The Smoke In The Photograph (15 page)

Steven stretched as he got out of his car outside the house. It had been a long night, and it had taken its toll on him physically. Julia's car was in the drive, but Wendy's was gone. This was unusual as it was rare for Wendy to be up by nine in the morning, let alone dressed and home. Inside the house, he found the place quiet. He put his keys on the table and stood in the hallway.

'Julia?' he called out.

There was no reply.

'Julia?' he called out louder, thinking she could be back in the studio. Still no reply came. He went into the dining room. Candles standing in the centre of the table. All blown out. Next to them was a sheet of paper. A note from Julia.

Gone to Wendy's for the night, be back late afternoon. There's food in the fridge.

Love

J.

Her voice said the words in his mind as he read. He set the note down. In many ways, he was glad they had gone to Wendy's. A night away from the house might clear her head of these silly haunting ideas.

There was a loud scraping sound above him, as if in response to his skepticism. Despite himself, Steven felt a prickle of fear across the back of his neck.

It sounded like someone was dragging furniture around somewhere upstairs.

He raced out of the room and up the stairs. He ran to their bedroom. It was directly above the dining room. Nothing was amiss, and no one was in there

Loud banging came from above. He darted to the second staircase and climbed them in a sprint. As he threw the door open, the incessant thuds ceased instantly.

The room looked just as it had the last time he was up there. Even the window was shut. He turned to walk away, but a fluttering noise stopped him. It was coming from the darkroom. He walked slowly over to the door and opened it. A pigeon flew out and hit him in the face before flying up to the roof.

'Fuck it!'

He walked to the centre window and pushed the sash up, feeling the cool, morning breeze enter the attic as he did. He wondered why he had chosen that window. It wasn't even the closest to the darkroom.

He grabbed a sweeping brush that was propped against the wall and swatted at the bird. It circled the room in blind panic several times before spotting the open window. It flew out and Steven rushed over and closed the window behind it, locking it tight.

His forehead was stinging. He put a hand to it and felt damp. Looking at his hand, he saw the blood. The bloody pigeon had cut his head with its beak or claws. Perfect he thought, trying to remember when he had his last tetanus shot. God only knew what bacteria the bird had been carrying. As far as he cared they were little more than winged rats, disease-spreading vermin.

He went over to the stack of boxes in the corner of the room. He was fairly certain that Julia kept a first aid kit with her art supplies, in case she cut herself. Something about this troubled him. It never had before her breakdown. Prior to that, if she had mentioned cutting herself, he would have automatically assumed she had meant in an accident in the studio. Nowadays, though, he pictured her self-harming, alone in front of a blank canvas. He shook the disturbing image from his mind and continued looking for the first aid kit.

He leafed through the contents of the nearest open box, and soon realised it was a pointless endeavour. These were the few boxes that Julia had packed herself. Of course, when it came to Julia, packing was basically emptying draws into a box without sorting through things.

He felt something brush against the nape of his neck like a cool breeze. The tiny hairs there rose in response. In a reflex reaction, a shiver went down his spine.

He heard a slow creaking sound. He spun in the direction it came from. The window was slowly lifting itself open.

It was too much for him. He ran from the room.

Helga was glad of the distraction when the doorbell went. There was something about the young woman who had come to see her that she didn't like. She couldn't put her finger on it. She had attempted to get the woman, who called herself Jasmine, to shake hands, but she had ignored the offer completely. In Helga's book that was enough for her to take an instant dislike to the woman, but it was more than that; her aura was dark. She had only ever seen auras like that on people who were terminally ill. The blackness of whatever cancer was eating them up inside was reflected in their ethereal manifestation. Jasmine didn't seem sick though.

Helga excused herself and went to answer the door. It came as no surprise to her when she opened it and saw Wendy and her friend Julia standing on her doorstep.

'You're early,' Helga said.

Julia walked in without an invitation. Helga would normally have found this incredibly rude, but considering everything the poor woman was going through, she could forgive her.

'I need to speak to you right now,' she said.

Helga nodded and led them into her parlour, the place where she saw all of her clients. The young woman looked up as the three of them entered into the room. At first she looked nervous, then angry, and finally confused.

'I'm sorry, my dear, but this is an emergency,' Helga said. 'Could you come back tomorrow?'

Julia crossed the room and sat down. She was clearly stressed as she rested her head in her hand. She barely registered the young woman.

Jasmine got to her feet belligerently.

'But I've paid for today,'  her voice full of annoyance.

'And tomorrow will be free,' Helga said.

The woman tutted loudly. She grabbed her handbag and stormed off, virtually knocking Wendy over as she barged past her. The door slammed as she left.

'Delightful,' Wendy said.

Helga looked puzzled.

'I get the feeling
I
wil
l
see her again,' she said.

Julia looked up.

'Tell us what Helen really showed you last night.’

'What do you mean?' Helga asked.

'I could tell you were keeping something from me. What was it?'

Helga saw that Julia was at breaking point. She guessed that she had little or no sleep. She deserved answers. Even if they would cause her more stress.

Helga sat down opposite her and took her hands.

'I was less than honest with you last night,' she admitted 'I just didn't want to worry you.'

'She told you I was next, didn't she?' Julia asked.

Helga was shocked. How did she know that? Had Detective Fluting gone to see her already?

She nodded.

'How did you know?'

Julia pulled something out of her pocket and handed it to her. Helga put her glasses on and examined it, a photograph of Julia. The mysterious smoke she had painted had formed in strange patterns across her body. Helga recognised them as being the same as the terrible wounds she had seen inflicted on Helen Swanson in her vision.

'My God,' was all she could say.

'Did she tell you who the killer was?' Julia demanded.

'No,' Helga said. 'I swear to God I have no idea who did it.'

'What about when it would happen?'

Helga felt awful that she could not give this poor woman the answers she needed.

'No, she didn't say when,' she said. 'All she told me was that you were next, and I had to warn Detective Fluting.'

Wendy crossed the room and took Julia’s hand.

'Is that the Sam Fluting you mentioned last night?' Wendy asked her.

'Yes. It's his case,' Helga explained. 'I went to see him as soon as I left your house last night, and informed him what I knew. He said he would come and see you.'

'I guess we should go back to your place and wait for him then?' Wendy said to Julia.

Julia shook her head and got to her feet.

'No, I'm not going to sit around and wait for this to happen. Let's go and see Rob Swanson, see if he knows anything.'

Helga thought this was a bad idea. Although the spirit had not told her that her husband had been the killer, neither had she said he wasn't. As far as Helga could see, this still made Rob Swanson a suspect. What if it was her meddling that drove poor Julia into the killer's path?

'Please, Julia, leave this to the police. Don't put yourself in more danger.'

Julia laughed.

'I'm the next victim of one of the most notorious serial killers this country has ever seen,' she said. 'How much more danger could I be in?'

Helga felt helpless as she saw the tears run from Julia's eyes. Wendy hugged her friend.

'You know him, don't you? Rob Swanson?' Julia asked.

'I met him a few times.’

Helga knew what she could do. She got up and crossed to the large display cabinet on the other side of the room. She opened the glass door and fumbled through the clutter inside. She cursed herself for never getting around to sorting it out. Finally she located what she was trying to find.

She walked back to Julia and Wendy. Julia had stopped crying and was wiping her eyes. Helga took her hand and handed her the velvet bag she was carrying.

'What's this?' Julia said.

'It's a gift for you. For your protection.'

Julia wiped her eyes.

'What is it? An amulet to protect me from evil spirits?'

Helga knew she was joking, but saw the look of shock on her face when she pulled out the small ceremonial dagger.

'No, dear,' Helga said. 'This will protect you from the living.

Sam had spent the rest of the night sleeping on a sofa in the family interview room. Though not as comfortable as his own bed, it was a damn sight more comfortable than his car had been. He sat up, and felt that his hangover had finally gone. He was refreshed, for the first time in days.

He got himself a coffee from the vending machine in the canteen and then went to his office. It was attached to the Ripper incident room. Graves was already at his desk. He nodded as Sam entered the room.

'You look better today, sir,' he said. 'Go home last night, did we?'

'Briefly, spent most of the night here. Had a psychic come in with some information about the case.'

Graves’s expression questioned whether he was being serious or not.

'I swear to God,' Sam said. 'This woman came in claiming that Helen Swanson's ghost had told her who the next victim would be.'

'And you believed her?' Graves asked.

Sam thumped Graves's desk.

'If you've forgotten, I've only got twelve days left to catch this bastard,' he said, annoyed. 'At this stage I'm pretty much willing to follow up on any information. Besides which, the woman in question lives in the old Swanson house.'

Graves was startled by the outburst, but nodded.

Sam ran his hands through his hair and pushed it back off his face. Graves was a good copper, and a good friend. He didn't deserve Sam taking his frustration out on him.

'I'm sorry, Sid.'

'It's alright, Sam,' Graves replied, dropping the formalities.

'No, it's not,' Sam said, patting Graves's shoulder. 'It's understandable, given all the stress I'm under, but it's not acceptable. I shouldn't be taking it out on you, or any of the other hardworking coppers in this nick.'

'What do you want me to do?' Graves asked.

Sam thought about it. He wanted to be the one to speak to Mrs Draper. He didn't think anyone else would take the job seriously enough, given how the information had come to him.

'I need you to get us some plain-clothes to bolster numbers,' Sam said. 'We need to put a watch on the woman who's meant to be the victim, just in case.'

Graves wrote this down on his pad.

'Any preference who?' he asked.

'There's a young constable named Branning,' he said, remembering her from the night before. 'She's a little wet behind the ears, but I think she's got potential. Then a couple of others. I'll leave it up to you.'

'Right,' Graves said.

Sam checked his pockets and found his own notebook. He flicked through it until he came to the pages he had scrawled whilst speaking to Helga Cranston the night before. He found her address, and copied it onto a scrap of paper that he handed to Graves.

'Then could you go to this address and keep an eye on the woman who lives there?' Sam said. 'Until I can send one of the plain-clothes to relieve you.'

'Sure thing, boss,' Graves said. 'Who is she?'

'The psychic,' Sam said. 'It's probably nothing, but if the Ripper is watching me like I think he is, then she could have put herself in danger.'

Sam was aware that Graves thought he was being paranoid and overcautious. It was written all over his face. To his credit though, he didn't question him. Just nodded and set about the tasks at hand.

Sam went to his office and got the change of clothes he kept in his cupboard for emergencies. He needed to shower. Then he had to go and tell a woman that she could be the next victim of a vicious monster who seemingly couldn't be stopped.