The Smoke In The Photograph (22 page)

Sam couldn't believe the nerve of Steven Draper, asking him to do his dirty work. Ariel had always seemed like such a pleasant young woman to him; he admitted it, he was drawn to her. There was no way he was going to play any part in the doctor’s games of deceit.

He walked over to Tyler and Addle who were still standing by their car waiting for him.

'Doctor Draper is not being charged,' Sam said as he reached them. 'He's staying here as long as Mrs Draper wants him there. Just remember he is in the house.'

The two men nodded, but Addle looked confused.

'Are we staying here then, sir?' he asked.

'Yes,' Sam said. 'In case the real killer turns up.'

'Yes, sir,' Addle said.

'Watch Doctor Draper like a hawk.'

'Yes, sir,' Tyler replied. 'I thought you said he was innocent.'

Sam shook his head.

'I said he was not being charged,' he said. 'I'm not ruling anything out yet.'

With that, Sam walked towards the car where Branning waited for him. Unlike her fellow officers, she had the good sense to get into the car and out of the rain.

Just as he reached the car he noticed the headlights coming into the drive. The driver obviously hadn't expected so many vehicles to be there. The car skidded to a halt right behind Sam's car.

The door swung open and a tall, attractive woman jumped out of the car and made a run for the house. Despite the rain, Sam could see that her face was streaked with tears and her eyes were red. She looked frantic as she approached him. Sam stepped in front of her, putting his arms out to stop her. For a moment he thought she would run straight into him, but at the last second she stopped.

'Oh my God!' she shouted. 'What's happened? I need to see Julia. Is she all right?'

'She's not here, Miss..?' Sam asked.

'Mead. Wendy Mead. I'm her best friend. Where is she?'

The woman appeared on the verge of hysterics. Sam spoke as soft as he could to try to calm her.

'She's fine. Mrs Draper went to an event at the Lindum gallery,' he explained. 'What's wrong?'

The woman threw herself against him. She buried her head in his chest and began to sob. She was shaking. It was clear that she was terrified.

'Madam Helga is dead,' she said through her crying.

Sam pushed her away slightly. He hoped he had heard that wrong. He looked at the woman's face.

'What?'

'I went round there to pick my handbag up. I left it there earlier. There were no lights on and no answer, but the door was unlocked. She was dead. Someone had cut out her eyes! There was a man there. He was dead too.'

Sam's heart sank. Sid Graves was dead, and so was the psychic. The Ripper had been watching him, and he had put them both in harm’s way. Now they had paid the ultimate price for his stupidity.

By this time, Branning had got out of the car and was standing behind Wendy. Sam passed the sobbing woman over to the young officer, who guided her towards the backseat of the car. Tyler and Addle came over.

'It looks like Sid Graves and the psychic are dead,' Sam said as they approached. 'We'll take this young lady home then investigate the scene. One of you move her car so I can reverse out.'

Addle ran over to the woman's car. She had left the engine running so there was no need to trouble her for the keys.

'Don't bother Mrs Draper with this when she gets back. She's been through enough. It can wait till tomorrow,' Sam said to Tyler. 'Keep an eye on things here. It's going to be a long night.'

The parlour at Helga's place looked like a scene from a nightmare. Sam believed that he had become hardened to this sort of horror after all these years hunting the Lincoln Ripper, but even his stomach turned when he saw the psychic’s eyes staring up at him from the table.

Branning was coping incredibly well. He had seen the revulsion on her face as they first entered the room, but unlike many she had not puked yet. It was a common occurrence for young officers to do at their first murder scene. 

The Ripper murders had always been brutal, but they had followed a pattern. This one was different. Helga and Sid had not died to sate the killer’s bloodlust. No, they had died to send Sam a message. The Ripper was watching him, and would not be captured. Sam felt with more certainty than ever before that this would only conclude in his death, or the Ripper's.

Sam felt guilt in the pit of his stomach. Helga was dead because of him, and when he looked at the terrified death grimace of Sid Graves he shed a tear.

Branning had covered Graves's body with her jacket as a mark of respect, at least until forensics arrived. Now she was kneeling next to Helga's body. She looked up at him.

'She doesn't follow his pattern, sir. She's so much older than all of his other victims, and divorced. Are you sure it's him?'

Sam knelt down by the other side of the body. He covered Helga with his own jacket. He could no longer stand to see those empty eye sockets staring at him.

'She was a nice old girl. A little eccentric maybe, but she meant well. She knew something about the killer, and I brought him right to her. That's why she's dead, and poor Sid.'

Sam sat there on the floor next to the body. Branning showed the forensics team in who did all they needed to do. To his surprise, Sam saw the chief pathologist, Maguire, walk in.

He saw Branning speaking to him. Camera flashes went off all around him, but not once was he requested to move. Finally Maguire walked over to him and patted his shoulder.

'We need to get them to the morgue now, Sam,' he said, his voice tinged with sadness and empathy for Sam.

Sam rose to his feet and nodded. Maguire waved over two men with a stretcher. Sam walked over to Branning.

'There's nothing more we can do here,.’

'So what now?' Branning said.

'We go and see Doctor Draper's mistress. See if his story stands up.'

The young officer stared at him.

'Do you still think he's a suspect?'

'No, but I have to make sure he's not keeping anything else from me.'

Julia was trying to enjoy herself. She was trying to be the person Fran needed her to be, but her mind kept wandering.

She was standing next to Fran as she talked with Eric Crawford the art critic.

'It seems to me that, for the most part, the medium of paint on canvas has had its day,' Crawford said, in his snobbish voice. 'There is so little that can be done to say anything new in paint. Installations and multi-media art is where the real expression is these days.'

Julia noticed him look towards her, wanting her to leap to the defense of her work, but she wasn't in the mood for an argument.

'That is an interesting point, Eric,' Fran said, walking into the line of fire for her. 'Surely there will always be room for the traditional mediums as well?'

Crawford snorted.

'Perhaps, hanging on the walls of the artistically illiterate,' he said, laughing at his own intellect. 'Every time I look at a painting on a wall, I believe that I'm looking at the corpse of artistic intent, decomposing before my very eyes. I mean, Julia, I can appreciate your talent, but where is the message? You really should consider moving into a new medium.'

Again he looked at her for a response. All she could manage was a smile and a halfhearted nod. Fran looked at her, then jumped in again.

'Actually, Julia's new house has a photographic studio and darkroom which she is interested in experimenting with,' she said.

Crawford pondered this for a moment.

'I will be interested in seeing the results, but maybe you should consider putting them to some music and prose and creating some form of a performance piece.'

Julia couldn't stand it anymore. The man's arrogance and ignorance were making her feel sick.

'Yes. I'll think about that, Eric,' she said, before waving her empty glass. 'Excuse me, but I need a refill.'

She walked away despite the glares from Fran, but Julia knew the agent could handle Crawford far better than she could.

She walked up to the drinks table and filled her glass with her second white wine. If she was going to drive home, this needed to be her last, but if she was going to have to endure these people, she knew she would need more.

'Excuse me,' a voice said from behind her. 'Are you Julia Draper?'

Julia turned to look at a very pretty young woman standing behind her. She was wearing an elegant, figure-hugging dress, but topped off with a leather jacket.

'Yes,' Julia said, putting out her hand. 'You are?'

The woman took her hand and shook it firmly. Her hands were much bigger than Julia's and the shake swallowed her hand up.

'My name is Pippa Johansen. I represent an art collector in the Netherlands.'

Julia could not believe it. Her work was popular amongst the London art community but she had not made many international sales.

'Really?' Julia said. 'And you know who I am.'

Pippa nodded emphatically

'Oh yes. In fact my employer is very interested in your work.'

If she could land an international sale tonight, surely that would get Fran off her back for a while.

'Wow, would you like me to show you around my work?'

Pippa put her hands up.

'Actually, I have seen everything you have displayed here. So has my employer. What we're really looking for is your newest work.'

Julia was trying to remember the names of the big art collectors in Holland. She could only think of two, Van Outen and Piet.

'I'm afraid it's been over a year since I last showed any new work.'

Pippa looked disappointed.

'That is a shame. Mr Piet was prepared to pay highly for your newest work. He thinks you are the next big thing. Are you sure there is nothing else?'

Oskar Piet, one of the wealthiest art collectors in Europe, not only knew who she was, but wanted her work and was willing to champion her. This could take her career to heights she had never imagined.

'I do have a few new works at my house. It's not far from here. Could you come around tomorrow?' Julia asked.

'Sadly I am leaving the country tonight.’

'I could take you there now?'

'Oh, I don't want to drag you away from your party,' Pippa said.

Julia laughed.

'Are you kidding? I hate these things. Any excuse to get away from my nagging agent and pompous art critics, I'll take it.'

Pippa laughed.

'Excellent. We can take my car.'

Alex Parker was just about done for the night. A whole new batch of evidence for the double murder had arrived and was being logged. He would leave starting his examinations until the morning. It had been a rough day.

He placed the notes in front of him into a folder and added them to the mountain of clutter on his desk. He turned off the desk lamp and left his office.

He waved over to the guys logging the evidence to let them know that he was leaving. Peter, one of the junior lab assistants came running in holding a piece of paper. He ran over to Alex.

'You've got to hear this,' he said, panting as he spoke. Peter was a few pounds overweight and had obviously raced from the mail room.

'What is it?' Alex asked, intrigued at what could get Peter moving with such excitement.

'It's the results of the analysis of the red stain on the scalpel.'

'The paint?' Alex asked.

Peter shook his head.

'What is it then?'

Peter opened the folded sheet of paper and began to read aloud.

'Dibutyl phthalate, nitrocellulose, ethyl acetate, ferric ferrocyanide, tosylamide-formaldehyde and benzophenone.'

When he stopped reeling off the list of chemicals, Peter looked at Alex expectantly. It was a common game in the lab. Alex was famous for his almost encyclopedic knowledge of what different groups of chemical made when put together.

His mind whirred through the list that Peter had just reeled off. It was full of polymers and acetates, with colourings and stabilisers and thickening agents. It wasn't any kind of paint he could think of. Something more plastic like, something that could be broken down easily with acetone.

'Nail polish!' Alex exclaimed as the pieces came together in his mind.

'He does it again,' Peter said. He never seemed to tire of Alex's ability.

Why would the Ripper be spilling nail polish on the scalpel? The latest victim wasn't even found in her own home. He had murdered her out in the open, so he didn't catch her painting her nails. Unless…

'Shit!' Alex exclaimed. 'Do you have any idea what this could mean? I have to call Sam Fluting.'

Alex sprinted across the lab back to his office. He grabbed the phone and put the receiver to his ear. There was no dial tone.

'What's going on with the phone?' he shouted back into the lab.

Peter appeared at the door to the office still holding the test results in his hand.

'They're all out. That's why I brought this down to you.'

Typical, Alex thought to himself. Most days his work was constantly being interrupted by the phone; the one time he needed it, it wasn't working. He pulled his mobile from his pocket and looked at the dark screen. He remembered the battery had run out over lunch while he was playing Angry Birds.

'Fuck it!' he yelled, making everyone in the lab turn and stare at him.

He had an emergency charger in the car, one that plugged into the lighter socket. He ran past Peter, grabbing the test results from his hand as he did.