Brook’s eyes narrowed. He’d seen the man before but couldn’t place him. He stepped from the car and walked with flask and laptop towards the smoked-glass doors. Once inside the glass entrance hall, Brook fixed his eyes to the floor and marched quickly to the lifts.

Sergeant Harry Hendrickson, on duty at the front desk, caught a glimpse of Brook’s retreating frame and smiled malevolently. ‘Snuck past me, did you, mental boy?’ he muttered under his breath. ‘Not to worry. I’m not going anywhere.’ He turned to a uniformed colleague sipping coffee at the back of the office and grinned. ‘Guess what the cat just dragged in.’ Taking out his mobile, Hendrickson scrolled down to the name Brian Burton and began thumbing out a text: ‘Christmas has come early.’ He sniggered, face creased like a leather accordion.

Brook eased back behind a potted palm and watched Noble, Morton and DC Cooper emerging from a door that led from the detention area, heading up the stairs towards CID. The two civilians and the five uniformed officers were nowhere to be seen.

When he was alone, Brook descended to the refurbished custody suite. Opposite the entrance, he slipped into an adjoining toilet. It was deserted so he dumped his laptop and flask in the furthest empty cubicle, hoping no one would need to use it.

Two minutes later, Brook pushed through the shiny new door of the custody suite and stopped cold, his face a mixture of admiration and dismay. As a consequence of his suspension, he hadn’t yet seen the results of the recent modernisation. The suite was now light and airy, where once it was forbidding, the decor soothing when once it was austere. No more cold tiles, narrow corridors or doors with security grilles in these enlightened times. The ambience suggested he was in a supermarket rather than a place of confinement. It was profoundly worrying.

Instead of discouraging those who might be teetering on the brink of a life of crime, today’s wrongdoers, brought to this place for interview, were to be treated like customers rather than potential offenders. Someone in authority, who had never been on the receiving end of the vitriol and violence that was de rigueur in any detention area, had decided it was important that an arrested felon’s
experience
of arrest and custody be user-friendly.

‘Help you, sir?’ inquired the young PC behind a monitor at the elevated booking-in desk.

Trying not to stare, Brook approached the counter, hoping to identify the officer. He failed but for once felt confident the young man was unknown to him.

‘DI Brook,’ said Brook, flashing his warrant card. ‘Yes, Constable, I—’ he began before giving in to interruption. He fished out his antiquated mobile from a jacket pocket, not even checking to see if it was turned on, and put it to his ear.

‘Chief Superintendent? Yes, I’m there now.’ He covered the inert speaker with his free hand and locked eyes with the young officer. ‘Is DS Noble in with the happy couple?’

‘Sir?’

‘DS Noble.’ Brook sighed with impatience. ‘I know it was all of five minutes ago, Constable, but it can’t be that hard to remember a man and woman being processed at this hour of the day.’

‘You mean the Stapletons, sir. Yes, I mean no, sir. DS Noble’s not in with them yet. Back in five, he said. Might I ask who you are?’

‘The Stapletons.’ Brook nodded, ignoring the constable’s query. ‘Right. Letting them sweat, I expect. Has anybody taken a drinks order?’

‘Er. . .’

‘Never mind. I’ll do it myself. Where are they?’

‘Interview Two, sir.’

Brook walked into the interview room and, though they’d never met, he recognised Mr and Mrs Stapleton from press conferences the year before, appealing to be left alone to grieve for their murdered son, Joshua. They were visibly on edge, with their hands interlocked, their knuckles white with tension.

‘About time,’ said Mr Stapleton, a tall balding man who dwarfed his tiny bird-like wife. He pushed his chair back with his calves as he stood.

‘Sit down please, sir,’ said Brook.

‘Why have we been brought here?’

Brook indicated the chair. ‘Please.’

‘I want to know why we’re here,’ insisted Stapleton.

As Brook didn’t know the answer he decided not to start his first day back with a lie. ‘I can’t discuss that.’

‘Is this about Scott Wheeler?’ asked Mrs Stapleton.

‘As I said—’

‘You’re that DI Brook. You were on the telly in the summer,’ said Stapleton. ‘About those students who disappeared.’

Brook smiled faintly. He’d never got used to the recognition his job sometimes afforded him. ‘Yes.’

‘Are you responsible for us being here?’ demanded Stapleton.

‘No.’

‘Then who is? And how long will we be here?’

Brook shrugged. ‘It’s not my case, Mr Stapleton, but not long, I hope.’

‘Then why are you here?’

‘This
is
about Scott Wheeler, isn’t it?’ insinuated Stapleton’s wife, trying to stand.

Her husband pushed her back down and sat himself. ‘Easy, Jen.’

‘Again, I don’t know,’ replied Brook truthfully, beginning to wish he hadn’t intruded.

Appearing not to hear Brook, Stapleton said, ‘Whatever I said, I said it in the heat of the moment. It was months ago, for Christ’s sake. I wouldn’t hurt Scott, no matter how badly he let down our son.’

‘Don’t give them the satisfaction, Greg.’ Mrs Stapleton glared up at Brook. ‘This is typical. We’ve had to listen to the world and his wife singing the praises of that nasty little shit the last four days. He disappears and suddenly everyone thinks he’s an angel. Well, he isn’t.’ Present tense, Brook noted. ‘Scott Wheeler is a foul-mouthed little thug and if we’d known what he was like before Joshua befriended him. . .’ she sighed heavily at the floor and looked to her husband for support.

Stapleton tightened his jaw and looked Brook full in the face. ‘We’ve lost everything, Inspector. Our boy is dead because Scott Wheeler abandoned him that night. Yes, I had some harsh words to say to Scott
and
his mother and I wish I hadn’t said them. But that’s all they were – words. We were devastated—’

‘Greg could never hurt a child,’ interrupted his wife. ‘Not even Scott Wheeler.’

‘And we certainly don’t know where he is or what happened to him.’ Stapleton stared defiantly at Brook. ‘Though I won’t shed any tears if. . .’ he halted, suddenly ashamed.

‘Your son’s killer was tried and convicted, Mr Stapleton,’ said Brook. ‘No matter how difficult, isn’t it time to move on?’

‘But it was Scott who put Josh in harm’s way,’ spat Stapleton’s wife, on the verge of tears. ‘That doesn’t mean. . .’

‘I understand,’ said Brook softly, when she couldn’t continue. ‘How about I get you a hot drink while I hurry up DS Noble?’

Brook opened the door of his outer office and put his flask and laptop on a chair. Noble was on the phone but still managed to wave a greeting which Brook acknowledged. He’d missed Noble. Not enough to invite him out to the cottage for a drink. Not enough to arrange to meet in one of the city centre bars Noble frequented. But he’d missed him nonetheless.

When Noble’s phone conversation was over, he stood to give Brook a lingering examination and threw in an awkward handshake for good measure.

‘You’re early.’

‘You were expecting me?’ remarked Brook.

‘I’ve been counting the days.’ Noble grinned. ‘Seen anyone else?’

Brook lowered his eyes. ‘Sergeant Hendrickson was on the desk.’

‘But you scuttled past him so he wouldn’t see you.’

Brook didn’t answer.

‘And that’s why you’re in so early,’ added Noble, with sudden realisation. ‘Avoiding people.’ He shook his head. ‘Honestly, you were making such good progress before you. . .’ he tailed off.

‘Before I disgraced the force,’ finished Brook, remembering the Chief Superintendent’s phrase from the summer.

Noble laughed. ‘The force will get over it.’

‘I dare say,’ agreed Brook. ‘But will I?’

‘You’re a DI,’ said Noble. ‘You shouldn’t be worrying what clapped-out desk sergeants think about you.’

‘No,’ agreed Brook.

‘How’s your hand?’ said Noble.

‘It still needs ointment occasionally but it’s a lot better, thanks.’

‘Never seen you looking so fit,’ said Noble, still scrutinising him. ‘Suspension seems to agree with you.’

Brook managed a thin smile. ‘Does it?’

‘I didn’t mean. . .’

Brook held up his good hand. ‘I know what you meant.’

‘Glad to be back?’

Brook took a deep breath. ‘Honestly, no. I hardly slept a wink last night.’

‘And you make it sound so unusual,’ teased Noble.

Brook emitted his one-note laugh, insomnia contributing to his unaccustomed levity. ‘How are things with you?’

Noble blew out his cheeks. ‘Hard. Sixteen-hour days at the moment. We could’ve used you this week.’

‘The Wheeler kid?’

Noble confirmed with a dip of the eyes. ‘Even Charlton’s been coming in before eight to deal with all the garbage.’

‘I did offer,’ said Brook. ‘My suspension finished two months ago but Charlton insisted on medical clearance.’ He held Noble’s eye. ‘Four days now.’