The Samsara Project - David Burgess (early reader books .txt) 📗

people are in this office just now. You know what that means John? It means we have nowhere else to go and no one else to go and see. We’re entirely on our own.”
The glasses on the table were once again refilled. The two men picked up their drink, raised them into the air. “To Jack the Ripper,” said Pat.
“Jack the Ripper,” replied John, “may he rot in Hell.”
Both men took a long drink. “What are we going to do, Pat?”
“We are going to catch him, John. That’s what we are going to do. You and I are going to catch Jack the Ripper.”
 
Chapter 5

The taxi pulled up outside twenty two Castle Street, Soho.
“Eight pounds and twenty seven pence please sir.”
Andrew gave the driver nine pounds, “Keep the change,” he said.
“Thank you sir,” replied the driver.
The taxi drove away, just a little faster than it should have, thought Andrew.
Number twenty two Castle Street was a three story Victorian terrace style house. It was in very good condition, as were all the houses in the road. Andrew walked up to the red painted front door and pressed a button on the intercom. A few seconds later a buzzer sounded and there was a metallic click from behind the door. Andrew pushed open the door and walked in to a very plush reception area. Sat behind the main reception desk was a smartly dressed lady. Andrew guessed she was in her mid fifties.
“Can I help you sir?” she asked.
“I hope so,” replied Andrew. “If it is possible I would like to see Mr. Geoffrey Adamson please.”
“And your name please?”
“Andrew, Andrew Cleaver.”
The secretary looked in an appointment diary, running her finger down a page she looked up at Andrew. “I don’t seem to have you down for an appointment with Mr Adamson. Did you have an appointment?”
“No I’ve not made an appointment. John Reynolds from The Daily Herald asked me to see Mr Adamson.”
“John Reynolds you say, just one moment please I’ll see if Mr Adamson is available. Please, have a seat.”
The secretary gestured towards a comfortable seating area. Andrew chose a rich red chesterfield arm chair.
“Please help yourself to tea or coffee Mr Cleaver.”
Andrew stood up and poured himself a fresh coffee then sat down again. Picking up a copy of ‘Country Life’ from the coffee table he sat back and started to leaf through the pages.
“Mr Cleaver” called the secretary.
Andrew looked over to her.
“Mr Adamson will see you now. Will you follow me please?”
Andrew stood up and followed the secretary into a very large office. Andrew had grown up on a diet of Dick Tracy and Marlow, he was fully expecting the offices of a private detective to be very plain, sparse and run down. This was quite a culture shock for him. Whilst he had never been inside one Andrew imagined that an exclusive London Gentleman’s club would look something like the office he had just walked into.
“Thank you Sylvia,” said Geoffrey. He walked from behind his desk to shake hands with Andrew.
Geoffrey Adamson was thirty two years old, standing five feet ten inches tall and a very healthy twelve stone three pounds. He wore a Saville Row tailored dark blue, two piece, business suit. A crisp white shirt and a plain navy blue tie. His shoes were hand made from the finest soft Italian leather. He had blue eyes that missed nothing and a full head of extremely neat light brown hair.
“Hello Andrew, good to meet you. Anything I get you, tea, coffee or something stronger perhaps?”
“No thank you. I’m fine,” replied Andrew.
“I believe John Reynolds asked you to see me, how is he?”
“He’s fine thank you.”
“I take it you work with John at The Daily Herald?”
“Yes, I’m a final year media student on a six month work placement and I was lucky enough to be offered a position with The Daily Herald.”
“That was lucky for you. You’ll learn a lot from John. He’s a good man, good journalist. Now what can I do for you?”
“We are looking into the death of Suzie Reeves, the woman murdered on the Common yesterday. John would like you to look into her and her boyfriend’s backgrounds. He asked if you could go back as far as possible with both.”
“Is there something specific about them or their past that John is looking for?”
“He hasn’t said, I think it’s just general for now. Once we have the information from you then he may want to look deeper into something.”
Geoffrey nodded, “Any thoughts yourself about the late Miss Reeves?”
Andrew was not sure if he should say anything or not, but decided it would not do any harm. “We have a couple of theories, but that’s all they are.”
Geoffrey looked interested “Such as” he asked.
“We thought that maybe the Eastern Europeans may be involved.”
“Interesting, what makes you think that?”
“Only the brutality of the murder,” relied Andrew, “sending out a message to others not to mess with them.”
“And the second theory”
“This one seems a bit farfetched but we thought there may be a ‘Jack the Ripper’ copy cat killer out there looking for his fifteen minutes of fame.”
”Are both these theories John’s?”
“No, just the first one, well we came up with that one together. Jack the Ripper’s mine. I thought of it last night seems a bit odd now though, must have been a rush of adrenalin because of yesterday. It was my first murder scene. In fact it was my first crime scene at all.”
“Don’t knock yourself Andrew. Believe me stranger things have happened. Never dismiss a theory until it’s proved not to be the true. Under the circumstances, I think it’s a valid theory, and one worth looking in to. I’ll check to see who’s been released from either prison or a secure hospital over the past six months that could have ambitions about being a second ‘Jack the Ripper’. Is there anything else while you’re here.”
“No that’s it for now.”
“I’ll put a couple of people onto this straight away. I should have a preliminary report in about twenty four hours if not sooner. Tell John I’ll bill him the usual rates.”
Geoffrey Adamson’s door opened. Sylvia was standing just on the other side.
“Mr Cleaver, if you will follow me please I’ll show you the way out.”
“Thank you” said Andrew, wondering how she had known the meeting was over, especially when he didn’t.
Andrew thanked Geoffrey and followed Sylvia back towards the main reception area. “Good luck and we’ll see you soon.” She said as she opened the door and showed him the way out.
Andrew left the office. The door closed automatically behind him. As Andrew stood on the pavement he heard a metallic click as the door locked behind him.
Andrew looked around for a taxi. He flagged down a black cab driving towards him. It stopped and he jumped in. “Daily Herald offices please.”
“Certainly sir,” the taxi driver then made a sweeping U-turn, the type that only black cabs can make and headed off towards Canary Wharf and the offices of The Daily Herald.

* * * *

John and Pat had finished almost three quarters of the scotch whiskey when Pat said, “You know John we have this theory about Jack the Ripper but what we need is proof. I don’t know about you but I even though I have seen it with my own eyes I am still having trouble believing it. If I am having trouble, and I know you are otherwise you wouldn’t have come to see me, how can we possibly expect anyone else to? We could be labelled as cranks, crackpots or worse. Our credibility would be shot to pieces; we’d be laughing stocks in both of our fields.”
John took another long drink from his glass. Picked up the bottle and poured out another generous shot. “Yes, proof. That’s all we need. Any idea how we can get this proof? If you have I’d love to hear it because I can’t think of anything except a full blown public courtroom confession. Even then he’ll end up in a secure hospital at Her Majesty’s Pleasure because no one will believe him either.”
Both men laughed. At this moment everything seemed funny, there was humour everywhere, the kind of infectious humour that can only be brought on by an almost empty bottle of fifteen year old single malt.
“I can see the court room now,” said John.
“I Jack promise to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. So help me God.”
“Name”
“Jack the Ripper.”
“Age”
“One hundred and sixty three”
More fits of laughter filled the office.
Pat tried to be serious for a moment. “Listen John, there might be a way, at least to prove to ourselves that we are not wrong. I think we can prove that Suzie Reeves was murdered by Jack the Ripper.”
John looked intrigued, “how?”
“It won’t be easy, and if we’re caught we could both be in serious trouble.”
“I’m listening, go on.”
“Are you still in touch with your Brother –in-Law?”
“Peter, yes. It was only last week we spoke but, what’s he got to do with any of this?”
“Does he still work at Liverpool University?”
“Yes, he’s still there.”
“And what does he do John? What’s his job?”
“He’s a genetic researcher, not too sure exactly what he does.”
“DNA John, he works with DNA.”
“And that helps us how?”
“I’ll tell you, no better, I’ll show you. Wait here a minute.”
Pat tried to stand up, he tried a few times but the whiskey had a strange effect on his legs. What he wanted them to do, they didn’t want to.
More infectious laughter filled the office.
John managed to stand up he patted Pat on the shoulder. “Tomorrow Pat, we’ll meet up in the ‘Three Horseshoes’ at twelve thirty. It’s time we had a good meal together.”
He looked at Pat. His arms where folded together on the desk, his head resting on top of them. His eyes were closed, his mouth slightly open making a very gentle snoring sound. John looked around, found a pen and paper and wrote a note for Pat about lunch tomorrow. John left Pat to sleep of the afternoon’s session, made his way back to the street. John started to walk towards his car when he thought better of it; instead he flagged down a taxi, “The Daily Herald, Canary Wharf please.” John slurred.
“You going to be alright in my cab?” asked the driver in a not too friendly tone.
“I’ll be fine.” John replied. “No problem.”
The taxi pulled away and set off on the forty eight minute ride. Before the first minute had passed, John was fast asleep.

* * * *

The taxi pulled up outside the paper’s office. The driver turned around. “Wake up mate, we’ve arrived.” John stirred. It took a few moments for his vision to become focused. He looked at the driver, “That was quick,”
“You slept all the way here. Sixteen pounds even will cover it.”
John took out his wallet and paid the driver with a twenty. “Any discount then for keeping the cab clean?”
The driver laughed, “No mate, we don’t give discounts for that, just charge extra if you don’t.”
“Keep the change,” said John.
The driver thanked him then gave him his card, “Any time day or night. You need a cab, give me a call. I’ll not let you down. Always look after my good customers.”