The Smoke In The Photograph (5 page)

Steven wished she had let him walk out alone. She usually did. They would say their goodbyes in her apartment and he would leave the building.

That night, though, she had insisted on seeing him to the main door. He supposed it was that she was uneasy about the way he had been behaving. He cursed himself for being such a coward, and not just telling her it was over. He cursed himself even more for just being so weak. He had gone there to break things off with her, and yet he had ended up in bed with her again.

They rode down in the lift to the lobby of her building.

'Perhaps it's best you're leaving early,' she said, stifling a yawn. 'I'm shattered.'

'Not sleeping?' Steven asked, with little sincere concern.

'I had a long night.’

He guessed she was trying to get him to wonder what she had been doing. She probably thought he was imagining her with other men. Hoping to make him jealous. However, he hoped there were other men. It was would make it easier when he did get the courage up to tell her it was over.

'Well, then. I guess it is for the best.'

The lift doors opened and he began to step out. Ariel grabbed hold of his arm and walked alongside him, resting her head on his arm. She was trying very hard to make a public display of their relationship to her neighbours. He didn't know why though.

At the door he said goodnight, and turned to leave. She grabbed him and pulled him back to her. She kissed him, holding her hands on the back of his head.

He pulled away again, and this time she let him go, blowing him a final kiss before going back inside.

Alone in the street he questioned what he was doing once more. He had loved Julia from the moment they had met in that taxi in London. In fact, when he saw her at the side of the road, that was why he made the driver stop in the first place.

During her breakdown, though, she changed. She became distant and often mean-spirited. He knew it wasn't her fault, but it didn't make it any easier to bear.

Ariel had come along, and been a welcome distraction from all of the pain in his life at that time. Now Julia was better though, he wanted nothing more to do with the woman. He wanted his old life back, happy with his wife.

He took out his mobile and dialed their home number. After a few rings, Julia answered, her voice bright and full of life.

'Hello,' she said.

'Hi baby,' he said. 'It's me.'

'Hey, you all done?' she asked.

'Yeah, the meeting’s over,'

'Anything interesting?'

'You know, just the same old issues getting brought up again.'

Julia laughed, a sound he loved more than any other.

'You poor thing,' she said. 'You coming straight home?'

'Yeah, I'm just leaving now,' he said, then added, 'I just couldn't wait to tell you I love you.'

'Aww,' she said. 'You soppy sod. Get back here and tell me to my face.'

'Okay, see you soon.'

'Bye.'

They ended the call. Steven put his phone back in his jacket pocket, and then crossed the road to his car. Before getting in, he took one look back at the apartment building he had just left. His eyes drifted up towards Ariel's window.

He had to finish it. The next time he saw her, he would tell her it was done, for good.

Alex Parker was the top dog in the Lincolnshire Police's forensics team. He was not the most senior, in fact at a mere thirty years old he was still technically quite junior. However, his skill and knowledge surpassed that of his colleague by a country mile, and thus the crime lab was his domain. Everyone respected him, and he had even been given his own office within the lab. Sam, and every other copper in the county, knew that if you wanted something doing well, and quickly, you went to Alex.

What always amazed Sam was how someone so clever, and who could work so fast, could be so messy. As Sam walked into the office, the desk was covered with paperwork in irregular piles, half empty mugs of cold coffee and several Pot Noodle pots.

'So what have you got for me?' Sam said as Alex looked up.

'Have you seen the pathologist yet?' Alex asked.

Sam shook his head.

'He didn't have time today,' Sam said. 'He's doing the autopsy tomorrow. Why?'

'Because that old fucker is going to be eating his words,' Alex said with pride in his voice.

The old fucker he was referring to was Angus Maguire, the chief pathologist for the county. Maguire was very good at his job, but he was also opinionated beyond belief. What he said was the gospel and no one should ever question him. Alex, of course, frequently questioned his findings. The young forensics upstart, as Maguire saw him, was a thorn in his side.

'What have you found?' Sam was intrigued.

'Just what I said last year,' Alex said. 'He's changed weapon. Maguire has been insisting that he used a straight razor on all the victims, but the more I look at the photos from the last few, the more I can see the control in the cuts. You just wouldn't get that with a straight razor. You'd need something like a scalpel.'

'He's changing a lot of things lately,' Sam said. 'It's not like him. He's going to slip up soon, I can feel it.'

Alex looked at him as if he was apologising for having to ruin Sam's good mood.

'The bad news is he hasn't yet,' Alex said.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean we didn't find anything other than the scalpel,' Alex said. 'There was nothing on it, nothing on the body, nothing in the whole area that we could link to the murderer.'

Sam sighed. It was the same old story. Every time the Ripper killed, he hoped that there would be a break, and there never was. This time with the drastic changes the killer had made with murdering her out in the open and leaving the weapon behind. He had hoped that there was a chance of a mistake. It seemed though that the Ripper had done all of this just to taunt him.

'Keep looking, Alex,' Sam said. 'There has to be something.'

Alex nodded.

'I will,' he said. 'Maybe once all the blood tests come back and I can wash the blood off the scalpel I'll find something.'

This was among the things that Sam admired most in Alex, his optimism. No matter how little evidence there was, Alex would keep digging until he'd checked every possibility.

'I'm going to get him,' Sam said.

Alex nodded.

'I've never doubted that,'  Alex said.

Linda Harris's mutilated body lay on the slab under the harsh fluorescent lights of the pathology lab.

Her husband had come in late the previous evening to identify the body. Sam had watched as the poor man wept at the sight of his wife's corpse. The violence that had been inflicted upon her must have been unbearable.

'Yes,' was all he managed to say.

Sam had nodded for the lab assistant to cover her back up.

'You're confirming that this is your wife, Linda Harris?' Sam had to ask.

'Yes,' the weeping man said.

'I'm very sorry for your loss,' Sam had said, before getting the uniformed officer to take him out of the room.

Another life shattered by the Ripper. Sam seethed with anger, for the killer, and himself.

He didn't sleep well that night. His dreams were haunted by visions of the Ripper's victims, all demanding justice.

The following morning he was standing at the back of the room, while pathology assistants put Linda Harris's body on the slab and prepared the instruments.

Angus Maguire walked into the room already wearing his gloves and plastic apron. He muttered at the assistants to get some other instruments.

Then he acknowledged Sam. He was a lofty man, with a salt and pepper beard. His eyes were shaded with bushy brows.

'Good morning, Detective Fluting,' he said in a cordial but distant manner. It suggested that Maguire liked to keep his professional acquaintances at arm's length.

'Doctor Maguire,' Sam said.

'Are you staying for the whole autopsy?' Maguire asked.

Sam shook his head.

'No, I just want you to confirm the murder weapon,' Sam said.

Maguire sighed and crouched down to examine the wounds on the woman's body. He started at her throat, peered at the cut, his face just inches away. He ran a finger over the wound.

'I'd say that this one was done with something sharp, possibly a straight razor again. There appears to have been a little more control in the cuts than previously. This could just be down to him getting better at using the blade, or it could be he's used a more precise weapon.'

'We found a scalpel at the scene,' Sam said.

Maguire looked at the wound once more and then nodded.

'Yes,' he said. 'That's very possible.'

'Alex Parker thinks the last one was a scalpel too.'

Maguire seemed annoyed at the mere mention of Alex's name. He huffed over to the instrument table and started sorting his tools out.

'It could've been, it's a little late to confirm that though, isn't it? The girl has been buried.'

Sam nodded.

'Unless we get her body exhumed,' he said. 'But I don't want to put her family through that. Can you tell me anything about the killer?'

Maguire turned back to the body.

'Not really, there's never any physical evidence on the bodies. But he's quite strong.'

'What makes you say that?' Sam asked.

Maguire pointed at the bloody circles on the corpse's chest, then down to the bloody mess between her legs.

'To do this,' he said. 'Removing the breasts, and pulling out the reproductive organs, even with a sharp blade, would require quite a lot of strength.'

'So, he's a big guy?' Sam asked.

Maguire shook his head.

'Not necessarily,' Maguire replied. 'Just a strong one.'

This was the sort of insight that had made this such an easy case for Sam. It was already clear that the Ripper was strong to be in a position to overpower the women in the first place. He hoped that more answers would be forthcoming from Alex and the forensics team, because Maguire had been next to useless throughout the entire case.

Julia was standing at the end of her new driveway staring towards the beautiful new home they were moving into. She smiled to herself. The last year had been very hard. There was a point where it felt as if things would never get any better, that she would never pull herself out of the blackness she had found herself in. In fact, she had even attempted to end her life, so sure was she that things would never improve

Now she was on the threshold of her new life. The perfect house was hers. One with the kind of studio she had dreamed of having since she first picked up a paint brush.

Then there was Steven. He was down there near the house, talking to the removal men. She loved him dearly. He had been so patient with her, and so strong when she needed him to be. She would never forgive herself for what she had put him through.

He saw her watching him and offered her a a wave. She returned it, with an added kiss blown on the wind.

She looked up at the house. It was large, but not monstrously grand. The red bricks and arched, lead-framed windows hinted at its Victorian origins, but it was not vastly gothic. Instead, the house looked cheerful, and inviting. To Julia, it looked like the kind of house found in the television dramas of her childhood, lik
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The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrob
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The Secret Garde
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There was a blinding flash from one of the attic windows. A split second explosion of white light, that left a coloured trace in Julia's vision.

She peered up at the window it had come from, looking to see if there was anyone up there. She could not see anybody. Steven saw she was looking puzzled and waved her over. She walked over to where he was talking to the gaffer of the removal men, Mr Jones.

'Did you see that?' she asked as she got to her husband.

'See what, sweetheart?' Steven said beaming.

She pointed up to the attic window.

'Up there, in the attic,' she said. 'I saw a flash at that window. A really bright light, like a torch or something.'

Steven's smile faded as he was looking at her. She attempted to read his expression. Her paranoia was telling her that he thought that she had imagined it.

'Are any of your blokes up there?' Steven said to Mr Jones.

The removal man shook his head.

'No, all my lads are on the ground floor till you tell them where you want stuff,' Mr Jones said.

Steven looked puzzled and then shrugged.

'It could have been light reflecting from somewhere.'

'Or the sun trying to poke through the clouds,' Mr Jones added, looking at the grey sky.

Julia wasn't convinced.

'Are you sure?' she said.

'Of course I am,' Jones replied. 'If you want though, me and some of the lads will have a look up there for you.'

'Would you mind, Mr Jones?' she asked.

He looked at her with kind eyes that seemed odd in his rather rugged and weathered face.

'Course I will,' he said. 'And please, call me Marty. Every other bugger does.'

The friendliness and jovial manner finally made her smile again.

'Thank you, Marty. Steven will be happy to go with you. Won't you, honey?'

She noticed a flash of annoyance on her husband’s face at being volunteered for this, but it soon faded and was replaced by a smile.

'Yeah, sure.'

The two men wandered off towards the house, still chatting. Julia stayed where she was and looked back up to the attic window. She felt a few drops of rain on her face, then the soft shower began. As she looked at the attic window, she saw that same bright white flash, like a torch. No, that was not entirely right, it was more like the flash of a camera. Then there was a clap of thunder off in the distance.

Was that all it was? The reflections from some storm south of the city. She wanted to believe that, and yet part of her was convinced the light had come from within the room.

The rain began to grow heavier, drenching Julia who was dressed for an early summer’s day of work in jeans and a T-shirt. She was thinking about going inside the house, but would rather wait until Steven and Marty had finished checking the attic.

Instead, she ran for the shelter of her car. She unlocked the door and got in the driver's seat. She saw that the house appeared to blur and melt through the rain on the windscreen. She put the key in the ignition and started the engine. Wanting to clearly see the attic, she switched on the wipers.