Jack Be Nimble (Knight & Culverhouse Book 3)

by Adam Croft

  A list of potential victims had been drawn up, but it contained almost three hundred possibilities from the Police National Computer alone. Based on people living within ten miles of Mildenheath town centre, that was the number of potential targets indicated by looking at middle-aged women of Scandinavian or North European origin, or women who were known to be born in the Wolverhampton area, or women of non-British European origin who were known to be working as prostitutes in and around the town.

  With a list so large, it would be impossible to keep tabs on them all or even to warn half of them of the potential danger. As the list came from the PNC, it only contained people who were already known to the police. If the Ripper’s next two victims had never been arrested, they’d have no record of them at all and no way of warning them of the potential danger to their lives.

  It had been proposed that temporary roadblocks could be set up on the roads into and out of Mildenheath, but this was decided to be impractical. There were eight main routes which could be used to access the town — far more if you included the surrounding estates and spillover areas. What’s more, there was nothing at all to say that the killer was coming from outside Mildenheath. Both murders to date had been of local women, found dead in the town and presumably killed somewhere in the town too. A temporary roadblock would be hugely expensive and probably fruitless.

  Watches were being put on local doctors — particularly those who lived in the town — and a shortlist of twenty-five GPs and hospital doctors with extensive surgical knowledge working in the town had been drawn up. Three firms of private detectives, mostly consisting of ex-police officers, had been hired to watch the homes and workplaces of these doctors for twenty-four hours.

  The financial cost of the operation was huge, but its saving grace was that it would only be necessary for twenty-four hours. The force’s psychological profiler, Patrick Sharp, had told the incident room that he believed the killer would stick rigorously to his pattern. His modus operandi depended heavily on mirroring the events of 1888 and he’d not deviate from something as seemingly important as the dates of the murders. He’d stuck remarkably closely to the original Ripper’s MO up until now and Sharp didn’t think he had any intention of changing that now.

  For Wendy, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach was almost unmanageable. It was not a position she was used to, knowing that two innocent women were about to be killed but knowing deep down that she would be unable to do very much about it at all.

  33

  29th September

  They’d tried their best, he was sure of that. But he was even more sure that there was no way they were going to stop him doing what he’d always intended to do. Because, after all, he was one step ahead. He had been all along.

  Why did they think he’d sent the letter to that fat bitch journalist? Because it was pretty fucking clear they didn’t have two brain cells to rub between them and work out the link between him and the Ripper. He’d given it to them on a plate and they’d taken it hook, line and sinker.

  He knew exactly what they’d be looking for. He knew because he’d practically told them to do it. He’d been careful from the start, sticking to his plan but ensuring that they’d never be able to pre-empt him. That was his job. The story needed to be finished. The canon needed to be completed, and no-one was going to stop him doing that.

  Even an entire police force panicking for twenty-four hours was not going to scupper his plans. The plans he’d been laying down for years, carefully selecting his five — plus the all-important back-up lists, planning the locations and the methods.

  He knew this town like the back of his hand. He knew its people. He knew its places. He knew, for example, that the Vincents on Meadow Hill Lane always left their gate unlocked. He’d spent an enormous amount of time scouring the town on Google Maps for a number 29 which even had a gate and large garden like that one. How he’d hit the jackpot when he found it! The three weeks of walking past each night and trying the gate to make sure it was unlocked were well worth it.

  So far, that had been the trickiest part of his plan to execute. Forming his list of five — and the backups — hadn’t been difficult at all. It was just a matter of time, waiting for them to come to him.

  He knew his point was being proven — he knew the modern police force was not much more advanced than the Victorian one — but he would not have put money on them being worse. He hadn’t gambled on his having to help them out as much as he had done.

  He smiled and chuckled to himself as he considered this, feeling very proud of himself. As he did so, the woman murmured and started to move.

  ‘Now, now,’ he said, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder as she struggled against the silver tape that’d been used to bond her arms and legs as well as being placed over her mouth to stop her screaming. ‘You’re not going to be heard here, so I wouldn’t try that. You can squirm all you like. Adrenaline’s known to numb pain, but I must warn you that too much movement means the cuts won’t be so clean. They might actually hurt more.’ He smiled as he tied the handkerchief around her neck — not too tight.

  The woman’s eyes were bloodshot, panicked, the tears streaming down her face as the man unsheathed his scalpel and brought it across her oesophagus. The woman started gurgling and wheezing through the new hole in her neck as her lungs pooled with blood.

  ‘You’re number three. That’s what they’ll call you. Of course, I wouldn’t be so callous. You’ll always be my Emma. The one they tried, so hard, to stop. The one who acquiesced so beautifully despite it all. I’ll always remember that.’

  The words rang tinnily in her ears as death took her.

  34

  29th September

  Barely ten seconds after answering the call, Culverhouse was in the car, Wendy beside him, racing up the high street.

  ‘The working men’s club next to the car garage,’ he said as he switched on the siren and sped through a set of red lights. ‘A patrol officer found her behind a bin in the car park. Poor bastard’s blaming himself, apparently. Says she’s still warm.’

  ‘Christ. Any ID?’

  ‘Yep, positive, apparently but we’ll find all that out when we get there. How the fuck did he manage it, though? With all the patrols we’ve got out and about. It’s right on the fucking high street, barely two hours after closing time. The staff probably hadn’t even been gone long. He’s getting fucking brave, that’s for sure.’

  Foremost in Wendy’s mind was that this meant another murder was due to occur somewhere in the town within the next couple of hours. The news had already been relayed to the patrol officers, ensuring that they knew they had to be on top of their game and on the highest state of alert with regards to lone males or females in the town.

  As they parked up in the entrance road to the working men’s club, Wendy jumped out of the car and jogged round to the rear car park, where three uniformed officers were already waiting.

  ‘Anybody touched anything?’

  ‘Nothing, sarge,’ said one of the officers while the other two shook their heads.

  ‘Who found her?’

  ‘PC Rashid. He’s round there, honking up,’ the officer said, pointing towards the door which Wendy presumed went straight into the working men’s club’s kitchen.

  ‘Lovely. Dr Grey should be here soon. Funnily enough, she was kind of expecting a call right about now. Don’t touch anything until she gets here.’

  Wendy could see that even though the woman’s skin still held the colour of life, she was clearly not about to take another breath. By now, Culverhouse had caught up and was speaking to the two shocked, silent PCs.

  The woman was lying facing the wall of the car park, her legs drawn up and her throat cut — this was clearly visible even through the now-familiar handkerchief that was tied around her neck. As she noted this, her earpiece crackled as the radio buzzed into life. It was the control room.

  ‘We’ve had a call from an anonymous male in a phone box who’s
reported a woman’s body behind the working men’s club on the high street. Could nearby officers please attend?’

  Wendy pressed the button on her radio and spoke back. ‘I’m about six inches away, will that help?’

  ‘Who the fuck called that in?’ Culverhouse barked. ‘There’s no phone box around here, is there?’

  ‘Not that I know of,’ Wendy said, pressing the button again to speak to the controller. ‘Can you get a trace on the phone box please?’

  ‘Guv, you seen this?’ one of the PCs said, gesturing to a large hole which had been cut in the chicken wire fence at the other side of the car park. ‘Looks like it’s fairly recently cut. Isn’t rusted or anything.’

  ‘Where does that go?’ Culverhouse asked.

  ‘Lawn bowls club on Sycamore Close. Just off Meadow Hill Lane. The road’s probably six or seven hundred feet away.’

  ‘And it’s a much fucking quieter road than the high street,’ Culverhouse replied. ‘Get the fence tested for DNA. Any hair, fibres from clothing or even blood from the victim. If he’s come in or out that way, he could be anywhere by now.’

  Wendy’s radio buzzed in her ear again. ‘Got that trace, sarge. The call was made from the phone box on Allerdale Road, next to the church. The caller sounded very calm, apparently. Almost matter-of-fact.’

  ‘Jesus. Allerdale Road? Right, find out if there’s any CCTV anywhere nearby. There’s a row of shops right near that. One of them must have CCTV outside.’

  ‘That could be good news, sarge,’ one of the uniformed PCs said.

  ‘Please do tell me how,’ Wendy replied, almost sarcastically.

  ‘Well, if he’s got up to Allerdale Road from here, through that fence, he would’ve had to cross Meadow Hill Lane, go up Copeland Avenue and round the back of the shops. Would’ve only taken five minutes at the most, if he wasn’t walking quickly. Would keep him well away from most of the patrols, too. If you ask me, it looks as if our man’s on foot.’

  35

  29th September

  The chase was intense. He knew exactly where they’d be going and when. He knew because he’d practically planned it for them.

  He knew, for instance, that they would’ve traced his call to the phone box on Allerdale Road. He also knew that they’d know from the tone of his voice that he wasn’t just a random passer-by who’d discovered a dead body by complete chance. They’d know it was him. They’d also know that to get to Allerdale Road in time, he would’ve had to have gone by foot, through the hole in the fence by the bowls club. The most exciting thing about it was that he wasn’t trying to wrong-foot them; he was helping them out as the chase just wouldn’t be the same if they were running around in circles like headless chickens.

  After making the call, he’d headed straight down Colby Gardens, an adjacent road which he knew had plenty of houses with low walls, cars parked on drives and other places he could hide quickly if needed. He’d only had one car come down the road, and he’d ducked behind what looked from its shape like a classic American car, which was up on bricks and covered by a tarpaulin. The passing car was a Toyota Yaris — clearly not a police car, but he couldn’t afford to be anything less than completely cautious.

  He knew where most of the town’s CCTV coverage was, and he knew the best route to take to avoid it. He now had to get to Alexandra Square, a small outdoor shopping precinct, which was the location for his next body. Fortunately for him, he’d already done most of the spadework. It was a case of having to, knowing that the police would be hot on his tail after the last one, knowing that he’d be due to kill again before the sun rose.

  The trick was to avoid commercial premises. These were the ones which were most likely to have CCTV cameras on the front of them. These days, plenty of houses did too, although his route was taking him past areas which had far fewer than anywhere else. Oddly, the CCTV coverage in Alexandra Square was minimal. There were three entrances into the square, and only one had CCTV coverage — mainly due to the nightclub on the corner which had seen its fair share of late-night trouble spilling out into the square over the years. His route would keep him well away from the eagle-eye lens and ensure that he’d get away easily enough afterwards, too.

  He’d taken great care to disguise himself, too, although that wouldn’t matter in the long run. Once he’d completed his canon, it was up to them to find him in their own good time. If they managed it inside a hundred and thirty years they’d be one up on the Victorian Whitechapel police.

  His pace was quick, but not so quick as to attract attention. Just quick enough to be sure that no-one was going to be suddenly gaining behind him, allowing him instead to concentrate on looking forward, giving him plenty of time to duck away should someone appear in the distance.

  The walk was just under a mile in total. He estimated it’d take him sixteen minutes. His advantage was that nobody knew where he was going. They’d have officers in the vicinity, and he’d heard the cars heading towards the phone box, but, as he’d predicted, they were using Allerdale Road, Meadow Hill Lane and the other rat runs. The quiet, unassuming residential streets that ran alongside were perfectly safe in comparison.

  He waited quietly at the corner of Colby Gardens in order to try and ascertain the direction of the sirens and car engine noises. He needed to cross the next road, walk about twenty yards further down and disappear down Peter’s Street, a road which would take him the next step towards Alexandra Square and consisted entirely of houses with low front walls — perfect for diving behind.

  Then it was down past the old folks’ home and through the winding alleyway which would take him out perilously close to the police station. The wait on the next corner was longer, seeing as he had to cross the main road that passed right across the high street a hundred yards or so further down — the busy crossroads that defined Mildenheath. A lone person seen walking the streets tonight would be apprehended without fail, and this particular area was by far the most likely place for it to happen.

  He took a deep breath and stood up from behind the parked car he’d been crouched behind. He marched across the road, not bothering to look — he’d already done that from his hiding place — his heart thumping in his chest as he walked quickly and quietly, keeping away from the road, before ducking down Albert Street, where he exhaled and allowed himself to start breathing again.

  A quick right turn and he was on Ship Street, just mere seconds away from his next site. He’d made it here unscathed, and he allowed himself a faint smirk as he approached the place he’d been hiding number four for the past few hours.

  As he neared Alexandra Square, he noticed a young, fresh-faced police constable in full uniform, his fluorescent jacket glowing under the street light in the car park. He held his breath and ducked inside the entranceway to a block of flats, the low wall allowing him to crouch and peer around the edge. The copper was heading off in the direction of the main road he’d just crossed. A few seconds longer and he’d be able to get to the site and do what he needed to do.

  He’d need to be quick. That much he knew. The copper must’ve literally walked right across his site only seconds earlier, and he’d be sure to come back again at some point soon. Time was of the essence if he was to stick to his plan.

  Less than a minute later, he’d opened the door and peered in at the face of his next victim.

  ‘Ah, Marla. Thank you for waiting for me. Very kind.’

  36

  29th September

  ‘It’s fucking brutal,’ the PC said, visibly shaking as the tears rolled down his cheeks. ‘I never seen a body before. Not like this.’

  Wendy placed a reassuring hand on the young constable’s shoulder. He’d radioed in a few minutes earlier to report the body, which he’d found on his routine patrol that night.

  ‘I can’t understand it. I only walked past ten, fifteen minutes earlier and there was nothing. I didn’t see no people, no cars, nothing! I just don’t get it.’ The officer seemed almost inconsolable.
<
br />   ‘There’s no use beating yourself up about it,’ Wendy said. ‘This guy’s something else. He was probably watching you the whole time, waiting for the right moment.’

  ‘I should’ve seen him!’

  ‘No-one saw him. Do you have any idea how many officers are out on the streets tonight? We knew he was going to kill, we even knew when, but no-one managed to stop him. You can’t take it personally.’

  ‘I just can’t believe it. We always knew the fourth victim would be killed in some sort of square. Like the original. Why wasn’t there more officers in the squares?’

  ‘There was,’ Wendy replied. ‘Granted, we focussed on the main square by the clock tower, and the Courtyard, but we had no way of knowing what he thought constituted a square. There are ten roads alone in the town called “Square”. There wasn’t anything else we could’ve done. All the main shopping areas had extra officers. You were one of them.’

  Wendy realised from the resultant look on the young officer’s face that that last comment hadn’t helped much.

  ‘She’s not been dead long. Certainly the same chap who did it, as if you didn’t already know,’ Dr Janet Grey said from her position kneeling over the body. ‘Similar MO. On her back, one of her legs bent up. Not to mention the throat being cut.’

  ‘I suppose you’ve also noticed that her fucking innards have been ripped out and thrown over her shoulder?’ Culverhouse interrupted.