Page 112 of Whispers at Dusk
“He’s been caught, right? The news went on and on about him. Well, of course. Creepy and scary as hell. So, what about lover boy?” Tess persisted.
“Gone. And I’m starting to like myself in good British ale. You can get me another,” Shelly said.
“Well, I think I could do that. Nice to have met you all and please, enjoy London, but take care,” Edmund said.
“Whoa!”
They were all startled when the pretty bartender, who had turned to the television just as a soccer match was interrupted by a newscaster cutting in with “breaking news.”
Every London paper had received a letter—claiming that Jack the Ripper was back in the city.
They all paused to listen.
“Naturally, the police were informed immediately and many believe this to be a hoax, but just an hour ago the station received an anonymous letter, a single type-written page, mailed to the station from nearby warning, Jack is Back. We don’t know how serious this threat to be, but with recent murders in and around our great country, we felt that it was only right that our populace and our tourists be warned immediately.”
She went on speaking, describing the recent capture of Stephan Dante and warning that everyone, especially young women, needed to be careful.
Watching the screen, Edmund shook his head. “Jack is back. Great.” He seemed to forget Shelly McNamara and her friends. “Of course—”
“It could be a hoax,” Della said. “And I’m sure that it’s with the police and a forensic crew by now, and maybe they’ll find out that it is a hoax, or, at the very least, discover something about whoever sent it.”
“A hoax by an idiot, or a warning from a protégé!” Edmund said. He realized that the three girls at the bar were watching him, but he no longer seemed to need to project a cordial image for his city.
“Please! Be careful,” he said.
He started out of the pub and Della was quick to follow, turning back to the three young women with a smile. “So sorry about the beer. Do be careful!”
Close on Edmund’s heels, she saw that Mason had found them. He was shaking his head with disgust.
“Never even got to follow him—he raced out through the kitchen. He was gone when I hit the alley, but I tried both directions and... It may be nothing,” he said.
“Probably nothing,” Della said. “Just a guy with a petty crime behind him afraid of authority.”
“But something about him bothered you,” Mason said.
Della shrugged. “Yes. But... Hey. Intuition can be wrong.”
Edmund was watching her. “I saw him so briefly,” he said. “But... I don’t know. I got the feeling I had seen him before and I don’t know in what context.”
“We can keep looking,” Della said.
“We can. But...”
“He’s gone. Wherever he hides out, he’s there. He’s gone. We’re not going to get him tonight. Damn. We have a tab open across the street!”
“Paid it,” Mason assured him. “Well—”
He frowned, breaking off as his phone buzzed faintly. “Philip,” he said, glancing at his caller ID.
Della and Edmund watched him, frowning, as he listened to the caller.
“Philip is—”
“I know. I was there, in Louisiana, remember?” Edmund reminded him. “Special agent with the Krewe, psychiatrist working with Dante.”
If they’d been alone, Mason would have put the call on speaker, Della knew.
But they were standing in the street surrounded by Brixton nightlife.
