The Ripper

by Carmelo Anaya

  - 'Not at all. To me, it seems accurate. My main aim tonight is to dispel the urban legends that are starting to crop up, this unhealthy fascination with serial killers. It's a fallacy. A killer is a failure of human nature, never a success. Este asesino es un defecto de la naturaleza, nada más.'

  Gomez lets the silence ring out for a few seconds, rifling carefully through the stack of paper on the desk.

  - 'Commissioner, there has been some criticism of the way the inquiry has been managed.'

  I take a deep breath and take my time answering.

  - 'I believe this criticism is unjustified. For two reasons. Firstly, ever since the first crime, this case has been top priority for every officer on the force. It's no surprise that the public is not aware of this, but I'd like to point out that every single officer on the force has voluntarily given up their holidays and weekends and they're working overtime every day of the week. They are working tirelessly on the case. We have had hundreds of leads and received phone calls, tip-offs in the thousands, each of which has been checked out. Secondly, every single security force has cooperated to the fullest. Groups of specialists have come down from Madrid to take part in the inquiry. Nothing has been left up to chance.'

  - 'That's all well and good, Commissioner, but the media have indicated that there has in fact been a distint lack of coordination between the police force and Civil Guard.'

  - 'I'm afraid that's simply untrue, Gomez. We have been together every step of the way. Working tirelessly. That doesn't mean that we always follow the exact same leads and prioritize the exact same issues all the time, and that may be what the media were referring to.'

  - 'Do you believe the case is not far from being solved?'

  - 'We are all working day and night to ensure it is solved as quickly as possible.'

  Gomez requests a camera, whe he stares into as he makes his closing remarks about the interview, calling it polemical. I know where he's going with it, and I like it. As soon as I'm gone he'll be hyping up the insults and disparaging remarks I've made about the killer. He'll try to make him as furious as I want him to be.

  I haven't even got as far as the street when I get his reaction.

  - You disrespect me, Chief.

  No 'tee hee' this time.

  Mike isn't sitting with the Inspector today. That's the end of their fledgling friendship.

  - 'All that was missing was a remark on his teeny weeny.' Mike looks up as I sit down.

  - 'I think I got my point across.'

  He looks at Galan:

  - 'Another?'

  She's still got half her Coke left and shakes her head.

  - 'Something to eat, perhaps?'

  - 'Yes, please.'

  Mike bows slightly, like a Japanese courtesan.

  - 'What is this?' I ask. He's not playing the blues today.

  - 'Norah Jones. At the inspector's request.'

  Mike and I look at each other and slowly start laughing like two schoolboys. Galan doesn't think it's funny. Mike vanishes behind the bar.

  - 'That was a stupid thing to do.'

  Slowly I stop laughing and catch my breath. It's been so long since I've had a good laugh that I almost feel delirious. I thought I'd forgotten how.

  - 'You've pissed him off now. What if he kills another woman just to get his own back?'

  - 'He might. It's a risk I'm willing to take. If he's angry, he might make a mistake.' Pero no puedo estarme quieto.

  - 'Stupid,' she says again, taking a sip of her Coke.

  - 'OK, that's enough of the lecture. What has your profile accomplished? Before your lot turned up, the one Mike gave me was better than anything we'd got from you.'

  Immediately, I feel a stab of remorse and guilt at my outburst, but I couldn't hold back.

  - 'A profile by Mike?' Of course. He has every reason to understand the killer.'

  We watch him busying about behind the bar, making sandwiches and opening beers.

  - 'Haven't you heard the news that's just come in?'

  I stare at her.

  - 'His car was spotted less than a hundred yards from the scene of the first crime, on the night it happened.'

  - 'So?'

  I'm starting to get sick of Galan.

  - 'He was also seen driving out of the city the night of the second crime. At top speed.'

  - 'Mike always drives at top speed. Everyone knows that.'

  - 'And where was he on the night of the third and fourth crimes?' 'His car was seen near the Caravan Hotel.'

  - 'How do you know?'

  - 'One of the hotel guests saw him. He noticed the car.'

  - 'Do you really think if he was going to commit four crimes he'd be driving around in such a flashy car? It's a bloody red Camaro!' Mike's big American car can barely fit through Baria's narrow streets. 'For God's sake. And the killer burned a van after the last two crimes, don't you remember?'

  She looks at me with distaste.

  - 'And then fled. He must have had a different vehicle. Just one more piece of circumstancial evidence.'

  - 'Circumstancial is right,' I mutter under my breath as Mike approaches with the tray of sandwiches, which he places on the table with care.

  - 'Why won't you give me a DNA sample?' Galan blurts out.

  Mike smiles that sleepy Hannibal Lecter half-smile.

  - 'You're going to have to work for it, Inspector.'

  - 'If you had nothing to hide...'

  - 'I've got a lot to hide.'

  He turns around and walks off before she can say anything. Galan closes her mouth, a look of indignation on her face.

  My phone rings: it's my officers, warning me the Chief Commissioner is frothing at the mouth.

  I can't be bothered dealing with him now.

  When I get home in the wee hours, I walk to the edge of the sea. The waves lap at my shoes. There's a dim half-moon, shedding about as much light on the scene as my brain on this mess. It's a gloomy night, like my heart. The drinks I've downed haven't made me feel any better. On the contrary, every sip has led me further down the path of despair, the alcohol shedding cold, hard light on the facts. The lack of consolation, of any solution, of hope. It's only when we fail that we truly see ourselves as we are.

  I stroke the cold butt of my Glock. I ache to take a shot at the killer I've provoked. A bullet where his third eye would be. If I can't, maybe I should shoot myself instead. Will I be able to live with the failure of not catching him?

  I turn my back on the sea and slip into the dark, empty house. I used to hate coming home to the echoing, remote silence. Now it's much worse. Not much of a home at all. Just an empty shell, a dark hole to hide away in when there's nowhere else I can go.

  I don't even bother turning on the light. What for? There's nothing I want to see.

  I hear a noise coming from the depths of the house. It could be anything. I undress slowly in the bedroom, light from a nearby lamppost spilling in bars across the room. My bed is no longer a warm refuge. I curl in on myself, trying to get warm. Sometimes I wonder why I don't just move in with Natalia. But I always give up on that idea; I know I wouldn't make her happy. The sadness in my bones is contagious.

  My phone buzzes. I take a long time stretching out my arm to retrieve it from the bedside table.

  - I am very close to you.

  Something I can't identify crunches nearby. And this time the message has an attachment. After a second's hesitation, I tap it. I see the Ripper's face, shrouded in darkness under his top hat. I can just make out a cruel mouth, smiling sadistically. In the dark of my room, the only light is the glow emitted from the ghoulish image on the screen. I feel a shiver I can't suppress. and get out of bed, rooting through my things for the Glock, which I place on the bedside table within reach as I make a useless attempt to reply to his message, insulting him, swearing to kill him. It's no use. The messages aren't sent. Dead in the water, like the in
quiry. It's as if he can get to me, but I can never reach him.

  I turn over in bed and lie face down, my eyes squeezed shut and every muscle tense and waiting. But I can't keep it up for long and when I open my eyes for a moment I see a shadow crossing my window. I leap for the Glock and sit up. Peering through the window, all I see is the empty alley outside, buffeted by the wind. The bushes in next door's garden shake violently, my goosebumps echoing them.

  I know I didn't imagine it. I know it wasn't my fear making me see things. I know that shadow crossed across my room like a ghost.

  I put a pillow on the floor, facing the bedroom door, leaving another on the bed fashioned to look like my sleeping body. I wrap a blanket round my knees and sit back against the wall like a frightened boy, gun in hand.

  The rest of the night is spent in the same posititon. I even think about phoning the station, getting a team in to watch the house, but I'm scared of what they'll think: The big man Commissioner insulting the murderer, hiding in a corner of the bedroom because he saw a shadow through the window. I'm already the laughingstock of practically the whole town, I don't want my officers to take the piss out of me too. I pray the killer has managed to get into the house and will soon be opening my bedroom door. Then I give in to the filthy silence. The wooden furniture squeaks and groans like never before. The wind moans in the corners and windows. A cat yowls in the street like an injured child. And a dog barks far out in the darkness.

  Oooh, my childhood!

  How original!

  I had a happy childhood, idiot!

  You insulted me, Chief

  If only you knew how much I want to play with your little whore

  Ha ha ha

  17

  From Heaven.

  Dear Chief, here's a little present for you. Half the kidney I removed from the black woman. I had the other half for dinner last night, with just a drop of sherry. Tee hee. It was very nice.

  Have you ever noticed that hearts and kidneys look alike when they're cut in half? Tee hee.

  I may send you the bloody knife I used to take it out, too. But I've already given you one, haven't I? Have you got lots of evidence? Tee hee.

  Just wait a little while longer and you'll have lots of news from me. From this... what was it? Trash? Tee hee

  I'll get you before you get me, Chief.

  At the end of the day, I'm in Heaven, enjoying the fruits of my labour like never before. And what about you, Chief? Where are you? Tee hee.

  A pastiche of the famous 'From Hell' letter the original Ripper sent to George Husk, Chairman of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee, on October 16, 1888. Like the original letter, it's accompanied by a strange self-portrait, tucked into the envelope. A picture of an angel radiating light, its wings extended. Above its head is a six-pointed star, two triangles encased in a circle.

  'A pentagram,' someone says.

  Two hours after we send the letter off to Forensics it's already all over the Internet where the international press can sink its teeth in to it. Every journo and hungry mystery lover is rubbing their hands in glee, comparing the letter to the original, which is attributed - unlike the vast majority of similar letters sent to Scotland Yard - to the real Ripper. It was considered authentic because veryfew people knew that the killer had removed one of Catherine Eddow's kidneys and taken half of it.

  Online, the tone wavers between horror and indignation and humorous joking around and cruelty. I see a few comments pondering the culinary finesse of human kidneys in sherry. Not so different from pork kidney, says one.

  But the remarks are less sharp than the press's reaction to my TV appearance. Desde inconsciente a desesperado, los apelativos no dejan ni migajas de mí. The Ministry calls it 'overly personal' and 'poco reflexiva'. Someone accuses me of being responsible for whatever future crimes the murderer may commit, due to my provocation. The opposition demands I be removed from my duties. Lieutenant Ferrar, from the COU unit, sends me a furious message. His superiors have complained to my bosses. The Madrid team - Diaz, Menendez and Galan - have been ordered to pursue the inquiry without my input. I receive an email stating I am being removed from the case and my officers will follow Inspector Diaz's orders, not mine, henceforth.

  I am being allowed to keep my office and position and will keep working on other cases. They don't come out and fire me because the scandal is already out of hand, but I'm being definitively pushed out.

  Only a psychiatrist speaking in a radio interview agrees with the provocative remarks I made. He, too, states the provocation may cause the killer to make a mistake, since he's now angry and not acting in a cool, rational manner. He underlines the effort the killer is making to stick to the original Ripper's dates and modus operandi, causing him a great deal of stress, which my message to him may have added to. And greater stress means greater possibilities of a slip-up.

  My officers come and see me in my office. I order them to follow the new protocol and leave me out of it. I don't want to make things difficult for them. They protest, but I don't give them a choice.

  Then Diaz, Menandez and Galan come in. They say they're sorry about the new orders, but they can't hide their satisfaction.

  - 'Malasana will be working with me from now on,' says Galan.

  - 'Like hell!' says Malasana fiercely.

  She does a double take. She doesn't know him.

  - 'Do you want me to call your superiors?'

  - ''Do what you want. I'll call the unions and the press.'

  - 'What are you going to call the press for?'

  - 'To tell them you're a bunch of incompetents who havent got the foggiest idea on how to proceed. A source close to the inquiry has stated that bla bla bla...'

  I'm secretly moved by his loyalty and do my best to hide it. The Madrid team are in shock. They look at each other speechlessly until it starts to sink in that things aren't going to be so easy. 'If you want to kick us, you’ll hurt your foot.'

  But I react a lot more strongly when an officer bursts in without knocking.

  - 'Commissioner, Robot's escaped from hospital! He's legged it!'

  He was supposed to be discharged, but not quite yet. His injuries are serious. His ribs aren't fully healed yet and the open wound on his leg requires urgent care. They took him for an X-ray and the idiots I assigned to monitor him didn't even notice he was gone. All we can do now is watch the security footage of him hobbling out of there.

  I pray he's gone off to his toy house. But when Malasana and I turn up, it's locked and empty. Malasaña fuerza la puerta. It smells of B.O., stale, rank sweat. It smells like it's never been cleaned. Ants and cockroaches scurry through the kitchen, bedroom and toilet. As we search the place, we both hold back the urge to retch. We don't find anything that might help us to find him.

  So I phone Martin and order him to start the search with every officer available. A moment later, he phones back and says Diaz has refused. There's no reason to arrest Robot and as such no reason to send out a search party after him. It's a waste of police time. Not a priority.

  I scream down the phone.

  - 'Tell Diaz it's unconnected to the Ripper case! And I'm in charge.'

  Martin will begin the search, even if he's on his own.

  Back in the car, Malasana says:

  - 'He's got a safe house. And if he's got one, it means he's not alone.'

  - 'Is he with our man?' I wonder.

  A while later we're out on the back roads, dirt paths, Mojacar behind us. The house is hidden away in the hills. A gardener waters a garden bursting with hedges and groves. It's a one-storey house, old, with old stone walls and gable roof.

  The gardener tells us it belongs to a very elderly Austrian diplomat. Someone from his family comes to have a quick look once a year and that's it. Vicente Lapuerta manages the upkeep, as he's a friend of the ambassador's, who pays his wages.

  We ask if he's seen anyone around in the last few hours and he says n
o. So we can give up on the idea of Robot hiding here. My only question is whether it's Lapuerta or the killer who's helping him.

  Robot is our only lead to the murderer and he's slipped out from under our noses like water draining through a crack.

  The gardener lets us in and we search the house. A huge living room. I recognise it from the tapes. Thick ceiling beams. A fireplace you could park a BMW in. A garage crammed with fishing gear and a boat in need of a few repairs. An ancient Mini, crusted with dirt.

  - 'I haven't touched anything,' says the gardener.

  I ask him to leave and he slips out quietly, palpably relieved.

  - 'What's the plan, boss? Wait for him in case he makes an appearance?'

  - 'If he has any inkling we're here, he won't be coming. We'll come back tonight.'

  Lopez has dug up a list of retired teachers. They might know something the policemen don't. Thirty years ago something might have been swept under the rug. No one called the police for something a kid would do, back then. The parents and school would deal with it themselves without getting the police involved, except if it was something very serious.

  My officers are still on Robot's trail. COU is focusing on Hunt. The Madrid team on Mike. To them, my obsession with Robot is just a wild attempt to pin something he didn't do on him and Lapuerta. The Ripper tape was just some guys having a laugh, a macabre, sexual power game, like so many others. Robot's never been a suspect and the Ripper actor wasn't exactly going to turn around and commit the same crimes he acted out just weeks after filming the tape. He was just doing his job, as Lapuerta and Robot stated. The other tapes with similar scenes are proof of that. No link whatsoever to the case.