- 'Hey!'
I hear the faraway voice of a mortal, crying out from a dark place. For an instant I believe it's the Horseman of Death, but the voice is bitterly human, like the serpent's bile. I imagine the creature hung by its tongue, its ignorance blasphemy. I wear black, like the angels tasked with doling out the punishment.
The mortal asks me about this place without seeing my face, my face which terrifies sinners hidden away. I see the mortal strung up by his feet, hanging over the mire.
- I did not think we would stop here, says the serpent.
And the serpent is a whore fornicating with the Devil and evil spirits. Her tortured spirit will bite me, evil creature that she is. He grabs for the cowardly weapon at his belt, the part of his body the flames will devour for chasing the just. But the beast bellows when it sees nothing but darkness in my face and at that moment I know its tongue will seek mine and bite it like a scorpion in the fire. And the beast falls to the ground, stricken by the rays of Light. It screams and howls like a monster. Then, on its knees, it cries to another reptile for help, screaming somewhere above, and I hear its steps racing over the gravel and screaming at me, one scream after another, driving me mad, mad, mad, and the black angel stretches out its wings of icy fire and ashes and flies out over the abyss where, deep down at the very bottom, men and women fight with rods of fire, beating each other for taking the place of God. And I soar high abov them like the death I have become, death insatiable, hungry for the corrupt blood flowing like rivers over every nook and cranny on earth until it reaches the sleeping lake of blood far below, moonlight shining on its surface, a sea of blood and shame drowning me and purifying me, like the infinite peace that is the patience of God before the wrath of the End of Days comes. In the lake I will place the heart hidden on my lap. The corrupt heart of every being on earth, rotting inside and out.
Someone's been seen wandering around Rita Oehlen's house. An officer tried to stop them, but whoever it was hit him and escaped on a motorbike.
- 'Reckon it's him?' asks Malasana.
- 'Who else?' I answer shortly.
- 'A sane man with the hatred of a madman,' says Malasana, remembering Whiskey Moran.
- 'You know what they say. Drunks and children tell the truth.'
We're watching Javier Macias's office from a Megane on its last legs. The heating isn't working. The Gold is at the garage.
- 'He beat us, boss. He made it to the five murders.
- Seven.
- The Almerimar woman and Robot,' he says glumly.
My phone buzzes. A new email. Someone covertly sending on Oehlen's autopsy from the station.
- 'I don't want to read it, Commissioner.'
We already know the basics, since it's a perfect replica of what Jack the Ripper did to Mary Kelly. But the report signals something else: two symbols, this time, carved into her flesh. The symbol of infinity and a circle encasing a cross.
The second one is what the Zodiac Killer used to leave at the scene of the crime.
- 'Do you know what that means?'
He nods, very slightly, but resignedly.
- 'Now he'll be imitating the Zodiac Killer.
- He warned me in his last WhatsApp message.'
- We'll have to go through the Zodiac Killer's crimes, but there's no doubt in my mind he'll be starting on the same day as him. Even if he has to wait months. 'And the worst part is the Zodiac murders were much less... laborious. Much easier to commit. If we didn't get him with the Ripper crimes, we might as well hang up our hats.'
- 'We can still get him, boss.' 'No one can be perfect 100% of the time. Not even his crimes.'
- 'If this arsehole doesn't lead us to him it'll be impossible. Over two months of investigating, tons of leads, suspects. And nothing to show for it.'
- 'We'll get him in the end.'
I sigh.
- The symbol he carved on Naima Medari's flesh was a circle encasing a triangle, pointing upwards. An allegory for the material made pure and noble. And the three angles representing the Trinity. In a circle that symbolizes eternity.
- The same as the infinity eight carved into Rita Oehlen's skin.
- He carved a square inside a circle on Sandra Okekes flesh. The square representing balance, stability, support, portection. In the circle, eternal return, the infinite.
- 'It's a bloody game,' says Malasana. 'That son of a bitch is playing with us.' 'The symbols don't mean anything on their own.
- But they do tell us something: he's getting more and more confident. Confident that killing is his true nature, his true calling.'
- 'I'll show him true calling, you wait and see who's good and dead then, boss.'
We hear a car revving up nearby.
- 'Look. He's leaving.'
We follow Macias in his Volvo and then drive under a bridge on the dual carriageway before swing onto the exit that leads us back into town. He drives comically slowly, thirty miles the whole way. He slips off the artery to the city centre and gets stuck in a couple of traffic jams on his way to San Gabriel.
- 'That's where his parents live,' says Malasana.
Macias stops the Volvo in a narrow, old-fashioned street with low houses. Cheap flats, lower middle-class area. The street is jam-packed with cars so he half-parks on a pavement before crossing the road into one of the houses.
Malasana turns on the laptop and checks it's working. He gets out of the Megane, keeping watch on the stretch of street where the Volvo's parked. No one in sight. Just lights in a few windows, closed curtains, shutters. Delicately, he opens the boot of the Volvo and leans in. In under a minute the boot is closed and locked and he strolls coolly back to the Megane.
- 'It's working,' I say.
- 'Let's get out of here.'
One little whore, two little whores
Three little whores, four little whores
Five little whores
And one more... to kill off this boredom
Ha ha ha ha ha
I'll play act my horror so well in front of them all!
Ohhh! Mr Hyde, such a talented player....
A great actor for this beautiful farce
No better bard ever did live
Ha ha ha ha ha....
25
A while later, Martin takes over. He carries the laptop carefully over to his car and parks by the end of the street, keeping the Volvo in sight. He tells us Vilar has been released but has no alibi for last night, so we already know what we're doing next.
We drive across Baria to the City Hotel. COU may not have found a way to get him to talk, but we already know what his Achilles' heel is.
He doesn't even look surprised to see us when opens the door and sees us standing there. Just weary.
- 'OK, OK, OK.'
Maybe we won't even need to get physical.
- 'Spit it out,' I snap as we sit down and light up.
- 'I can't sleep with all that smoke,' he moans.
- 'You can open a window later.'
He falls back on the bed and stretches out his legs. He's not scared, but we know he's going to tell us what he hasn't told anyone else.
- 'Where did you go last night?'
- 'I'm close, Commissioner. I'm close!'
- 'Fucking spit it out for once,' says Malasana, visibly exasperated.
- 'Why us and not COU?' I ask in turn.
Lorenzo Vilar smiles.
- 'Because with you I've got a chance of getting some of the recognition for catching him. A slice of the pie. Not with them.'
I can see where he's coming from. Maybe he's telling the truth and all he knows is what I can sense he knows, and how.
- 'This Javier Macias guy phones me. Says he's Robot's cousin. He has a number, phones it. It's a man, but the voice is disguised, unrecognisable. He phoned the murderer, Commissioner! The fucking murderer! Shit!'
- 'Go on.'
- 'He wanted money, like Robot.'
We let him pause when he feels like it. Macias has been leading us a merry dance all this time. He knows a lot more about his cousin than he let on. Or maybe he found what his cousin wanted him to find. And is making the same stupid mistakes. He'll be our bait. Instinctively, I put my hand on my pocket. I think about Martin. Telling him not to lose track of Macias no matter what.
- 'The other guy didn't say anything,' recalls Vilar. 'He wasn't expecting that. Thought Robot was the last loose end he needed to tie up. But now this. So he said he had a job to finish. That was last night.
Macias didn't care about him murdering another woman.'
- 'Where do you fit into all this? Why did he phone you? How did he get your number?'
- 'Easy, pal,' he says to Malasana. 'He had the killer's number, but he had mine, too. Robot had both. Robot must have said to him that I offer money for information too. Two birds, one stone. If the killer wouldn't cough up, he had someone else to go to. Just like Robot.
- And it cost Robot his life.'
Vilar shrugs.
- 'Doesn't really matter now. But this guy, Macias, he doesn't know who the killer is. He's just got his number. So maybe we can get it too. Or maybe not'
- 'So?'
- 'Maybe the killer doesn't know Macias doesn't know who he is. He said the killer promised to phone him when everything was back to normal, and pay him.' 'If the killer doesn't know that Macias doesn't know who he is, he'll be after him. He's got no choice.
- If he had the killer's number and is planning on extorting him, why did he phone you, Columbo?'
- Take it easy, boss.' 'Because if he manages to find out his identity, he can sell me the information risk-free, I suppose. He prefers me. I'm no threat.'
- 'Why did you dodge the surveillance team last night?'
- 'I met up with Macias. After he phoned I told him he was getting nothing out of me without an interview in person, him convincing me it was the truth in person.'
- 'You're a suspect. Your phone's been tapped. There's no record of this call.'
Vilar laughs.
- 'We've all got burner phones, boss. Not just the murderer and Robot.'
- 'Where did you meet him?'
- 'At the back of the In-gente pub in Almeria. We couldn't risk meeting here. Police everywhere.'
- 'So what did he do to convince you?'
- 'He had written notes and Robot's number. Not the one you got. He had my number and a different too, a weird one. A really long string of numbers, the kind where you have to go through a switchboard in Turkey or China to get through.' 'It's the killer's number.'
- 'Are you sure?'
- 'As sure as you're sitting here in front of me.'
- 'Give me that number.'
- 'Macias didn't let me write it down. He thinks if I've got it I could pass it on to the police or blackmail him and he'd lose out.'
I have questions. But I let them go for now.
- 'How do you know Robot took those notes you saw?'
- 'They were dated and there was a summary of my conversation with him. And the exact amounts of money we mentioned.'
Vilar smiles, as if we were idiots.
- 'The more I think about it, the more convinced I am, Chief. Macias wants the money from both of us. He'll extort the killer. Then sell me the information. Even if he gets the money off the killer, he can't let him go free. He knows he'll kill him. So he extorts him, then sells me the information so I can catch him. Taking the killer out. A juicy deal all round.'
We fall silent. 'Macias is playing with fire. Let's let him get close to the flames.'
I stand up.
- 'If you don't phone me when Javier Macias gets in touch, I swear I will fuck you up.'
- 'If you give me what I want, we're partners, boss.'
- 'You can take all the glory. I couldn't care less. But don't fuck with me.'
I lock myself up at home, my phone permanently within reach. Malasana got out of the car without saying goodbye. Though we still have a tiny bit of hope, he's right: we lost. The killer has finished his work. Even if we catch him now, his victory can't be denied, and neither can our failure.
I've been through every feeling imaginable since this all began: incredulity, indignation, depression, anger, hatred, rage. And now, alone under cover of night, I drown in my frustrations like a desperate man being pulled under by a strong current. I want to believe, I want to have hope, I want to think that Macias will lead us to him. I wonder if I'm a killer too, prepared to kill Macias if it means I can get to the killer. But neither my bitterness nor my hope help me see clearly. Only constant motion can keep me alert. It's only when I'm pacing in fury that I feel alive, useful. Failure sits by my side like a ghost and I don't take my eyes off my phone, the silence as sharp as the edge of the killer's knives.
I turn the sound on my phone up as far as it will go and close my eyes. I don't even bother going to bed, knowing there's little comfort there. I stay on the couch, tense and slightly dizzy. Dozing febrilely, tossing and turning under a blanket that brings me no comfort, eyes screwed shut to avoid seeing the dark room around me, the shadows on the ceiling. But even with my eyes closed the mutilated bodies and floods of blood dance in front of my pupils. Even with my eyes closed, I shake with terror at the images that have now become part of me, part of my muscle memory. The killer is part of me now. His hatred for life buried in my guts. His hatred is my hatred. But my pain isn't his pain. My frustration is his glee. My hate drives him on. He beats me. He wins. I lose. I drown. What will be left of me when all this is over? The terrifying memories. The nightmares. The shame of not stopping him. It doesn't matter that I've been off the case for weeks. I know I'm still on it, inside. There I am, waiting for the miracle to come and take me to him. Because if he doesn't kill Macias it will be a miracle. Or if he doesn't realise Macias doesn't know who he is. I sense Macias has him under his nose but can't see it. Like me. Galan knew. You know him. I know I know him. I know he's there. I know we've met. And that makes it even harder to bear. I'm not looking for a complete stranger. I'm looking for someone I know vaguely, a casual acquaintance. Someone who's used that to think the best way of needling me. It would be enough if it were someone who knew who I was, without my knowing him. But I've met him, I know that now. He couldn't resist the temptation of revealing himself to me, flaunting it. Waving his red cape right under my nose, like a clever bullfighter. I know he's out there, hunting me in the darkness. I know he hasn't finished yet. I know he can't stop killing. He likes it. It keeps him entertained. He takes full pleasure in it, enjoying every second. It's his sustenance. I just wonder when and how he'll strike next time, now the Ripper show is over.
I tell myself I have to sleep. I have to rest and look at everything with fresh eyes. From a different angle. I feel sorely tempted to take one of the pills she left behind. One of the few left after she swallowed an entire bottle of them.
Heaving myself up off the sofa, I go off in search of the pills. All I want is to be submerged in a deep, dreamless sleep, a synthetic sleep, desperate to believe I'll wake up like new, ready to tackle the signs I missed from the start.
But my phone buzzes on the table next to the sofa.
- I'm in the mood for an Eastern whore, Chief. Mmm, mmmm
The press is scandalized by my work
Isn't notoriety what all artists long for?
Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
I'd love to slit you open, Chief
Slit you open alive
So you can enjoy every moment
As much as I do
Aaaarrrrrghhhhhhhhhh mmmmm
26
Tormenting me. Torturing me. Mocking me.
I got up slowly, as if in slow motion.
My body slow and clumsy, like a sick man getting out of bed for the first time in months.
I wanted to run, scream, call her, but I couldn't.<
br />
I dialed her number, but it went straight to voicemail.
I dressed, went out to the car, tried to drive as fast as the other night, when I thought I would run over half the town and smash into something, but I couldn't. My mind was working so slowly. Every attempt I made to move felt like cutting through solid gum.
A zombie.
I managed to park in front of her building, the red light of dawn reflecting off it. I opened the door to the hall I broke - it had already been repaired - and went up in the lift, lolling against the side like a drunk OAP coming home to his wife. I unlocked the door to Natalia's flat with my key and went in, sure the shadows were glad to see me. I felt the warmth of the heated flat on my face and suddenly even my bones felt exhausted. I looked in every room, beaming my torch in, then, finally, went into her bedroom. The outline of her body under the covers filled me with peace, calm, warmth.
I sat down next to her and watched her sleep. For the first time in my life I took in the full depth of our human breath. I could hear her heart beating, her breathing steady and deep, restorative.
She woke up in a panic.
Then recognised me.
She's not a beautiful woman. She's such a woman she doesn't need to be.
- 'You're exhausted,' she says.
I undressed in silence. I had nothing to say.
I wake up with a start. I take a long time to swim back to consciousness, remember where I am, what happened. Then I understand that Natalia has closed all the shutters tight so not even a sliver of light can get in. I look at my phone. I've got a text from Martin, who went back to watch Macias at 8 AM. Nothing new.
The Ripper Page 40