The Unquiet Grave (48 page)

‘You don’t need to explain. I’m sure he deserved it.’

‘He was also a rapist and a murderer.’

Mullen hesitated, the port bottle in his hand. ‘But you couldn’t prove it. You see, I understand. It’s not so hard to kill killers, to make them suffer for eternity. We’re equals, you and I. Whatever you’ve done in the distant past, I won’t judge you.’

‘You’re in no position to judge.’

Mullen smiled back at Brook. ‘Conversely, neither are you.’

Brook emitted his one-note laugh. ‘You’re wrong, Mullen. I do judge you. I made a mistake that I’ve regretted every day of my life but you, you kill children in cold blood and smile about it.’

‘Be careful with that lofty tone,’ said Mullen coldly. ‘You’ve got a lot more to lose than me.’

‘Less than you think,’ replied Brook, a thin smile deforming his lips.

Mullen hesitated. ‘I mean it. You have no right to look down on me.’

‘I don’t look down on you,’ replied Brook. ‘Now where’s Scott?’

‘About to meet the fate that all killers deserve.’

‘Tell me where he is, Edward,’ said Brook tenderly. ‘If we save him I’ll help you.’

‘Go home, Brook,’ said Mullen. ‘This doesn’t concern you.’

‘It’s all that concerns me.’

‘Then you’re going to be disappointed,’ said Mullen. ‘Scott’s body will never be found. Not while I’m alive, at least. Now I’d like you to leave, Inspector. I have a birthday party to organise and I’m tired.’

‘A party for a dead boy,’ said Brook. ‘Just listen to yourself.’

‘I do little else, Inspector,’ said Mullen.

Brook nodded at the table. ‘Quite a crowd you’re expecting.’

‘They’re already here,’ answered Mullen, gesturing around the room. ‘They never leave.’

‘Where’s Sam Bannon so I can wave?’ asked Brook.

‘Sam Bannon?’ said Mullen, his eyes narrowing. ‘Why would he be here?’

‘Because he worked out what you were doing when Harry Pritchett disappeared and came after you,’ said Brook.

‘That was impressive, given his health,’ admitted Mullen. ‘But why would I kill Bannon?’ Mullen’s expression told its own story.

Why kill a madman, believed by nobody?
Brook began to harbour his first doubts but decided he had to play his hand for all it was worth. ‘Because he knew you were the Pied Piper.’

‘So what?’ said Mullen. ‘Harry was safely hidden away and Sam Bannon was losing his mind. Not one of his colleagues believed a word he said. He couldn’t prove a thing, especially as he was working to a flawed hypothesis.’

Brook was silent for a moment, thinking it through. ‘Billy?’

Mullen nodded. ‘Exactly. For Bannon’s Pied Piper theory to make sense I must have killed Billy and to prove I killed Billy he needed to break my alibi for the night he died.’

‘But he couldn’t break it,’ said Brook softly. ‘Your alibi was genuine.’

‘I didn’t kill my friend,’ said Mullen, holding out his hands. ‘I said so all along but Bannon wouldn’t accept it. He kept badgering Mrs Stanforth, even at her daughter’s funeral.’ He glanced at Brook. ‘I’m sorry I lied about that but you were starting to ask the right questions so I thought it better to draw you away.’

‘No apology needed,’ said Brook. ‘That lie confirmed you were the Pied Piper.’

‘How?’ said a puzzled Mullen.

‘I spoke to Amelia.’

‘Amelia?’ Mullen was startled. ‘You’ve seen her? Is she all right?’

‘She’s fine,’ said Brook.

‘I’m glad. And she remembered Bannon harassing her mother about me?’

‘Like it was yesterday,’ said Brook, suddenly deep in thought.

‘Well.’ Mullen shrugged, eyeing the empty bottle of port with regret. ‘Now we’ve established our mutual interest, what does it matter?’

‘How do you know Sam Bannon’s colleagues didn’t believe him?’ asked Brook.

Mullen’s hesitation betrayed a false step. Eventually he answered. ‘They didn’t come after me, did they?’

‘No, they didn’t.’ An unexpected smile creased Brook’s lips as he found his mark. ‘One visit,’ he murmured.

‘Pardon.’

‘One visit from experienced detectives and then they left you alone. In fact, some didn’t even bother interviewing you at all.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ replied Mullen.

‘Rosie was right. You’ve been protected all along,’ said Brook, warming to his theme. ‘By someone like you, someone with secrets and a mutual interest in self-preservation.’

‘Why would I need protection?’

‘Because you’re a killer,’ said Brook.

‘We both are,’ said Mullen.

‘You can drop this fantasy now,’ said Brook. ‘Because if you could really see ghosts, the imprints of murder victims, you’d know that Sam Bannon killed twice.’

Mullen’s face creased with consternation. ‘What? When?’

‘Nineteen sixty-five,’ said Brook, smiling. ‘Didn’t see those
imprints
, did you?’

‘I don’t believe it.’ Mullen stared at Brook. Suddenly he broke into an unsettling grin. ‘No, you’re right, I missed those.’

Mullen’s self-assurance unnerved Brook so he reached for his final round of ammunition.

‘And your moral posturing is in tatters after killing Edna.’ Brook watched closely, no great confidence in his accusation but Mullen was taken aback.

After a beat, the old man’s surprise gave way to admiration. ‘I’m impressed. How did you know? I made it look like suicide.’

‘I’m a trained detective,’ replied Brook. ‘I told you she was murdered and the natural question was to ask how. You didn’t. But more than that, Edna would never leave a dirty teacup in the sink if she was going to commit suicide. You should have known that much. That’s not how your generation do things.’

‘I underestimated you, Brook,’ said Mullen thoughtfully.

‘So much for harvesting the guilty.’

‘I’m not ashamed, Brook. Yes, Edna’s here with us because that’s what she wanted. She’s happy here.’

‘Why would she be happy?’ demanded Brook.

‘Because she wanted me to kill her.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ said Brook. ‘You’re saying it was a mercy killing?’

‘No, Edna was in a lot of pain but she could handle that,’ replied Mullen. ‘It was her mental suffering she wanted to end. You see, she wanted me to
help
her the way I helped her husband when he was dying.’

‘Assisted suicide?’ exclaimed Brook. ‘You’re lying. Edna Spencer was a Catholic. Her husband too.’

‘But their devotion dwindled when they realised how their God had abandoned them,’ said Mullen. ‘Edna couldn’t stand to see Eric suffering. They were my friends so I helped him on his way. That meant he could cling to me. When Eric was gone, I was able to tell Edna that he was with me, that he was safe, that he loved her.’

‘She was a client?’

‘She was a friend,’ said Mullen. ‘And when the time was right, Edna wanted me to do the same for her so she and Eric could both be together for the rest of time.’

‘With you?’

‘A small price to pay.’

‘In your little stable of ghosts.’

‘If that’s how you want to describe it.’

Brook shook his head. ‘A mercy killer. I don’t think so. You killed Edna because she knew you’d taken Scott.’

Mullen’s eyes narrowed. ‘Not so.’

‘You couldn’t let her live. She might have given you up.’

‘No.’

‘She knew something that could harm you and you killed her because she was a threat.’

‘She wanted my help,’ insisted Mullen. ‘Why won’t you believe me?’

‘“No child deserves to die.” Edna’s last words to me,’ said Brook. ‘She knew what you were, Mullen – a child killer. Maybe she did turn a blind eye because she thought you were some kind of link to her husband but that was about to change.’

‘You’re guessing.’

‘Am I? She was on the verge of telling me. She couldn’t stand the thought of another boy suffering. Instead, she spoke to you to tell you to stop and you killed her for it.’

‘All the effort you’ve put into these wild allegations and you can’t prove any of it, can you?’ smirked Mullen. ‘Curiously, I have Sam Bannon to thank for forcing me to make myself bombproof.’

Brook’s eyes bored into Mullen. ‘You’re not bombproof yet. We’re still working the forensics on Edna’s flat and if they find something—’

‘They won’t.’

‘If they do—’

‘If they do, you will bury it,’ said Mullen, bringing a fist down on to the table. ‘Because when it comes to making accusations of murder, your hands are tied.’

‘As others have been before me?’ asked Brook. Mullen opened his mouth to speak but closed it again. ‘One visit,’ continued Brook. ‘Did they think I wouldn’t notice? Did you?’

‘Go home, Brook,’ said Mullen.

‘Do you think your ghost stories will stop me from putting you away?’

‘Without a doubt,’ said Mullen. ‘You’ve got too much to lose.’

‘It’d be my word against yours and who’d believe you?’

‘Can you take that chance?’ countered a grinning Mullen. ‘Read the papers, Brook. You’re not well-liked. Something else we have in common. There’ll be plenty of takers if you force me to turn you in.’

Brook didn’t answer for a while, simply staring thoughtfully at Mullen. ‘Where’s Scott?’ he said eventually.

‘Do I have to call the police?’ demanded Mullen.

‘Your friends can’t help you any more,’ said Brook. ‘You need professional help.’

‘Then for your sake, let’s hope I don’t get it,’ said Mullen. ‘Now I need you to leave. I’m tired and I’ve got a busy day ahead.’ He stood to draw matters to a close.

Brook considered him for a moment before also getting to his feet. He walked solemnly to the front door.

Mullen’s friendly smile returned. ‘Don’t worry, Brook. I never betray a confidence.’

Brook opened the door, turning back to Mullen for the last time. His eyes alighted on the oak table. The chessboard was bare.

Mullen followed his glance to the empty board then grinned back at Brook. ‘Game over, Brook. You lose.’

Brook took a step across the threshold before shouting, ‘Sergeant!’

Mullen’s face drained. ‘What are you doing?’

Noble walked through the door and held a document in front of Mullen. ‘Mr Edward Mullen, we have a warrant to search your property. Please step aside.’

Mullen snatched the warrant and glared at Brook. ‘You’ll be sorry for this.’

Brook ignored him. ‘I’ll take the upstairs, John. You do downstairs.’ He pulled out his mobile as he trotted to the first floor. ‘Sir? DI Brook. I need that team now.’

Mullen sat resentfully at the table in front of the chessboard unable to do little more than stare at the heavy curtains. All around him uniformed officers poked around the room, some searching shelves and cabinets, others pulling up the ancient carpet to check the integrity of the floorboards. DS Noble and DC Cooper sifted through the untidy bookcase. Other officers did similar work in the kitchen and adjacent dining room.

‘It might help if we had more light,’ said Cooper. ‘Is this guy Batman or what?’

‘Eyes on the prize, Dave,’ reproached Noble. ‘We’re looking for a lost kid, remember.’

Chief Superintendent Charlton walked through the front door at that moment, getting his bearings and looking round in distaste at the furnishings and general state of decay.

Mullen jumped up to speak to him but was held down by a uniformed constable. ‘Are you in charge?’

Charlton nodded in acknowledgement.

‘I want to swear out a complaint or whatever it is I need to do,’ said Mullen. ‘This is an outrage. I’m an intensely private man and Detective Inspector Brook broke into my home and interrogated me against my will.’

‘That’s a very serious charge,’ said Charlton. ‘Broke in how?’

‘Through the front door. He knocked over my water bucket.’

Charlton backtracked to the front door to examine the locks. ‘I don’t see any damage.’ He patted the sopping wet doormat with a shoe and, confused, glanced up at Noble who made a circular sign against his head with a finger.
Crazy
.

‘He’s a policeman, isn’t he?’ protested Mullen. ‘He must have skeleton keys or something.’

‘Sergeant?’ said Charlton.

‘Total rubbish, sir,’ said Noble. ‘DI Brook and I knocked on the door and served the warrant together.’

‘He’s lying,’ spat Mullen.

‘Another serious charge,’ said Charlton, not taking his eyes from Noble. The detective sergeant blanched under his searching gaze.

‘I don’t even know what I’m supposed to have done,’ protested Mullen, again failing to get to his feet.

‘Calm down, sir,’ said Charlton. ‘You’ll get a hearing once we finish our business.’

‘But you’ve no right,’ protested Mullen. ‘And no evidence of wrongdoing. At least tell me what you want.’

Brook came down the stairs, his expression severe. He didn’t need to speak but shook his head briefly at Charlton for good measure. Charlton pursed his lips but resolved not to interrogate Brook in front of a civilian.

‘John?’ ventured Brook. Noble shook his head in turn and Brook turned away to mask his frustration.

‘Perhaps it’s good that you’re here, after all,’ said Mullen, a smile forming.

‘Sir?’ inquired Charlton.

‘I should tell you that on an earlier visit, DI Brook confessed to me that he’s a murderer.’ Mullen looked cheerfully round the gathering to gauge reaction, his eyes landing finally on Brook’s impassive features.

‘Murderer?’ said Charlton.

‘You heard me,’ confirmed Mullen, pointing at Brook. ‘Him. See, he’s not bothering to deny it.’

‘What are you talking about, sir?’ asked Charlton.

‘In nineteen ninety-one, when DI Brook was serving in London, he encountered a black man named Floyd Wrigley, during a case. And when he couldn’t prove this man was a killer, Brook executed him.’

‘Executed?’ Charlton looked at every face, baffled.

‘Cut his throat,’ added Mullen with relish.

There was complete silence for half a minute as six law enforcement officers contemplated the slight figure of Mullen before them. Noble broke the silence, his emerging grin turning into laughter which the others, Charlton aside, echoed.

‘What are you laughing at?’ cried Mullen. ‘Didn’t you hear what I said? Brook is a murderer. And you can check what I say.’