The Disciple (20 page)

Jason checked his mobile. He had a text from Stinger.

My place 7 2nite got news be their

Wassup
he texted back. A moment later the text was answered. Jason read it. Then he read it again. A puzzled smile creased his pale visage and he threw himself back on his bed. He took a deep breath and nodded.

‘I’m ready,’ he muttered, staring saucer-eyed at the ceiling.

Laura Grant walked quickly past the railway station back towards the Midland. The sun still shone and although it was lowering it still felt unseasonably warm.

She trotted up to the first-floor landing and opened the door to Hudson’s room.

The room was still in darkness. ‘Guv?’

This time the figure on the bed croaked out an answer. ‘That you, Laura?’

‘No, it’s Britney Spears.’

Hudson managed a chuckle before moaning long and low. ‘Oh, don’t make me laugh, darlin’. My stomach can’t cope.’

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Like death would be a blessed release.’

‘But you managed to get some sleep?’

‘Between projectile vomits and having the shits, yeah.’

‘Good.’

‘You know, I think there’s a competition going on to see which of my orifices can expel the most stuff. I could sell tickets.’

‘As long as we don’t see it in the Olympics. Here,’ she said, drawing out a paper cup from a brown paper bag.

‘What’s that?’

‘Chicken soup.’

‘No, I couldn’t, honestly.’

‘You’ve got to eat something, guv. It’s good for you.’

‘Not yet. Not after that bloody curry. Just the smell…’

‘Maybe some Lucozade?’

‘I’ll try. Leave it by the bed. Everything sorted?’

Grant nodded. ‘We’ve got the rooms until tomorrow. And I rang Maddy’s office to tell him we needed an extra day to follow something up.’

Hudson nodded minutely. ‘Fingers crossed I’ll be okay by then.’

‘You’ll be fine – this isn’t like you.’

‘I know. What will you do with yourself?’

‘I don’t know. Read a book. See a film. Maybe have an Indian.’

‘That’s not funny.’

‘But we’re on exes, guv. We’ve got to fill our boots.’

Hudson sighed heavily. ‘Turn the lamp off on your way out.’

Sheriff Dupree stared at the frozen monitor then sat back so that McQuarry and Drexler could see the image of the shaven-headed man handing over money to Caleb Ashwell. ‘This is the last one. This is the only customer we
can’t put a name to and the only one who left with a cup of coffee. Every other customer that day is a local I can vouch for, or paid by other means. Not this man. He paid cash.’

‘He fits. It’s 6.30 – just before Ashwell closed up for the night.’

‘And he was driving a motor home – a Dodge Ram 250.’

‘How do we know that?’ asked McQuarry.

‘Ashwell had some problem with thefts a while back,’ said Dupree. ‘That’s why they put a camera in. They also started logging all vehicle plates with a time.’

‘Did the DMV give us a name?’

‘No, because the vehicle was sold recently by a party in LA. The paperwork hasn’t caught up yet, but they’re tracing it.’

‘This guy looks the right height and build to be our hangman,’ nodded Drexler at the monitor.

‘It gets better. Watch this!’ said Dupree. He pressed the play button and the man began to move away from Ashwell. But before he turned to leave, he raised his dark eyes up to the camera and gave an imperceptible smile. Then he left, clutching a paper bag and his large Styrofoam cup of coffee.

‘What was in the bag? Rewind it,’ said McQuarry.

‘No need, I already seen. He bought one of these.’ Sheriff Dupree placed a sturdy penknife on the table. ‘Ain’t a fella in the county who don’t own one.’ Dupree smiled at them but only McQuarry understood why.

‘Am I missing something?’ asked Drexler.

Dupree picked up his penknife and pulled out the corkscrew attachment before placing the knife back on the table. ‘This is California. And in California we grow grapes.’

Drexler smiled. ‘Of course, the bottle of wine. We need to find this guy.’

‘And we need to ask him something. If he got a cup of coffee, how come he didn’t crash like the others?’

‘Only one answer, Andy,’ said McQuarry. ‘He didn’t drink it because he knew.’

Jason pulled in smoke and passed the spliff on to Grets, who pounced on it and went through the same ritual, looking round in the hope of seeing fear and disapproval from Drayfin residents peering out from their homes. But the light was fading fast and most curtains were drawn against the encroachment of the outside world. Finally exhaling, Grets pulled the bottle of Diamond White to his mouth and took another huge draw. ‘Gear, innit?’ he said.

‘Sick,’ drawled Banger, who took his turn on the dwindling joint. ‘Betcha din’t get no blow up at the fag farm, blood.’

‘Not this kinda blow,’ laughed Grets, coughing up smoke as the others screamed their approval and jostled each other to try and make a dent on the vat of hormones and cheap booze sluicing around their bloodstreams.

‘Get your hands off, you gay.’

‘Whatever, minger.’

‘You say you dun’t fancy me, pussy boy?’

‘Blatantly no way, man. If I
was
into rusty bullet, I’d give your spotty ass the swerve, you punk ass bitch.’

Reassured that gayness had been uniformly rejected, they all relaxed and continued tucking into Bargain Booze’s finest apple beverage as they ambled along the misshapen pavements of the estate, scraping their trainers to mark their passing as they went.

‘I’m starving, man. Let’s go chippy.’

‘No need, bredrin,’ said Stinger, checking his mobile. ‘My mum and Uncle Ryan are having a barby remember – to big up Jason’s release. If you’re okay about passing your folks’ old place?’

‘It’s just a building,’ replied Jason, resurrecting his toughest expression. ‘And if it’s like you say…’

‘Swear down, Jace. I told you. We teafed a brand new barby last week and fuck me, if we don’t go and win a load of meat and booze and stuff. They were bringing it all round tonight.’ He flicked through his texts until he found the right one. ‘Yeah, we’re on. ’Bout an hour.’

Jason looked at Stinger for a minute, unable to speak. Maybe it was the Diamond White, but for a second he was incapable of understanding why he had a lump in his throat. ‘And you definitely won it right?’

‘S’right.’

‘In a competition?’

‘Like I said.’

Jason stood frozen in time for a second, eyes like nuggets of coal. ‘They just rung you up out of the blue?’

‘S’up, Jace?’ asked Grets.

Jason failed to answer. A moment later a strange grimace deformed his face and he nodded at some private revelation. ‘Nuttin. I’m ready.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘I … I love you, man,’ he said, adding a loudly blown kiss.

‘I thought you were mi mate, you fucking queer,’ laughed Stinger, and the rest of the Drayfin Dogs joined in, punctuating their shambolic walk with more mock brawls and bellowed insults.

Jason’s grin was a little more forced than the rest. Looking around as they jostled their way to Stinger’s house, he wasn’t skimming the floor looking for stones to throw at lampposts and parked cars. He was looking for The Reaper. The Reaper was near.
Yeah, I’m ready.

Grets came to a halt and laid an arm across the others. ‘Who’s that?’ he said, peering into the gathering gloom and pointing at a figure walking towards them. A young Asian boy stopped and stared at the four of them.

Banger stepped forward, pulling a Stanley knife from his pocket. ‘These fucking terrorists think they can walk about in our block. We’re having ’im,’ he screamed, darting towards the figure, who’d already turned to sprint away. Banger, Grets and Stinger hurtled after him, Jason bringing up the rear.

Brook glared at the computer screen then lowered his eyes. At that moment, DS Noble walked into the office so Brook quickly minimised the internet window.

‘Bit late for you, John?’ Their shift had finished an hour ago.

‘I’m meeting some mates in town for a drink,’ he said.

‘The pub? At this hour?’

Noble smiled pityingly. ‘We’re off to Restoration.’ Brook gazed back at him, none the wiser. ‘It’s a new bar in town. Nobody under the age of thirty-five goes to pubs any more, unless they’re married.’

Brook found it difficult to digest this cultural insight. ‘If you say so.’

Noble made to leave then turned back. ‘If you’ve nowhere to go, sir, you’re welcome to join us.’

Brook looked up. He was almost touched. ‘Thanks, John, but I’ve been going nowhere for years and I know the way.’

‘Sure?’ Noble persevered, against his better judgement. Brook fixed him with a pointed stare. ‘Understood.’ He turned to mask his relief.

‘You’re a computer boffin, John.’

Noble turned back from the door. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

‘How easy is it to trace an email?’ asked Brook, ignoring Noble’s modesty.

‘Not too difficult if you’re an expert, which I’m not, and providing you’re not tracing another expert who doesn’t want to be found.’

‘I see.’

‘The first thing is to identify the server. If you’ve got it up, I can have a look and…’

‘Don’t worry, John. It’s not important,’ smiled Brook. ‘How are you getting on with Brian Burton’s book?’ he added to close the subject.

‘Put it this way. I don’t need sleeping pills. Night.’

‘Goodnight.’ Brook clicked on the toolbar to reopen the inbox of his Hotmail account. The second email from The Reaper had already been opened and read. But Brook stared at the subject line again.
Tonight.
He stood and went to look out across the low horizon, lighting up again as he gazed out through the darkness at the twinkling lights of Derby. With a deep sigh he looked at his watch and returned to his desk to log out.