Jack's Back

by Mark Romain

  “No,” he admitted. “Not helpful.”

  Terri’s ethos was that she had a solemn duty to discover the truth, no matter how deeply buried it was or how big a personal risk was involved, and to make sure that it was published for all to see. She dearly wanted to be the people’s champion; noble, courageous and fearless in the face of adversity. She knew she had just been presented with a golden opportunity to prove she possessed the courage of her convictions – except that, when it came down to it, she wasn’t really sure that she did. As much as it shamed her to admit it, she felt like a frightened little girl who was way out of her depth.

  Under the circumstances, Terri just didn’t know what to do for the best. If only she could seek her parent’s counsel, but that was impossible. Her overly sensitive mother would be completely freaked out by something like this, and her father was a pretentious snob. The patronising multi-millionaire would just say something disparaging. He wouldn’t understand that helping the police was the right thing – the decent thing – to do. Terri had long since rejected his exclusive circle of privilege and wealth, preferring to make her own path through life, even if it was an uphill struggle; and to make her own mistakes, even if the outcome was sometimes painful.

  Evans sensed the inner turmoil the dilemma was causing, and he decided to give her some space. He leaned over the railings and checked on the progress of the little tug he had noticed earlier.

  “I’m not sure about this, Paul. I really don’t want to get involved,” she said a few moments later.

  With a sigh he walked over to Terri Miller, staring into her eyes with genuine concern. “I understand how you feel, and I won’t pressure you into doing anything against your will. If you decide to stay and help us it has to be because you want to. If you want to move out, then that’s fine, too. But you need to understand one thing: whether you like it or not, you already are involved, because the killer wants you involved, and that’s got nothing to do with the police. If you chose to stay here you could be instrumental in helping us to catch a very dangerous man. As you said yourself, you’ve seen what he’s capable of. We’ll take every precaution that we can. A panic button will be rigged up from your bedroom to the local police station. If you press it at any time a message will cut into the local radio system and officers will attend at once, treating it as a high priority call. The door is solid, well hung and fitted with secure double locks and deadbolts. He’s not going to get in there very easily, no matter what he tries.” Evans paused, placing a tentative hand on each shoulder as he played his final card. “And it would make a hell of a story. I know you wouldn’t be able to print everything you knew until it was over, but when the dust settles you would have a pretty awesome tale to tell. Hey, you could even write a book about it.” That got her attention, he noticed. “Someone will, you know,” he predicted, “even if you don’t.”

  For several moments they stood there in silence, each one deep in thought. Terri anxiously chewed on her bottom lip as she contemplated her future, a nervous habit she’d had since childhood. She could feel Evans eyes on her as he waited patiently for her reply.

  “Okay,” she finally said. “I guess I could try and persuade Julie to move in with me for a week or so. We could look after each other while we give your plan a try.” In her heart, she knew that she had to face her fear, no matter how daunting it might seem, or live in shame for the rest of her life. Her mind was made up, for better or for worse, and with the decision came a sense of relief. Terri tried to muster a smile for Evans, but she couldn’t quite manage it.

  “I’ll get us that coffee,” she said, trying to sound positive. As she went back inside, Kelly stepped onto the balcony, her shoulder length hair blowing gently in the morning breeze. “Nice view,” she said, looking down.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So, will she do it?” Kelly enquired.

  “Yes,” Evans replied, softly.

  “She’s braver than I am,” Kelly admitted, surprised that Terri had agreed to go along with the plan. She had anticipated that they would have to resort to strong-arm tactics to get her to play ball.

  “I just hope we don’t let her down if it all goes pear-shaped,” Paul said.

  The conversation was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.

  “That’ll be the Technical Support Unit to plumb up the phone,” Kelly said.

  “I’ll get it,” Paul volunteered. “I think Terri’s preoccupied.”

  ◆◆◆

  “What a clusterfuck!” Holland raged. “When I went to bed last night, I was under the happy illusion that the murderer had been caught and the killing spree we were all so worried about had been prevented. It appears…” he paused and stared pointedly at Jack, who was standing uncomfortably before him. “…that I was somewhat misinformed.” Holland was sitting behind his desk at Arbour Square, looking very agitated. His jacket was draped across the back of his chair, the top button of his shirt was undone and his tie was at half-mast. The clock on the wall told Tyler it was eight p.m.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” Jack said, not because he was but because he thought an apology was expected.

  “Can you imagine my angst when I received a call this morning, informing me that another killing had occurred overnight, this time within City of London jurisdiction?”

  Jack said nothing. What could he say?

  “At first, I thought they were mistaken, especially when they said the victim didn’t appear to be a prostitute, but as they talked me through the injuries my heart sank. The MO was identical; this had to be the work of the same fiend who murdered Tracey Phillips.”

  Tyler nodded, understandingly. He recalled feeling exactly the same way when he received an identical call at the crack of dawn.

  “How could we have been so wrong?” Holland asked. He signalled that it was okay for Tyler to take a seat.

  “Everything pointed to Winston,” Jack said, sitting down wearily. “We were right to go with that.”

  “Maybe,” Holland allowed, staring at Tyler with something akin to pity. “I’m sorry I gave this case to you, Jack,” he said. “It was meant to challenge you, prepare you for bigger things further down the line, but I fear it has become something of a poisoned chalice. Now it’s too late to remove you from harm’s way, so you need to understand that neither of us will survive the fallout unless we get the right result.”

  Tyler shook his head defiantly. “I don’t give a toss about my reputation, or my future promotion prospects. All I care about is catching the killer. And, if things go bad, I won’t drag you down with me.”

  Holland smiled at Tyler’s naïveté. “The game isn’t played that way, Jack.”

  Jack’s stomach tightened. “I know.” Qualities such as honesty, integrity, and a hard work ethic were all well and good, but they wouldn’t be enough to save either of them if media or political pressure forced the Yard to look for scapegoats further down the line. “Perhaps we should look at damage limitation,” Tyler suggested.

  Holland chuckled mirthlessly. “That boat sailed the moment the media cottoned on to the fact that there’s a serial killer’s running amok in Whitechapel.”

  “Hopefully, the press interest will blow over,” Jack said, but his words sounded hollow, even to him. The New Ripper killings – the press was already calling them that – had received saturation TV coverage throughout the day, and he would be amazed if they didn’t headline tomorrow’s tabloids. The investigation been formally ramped up to Category A status.

  Holland thumped his desk in anger. “No, it won’t, Jack. We’ve had three murders in a week and, unless we catch the deranged psycho responsible, there are likely to be more in the near future.”

  “I appreciate that,” Tyler said tetchily, “but we’re doing our best.”

  “That’s what every loser claims,” Holland snapped. “We need to do more than just try our best. We need to get a result, and we need to get it bloody soon.”

  “Then I’d better get back to wo
rk and get you your bloody result,” Tyler said, standing up.

  “Not so fast, Jack. You and I have meetings to attend together tomorrow, and I need to go through a few things with you to make sure we’re singing from the same song sheet.” Holland pointed to the vacated seat, and Jack obediently returned, feeling very much like a schoolboy who had just been given detention.

  “But I’ve got to attend the inquest for Tracey Phillips at Poplar tomorrow morning,” Jack protested, hoping that would get him out of whatever Holland had planned.

  “Send Dillon.”

  Jack shook his head. “I can’t. He’s already tied up with the post-mortems for today’s victims.”

  Holland took a moment to digest this. “Okay, but the inquest will be a formality. The verdict will be unlawful killing by persons unknown. You could send Steve Bull.”

  Jack held firm. “I’ve promised to meet Rita Phillips, Tracey’s mother. I can’t let her down.” Holland looked annoyed. “Very well, what time does the inquest start?”

  “Ten o’clock.”

  “Not a problem, then. You’ll be finished by midday, so that shouldn’t interfere with our schedule,” Holland said.

  “Oh good,” Tyler said, forcing a smile. “And what is our schedule, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Holland explained that a Gold Group meeting had been arranged for one o’clock at Whitechapel. “That should last an hour or so,” he said, “leaving us plenty of time to get up to the Yard for the 4 p.m. press briefing.”

  Jack left the room feeling angry and disheartened. As SIO, he had to have a finger in every pie, and at the moment it felt as though he was running out of fingers. He was constantly playing catch up, and every time he gained a little ground another obstacle would appear in his path, slowing him down again. He accepted that tomorrow morning had to be written off for the inquest, but at least that was a constructive use of his time, unlike the wasted afternoon he would now have to spend kowtowing to people he didn’t give a hoot about. The burden of leading an investigation of this magnitude weighed heavily on him as he walked back to his office, leaving him feeling as though he was swimming against the tide; being pulled under relentlessly by an endless sea of bureaucracy, its treacherous currents running strong and deep.

  CHAPTER 23

  Thursday 4th November 1999

  Although there was a distinct chill in the air, the sun shone brightly in a cloudless blue sky as Jack Tyler walked out of the District Line tube station in Bow Road.

  The weather forecasters had predicted that today would be the finest day of the week, and it was looking as though they might be right for a change.

  He made a quick stop in order to purchase a copy of the Echo from the small kiosk next to the station. Sure enough, Terri Miller’s story was plastered all over the front page. He would read the article later. Tucking the newspaper under his arm, Jack dragged himself across the main road and trudged wearily up the steps into Bow police station. He showed his warrant card to the officer on the front desk and was shown through to the canteen where he had arranged to meet Tim Barton.

  Barton was already there, finishing off a fried breakfast. “Morning, guv,” he said, shovelling a fork full of bacon and egg into his mouth. Jack ordered tea and toast and slumped down next to him. “Is everything ready?”

  “All good to go,” Barton said between chewing. “I’ve been on since six o’clock this morning, sorting out the paperwork for the inquest.”

  “Good.”

  After last night’s tumultuous meeting with Holland, Tyler had stormed back to his office. Quietly seething, he slammed the door and immersed himself in a pile of statements and forensic reports that needed his attention, hoping to find something significant buried amongst the mundane. After three hours of fruitless digging, he finally gave up and called it a night. By then he was too tired to drive home, so he booked into a local budget hotel, took a long shower and then fell into bed. Sleep had been difficult, and when it finally came it was very fragmented. He awoke looking and feeling like one of the living dead.

  They left Bow police station thirty minutes later. Tim’s pool car was parked in the side road next to the station, MPS logbook prominently displayed on the dash to prevent the overly enthusiastic Traffic Wardens who patrolled the area issuing a ticket. Tim did a smart ‘u’ turn, drove up to the junction and pulled into Bow Road.

  “This doesn’t look good,” Jack said. A line of cars stretched ahead of them as far as he could see. “Can we take a shortcut?”

  “Afraid not, boss. It’ll be just as bad whatever route we take.”

  “Terrific,” Jack said.

  “No, traffic,” Tim responded wittily, only to be met with a caustic stare. “Sorry, no more jokes,” he promised.

  Conscious of the time, Tyler glanced down at his watch, wondering if he should phone the court and warn them that he might be a little late.

  “Don’t worry, boss. We’ll get there in time,” Barton assured him.

  The traffic situation, already bad, was exacerbated by roadworks, which effectively narrowed the town-bound stretch down to one lane for a distance of about two hundred yards between the Shell garage and Mile End tube station.

  Barton rolled his eyes. “Roadworks! I might’ve known.”

  Jack was horrified. “You mean you didn’t?”

  “They weren’t here two days ago,” Barton said, defensively.

  Tyler didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. His face said it all.

  “We’ll be alright once we clear the next set of lights,” Barton promised, hoping that he was right. Fed into a bottleneck, they crawled through the roadworks at a snail’s pace. After what seemed like an age, they finally turned left into Burdett Road, where traffic was flowing normally. Tyler’s watch said ten minutes before ten.

  Five minutes later, they were in Poplar High Street, looking for the Coroners Court. They found it at the junction with Cottage Street, an old brick building that was much smaller than Tyler had expected. The double wooden doors at the front were closed. A square sign hung from the brickwork to the left of the entrance, and was painted a grubby yellow.

  It read: ‘Entrance to Public mortuary’.

  An arrow underneath pointed to a narrow, cobbled alley at the side of the building. They drew level, but it only appeared wide enough to take one car.

  “Is that it?” Jack asked, jerking his thumb at the building, which reminding him of a miniature church, but without the charm.

  “That’s it,” Barton confirmed.

  “Park it around the back, if you can. I’ll meet you inside,” Tyler said, climbing out.

  A large van with the legend ‘BBC Outside Broadcasting Unit’ was parked in Simpson Road, almost opposite the court. An Independent Television News van sat right behind it.

  The two crews had set their equipment up to cover the entrance in a pincer movement. He heard his name called out as he approached, but he didn’t turn around. It would only anger Holland if he appeared on television again.

  Tyler had never given evidence here before and, as he entered the shoddy building, he was surprised to see just how run down and cramped it was. Most people are surprised to discover that the Coroners Court is the most powerful court in the land. A summons to appear before it takes precedence over all others, even the powerful and prestigious Central Criminal Court at Old Bailey. Considering its status within the legal system, he found his current surroundings rather underwhelming. As his eyes acclimatised to the dark reception area, he spotted Kelly Flowers sitting, alone, on a wooden bench beside the courtroom entrance. Tyler walked over, wondering if Mrs Phillips had changed her mind about attending. He would understand if she had.

  Sitting down beside Kelly, Jack leaned close enough to speak without fear of being overheard, aware that in these places even the slightest sound was amplified considerably. “Morning, Kelly. How long have you been here?”

  “About fifteen minutes, sir. Traffic was much heavier than I’d expected.
”

  “Where’s Mrs Phillips?” he asked, scanning the foyer for someone who fitted the mental picture he had of her. Just then, Tim Barton came in. He spotted Tyler and made a beeline for him.

  “She’ll be back soon. She’s just taken her granddaughter to the toilet.” Kelly saw his eyes widen at that. Tyler obviously hadn’t expected the little girl to be here. Well, she hadn’t expected it herself, if the truth were known. “I’m sorry, sir, we had to bring little April with us. Rita hasn’t got anyone she can leave her with.”

  “I appreciate that, Kelly,” Jack said irritably, “but this is not the place for a kid.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll stay out here with her while you and Tim take Rita inside.” Kelly had taken quite a shine to the cute little girl dressed in her Sunday best.