‘I suppose so.’ Even to myself I sounded less than convinced.
‘Word on the grapevine,’ he said, clipping the top back onto his pen, ‘is that DCI Ferguson is in hot water for bringing you in without authorisation from Hoyle. Not to mention the fact that you were almost suicidal in putting yourself in the killer’s way without police backup and Hoyle only found out about that after the fact. If this gets any messier, it’ll look like left hand doesn’t know what right hand is doing and Hoyle, in my estimation, will do anything to prevent the force looking so fragmented on his watch.’
I rested my chin on my fist and watched as he packed his expensive-looking briefcase.
‘What grapevine do you use that can tell you what’s going on around here?’
He grinned and winked at me as he hefted his case from the table.
‘The kind that make us the most effective criminal law firm in the country,’ he said, enigmatically. ‘So I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t hear from Ferguson for a while. Think he’s probably being kept away from you for now until the press furore settles down.’
My head was pounding. I was vaguely aware of Jen clearing away cups and busying around. James left to speak to Heslopp and I sat staring at the coffee stains on the table, trying to order my thoughts.
A moment later James was back. ‘Okay, ladies, we can get out of here whenever you’re ready.’
I looked up at him, feeling suddenly bone-weary. ‘What have they said?’
‘Let’s just say I’ve made it go away for now. I’ve confirmed the NHS Trust should have releases for Martha’s records and all your notes will be released to them through our office tomorrow.’ He grinned down at me. ‘Always assuming you do want me to look after this for you?’
‘Yes, of course,’ I muttered, wondering just how expensive the most expensive criminal lawyer in the country would be.
‘I’ll draft a statement to the media for a retraction. It’s written in the same vague terms that Hoyle’s statement was at the press conference, so all faces should be saved.’
‘Hang on a minute,’ I said, suddenly irritated. ‘What if I don’t want to let them off the hook over the Woodhouse profile?’
His strong hand was in the small of my back, confidently steering me towards the door.
‘Believe me, you’re not letting them off the hook. You’re getting the retraction you deserve and restoring your reputation.’
‘And if I want to hand my profile to the press to show how accurate it was? What then?’
‘Then you would be operating out of ego, rather than common sense,’ he said, irritatingly. I stopped in my tracks, forcing him to stop abruptly beside me.
‘This is not about ego.’
‘Then it’s revenge. Either way you’re above all that and if you want a logical reason for not doing it, the Woodhouse case is sub judice. You’d be prejudicing his case by revealing details to the press before his trial. And I know that once you’ve had time to get some sleep and think about it, you’ll decide that would be unprofessional.’
I looked at him for a moment before saying quietly, ‘I’ll bet you’re a complete bastard in court.’
He laughed. ‘Absolutely! So be thankful that right now, I’m your complete bastard.’
As we opened the door into the corridor, he was still smiling.
Jen went off to get the car and I looked down the corridor to see Hanson coming out of the observation room.
I ducked away from James’s guiding arm and strode down the corridor.
‘Jo!’
I could sense him following me but ignored him, pushing the door open with a sweep of my arm.
Lizzie Taylor-Caine looked up, startled, her hand knocking over the coffee cup on the table. Opposite her, Hoyle jumped up to avoid the spreading pool of liquid.
I could feel James arrive at my shoulder just as Taylor-Caine rounded on me.
‘So how does it feel to be on the other side of the glass?’ She almost curled her lip.
Hoyle shot her an uncomfortable look. ‘Lizzie, I really don’t think–’
‘I might have known you’d want to be here for this.’ I was contemptuous.
‘Writing books and appearing on TV like a celeb doesn’t make you Teflon McCready,’ she spat, unable to keep the venom out of her tone.
‘I think track records around here speak for themselves, don’t you?’ James said with irritating calmness.
Taylor-Caine was prevented from stepping towards us by Hoyle placing a hand on her shoulder.
I watched her fuming in front of me and suddenly found her amusing.
‘Political manoeuvring to cover up incompetence. Class act, love. You tipped off the press about the towpath scene on Thursday, didn’t you? That’s how they got there so fast.’
The rising colour in her cheeks told me I was right. Hoyle shot her a look that said volumes about the conversation they’d be having about that.
‘You were expecting to be photographed there, weren’t you? But Callum spoiled all the fun by getting me out there first.’ I looked at Hoyle. ‘And you were pissed off because you wanted to justify her role in your pet project.’
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Taylor-Caine had no such restraint.
‘Screw you!’ She spat the words at me.
‘You’re not up to the job,’ I bit back.
Heslopp barely suppressed his laughter. Hoyle looked furiously at her.
‘Intellectual lightweight,’ was my parting shot, as I turned on my heel and walked out.
James laughed quietly as we walked down the corridor. ‘“Intellectual lightweight”, I like it. Might steal that to use in court sometime.’
‘Be my guest.’ I said it through gritted teeth, not quite feeling the humour.
7 August
Kingsberry Farm
The clock above the Aga read 11am. Jen had refused to leave me and we were on our fourth cup of tea as we sat in war council around my kitchen table.
‘Now that Fosters are onto this, I think we should leave it to them.’ She sounded tired.
‘Okay by me. I’m shattered. Feels like I haven’t slept for days.’
‘You probably haven’t.’ She squeezed my hand across the table. ‘Why don’t you go up and try to sleep?’
‘Do you think that’s the last I’ll hear from Callum?’
I wanted her to be honest but dreaded the answer if she was. Why was it that now I thought it was probably over, I realised how much I didn’t want it to be?
She shrugged. ‘Who knows?’ She squeezed my hand again. ‘But if he’s put off by Hoyle warning him away, then he doesn’t deserve to have you.’
‘Careful, Jen.’ I gave her a weak smile. ‘You’re starting to sound like Mamma.’
‘Thanks.’ She grinned.
‘Believe me, that’s not a compliment.’ I stretched. ‘Look, I appreciate everything, but there’s still some of your day off left. Feel bad keeping you away from family. I’ll be fine if you want to get back?’
‘Sure?’
‘I’m sure.’ I tried to stifle a yawn. ‘I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow at the office, okay?’
I waved her off on the drive and locked up the house. Harvey was snoring on his bed by the Aga, not having had much sleep himself with all the excitement.
The house was quiet as I settled down in bed. I stared at the shadows created by slim fingers of sunlight that sneaked around the edges of my blind to play across the ceiling.
Eventually my eyes felt gritty and I closed them.
Nightmares flickered bloody images across my mind. Faceless women with gaping stab wounds, screaming and writhing, reached out to drag me down into swirling black depths of a horror I couldn’t see or name.
I pulled my legs away, trying to escape their clawing hands, and suddenly sat bolt upright in bed with tangled bed sheets wrapped around my legs.
Sweat trickled down my neck and shoulders, matting my hair into a tangled mess. The room
was in half darkness and the clock read 4pm. I pulled up the blind to watch dark brooding clouds which, in the half-light, had the purple tinge of bruises as they scudded across a bleak skyline, announcing another thunderstorm on the way.
I was grateful for the cool water on my skin as I stepped into the shower. The events of the morning seemed a million miles away. I tried to order my thoughts, standing motionless under the powerful jets.
The house was unbearably hot and after the cool shower, I couldn’t face getting dressed. I pulled on my silk robe and went into the kitchen. I let Harvey out into the damp afternoon to roam where he wanted while I made the obligatory mug of tea to take into the office.
The computer hummed into life behind me as I looked across the fields at the glowering thunderstorm approaching across the treetops. I turned and entered my password.
Ice ran through my body as I watched the screen in total horror.
Instead of the familiar wallpaper, an image of red fluid dripped in rivulets down the screen. Looking for all the world as though someone had just poured a can of red paint over it.
As I stared in frozen shock, black script scrolled across the dripping red background:
Jack’s back… Jack’s back… Jack’s back…
The red gore gradually receded, pushed up by the appearance of a photograph, revealing itself one grainy line at a time. A harbinger of horror unfolding itself before my eyes.
A pair of booted feet, pale white calves, a heavy skirt pushed up over white bruised thighs. The picture continued its progress, saving the gruesome best for last. Torn flesh, gaping abdomen, exposed breasts slashed and barely recognisable as the body of a woman. A slender white neck, splashed with dark red blood and then her face… finally her face. Pale and still in death, like cold marble with wide, startled dead eyes staring at me.
The face of Martha Scott.
For an endless moment I stared in shock at the screen. The implications that someone knew enough to send this to my personal computer clanged around my brain like a large warning bell.
The voice of ‘Jack’ coming from Martha echoed from the grave to haunt me in my own home.
‘ … I can get out… I can leave her behind now…’
My mind struggled to comprehend what I was seeing.
If ‘Jack’ was just a construct of Martha’s damaged mind, who had killed her? And who was sending me these images, claiming to be him?
A freezing sliver ran down my back as another, more chilling fact bubbled to the surface.
There had been no one in that room except Martha and me – no one even knew about the existence of Jack except the two of us, and now Martha was dead and ‘Jack’ was sending me photographs of her mutilated corpse!
Without conscious thought, my hand reached for the phone. I stared at it realising I had picked it up with no idea who I was going to call.
999? Jen? My mother?
Everyone I knew had people they could call on in a crisis. Armies of friends. Legions of helpful acquaintances. It shocked me to suddenly realise how limited my options were. Who could I tell about this?
Automatically, my fingers began to punch out Callum’s mobile number. Then I stopped. He had always been my go-to. The one person I could always trust. But he’d abandoned me – so now who?
My eyes scanned the desk, seeing the business card I had dropped there earlier. I dialled the number, not sure how to even begin to explain.
‘James?’ I said
‘Jo?’
I was still staring at the computer screen. Terrified that if I looked away, the image would disappear and no one would believe me.
‘Jo, what’s the matter?’ His tone was concerned now. The worry in his voice shattered my numbness.
‘Are you back in Manchester?’
‘No, I’m still in Fordley.’
‘Thank God. I need you at the farm, something’s happened. Can you come? Now!’
‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m okay – it’s Martha. I can’t explain over the phone, you need to see this.’
‘Give me directions, I’m on my way.’
7 August
Kingsberry Farm
Twenty minutes later I opened the door to let James into my kitchen. He’d left his suit jacket hanging in the back of the car, removed his expensive silk tie and opened the top button of his collar. He looked more relaxed, but somehow just as capable and professional as he had looked at Fordley police station.
His eyes conducted a quick swoop over my figure and it was only then that I realised I was still in my dressing gown. If he thought anything of it, he was too polite to say.
The sight of Harvey made him stop in his tracks, but after I made the usual introductions, Harvey finally allowed him into the house.
‘Sorry, I’m not very good with dogs. They don’t seem to like me.’
James skirted warily around Harvey and followed me to the office. Our footsteps muffled on the thick carpet as we walked down the glass corridor. Neither of us spoke. It felt weird having a man who was almost a complete stranger with me in what seemed such an intimate way – but not for any of the pleasant reasons.
I indicated the computer. This was one slideshow that needed no introduction.
He sat in my chair, staring at the screen for a long moment, then shot a look across at me that asked the million questions I knew were racing through his head – the same ones that had raced through mine.
I sat on the corner of the desk, pulling the silk gown across my knees, and ran a hand through my hair, trying to smooth out my tangled thoughts.
‘I logged on and this just appeared. I called you straight away.’
He nodded and looked back at the screen. ‘So this wasn’t an attachment? It just appeared?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’re sure this is Martha Scott?’
I nodded, not really wanting to look again into those dark glassy eyes staring at me from the other side of life.
‘Who’s Jack?’
I slipped off the edge of the desk to walk over to the huge arched window and looked out across the darkening fields and scudding storm clouds.
I hesitated. ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’
‘Try me.’
‘Jack the Ripper.’
7 August
Kingsberry Farm
James put a call in to his office and followed that with a call to Fordley police station after listening to my story. His eyes held mine with an intensity that was bordering on uncomfortable.
‘We need to find out who produced that image and how they managed to send it to your computer. The police will get their computer specialists onto it.’
‘Have you got any ideas?’
‘Me?’ He snorted back a laugh. ‘I thank God every day that my profession still take notes by hand on a legal pad. What I know about technology, you could fit on the back of a stamp!’
I looked back at the image. ‘At first I thought it was a crime scene photo, but it’s not.’
‘How do you know?’
‘I’ve seen enough of them in my time to know the difference.’
‘I’m impressed.’
‘Don’t be. I stared at the damn thing long enough. Believe me, it wasn’t the first thing that occurred to me when I saw it.’
‘What was?’
He was in professional mode now. Questioning me as my defence council would. I didn’t mind. In fact, it was a relief to begin taking this thing apart, without the emotion that had hit the pit of my stomach when I’d first seen it.
‘How could “Jack”, the creation of a damaged mind, become a physical entity that could commit a murder?’
‘He can’t.’ His eyes held mine. ‘Jack the Ripper can’t come back after over a hundred years and kill again.’
He had finally said out loud what I hadn’t dared. The outrageous possibility that I had spoken to Jack the Ripper through Martha, and that true to ‘his’ promise, he’d freed himself an
d made her his first victim.
‘Then, as there was only myself and Martha in that room, how does Martha’s murderer know about Jack and what was said during that session?’
I could see his mind processing all the possibilities. He frowned. ‘Who else heard the recording or saw the transcripts?’
‘Me, Jen and Martha are the only people who know what went on in that room. And if Fordley CID’s performance this morning is anything to go by, I’ll give you three guesses who’s the most likely to peak their interest.’ I glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘Speaking of which, they’ll be here any minute. I should go put some clothes on.’
He grinned. ‘Not on my account.’
Surprisingly, I felt myself begin to blush. ‘Does flirting with your clients come with the fee, or do you charge extra?’
He laughed. ‘Only if it doesn’t work. But if they agree to come for dinner, I write it off.’
I looked back at him and couldn’t help but meet his smile.
‘Just how am I supposed to respond to that?’
‘Agree to come to dinner?’
‘The way my luck’s running, I’ll probably be spending the night banged up in Fordley nick.’
He shook his head. ‘No you won’t.’ He sounded confident.
I opened my mouth to argue but he waved away my protest, his eyes holding a different kind of intensity this time.
‘Trust me, Jo.’ His tone was gentle. ‘You are a material witness, but receiving that image makes you a victim in this. I’ll insist you’ve been put through enough. No need to drag you down to the station.’ His eyes held mine just a fraction too long. ‘I’ll take care of everything.’
The Murder Mile Page 11
