* * *
The middle-aged Asian woman who answered the door of what had been Ross’ family home in Bermondsey was the same one as the first time Ross had come here. That had been months ago, during the Losley case. The woman seemed to recognize her, but then looked suspiciously at Costain beside her.
‘I’m afraid we need another look upstairs,’ she said. ‘Police business. Nothing you need to worry about, but we’d really appreciate it. My colleague is a detective sergeant.’
Costain showed her his warrant card.
As she had last time, the lady took the offered documents inside and called the station to check they were who they said they were. She and Costain waited, looking at each other. She’d refused to tell him where they were going, in a teasing way, as if it was going to be something pleasant. By now he must surely have realized why they were here, that this was going to be much more business than pleasure. He was already looking tense and awkward.
The woman opened the front door once more, let them in and told Ross she knew the way by now.
This was only the second time Ross had been back to the house where she’d grown up. The look and smell of it filled her senses, reminding her of her childhood and how it had been taken from her. At least these days it didn’t set off her allergies. She led Costain to the top floor without a word. There was the door where she’d looked through the crack to see Dad hanging there, seemingly having hung himself, but actually, as she’d spent so long proving, having been murdered by his own brother. She opened the door and this time walked straight in.
‘So this is the place?’ It was only a few streets away from where Costain had worked for Dad’s murderer, Rob Toshack. He still looked awkward. It was good that she’d taken him out of his comfort zone. Now he surely knew what he was in for, yet he was still here. He must really want whatever he wanted.
‘Yeah.’ She stepped into the middle of the room, under the ceiling rose, and looked up. ‘Dad?’
There was a moment when nothing happened. Ross feared, and kind of hoped, guiltily, that perhaps this time he wouldn’t be here. But that would result in even more fear, wouldn’t it? Because then she’d never know what had happened to him.
Then colours that weren’t like any she’d ever seen started to unfurl in strange waves from the ceiling, and with them came the stench, the smell that came pouring down on them, the air feeling heavy with it, settling onto her shoulders, getting into her hair.
The ceiling opened and he burst downwards on the end of his noose with a cry, his eyes finding hers as he fell, his legs flailing, his hands trying and failing to hold on to the rope around his neck. For reasons he had never explained, he could only appear in the room where he’d died, so she could only ever see him again here. That beloved face. So terrible to see it in pain. So wonderful to see it animated with something that could be called life. Terrible and wonderful were still, for Ross, mixed up together in this room.
‘Girl,’ he said, his voice cracking on the rope, staring at her. ‘It’s been so long. Why didn’t you come sooner?’ She hadn’t expected that. She felt absurdly guilty to have someone else here to hear that. But now Alf was looking across at Costain, startled. ‘What’s he doing here?’
‘He’s-’
‘You’re telling me that you and him-?’
Costain could only stare. He’d taken a couple of steps backwards, Ross realized. He was now almost flat against the wall. He’d put a hand up to cover his nose and mouth. His expression was terrified.
Ross quickly turned back to her father. ‘We’re not here about that.’
‘I know you work with him, I keep an eye on you. But you know he was one of Rob’s men-’
‘Yeah. He was undercover-’
‘But he really was one of Rob’s men. Rob was like a dad to him. You haven’t seen him — I have, girl.’
‘I’ve heard the tapes-’
‘You haven’t heard everything.’ Her father had actually started to cry. ‘Don’t trust him, girl.’
‘She doesn’t!’ That had come from Costain, a shout from behind his hand.
She didn’t know how to deal with all this. This wasn’t what she’d come here for. ‘Dad, I came here to ask about the case we’re on-’
‘The Ripper. I know, I watch you. You don’t come to see me, but I see you.’
‘Do you know anything about what it is?’
‘I can see any bit of London I want to. You can see everything from up here. They like us to see what we’re missing. But I don’t have no bloody way of watching out for something when I don’t know what I’m looking for, do I? I follow you. I follow you too, boy! But I don’t see every time someone’s murdered.’
‘So-’
‘But don’t you go thinking I’m useless and leave me alone here! It’s all up here! What’s that they say, “Hell is other people”? The things I can’t tell you! Don’t you know, boy? You’ve had a glimpse of it.’
Costain closed his eyes and appeared to be controlling his breathing, didn’t seem able to reply.
‘What do you mean, Dad?’
‘I’m saying I’ve seen Jack the Ripper. But up here. And when all this started to be something you were looking into, I checked out all the echoes of him down there and all. And this ain’t nothing to do with him. This is something new.’ Alf looked over his shoulder suddenly, and the tone of his voice changed into a high growl of pleading. ‘They let you have a bit of hope. This is me getting my hope. They let me see you. But then there’s more pain, and you can’t stand it in the end — your brain just switches off and then you wake up in here again, ready to have it all crushed out of you again…’ He was crying again, actually wailing. She was too, she realized, a low noise in her throat to match his.
‘I’m working on it, Dad. I’m trying to get you out.’
‘Hope again. You’re part of it!’ His face contorted as if he regretted saying that more than anything. ‘No, I didn’t mean that! Come and see me soon. Please!’ Then he looked over his shoulder again, and started to scream abuse at something that was coming. He had been found out, she understood. ‘Let me stay with her! Please! It’s the only joy I-!’
Something hugely powerful heaved him back into the ceiling, all in one sudden and terrible movement. With a slam and the stench bursting again into the room, the ceiling closed.
‘Dad!’ Ross shouted helplessly after him. ‘Dad!’ She stopped herself. He wasn’t coming back. Not this time. Now she knew that every time she came here she was contributing to his torture. That was why they, whoever they were, had let him talk to her. But now he’d been caught, she doubted he’d be allowed to give her any help that went against their cause. She allowed herself to shoulder the burden of having hurt him. She would not cry. Not here. She had tried to save him when he was first hanging here in this room, and she would save him again. She was doing something towards that goal. She would not let anything stop her.
She turned slowly to look at the person who might stand in her way.
Costain was shaking, a hand still over his mouth. He saw she was looking at him. After a moment, he composed himself enough to say something. ‘That smell…’
She had thought about what this would do to him. She knew it would remind him of his own time in Hell. But she had thought that, beyond that, it would show him exactly what her dad was going through. A darker thought came to her. Maybe it wasn’t that she’d hoped to persuade him to let her keep the object that could free her father. Maybe it was that she’d wanted to demonstrate why she’d do anything to keep it. Now he knew what he was dealing with.
She went to him and calmly took his hands in hers. ‘Do you see now?’
He nodded. He licked his lips. His eyes met hers. ‘I want to help.’
‘I know you do.’ Though she really didn’t.
‘He’s wrong about me.’
‘You don’t know you’re going to end up in Hell, not for sure, but my dad is in there now-’