The Smoke In The Photograph (18 page)

Interview Room Two was an especially grim place. The other interview rooms were well lit and painted brightly. Room Two, though, had dull blue walls that looked like they had not seen a paintbrush in many years. The only furniture in the room was an old office table, and two seats. The chairs themselves were plastic and unpadded. Everything about the room was intended to make a suspect feel uncomfortable. That was precisely the reason why Sam had chosen it to question Doctor Draper.

Even though it was illegal, and could get him severely reprimanded, Sam sat opposite Steven smoking a Marlboro.

He blew smoke out in a copious cloud and then held the cigarette up in front of him.

'I gave these things up for five years, you know? I never felt better in my life. You're a doctor, I'm sure you understand.'

Steven looked at him and nodded weakly.

'I swore I'd never start again,' Sam continued. 'All the stress of this case, the constant pressure, I ended up breaking my promise to myself.'

He stubbed the cigarette out on the table.

'I don't know anything,' Steven said.

Sam felt his blood boil. He was not sure if he had the right man, but the good doctor was a liar, that was for sure. The way Ariel had been crying, the way Steven had screamed when he opened the door. Something was amiss, and Sam aimed to find out what.

He checked the time.

'Interview suspended at sixteen fifty-nine,' he leaned over and flicked off the recorder.

'I swear...' Steven began, but Sam put his finger up to silence him.

'Not without the tape. You sit here and think about it, Doctor Draper. See if there's anything you want to tell me.'

Sam got up and crossed to the door. His hand went for the handle, but he changed his mind. All afternoon they had been in that room. Steven had refused a solicitor, and all he had done was deny knowing anything. It was time to employ some drastic measures and see if the added pressure helped loosen the doctor's tongue.

Sam spun around and rushed at the table. He grabbed Steven's head and pushed it down hard against the wooden surface.

'Listen to me, you little fuck,' he said through gritted teeth. 'There're a lot of people out there who want to see me sacked already. So what does a little police brutality matter?'

He released Steven's head from his grip and walked back to the other side of the table. He sat there and looked at the other man who was physically shaking.

'Look, I can tell that there's something you aren't telling me. So, you have a choice,' Sam said.

Steven shifted in his seat.

'What choice?' he asked.

'Either I switch the tape back on and you tell me everything,' Sam said, 'or I batter you around this room until even your own mother wouldn't recognise you.'

The other man put his head in his hands.

'It's up to you, Stevie boy,' Sam said.

The doctor mumbled something through his hands, but Sam couldn't make it out.

'What was that, Doc?' Sam asked. 'Please speak clearly.'

Steven slapped his hands down on the table and looked Sam in the eye.

'I said, put the fucking tape on,' he repeated.

'Good boy,' he said, before clicking on the recorder. 'Interview resumed at seventeen zero five.'

Julia walked down the drive towards her dream house. Some dream it had proven to be. She saw Steven's car parked next to hers. There were no lights on in the house so she guessed he was asleep.

Or off committing murde
r
, a voice in her head said.

It had taken her sometime to convince Wendy to drop her off at the end of the road. Her friend had been worried because of their newfound suspicion of Steven. She had convinced her by saying that if he heard her car pulling into the drive, Steven would probably come to the door, and then they would have to confront him. It was best if Julia walked down and collected her car without him noticing until she was already leaving.

A week ago she had been happier than she had ever been in her life. They had bought the perfect house, she knew with a view to starting a family. She had been optimistic about starting working again. She had been in love with the perfect man. Her life had been so far away from the misery of her childhood. She was keen to start a real family with a man who really cared. Or did he?

Since then it had all fallen apart. The house had become a terrifying place of menace to her. Her work wasn't even her own anymore, but guided by another’s will. Her husband kept grave secrets from her. He was a stranger to her.

If only she could turn back the clock. Of course, this was impossible. The only hope now was to pray that this whole mess sorted itself out, and that she still had a life to repair afterward. Julia had learned at a young age that she should never depend on anyone but herself. She was the only one she could count on. Steven had made her doubt that. He had made her feel that she could rely on him, but now she didn't know if she could ever trust him again.

She reached the car and unlocked it with the remote. As always, the indicator lights flashed three times in quick succession, their orange glow illuminating the growing dimness of the front garden. She looked at the house for any sign that Steven had noticed the flashes. It was still. She felt the house looking back at her. She could not tell if it wanted to protect her, or lead her to her doom.

Getting into the car, she slid the key into the ignition and switched on the engine. She reversed out of her parking space and drove up the driveway towards the road faster than normal.

The Central Police Station was over the other side of the castle. It was really only a stone’s throw away, but in rush hour she was going to be stuck in a slow flowing river of taillights. She tried to think of a quicker way around, but it was no use. She didn't know the city well enough to use the backstreets.

She drove down the hill and headed the best way she knew. Rain suddenly poured from the sky. It was hard and heavy, making her windscreen useless within seconds. She switched on her wipers but they only offered the briefest clarity.

Perfect, she thought. Even the weather was out to get her. She pulled off the road and parked up.

The stress of the last few days and her suspicion of Steven became too much. She screamed to herself, a primal roar of pain that left her vision speckled with flashing lights. Then she began to cry.

She couldn't stop herself, her tears falling as heavy as the rain outside. How could she deal with all of this?

She feared the worst, that she was having another breakdown. She pictured herself being carted away and drugged up to her eyeballs, turned into a placid little zombie while the shrinks worked their magic again.

'No!' she shouted at herself.

She slapped her own face hard enough to leave a red mark. The pain sent a jolt through her body and up into her mind. She instantly stopped crying. The burning of her cheek cleared her mind. She was still in control. It was the situation that was broken, not her.

She restarted the car and pulled back into the traffic. Her mind was full of determination. She was going to see Detective Fluting, and he was going to help her.

Twenty minutes later she arrived at the police station reception. She marched up to the desk and a kindly police officer smiled at her.

'Good evening, Miss. How can I help you this evening?'

'I would like to speak to Detective Chief Inspector Fluting,' she said.

The officer looked unsure.

'I'll just ring for you, but I think he's very busy.'

'It's about the Ripper,' she said.

Her words wiped the smile from the officer’s face. It was replaced by a look of grim understanding. He nodded and picked up the phone.

Sam was standing in the corridor. Inside he was furious at being pulled out of the interview just to update Superintendent Reed. However, the senior officer had made the enormous ten mile journey from headquarters just to find out the progress of the interview. Sam kept his annoyance in check.

'Is he our man?' Reed asked, straight to the point. It was the thing he admired most about Reed, his directness, unlike other people in his position who allowed themselves to get bogged down in the grey areas of politics and public relations. To Reed, everything was black and white.

Sam shrugged.

'I don't know, sir.’

'He's a surgeon. That certainly fits with what the pathologists say about the wounds,' Reed said. 'He lives in the house where the first murder was committed. He's even admitted that he went out with Helen Swanson, and was best friends with her husband. You said yourself you still think he's hiding something.'

Sam ran a hand through his hair.

'Until I know what he's keeping from me, I can't see how we can charge him.'

'For Christ's sake, Fluting, he works at the very hospital the murder weapon came from.'

'So do about a thousand other people,' Sam said, starting to lose his temper. 'Some of them probably know a victim as well. It's all circumstantial, sir.'

Reed looked as frustrated as Sam felt. A young constable walked over to them and cleared his throat to gain their attention.

'What is it?' Reed said, glaring at the young officer.

'Sorry to interrupt, sir,' he said, 'but there's a Julia Draper at the front desk wanting to see Detective Fluting.'

Sam thanked the young man who scampered away without looking back at Reed.

'That's the good doctor’s wife?'

Sam nodded.

'Go and explain the situation to her, then go back in there and crack this bastard. Whatever it takes, Sam. Whatever it takes.'

Sam knew that Reed was telling him that the rulebook was out the window on this one. If Sam had to get physical to get a confession, Reed would stand by him.

The desk sergeant had sent a young constable to go and find Detective Fluting, and then shown her to a quiet, comfortable room called Interview Room One. It was not like she had pictured a police interview room. It was brightly decorated with two sofas facing each other, with a coffee table in-between them. There was even a toy box full of dolls, cars and things in the corner of the room. The sergeant asked her if she wanted a coffee. She declined. He left her there to wait for Fluting to arrive.

Julia could feel something in the air of the police station. There was a hubbub of excitement amongst the officers, but none were giving away what it was over.

She sat down on the sofa and had just picked up a magazine off the coffee table when a tall, dark haired man entered. She thought she recognised him, but waited for him to introduce himself.

'Good evening, Mrs Draper,' he said, offering her his hand. 'I'm DCI Fluting, but please call me Sam.'

He had kindly eyes, though he looked exhausted. She shook his hand.

'And I'm Julia.’

Fluting gave her a warm smile. It was something of a contrast to the stony-faced man she had always seen on television.

'I take it you got the note then?' he said. sitting down.

Julia was taken aback. She had no idea what he was talking about.

'Note? What note?' she asked.

She saw Sam's brow furrow in confusion.

'You haven't been home yet?'

There was something going on. Something she didn't know.

'No. Why?'

'Then why are you here?' he asked.

'Helga Cranston told me that she came to see you last night,' Julia said. 'What's this about a note?'

Sam looked a little uncomfortable.

'Julia, I arrested your husband this afternoon. He's here in the station, in the next interview room, right now. He's the prime suspect in the Ripper case.'

Helga put her feet up on the sofa. It had been a long day, and after the events of the night before, she was feeling tired.

All day she had been seeing people who wanted to know when they were about to meet the man of their dreams, or if they were going to come into money. She knew that this was what most people thought that a clairvoyant was there to tell them. Helga, however, saw what she did as a form of therapy, a way of facing the future, and whatever it may hold, through understanding the past. She could tell things about people, things they often kept even from themselves. Bringing these things out was what she did, or asking for words of comfort from the spirit world. She did not read tealeaves or tarot cards, and she made no claim to be able to see the future, only possible futures, and they were at best cloudy.

She sipped the soothing camomile tea and felt herself start to relax. She couldn't complain too much she supposed. Her regular clients understood what she did and that was why they kept coming back to her.

The doorbell rang. Helga glanced at the clock ticking on the wall. It was nearly half seven. She didn't usually accept callers this late. She considered ignoring the bell, hoping that after a few attempts whoever it was would give up trying and go away.

When the bell rang a second time, though, she remembered that Wendy had left her handbag downstairs when she and Julia left. Helga was interested to see how they were. Julia had seemed so stressed that morning.

She went downstairs and picked the bag up from the parlour on her way to the door. The bell rang again.

'I'm coming,' she called out.

When Helga opened the door she was shocked to see the young woman whose session had been interrupted when Wendy and Julia had turned up. She remembered that there was something about the woman that put her on edge. Helga was struggling to remember her name, probably as she suspected it was a false name. It popped into her head as the woman at the door smiled.

'Jasmine?' Helga said. 'I thought I said to come back tomorrow?'

'I know, and I'm so sorry to disturb you,' the woman said apologetically. 'It's just that I'm so confused and I do not know what else to do. I'm scared that I could make the wrong decision, and I don't know what I'd do.'

The woman began to cry right there on the doorstep. Helga had felt suspicious of her earlier, she had felt the woman was hiding something, but perhaps she had not had enough time to get to the root of the issue.

'Of course,' Helga said, ushering her in. 'Go through to the parlour. Would you like some tea?'

'Yes please,' the young woman said through her tears. Helga watched as she wandered off into the parlour, then went to the small downstairs kitchenette and put on the kettle.

When she returned to the parlour with the tea, the young woman was looking at the artifacts in the glass-fronted cabinets.

'They're a mess,' Helga said. 'I really need to sort them out, but I never have the time.'

The woman continued to stare intently at the things inside the cabinets. The hint of a smile flickered onto her lips.

'It's fascinating.’

Helga nodded. She supposed it was. The cabinets contained the souvenirs of a lifetime spent working in the realm of the paranormal. A lot of her clients would either ignore them all together, or keep away from them for fear of what they could represent. It was nice to see the young woman taking an interest in them. So few people did.

'You have an interest in the supernatural?' Helga asked, setting the teas down on the little table between the two wingback chairs.

The young woman nodded slowly, still mesmerised by the paraphernalia in the cabinets.

'I've come across quite a few things in my time that are hard to explain,' she said. 'I've seen things that I don't truly understand, but I've felt their power.'

Helga sat down in one of the chairs.

'Please take a seat, and let's see if we can help you with your problem.'

The woman turned to face her. She went to the chair opposite Helga and sat down. She crossed her legs, and Helga couldn't help but notice that for a woman with such a slender frame she had very large feet.

'The thing is, I think someone knows something about me that I don't want people to know,' the woman said. 'It could ruin me if it came out.'

Helga nodded, though she couldn't yet see why the problem would require a psychic.

'Please go on.’

'I don't know whether to confront the person in question about it, or just to let it lie,' she said. 'If I confront her and she doesn't know, then I've gone and told her myself. Do you see the problem?'

Helga could see how this would be an awkward situation, but still was not sure how she could help, unless Jasmine was under the wrong impression about her gifts.

'I do see your dilemma, but I can't tell you if this person knows or not. I am not a mind reader. Even if I was, I would need the person to be here.'

The woman shook her hand.

'No, I understand that,' Jasmine said. 'I just wondered if you could see anything in me? Some secret or something? I just wondered if it's something people can pick up on.'

Helga raised her eyebrows. She had to admit that there had been something about Jasmine that had troubled her upon their first meeting, but it was not something that she could definitely see.

'No, I don't think I can.'

The woman looked relieved.

'That's good, because I've spent years trying to keep this whole thing a secret. I even read books on how to protect yourself from mind readers. I don't know if it works.'

Helga frowned.

'My dear girl, if keeping this secret takes such effort, perhaps it would be better to let it out into the world. Keeping something inside is not good for either the mind or the soul.'

The woman laughed then got to her feet.

'Perhaps you're right,' she said. 'But I don't think the world wants to see my secret yet. Thank you very much for seeing me. You have been a great help. I am sorry for calling so late.'

Helga stood up feeling more than a little confused. She was not sure how she had helped the woman at all, but she supposed only the clients knew what they really wanted.

'You're quite welcome, let me show you out.'

Jasmine walked out of the parlour first. Helga followed behind her, still not understanding what help she had been, but glad she had been of help.

She raised her hand and placed it on the woman's back as she ushered her into the corridor.

A jolt of fear splintered through her every nerve. It was like electricity passing through her body. Her heart started to pump faster in her chest.

Images flew through her mind at such speeds she couldn't register them. All she could see was pain and blood. She let out a small yelp and recoiled her hand.

The young woman turned to look at her.

'Are you all right?' she asked with concern.

Helga couldn't even bring herself to look at the woman in the face. Her chest tightened and she was finding it very difficult to breathe.

'Yes,' she lied. 'Just a little medical condition.'

The woman scrutinised her.

'I just thought of something else I forgot to ask you,' she said as Helga leaned against the door frame.

'Perhaps it could wait till next time? 'I feel a little unwell.'

'It won't take a moment,' Jasmine said. 'Why did you go to see Sam Fluting?'

The meaning of the visions she had just seen suddenly made sense to Helga. Her instant distrust of the woman too. She should have never let her in.

'You,' Helga said.

The woman nodded. She drew a scalpel from her jacket pocket. Helga had time to scream before her throat was slashed from ear to ear.