by Kit Tinsley
'And you believed her?' Graves asked.
Sam thumped Graves's desk.
'If you've forgotten, I've only got twelve days left to catch this bastard,' he said, annoyed. 'At this stage I'm pretty much willing to follow up on any information. Besides which, the woman in question lives in the old Swanson house.'
Graves was startled by the outburst, but nodded.
Sam ran his hands through his hair and pushed it back off his face. Graves was a good copper, and a good friend. He didn't deserve Sam taking his frustration out on him.
'I'm sorry, Sid.'
'It's alright, Sam,' Graves replied, dropping the formalities.
'No, it's not,' Sam said, patting Graves's shoulder. 'It's understandable, given all the stress I'm under, but it's not acceptable. I shouldn't be taking it out on you, or any of the other hardworking coppers in this nick.'
'What do you want me to do?' Graves asked.
Sam thought about it. He wanted to be the one to speak to Mrs Draper. He didn't think anyone else would take the job seriously enough, given how the information had come to him.
'I need you to get us some plain-clothes to bolster numbers,' Sam said. 'We need to put a watch on the woman who's meant to be the victim, just in case.'
Graves wrote this down on his pad.
'Any preference who?' he asked.
'There's a young constable named Branning,' he said, remembering her from the night before. 'She's a little wet behind the ears, but I think she's got potential. Then a couple of others. I'll leave it up to you.'
'Right,' Graves said.
Sam checked his pockets and found his own notebook. He flicked through it until he came to the pages he had scrawled whilst speaking to Helga Cranston the night before. He found her address, and copied it onto a scrap of paper that he handed to Graves.
'Then could you go to this address and keep an eye on the woman who lives there?' Sam said. 'Until I can send one of the plain-clothes to relieve you.'
'Sure thing, boss,' Graves said. 'Who is she?'
'The psychic,' Sam said. 'It's probably nothing, but if the Ripper is watching me like I think he is, then she could have put herself in danger.'
Sam was aware that Graves thought he was being paranoid and overcautious. It was written all over his face. To his credit though, he didn't question him. Just nodded and set about the tasks at hand.
Sam went to his office and got the change of clothes he kept in his cupboard for emergencies. He needed to shower. Then he had to go and tell a woman that she could be the next victim of a vicious monster who seemingly couldn't be stopped.
Outside the house the sky was filling with threatening clouds. They appeared to be coming in from all directions, strangling the sunlight as they joined together. Steven watched them through the central attic window as he hammered nails into its frame. He drove them deep into the wood, nail after nail, hoping it would stop the window from opening again.
When he was done, he stepped back to observe his handiwork. It wasn't pretty, but with the sheer amount of nails he had used he couldn't see it mysteriously opening again.
He headed downstairs and lay on the sofa. Rain fell outside and he closed his eyes and listened to its patter on the window. It was a relaxing sound that took him back to his youth, to rainy seaside trips to his parents’ caravan. He wanted days like those for Julia and his children, but did he deserve them after what he had done? He wasn't sure.
His tiredness and the effort of nailing the window shut caught up with him, and he soon drifted into a deep sleep.
The doorbell woke him some time later. Rain was still lashing the windows. He groggily got to his feet and rubbed his eyes. It was almost half eleven. He had only slept for an hour.
He went to the door. He searched the table for his key, his eyes still unwilling to focus properly.
'Is that you, Julia?' he called out. 'Did you forget your keys?'
There was no answer. He found his keys and unlocked the door. Shock snapped him out of his post-slumber daze when he saw Ariel standing on the doorstep.
'Guess who?'
She was dressed a little more conservatively than she had been at the hospital, but still there was always something about her that gave off the air of rampant sexuality. He knew her little secret. He was a surgeon, after all. Her surgeon had been an artist, and only a few little scars betrayed the truth to him. She was so beautiful. What did it matter if she had some work done? That had been what he thought when he first saw the scars. Now, though, he wanted her nowhere near him. He just wanted her out of his life.
'What are you doing here?'
'I told you last night. If you didn't call me, I'd call you,' she said, then winked. 'So here I am.'
Grabbing her arm, he pulled her into the house and slammed the door behind her.
'Oh, I love it when you're forceful,' she said, giggling.
He felt the heat of anger flush his cheeks.
'What if someone had seen you? What if Julia had been home?' he ranted. 'What the hell were you thinking?'
The corners of her mouth curved into a seductive grin, and she moved her hand up to her chest and undid the first button of her blouse.
'Actually, I was thinking about sex,' she whispered.
Steven moved away from her and ran his hand through his hair.
'Forget it, I'm not in the mood.'
There was pain in her eyes at his words, and for a fleeting second he took pity on her. After all, he had used her. What had happened between them had been as much his fault as hers. Perhaps she genuinely loved him. He couldn't love her though. His heart belonged to his wife and always would. He had to be strong though. He had to do this.
'You're never in the mood for me these days.’
'Just leave.’
Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared.
'Just leave?!' she yelled. 'Just fucking leave! You miserable shit.'
She ran at him, her fist raised. He grabbed her hand and stopped the blow from connecting. With her free hand she slapped him hard across the face. As she did, there was a banging sound above them like furniture being knocked over. He tried to decide if Ariel had heard it too. If she had though, she was choosing to ignore it.
She looked at him and reached her hand out and stroked the cheek where she had just slapped him.
'I'm sorry I hit you.’
He brushed her hand away.
'Forget about it,' he said. 'And please go.'
Her eyes filled with tears and her lip quivered.
'What's wrong? Is it me?' she pleaded.
Steven felt sorry for her. She had done nothing wrong. He was the one that had started an affair with her behind his wife's back. Ariel was at least as much a victim in this situation as Julia. He wiped the tears rolling down her cheek.
'No, It's my wife.'
'Is she ill again?' Ariel asked.
'I don't know,' he said honestly. 'All I know is that I love her.'
'And?' she asked.
Finally he had to say it. He had to let her know.
'And we should never have happened. I'm sorry. It's over.'
Her eyes widened and her mouth twisted. For the first time since he had met her, he saw how her beauty was a mask. The real Ariel was an angry, twisted animal.
'It's not over!' she shrieked in his face. 'You're going to pay for this. You're really going to pay!'
He had enough of her presence. Looking at her sickened him. She was a reminder of what he had done to Julia, and he never wanted to see her again.
'Get out!' he shouted at her.
She stormed over to the door and opened it. She began to leave but then turned back to him.
'Fuck you!' she shouted. 'And fuck your crazy bitch of a wife!'
She slammed the door as she left with such force that Steven actually feared it would come off its hinges.
At last. It was done. She had reacted as he had thought that she would. He prayed that her ranting about him paying had just
been idle threats.
He walked over to the stairs and sat on the bottom step. He put his head in his hands. Footsteps on the stairs stirred him. Julia had been home and heard the whole thing. It was her that had been throwing things around upstairs out of anger at him. Now his marriage would be over as well.
'Julia, did you hear everything?'
There was no one there. He had expected to see his heartbroken wife, but the stairs were empty.
A gentle, warm breeze enveloped him. He felt it soothing his heart. Tender fingers and a smooth palm slowly stroked his cheek. The hand could not be seen, but it was there, the feel of it was too real, and painfully familiar.
'Helen?' he whispered. 'Is that you?'
The hand brushed his cheek again, answering his question.
'I've missed you so much,' he said to the empty stairs.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When they left Helga's home, Wendy had called a few contacts in an attempt to find where Rob Swanson now lived. On the second call she got an address. Luckily he was still in the county, otherwise Julia didn't know what they would have done.
He had moved into a house in a small village on the edge of the Wolds. Lincolnshire's only real hills loomed in the distance as Wendy drove them there.
Julia's mind was preoccupied with the thought that the Lincoln Ripper was coming for her. She did not understand why. Why her? It made no sense. As far as she could see, the only link she had to the killer was living in the same house as his first victim. She didn't think that the killer made a habit of killing in the same locations, so what had brought their worlds together?
The houses on Rob Swanson's road were all beautiful, vine-covered cottages. Wendy pulled up outside number 18 Oak Drive. She turned off the ignition and Julia jumped out of the car. She was heading for the gate when Wendy called to her.
'Wait!' her friend called out.
Wendy had hung back near the car. She waved for Julia to come back. Annoyed, Julia walked back to her.
'What's wrong?' she asked.
Wendy looked at her in disbelief.
'Do you have any idea what you're going to say to him?'
Julia hadn't even thought about that. She had been so intent on getting here to get answers that she had forgotten to think of any questions.
'Not really, no.’
'Come here then,' Wendy said, grabbing her arm and leading her towards the bus shelter across the road. Once inside, Julia looked around at the inevitable graffiti in the shelter.
'What are we doing here?' she asked.
'Coming up with a plan,' Wendy said. 'You can't just walk in there and say "Hi, your dead wife is haunting my house. Oh and by the way are you a serial killer?" can we?'
Julia thought about it. Of course Wendy was right. They wished to get information from Rob, not have him think they were crazy.
'How well do you know him?' she asked Wendy.
'I met him a couple of times,' she said.
'What's he like?'
'About six feet tall. Black hair, blue eyes, not bad looking, but nothing special.'
Julia shook her head.
'I meant is he a nice guy?' she asked.
'He always seemed it to me.’
'Here's how we play it: You do the old acquaintance in the area routine.'
'How did I get his address?' Wendy asked.
Julia felt the pressure of annoyance building behind her eyes.
'Off a friend, do I have to think of every…'
She trailed off as she looked over the road. Standing at the gate she had been about to approach was a man who fitted perfectly the description Wendy had given of Rob Swanson. He was engaged in a seemingly pleasant conversation with a postman. Despite his smile, though, Julia could see a heartbreaking sadness in his eyes.
She pointed in his direction.
'Is that him?' she asked.
Wendy looked in the direction she was pointing.
'That's him.'
'That's how you found him then.'
Wendy frowned.
'I just pulled up outside his house, got out of my car with a friend, went over to a bus stop for no reason, spotted him across the street and came running over. What a coincidence.'
'Yes,' Julia said, grabbing Wendy's arm and leading her out of the bus shelter. Wendy was attempting to resist for a few moments, but Julia's determination was too much and she soon yielded to her.
They crossed the street and approached the gate. As they arrived, both men were laughing as though one had just told the other a joke. Neither noticed the two women until they were standing in front of them. Rob looked at them, still smiling, but clearly confused by their presence.
'Can I help you?' he said in a gentle voice.
Julia nudged Wendy who stepped forward and held out her hand.
'Rob?' she said. 'Rob Swanson? We met a few years ago. My name's Wendy Mead.'
He regarded her as though he recognised her, but was not entirely sure where from. Then he smiled more broadly, and Julia could see the penny drop.
'The model, right?'
'Yes, that's right,' Wendy said. 'I just saw you from across the street and thought I would come over and say hi.'
The postman nodded at Rob and carried on with his round.
'It must be, what, six years?' Rob said.
'At least,' Wendy agreed. 'Maybe even seven.'
Julia felt like a spare wheel in the conversation and loudly cleared her throat to get Wendy's attention. Wendy suddenly remembered that she was there and looked embarrassed.
'Oh, sorry. Rob Swanson, this is my good friend Julia Draper.'
Rob offered his hand and Julia shook it.
'Pleased to meet you,' Julia said.
'Likewise,' he raised an eyebrow and continued. 'You're notthe Julia Draper, the artist, are you?'
Julia felt her heart stop in her chest for a split second. She wanted to run and hide. How could he have known who she was unless he was the killer?
'You've heard of me?' she asked, astonished.
His lips curled into a smile, but sadness clouded his eyes.
'My wife was a big fan of your work,' referring to Helen as his late wife still obviously caused him pain. Perhaps he was innocent after all.
'I actually have two of your paintings inside,' he continued. 'Would you like to come in and see them?'
Wendy nodded at her.
'Sure,' Julia said.
Rob opened the gate and ushered them inside.
Sam felt an unnerving sense of déjà vu as he pulled into the driveway of the Draper house. He vividly remembered his first visit to the house, six long years ago.
At that point he had only just made the rank of Detective Chief Inspector. At thirty-one a lot of people considered him far too young to be awarded the rank, and far too young to be given such a prominent case.
A glowing recommendation from his old mentor, Jon Pearce of Darton, had got him the rank. Pure bad luck had been what got him the case.
After Helen Swanson's body had been discovered when her husband returned from his business trip abroad, he had called the police. The uniformed officers who responded first to that call saw that it was a case for CID. Sam had been the one to answer the call. He had been the one in the office. If he hadn't taken that call, if he had just sneaked off for a coffee, someone else would now be saddled with the Ripper.
However, the case was his. He had participated in several murder cases prior to Helen Swanson, but nothing could have prepared him for the carnage the Ripper had left behind.
In many ways, Sam believed he had walked into that attic that first night as a naive young man, still full of hope and faith in mankind. A part of him had died in the attic that night. Part of his innocence had curled up dead next to Helen Swanson's poor, mangled corpse.
He shuddered as he looked up at the attic.
There were two cars parked in the driveway. A young woman was opening the door of one of the cars.
He swung the car
and parked next to her. He opened the window.
'Mrs Draper?' he asked to her back.
'As if,' she said through gritted teeth. 'Her husband's inside.'
There was something familiar about her voice.
'Thank you, Miss..?' he asked.
As she turned to look at him, he saw that it was Ariel, the young woman who had given him her number the night before. Three days in a row they had come into contact with each other. Her eyes were red and streaked with tears.
'Ariel?' What's wrong?'
She looked at him.
'Have you ever thought about how many mistakes you've made in your life?' she said, still crying.
'More than you could know,' he replied stepping out of the car.
'Do you ever make the same mistake over and over again? Even though the truth is so fucking obvious?'
He put an arm around her shoulders. What had her so upset?
'It's called being human.’
'I never wanted to be like this, you know,' she stared into the distance as she spoke. 'I was happy with who I was, but things change and you have to roll with the punches, right?'
He did not know how to respond.
'I don't understand what you mean.'
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I have to leave. Call me.'
She broke away from his embrace and jumped into her car. He watched as she pulled away and left the driveway.
Sam felt a churning in his gut. One thing he hated was to see a woman hurt or upset. He felt his anger rise as he moved towards the door.
The interior of Rob Swanson's house was pleasant and well decorated, but Julia couldn't help but feel that it felt a little sparse. Men were always like that when they lived alone. They only bothered with the essentials, and a few personal touches, whereas women tended to want to make every part of their home a representation of them. It was why Steven had always left decor decisions to her. He simply couldn't see what was needed.
Rob had directed them to the sofa. Her paintings hung on the wall directly opposite them. Julia felt pride at her work being displayed so prominently in someone else's home.
The first painting was a landscape, depicting rolling hills and a ruined castle. The brush strokes, the colours, and the way she played with light and shadow were all typical of her style. The second one was a far stranger example. It showed a group of revelers in 1920's style dress around a dinner table. It was an older piece, one she hadn't seen herself since she was in art school. It was beautiful, but not her. It came from a time before she had found her own style, her own voice as an artist.