Page 44 of Killing Mind
Peter Drake was standing on the wrong side of the prison doors for the first time in over a quarter of a century.
Richard leaned against the car as his legs appeared to weaken beneath him at the sight of the man who had viciously ended his daughter’s life.
The prison officer beside him finished speaking and then offered his hand. The gesture annoyed Bryant immensely. How anyone could shake the man’s hand was beyond him. But of course, Peter Drake had lived a whole other lifetime behind those walls.
The guard stepped back into the prison leaving Peter Drake alone. Bryant could feel the tension in the man beside him as they both stared in silence.
This Peter Drake bore little resemblance to the slim, dark-haired man Bryant had watched being taken away all those years ago.
The man’s face had slackened beneath the grey hair and beard. His stomach now spilled over the waistband of his dark blue jeans. His neck thicker and his hands meatier, Bryant noticed as Drake took a roll-up from a tin and lit it.
They both watched as he stood, looking around as though trying to process everything he was seeing. His gaze passed over them but it didn’t linger and there was no recognition.
Bryant guessed that they too had changed significantly in the intervening years.
A taxi pulled onto the car park and moved slowly towards the entrance. Peter Drake puffed heavily on the cigarette before the taxi came to rest before him.
‘Part of me wishes he’d died in that place,’ Bryant admitted to the only man he could.
‘Not yet,’ Richard said. ‘He can’t die yet.’
Bryant turned to look at the man. Richard had lost everything. He hated Drake for what he’d done to his daughter and yet he didn’t wish him dead.
Richard returned his gaze but Bryant got the feeling he was looking through him instead of at him. ‘If there’s an afterlife and he gets there before me, how will I protect her? She’ll be alone and I can’t let her down again. I won’t fail her twice.’
Bryant could feel the man’s despair and opened his mouth to offer reassurance when he heard an urgent response request over his police radio; something he’d never stopped carrying.
He listened more closely. Squad cars were racing to the scene of an attempted murder. And it was an address he recognised.
Thirty-Seven
Kim tapped the door lightly and entered. Stacey followed with her notebook and pen and closed the door of Interview Room 1 behind her.
Myles Brown had arrived ten minutes earlier, which should have given him enough time to consider the starkness of his surroundings and contemplate giving them the whole truth.
He looked almost relieved to see her.
She didn’t smile as she took a seat opposite.
‘Have I done something wrong, Inspector?’ he asked, looking from her to her colleague.
‘Mr Brown, I think…’
‘Myles, please,’ he interrupted, wishing to bring their rapport back to the informal tone they’d enjoyed at his home.
This was a different kind of conversation and she had to make sure he knew that.
‘Mr Brown, I understand that you’ve suffered a tragic loss; however, I feel that you’ve failed to be honest about all of the circumstances surrounding the murder of your daughter, which is not helping us find the person responsible.’
‘Have you been to Unity Farm? Have you questioned anyone there?’
Kim nodded. ‘I was there earlier today and I have to say that your description of a cult seems overly dramatic and far-fetched.’
‘Yeah, and Jonestown was just a village in South America,’ he replied.
‘Sorry?’
‘When Jim Jones moved his religious sect to Guyana it wasn’t to enjoy the weather. It was to escape prying eyes into the practices of The Peoples Temple. And look what happened when those prying eyes followed him.’
