Authors: Sharon Bolton

Now You See Me (25 page)

BOOK: Now You See Me

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Tulloch was on her feet. âWhat were their names? The girls?' she asked.

Glances exchanged around the room. More than one man shrugged. Either the names of the victims hadn't been important enough to be remembered, or they'd been as helpful as they were prepared to be.

âThank you for your time, gentlemen,' said Tulloch. She left the room, followed by Anderson. The detective superintendent got up and switched off the recording equipment. In the incident room, someone reached up and turned off the screen.

âHey, Flint,' called Barrett, from across the room. âYour mate Emma Boston's turned up. Want to talk to her?'

I did. Anything to get out of that room.

âW
HAT'S GOING ON?' EMMA DEMANDED AS I WALKED through the door. âI've got a bloody story to write, I can't spend all day waiting for you lot to talk to me.'

The call Tom Barrett had taken upstairs had been to inform us that Emma Boston had returned home to get the message that we needed to see her urgently. Not wanting to miss out on anything interesting, she'd come straight down to the station. Her sunglasses were on the table in front of her and I was struck again by how lovely her eyes were. And how I might never now have the chance to ask her why she kept such beautiful eyes covered up.

âTell me where you were between eight o'clock and twelve noon on Monday morning, Emma,' I said. The light on the monitor wasn't switched on. I didn't think anyone was watching us but I still couldn't afford to be chummy. Certainly not with Joesbury back on my case.

She shrugged. âAt home.'

âCan anyone confirm that?'

âI might have popped out for a coffee. Why, what's happened?'

âLet's take turns to ask questions, Emma,' I said. âMe first. Now, where did you go for coffee, what time was it, who served you and who did you see in the coffee bar?'

I made notes while she talked. Emma was a good journalist, she noticed things; she gave me plenty of detail of her morning and the trip to Nero's. She shouldn't have too much trouble proving she'd
been nowhere near the Benn house when Charlotte was killed.

âWhy have you been trying to phone Charlotte Benn the last couple of days?' I asked.

Her eyes narrowed. âYou mean the woman who was murdered? I haven't.'

âHer daughter told us,' I said. âHer mother had several phone calls from you, asking to interview her about the Jones and Weston murders. Apparently, you were talking to several of the mothers from the school, trying to find out how they felt about the killings.'

Emma's creased face screwed up even further. âThat's bullshit,' she said. âSomeone was phoning Charlotte Benn? Pretending to be me?'

I knew Emma was telling the truth. Still had to go through the motions, though.

âAre you telling me you haven't tried to speak to Charlotte Benn?' I asked.

She shook her head. âNo way. I might have done, if I'd thought of it, but I didn't. Tell me what happened.'

For a moment it was difficult to talk. âStill my turn,' I said, when I'd pulled myself together. âI'm going to need your phone. And any you've got at home. I need to confirm they weren't used to call the Benn house.'

Emma sat back in her chair. âOh, you are kidding me. Again? How am I supposed to get anything done?'

âIf I were you,' I said, âI'd concentrate on staying out of harm's way. Can I have the phone, please?'

I put Emma's phone into an evidence bag and got up. âEmma,' I said, turning in the doorway. She looked up. âPlease be careful,' I added, as I left the room.

W
HEN I GOT BACK UPSTAIRS, THE INCIDENT ROOM WAS quieter. Several people had left; there was no sign of Tulloch, Anderson or Stenning. Joesbury was still on the phone.

âThe boss has ordered the five boys to be brought in,' Mizon told me. âThey don't all live in London, so it will take a while. And we've traced Karen Curtis, you know, mother of Thomas, the fifth member of the rowing team. She lives in Ealing. Stenning's on his way over there with one of the new recruits.'

âWhere's the boss?' I asked.

âShe and the sarge are still with DS Weaver.'

âStill can't see it,' said one of the older sergeants, whose voice was never pitched low and who now seemed determined that the whole room hear him. âTwo young Taffy girls get it a bit rougher than they bargained for and ten years later someone starts slicing up mothers? Gotta be coincidence.'

No one answered him. Three dead women seemed to be stretching coincidence for most people. Joesbury was talking into the phone again, but he was too far away for me to hear what he was saying.

âThose guys were ashamed of themselves,' said Mizon to me. âNone of them wanted to talk about it. They were defensive from the word go. I'll bet they pulled some serious muscle with the Cardiff force.'

We heard footsteps and saw Tulloch and Anderson making their way along the corridor. The door opened and they came in.

âI need somebody to get on to Cardiff,' Tulloch said. âFind out their version of events. We need to know who the girls were.'

âTheir name was Llewellyn,' said Joesbury, as we all turned to the corner of the room. He'd put the phone down. âThey were sisters,' he went on. âThe eldest had just turned sixteen, the younger one was fourteen. I spoke to the records clerk at Cardiff Central. She couldn't give me much, just that an accusation had been made and investigated. Two days later the girls withdrew their complaint.'

âWhich you might expect them to do if the accusation was spurious in the first place,' said Anderson.

âOr if enough pressure was applied by people they were scared of,' said Mizon.

âOur killer can't be a woman,' insisted Anderson. âWomen don't rape and they don't slice up other women. It's men who get up close and personal with a knife in their hands.'

Across the room, turquoise eyes fixed on me.

âCouple of other things you should all know,' said Joesbury, when he finally let himself blink. âThe alleged rape we've just heard about took place on Saturday 31 August. The date of Jack the Ripper's first murder. And the date someone got up close and personal with Geraldine Jones.'

âWhat else?' Tulloch asked.

âThe younger girl was called Cathy. The older one was Victoria.'

He waited for us all to think about it.

Tulloch pursed her lips and blew out a long, slow breath. âVictorian locations,' she said. âVictoria Park, Victoria House, the Victorian swimming pool.'

âGov, it still makes a bollocks of the whole Ripper business.' Anderson raised his voice and spoke directly to Joesbury over several heads. âUnless you're telling us that was just a giant smokescreen right from the start.'

Joesbury was watching me again. âOh, it was a bit more than that,' he said. âWhat do you think, Flint?'

âWhat are you talking about?' asked Tulloch as, around the room, eyes went from Joesbury to me and back again.

âLet's go back to the original murders,' he said, and it could
almost have been just the two of us in the room. âIn a place as densely populated as Whitechapel, how come nobody spotted a man covered in blood? Not once?'

âIt was dark,' someone offered.

Joesbury didn't even turn his head. âMore to the point,' he said, âhow come five streetwise prostitutes, more than accustomed to dealing with aggressive punters, allowed a bloke with a knife to get close enough to slice them open?'

âThey had to take risks,' said Mizon. âIf they didn't, they didn't eat.'

âNot long before Polly Nichols was killed, there were two violent murders in Whitechapel,' said Joesbury. âNothing to do with Jack, but I'll bet every working girl in the city was on her guard. After Polly, definitely after Annie, they'd all have been jumpy as crickets. Yet he managed to kill three more times. Silently and invisibly. You're our undisputed Ripper expert, Flint. How did he do that?'

âWhat has this got to do with Lacey?' asked Tulloch, stepping a bit closer to me and frowning at Joesbury.

âGood question,' he replied.

Tulloch turned to me again, saw the look on my face and took a small step back.

Joesbury, quite deliberately, had dropped me completely in it. Everyone was waiting for me to speak and now I had no choice but to tell them what I'd kept back so far. My own pet theory about who Jack the Ripper had been, exactly as I'd told my classmates all those years ago. My favourite character from history? Jack the Ripper, of course, because Jack kept his secret, right to the very end.

âWhat DI Joesbury is driving at,' I began, surprised at how calm my voice sounded, âis that Jack the Ripper was a woman.'

4 September, ten years earlier

T
YE HAMMOND IS COMING DOWN FROM A HIGH AND, WHEN that happens, he likes to sit on deck and watch the lights bounce across the river. Somehow, they always manage to soothe him, to make the transition from bliss to the pressing crush of real life a bit more bearable.

As he climbs the steps of the houseboat, he thinks perhaps he hears someone calling out his name. When he reaches the cockpit the boat rocks against its mooring. He isn't alone on deck.

âWhat's up?' he asks the fair-haired girl at the port stern. Her back is to him, she's clutching the guardrail. Her head twitches round, then back again, too fast to make eye contact.

âThe bow rope's been cut, ' she calls. âThis one's loose too. I can't catch hold of it. '

It takes a second for the words to sink in. Then Tye sees that the bow of the boat has swung away from its mooring. The current has caught hold of it and is pointing it directly downstream. Only the rope at the stern is keeping them against the bank now. Unsteady on his feet, he stumbles over to where Cathy is still reaching out for the cleat the boat had been tied up to.

Tye is taller than Cathy. He throws himself against the rail and leans over. His fingers brush the cold steel for a split second before the boat drifts too far away. The rope is still wrapped around the cleat but not tied. It's
slipping, only the friction of wet rope against steel is preventing the boat from spinning away at speed. He has to leap to the bank. Cathy can throw him the rope and he can catch the boat before the momentum gets too strong. He straddles the rail just as Cathy grasps hold of his leg.

âIt's too far,' she says. âYou'll go in.'

She's right. Already they're two metres away, three. But they have to go in. There's no engine on the boat, no way of steering or stopping it. They cannot be loose in the river, at night, without any means of controlling the boat.

âWe have to jump,' he says, taking hold of her arm. âWe're still close enough to swim.'

Cathy's eyes are wide and pale with fear. âThe others,' she says, looking down towards the cabin. âJen and Al are asleep. There's four people down below.'

âI'll get them,
'
he says. âYou jump.'

Tye turns his back on Cathy and heads for the hatch. Four people. He'd thought five. Jen and Al, Rob and Kit, and that new girl who pitched up a day or so ago. That made five, seven with him and Cathy. But Cathy thinks four and she's never wrong. He hears Cathy cry out behind him and spins round for a second to see her striding towards the bow. âWe're on fire,' she calls. âThe boat's on fire.'

The explosion throws him high into the air, burning into his skin, sucking all the air from his body. When he hits the river, it feels like a relief.

Part Four

Catharine

âThe most agonizing of the East End mysteries is that of the utter paralysis of energy and intelligence on the part of the police.'

Daily News
, 1 October 1888

Wednesday, 3 October

âT
HIS THEORY MIGHT SEEM A BIT WILD, BUT IT CERTAINLY isn't new,' I said. âIt was the inspector in charge of the original investigation, a chap called Frederick Abbeline, who first suggested that the Ripper might not actually be a man after all.'

âOn what grounds?' asked Tulloch.

I glanced over at Joesbury and said, âYou've just heard. When the whole of London was looking for a suspicious male, Abbeline couldn't understand how a man with bloodstained clothing could make his way around the streets without being spotted.'

Faces around me were a mixture of sceptical and interested. I decided I might as well sit down, I wasn't going anywhere in a hurry.

âAbbeline talked it over with colleagues,' I went on, as I perched on a desk. âThey came up with the mad-midwife theory. In later years it became known as the Jill-the-Ripper theory.'

Some small sounds that might have been titters.

âKeep going,' said Tulloch. All eyes were still on me. Sceptical or not, everyone wanted to hear what I had to say.

âThey asked themselves who could get up and go out in the middle of the night without arousing suspicion in their own households, ' I said. âWho wouldn't attract attention if seen walking the streets in the small hours.'

Heads were starting to nod. Across the room a phone rang.

âWho could even appear heavily bloodstained without anyone thinking it out of the ordinary,' I said. âThe answer they came up with was a midwife. Or an abortionist. Quite a few women were both.'

âA midwife would have the anatomical knowledge to locate things like the uterus, the kidneys and so on,' said Mizon. âBetter than a butcher, at any rate.'

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Joesbury leave the desk he'd been sitting at and approach the TV screen. The phone was still ringing. Tulloch signalled for someone to answer it.

âThat was also part of the argument,' I said to Mizon. âAnother thing being that if prostitutes were approached by a woman, especially one they knew to be a midwife, they wouldn't be alarmed. It would explain why no one heard a scream or a struggle. The women weren't scared until it was too late.'

âAnd it was common practice at the time for midwives to knock their patients unconscious by using pressure points,' said Joesbury, who'd switched the TV on and was flicking through the list of stored information. âA midwife who could do that wouldn't have much trouble subduing a tired, drunk prostitute,' he said. âCould explain how he, or she, got Elizabeth Stride on the ground.'

I hadn't realized quite how much reading Joesbury had done on Ripper lore. He'd stopped fiddling with the TV and was watching me again. âSeems to me women invariably get nervous if approached by a man they don't know,' he said. âCompletely different story if it's a woman. As a rule, women don't fear other women.'

âGeraldine Jones didn't scream or run the night she was killed,' said Barrett. âIf she had, Lacey would have heard her.'

âFlint, you've been banging on about a height discrepancy,' said Joesbury. âRemember, you pointed out that the chap we saw on CCTV escorting Amanda Weston into Victoria Park didn't look as tall as the one we chased out of it?'

I nodded.

âHere we go,' said Joesbury. âThis is what the camera on Grove Road picked up on Saturday 8 September, the day before Amanda Weston was killed.'

Joesbury pressed a button and we all watched the recording of a
busy London street on a Saturday afternoon. Two people walked into shot and along the pavement before turning into Victoria Park. The woman was wearing a brown coat with polka dots. We hadn't found the coat, but Daryl Weston had confirmed that his wife had owned one just like it. The woman's companion was dressed in black and was a little taller than she. Only a little.

âHow tall was Amanda Weston?' asked Tulloch.

âFive five,' replied Mizon, reading from some notes.

âWe need to compare this to the footage from the library,' said Tulloch. âSee if the heights are comparable.'

Joesbury was still looking at the picture of Amanda Weston and her killer that he'd frozen on the screen. âIn the meantime,' he said, âI can't see anything to suggest that isn't a woman with her.'

âIt is a woman,' I said. âOur killer is a woman.'

Everyone turned to me. âGo on,' said Tulloch.

âCharlotte Benn was being pestered by a woman claiming to be Emma Boston in the days leading up to her death,' I said. âIf Emma can prove it wasn't her â¦'

âI think we need her to prove it beyond any doubt,' said Tulloch. âEmma Boston has always been a bit close to this investigation for my liking.'

âShe will be able to prove it,' I said. âI've just spoken to her. She didn't make the phone calls and she didn't go to the Benns' house that morning. The killer was using her again. I know I'm right. It's a woman.'

âThat was Stenning,' called someone from across the room. âHe's stuck in traffic.'

âHang on,' said Anderson. âWe know Amanda Weston was raped. We found semen â Cooper's â on her body.'

âCooper was living with a woman,' said Tulloch. âOr at least he was according to that street bloke Lacey spoke to. A woman we still haven't managed to track down. If the two of them had sex, it would be a relatively simple matter for her to save a condom. The pathologist found traces of a spermicide, remember?'

Several heads nodded. We heard another phone ringing.

âWe don't know for certain Amanda Weston was raped,' said Mizon. âAt least, not in the usual sense. We just know someone
pushed a piece of wood up inside her. A woman could have done that.'

âBut why go for the mothers?' said Anderson. âThat makes no sense.'

Something tight inside me broke loose. âOh, you think?' I said, turning on him. âBecause it makes perfect sense to me. If you really pissed me off, and I was a bit of a psychopath, I wouldn't go for you, that would be too kind. I'd go for someone whose death would tear you apart. Your three-year-old daughter, maybe.'

âSteady on, Flint,' Anderson managed, as people around us started to look nervous.

âOr if you didn't have a daughter, maybe I'd go for that other relationship men always feel really protective about.'

âMothers,' said Tulloch, looking like she'd swallowed a peach stone.

âExactly,' I said. âIn fact, I can think of few better ways of getting your revenge on a man than by carving up his mother.'

âOK, OK.' Anderson was holding up both hands. âAll I'm saying is, it seems a bit extreme to me.'

âRape changes women,' I said, and waited to see if anyone wanted to hear what I had to say. Nobody turned away. âRape victims talk about themselves before and after the rape as though they were two different people.'

âWe know people are impacted by trauma,' said Anderson. âBut it doesn'tâ'

âI'm not talking about a period of depression or getting a bit edgy,' I said. âRape victims are very specific in the language they use. They talk about the rape killing the person they were and then having to get used to the new person they've become.'

âYes, but with allâ'

Tulloch put her hand on his arm. âGo on, Lacey,' she said.

âFor most of these women, their life after the rape is governed by fear,' I said. âThey become afraid of the dark, of being alone, of strange noises in the night, of meeting strangers, of crowds.'

âOf everything,' said Mizon.

âYes,' I said. âOnce a woman has been violently raped, the dominant force in her life, sometimes for years afterwards, becomes fear.' I stopped, suddenly having no real idea where I was going
with this. âSorry,' I went on, âI'm probably not making any sense.'

âYou're making perfect sense,' said Joesbury. âWhat you're not making is a connection.'

I looked at him and saw the connection. âWell,' I said. âWhat if, for one of these Llewellyn sisters, the dominant force in her life afterwards wasn't fear? What if it was rage?'

For a moment no one spoke.

âBoss,' called Barrett from the other side of the room. Tulloch looked up.

âPete and Joe are at Karen Curtis's house,' said Barrett. âLocal uniform were waiting for them. They can't get any reply and it looks like there's mail behind the door. What do you want them to do?'

Tulloch glanced over at Joesbury. He nodded.

âTell them to go in,' she said.

BOOK: Now You See Me

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