“I’m alright, Terri. I just tripped over something in the dark.” Julie sounded embarrassed but unharmed.
“Stay there and turn the torch on,” Terri instructed.
Julie realised that she had landed in something wet. She rubbed her fingers together. Yuck! They were sticky. “What the hell…?” Sitting up, Julie turned the torch on, shining it over her palm.
It was red.
Julie directed the flashlight beam across the hall floor to find the object that had tripped her. What she saw would haunt her for the rest of her life. At first, she simply couldn’t take it in.
Staring in wild-eyed shock from her blood-covered hand to the dead body beside her, Julie began to scream, and scream and scream.
Chapter 21
Jack Tyler had just started briefing the photographer when his mobile rang.
“Excuse me,” he said, undoing the paper suit and reaching into his jacket for the phone. The photographer nodded understandingly and began to snap away. Tyler glanced down at his unfinished case notes, grimacing. They would have to wait, too. He answered the phone with an impatient sigh. “Hello…”
“Sir, DC Murray speaking –”
Tyler blinked as the photographer’s flash caught him off guard. “Who?”
“DC Kevin Murray, sir, from Mr Quinlan’s team.”
“Oh, right. What is it, Kevin? I’m busy.”
“I’m in the incident room, boss. Thought you’d want to know straight away, there’s been another one.”
“Yes, I know. I’m already at the scene,” Tyler said, impatiently.
“No! I mean there’s been another one on top of that!”
“What?”
Tyler’s features darkened as he listened to Murray’s update; by the end of the call, he was in a dangerously foul mood.
Damn reporters!
He stormed out of the inner cordon and stripped off his protective oversuit. He looked around in anger, quickly locating the four people he needed. Firstly, he dragged Charlie White away from the conversation he was having with the HAT crew who had responded to the initial call-out, and handed control of the scene over to him, giving the surprised Scotsman the quickest briefing he had ever delivered. Then he set off to find the others.
Nick Bartholomew was leaning against the side of a squad car when he spotted Tyler striding towards him. The look on the boss’s face was thunderous. “Sir?” he said pensively, hoping it wasn’t his fault that Tyler was so pissed.
“How far is Hanbury Street from here, Nick?” Jack asked.
“Not far, sir. I know the way if –”
“Good. Come with me,” Tyler said, and headed towards one of the Vauxhall Astra pool cars.
“Someone’s in for it,” Bartholomew observed as he moved into Tyler’s slipstream.
Tyler made a small detour to where Dillon and Flowers were quizzing the uniforms who had been first to arrive on scene. “That’ll have to wait,” he said. “I need your help, so hop to it.”
Kelly hastily took contact numbers from the bemused uniformed officers and told them she would be in touch before the end of their shift. “What’s the matter with the boss?” she asked Dillon once they were alone.
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Dillon said, wondering the same thing.
As soon as they were all inside the car it sped off, the diesel engine clunking like the ditch pig it was. Bartholomew sat in front, navigating.
“Where’s the fire, guys?” Dillon asked casually.
Bartholomew stayed silent.
“Another girl’s been found dead in Hanbury Street,” Jack explained, gripping the wheel harder as his anger fermented. “That’s where we’re going now. Kevin Murray just phoned me. Some prat of a reporter called Terry Miller found the body. He works for that new rag, The London Echo, and he’s been withholding this information since 5 a.m.”
“I don’t follow, sir,” Kelly said.
“At five a.m. this morning this twat, Miller, received a phone call from the killer, telling him where to find the body.”
“Do what?” Dillon exclaimed, sitting forward.
“Oh yeah, and not only does the fuck-wit withhold the information, he swans off down to the scene to check it out for himself.” Tyler shook his head incredulously. The more he thought about the dumb antics of the reporter, the more wound up he became.
Dillon said, “You’re saying the killer phoned this reporter up and told him about the murder over two and a half hours ago?”
“That’s the way Murray tells it, Dill.”
“Surely, no reporter would be that stupid?” Bartholomew ventured.
“Don’t you believe it,” Kelly said with the cynicism of one who knows better.
“If this idiot reporter’s had the scene to himself for a couple of hours, Nick, I dread to think what damage he’s done,” Tyler said.
“The whole thing could be contaminated beyond salvage,” Dillon pointed out.
“I’ll charge the bastard for obstruction if he’s done that, Dill. I’ll throw the bloody book at him,” Tyler promised through gritted teeth.
Hanbury Street runs in an east to west zigzagging direction off Commercial Street. Nick directed Jack via Brick Lane, so when they reached the junction with Hanbury Street they encountered two huge ‘no entry’ signs. “I thought you knew this area?” Jack growled. He switched the headlights on and drove on, ignoring the signs.
“Sorry, boss, I forgot it was a one-way street,” Nick said. He sounded crestfallen. Driving the RT car, with blue lights and siren on, he wouldn’t have hesitated to take this route if it was necessary, but going through a no entry sign in an unmarked Astra, with no flashing lights or audible warning system, was extremely risky.
“Don’t worry, mate,” Dillon said, checking his seat belt worked. “We’re only going one way.”
Jack drove straight past Truman Brewery without giving it a second glance. Before the large building had been erected in 1970, a row of houses had occupied the site, including number twenty-nine Hanbury Street, where Annie Chapman’s body had been left by Jack the Ripper in September 1888.
The Astra pulled up outside the derelict house a few moments later. An RT car, roof light still flashing, had already arrived. The driver was talking to two women, one of whom had a camera hanging from her neck. Both women looked badly shaken. The RT operator was standing grim-faced
