The Smoke In The Photograph (14 page)

As Sam entered the police station he saw a young female PC he assumed was Branning. He realised what a daze he must have been in lately to have not noticed her before. She was a petite blonde, with sparkling blue eyes. He wondered what the hell she was doing on the front desk. That was usually a sergeant's job. He let himself through the security doors with his keycard and walked behind the desk.

'Where's the desk sergeant?' he asked.

'Sergeant Drake called in sick, and there was no one available to cover him, so I volunteered. Keeps me off the streets.'

She chuckled to herself and, despite the stress and the rude awakening, Sam offered her a smile.

'Who is this mystery informant on my case, PC Branning?' Sam asked.

Branning picked up a piece of paper from the desk and started to read.

'Her name is Helga Cranston. To be honest with you though, sir, I think she could just be a nutter.'

'What makes you say that?' he asked.

'She claims to be a psychic.'

Sam thought about this. He could understand why that would lead the young constable to assume that she was crazy. Sam, on the other hand, was a little more open minded. At this late stage in the game, he was open to all possibilities.

'An awful lot of police forces around the world have had great results from using psychics,' he said. 'And to be quite frank with you, Branning, I'm desperate for a break in this case.'

'I hope she's useful then, sir. She's in Interview Room Three.'

'Thanks.’

He wandered down the corridor, past the canteen and toward the interview room. When he reached it he took a deep breath, saying a silent prayer to himself that this would lead to something. He needed some sort of break in the case, something tangible that might convince Reed to give him more time. He opened the door and saw the woman sitting at the table drinking a cup of coffee.

'Mrs Cranston,' he said, extending his hand. 'I'm Detective Chief Inspector Fluting. You asked to speak with me.'

She took his hand and shook it politely. He noticed the way she held on a little too long. Whatever information she had for him, she was nervous, something was scaring her. She was staring at him as if deep in thought, then let go.

'Yes, I have some information for you regarding your case.'

Sam took off his jacket and put it on the back of the chair before sitting down opposite her. He tried not to give anything away. Despite how desperate he was for a break, he didn't want her to know that. Though he was open-minded to the idea of using a psychic, Branning could have been right. The woman could just be another attention-seeking oddball wasting police time.

'You're referring to the serial murderer the press has dubbed 'The Lincoln Ripper'?'

She nodded.

'Any information you have on that case is gratefully received, Mrs Cranston.'

'Please, call me Helga.’

'All right, Helga, what information do you have for me?'

'I know who the next victim will be,' she said matter-of-factly.

'Who gave you this information? The killer?' Sam asked.

Helga shook her head.

'No, it was the first victim that told me.’

'What?' Sam asked.

'Helen Swanson told me who he would kill next at a séance this evening.'

Wendy felt nervous standing alone in the attic studio of her friend's house. When Julia had brought her up here, the window had been wide open. Julia had shut it, but as soon as their backs were turned there was a creaking sound and Wendy felt the cool, autumn breeze stroke the hairs on the back of her neck. It was like a chilly caress from someone who makes your skin crawl. Looking back at the window, Wendy had gasped on seeing it wide open.

'See! I told you!' Julia said before going into the darkroom.

That was true. Julia had told her that the window kept opening of its own accord, but seeing it for herself made her even more uneasy.

Julia had of course offered to let Wendy go in the darkroom with her so that she was not alone. The prospect of entering a completely blacked out room, after what she had just witnessed, was even more frightening than waiting in the well-lit studio alone. Luckily Julia had said she could smoke up there. She had already got through five cigarettes while waiting. She stubbed each one out on the sole of her shoe, and then placed it in her pocket to be disposed of later. She felt like she had been waiting for an eternity.

She knocked on the door to the darkroom.

'Will you please hurry up?' her tone more desperate than demanding. 'I don't like this place and I want to go back to mine.'

Julia's voice came from inside the darkroom.

'We will, as soon as I've finished this,' she said, then added, 'Besides, I did say you could come in here with me.'

Wendy laughed, though it was more a laugh of nerves than humour.

'In the dark? Are you kidding? How long will this take?'

'I don't know,' Julia replied. 'I'm not a fucking expert.'

'You did those other photos.'

Julia laughed inside the darkroom.

'Actually, I have a confession to make. Boots did them, on the one hour photo service.'

'You cheeky bitch,' Wendy said, laughing. 'You made out like you did them.'

'I never said that. If that's what you thought then that's your...' She trailed off and Wendy felt nervous again. For a split second, in her imagination, she saw a skeletal hand reaching over and covering Julia's mouth. It dragged her friend off into the unending darkness.

'Hang on. I'm starting to see it,' Julia continued, the sound of her voice filling Wendy with relief. 'There's something on it… Fuck me.'

Julia went silent.

'What's the matter?' Wendy said, concern in her voice. Her earlier-imagined horror crept back into her mind.

She saw the door slowly open and Julia stepped out. She looked as though all colour had drained from her face. Small tears stained her cheeks.

'What is it?' Wendy asked.

Julia handed her the photo. As she expected, it showed Julia standing in the living room. What she did not expect were the random assortment of marks made out of the purple smoke-like substance. There was a cloud of it covering Julia's crotch, and another covering each breast. A thin sliver of the smoke lay across her neck. And finally it had formed a cross on her forehead.

Wendy had heard descriptions of the mutilations that the Ripper inflicted on his victims from her ex-boyfriend, the policeman. She knew that the marks on the photograph directly corresponded to the awful things he did to them.

She looked at Julia.

'What does it mean?' she asked.

Julia took the photo back off her and looked at it again. She began to cry. She threw the photograph on the floor.

'I think it means I'm next,' she sobbed.

Wendy rushed over and held her as she cried.

Sam led Helga back out to the front entrance of the police station. He held the door open for her and she stepped outside. The night air had cooled off and he wished he had put his jacket back on.

'Thank you for coming in, Helga,' Sam said, shaking her hand again. 'I will be sure to follow up on the information you've given me.'

'I hope it's of some use to you, Detective Fluting,' she said. 'Although, don't thank me. Thank Helen Swanson.'

Sam couldn't help himself; he laughed a little.

'Perhaps you could do that for me?'

She was looking at him, regarding him as though taking in every detail.

'I sense that you're a skeptic, Detective,' she said. 'Though I know you will still follow this up.'

'Goodnight, Helga.’

'Goodnight, Detective,' she said before heading towards the car park.

Sam looked around. He couldn't help but feel he was being watched. Perhaps it was all the talk of ghosts, but he did not believe so. It was something he had been feeling a lot lately.

He was becoming more convinced by the day that the Ripper was keeping tabs on him. After all, he was sure that the killer was trying to taunt him. The Ripper had become his obsession. It had destroyed his family. Yet, Sam couldn't shake the idea that perhaps the Ripper was equally obsessed with him. It was as if the killer saw it all as a game. Sam was his opponent. The Ripper desperately wanted to prove his intellectual superiority over Sam. What would happen when Reed took the case off him? Would the Ripper see this as a victory, or would he be angered that his opponent had been stolen from him?

If the Ripper was watching, had he just put Helga in danger by being seen out here with her? It was a slim possibility, but one that he did not want to risk. He ran down the steps and followed her.

'Helga! Wait!' he called.

She turned and stopped waiting for him to reach her. He closed the rest of the distance with a jog, rather than a sprint.

'What is it, Detective?' she asked as he reached her.

'I don't want to alarm you, but there is a slight chance that by coming to see me you've exposed yourself to the Ripper's attention.’

'Oh, I doubt that,' she said. 'Besides, I'm pretty sure I would see him coming.'

Sam wondered how she was so certain she would be able to spot the Ripper.

She tapped her temple, to remind him of the gift she believed she possessed.

'Still, it's a risk I'm not going to take. I'm going to have someone keep an eye on you, for your own protection.'

'That is sweet of you.’

Sam walked her to her car and then jogged back into the station. Branning greeted him.

'So, was she a loony then?' she asked.

'I honestly don't know,' he replied.

'You don't really believe in all that stuff do you, sir?'

'As I said, there have been good results from using psychics,' Sam said. 'Some of what she said about Helen Swanson was spot on.'

Branning looked confused. Sam realised that he had become so wrapped up in the details of the case that he tended to forget other people didn't know as much as he did.

'Sorry, Helen Swanson was the Ripper's first victim,' he explained. 'Mrs Cranston said that she came to her during a séance, showed her all of these things about her death and the killer. She can only remember snatches of it, but she was sure that Helen knew her killer.'

Branning rolled her eyes.

'But she doesn't remember who it was? That's useful.'

'She mentioned Helen's husband, Rob Swanson, and her younger brother, Philip Travers.'

'She thought it was one of them?' Branning asked.

'She said maybe,' Sam said. 'But, Rob Swanson was out of the country when she died. He has an airtight alibi.'

Branning leant forward. It was clear she was fascinated with the case. Sam thought her attentiveness was a good sign. This one would make a decent detective one day if she wanted. You could not help open up to her.

'What about the brother?' she asked.

Sam sighed. The entire issue of Philip Travers had been a nightmare for him from the beginning. It was one of the cases that had taken up far too much time and manpower in the early days of the investigation. All of the bureaucracy that came with trying to get files from overseas law enforcement had been a thorn in his side.

'He vanished ten years before she died. He was a rotten apple though, that's for sure. In trouble all of his life. Even a suspect in a murder when he was fifteen. They never got it to stick though. He went to Holland when he was sixteen and no one heard from him after that.'

'What do they think happened to him?' she asked.

'The Dutch police have a file on him up to when he was eighteen,' Sam said. 'He was involved in some shady business over there, drugs, blackmail and prostitution. There was a fire at a gay club in Amsterdam. Several bodies inside were too far gone to be identified. Witnesses placed Philip Travers at the scene shortly before the fire, and he was declared dead.'

Branning had watched him as he spoke, nodding along and keeping her eyes fixed on his.

'The psychic was way off then?'

'Maybe,' Sam replied. 'She says that Helen told her who the next victim would be. I want to check that out in the morning.'

Branning smiled. Sam could tell she still didn't put much faith in the words of a psychic. A rational mind was a wonderful thing for a police officer to have, but Sam had learned long ago that so was not ruling anything else out.

'Who does she say it will be?' Branning asked.

Sam looked at the name written in his notebook.

'An artist called Julia Draper,' he said reading aloud. 'She lives in the old Swanson house.'

Branning frowned.

'That doesn't fit, he never returns to the scene of a previous murder, does he?'

Sam was impressed. She had obviously been keeping up with the details of the case. When he looked at Branning he saw a hunger in her eyes that he recognised. It was the same kind of hunger he had once had, the hunger which had led him to rise so fast through the ranks. Some people who joined the police were happy to remain in uniform for their entire career. Branning, he could see, was not one of these. She wanted to get as far as she could.

'No,' Sam said, shaking his head. 'But his latest victim didn't fit his pattern either. He's always left them in their homes. The last one was murdered and left on the common, for no apparent reason.'

Branning considered this.

'What does it mean?'

'I don't know,' Sam said. 'I hope that it means he's getting sloppy. Because that's when I'll be there to catch him.'