tears,’ and finally his words had found a more worthy setting.
He’d forgotten how to hold an infant and he marched the baby out of the front door at arm’s length, as though he’d set the chip pan on fire. Noble flew to him and took the bundle, amazed.
‘I thought…’
‘Get the little sod off to hospital. If you can, get a shot of the forehead before it gets cleaned off. And when you’ve done that get this place completely sealed off. See to it yourself, John, and let’s get it right this time.’
Two hours later Brook stood at the gate of the Wallis house, pulling hard on a ‘borrowed’ Silk Cut and stamping his feet to keep warm. It wasn’t yet five o’clock but despite that and the biting cold a small huddle of interested bystanders stood shivering in the blackness on the other side of the potholed street, their faces glowing in the burnished light of flashing squad cars and ambulances. A Scientific Support van was parked next to Brook’s Sprite, its back doors open. Noble pulled up and got out of a squad car and approached Brook looking sheepish.
‘How’s the baby, John?’
‘It seems fine. No injuries.’
‘Did you get a shot of the writing…?’
Noble waved a disposable camera at Brook and nodded.
‘…and was it lipstick?’
‘It looks like it. The hospital’s sending us a sample.’ Brook nodded. ‘Sir, I’m sorry about…’
‘It’s not your fault, John. I’m sorry I snapped.’
‘I didn’t check…’
‘You had a crime scene to preserve. You had every right to accept what Aktar told you. It’s his mess.’
‘Even so.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I’m just pleased we found out before the PS arrived. That
would
have been embarrassing.’
‘How could Aktar have made such a mistake?’
‘I suspect he was already feeling unwell.’
At that moment, a scene of crime officer in bright protective clothing carrying one end of a carpet emerged from the house. The other end of the carpet followed supported by another officer. They placed it carefully in the back of the van.
‘Do you want a look round before the bodies go, Inspector?’ he said.
‘Please.’
Brook leapt up to the front steps with Noble in reluctant pursuit.
Inside more officers in bright clothing were photographing the victims before bagging the hands, feet and heads to preserve any trace evidence adhering to them.
Brook stepped across the now bare floor to the girl still lying face down on the rug. He examined the cuts on her back but saw nothing new. Then he looked hard at her ankles and wrists and finally, the back of her head.
‘No marks,’ he said across to Noble who was doing the same examination of Mr and Mrs Wallis.
‘Same here. No obvious contusions or restraint marks as far as I can tell.’
Brook nodded. ‘They were drugged.’ He went to look more closely at the wine bottle on the fireplace.
‘You think the wine’s drugged?’ asked Noble.
‘I don’t think so. The girl wouldn’t have had wine. The killer brought it for some reason. Maybe for himself–to celebrate a job well done.’
Noble managed a chuckle. ‘Yeah, good health. Perhaps he’s left saliva in the glasses.’
‘We’ll see.’ Brook walked back to the door and looked again at the scene as a whole. The TV was pushed back into the alcove, the CD player against the far wall. Brook had checked. It was an old one. Not like Brixton. No entry there. It was the pizzas. They were the way in. He approached the CD player.
‘This has been dusted, I take it,’ asked Brook of no-one in particular.
‘Yeah,’ answered a SOCO kneeling down by the fireplace.
Brook turned the power on with his knuckle and ejected the tray. A CD of Mahler’s Ninth Symphony lay there. There was no case nearby.
Brook smiled. Mahler: something to listen to, something beautiful. He pressed play. The tray returned to the body of the machine. Brook waited for the music. Nothing. The display told Brook that fifteen seconds of the first
He’d forgotten how to hold an infant and he marched the baby out of the front door at arm’s length, as though he’d set the chip pan on fire. Noble flew to him and took the bundle, amazed.
‘I thought…’
‘Get the little sod off to hospital. If you can, get a shot of the forehead before it gets cleaned off. And when you’ve done that get this place completely sealed off. See to it yourself, John, and let’s get it right this time.’
Two hours later Brook stood at the gate of the Wallis house, pulling hard on a ‘borrowed’ Silk Cut and stamping his feet to keep warm. It wasn’t yet five o’clock but despite that and the biting cold a small huddle of interested bystanders stood shivering in the blackness on the other side of the potholed street, their faces glowing in the burnished light of flashing squad cars and ambulances. A Scientific Support van was parked next to Brook’s Sprite, its back doors open. Noble pulled up and got out of a squad car and approached Brook looking sheepish.
‘How’s the baby, John?’
‘It seems fine. No injuries.’
‘Did you get a shot of the writing…?’
Noble waved a disposable camera at Brook and nodded.
‘…and was it lipstick?’
‘It looks like it. The hospital’s sending us a sample.’ Brook nodded. ‘Sir, I’m sorry about…’
‘It’s not your fault, John. I’m sorry I snapped.’
‘I didn’t check…’
‘You had a crime scene to preserve. You had every right to accept what Aktar told you. It’s his mess.’
‘Even so.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I’m just pleased we found out before the PS arrived. That
would
have been embarrassing.’
‘How could Aktar have made such a mistake?’
‘I suspect he was already feeling unwell.’
At that moment, a scene of crime officer in bright protective clothing carrying one end of a carpet emerged from the house. The other end of the carpet followed supported by another officer. They placed it carefully in the back of the van.
‘Do you want a look round before the bodies go, Inspector?’ he said.
‘Please.’
Brook leapt up to the front steps with Noble in reluctant pursuit.
Inside more officers in bright clothing were photographing the victims before bagging the hands, feet and heads to preserve any trace evidence adhering to them.
Brook stepped across the now bare floor to the girl still lying face down on the rug. He examined the cuts on her back but saw nothing new. Then he looked hard at her ankles and wrists and finally, the back of her head.
‘No marks,’ he said across to Noble who was doing the same examination of Mr and Mrs Wallis.
‘Same here. No obvious contusions or restraint marks as far as I can tell.’
Brook nodded. ‘They were drugged.’ He went to look more closely at the wine bottle on the fireplace.
‘You think the wine’s drugged?’ asked Noble.
‘I don’t think so. The girl wouldn’t have had wine. The killer brought it for some reason. Maybe for himself–to celebrate a job well done.’
Noble managed a chuckle. ‘Yeah, good health. Perhaps he’s left saliva in the glasses.’
‘We’ll see.’ Brook walked back to the door and looked again at the scene as a whole. The TV was pushed back into the alcove, the CD player against the far wall. Brook had checked. It was an old one. Not like Brixton. No entry there. It was the pizzas. They were the way in. He approached the CD player.
‘This has been dusted, I take it,’ asked Brook of no-one in particular.
‘Yeah,’ answered a SOCO kneeling down by the fireplace.
Brook turned the power on with his knuckle and ejected the tray. A CD of Mahler’s Ninth Symphony lay there. There was no case nearby.
Brook smiled. Mahler: something to listen to, something beautiful. He pressed play. The tray returned to the body of the machine. Brook waited for the music. Nothing. The display told Brook that fifteen seconds of the first
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