For most of the team, the weekend was one to remember for solving one of the most challenging homicide investigations the Metropolitan Police Service had been faced with in a very long time.
The van had contained Pritchard’s murder kit, including the lambskin parchment and a thick notebook explaining how he planned to kill his victims and consume their organs. It also contained a lot of information about Alice Pilkington, who he referred to as The Infector; Geraldine Rye, who he referred to as The Blackmailer, and Sarah Pritchard, his wife, who he referred to as The Controller. Finally, they understood his motive.
At the hospital, a set of keys had been found in one of Pritchard’s coat pockets, and the fob had the address for a lockup at a railway arch in Three Colts Lane written on it. That morning, DS Susan Sergeant had obtained a search warrant for the venue, and had taken a POLSA team over to pull it apart. The initial results were staggering. They found the missing underwear from each of the killer’s first four victims hidden in a duffle bag. They found traces of blood in an old chest freezer – no doubt this would match Geraldine Rye’s. They discovered make-up props and a variety of disguises, including a long wig, a droopy moustache and a pair of George Harrison style glasses.
The lock up was steeped in mysticism; ranging from an inverted crucifix hanging over the door to a chalk-drawn circle containing a pentagon and a host of symbols that no one understood. There were also some very interesting occult books on ritualistic sacrifices. It would take some time to go through all the evidence the lockup contained, but Susie was confident this little hoard would solve any remaining gaps in the mystery behind the killer’s motivation, and provide a clear link between him and each of his victims.
At the mortuary, a dead set of his fingerprints and a sample of his DNA had been taken, and these would be sent to the Yard and the FSS respectively, but it was only a formality now. Lastly, to no one’s surprise, Pritchard’s name had been on the list that Chris Deakin had prepared of people using the ATM in Whitechapel.
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For Sarah Pritchard, it was the day that her husband, the monster – a psychotic serial killer who had dubbed himself ‘Jack the New Ripper’ – died.
Pritchard had never recovered consciousness. Upon arrival at the Royal London Hospital, he had undergone a CT scan and been rushed straight into theatre. In spite of the best efforts of the neurological surgeon and his highly specialised team, Pritchard expired on the table.
Sarah had been kept in due to her injuries, and when she had awoken after being operated on to repair her shoulder, the first thing she saw was Charise sitting at her bedside, filing her nails and eating the last of the grapes that she had brought up for Sarah.
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For Terri Miller, it was a day where record numbers of the London Echo were sold, all thanks to her exclusive story about the New Ripper. His capture, and subsequent demise created an overwhelming demand for her to do more TV and radio interviews – and not just news bulletins this time; there were even offers to appear on morning talk shows and breakfast TV.
From her perspective, things couldn’t have gone any better – she was suddenly a household name and an important reporter for the paper. There had already been a couple of calls from rival rags, to sound her out in case she was interested in taking a position with them. Giles Deakin, being the wily old sod that he was, had offered to make Julie Payne a permanent staffer, but only if she was going to be working with Terri.
It was amazing how much influence she suddenly had, and even the piss takers who ran her down at every opportunity were suddenly treading warily around her now, sensing that the wind had changed.
Even her father, who never praised anyone but himself, had called to say how proud he was of what she had achieved. “You get that determination to succeed from me,” he’d had the gall to tell her.
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For Rita Phillips, it was the day that she received a telephone call informing her that the man who had murdered her daughter had finally been identified, and that he had died at the hands of a woman he was trying to murder. The evidence against him, she was assured, was overwhelming.
Rita was delighted to hear that justice had been done – not just for Tracey, but for all the victims and their families – although a part of her felt cheated at not getting the chance to see the vile creature responsible for her baby’s death stand trial before his peers and receive a life sentence in prison when he was properly convicted by a jury of twelve.
Her sense of relief was, of course, massively tempered by the staggering loss that she felt all day, every day. She would never forget her daughter, and she would never stop loving her. She only wished that she could have told Tracey these things on the fateful night that she had stormed out of the flat, never to return.
Despite the great sense of loss she had felt since Tracey’s passing, Rita felt incredibly blessed to have been granted such a special relationship with her granddaughter, little April. She vowed that the child’s life would always be filled with deep, unconditional love, and that she would do everything within her power to ensure that the angelic little girl followed a very different path to poor Tracey. The two of them would get through this together. They would start their journey with a surprise trip to the shops later this morning, where Rita planned to buy her a Belle doll from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast.
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For Colin and Carmel Franklin, the weekend was one they would remember forever for reasons completely
