The Smoke In The Photograph (4 page)

Steven rolled over drenched in sweat and felt instantly guilty for what had just happened. Ariel leant over and kissed the top of his arm softly before getting out of the bed, and leaving the room.

He had gone there to put an end to it. The affair should never have occurred in the first place. Ariel had come along when he reached the lowest point, when it seemed as if things would never get better. His wife lay in the mental ward, after trying to slit her wrists in the bathtub.

If he hadn't have finished work early that night, he wouldn't have found her in time. He remembered walking in and seeing her slumped to the side of the bath. Her arm hanging, lifelessly, out of the bath. Deep red blood soaking into the fluffy white rug.

He was sure at that moment that he had lost her. There was so much blood, and she looked so pale and still. He rushed over and felt her neck. The pulse was very faint, but it was still there, and she was taking little shallow breaths. She was on the brink of slipping away forever. He had called the ambulance, and then held her until it arrived. Constantly checking her pulse and breathing. Knowing that he would have to keep her going if either stopped.

She had spent three hours in emergency surgery that Mr Walden had refused to let him anywhere near. Instead he had sat in the waiting room. Alternately sobbing, and getting up and pacing the room.

Time had seemed to stop. He could not tell if he had been there minutes or weeks. He kept wondering why? What had he done to make her so unhappy? He had seen that she was depressed, but she had ignored his advice to visit her doctor, saying that he was being ridiculous. She had thrown herself into her work at a breakneck pace. It seemed that every day he had come home to find another new painting drying in the living room. Fran, her agent, had begun to get some real money for her work, and was pressuring Julia to do more, and more.

He would get home from work late at night and find her still in the garage, painting in a frenzy. He would spend the night alone, only to wake up the following morning to find her still working. She would go for days on end without sleep.

Until eventually she couldn't take any more. The exhaustion and the memories of her childhood had built up to a level where living was no longer an option.

She had apologised after the operation, telling him that she didn't want to die. She wanted help. Between them they arranged for her to be admitted to the psychiatric ward for treatment.

It was in that time that he had met Ariel. He had been in his local pub, The Nags Head, Darton. He had gone to visit Julia, and she had flown into a rage with him for no reason he could see. He had spoken to her psychiatrist, Doctor Claremont, and he had informed Steven that she seemed to be resisting treatment, and that as long as this went on, there was nothing that could be done to help her.

The whole thing had left him so low that he had gone to the pub not to drown his sorrows, but to obliterate them.

He was well on his way to very drunk when he heard a sultry voice say, 'Perhaps you should slow down. That stuff won't make whatever it is go away.'

He turned around to tell whomever it was to mind their own business, but when he saw her he stopped. The young woman before him was stunning. She was tall, almost as tall as him, with a slim figure. Her eyes were icy blue, and surrounded with heavy black eye makeup, which combined with her black, vampish, bob to make her resemble an Egyptian princess.

She was smiling softly, with a look of understanding in her eyes. Steven thought about how the last few weeks had been all about Julia, and people talking to Julia. Not one person, even his own parents, had asked how it was all affecting him. Now this beautiful stranger wanted to hear him, wanted to help him. It was selfish, he knew that, but he had been suffering as well. He needed someone to talk to, someone to offer him a little comfort and compassion, and that was what Ariel had done. She had sat there all night listening to him, not passing judgment, not asking after Julia. It had all been about him.

They had ended up in bed together that night for the first time. The affair had gone on passionately for the months that Julia had been in the hospital. Then Julia had come home, and he remembered how much he loved her. He wanted to put the entire period behind them. Ariel wouldn't let him go though. Any attempt he made to distance himself from her, she would seek him out.

He wanted to say to her that it was over, but he was scared. She had not said anything, but he got the impression that Ariel would try to make his life very difficult if he did. He was pretty sure she would tell Julia. That would crush her. He couldn't risk that. When Julia had been discharged from the hospital, he had vowed to himself that he would never let her get that low again.

He heard his phone vibrate on the bedside table. He reached for it and saw the text message from Julia.

Hey Hunn
y
, it read
,
Hope work’s not too bad. Fran is coming over for a while. Can't wait to see you. Love you lots xx
x
. She ended the text wit
h
New house on Saturday! Yay!xxx
x
.

Steven rubbed his temples.

'Why am I doing this?' he asked himself out loud.

Enough was enough. He got off the bed and hurriedly began to dress. He was almost dressed fully when Ariel stepped into the room, her naked body glistening from the shower.

'Where are you rushing off to?' she asked.

'I've got to get home,' he said, looking for his shoes. 'Julia is expecting me.'

Ariel walked over and pushed hard on his chest. He lost his balance and fell back onto the bed. She stood over him.

'I was expecting to see a bit more of you.'

He attempted to push himself back up.

'I have to go.’

She knelt on the bed between his legs. Her hand reached for the fly of his trousers. She looked in his eyes and licked her lips as she slid the zipper down.

Despite himself, the sight of her, and knowing what she was about to do for him, aroused him.

'I do hope you're not changing your mind about our relationship,' she said.

'Of course not,' he considered letting her proceed for a moment, before he remembered Julia. All lust for Ariel was gone. He pulled his zipper back up.

'I just need to get home. I'll call you in a couple of days.'

'You'd better,' she said, standing up and grabbing a towel. She left the room again and Steven continued to hunt for his shoes.

Fran Winston was simultaneously one of the kindest and meanest people Julia had ever met. She was somewhere in her fifties, though details of her actual age were one of the world's most closely guarded secrets.

She had been representing Julia since she had first left university. When everyone else in her life, her sister included, was telling her that she needed to use her degree to get a good job, art teacher was the most common suggestion. Fran had believed in her. She had seen the potential in her work and encouraged her to paint full time. The first few years had been plagued with low turn outs at exhibitions and very few sales.

Fran, though, had kept believing and encouraging her, even when she was about to give up herself. Fran frequently took her to other artist's events in those early days to mingle and network with the right people.

'Your work isn't here to impress them,' Fran would state on these occasions. 'But you have something that will, your personality. You're genuine, unlike ninety-nine percent of people in this room.'

Eventually all of that groundwork began to pay dividends. The numbers of people attending her exhibitions began to increase. After a few decent reviews, the sales started.

Julia did not know who she owed her talent to, but her success she owed to Fran Winston.

'So it's the big move on Saturday then?' Fran said as she relaxed on the sofa, drinking her usual black coffee. She was, as always, impeccably dressed in a designer skirt suit. This made Julia feel even less glamorous in her dressing gown.

'Yes, I can't wait to get in there,' Julia said.

Fran looked pleased. Julia knew she would be happier if she was moving back to London. Fran hated having a client living so far from the major art scene of the country. When Julia had first said to her that she was moving to Lincolnshire, to live with Steven, Fran had been mortified. She told Julia that she was throwing her career away for a man. The two of them had not spoken for months after that. Fran had continued to sell her work, but all communication had been through her personal assistant.

Once she had seen how her work improved up here, Fran had relaxed, and had begun pushing her for more work. Fran had arranged exhibitions in both London and Lincoln. She managed to have all of the key players in the scene, and the big collectors to travel all the way to Lincoln just to see her work.

'Is Steven excited? Fran asked.

Julia grinned.

'You know how tidy that man is. It's given him an excuse to pack everything in specifically-labeled boxes, so he couldn't be happier.'

Fran laughed, but then she looked at Julia and her expression altered to one of concern.

'Seriously though, Julia,' she said, 'do you really think you'll start painting again soon?'

They had been friends long enough for Julia to know what Fran was really asking. Was she better?

'Of course,' Julia said. 'This house is the perfect inspiration, and it has a proper studio for me.'

Fran beamed with excitement.

'That's great news. There's a lot of interest in your work at the moment. I don't know how long I can sustain that without some new paintings though.'

'Don't worry,' Julia said. 'I'll have twenty new paintings in your office before you know it.'

'Wonderful,' Fran said. 'That reminds me. I've organised a little show at the Lindum Gallery for the beginning of next week. Nothing major. Just to keep people talking about you, really. I'll be showing everything that's not been sold, plus getting a few pieces loaned back by the owners, but it would be really nice to have something fresh. Even if it was just some sketches to give them some idea about the new direction of your work.'

Julia felt a slight knot of fear in her stomach. She had not attended an exhibition since her breakdown. Though she had done it plenty of times before, the idea of all eyes being on her made her uneasy.

She knew, though, that she had to get back on the horse sometime.

'I'll see what I can do.'

Fran obviously detected her apprehension.

'Only if you're sure,' she said. 'I don't want you to feel pushed.'

Julia shook her head.

'No, it's fine. I need to start working again. I have the perfect home to inspire me to knock up a few sketches, and the perfect husband to look after me.'

'Where is Steven tonight?' Fran asked, as if she had only just noticed his absence.

'Some boring staff meeting,' Julia replied. 'He'll be home by half ten though.'

They chatted on for a while, until Fran decided it was time for her to head back down to London. Julia saw her to the door. They hugged.

'You take care of yourself,' Fran said as the embrace ended.

'I will,' Julia said.

'Depending on how this show goes next week, we should consider one in London as soon as you have a few new works.'

Julia nodded, even though she found this idea even more terrifying. Though Fran invited the entire London art scene to her shows in Lincoln, it tended to be only the ones who liked her work that showed up. The rest of the crowd was made up of curious local people. In London, though, they would all turn up, even the ones who hated her work. They would come just to loudly bemoan her talent for all to hear.

'One thing at a time, eh?'

Julia nodded and they said goodbye.

The police station was pretty quiet when Sam got back that evening. After he had seen Victoria at the hospital he had gone to the girl's home to interview her older sisters. They stated that they had not seen the figure on the hill that Victoria had seen, but admitted they weren't looking in that direction.

It was possible that Victoria had imagined the figure on the hill. Claremont had warned him that the shock would mess with her memories. She had seemed genuine enough to him though.

As he walked into the incident room, there was little activity. A few of the junior officers were tapping away at their keyboards. He saw Sergeant Graves sticking up the crime scene photographs on the wall.

'Anything new?' Sam asked as he approached.

Graves nodded.

'We might have found out who she is,' he said, pointing to the picture of the butchered woman. 'She fits the description of a woman named Linda Harris. Twenty-Eight years old, reported as missing from her home in Navenby by her husband last night. We have a picture of her.'

Graves handed Sam a photograph of a smiling, beautiful, young woman. He peered at her face and then looked into the cold, dead eyes of the woman found on the common. The resemblance was very strong.

'We're just waiting for the husband to identify her,' Graves said.

'Poor bastard,' Sam said, handing the photograph back to Graves.

'What did you find out from the kids at the hospital? Anything.'

Sam looked around the office, checking whether anyone was listening. All of the negative press he had been getting over this case was making him paranoid. He led Graves over to an empty corner of the room.

'I think he was there,' Sam said in a hushed tone.

'What? The Ripper?' Graves said.

Sam nodded.

'The girl who found the body says she saw someone standing on top of the hill in the common. They ran off when she started screaming.'

Graves frowned.

'Doesn't mean it was him, Sam, it could have been anyone.'

'Then why run off when a little girl starts screaming?' Sam asked. 'Who would do that?'

'Plenty of people, sadly,' Graves said.

Sam shook his head. He didn't believe this. He saw enough of the evils of the world. If he allowed himself to believe that the majority of people could be so cold, what was he attempting to protect? Why had he let his family just walk out of his life without a fight?  No, if nothing else, he had to believe that, on the whole, people were good and decent.

'No,' Sam said. 'I know it was him. The fact that this woman was killed in the open, and her body left unhidden, was a message. He thinks I can't catch him. He wanted to watch his handiwork be discovered. He wanted me to see that he was there. He's taunting me.'

Graves looked at Sam intently. Sam could tell he was deciding if the case had finally made him lose the plot.

'It doesn't fit with his pattern,' Graves said. 'He's usually so careful. He's never made any attempt to contact us or the press. He's not attention-seeking.'

'He wants me to think he's beating me,' Sam said. 'And he may be right.'

Graves looked concerned.

'You've been working hard on this case for a long time, Sam,' he said. 'Harder than anyone knows. I don't give a shit what anyone says. No one could have done more to catch him. It might be time you took a break though. It's getting personal.'

Sam felt a rush of anger. He grabbed Graves by his collar.

'It is personal,' he said through gritted teeth.

The younger officer looked across at them.

Sam suddenly felt awful. He let go of Graves's collar.

'I'm sorry, Sid,' he said, embarrassed. 'It's just I've lost too much to the case to give up until I've got him.'

It was true. The case had already cost him his wife and children. Sarah had stayed as long as she could, but the long hours, and moods the case had put him in, had eventually taken their toll. She had left him two months ago, and he had not seen her or his daughters since.

Graves patted him on the shoulder.

'I know,' he said softly. 'I'm just worried about you.'

'That means a lot,' he said. 'So anything else to report?'

'Alex Parker called, Said he'd like to see you in the crime lab as soon as possible.'

Sam felt a nervous rush of excitement. Had they finally caught a break in the case?

'Did he find something?' Sam asked.

Graves shrugged.

'He didn't tell me,' he said. 'I assume he must have done.'