Chained in Time

by David Waine

CHAPTER 7

  Ballards Lane was as unremarkable as any other suburban shopping street that afternoon, being the usual collection of out of town shops and stores, interspersed with the occasional pub, café, restaurant or wine bar. It was past four o’clock. The weather was benign and business light. A warm late summer breeze wafted gently along the street, lending it a relaxed atmosphere that it did not display at busier times.

  Sally Ferguson drove her beloved scarlet Alfa Romeo Spider, carefully along the street, keeping a weather eye out for the place that the girl had described to her. She had nurtured an ambition to own that car, in that colour, ever since she had watched Dustin Hoffman drive one in The Graduate, her favourite film, during a memorable screening at the National Film Theatre in the arms of her then boyfriend. Her burgeoning salary as a successful broadcaster had enabled her to acquire one through one of the capital’s specialist car dealers. It was a classic Alfa Spider, to her mind the most beautiful car ever made.

  Thoughts of the American actor being seduced by Anne Bancroft or standing in full frogman’s outfit at the bottom of a swimming pool were far from her mind now, however. She was on a solo mission to bring a crumb of comfort to a terrified girl and, if she could, prevent her from being murdered.

  There it was, a coffee bar, glorying in the illustrious and imaginative title of Coffee Bar, which announced itself from an elderly peeling brown sign above a drab brown doorway. As luck would have it, she espied a vacant parking place just a few yards further on and pulled in. Hoisting the drop-top carefully and making sure that she had left absolutely nothing behind, the Alfa not being renowned for its security, she dropped a coin into the parking meter and entered, pausing inside the doorway to look around.

  Compared with the brilliant sunshine flooding the street, it was quite gloomy inside and she had to screw up her eyes to make out much at all at first. The building must have been a deep one for, although the frontage was no wider than the average grocer’s shop, it stretched back a surprisingly long way. This, it seemed, was the proprietor’s busy time, unlike the neighbouring businesses, for it was well patronised by teenagers on their way home from school. Mostly they sat in groups round tables, hugging mugs of coffee or milkshakes, and chattering loudly. Others were tucked up guiltily in the darker corners for a spot of illicit tea time snogging. Sally noticed that, apart from a couple of pensioners, who were drinking their coffees as quickly as they could to get away from these deafening kids, she was probably the oldest customer there, which was quite something as she was only twenty-six.

  At first, the mass of schoolchildren who looked up at her briefly as one and then looked away, totally absorbed in each other, presented an unidentifiable wall and she wondered how she was going to find her mystery caller without attracting undue attention to herself. She was pleased to note that nobody seemed to recognise her. Then she remembered that the sun was at her back and she probably presented a silhouette to them. Hoping that she would not be plagued with requests for her autograph, which was her usual experience when among teenagers, she scanned the gathered faces while endeavouring not to stare.

  There she was. There could be no mistake. She sat, hollow-eyed and white-faced with straggling auburn hair that looked like it had not been properly attended to in days, in front of an untouched cup of coffee. Unlike the others, she had not looked up when Sally entered the café. She simply stared at the table top, totally lost in her own personal hell. Even from this distance, Sally could see that she was trembling. A wave of compassion ran through her heart. The girl was at her wit’s end. There was a boy with her. ‘That’s good,’ she thought, ‘at least she isn’t alone and he looks as if he cares about her.’ That was written plainly across his face. She marvelled that the other patrons of the café did not seem to have noticed, and then reasoned that teenagers rarely noticed anything that did not impact directly on them. Tucking her bag under her arm, she set off, weaving between crowded tables. Faces looked up again as she passed, no longer silhouetted against the sun and she heard intakes of breath as recognition dawned.

  Joe saw her coming and half rose. He recognised the face, which was hardly surprising, but she seemed smaller than she did when she was on the telly. Sally was actually a fairly average five feet four, but electronically transmitted first impressions can be deceptive.

  “Hello, I’m Sally,” she said, smiling as she approached, hand outstretched. “You must be Mary Jane.”

  Marie nodded tearfully and took the proffered hand with a limp grip. She could not meet the woman’s gaze. Sally noticed this. What had the poor child been going through? One half of her mind told her that she didn’t want to know, but the other reminded her why she was there. This went beyond the clearly defined limits of her job.

  “Look, I’m half-starved,” she said with a quick, forced smile, indicating the counter behind her. “Can I get you something?”

  Marie shook her head, her eyes directed at the table top.

  “Well, I need a coffee anyway,” she continued. “Been busy. Thirsty. Just give me a moment; I’ll be right back.”

  She turned with another quick smile and retreated to the counter where an awestruck young girl recognised her and had to have the order repeated before it sank in. As Sally passed, several of the schoolchildren crowding the other tables nudged one another and pointed her out. Being as popular a TV personality as she was — she appeared on the classier game and talk shows as well as presenting news items — she was well used to such treatment and contrived to make it appear that she hadn’t noticed.

  Joe’s face was deadly serious as he laid his hand gently over Marie’s. “Are you going to tell her everything, Marie? About the dreams and all?”

  Marie nodded. “I suppose so,” she murmured, barely audibly.

  He could not hide his frustration any longer. “We should have gone to the police,” he rasped under his breath. “At least they could put a guard on you.”

  She looked at him for the first time since they had entered the café and the sight caused him to look away sharply. The happy, attractive girl with whom he had grown from infancy had gone, vanished into air. In her place sat a wan-faced, trembling waif with black shadows under her eyes, sunken cheeks and all too visible signs of rapid weight loss.

  “We’ll go, Joe, I promise,” she replied in a whisper, “but I’ve got to see her first.”

  He folded his arms and sat back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. “She’s just a glorified reporter. What can she do?”

  She replied quietly. “It’s easy for you to say that. You’re not a target. I’m a girl, Joe. A girl needs her friends to confide in.”

  Tearing his eyes from the ceiling, he leaned forward and spoke to her earnestly. “I’m your friend.”

  That brought a tiny smile to her face. The knowledge that she was not alone was comforting, but it wasn’t the same. “I know, don’t get me wrong. I didn’t mean that. It’s just that I need someone of my own kind that I can talk to without anything else intruding.”

  Joe understood that. Grudgingly. Years of close friendship with Marie had taught him that male and female brains were wired up differently. She always saw things from another angle, and it wasn’t a question of her being right and him wrong, or vice versa. She had given him a better understanding of how female minds tended to work than most boys of his age, or most grown men for that matter. He knew that she was cleverer than he was and, unlike the gorillas who tried to chat her up at school and impress her with their muscles or the bulge in their trousers, he respected her for it. There were others who chatted her up, of course: the swots with almost as many ‘A’s as her, who supposed that their brilliance would turn her weak at the knees. They were no more successful than the gorillas. He was the only boy that she ever really associated with, which was flattering although it did lead to muttered utterances about them being two lost souls bound up with each other because nobody else had any time for them. Could this explain why he felt a twinge
of jealousy now? He had kept her to himself for as long as he could remember. What support could this jumped up celebrity give that he could not? Annoyingly, he knew the answer before the thought had formed fully. Sally Ferguson possessed the one trump card forever denied to him. She was female.

  “But why her? You don’t even know her.”

  “I don’t know the answer to that,” she replied frankly, “and even if I did, I don’t think I could explain it convincingly. Just trust me, Joe. I know in my heart that she is genuine, and that if anybody can help me, she can.”

  “Is that your woman’s intuition speaking?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Yes, it is,” she replied earnestly, “and don’t underestimate it, Joe. Men would be a great deal wiser if they had even half of it.”

  They had grown unwittingly closer together during this exchange and now their noses were but a few inches apart. They were disturbed by the return of Sally, bearing a tray on which three large mugs of coffee and a plate piled high with cakes fought for purchase.

  “I’m not a secret solo coffee drinker,” she said cheerily, “so I got each of you one as well. There are some cakes too.” The enforced cheeriness disappeared as she caught sight of Marie’s face close to for the first time. The professional mask disappeared and both teenagers recognised genuine concern in the deep brown eyes. “You look like you haven’t been eating lately, Mary Jane.”

  “Or sleeping. Or speaking much sense,” put in Joe.

  The reporter turned to him, one eyebrow slightly raised. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I…”

  Joe took the proffered hand. “Joe Burnett. Friend of Marie’s.”

  Sally took the hand and smiled her greeting.

  “I brought him along,” explained Marie with a faint smile. “He's my oldest and closest friend. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No, not at all,” smiled Sally, pulling up a chair and seating herself between them. “You look as though you need all the support you can get,” she added sympathetically. “But he called you Marie.”

  Marie’s troubles, briefly relieved by the sight of the coffee and cakes, crowded back in on her. She hung her head. “My real name is Marie Jeanette Kelly.”

  Sally leant forward sympathetically. “Mary Jane’s alias.”

  Marie nodded. “I was frightened. I told you I was called Mary Jane in case you wouldn’t see me.”

  Sally shook her head and gave a small dismissive gesture with her hand. “No need to worry about that, Marie. I know about the nicknames and the aliases. You saw the latest police broadcast?”

  Marie nodded, grimacing. “Yes, I did.”

  “Okay,” said Sally, taking a first sip of coffee and sliding the plate of cakes towards Joe with a knowing nod. “So, besides your name, it’s obvious to anyone with eyes to see that you believe you’re on this guy’s list.”

  If possible, Marie’s face blanched even further. Her bottom lip trembled slightly. “I am. I know I am.”

  Sally leaned forward, totally earnest. “How do you know?”

  Marie gulped and began to shake uncontrollably, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. Sally laid a consoling hand on her shoulder while Joe tightened his grip on her hand.

  “I have dreams,” admitted the girl.

  “Dreams?”

  “I told you she hasn’t slept properly for weeks,” put in Joe.

  Sally nodded, turning her attention back to the girl. “Go on, Marie,” she said gently.

  Marie shrugged helplessly. “They’re pleasant enough to start with. Old London. Men in frock coats and top hats, ladies with bustles and parasols, horses, carriages.” Sally smiled, imagining the nostalgic scene. “Then it all changes and becomes sinister,” went on Marie, her voice changing in tone with it. “I see through another girl’s eyes. I’m talking to a woman.”

  “Does she have a name?”

  Marie nodded, the tear trembling on her lower lid. “Liz.”

  Sally nodded, understanding. “Elizabeth Stride.”

  Marie looked up in confirmation. “Yes, and she calls me Mary Jane.”

  “Mary Jane Kelly,” confirmed Sally. Turning to Joe, without even considering that he might already know it, she explained, “Four of the five victims were known associates, and they probably all knew the odd one out, Catherine Eddowes. Is there any more?”

  “Yes,” murmured Marie. “She goes away, saying that she’s going to concentrate on the high-class trade, because it’s safer.”

  Sally shook her head and took a further sip. “Shows how much she knew. Go on.”

  Marie’s eyes grew wide with terror as the awful details of the dream rose within her mind. “Fog. I hear a voice.”

  “A man’s voice?”

  “Yes.” She grimaced, swallowing. “He calls me Mary. He says he’s coming for me.”

  Sally pressed her. “Who is it?”

  Suddenly Marie looked her full in the face, her eyes blazing, a tear slowly trickling down her cheek. “It’s him,” she whispered.

  A chill ran through Sally’s heart as she beheld the cold terror in the girl’s eyes. She paused a moment before asking, “Can you describe him?

  Marie nodded. “Not tall, slim, well dressed: frock coat, top hat, dark colours.”

  “His face?”

  The girl shook her head miserably. “I can’t see his face.”

  Taking a brief sip of her coffee, Sally pressed on. “But you would know his voice?

  The pale face before her nodded, gaunt terror etched in every feature. “Oh, yes.”

  “How often do you have these dreams?”

  “Every night. Sometimes twice a night.”

  Sally paused, reflecting on Marie’s words, and took a further slow sip of her coffee. Realising that the girl had not touched hers, she nudged it slightly towards her with an encouraging smile and gave Joe a brief nod to drink his as well. Both took the hint and managed small sips of their own, Joe adding a cream cake to the mix.

  “Marie, you must go to the police with this,” she said seriously between further sips of coffee. “Have you been already?” Marie shook her head. “I’ll take you. They’ll arrange a twenty four-hour watch over you until…”

  “November the 9th?” Marie’s voice had a hollow ring of finality. November 9th, 1888 was the date of the original Mary Jane Kelly’s murder. Having immersed herself in Ripper lore over the previous fortnight, Sally was well aware of this.

  “Well, at least until the 10th, and probably well after that, if this character hasn’t been caught by then,” she countered hurriedly. “Finish your coffee. There’s a police station not far from here. We are all going there together, and we are not leaving without a personal bodyguard for you. How old are you, Marie?”

  “Seventeen.” The word came out as a whisper.

  Sally looked at her closely. “Where are your parents?”

  Marie looked away pointedly and murmured, “At home.”

  The reporter recognised the body language. One didn’t spend years interviewing people without learning when they were being evasive. “I understand that you didn’t want to worry them unduly,” she said carefully.

  “They’re worried all right,” cut in Joe so suddenly that heads turned at neighbouring tables. He leaned forward and muttered, lest he be overheard. “She isn’t allowed out alone any more. Only with her dad or me.”

  “Don’t tell everyone, Joe,” muttered Marie, embarrassed.

  Sally smiled. “It’s all right, Marie,” she said gently, “I understand.”

  Suddenly Marie looked her full in the face. Her eyes were hard. Sally could not help but be struck by their deep emerald hue. “There’s something else.”

  Sally blinked. “What?”

  Nervously, Marie looked round. The occupants of several nearby tables returned a little too hurriedly to their interrupted conversation, while others continued to stare openly. “Not here,” she said earnestly.

&
nbsp; Sally checked round surreptitiously, satisfying herself that their conversation was no longer private, and then nodded. “I agree,” she said, “let me give you a lift. My car’s just outside.”

  The three of them got to their feet, leaving the half-drunk coffees and barely touched cream cakes and wending their way through the throng of tables to the door under the scrutiny of several dozen adolescent eyes. One of the younger girls held up her hand in front of Sally and asked for her autograph. The TV personality complied with a smile.

  As the glass door hissed closed behind them, she heaved a visible sigh. “Don’t,” she smiled at the question already forming on Joe’s lips. “It’s better just to comply.”

  Tucking her bag under her arm, she marched the pair of them twenty yards down the road to where her red Alfa waited. When she stopped beside it, Joe’s eyes widened in amazement. “You got an Alfa?”

  “Only two seats, I’m afraid,” said Sally apologetically, opening the driver’s door, “so Marie will have to sit on your knee, Joe.” Settling herself in the driving seat, she flicked the catch to open the passenger door. “I dare say you won’t mind, and I hope you don’t, Marie.”

  Marie didn’t. The snug cockpit and Joe’s arms around her were comforting.

  “Now Marie,” said Sally seriously, fingers already poised on the ignition key. “You said there was something else.”

  Marie fished in her bag, withdrawing a folded sheet of paper, which she handed over. Sally opened it to reveal the word, ‘FIVE’ printed in huge letters horizontally across it.

  Sally’s face paled beneath her dusky skin. “Oh, my God!” Turning to them both, she spoke more earnestly than at any time since she had arrived. “Come on, you two. We are going to the police right now and then to your parents.”

  There was a high pitched whirr as she turned the key and then the potent engine roared into life. Briefly checking her mirror and over her shoulder, she flicked the indicator and moved out into the road with only the slightest screech of tyres. “Wait a moment!” she cried scarcely fifty yards later.

  “What is it?” asked Joe.

  “I’ve just thought of someone else we could see as well,” she replied above the rumble of exhaust note and tyre noise. “Most of what you told me came as dreams, right?”

  “Yes,” confirmed Marie fearfully.

  “Recurring dreams?”

  “Yes,” answered the girl. “Night after night, I told you.”

  Sally nodded. “I don't just do crime reporting. I've also been doing a series on treatments for psychiatric conditions. Whoever it is uses your mind to get at you.”

  Marie was listening closely. “Go on.”

  “One of the people I interviewed was a practising hypnotherapist,” continued Sally. “If I can get back in touch with him, maybe he can reveal what is going on in your brain.”

  “He’ll put me in a trance?” Marie's eyes were wide and her face white.

  Sally nodded. “Yes, and he might just get to the bottom of all this.”

  Joe noticed a small glow of excitement ignite in Marie’s eyes. For the first time in two weeks, there was a spark of hope kindling there.

  A fleeting smile crossed the girl’s face, not the forced grimace that she had persuaded there before, but the genuine article. “Take me to him.”

  “Police first. Then your parents. Then him,” announced Sally. “That’ll give me time to arrange an appointment.”

  Although she was observing the speed limit, the car’s low-slung profile hugged the road and gave the impression that they were travelling faster than they really were. Traffic was building up as businesses closed for the day and people took to the roads for home. Moving in and out of the traffic stream, she drove straight past the local police station.

  “You just missed it!” cried Joe.

  “We’re going to Bow Road,” replied Sally grimly. “I am taking you to Detective Chief Superintendent Abberline, himself.”

  “What makes you think he’ll see us?” asked Joe, aghast.

  “He’ll see me,” replied Sally with a grim smile.