Authors: Sharon Bolton
Now You See Me (15 page)
F
ORTY MINUTES LATER, WE CROSSED TOWER BRIDGE. Joesbury hadn't even bothered putting music on. Each time we stopped, he drummed his fingertips against the steering wheel until we moved on again. By the time we reached Aldgate and turned east along the Whitechapel Road it was driving me crazy.
ORTY MINUTES LATER, WE CROSSED TOWER BRIDGE. Joesbury hadn't even bothered putting music on. Each time we stopped, he drummed his fingertips against the steering wheel until we moved on again. By the time we reached Aldgate and turned east along the Whitechapel Road it was driving me crazy.
At one point we stopped in traffic and I heard him muttering something under his breath. When I turned, he was looking out of his side window. The traffic started to move. I looked back as we drove away. Nothing I could see. Just a pub, the Victoria. Nothing else.
We crossed the canal and entered the park through the easternmost of the Crown Gates. Almost immediately we were waved down by a park keeper. Joesbury showed his warrant card and asked directions to the boat shed. The park keeper agreed to have someone meet us there and we drove on.
Victoria Park was the city's first public park, opened in the mid nineteenth century after a local member of parliament presented a petition to Queen Victoria. Regent's Canal lies to the west, while the Hertford Union Canal runs along its southern edge. The Grove Road cuts through the middle. The larger, eastern section that we were driving through has the sports facilities.
âDo you know this park?' asked Joesbury, as we spotted buildings ahead of us and slowed down.
I didn't want to talk. If I opened my mouth, there was no guarantee of what was going to come out. âA bit,' I said, and then, for no reason I could think of, âThere are bluebells in April.'
âWe'll bring a picnic. Familiar with the sheds?'
âWhy would I be?'
Joesbury shrugged with one shoulder. âYou seem to have a thing about sheds,' he said.
We circled round the back of the children's play area and drove past a wild enclosure. Two deer, startled by the car, sped away from us. Then we stopped and Joesbury jumped out. I followed.
Joesbury was scanning the distance, as though someone might be watching us. The boat shed was just a few metres away. It was a small, yellow-brick building, with a red and grey tiled roof and blue paintwork. No windows, just shutters. Another park keeper appeared and we waited for him to approach.
âRemind me where Geraldine Jones died,' Joesbury said.
âThe Brendon Estate.'
âName of the block?'
âVictoria House, why ⦠oh God.'
âPenny dropped, has it?'
âForest Hill pool,' I said. âIt's a Victorian building.'
âVictorian venues for a Victorian-style killer,' said Joesbury. âIt's quite cute in its way.'
As the park keeper drew close, I noticed that the boating lake was a concrete-lined, perfectly symmetrical oval. The water was low and dirty, probably being drained for the winter.
âWhen was the shed last opened?' Joesbury asked when we'd both shown our warrant cards and explained why we were here.
The park keeper glanced towards the blue wooden door. âWeek ago,' he said. âMaybe ten days. We store the boats in there over the winter.'
âCan you open it, please?' asked Joesbury.
The park keeper looked worried but didn't argue. He produced a set of keys from his jacket pocket and walked over to the door. I stepped up to the shutter that covered one window and pressed my face up close. The man who'd called me at Lewisham had mentioned a smell and flies. I couldn't smell anything and there wasn't an insect in sight.
Close by, the park keeper wasn't having much luck. I watched him try one more key, then give up and shake his head. Joesbury sucked in his bottom lip, caught my eye and walked back to his car.
He opened the boot and a second later I heard the clanging of metal. He emerged with a large pair of pliers in his hand. Back at the door, he pushed them into the curved handle on the padlock and pulled them open. The lock sprang apart.
Plenty of airborne insects now.
As the doors opened, the park keeper and I both stepped back to avoid them. Joesbury didn't flinch.
âWait here, please, sir,' he told the park keeper, before beckoning me forward. I drew level with Joesbury and knew that if I stayed still I might not be able to start walking again. So I stepped inside first.
I was vaguely aware of Joesbury leaning to switch on the lights before I swayed backwards. Joesbury stepped up and caught me by the shoulders. I could feel his breath against my neck.
âJesus wept,' he said.
W
HEN THE BODY OF ANNIE CHAPMAN WAS FOUND, ON 8 September 1888, the sun hadn't come up. What few streetlights there were in the Victorian district of Spitalfields couldn't have reached the small, narrow yard behind 29 Hanbury Street. The walls surrounding the yard and the nearby buildings would have been tall. As John Davis, an elderly porter, stepped out of his lodgings that morning on his way to work, the darkness would have been close to impenetrable.
HEN THE BODY OF ANNIE CHAPMAN WAS FOUND, ON 8 September 1888, the sun hadn't come up. What few streetlights there were in the Victorian district of Spitalfields couldn't have reached the small, narrow yard behind 29 Hanbury Street. The walls surrounding the yard and the nearby buildings would have been tall. As John Davis, an elderly porter, stepped out of his lodgings that morning on his way to work, the darkness would have been close to impenetrable.
Joesbury and I weren't so lucky. Fluorescent strip lighting running along the ceiling of the boat shed saw to that.
I think John Davis must have known, that morning, that something wasn't right. I think the human race has enough left of its animal instincts to sense the presence of great evil. He reported later that he hadn't slept well the previous night. When I picture him, he is coming out of the house slowly, something inside him whispering to take great care.
I think he would have known what he was about to find, even as he stood on the back steps. Maybe he smelled something, although I doubt it. The East End was rank with the stench of slaughter-houses and poor sewerage. Perhaps he heard Annie's last cry. Maybe he even heard the sound of the Ripper's footsteps, hurrying away down the passage.
Joesbury and I had known, before we entered this shed, that what we were about to find would change us.
Back in 1888, the Ripper took Annie by the neck and half strangled her, before forcing her to the ground. Kneeling behind her head, he cut her throat so deeply he almost severed her head. Then he leaned forward, pulled up her skirts to expose her abdomen and hacked at it. He cut away pieces of skin, pulled out organs and connective tissue, leaving them strung across her body. The uterus he removed completely. He pulled up her legs, expecting to do more, no doubt, but had been disturbed, quite possibly by our friend John Davis opening the back door of the house.
I think Annie would have been conscious for most of the attack. The strangulation disabled but didn't kill her. I think she would have felt the knife in her throat, have known the panic of being unable to scream. I think she would have lain on the cold, hard flags or wet mud of Hanbury Yard, experiencing the sort of pain the rest of us can only pray we never know, waiting for the darkness in her head to grow and knowing that when her eyes closed, it would be for ever.
Standing in the boat shed, with Joesbury's hands on my shoulders, wondering how I could go on living as I did before, I realized Annie had had it easy. Because even when it comes to murder, all things are relative.
Annie's death would have been quick. It probably hadn't been much more than fifteen or twenty minutes from the first attack to her last breath. She wouldn't have seen it coming.
This woman's death hadn't been quick. This woman had been stripped naked and bound to a work bench in the middle of the shed, the one on which boat repairs would normally be carried out. Her arms had been pulled down beneath the bench and bound at the wrists. Duct tape held her to the table at her neck, beneath her breasts and across her pelvic bone. This woman's killer had incapacitated his victim to give himself time.
Annie hadn't had time to scream. If she had, someone in the house would have heard her. No one did.
This woman had been gagged. A bloodstained cloth had been stuffed into her mouth and more duct tape held it in place. This woman had been expected to scream.
âLacey, are you OK?' someone was asking me. I let my head fall and brought it up again. I hadn't screamed, fainted or thrown up.
That must mean I was OK. My shoulders became cooler and I watched Joesbury move up towards the woman's head and look down at her face.
That must mean I was OK. My shoulders became cooler and I watched Joesbury move up towards the woman's head and look down at her face.
Her eyes were open, turning milky. I saw movement in the corner of one and realized maggots had hatched already. Flies were buzzing around her nose too and her ears, they always go for the orifices first. And the wounds. They love the smell and taste of blood.
Annie Chapman's chest had been untouched. Her clothes had protected her, her killer had had so little time.
This woman's killer had had plenty of time. Her breasts had been cut a dozen or more times. Shallow, narrow incisions, made with a sharp knife. She'd bled a lot. Her chest and the shed floor beneath her were blood-soaked. She'd bled, so she'd been alive. Her right nipple had been sliced in two.
I'd crossed my own arms in front of me, hugging myself, protecting my own chest. Joesbury glanced at me and moved down the body. The damage to her chest wasn't the worst thing we were looking at.
Almost the worst was her abdomen, where the flesh had been so hacked about and pulled apart I couldn't be sure what I was looking at. Pools of black gore were glistening on the shed floor, but nothing seemed to bear any relation to what normally lives inside a woman. And the colours were so bright. The clotted blood so very red, the fat globules a soft creamy yellow and the flies, sparkling blue and black like gems. Even that wasn't the worst.
Back in 1888, Annie Chapman's legs were drawn up until her feet were together and then her knees splayed apart, revealing her genitalia. It could have been a pose, meant to shock those who found her. It could have been in preparation for what the Ripper had planned next before running out of time.
Our Ripper had had plenty of time.
Most women, once they reach their mid twenties, will have had at least one cervical examination. We lie on an examination table, our legs drawn back so that our knees are broadly level with our chest. Sometimes our feet are held in stirrups; other times, we're asked to splay our knees. This woman looked almost like a patient waiting for an internal examination. Except that no doctor I've ever
come across would use duct tape, wrapping above and below the knee, to bend the leg double and hold it in place. This woman would have been unable to move, unable even to scream, when the two-foot-long piece of wood was rammed inside her.
come across would use duct tape, wrapping above and below the knee, to bend the leg double and hold it in place. This woman would have been unable to move, unable even to scream, when the two-foot-long piece of wood was rammed inside her.
Joesbury was looking down at the piece of wood now. I looked too. Three inches from the point at which it emerged from her body five letters had been carved into it.
ANNIE.
âOh, I think we get the point, mate,' muttered Joesbury. He ran a hand over his face and swallowed hard.
O
N 8 SEPTEMBER 1888, JOHN DAVIS RAN IMMEDIATELY FOR help, stopping two passers-by and sending for a constable. A little over a hundred years later, Mark Joesbury steered me out of the shed and spoke to DI Tulloch on his mobile phone. Then he used the car radio to summon local uniform.
N 8 SEPTEMBER 1888, JOHN DAVIS RAN IMMEDIATELY FOR help, stopping two passers-by and sending for a constable. A little over a hundred years later, Mark Joesbury steered me out of the shed and spoke to DI Tulloch on his mobile phone. Then he used the car radio to summon local uniform.
Someone, I think it might even have been our friend John, pulled Annie's skirts down to give her some element of privacy. Joesbury sent the park keeper to find another padlock. When it arrived, he locked and bolted the boat-shed door.
Already, news of what was happening had spread. Other park workers were approaching, and several members of the public. So far I'd done nothing. I'd leaned against Joesbury's car and watched events unfold. I had to get a grip.
When I asked him what he wanted me to do, Joesbury told me to stand guard at the shed door and make sure no one approached. I watched as first one and then a second patrol car arrived. Joesbury positioned officers at four points of the compass, protecting the site, and even roped some of the park keepers in to help. Gradually, more and more uniformed officers arrived and I was relieved of my post. Unsure what to do, I went to sit in Joesbury's car. I watched the inner cordon being set up around the shed and the first of the local CID detectives go inside. This murder, like the previous one, would be investigated by the Lewisham MIT, but we would need to keep Tower Hamlets CID informed.
A silver Mercedes parked on the grass and Tulloch stepped out. Joesbury met her before she'd gone more than a few paces. He put one hand on her shoulder, made her stop walking; she looked up at him and nodded her head, telling him she was OK. They talked for a few seconds longer, then the two of them looked over at me and seemed to be arguing. If they were, I had the impression he'd won. Tulloch said a few more words to him before she strode towards the shed. Then Joesbury grabbed Stenning and came my way.
âHow you doing?' he asked, when he was close enough.
âI'm fine,' I replied.
âUp to taking a walk?'
I got out of the car, expecting to be sent on an errand. âWhere?' I asked.
âJust round about,' he said, not taking his eyes off me. âKeep looking at me. I want you to go a bit beyond the outer cordon, as though you're getting some air.'
The outer cordon was being set up beyond the boating lake, keeping people at a distance.
âThere's a good chance our friend will still be here. Don't look round. He'll be watching events unfold. He'll be very keen to see you. You have a walk around and Stenning and I will keep a very close eye on anyone who seems a bit too interested in you.'
It took a second to sink in. âI'm bait?'
âLacey, we'll be seconds away,' said Stenning. âIf anyone gets within shouting distance, we'll have 'em.'
âGoes without saying,' said Joesbury. âI should also point out that this is not a directive, only if you feel up to it, and that DI Tulloch has informed me that if anything happens to you she will personally cut off my balls and feed them to the pigeons outside Southwark Cathedral.'
I almost smiled at that. âWell, that sounds like something I should see,' I said.
Stenning patted me on the shoulder and then he and Joesbury walked away. A few seconds later I couldn't see either of them. I dropped my head forward and rubbed the back of my neck. With a bit of luck, anyone watching would think I was stiff from sitting too long in the car. Then I walked across the asphalt, round the lake and towards the onlookers who had gathered at the outer cordon.
âExcuse me,' I muttered and stepped through. Without looking back, I walked past the children's playground, following the line of blue-painted metal railings. I left the asphalt and took a mud track over a small, grassed hill. To my left I could see sports pitches and, beyond the park, a massive pink tower block. There were trees planted over the hill I was climbing, but not too many for me to worry about anyone lurking.
A large black crow hopped in front of me and it didn't feel like a good omen.
Daylight was fading fast now and the sky had turned that lovely deep turquoise so typical of autumn evenings. It's an odd time of day, I always think, no longer day, not yet night, a strange half-time when the world you know can â shift.
I realized my world had just shifted big time.
Back at the lake, the boat shed was lit up like a circus. The police surgeon was just arriving. I saw other people I knew milling about and knew that because of the lights they wouldn't be able to see me. To all intents and purposes, I'd become invisible.
Unfortunately for my peace of mind, so had Joesbury and Stenning, and I just had to hope they knew what they were doing. Because, otherwise, I was on my own, a couple of hundred metres from anyone, in a rapidly darkening park and at the mercy of someone who might like to take his time over slaughtering women, but who could act pretty quickly when he needed to.
I carried on walking, to the crest of the hill and down the other side, before crossing the path and drawing close to a small lake. I could no longer see anything of the activity on the other side of the children's play area. I still couldn't see my two minders either. If they left me on my own out here then when it came to cutting off balls, DI Tulloch could get in line.
Above my head a three-quarter moon was shining and the first stars were beginning to appear. Shrubs had been planted around the lake's perimeter and I decided to make my way round to the other side. It wouldn't be as safe as staying in the open, but it probably had to be done. While I was safe, he wouldn't come near.
The lake was reflecting the last of the sunset and the ripples around the reeds were a soft, deep pink. Bronze-coloured beech leaves drifted across the surface like tiny boats. The noise of the city
never quite disappears in London, but in the midst of a large park it fades until it becomes little more than a background hum, like insects on a summer's day. Parks in London offer the closest thing to peace and quiet in a big city. I watched a leaf skimming the surface of the water and thought I'd rarely felt less peaceful in my life.
never quite disappears in London, but in the midst of a large park it fades until it becomes little more than a background hum, like insects on a summer's day. Parks in London offer the closest thing to peace and quiet in a big city. I watched a leaf skimming the surface of the water and thought I'd rarely felt less peaceful in my life.
The darkness was coming fast now and shadows were slinking across the grass towards me. The sounds of the investigation seemed to be a very long way away. I'd reached the edge of the lake. A sudden scrabbling, then a high-pitched call of alarm made me jump, but it was only a duck startled from its hiding place among the reeds. I watched her race towards the opposite bank and the ripples she'd left behind drifted towards me like whispers.
Damn Joesbury. Wasn't it enough that I'd seen what this monster did to other women? Did I really have to walk round carrying a neon âpick me next' sign?
The gentle thwack of a tennis ball being bounced. And I suddenly became aware of the hairs on the back of my neck. We'd reached the time of night when the park would normally close. My colleagues back at the crime scene would be persuading people to leave. No one could be playing tennis. And the courts were too far away.
Something struck me square between the shoulder blades.
What left my mouth was more of a terrified yelp than a scream. I doubt it would have carried. I jumped round. No one there. I was spinning on the spot. Nothing. No one anywhere near me. But five feet away, nestling in some dandelion leaves, was a yellow tennis ball. I turned in the direction from which it must have come. And saw him.
A man, slender enough to be a boy. We stared at each other. He was about a hundred metres away, too far for me to make out his face, so I couldn't be sure it was Samuel Cooper, but everything I could see seemed to fit. He was white and in his mid to late twenties, fair â of complexion and hair colour â rather than dark. He was also tall and I remembered reading that Cooper was close to six foot. He wore skateboarding clothes: baggy jeans trailing to the ground, a loose dark jacket with coloured symbols and a tight-fitting beanie hat. The tennis racket was still in his right hand.
Then he was off, racing like a fox across the grass, darting behind
bushes, heading for one of the side gates, and Joesbury was on his tail.
bushes, heading for one of the side gates, and Joesbury was on his tail.
Joesbury was older than Cooper, but he was stronger and clearly fitter. The gap between them was narrowing. I heard more running footsteps and turned to see Pete Stenning speeding towards me, shouting into his radio as he went.
âYou OK?' he gasped as he got close.
I'd been watching the two dark figures, could barely see them any more.
âI'm fine,' I said. âGet after them.'
Stenning was panting, bending over to catch his breath. âGuv'nor said I had to stay with you,' he said.
He and I looked at each other for a second and then we were both running across the grass. We couldn't see Joesbury or the man he was chasing, but we knew where they'd gone. Stenning was taller than me and no doubt faster, but he'd already sprinted across the grass to get to me. Besides, he'd been told to stick close, so we ran together, across the football pitches, to the edge of the park.
There was no gate at this point, just a blue-painted barrier to stop children running too quickly towards the nearby roads. We dodged round it and found ourselves on a small side road. Cars were parked along one edge. No sign of Joesbury or his prey.
âWe should split up,' I said.
âNo fucking way.'
With no clue which way to go, we jogged forward to a street of red-brick Victorian houses. Queen's Gate Villas. There were several pedestrians, a cyclist went past us faster than the traffic. No one we recognized. We waited as footsteps behind told us that colleagues, alerted by Stenning's radio call, had come to join us. On his radio, we could hear that others had left the park at different gates and were heading our way, hoping to cut our suspect off. We heard Joesbury's voice giving instructions. It didn't sound hopeful. After a few minutes, we saw Joesbury himself appear on a large, grassed area at the other side of the road. He shook his head at us and then dodged his way through the cars until he reached us.
âLost the bastard,' he said. Then he bent over and spat in the gutter.
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