‘I’ve never killed anyone. Can’t say it feels good – even though it was Turner.’ He lifted his head and his eyes met mine and held my gaze. ‘I didn’t have time to think. When I came through the door, I saw him. Saw the knife. I shouted a warning but he ignored it – brought the knife down. He was going to kill you, Jo.’
I couldn’t meet his eyes anymore. The images from that night were something I didn’t want in my head. Callum was the only person alive who could see what I could. Could share the connection of what happened. The experience of that night had changed us both forever, in ways we probably couldn’t yet imagine – but we both knew it had.
‘Are you glad he’s dead?’
He looked back down. ‘As a copper, I wanted him to face justice for what he’d done. To give the victim’s families some answers.’ He looked back at me. ‘But that night? I was just glad I’d stopped him, and when I saw what he’d done to you, Jo…’ He slowly shook his head. ‘Yes – I was glad, and if the bastard had moved a muscle, I would have enjoyed shooting him again.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘For everything you did that night.’
He nodded and we sat in silence for a while. I could feel the dull ache of fatigue spreading like molten lead through my limbs. But I still had questions to ask.
I shifted, trying to ease the ache in my leg. ‘You never liked him. But that’s not enough to make the leap that he was “Jack”.’
‘Not a leap – more a confirmation of suspicions.’
‘Well, you were better than me then – he was the last person I expected to see that night!’
‘Don’t be too hard on yourself. My suspicions were based on things the team began to piece together. But only after Harrison’s death. Things you weren’t privy to. But you’re right – I didn’t like him. He made his reputation getting the bad guys off the hook. People we knew were bang to rights. “Mister Loophole” would usually find a technicality – or miraculously produce an alibi.’
‘Was he bent – as a lawyer, I mean?’
‘Not crooked exactly – too clever for that. But I always felt that if he’d swallowed a nail, he’d shit a corkscrew! There had always been something about him that tweaked my copper instincts. I thought he might have been implicated in all this, but I didn’t have enough to get authorisation to breach his legal privilege.’
‘So what then?’
He shrugged. ‘I did a bit of digging into his background. His brother arranged work experience for him one summer at the hospital–’
‘I know – he told me that.’
Callum raised an eyebrow. ‘Bet he didn’t tell you how it ended though, did he?’
It was my turn to look curious.
Callum drained the last of his coffee and pulled another face at the taste.
‘Apparently there was an “incident” in the hospital mortuary. From what I can gather, his brother hushed it up and sent him home. Most of the people involved are either retired or dead now, and the brother’s saying nothing. There was never an official record of it, so Turner managed to airbrush it from history. But I learned enough to believe that’s where he practised inflicting “Jack’s” wounds with an amputation knife.’
‘I said he would have had some anatomical knowledge. He replicated the wounds from the Victorian victims too precisely. We knew he would have had to practise somehow.’
‘Apart from that, his name kept cropping up too often. Coincidences that I didn’t like–’
‘Such as?’
‘He worked for Fosters and they were the same law firm that represented you during the court case with Gail Dobson. Turner didn’t work for them then, so there was no connection during that time. But a few years later, while he was there, she commits suicide. I got the intel team to dig into that one. The cause of death was recorded as an overdose. Dig a bit more and it turns out she slit her wrists – but that didn’t cause her death. One of the unusual aspects though, was the way she’d done it.’
‘Up the arm, rather than across?’
He shot me a look. ‘That’s not a lucky guess, right?’
‘Let’s just say he shared some confidences that night.’
Callum visibly shuddered. ‘Dread to think. But what really got my baton twitching was that that was the same method Harrison supposedly used on himself…’
I couldn’t help laughing – despite the subject matter. ‘You don’t carry a baton anymore.’
‘The ghost of it still twitches.’
‘Wasn’t Gail Dobson’s death enough to get authorisation to go after James?’
‘Circumstantial. Nothing a good lawyer like Turner couldn’t wriggle out of. The team were also trying to find his car. That triggered a hit on an ANPR camera near Taylor-Caine’s flat the day she left the briefing. Then we lost it and it seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth. Obviously we know now, he had it in George’s barn – but we didn’t know that then.’
‘Like you say – too many coincidences pointing to him.’ I put my head back and closed my eyes. Fatigue was beginning to dull my thinking.
He stretched his legs out and eased tension from his shoulders.
‘When we searched Harrison’s flat and the university, you said we almost had too much evidence. You were right. It bothered me that we had photographs, DNA, computer kit, everything we needed to link the murders to Harrison, and yet the one thing we couldn’t find was the murder weapon. You’d insisted it was key to the crimes. He’d used it in all the killings, yet he cut his own wrists with a kitchen knife? Like you said – that didn’t make sense. And what had Harrison done with the murder weapon?’
‘It was symbolic for him,’ I said, with my eyes still closed. ‘Mythical in its status. It linked him to his history with Jack. He would never have disposed of it – even to prevent you from finding it. After all, what would it have mattered once he was dead? But then I never believed “Jack” would commit suicide. That’s another reason why I didn’t believe it was Harrison.’
‘It was something your favourite detective, Frank Heslopp, turned up that gave us the break we needed.’
I looked up then and raised an impressed eyebrow. ‘Remind me to buy him a pint when I finally get out of here.’
‘Finding the Laundy blades was one of the actions I kept open. I tasked that to Frank. All catalogued examples were accounted for, but he was talking to collectors, antique shops, dealers. Not just in Fordley but nationally.’
He pulled a sheet of paper from his inside pocket and scanned down it.
‘Frank transferred to us from The Met – he’s still got contacts down there. A crime reporter for the BBC in London heard from a Met copper about Frank’s enquiries. The reporter’s hobby was collecting true crime memorabilia. He told us he’d heard a whisper around ten years ago about a family who owned a complete set of Laundy amputation knives that might have had a connection to Jack the Ripper. He’d tracked the family down to Sussex, but they wouldn’t speak to him. So he asked a prominent art dealer in London to approach them on his behalf.’
‘Let me guess. They wouldn’t entertain the dealer either?’
‘Wouldn’t even set up a meeting. They said the collection wasn’t for sale. But the reporter was more interested in the story. After all, if this family could prove the provenance of the collection, it might reveal the identity of the most legendary serial killer in history.’
‘The one who got away…’
Was it my imagination, or was discussing ‘Jack’ making my wounds ache even more? I shifted uncomfortably and winced.
‘As we got near the night of the ninth of November, the team worked flat out,’ Callum said. ‘No one went home. All the lines of enquiry were being followed up to the last minute. I still couldn’t implicate Turner. He was a person of interest but I didn’t have anything I could arrest him for. I had people out looking for him – even if it was just to tail him and keep tabs on him that night. Because, whoever “Jack” was, we knew if he was still out the
re, we’d hear from him. There was no way he’d miss that date.’
‘But you couldn’t know where he’d strike or who he’d target.’ My voice sounded weary even to me.
‘Turner had gone to ground. Fosters said he’d taken annual leave but we couldn’t find out where he’d gone. He’d given up his flat in Salford and disappeared. Then fate seemed to favour us and things happened all at the same time. I got a call from Beth. The name of the family in Sussex was Lubnowski–’
‘James’s maternal grandmother.’
‘Can’t help showing off, can you?’
My eyes were closed, but I could hear the smile in his voice.
‘I might have tried to get a warrant based on that, but I didn’t get the chance because the call from Beth was interrupted by “Jack” ringing the bat phone. You know the rest–’
A young PC stationed outside my room to keep the press away knocked and stuck his head round the door. ‘Visitor for you.’
I opened my eyes to see him holding Harvey, who was straining at his lead to get to me, despite the bandage wrapped tightly round his shoulders.
‘How did you get him in here?’ Suddenly the fatigue had gone.
It hurt to laugh, but I couldn’t help it at the sight of the ridiculous high-vis dog jacket they’d put on him.
‘He’s in uniform,’ Callum laughed. ‘We told them he was a police dog.’
Harvey put his huge paws on the edge of my bed and tried to lick me, despite Callum’s best efforts to keep the dog saliva off my pristine bandages. We were all distracted from the chaos by another knock at the door.
‘This’ll be the nurse coming to throw us all out.’ Callum pulled open the door.
Jen stepped in, beaming. ‘Look what the cat dragged in!’
‘Alex!’
I couldn’t stop the tears as my son jostled for position with Harvey on my bed. I buried my face in his neck and breathed in the precious scent of him as he held me.
Acknowledgments
First of all, I have to thank the author Pat Young, who I met by chance at the Harrogate Crime Writing Festival. Pat gave me my introduction to Bloodhound Books, without which none of this would have happened. Thank you, Pat, for “sending the elevator back down”. Secondly, I would like to thank my publisher, Betsy Reavley and all at Bloodhound Books, for giving me my big break. I am extremely grateful for your faith in me and for your endless patience, help and support along the way. To my good friend Maria Sigley, for all her help in reworking the book and keeping me on track with continuity issues. Your hard work and eagle-eyed attention to detail was priceless – thank you. Huge thanks to former police Inspector Ian Dellow, for his input and advice into the procedural elements of the book. If there are any errors, they are all mine. I am eternally grateful to the family and friends who participated in the brainstorming sessions. You never flinched when I explored various methods of body disposal! For encouraging me to keep going and never losing faith in my abilities – you know who you are. I couldn’t have done it without you.
Finally, to my partner Ian, who has given me the space to write – both emotionally and literally. You built me an amazing creative space and tolerate the unsociable hours I spend in it. Thank you for your love and encouragement.
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