“Yeah, right,” Dillon sneered, contemptuously. “So, why does he think she would go crying to Sarah Pritchard about him and make something like that up?”
“Steve told me he sees himself as the victim of a malicious allegation, which has been made out of spite because he refused to start paying them double when they decided to up their prices.”
“What a fucking sleazebag,” Dillon said, shaking his head in disgust. “Why is he saying they put their prices up?”
“He reckons that when the Ripper murders started, the girls got together and told him he would have to double their money if he wanted to keep playing his sordid little games with them. They called it danger money.”
“What, so they suddenly felt threatened by him? Why, did he start upping his levels of aggression towards them?”
Jack shook his head. “Not according to Boyden. He claims they just sensed a business opportunity, and when he wouldn’t go along with it, they decided to ruin his life. He blames them; he blames us. The one person he won’t attribute any blame to is himself.”
“What did this reptile say about his movements during the nights of the murders?”
Jack checked his notes. “He said he was home asleep with his wife.”
“That should be easy enough to check,” Dillon said. “Who’s taking a statement from her?”
Jack’s face clouded. “I lumbered poor little Kelly with that,” he said, guiltily.
Dillon grimaced. He didn’t envy her that task one little bit. “I bet she’s gonna really thank you for that.”
There was a knock on the door and Chris Deakin popped his head in. “Sorry to disturb you, boss, but Terry Grier is on the line asking for you.”
They followed Deakin through to the MIR and Jack picked up the phone lying on Deakin’s desk. “Hello, Terry. Have you got a result for me yet?” He listened carefully for a few seconds, digesting what he’d been told, and then he thanked Grier for letting him know and told the youngster to get back as quickly as he could. Hanging up, Tyler turned to find everyone in the MIR staring at him expectantly.
“Well?” Dillon demanded, impatiently.
“The fingerprints aren’t his,” Jack told them, feeling numb.
◆◆◆
After receiving the bad news from Terry Grier, Jack sent everyone home. “Get some sleep,” he told them wearily. “We’ve still got a lot of work to do before this case is over, and unless we get some rest, we won’t be able to function properly.”
Disheartened, he’d hardly said a word to Dillon during the drive home. He was beginning to wonder if they would ever catch the fiend. They had never caught the original Ripper, after all, and Peter Sutcliffe’s reign as the Yorkshire Ripper had lasted for five whole years. His capture, when it eventually came, had been something of a fluke. A routine patrol had stopped to check out two people sitting in a parked car; the driver was Sutcliffe and his passenger was a twenty-four-year-old prostitute called Olivia. One of the officers, a probationer, had carried out a PNC check on the vehicle, which revealed that it was on false plates. Sutcliffe was duly arrested for this and taken to Dewsbury police station, where he was questioned in relation to the Yorkshire Ripper murders because it was felt that he matched many of the killer’s known physical characteristics. On the afternoon of 4th January 1981, following two days of intensive questioning, Sutcliffe had declared that he was the Yorkshire Ripper and had gone on to provide detailed accounts of all the attacks he’d carried out between 1969 and 1981. Tyler wondered how long the monster they were hunting would remain at large, and if he’d be caught out so innocuously.
When he got home, Tyler threw his clothes on the floor and staggered into bed, where he immediately fell into a deep sleep.
CHAPTER 32
Tuesday 9th November 1999
When the alarm went off, seemingly only seconds after he had fallen asleep, Tyler stared at his clock in bleary-eyed confusion. Surely it couldn’t be six-thirty a.m. already?
Unfortunately, it was.
Jack felt physically sick as he stood up. His head was throbbing like he had a hangover and his body ached like he’d had a kicking. He wondered if he was coming down with something or just dehydrated. He greedily gulped down the pint of water that he’d taken up to bed but had been too tired to drink, and then dragged himself through to the en-suite bathroom, where he showered and shaved. He dressed in a trance-like state and then trudged downstairs to make coffee. He wasn’t remotely hungry, but he forced down a bowl of Sugar Puffs and two slices of peanut buttered toast.
Thankfully, for once, Dillon had the good grace not to be his usual annoying self during the long drive into work, and they had made the journey in companionable silence.
“Why can’t every morning be like that?” Jack made the mistake of asking as they ascended the stairs into Arbour Square.
Dillon stopped in his tracks. “Charming!” he said. “I make the effort to get up extra early so I can drive all the way to yours and chauffer you into work because I know how delicate you are in the morning, and what do I get as thanks? Insults, that’s what. I can’t help it if I like mornings and you don’t. It’s the best time of the –”
Tyler turned on him and made a stop sign with his hand. “Don’t say it!” he warned. “Just don’t say it.”
“– day,” Dillon said, defiantly.
“I told you not to say it,” Tyler growled, and the bickering started.
◆◆◆
The mood in the office was flat, and everyone seemed subdued as they waited for the eight o’clock meeting to commence. Almost everyone looked tired enough to drop, and one or two of
