Sunday, 29 May
Brook fiddled with the strap of his laptop case as he looked up at Yvette’s bedroom window. The curtains were drawn. He checked his watch and knocked loudly on the glass door. After five minutes of rhythmic knocking, Brook heard footfalls and the door finally opened.
Yvette tried to focus on her visitor in the piercing light. Her black hair was tousled and her eyes sleepy as she tied the belt of a silk robe tightly round her waist. The curve of her breasts and her shapely legs were, as usual, available for inspection. ‘Damen. It’s Sunday morning. Do you know what time it is?’
‘It’s six o’clock,’ said Brook helpfully. He removed his laptop from his shoulder.
‘What the hell do you want?’ She kept the door open enough to converse but no more. ‘Have you found Rusty?’ she said with sudden hope.
‘No.’
‘Then. .’ She looked annoyed but in a trice her manner became flirtatious. ‘You should ring next time, Damen. I might have had company.’
‘Len!’ shouted Brook at the top of his voice. ‘You still in there?’
‘Stop that,’ she spat, looking round at neighbouring houses. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Just checking,’ explained Brook. ‘I think he’s gone now. He wouldn’t risk a sleepover with Alice three streets away.’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘What makes you think it would be Len Poole? I might have your Sergeant upstairs in my bed.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Then you don’t know men like I do, Damen. The Sergeant was very taken with me, don’t you think?’
Brook was sombre. He couldn’t lose sight of the fact that maybe Yvette was herself a kind of victim. ‘He’ll get over it.’
Her lip curled. ‘So what do you want?’ she said, cocking her head.
‘I need to ask you about yesterday’s Deity broadcast. It’s important.’
Yvette’s face hardened as she sought the excuse she needed but it wouldn’t come. Instead she walked away from the door and Brook, uninvited, followed her into the sun-dappled sitting room.
‘I haven’t seen it,’ she said, sitting demurely on the sofa.
‘What do you mean, you haven’t seen it?’
‘Just that.’
‘It was on the Deity website, it was on the news in the evening. Are you telling me that you haven’t seen a piece of film that might have a bearing on your son’s disappearance?’
She didn’t reply. Instead she went to the kitchen. ‘I’m making coffee,’ she explained. ‘Want one?’
‘You’re making coffee?’
She smiled sweetly at him. ‘Got to start the day with a cup of hot coffee.’
‘Is that what you did when you found your mother’s body?’
Her eagerness to please vanished for a split second but resumed almost at once. ‘I was only nine. And it was a can of Lilt back then.’ Her eyes lowered in sadness. ‘She left me on my own.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Brook.
Yvette found her smile a second later. ‘No use crying over spilled milk.’ She breezed back to the kitchen.
‘I brought Russell’s computer back yesterday,’ shouted Brook, looking around the living room. He spotted the laptop on a side-table still in the plastic bag he’d returned it in. He picked it up. ‘Why didn’t you watch the broadcast, Yvette? I want an answer.’
She appeared at the doorway. ‘No sugar, right?’
‘You’re a mother. Your missing son could be on that film,’ insisted Brook. ‘The son you begged us to find.’
She looked right at him now, her lips quivering. ‘Russell’s not coming back. He’s dead.’
‘Russell!’ exclaimed Brook. ‘Did you say Russell?’
She hesitated. ‘My son, yes.’
Brook smiled sadly. ‘Your son is dead? How do you know?’ There were tears in her eyes. ‘A mother always knows.’
‘Of course she does.’ Brook pulled Russell’s laptop from the plastic and turned it on.
‘Why are you turning that on? There’s nothing on there. You said yourself.’
‘The files on here were wiped but the software wasn’t touched,’ answered Brook.
Yvette looked at him, processing the information. ‘I don’t understand.’ Her eyes suggested otherwise.
‘Don’t you?’ The software loaded and Brook flicked his eyes around the desktop. ‘Word, Recycle Bin, Help — and an old web browser. Is that all that’s on here?’ Yvette didn’t reply. Brook clicked on the browser icon.
‘It takes ages to load,’ she said with a faint smile. ‘It’s really old.’
Brook nodded. ‘I know,’ he said softly. He turned to face her. ‘But only yesterday you told us Russell was a film buff, that he spent hours filming and watching his films on a laptop.’
‘I. . er, that’s right.’
‘On this?’
No reply.
‘I don’t think he watched films on this piece of junk, did he?’ Yvette didn’t answer. ‘He had another laptop.’ Still no reply. ‘An expensive one capable of uploading and watching films.’
Yvette stood up and smoothed down her robe. ‘No, he used that one,’ she said airily.
‘Then show me the software,’ said Brook.
‘I don’t know about that stuff.’
‘I think you do. Where’s the other laptop?’ said Brook. ‘And more importantly, where is Russell?’
She glared at him briefly before returning to the kitchen to pour two coffees. She placed one next to Brook with a coquettish smile. ‘You did say no sugar.’
Brook’s face was like stone. He swung his own laptop case from his shoulder and turned on his machine. He cued up the last Deity broadcast as Noble had shown him and swung the screen round to face her.
She glanced at the screen but didn’t react. A moment later, Brook paused the broadcast on the picture of the hanged boy. Yvette’s eyes widened. ‘No, no, no!’ she screamed and threw her coffee cup at Brook, who just managed to duck in time, though hot coffee scalded his hand. ‘Leave us alone!’ she wept, and leaped towards the front door. Brook had anticipated her and blocked her way so she turned and headed for the back door. Brook declined to follow, instead pulling out a handkerchief to cover his burning hand.
A few seconds later he heard more screaming, and a struggling Yvette was being restrained with some difficulty by Noble and PC Patel.
‘Yvette Thomson. You’re under arrest for the murder of Russell Thomson.’
Brook plucked the nearly new toothbrush from the cup and dropped it in the evidence bag. He jogged back down the stairs where Don Crump was waxing lyrical about his antipathy to early mornings.
‘It’s Sunday, for Christ’s sake — middle of the night too, I mean, fuck me. .’ He stopped when his colleagues’ eyes were drawn first to Brook on the stairs and then to their tasks. Crump turned to Brook, who handed him the evidence bag.
‘What’s this?’
‘Yvette Thomson. DNA profile, please.’
‘Is that all?’
‘No. You can clear Russell’s room of all the artefacts. I want them bagged and tagged,’ said Brook, over his shoulder.
‘What about his DNA? SOCO already looked, remember.’
Brook turned at the front door. ‘You may have to separate it from other samples,’ he said, ‘but I’d try Mrs Thomson’s bedroom.’
Crump rolled a lascivious eye to colleagues and in his best Kenneth Williams accent, said, ‘Ooh, Matron!’
Cooper scrolled through all the texts on Yvette Thomson’s phone as Brook and Noble looked on.
‘Since the students went missing, Yvette’s sent him fifteen texts. All asking where he is and when he’s coming back and all increasingly desperate. All unanswered as were the thirty calls she placed to his mobile number. If she’s faking it, it’s pretty impressive.’
‘Anything else?’
‘You want to see her snapshots?’
‘Why not?’ said Brook. ‘We might get a better likeness of Rusty.’
Brook placed the evidence bags and photographs on the table and turned on the recorder to announce the time, date, his own name and those of Noble, PC Patel and the duty solicitor, Roger Sands. Yvette Thomson sat perfectly still and stared into space. She seemed to be in a state of shock. ‘State your name for the record, please.’ No reply. ‘Yvette.’
The solicitor touched her arm and Yvette looked up. She roused herself to think. ‘Yvette Gail Thomson.’
‘Have the charges been properly explained to you?’ said Brook.
A pained expression infected her features. ‘I did not kill my son,’ she answered.
‘But you accept that he is dead,’ said Brook.
‘Don’t answer that,’ said Sands.
Brook shot him a malevolent glance and picked up a picture of the hanged boy taken from the Deity broadcast and pushed it towards her. ‘Is that your son?’
‘You don’t have to say anything, Miss Thomson,’ said Sands. ‘They have no evidence.’
‘Is that your son, Yvette?’ persisted Brook. ‘Look at it.’
She darted a glance at the photograph then closed her eyes, forcing tears on to her cheeks. After several minutes of silence she finally answered. ‘Yes. That’s Russell.’
‘Not Rusty.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Every time you referred to your missing son before this morning, you called him Rusty.’
‘Well, I could hardly call him Russell, could I? Out of respect.’
‘So Rusty is not your son.’
‘Miss Thomson, I advise you. .’ began Sands.
‘No.’
‘He’s your lover.’
‘Miss Thomson. .’
She hesitated but then said proudly. ‘Yes.’
‘Miss-’
‘Keep quiet,’ spat Yvette at Sands. ‘I’ll shout about our love from the rooftops if I want.’
Brook smiled at Sands. ‘How long has Rusty been your lover?’
‘Four years.’
‘And Russell died three years ago, is that right?’
‘When we — I — lived in Wales, yes.’
‘Near Denbigh?’
‘Briefly.’
‘So you met Rusty the year before your son died.’
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
Yvette smiled with remembrance. ‘On the beach at Rhyl. Me and Russell were having a day out in the holidays. Rusty, this beautiful young man, just walked up to me with a strange smile on his face and sat in the sand next to me. I’ll never forget what he said to me. He said, “I’ve found my soulmate.” And he had.’
‘Where was Russell when this was happening?’
‘He was having a ride on a donkey.’
‘This would be in 2007.’
‘If you say so.’
‘When Russell died the year after, how old was he?’ The tears started again. ‘Fifteen.’
‘And how old is Rusty?’
Yvette shook her head. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘You don’t know?’ said Brook, surprised.
‘Older.’
‘Well, how old was he when you met him?’
‘Four years younger than he is now,’ she sneered.
‘You’re telling me you don’t know how old your lover of four years is?’
‘Twenty? Twenty-five? Maybe older.’
Brook took a sip of water. ‘I find it incredible that you don’t know.’
Yvette shrugged. ‘It never came up. We were in love. It wasn’t important.’
‘Never came up,’ Brook repeated. Then: ‘You’re an orphan, Yvette. It must’ve been tough so I’ll try not to judge.’
‘What does that mean?’ she growled at him.
‘It means that everything that happens is all about you, isn’t it? What you want. What you need.’
Yvette looked down at the floor, searching for a rebuttal.
‘I. .’ She shook her head.
‘What about Rusty’s real name? Did that come up?’
Yvette took offence at Brook’s tone and replied icily, ‘He said it was Ian.’
‘Surname?’
She shook her head, shamefaced. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Did you ever see any ID — passport, birth certificate, driving licence?’
‘Nothing.’
‘How about credit cards?’
‘Rusty has no use for money. He says it imprisons those who have it.’
‘Does he? So you have no idea if his name is really Ian.’
‘No.’ She smiled suddenly. ‘Rusty said he didn’t exist before he met me. He really loves me, you see.’
‘Why did you kill Russell?’ asked Brook.
‘I didn’t kill him,’ replied Yvette firmly. ‘He killed himself.’
‘But he was your son and you didn’t report him missing. Why?’
‘He wasn’t missing. He was dead.’
‘Then why didn’t you contact the police to identify his body?’
‘Because. .’
‘. . they would’ve asked why you didn’t report him missing,’ said Brook before Yvette could answer. ‘Your son has not had a decent burial. He has no grave to mark his passing. How do you feel about that?’
‘Terrible,’ she replied. ‘What mother wouldn’t?’
‘Then why allow that to happen?’
‘I didn’t see the point of it,’ she snarled at Brook.
‘No use crying over spilled milk?’ suggested Brook. No reply. ‘Why did Rusty kill him?’
‘Russell committed suicide. He did it of his own accord. Ian — Rusty — told me.’ She began to cry. ‘Russell was depressed. He was being bullied. Rusty just. .’ She closed her eyes, forcing more tears down her cheeks.
‘What? Encouraged him?’
She nodded. ‘I didn’t know, I swear. Rusty told me later. He said it was for the best, that Russell would always be unhappy. He said he realised as soon as he met him that Russell was a soul in torment. Rusty — Ian — was just waiting for the right time to. .’
‘. . help your son end his life,’ said Brook.
She hung her head. ‘Rusty’s very persuasive. He could charm the birds out of the trees. He was Russell’s friend, he supported him. He said it was for the best, best for Russell too. He was too sensitive to live; he’d always be in pain. That’s how he put it. He said I shouldn’t say anything. If the police got involved or found out who Russell was, then they’d make him a scapegoat and put him away, and. .’
‘. . you’d be alone again.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why couldn’t they identify his body? There wasn’t even a dental record.’
‘I took him to the dentist when he was small. The first time, he screamed the place down, wouldn’t let the dentist near him. Nothing worked. I told you — he was sensitive, see?’ She shrugged. ‘I looked after his teeth best I could from then.’
‘But why did nobody else know who Russell was or report him missing?’
‘We’d just moved into the cottage two days before. Nobody knew us.’
‘And that made it the right time for Rusty to carry out his plan,’ observed Brook.
Yvette looked down at the table. ‘We’d had to leave Prestatyn because Russell was being bullied. We hadn’t even started the new school. Only the landlord knew I was in Denbigh and he never saw Russell. They’d gone out for a walk together. My two lovely boys.’ She smiled wistfully, then her face hardened as she looked at the picture of the hanging. ‘We left at the end of the month. Me and Rusty. The school weren’t going to fret over a boy they’d never seen. Besides, if anyone asked, Rusty had become my son.’
‘So your son, Russell, just ceased to exist,’ concluded Brook. ‘Why not just send Rusty to the new school instead of Russell?’
‘I couldn’t live there after what had happened. What sort of person do you think I am?’
Brook glanced up at Noble’s expression of disgust. PC Patel was trying to keep a poker face. ‘So you moved away again.’
‘Yes.’
‘And got rid of all the pictures of your son.’
‘Rusty said I had to, if he was going to take Russell’s place properly. He had to become him in every way. He was very good at it. He dressed like him, talked like him, picked up all Russell’s mannerisms, pretended he was shy and nervous. .’
‘. . but he was far from that,’ said Brook. ‘He changed your son from victim into bully. He couldn’t help himself, could he? How ironic. He became just as much trouble to schools as Russell had been; only this time others were on the receiving end of his viciousness. And instead of verbal taunts and threats he used the computer.’
‘There were some issues, yes.’
‘Issues with your new son’s behaviour that meant you had to keep moving around as much as before.’
‘We didn’t mind as long as we could be together, don’t you see?’ pleaded Yvette.
‘Perfectly. You were so desperate and needy that you allowed your lover to kill your son.’
‘You’re making me sound like a monster.’
Noble snorted from his position at the back wall.
‘Am I?’ said Brook, flashing Noble an admonishing glance.
‘You know you are. You’re twisting everything. And I’m not stupid. I know that’s how it looks but I’m really not. I was a good mother but Russell was dead,’ explained Yvette. ‘Don’t you get it? I didn’t know it was going to happen, but it did. There was nothing I could do to bring Russell back.’
‘If there had been, would you have done it?’
Yvette fiddled with the hem of her skirt and absorbed the question. ‘Of course.’
‘Even if it meant standing up to your lover?’
‘I’m a mother,’ insisted Yvette. ‘I would have done anything to protect my son.’
Brook was silent for a moment. ‘Let’s move on to your relationship with Len Poole.’
‘What relationship?’
‘You tell me,’ said Brook. ‘There’s no reason to hide things now, is there?’
Yvette stared at him for a few minutes before coming to a decision. ‘I suppose not.’
‘Start by telling us when you first met him.’
‘I was fourteen. He was at the orphanage.’
‘St Asaph’s School for Boys and Girls?’
Yvette smiled. ‘Girls? I was never a girl. I was a woman. Everyone could see that. Len noticed me as soon as he arrived. He appreciated me, bought me little gifts and gave me money for clothes.’
‘In return for sex.’
‘Don’t be disgusting,’ she yelled, standing up. ‘Do you think I’m a whore?’
‘Sit down, please,’ ordered PC Patel, placing her hands on Yvette’s shoulders and pushing her firmly back into her chair.
‘No,’ said Brook steadily, when she’d calmed down. ‘Far from it. You were under age. Len was an adult. He had a duty of care. Anything you felt pressured to do with him, no matter how severe or gentle that pressure, was the result of his criminal behaviour.’
Yvette’s breathing returned to normal. ‘He said he loved me.’
‘Len?’
‘Yes.’
‘You had sex with him while you were at the orphanage,’ said Brook quietly.
A pause. ‘Not actually at the orphanage,’ she replied. Brook looked at her, waiting. ‘Yes,’ she said almost inaudibly.
‘Louder, please.’
‘Yes,’ she repeated, her face like thunder.
Brook glanced across at Noble, who left the room, his face set hard, concealing the merest hint of anticipation. I’m going to enjoy ruining that Welsh pervert’s life.
‘Detective Sergeant Noble has left the room,’ announced Brook for the tape. He looked back at Yvette. ‘You became pregnant at the orphanage?’ She nodded.
‘Please answer yes or no for the tape.’
‘Yes.’
‘Was Len Poole the father?’ She lifted her head as though trying to remember. Brook assumed she was calculating if the knowledge still possessed monetary value. When she’d decided that it didn’t, she was able to answer.
‘Yes. Len was Russell’s father.’
‘And so you were able to persuade him that he should provide for you and Russell, in exchange for your silence.’
She was amused by Brook’s diplomacy. ‘Persuade, yes. I persuaded him that he owed me a comfortable living.’
‘And he provided that living because if his paternity ever came to light, he would be ruined,’ said Brook. Yvette shrugged as if only just realising. ‘So wherever he moved, he would send for you and set you up in a place nearby.’
She smiled. ‘Something like that.’
‘And give you money.’
‘Yes.’
‘Cash?’
‘Always.’
‘Even after he married his late wife?’
‘Len was aware of his responsibilities,’ said Yvette carefully.
Brook paused before the next question. ‘Did the sexual relationship continue after Russell’s birth?’
‘I’m not a whore,’ repeated Yvette. ‘I don’t have sex for money.’
‘Is that a no?’
‘That’s a no.’
‘Because once you left the orphanage carrying his child, you had the upper hand in your relationship.’
She shrugged again. ‘You could say.’
‘But something changed recently, didn’t it?’ Yvette opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it. ‘When I called last night, Len was at your house, wasn’t he?’
She looked up, startled. ‘How did you know?’
‘I didn’t. But I knew you had somebody with you and I suspected it was either Adam Rifkind or Len.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘You know about Adam?’
‘Not for certain, but he called you Eve when we dropped in on his lecture. That automatically makes him a special friend.’
‘It was only that one time at his holiday cottage,’ she mumbled.
‘So last night it was Len.’
‘Yes.’
‘You had sex with him?’
Yvette grinned at Brook. ‘For what it’s worth.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that two minutes is all the old bastard can manage these days.’
‘You don’t sound very fond of him.’
‘I hate him,’ spat Yvette.
‘Then why did you have sex with him?’ No answer. ‘He demanded sex, didn’t he?’
Yvette looked down at the floor. ‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he’s a dirty old man,’ she replied sourly, looking at Brook with contempt. ‘Like all men. Like you. Wherever I go you look at my body as if it belongs to you. Lusting after me. You, your Sergeant, Adam, that dopey kid Wilson. You only want one thing and you won’t be satisfied unless you get it.’
Brook’s expression was unmoved by the accusation. ‘Does that mean you refused?’
The wind taken out of her sails, eventually she answered, ‘No.’
‘Because you didn’t have the upper hand any more?’
A pause. ‘No.’
‘Because he knew about Russell’s death.’
Yvette shook her head. ‘No. He didn’t know the first thing about Russell. Len wasn’t interested and never had been.’
‘But he knew something was wrong.’
Yvette sighed. ‘Me and Russell bumped into Len from time to time as he grew up. Small towns — you couldn’t help it.’
Brook nodded. ‘But when you followed him to Derby six months ago, he knew Rusty wasn’t his son.’
‘Yes. After Russell. . we tried very hard to make sure Len never saw Rusty and it worked fine until Len spotted him at Parents’ Evening. He came to pick Alice up and Kyle introduced them. He knew straight away he wasn’t Russell.’
‘So what did Len do?’
‘At first he threatened to stop the money, but then he seemed to change his mind. Said he was sorry, that he’d been hasty. A couple of days later he came round with the money, as usual. But instead of just dropping it off, he said he needed to use the bathroom.’ She laughed. ‘Well, Rusty was wise to that.’
‘He was there?’
‘No, Rusty was never at home, always out filming stuff in the streets. But he knew after meeting him that it wouldn’t take Len long to look for proof he wasn’t his father. And then. .’
‘No more money,’ finished Brook.
‘Right. So we were careful. Rusty’s bedroom was a fake — his idea. His books, his posters — simple. His room but he never went in there, not once, so he couldn’t leave DNA, hairs, that sort of thing.’
‘So you set the room up to make it look like his.’ Brook nodded.
‘And when Len called we knew he’d be straight in there looking for DNA. Well, it used to be his job, didn’t it?’
‘And when he went to the bathroom he stole Rusty’s toothbrush,’ said Brook.
‘No. Rusty wasn’t stupid. He hid his toothbrush in the bottom of my knickers drawer.’
Brook picked up an evidence bag and placed it down in front of Yvette. ‘This toothbrush?’
Yvette stared at it. ‘Where did you find that?’
‘Where you said. In your underwear drawer, in your bedroom.’
‘In my bedroom,’ she echoed.
‘Is that Rusty’s toothbrush?’ Yvette stared some more.
‘Yvette.’
She looked up at Brook and nodded faintly.
‘Please answer yes or no.’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Thank you. Now this is where I get confused. If Rusty hid his toothbrush in your bedroom, how did Len get proof Rusty wasn’t his son?’
‘He didn’t. But he did the next best thing.’
Brook stared at her for a moment, processing the information. ‘Of course. He took your toothbrush instead. That’s why you had to buy a new one.’
‘Yes,’ said Yvette.
‘Len didn’t need to prove that he wasn’t Rusty’s father, just that you weren’t his real mother. And if you weren’t Rusty’s real mother then he couldn’t be the father.’
‘Sly old bastard. We didn’t think of that.’
‘But that still begs the question: if Rusty’s bedroom was clean, how did Len get a sample of Rusty’s DNA?’
Yvette shrugged. ‘That I don’t know.’
‘Where is Rusty?’
‘I don’t know,’ she repeated with more force. ‘Everything I’ve told you about his disappearance is true. I haven’t seen him since the day before Kyle’s party. I don’t know where he is. I wish I did. You’ve got my phone. You must know how many times I’ve tried to get in touch with him.’
Brook took the phone from the evidence bag and handed it to her. ‘Show me a recent picture of Rusty.’
‘I told you. We had to be careful. There aren’t any pictures of him.’
Brook took the phone from her and, following Cooper’s instructions, scrolled down several photographs until he had the one he wanted. ‘Then who’s that?’ He turned the phone round to show Yvette the picture of the dark-haired boy with a small goatee beard. It had been taken three weeks previously.
Yvette gazed at the picture and smiled faintly. Her expression returned to neutral and she pushed the phone back to Brook. ‘That’s Philippe.’
‘Philippe?’
‘I called him Phil. He was an exchange student from Paris.’
‘Was?’
‘He went back to France two weeks ago. I met him at the college.’ She smiled fondly. ‘He’s an orphan like me.’
‘Is he a friend of Rusty’s?’
‘Rusty doesn’t know him. He’s a student, that’s all. Rusty was spending more and more time. .’ Yvette pursed her lips around the rest of the sentence.
‘And did you sleep with Philippe?’
This time there was no tantrum. She sighed. ‘He was nice to me.’ She looked at her solicitor who picked up the baton.
‘Is this relevant?’ said Roger Sands. ‘Is my client being charged with being friendly to her fellow students?’
Brook smiled. ‘Sorry. Just trying to be thorough. Let’s talk again about the boy filming on Exeter Bridge. You said you weren’t sure if it was Rusty. Was that a lie?’
She nodded. ‘I think it’s him. He looked like Rusty, moved like Rusty.’
Brook sat back in the chair. ‘Tell me about him.’
‘I love him.’
‘Don’t tell me about you. Tell me about him,’ insisted Brook.
‘Don’t you think we ought to take a break there, Inspector?’ interjected Sands, the solicitor. ‘My client has cooperated fully.’
Brook didn’t take his eyes from Yvette as he raised his hand to halt the interruption. ‘What about the other students? What do you think he’s up to?’ continued Brook.
‘I honestly don’t know,’ said Yvette. ‘But as soon as he arrived he latched on to that Adele Watson. She felt sorry for him at first but she’s smart. She knew he had. .’ she paused, looking for the right words ‘. . hidden depths.’
‘So he became her friend.’
‘Sort of.’
‘Like he became Russell’s friend?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Do you think Rusty saw Adele as another soul in torment? Do you think he’s encouraging her to end her suffering? And Kyle? And Becky?’
‘You think he enjoys it!’ exclaimed Yvette.
‘I do.’
‘Rusty could be dead, for all you know. He could be the victim. Somebody could be hurting him as we speak.’
‘You still protect him even though he’s not coming back.’
‘What do you mean?’ she flared. ‘He loves me. Of course he’s coming back.’
‘He doesn’t love you any more, Yvette. That’s why he gave you to us.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Three years ago he helped Russell kill himself then took photographs of his dead body. And when he decided the time was right, he included the picture of your dead son in the Deity broadcast for the whole world to see. He’s moving on, Yvette.’
‘No.’
‘Was it jealousy? Couldn’t he stand sharing you with Len? Or Wilson? Or Rifkind?’ Brook studied her as she processed the information.
‘It must have been a mistake,’ protested Yvette. ‘He wouldn’t betray me.’
‘He already has. How long do you think it took us to make the link? He knew we’d be doing background checks on all the parents. He knew we’d find the link with Len. He knew we’d spot the picture and work out that you were living in the area at the time of the hanging. He knew we’d get a sample of Russell’s DNA to compare with yours. He’s given you to us on a plate, Yvette, because he’s done with you. Now, why don’t you tell us where he is?’
Her eyes blazed. ‘I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know,’ she screamed, sobbing furiously now.
Brook looked at his watch and then at Sands for the first time. ‘Now we can take a break.’
‘Do we believe her?’ asked Charlton, staring at the monitor showing Yvette Thomson, head in her hands, in the Interview Room.
‘I think so,’ said Brook, draining his tea. ‘Don’t forget she rushed down to the river when Len told her we’d found a body. She wouldn’t have done that unless she thought it might be Rusty. And if she’d had anything to do with Wilson’s death she wouldn’t have set foot near the place.’
‘So what are you thinking? This fake Russell Thomson is responsible for all this?’
‘He’s the fox in the henhouse, sir. He doesn’t belong. He’s not a teenager and he’s not vulnerable. But everyone he meets who is disposed to suicide is at risk from him.’
‘And Wilson?’
‘My guess is he went to pester Yvette for sex after the assault on Kyle. Rusty was filming the assault and must’ve followed him. Somewhere along the line, Rusty got hold of him and got into his head. And then he killed himself.’
‘Softened up with drugs?’ asked Charlton.
‘We get the autopsy results today. But I’m betting he was. By all accounts Wilson was too stupid to be vulnerable otherwise.’
Charlton blew out his cheeks. ‘Why’s he doing this, besides messing with our heads?’
‘Rusty?’ Brook thought about it for a second. ‘The short answer — fun.’
‘And the long one?’
‘It’s about control,’ said Brook. ‘Taking power from others gives him a control he needed in his early life but never had. Persuading people to kill themselves puts him in charge of his destiny — and others’. Maybe Yvette’s son was the first. But after that he got a taste for it.’
Charlton sighed and looked at his watch. ‘Four hours to the next broadcast. What are we charging Yvette with?’
‘We’re holding her under the murder warrant at the moment until the DNA checks are done.’
‘But you don’t think that will stick.’
‘Do we really want it to?’ said Brook. ‘I mean, she’s almost as much a victim as her son.’
‘I know, but Assisting a Suicide or Allowing the Death of a Child hardly seems sufficient,’ replied Charlton.
‘No charge does. Reserve your anger for Leonard Poole, sir. Noble’s picking him up now.’
‘No Sergeant Noble today?’ asked Dr Petty.
‘We’re a bit stretched at the moment,’ said Brook with a smile. ‘Don’t worry. He’s working.’
‘That’s no comfort for my loss of a Sunday lie-in.’
‘No. We appreciate it, believe me,’ replied Brook, deep in thought.
‘Glad to hear it.’ She held his gaze a moment, waiting for more concrete evidence of his appreciation but Brook was oblivious. ‘So, Osiris, eh? Some people are never happy in their own skin. And making sure he has a few helpers in the afterlife — seems logical when you think of it like that. Any news?’
‘He won’t get far. Not that he wants to. He’s digging in somewhere.’
‘Here we are. Phencyclidine,’ she read. ‘PCP or angel dust on the streets. Wilson had high levels in his bloodstream and would’ve been prone to hallucination and in a severe dissociative state.’
‘So — easily handled or manipulated.’
‘Very suggestible,’ agreed Petty. ‘But even without someone egging him on, anything is possible. There have been numerous cases of suicides, self-mutilations. .’
‘Anything else of note?’
‘Yes. I skipped breakfast this morning and I’m starving.’
At that moment Brook’s mobile began to vibrate. ‘John.’ He listened for a moment. ‘I’ll be right there.’
‘Rain check?’ ventured Petty.
Instead of staying to ask if she was American, Brook raised a hand in acknowledgement and headed for the door.
Brook stood staring at the Jaguar. ‘Len’s precious Jag, not even locked.’
‘The keys are in the ignition.’
‘You’ve tried his house and Alice’s.’
‘No sign. She hasn’t seen him.’
Brook moved round to the driver’s door and peered inside. He took out a handkerchief and opened the door and examined the cracked leather seat. ‘You’re right. It’s blood. You checked the boot?’ Noble answered with a mocking eyebrow. ‘Sorry.’
‘You thinking what I’m thinking?’ asked Noble.
‘That maybe someone was waiting here for him and took him.’
‘But who? Yvette?’
‘She had motive and plenty of opportunity,’ said Brook.
‘But if she was going to abduct or attack him she could have done that at her house and she wouldn’t have had to sleep with him first.’
‘Who then?’
‘Only one other candidate,’ answered Brook. ‘Rusty.’
‘Why?’
‘Because he does have feelings for Yvette and he wants to even the score for her. Wilson’s been dealt with. .’
‘. . andnowLen’sstoppedpayingthebills,he’s expendable,’ finished Noble.
‘Get a team over here. Have you canvassed?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Get Cooper to help you.’
‘Not your skill set?’ teased Noble.
‘I promised Gadd I’d run my eye over Lee Smethwick’s boat.’