by Kit Tinsley
Julia went silent.
'What's the matter?' Wendy said, concern in her voice. Her earlier-imagined horror crept back into her mind.
She saw the door slowly open and Julia stepped out. She looked as though all colour had drained from her face. Small tears stained her cheeks.
'What is it?' Wendy asked.
Julia handed her the photo. As she expected, it showed Julia standing in the living room. What she did not expect were the random assortment of marks made out of the purple smoke-like substance. There was a cloud of it covering Julia's crotch, and another covering each breast. A thin sliver of the smoke lay across her neck. And finally it had formed a cross on her forehead.
Wendy had heard descriptions of the mutilations that the Ripper inflicted on his victims from her ex-boyfriend, the policeman. She knew that the marks on the photograph directly corresponded to the awful things he did to them.
She looked at Julia.
'What does it mean?' she asked.
Julia took the photo back off her and looked at it again. She began to cry. She threw the photograph on the floor.
'I think it means I'm next,' she sobbed.
Wendy rushed over and held her as she cried.
Sam led Helga back out to the front entrance of the police station. He held the door open for her and she stepped outside. The night air had cooled off and he wished he had put his jacket back on.
'Thank you for coming in, Helga,' Sam said, shaking her hand again. 'I will be sure to follow up on the information you've given me.'
'I hope it's of some use to you, Detective Fluting,' she said. 'Although, don't thank me. Thank Helen Swanson.'
Sam couldn't help himself; he laughed a little.
'Perhaps you could do that for me?'
She was looking at him, regarding him as though taking in every detail.
'I sense that you're a skeptic, Detective,' she said. 'Though I know you will still follow this up.'
'Goodnight, Helga.’
'Goodnight, Detective,' she said before heading towards the car park.
Sam looked around. He couldn't help but feel he was being watched. Perhaps it was all the talk of ghosts, but he did not believe so. It was something he had been feeling a lot lately.
He was becoming more convinced by the day that the Ripper was keeping tabs on him. After all, he was sure that the killer was trying to taunt him. The Ripper had become his obsession. It had destroyed his family. Yet, Sam couldn't shake the idea that perhaps the Ripper was equally obsessed with him. It was as if the killer saw it all as a game. Sam was his opponent. The Ripper desperately wanted to prove his intellectual superiority over Sam. What would happen when Reed took the case off him? Would the Ripper see this as a victory, or would he be angered that his opponent had been stolen from him?
If the Ripper was watching, had he just put Helga in danger by being seen out here with her? It was a slim possibility, but one that he did not want to risk. He ran down the steps and followed her.
'Helga! Wait!' he called.
She turned and stopped waiting for him to reach her. He closed the rest of the distance with a jog, rather than a sprint.
'What is it, Detective?' she asked as he reached her.
'I don't want to alarm you, but there is a slight chance that by coming to see me you've exposed yourself to the Ripper's attention.’
'Oh, I doubt that,' she said. 'Besides, I'm pretty sure I would see him coming.'
Sam wondered how she was so certain she would be able to spot the Ripper.
She tapped her temple, to remind him of the gift she believed she possessed.
'Still, it's a risk I'm not going to take. I'm going to have someone keep an eye on you, for your own protection.'
'That is sweet of you.’
Sam walked her to her car and then jogged back into the station. Branning greeted him.
'So, was she a loony then?' she asked.
'I honestly don't know,' he replied.
'You don't really believe in all that stuff do you, sir?'
'As I said, there have been good results from using psychics,' Sam said. 'Some of what she said about Helen Swanson was spot on.'
Branning looked confused. Sam realised that he had become so wrapped up in the details of the case that he tended to forget other people didn't know as much as he did.
'Sorry, Helen Swanson was the Ripper's first victim,' he explained. 'Mrs Cranston said that she came to her during a séance, showed her all of these things about her death and the killer. She can only remember snatches of it, but she was sure that Helen knew her killer.'
Branning rolled her eyes.
'But she doesn't remember who it was? That's useful.'
'She mentioned Helen's husband, Rob Swanson, and her younger brother, Philip Travers.'
'She thought it was one of them?' Branning asked.
'She said maybe,' Sam said. 'But, Rob Swanson was out of the country when she died. He has an airtight alibi.'
Branning leant forward. It was clear she was fascinated with the case. Sam thought her attentiveness was a good sign. This one would make a decent detective one day if she wanted. You could not help open up to her.
'What about the brother?' she asked.
Sam sighed. The entire issue of Philip Travers had been a nightmare for him from the beginning. It was one of the cases that had taken up far too much time and manpower in the early days of the investigation. All of the bureaucracy that came with trying to get files from overseas law enforcement had been a thorn in his side.
'He vanished ten years before she died. He was a rotten apple though, that's for sure. In trouble all of his life. Even a suspect in a murder when he was fifteen. They never got it to stick though. He went to Holland when he was sixteen and no one heard from him after that.'
'What do they think happened to him?' she asked.
'The Dutch police have a file on him up to when he was eighteen,' Sam said. 'He was involved in some shady business over there, drugs, blackmail and prostitution. There was a fire at a gay club in Amsterdam. Several bodies inside were too far gone to be identified. Witnesses placed Philip Travers at the scene shortly before the fire, and he was declared dead.'
Branning had watched him as he spoke, nodding along and keeping her eyes fixed on his.
'The psychic was way off then?'
'Maybe,' Sam replied. 'She says that Helen told her who the next victim would be. I want to check that out in the morning.'
Branning smiled. Sam could tell she still didn't put much faith in the words of a psychic. A rational mind was a wonderful thing for a police officer to have, but Sam had learned long ago that so was not ruling anything else out.
'Who does she say it will be?' Branning asked.
Sam looked at the name written in his notebook.
'An artist called Julia Draper,' he said reading aloud. 'She lives in the old Swanson house.'
Branning frowned.
'That doesn't fit, he never returns to the scene of a previous murder, does he?'
Sam was impressed. She had obviously been keeping up with the details of the case. When he looked at Branning he saw a hunger in her eyes that he recognised. It was the same kind of hunger he had once had, the hunger which had led him to rise so fast through the ranks. Some people who joined the police were happy to remain in uniform for their entire career. Branning, he could see, was not one of these. She wanted to get as far as she could.
'No,' Sam said, shaking his head. 'But his latest victim didn't fit his pattern either. He's always left them in their homes. The last one was murdered and left on the common, for no apparent reason.'
Branning considered this.
'What does it mean?'
'I don't know,' Sam said. 'I hope that it means he's getting sloppy. Because that's when I'll be there to catch him.'
Steven stretched as he got out of his car outside the house. It had been a long night, and it had taken its toll on him physically. Julia's car was in the dri
ve, but Wendy's was gone. This was unusual as it was rare for Wendy to be up by nine in the morning, let alone dressed and home. Inside the house, he found the place quiet. He put his keys on the table and stood in the hallway.
'Julia?' he called out.
There was no reply.
'Julia?' he called out louder, thinking she could be back in the studio. Still no reply came. He went into the dining room. Candles standing in the centre of the table. All blown out. Next to them was a sheet of paper. A note from Julia.
Gone to Wendy's for the night, be back late afternoon. There's food in the fridge.
Love
J.
Her voice said the words in his mind as he read. He set the note down. In many ways, he was glad they had gone to Wendy's. A night away from the house might clear her head of these silly haunting ideas.
There was a loud scraping sound above him, as if in response to his skepticism. Despite himself, Steven felt a prickle of fear across the back of his neck.
It sounded like someone was dragging furniture around somewhere upstairs.
He raced out of the room and up the stairs. He ran to their bedroom. It was directly above the dining room. Nothing was amiss, and no one was in there
Loud banging came from above. He darted to the second staircase and climbed them in a sprint. As he threw the door open, the incessant thuds ceased instantly.
The room looked just as it had the last time he was up there. Even the window was shut. He turned to walk away, but a fluttering noise stopped him. It was coming from the darkroom. He walked slowly over to the door and opened it. A pigeon flew out and hit him in the face before flying up to the roof.
'Fuck it!'
He walked to the centre window and pushed the sash up, feeling the cool, morning breeze enter the attic as he did. He wondered why he had chosen that window. It wasn't even the closest to the darkroom.
He grabbed a sweeping brush that was propped against the wall and swatted at the bird. It circled the room in blind panic several times before spotting the open window. It flew out and Steven rushed over and closed the window behind it, locking it tight.
His forehead was stinging. He put a hand to it and felt damp. Looking at his hand, he saw the blood. The bloody pigeon had cut his head with its beak or claws. Perfect he thought, trying to remember when he had his last tetanus shot. God only knew what bacteria the bird had been carrying. As far as he cared they were little more than winged rats, disease-spreading vermin.
He went over to the stack of boxes in the corner of the room. He was fairly certain that Julia kept a first aid kit with her art supplies, in case she cut herself. Something about this troubled him. It never had before her breakdown. Prior to that, if she had mentioned cutting herself, he would have automatically assumed she had meant in an accident in the studio. Nowadays, though, he pictured her self-harming, alone in front of a blank canvas. He shook the disturbing image from his mind and continued looking for the first aid kit.
He leafed through the contents of the nearest open box, and soon realised it was a pointless endeavour. These were the few boxes that Julia had packed herself. Of course, when it came to Julia, packing was basically emptying draws into a box without sorting through things.
He felt something brush against the nape of his neck like a cool breeze. The tiny hairs there rose in response. In a reflex reaction, a shiver went down his spine.
He heard a slow creaking sound. He spun in the direction it came from. The window was slowly lifting itself open.
It was too much for him. He ran from the room.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Helga was glad of the distraction when the doorbell went. There was something about the young woman who had come to see her that she didn't like. She couldn't put her finger on it. She had attempted to get the woman, who called herself Jasmine, to shake hands, but she had ignored the offer completely. In Helga's book that was enough for her to take an instant dislike to the woman, but it was more than that; her aura was dark. She had only ever seen auras like that on people who were terminally ill. The blackness of whatever cancer was eating them up inside was reflected in their ethereal manifestation. Jasmine didn't seem sick though.
Helga excused herself and went to answer the door. It came as no surprise to her when she opened it and saw Wendy and her friend Julia standing on her doorstep.
'You're early,' Helga said.
Julia walked in without an invitation. Helga would normally have found this incredibly rude, but considering everything the poor woman was going through, she could forgive her.
'I need to speak to you right now,' she said.
Helga nodded and led them into her parlour, the place where she saw all of her clients. The young woman looked up as the three of them entered into the room. At first she looked nervous, then angry, and finally confused.
'I'm sorry, my dear, but this is an emergency,' Helga said. 'Could you come back tomorrow?'
Julia crossed the room and sat down. She was clearly stressed as she rested her head in her hand. She barely registered the young woman.
Jasmine got to her feet belligerently.
'But I've paid for today,' her voice full of annoyance.
'And tomorrow will be free,' Helga said.
The woman tutted loudly. She grabbed her handbag and stormed off, virtually knocking Wendy over as she barged past her. The door slammed as she left.
'Delightful,' Wendy said.
Helga looked puzzled.
'I get the feeling Iwillsee her again,' she said.
Julia looked up.
'Tell us what Helen really showed you last night.’
'What do you mean?' Helga asked.
'I could tell you were keeping something from me. What was it?'
Helga saw that Julia was at breaking point. She guessed that she had little or no sleep. She deserved answers. Even if they would cause her more stress.
Helga sat down opposite her and took her hands.
'I was less than honest with you last night,' she admitted 'I just didn't want to worry you.'
'She told you I was next, didn't she?' Julia asked.
Helga was shocked. How did she know that? Had Detective Fluting gone to see her already?
She nodded.
'How did you know?'
Julia pulled something out of her pocket and handed it to her. Helga put her glasses on and examined it, a photograph of Julia. The mysterious smoke she had painted had formed in strange patterns across her body. Helga recognised them as being the same as the terrible wounds she had seen inflicted on Helen Swanson in her vision.
'My God,' was all she could say.
'Did she tell you who the killer was?' Julia demanded.
'No,' Helga said. 'I swear to God I have no idea who did it.'
'What about when it would happen?'
Helga felt awful that she could not give this poor woman the answers she needed.
'No, she didn't say when,' she said. 'All she told me was that you were next, and I had to warn Detective Fluting.'
Wendy crossed the room and took Julia’s hand.
'Is that the Sam Fluting you mentioned last night?' Wendy asked her.
'Yes. It's his case,' Helga explained. 'I went to see him as soon as I left your house last night, and informed him what I knew. He said he would come and see you.'
'I guess we should go back to your place and wait for him then?' Wendy said to Julia.
Julia shook her head and got to her feet.
'No, I'm not going to sit around and wait for this to happen. Let's go and see Rob Swanson, see if he knows anything.'
Helga thought this was a bad idea. Although the spirit had not told her that her husband had been the killer, neither had she said he wasn't. As far as Helga could see, this still made Rob Swanson a suspect. What if it was her meddling that drove poor Julia into the killer's path?
'Please, Julia, leave this to the police. Don't put yourself in more danger.'
Julia laughed.<
br />
'I'm the next victim of one of the most notorious serial killers this country has ever seen,' she said. 'How much more danger could I be in?'
Helga felt helpless as she saw the tears run from Julia's eyes. Wendy hugged her friend.
'You know him, don't you? Rob Swanson?' Julia asked.
'I met him a few times.’
Helga knew what she could do. She got up and crossed to the large display cabinet on the other side of the room. She opened the glass door and fumbled through the clutter inside. She cursed herself for never getting around to sorting it out. Finally she located what she was trying to find.
She walked back to Julia and Wendy. Julia had stopped crying and was wiping her eyes. Helga took her hand and handed her the velvet bag she was carrying.
'What's this?' Julia said.
'It's a gift for you. For your protection.'
Julia wiped her eyes.
'What is it? An amulet to protect me from evil spirits?'
Helga knew she was joking, but saw the look of shock on her face when she pulled out the small ceremonial dagger.
'No, dear,' Helga said. 'This will protect you from the living.
Sam had spent the rest of the night sleeping on a sofa in the family interview room. Though not as comfortable as his own bed, it was a damn sight more comfortable than his car had been. He sat up, and felt that his hangover had finally gone. He was refreshed, for the first time in days.
He got himself a coffee from the vending machine in the canteen and then went to his office. It was attached to the Ripper incident room. Graves was already at his desk. He nodded as Sam entered the room.
'You look better today, sir,' he said. 'Go home last night, did we?'
'Briefly, spent most of the night here. Had a psychic come in with some information about the case.'
Graves’s expression questioned whether he was being serious or not.
'I swear to God,' Sam said. 'This woman came in claiming that Helen Swanson's ghost had told her who the next victim would be.'