“No, that won’t do at all,” Porter snapped.
The pressure of the situation was obviously getting to the Divisional Commander; either that or he really was so under the thumb that he was genuinely terrified of upsetting his wife.
Tyler took a deep breath and spoke slowly. “Sir, this is very important. Apart from Miller, you are the only person, and more importantly, the only police officer, to have spoken to the killer. We need to debrief you properly.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Porter sighed melodramatically. “I understand, really I do, but I can’t let my wife down.” There was a pause, and Tyler could picture Porter sitting there feeling conflicted, checking his watch anxiously. “If I hurry, I can type a holding statement and e-mail it across. I’ll put the signed original in a sealed envelope and leave it with the station officer for one of your lot to collect. I’m at the Yard all day tomorrow for a Borough Commander’s meeting, but I’ll write a more detailed account first thing on Monday morning. I’m sure that will be satisfactory.”
It wasn’t at all satisfactory, but there was no point in making a fuss; not when he was powerless to do anything about it. “Very well,” Tyler conceded, “but I’ll be sending someone over to debrief you properly first thing on Monday morning.”
“Of course,”Porter said, sounding relieved. “Look, I’m sorry if I seem a bit edgy, but that call was extremely disturbing.”
“I understand that,” Jack said, “but what’s even more disturbing is that the killer has just announced his intention to strike again.”
Porter immediately became ultra-defensive. “I hope you’re not suggesting it will be my fault if he kills again?”
“No, I’m, not,” Tyler said with forced calmness. He should have left it at that, he knew, but Porter needed to understand how difficult his attempt to impress the public with his hard man act had made Jack’s job. “However, I do think your remarks today were ill-considered and inflammatory, and I do think you have antagonised him unnecessarily, which will undoubtedly put us under even more pressure.”
There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the line. “How dare you suggest that,” Porter shouted, losing his cool.
Jerking the receiver away from his ear, Jack realised that he’d hit a nerve. Good, he thought.
“My comments were considered and appropriate,” Porter continued, angrily, “and if you have any issue with anything I said, I suggest you go through proper channels and address your concerns to your superior.”
“Don’t worry,” Tyler assured him. “I will. In the meantime, can you give me a contact number where I can reach you over the weekend if anything comes up?”
“My contact details are in the Divisional Book One,” Porter snapped, reminding Tyler of a petulant child. “If you want them, you can get them from the Station Officer.” Without a further word, he hung up.
For a moment, Tyler stared at the handset in disbelief. “What a cock,” he said, dialling Holland’s number. His boss needed to know about the call Porter had just received and the implications that came with it.
◆◆◆
The Disciple had created something of a dilemma for himself by deviating from his original plan, which had been to make one sacrifice during the first week, and two in each of the second and third weeks. Unfortunately, his little spree of taking three in a week had put the Yard under such intense pressure that it was now having to commit resources at an alarming rate. As of Monday, police patrols in Whitechapel would quadruple, making it far too risky to venture out next week. That left him with a simple choice: snatch his fourth victim before the patrols kicked in or go dormant for a couple of months and wait for life to return to normal. The problem with that latter option was that it required him to continue living a suffocating lie. He hated pretending to be someone he wasn’t and showing subservience to the third bitch responsible for ruining his life, and he genuinely didn’t think he could pull that act off for much longer. In the end, the decision proved simple. He already had commitments this evening, but he would go hunting again tomorrow night.
◆◆◆
How did you get on?” Dillon asked, passing Jack a can of Seven-Up and a soggy paper bag containing fish and chips. He had just returned from a trip to the local chippie to get them some much-needed food. When he’d left, Jack had been about to start phoning around to try and muster some additional uniform patrols for the coming night.
Tyler grimaced. “I spoke to George Chambers, but he reckons the Late Turn relief at HT paraded under minimum strength today, and there’s a stack of outstanding emergency calls that need to be answered. It’s the same story at all the surrounding divisions. In short, the cupboard’s empty.”
“I’m not surprised,” Dillon said, sagging into a chair opposite Tyler. “We can’t realistically expect them to abandon their core business on the off chance that our killer might strike again.” Yawning, he arched his back and stretched expansively, reminding Tyler of a cartoon bear awakening after its winter slumber. Yawn over, he began tearing open his food in a manner that would have done a grisly proud.
This was, Dillon realised, the first time he’d eaten since breakfast and he was suddenly famished. It had been a particularly gruelling day. He’d arrived at Poplar mortuary at eleven-thirty. After a cup of cheap instant coffee, provided by the ever bubbly and undeniably attractive Emma Drew, and the customary small talk about football, TV shows and who-was-shagging-who according to the gossip columns, he’d delivered a detailed briefing to the pathologist. That done, they all descended from the tiny first-floor office and crossed to the mortuary, where they donned their greens in Trigene scented silence. Dillon had then been forced to watch on as two human
