The Reaper Read Online Free PDF Page A

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 outa, ‘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…?’
    As Noble’s voice began to falter, Brook, alive to his discomfort, tapped into one of his meagre seams of humanity–the mother lode had been exhausted long ago–and he threw Noble a straw to clutch.
    ‘I’d like a peek at the scene before SOCO start bagging and tagging. You’ve already seen it, John, so wait outside for the surgeon. I don’t want anybody else in the house until SOCO have done their stuff. No-one else comes through that front door.’ He paused before adding, ‘Okay?’ The two men, normally cloaked in layer upon layer of emotional cladding, looked at one another as men rarely do. Noble’s instinct was to turn away and adjust his protective layers but something made his eyes linger, the need to communicate his gratitude.
    ‘There’s a lot of blood on the floor. You might compromise footprints.’
    ‘I’m just going to look from the door not traipse round shaking hands and sitting on laps. If this has been staged I want to see it as the killer intended it to be seen. Atmosphere, John, remember.’
    ‘Right. Get a feel for the crime before anything else. Mind the handle. There are blood smears on it.’
    As Brook prepared a finger to push open the bloodied door, he turned to Noble. ‘Get onto SOCO and the PS and give them a hurry-up. And get on to the hospital. They probably know but tell them they might need to pump Aktar’s stomach. Young Wallis too. Just to be on the safe side.’
    It was the smell that hit Brook first. It wasn’t new to him, the smell of death, the sweet smell of ageing blood,the excrement expelled by a body no longer able to maintain its integrity, the sweat no longer evaporated by the heat of its host. These things weren’t new to Brook but the smell of a victim’s terror was. Almost. Only twice before. In London. Brixton 1991. And the first time, 1990. Harlesden.
Harleshole of the Universe
, as his old DI, Charlie Rowlands, had dubbed it.
    And the same thoughts were intruding then, as now. Did his own fear give off the same scent on those rare occasions his nightmares overpowered his reason?
    Brook wondered–no he knew–this was the smell discharged as people watched their own deaths unfold. Yes, he knew,