The Samsara Project by David Burgess (romantic books to read .TXT) 📕

“This is a most savage murder and one that will affect every person working on it deeply. I pray and hope that we are able to apprehend and put behind bars whoever is responsible for this as soon as possible, before he has the urge to kill again.”
At no time during the briefing was there any mention of the cross.

* * * *

John arrived at New Scotland Yard at sixteen minutes past eight. John knew that a New Scotland Yard press conference, especially one for a murder enquiry, was rare and that a lot of journalists would turn up just for the networking opportunities the conference would offer. John pulled up to the security barrier at the entrance to New Scotland Yard’s car park, showed the attendant his press pass, then gave his name and the name of the paper he worked for. The attendant checked the photograph on his card, handed it back, smiled and said, “Thank you sir, please park on level three. From there you can take the lift up to the ground floor. The Media Centre is on the right, room one seven four.”
John thanked the attendant and drove as directed. Visiting high profile buildings always amused John. As he drove into the entrance to the car park number recognition cameras had already captured his car registration, facial recognition cameras had checked his facial features against the photographs stored on both DVLA and The Passport Office databases. By the time he arrived at the security checkpoint the attendant had on his screen Johns name and address, when his car tax was due, who he was insured with, when his cars MOT was due and any outstanding fines, warrants or court appearances. John was cleared by the system and allowed in. John also knew not to be fooled by the attendant. This was not after all an NCP car park. Here, the attendant was a highly trained MOD security officer; the ‘hut’ was built to stop a standard NATO rifle round from twenty yards. The drab metal door to the right of the hut concealed a High-Tec control room. From here a team of MOD armed response personnel would be able to surround any suspect vehicle as soon as it reached the hut. Not, he thought, a good way to start your day.
As he had hoped John was one of the first people to arrive, the designated car park area was still fairly empty. He reversed the Jaguar into a parking bay, locked the car then made his way towards the lift. John had a quick look around; cameras were discreetly located throughout the car park so any thoughts he had of doing some exploring was now out of the question.
This was the first time that John had been to the Yards new Media Centre. The entrance was at the top left side of the room. John made a quick mental calculation that the room was laid out to seat one hundred and forty journalists. Fourteen rows of seats, ten seats per row with ample elbow and leg room in-between and dividing the rows in half was a three and half foot aisle. The floor area around the seats was covered with a good quality deep blue Metropolitan Police Blue carpet. The seating area itself was covered in light laminate flooring. Around the left hand side of the room were four large picture windows looking out onto the manicured gardens at the rear. The windows themselves were fitted with pastel shaded vertical blinds. Each window had three shades; blue, cream and yellow, of blinds each shade covering one third of the window. The false panelled ceiling was finished in cream, between each twenty four by twenty four inch tiles runners finished in a brass tone gave the room a quality feel. Spot lights were fitted into the ceiling. Every third tile was fitted with a central spot light, the brightness of each being controlled by the ‘gallery’ at the rear of the room. The opposite side of the room had a number of platforms. These platforms were two feet of the floor and angled towards the raised podium area at the front of the room. Sound absorbing dividers separated each cubical. This arrangement allowed TV crews to have an unobstructed view of the podium area as the sight line was above the journalists seated in the centre of the room. Fixed to the ceiling, just in front of the podium was a professional lighting rig so TV crews no longer had to bring in their own.
The podium itself was raised three feet off the floor; the front area was covered with a large banner advertising the Metropolitan Police and its commitment to London. A twelve foot long table was set out in the centre of the podium; behind the table were six chairs. The table itself was covered in a crisp white under cloth with four smaller blue cloths, evenly spaced, placed diagonally over it. Fixed onto the wall behind the table, for presentation purposes, were three, forty two inch plasma screen televisions.
John was pleased to see that a refreshment table had already been set up. He walked over to it. On the table was a good selection of Danish pastries, doughnuts and biscuits. Drinks included tea, coffee, a variety of plain or flavoured waters and fruit juices. John chose a fresh coffee served, he was pleased to see, in a china mug instead of the usual Styrofoam cup. He also picked an apple and cinnamon pastry.
John had the pick of where to sit. He walked over to the seating area and chose three rows from the front on the left hand side, facing the podium area.
The room was starting to get busier now as more journalists and television camera crews arrived, the quiet calm of earlier replaced by the sound of chatter and tools. It seemed the room was full of lifelong friends who had not seen each other for the past twenty years. Hearty handshakes and hugs seemed to be the order of the day.
John checked his watch. It was eight eighteen. He heard his named being called. He looked around to see Andrew trying to attract his attention, he was pointing towards the refreshment table, and then breaking into a game a charades asked John if he wanted a drink. John shook his head and held up the cup he already had. Andrew gave the thumbs up sign and headed for the queue.
Six minutes later Andrew sat next to John.
“You look set for a long conference,” said John looking at Andrews’s plate filled with two Danish pastries, a doughnut and three packets of biscuits washed down with a coffee.
“I’ll keep the biscuits for later on,” Andrew said putting them in his pocket.
Andrew took a sip from his coffee, “Any more news about the murder?”
“No nothing yet, let’s see what happens this morning. Have you had any more ideas?”
Andrew shifted slightly in his seat and turned towards John. “I had a thought on the way home last night. That remark you made about Jack the Ripper.”
“I was kidding,” said John, “I don’t think Jack’s back, besides he’d be a bit old by now.”
“I agree,” said Andrew, “Jack mark one would be, but what about Jack mark two? Just suppose we have a Jack copy cat. Someone out there wants their fifteen minutes of fame and they think this is the best way to get it. Plus, if this is what’s going on it would explain the mutilation.”
“We don’t know there was any mutilation. That was just an assumption we came to last night. We don’t know if its fact. I like the way you’re thinking though. We’ll make a journalist out of you yet”
The press conference started at exactly nine o’clock. DCS Hughes, DI Bales plus a pretty, young twenty two year old Met press officer took their seats behind the podium. DCS Hughes started the conference, “Ladies and gentlemen. First of all I’d like to thank you for your time this morning. I’ll keep this conference as brief as possible. I know you are all busy people, but there will be time at the end for questions.”
DCS Hughes then handed over to DI Bales, who with the aid of the same Powerpoint presentation he had used earlier brought the press group up to date. John and Andrew both briefly looked at each other when they learned about the mutilation.
It was not hearing about the mutilations that sent a massive shiver through John Reynold’s body it was the graphic images that flashed up on the three large screens behind the podium. At first John thought he was imagining things. The images were all familiar to him. He stared at them, not thinking anything, just staring. DI Bales continued with the briefing but John did not hear any of it. As each new image flashed up onto the screens his stomach became tighter and tighter.
John was now certain of two things; firstly, he did not know the victim but what disturbed him deeply was the second. He recognised the killers work. Art historians spend their entire careers hoping to uncover a newly discovered masterpiece by any of the masters of art. They would know immediately that it was not a copy purely by the delicacy or boldness of the brush strokes, by the texture of the paint. But most of all by the overall feel of the painting. John, though, recognised something he had never wanted to recognise again. Without any doubt what-so-ever John knew that the victim in the photographs he was looking at on the screens had been murdered by the same person responsible for the Whitechapel killings of the 1880’s, the Victorian serial killer known as ‘Jack the Ripper’.
 
Chapter 4

The rest of the press briefing was a blur for John, his mind was trying to cope with the enormity of the conclusion he had come to. A conclusion that made no sense what so ever, a conclusion that he doubted he could ever tell anyone but deep down knowing he would have to otherwise he would drive himself mad.
John started to regain some control just in time to hear DI Bales thank everyone for attending and that he would keep the press up to date with regular briefings from the Yards press office.
The hush of the room was shattered as over forty journalists, in unison, all fired up their mobiles, hit their speed dial button and then dictated their copy to the news desk.
Andrew had been working with John for over six months now and in all of that time he had never gone with John to see one of his ‘Jack the Ripper’ talks. This was Andrews first police briefing of any kind and to be thrown in at the deep end on a major murder case, especially one as brutal as this, had made him wish he had not been so adventurous with his choice of breakfast. Right now his stomach was feeling a little queasy. There had been a number of times during the briefing when Andrew had closed his eyes or looked away. He hoped John had not seen him or thought he was not up to the job. Once, during the briefing, he had taken a quick glance in John’s direction. John’s eyes had been fixed on the screens, not even flinching for a moment. In Andrew’s mind, John was the ultimate professional, never letting personal feelings get in the way of the job. Andrew wondered if he could ever be so professional. Deep down he hoped he would. He knew that only time would tell and that this case would play a major