The Smoke In The Photograph (21 page)

Sam walked back into the interview room. Steven Draper was exactly as he had left him, slumped in his chair with his head in his hands. Sam stepped aside and let Branning enter the room first. She took her seat, and Steven looked up at her. Sam followed and sat opposite the doctor.

'I'm not going to be charging you, Doctor Draper.’

The relief was evident on Steven's face.

'Thank God.’

'You're free to go,' Sam continued. 'PC Branning and I can give you a lift home, once the appropriate paperwork has been taken care of.'

The doctor looked as though he would cry with relief. Though his eyes welled up a little, the tears didn't fall. He simply smiled.

'Thank you.’

Sam wasn't quite done with Doctor Draper yet though. There were still too many coincidences in all of this. Sam didn't like it when they stacked up like that. More often than not it meant they weren't coincidences at all, but connections. Though he was fairly certain that Steven was not the Lincoln Ripper, he still sensed there was a connection there. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

'One more thing, Doctor Draper,' Sam said. He saw the way that his words hit the doctor like a lead weight. 'I need a full name and address for your lover.'

Steven's eyes darted from Sam, to Branning, then back again, as if he was trying to figure out why they needed to know.

'Why?' he asked, when the reason was not forthcoming.

'First I need to corroborate your story,' Sam said. 'After all, even though I'm not charging you, you're still the only suspect we've had in six years. Second, something still doesn't quite fit together for me, and until it does I'm expecting your complete cooperation.'

Steven nodded eagerly.

'Of course,' he said. 'Anything I can do to help, I will.'

'Good,' Sam said. He handed a few forms to Branning. 'Branning will go through the forms with you. Now, your lover?'

'Ariel Phillips,' Steven said. 'She lives at Flat E, 120 Colby Street.'

Sam wrote the address down in his note pad. Then he stared at it, trying to understand what didn't add up.

'Colby Street? Here in the city?'

Steven nodded.

He was sure that Ariel had told him she lived in Darton, or had he just assumed that as she said she worked there? Either way, he was going to have to speak to her. He would make sure Branning went with him. He knew better than to interview a young woman on his own, especially one he was attracted to.

Sam got up and moved towards the door.

'Detective?' Steven said, as Sam was opening the door. He turned back to face him.

'Yes?'

Steven shifted in his seat, a worried expression crossing his face.

'Are you going to tell my wife? Are you going to tell Julia about Ariel?'

Sam thought about it. Part of him thought that the doctor deserved to be caught out for his cheating, but on the other hand, did Mrs Draper deserve the pain it would cause?

'Only if I have to,' Sam said. 'Maybe you should tell her yourself. If you love her, I mean.'

Who was he to give advice? He had ruined his own marriage by not letting his wife know how much she meant to him. If he could go back in time and tell her that she meant the world to him, he would. He would give up the Ripper case for her. Hell, he would quit the police force if that's what it took to prove it to her. It was too late now.

'Of course,' Steven said.

Sam nodded at him and left the room.

After she had left Julia, Wendy had gone home to eat. She had expected to find Paula and the kids there, but instead the house was empty. There was a note saying they had gone for pizza and were then heading to the cinema.

Wendy for the first time ever felt uneasy when alone in the house. She had lived there by herself before Paula got divorced and came to stay. She had always seen her home as her sanctuary, her quiet place in the world, away from the fast pace and backstabbing of the modeling industry. Now, though, she felt a chill down her spine, and the silence seemed oppressive. She flicked on the radio, just for some sound. It eased her mind a little.

This whole thing with Julia's house and the Lincoln Ripper had really got to her. She couldn't believe that Steven was a serial killer. She had always thought of him as such a nice guy.

In a hurry, she cooked and ate some pasta and sauce, and then made the decision to go across the city to retrieve her bag from Helga.

As she expected, traffic through the middle of the city was crawling along at a snail's pace. She wished she had left it a little while, until rush hour had ended, but she just couldn't be in the house on her own anymore.

When she was younger she had heard stories of how people who had visited haunted places had attracted spirits into their own homes. With everything that had happened at Julia's the night before, Wendy didn't mind admitting she was worried about this. What if just by participating in the séance she had inadvertently invited something into her house?

She attempted to brush the idea to the back of her mind. She would ask Helga about it when she got there. Helga was always able to put her mind at ease.

Forty minutes later she arrived at the psychic’s house. The night had fully descended and the house looked dark. Wendy hoped that Helga was home, not only because her phone and purse were inside the house, but also to put her mind at rest about the possibility that she had taken a spirit home with her.

She walked up to the door at the side of the house. There were no lights visible in the hallway, but through the frosted glass of the door she could see light seeping from the parlour.

Rapping her knuckles against the glass, Wendy knocked loudly. She waited for a few moments. Usually Helga would shout an acknowledgement before coming to the door, but the house remained silent.

Wendy knocked again, this time loud enough to hurt her knuckles a little. Again, there was no response.

She bent down at the door and pushed open the letterbox.

'Helga?' she shouted into the slot. 'Helga? It's Wendy.'

She peered through the letterbox, trying to see if there was any sign of movement. The hallway looked still.

Perhaps Helga had gone out, but Wendy doubted she would have left the parlour light on if that was the case.

She didn't know what to do. She wondered if she should leave it until the following day, comeback in business hours, but she really needed her bag. Her phone was in there, which she would need to check in with Julia, and her purse was in there which she would need to put petrol in to get home.

She knocked again, thumping her hand against the door hard enough to hurt her. Again there was no reply. As a last resort she tried the door handle, expecting to find it locked. To her surprise, the door opened.

Wendy inched the door open a little and called into the house.

'Helga?' It's Wendy. I left my handbag here.'

The house was quiet.

Wendy stood indecisively in the doorway. She had been one of Helga's customers for years now. Surely the psychic wouldn't mind if she nipped in and collected her bag. Perhaps she would give Helga a fright, but then they would laugh about it. Her decision was made. She had to pick up her bag.

She stepped into the corridor and walked down towards the parlour. She was sure that was where she had left her bag, and also the light being on down there suggested that Helga was there.

When she reached the door, she stopped. She gave the ajar door a gentle knock. If Helga was in there she wanted to at least give her some warning.

Helga was in there. As Wendy pushed the door open, she saw the psychic sprawled on her back. There was blood everywhere.

Wendy screamed when she saw that Helga's eyes had been taken out and placed on her reading table. They gazed at her with dumbfounded shock.

Wendy turned to run then saw the man lying off to the side of the room. His throat was slashed and his white shirt was stained dark crimson.

Forgetting about her bag, Wendy ran. She ran, screaming, out of the house and to her car.

Julia parked the car at the side of the castle. She walked round the corner to the Lindum Gallery. It was a well-designed place, but a little too pretentious for a gallery so far from the artistic centre of the country. Julia would have preferred if they had tried to keep it in line with its historical surroundings. Instead, it was all glass and metal at odd angles.

Fran was waiting for her outside. Her agent was smoking and looking impatient. She was visibly relieved when she spotted Julia approaching.

Julia waved. Fran nodded and looked at her watch.

'I thought you were never going to get here,' Fran said as Julia reached her.

'Please don't start, Fran.’

Fran frowned as she looked her up and down, then a kindly smile crept onto her face as she took Julia's arm gently in her own.

'You're here now,' she said in a reassuring tone. 'There are so many people I want you to meet.'

Julia looked at her.

'I'm not feeling very sociable.’

'Pull it together, because there's a lot of money in that room, and it's got your name on it if you play your cards right.'

Julia took a deep breath, and then nodded.

She knew well enough that if her career was ever going to get back on track she needed to do this. She owed it to the people who had come all the way from London to see her work. Mostly, though, she owed it to Fran, the agent who had never given up on her, when so many in that cutthroat business would have.

Fran led her into the gallery. Her paintings hung on the stark white walls, each one lit to perfection. Mellow music played through the sound system above, and people in suits and gowns mingled and buzzed around the room. Julia recognised a lot of them. There was Eric Crawford, the eminent art critic; Jayne Glover, the art dealer; Simon Prince, the multi-millionaire art collector. There was more money in that room right then than in the rest of the county at any time.

Julia realised just how much she hated this world, the pretension, the fads, and the fakery. It was as much why she had left London as her love for Steven.

She stopped in her tracks, for a moment wanting to bolt the gallery like a frightened rabbit. Fran must have sensed it as her grip on Julia's arm tightened.

Julia looked at her and saw Fran was smiling.

'They're all here for you,' she whispered to her. 'Go sparkle.'

She let go of Julia's arm and wandered over in the direction of Simon Prince.

Julia stood there, knowing that the eyes of the room were on her. She could see people looking, waiting for something from her. She guessed they were all well aware of her breakdown. As loyal as Fran was, Julia was well aware of how fast gossip spread through this group. The urge to run away lingered. Where would she run though? Her husband was under arrest and her house was haunted. And not to mention the crazed killer who had targeted her. As much as she felt anyone in the gallery would stab her in the back for a profit, she thought at least it would be metaphorical stabbing, unlike the Ripper.

She stepped into the room and everyone turned to look at her. There was a spontaneous round of applause.

Steven sat silent in the back of the car as Fluting and the female police officer drove from the station back to the house. The city looked full of lights through the rain-covered window. He supposed that Julia would not want him in the house for a while, until all of this blew over.

He hoped that she didn't believe he was the killer, but he supposed she would still have her doubts. He decided it was high time to come clean about his affair with Ariel. He had betrayed her, and she deserved to know the truth. If she wanted a divorce, he wouldn't fight it. He would tell her how much he loved her, and that it was totally her decision. He would promise her that it would never happen again, but it would be up to her if she believed it, and if she could learn to trust him again.

The car swung past the cathedral and he knew they were almost there. Fluting and the woman had not spoken to him or each other since they left the station.

'I'm going to tell my wife, I'm going to tell Julia about the affair.'

'I think that's probably for the best, Doctor Draper,' Fluting said, glancing in the rearview mirror long enough for their eyes to meet.

Steven nodded.

The car pulled into the driveway. He saw his car, and the car containing the two policemen, who stepped out when they saw them arrive. Julia's car was not there though.

'Where's Julia?' Steven asked.

'She's gone to some do at the gallery,' Fluting said.

Fran's sale at the Lindum. He remembered now. He was surprised that she had still gone with everything that was happening, but then he knew that Fran could be very persuasive.

Fluting stepped out of the car and walked over to the other two officers. The woman, Branning, got out and opened the door for Steven. He thanked her, and she nodded politely, but he could tell from her eyes that she thought he was scum, which he supposed he was.

Fluting returned and led Steven to the house. At the door, Steven got out his keys and unlocked the door.

He looked at Fluting.

'You'll be going to see Ariel, I take it?'

Sam nodded.

'We need her to confirm your story.’

'Remind her it's over, please,' Steven said.

'Goodnight, Doctor Draper,' Fluting said, and turned away.

Steven entered the house.

He closed the door behind him then something collided with the back of his head. Pain splintered through his skull in shockwaves. He felt his balance disappear and he slid down the door to the floor. He saw the poker as it dropped to the floor beside him. All he saw of his assailant was the hem of a red dress as he sank into unconsciousness.