by Tim Ellis
Kline skidded to a stop outside Flannery Shipp’s address in Notting Hill. It was a three-storey stone building, and Shipp lived on the top floor.
Quigg buzzed 87c, but there was no answer.
‘He’s probably long gone,’ Kline said. ‘At least we’ve got a picture of him.’
Quigg pressed the buzzer for 87b.
‘Yes?’
‘Police. We’d like to speak to the occupant of 87c, could you let us in, please?’
‘Wait.’
After a few minutes an austere looking woman with grey-tinged dark hair tied back in a bun, a square jaw, and oblong glasses perched on the end of her nose opened the door. A camera flashed in his face.
He thought he was being attacked. ‘What the...?’
‘Can’t be too careful,’ the woman said. ‘Identification please?’
He showed his warrant card.
‘And you,’ she snapped at Kline.
Kline produced her card.
‘I’m Debra King the owner. I’ll let you up to Mr Shipp’s flat, but I’ll be staying with you. This is a respectable establishment, and I don’t trust the police one little bit.’
Quigg opened his mouth to speak.
‘Oh it’s no good protesting, or pretending you’re shocked that people hold those views. One only has to switch on the television and listen to how the police are taking bribes, beating innocent rioters senseless, fabricating evidence, and letting the guilty go free. It’s a disgrace in a democratic society. Follow me, but rest assured I’ll be watching you closely if I decide to let you into Mr Shipp’s flat.’
Half way up the second flight of stairs the smell became noticeable.
‘Does it normally smell like this?’ Kline asked.
‘No, it does not.’
‘I wonder if you should stay here, Miss King,’ Quigg said.
‘Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you? That would make it easy for you to plant all the evidence you want.’
Quigg shrugged. He knocked on the door twice. The smell was bad, and both Miss King and Kline were holding hands over their nose and mouth.
‘Can you open the door, Miss King?’
She passed Quigg the key.
They found Flannery Shipp with a leather belt round his neck hanging from a ceiling hook in the bedroom. From the colour of the body and the accumulation of flies, it appeared as though he’d been there at least a week. It was also obvious from the putrid smell that he’d pissed and shit himself as he was fighting for his last breath. Hanging was generally a messy way to say goodbye to the world.
‘Everybody out,’ Quigg said. ‘Call Perkins, Kline. Tell him to send a team over here.’
He did a whistlestop tour of the flat, but as far as he could see there was nothing of interest. He had the feeling that they’d find no clues in Shipp’s flat. The other killer was still out there somewhere.
They waited outside in the fresh air for forensics to arrive.
‘What can you tell us about Mr Shipp, Miss King?’ Quigg said.
‘Nothing really. He’s been a tenant for over three years, and never been any trouble. What did he do?’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t discuss that. Did he ever bring anybody back to his flat?’
‘He brought another man back once. I wondered if he was gay, but I never saw the man again.’
‘Can you describe this other man?’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t actually see him, I only heard him. He had a deep voice and a foreign accent.’
‘Thank you for your help, Miss King.’
Forensics arrived at quarter to four. Quigg and Kline left and headed towards Eternity Wharf to see what Perkins had uncovered in the tunnel.
***
They arrived at Eternity Wharf at twenty-five to six. After putting on the suits, clambering down the ladder, and navigating through the cavern complex, they made their way along the tunnel towards the hatch. It was eerily quiet because most of the forensic staff had gone home for the day, and every other searchlight had been switched off on the Chief’s orders to conserve fuel. There was a skeleton staff who would work through the night. They appeared and disappeared like wraiths in the gloom.
‘Maybe Perkins has gone home,’ Kline suggested.
‘He wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to prove he can actually find some evidence now and again.’
‘Doesn’t he find much then?’
‘He finds what he finds, but I’m always on his back because what he does find is mostly useless.’
‘It’s not his fault.’
‘I know that, but don’t tell him I said so. I like to keep him on his toes.’
‘Why?’
‘What do you mean, "Why"?’
‘What’s he doing on his toes? Does he do ballet dancing?’
‘It’s another idiom. It means to keep people focused on what they’re doing.’
‘You said you wouldn’t use them on me again.’
‘Yeah, sorry. It’s hard not use them. I forgot.’
‘You didn’t forget, you just saw the opportunity to feel smug and superior and you took it.’
‘Subconsciously.’
They were in the tunnel beyond the hatch. ‘Perkins?’
‘Down here, Sir.’ A hand waved at them halfway along the tunnel.
‘This had better be good,’ Quigg called out to him. ‘If it’s more creatures you might be joining them.’
‘Who do you think this might all be connected to?’ Perkins asked when they reached him.
‘Tell him, Kline.’
‘Jack the Ripper?’
‘Oh!’ Perkins said, clearly disappointed.
‘We only found out this afternoon though, Perkins. How come you know?’
He turned. ‘There’s a secret door here.’
‘And?’
‘Some things have been stored in a room.’
‘And these things would be?’
‘Come in and take a look.’ He led the way along a short corridor into a room carved out of the rock. There was a ledge all around, and on the ledge a series of different sized sealed jars.
Quigg and Kline peered into the murky liquid inside the jars.
‘Organs and body parts?’ Quigg asked.
‘Hearts, livers, intestines, spleens, an ear, a hand, a head... there’s one – sometimes two – of every major organ.’
‘It’s best to start from the left and work round,’ Perkins said.
They did as he instructed. A name and a date had been written on each of the jars.
Annie Millwood – 25th February 1888
Ada Wilson 28th March 1888
Emma Elizabeth Smith – 3rd April 1888
Martha Tabram – 7th August 1888
Mary Ann Nichols – 31st August 1888
Annie Chapman – 8th September 1888
Elizabeth Stride – 30th September 1888
Catherine Eddowes 30th September 1888
Mary Jane Kelly – 9th November 1888
Rose Mylett – 20th December 1888
Elizabeth Jackson 18th May 1889
Alice McKenzie – 17th July 1889
Fay Abbott – 10th September 1889
Frances Coles – 13th February 1891
‘They are Jack the Ripper’s victims,’ Perkins said from behind them. ‘Some were speculative. The authorities definitely knew about the five between Nichols and Kelly, and Fay Abbott must have been the name of the Pichin Street torso. We’ve looked, but there’s nothing else in here. The only thing we don’t have is who Jack the Ripper was.’
‘Alexander Pedechenko,’ Quigg said.
‘And probably Michael Ostrog for the later victims,’ Kline added. ‘The reason the authorities didn’t connect the later murders with the other five was that there were two killers by then. The Inspector and I think they were learning their trade before coming down here. Jack was no different from most serial killers – he became more sophisticated the more people he killed.’
They told him ab
out the tattoo, the Ten Bells pub in Spitalfields, and Flannery Shipp.
‘We’ll be rich and famous,’ Perkins said. ‘Imagine! They’ll make films about us. There’ll be books, magazine articles, and documentaries. We’ll be all over the Internet. We’ll be twittered and stumbled. You’ll probably be knighted, Sir. Kline and I would get OBEs. We’ll be invited on talk shows. We’ll be in the history books...’
Quigg put his arm around Perkins’ shoulders.
Perkins’ face dropped. ‘No, don’t tell me we can’t tell anybody?’
‘We can’t tell anybody.’
‘It’s not fair, Sir.’
‘I know, but sometimes life is like that.’
‘But what are we going to do with everything down here?’
‘I’ve noticed that lately, you’re picking up the habit of asking questions you already know the answer to.’
‘Burn everything?’
‘See, you did know the answer to the question after all.’
***
‘Why is your bed surrounded by flowers, Walsh?’
‘Somebody cares about me.’
‘I find that hard to believe. Who?’
‘There’s a man.’
‘Where?’
‘He was here seeing his dad yesterday and today.’ She pointed to a bed along the ward. ‘He came over and spoke to me. I was instantly attracted to him. His name is John Dyer. He’s a Texas Ranger, and wants me to go back to America with him.’
‘I hope you told him about the long walk off a short pier?’
‘Not yet.’
‘What do you mean, "Not yet"? You must have known him all of two days. Those drugs have affected your mind.’
‘I know. I’ll tell him. ‘It’s just that...’
‘What?’
‘He’s so handsome. He has muscles on his muscles, and...’
‘Have you been looking at photographs of me, Walsh?’
She laughed. ‘You’re right. I’m becoming a crazy bitch like Kline.’
‘Yes, you are. You have a partner waiting for you to get off your backside and come back to work. Dreaming about hunky men and living in America will only hinder your recovery. Now, stay focused.’
‘I will from now on. Lying in this bed all day is driving me round the bend.’
‘You need an activity to keep you occupied – like painting by numbers, origami, or writing your autobiography.’
‘I know.’
‘Well here’s something to think about.’ He told her about what they’d discovered, but towards the end of the story she fell asleep. He kissed her on the forehead and left.
Falling in love with a Texas Ranger and going to America! What the hell was that all about? He’d have to give her something to do to keep her mind on the job. Maybe she could go through the unsolved case files again, look at them from a different angle. He smiled – lying down.
Chapter Twenty-Two
He got home at half past nine. A woman he didn’t recognise was sitting with Duffy and Lucy in Duffy’s living room watching a repeat episode of "Friends" showing on the television.
‘This is Springfield,’ Lucy said.
A very pale thin woman in her late twenties with short brown hair stood up and offered her hand. ‘Rachel Godwin.’
‘Hi Rachel, thanks for being here.’
‘Glad I can help put those bastards behind bars.’
Lucy pulled her back down onto the sofa. ‘And just because she shook your hand it doesn’t mean she wants to have sex with you.’
‘Did you miss the lesson on social skills when you were at school?’
‘School sucked. Run by morons for morons. I taught myself.’
‘I can imagine. So, is everything done?’
‘It’s done.’
‘Did you hack into Langham’s phone?’
‘Springfield did. She didn’t find anything.’
‘Okay. Where’s Ruth?’
‘She had to lie down,’ Duffy said. ‘Her ankles have swollen up. There’s a Chinese takeaway for you in the kitchen.’
‘Did you get...’
‘Yes, we got your favourite.’
He wandered into the kitchen, put the food onto the plate, and gave it a couple of minutes in the microwave. While that was doing he made himself a coffee.
Well, that was it. What more could he do? If the press ever asked who killed the homeless woman they’d found, he’d tell them it was Flannery Shipp who had hanged himself in remorse.
Jack the Ripper’s reign had officially come to an end, but only a few people knew that and all the evidence relating to that reign would be destroyed.
Now, he just had to wait until tomorrow night, and Sir Peter Langham and his paedophiles would be starting their tenure behind bars. He wondered how long they’d last in prison – nobody liked paedophiles.
He popped in to see Ruth, but she was asleep. The others were still watching re-runs of "Friends", so he went into his own new rooms, which had been finished off and furnished. Ruth must have ordered everything in. It smelled of paint, but it didn’t stop him from sleeping.
Thursday 31st May
‘DCI Blake has just been in to see me, Quigg,’ the Chief said.
They were sitting in the Chief’s office. It was ten to nine. He’d been parked outside for twenty minutes waiting for DCI Blake to leave. A DCI obviously had priority when it came to accessing the Chief, and seeing as he’d initiated the DCI’s early visit he didn’t mind being gazumped.
Cheryl had smiled at him like a black widow spider. ‘Would you like a coffee, Inspector?’
‘Are you going to poison me?’
‘I probably should, but I’ve left the strychnine at home.’
‘I’d love one then, but... you won’t add anything to it, will you?’
‘You want it black?’
‘No, you know what I mean?’
‘I’m sure I have no idea.’
When she came back with a mug of coffee he said, ‘How’s the baby?’
‘Why, are you interested?’
‘Of course I’m interested, it’s still my child.’
‘Biologically – yes, but in every other way – no.’
‘I understand that. Is it okay then?’
‘It – is fine.’
‘Good, I’m glad.’
‘Thanks for recommending me for this job, the money will come in handy.’
‘You were the obvious choice.’
And then the conversation had petered out. Apart from a threesome with Duffy in a shower he hardly knew her. God knows why she wanted to keep his baby when she was young and single.
‘I see you went with my suggestion to employ Cheryl as your temporary secretary?’ he said to the Chief.
‘Don’t change the subject, Quigg. You have a whole lot of explaining to do.’
‘Whatever it is, it has nothing to do with me, Chief. What I can tell you, however, is that the information DCI Blake has received should be taken seriously.’
‘I see. You have no idea about these paedophiles trafficking children into the country from Romania to Sevenoaks, but you think I should take it seriously?’
‘Most definitely. I also have it on good authority that the press will arrive shortly after midnight.’
‘This wouldn’t have anything to do with Sir Peter Langham, would it?’
‘I have no idea.’ He passed the Chief a piece of paper. ‘Here’s a list of names that I also have no idea about.’
The Chief scanned down the list. ‘Bloody hell, Quigg, the Assistant Chief Commissioner?’
‘If you say so, Chief.’
‘And Roger Penhaligan QC from the Crown Prosecution Service?’
‘Really? How awful.’
‘My God, Quigg! Are you mad? Douglas Aubernon Member of Parliament for Knightsbridge.’
‘I found that list on the floor by your desk, Sir.’
‘Is there anything else I should know about that you don’t know?’
�
�There are lots of things I don’t know about, Chief. If I was to tell you everything I don’t know anything about we could be here for some time. However, I can tell you two things I absolutely don’t know anything about. First, the assets of these paedophiles have been re-allocated to the benefit of a number of children’s societies, and DI Raven from Surrey Vice might appear this evening.’
‘You know a hell of a lot for someone who doesn’t know anything.’
‘I deny knowing anything of any value, Chief.’
‘I hope no one is going to find anything with your name on it when they begin unravelling this paedophile ring – like the money you’ve misappropriated for Walsh?’
‘Considering I’ve had nothing to do with anything concerning these paedophiles that would be extremely unlikely.’
‘Well, we’ll see what transpires tonight. What’s happening with your case?’
‘What case, Chief? As far as I’m concerned the case Kline and I were working on has been solved. I plan to write my report today.’ He told the Chief what they’d discovered at the Ten Bells pub, about Flannery Shipp, and Jack the Ripper’s trophy room. ‘I’ve told Perkins to burn everything.’
‘Of course, it’s the only logical course of action. I’ll rubberstamp that decision and let the Commissioner know what we’ve done. There’s only one outstanding question now: What about the second killer?’
Quigg shrugged. ‘Apart from his initials – VR, we have nothing. No leads, no clues – nothing. It could be absolutely anyone. No doubt he will re-surface somewhere in the future, but someone else will have to deal with it as a new case. As far as I’m concerned the Jack the Ripper case has finally been solved, and any links to the past have been severed.’
‘Good job, Quigg. You know you won’t get any mentions in despatches or medals for this one?’
‘I understand, Chief. Perkins could do with a pick-me-up though. He and his team have had a harrowing time down in that cavern system, and found some God-awful things. Maybe you can do something for them?’
‘Don’t talk rubbish. You’ll have people think I like them. Get the hell out of my office, I have a paedophile ring to crack.’
***