Page 34 of Secrets in the Dark
“I was thinking that we might walk around St. Botolph’s Church because in the Ripper’s day that was the prostitute’s church. She might be looking for us there. Our kindly Victorian lady knows where we’re staying and might be hanging around somewhere near, not that all this isn’t within walking distance. So—”
They hadn’t gone a block before Mason pointed down the street. “There she is. Mrs. Abigail Scott.” He waved.
Della smiled. Normally—having learned as a child that people might well think him crazy if he were seen waving to or speaking with a ghost no one else around them could see—he would have been carefulnotto do so. But the streets were busy and he might have been waving to anyone.
Abigail Scott waved in return and made her way to them as they made their way to her.
“Anything?” she asked anxiously.
“Not yet, I’m afraid,” Mason told her. “But we have some images we’d like you to see. We work with a woman who is an amazing sketch artist and she has drawn pictures of ways that the killer might disguise himself. Would you take a look at them and see if you’ve seen anyone resembling any of these pictures wandering around the streets, heading to any particular pubs?”
“Of course! I will do anything to help!” she assured them. She sighed, looking around. “The world changes. Some things are the same—and some are so different. Now, well, many decent and hardworking people who have good jobs and stable families live here. Young people come to rent their first flats on their own and businesses may thrive. There is health care for all. You can’t imagine what it was in the past. Such crowding and such poverty. My heart was broken when I read about the poor women so viciously taken from this world. And now, again, so, yes, please, let me help in any way!”
Della inclined her head to the woman. “Mrs. Scott, it’s thanks to people like you, those who pointed out the plight of others, those who cared, that the world changed. And we’re so grateful that you’re here and ready to help us.”
“Of course, of course. I’ve often wondered...” Abigail Scott’s voice trailed.
“Why you’re still here?” Della suggested softly.
Abigail nodded. “Somewhere in my heart, I know that my husband waits for me, and my children, and I can tell them about their children and their children’s children. I’ve seen others leave, and yet...”
“Maybe you are still here to help us,” Della said.
“To make a real difference. It’s what I always longed to do,” the ghost said. “So. I shall see these images.”
They were on the street, of course, with others walking by them. The good thing was that it appeared Mason and Della were just speaking to one another. When Mason brought his phone out to show Abigail the images, he appeared to be sharing something with Della.
Maisie was truly talented. She’d made use of a computer program, of course, but all the little touches were hers and she’d created what Della considered to be an amazingly reasonable display of a man’s facial structure being changed in many simple ways.
As Mason flipped through the pictures, Abigail Scott began to point to a few.
“This fellow, dark hair, dark beard...or, our killer in this disguise... I believe that I saw him right in this area, perhaps a block down, just last night!”
Della glanced at Mason. They were both wondering if the killer had knowledge that a group of international law enforcement was on his trail—and that they were housed in the area, determined to be right on his stalking grounds.
“Oh, and this! How amazing! How wonderfully talented your artist must be! Yes! I’ve seen him look this way, too!”
The image she pointed was that of their killer, assuming that their killer was Jesse Miller, with light red hair, a clean-shaven face and an enlarged nose.
“He was following the crowd at a Jack the Ripper tour the other night!” Abigail said. “Can—can it really be the same person—and is he the killer?”
Mason shook his head. “He behaved suspiciously,” he told Abigail. “We don’t know. But if he is changing his appearance to avoid being questioned by the police, he is definitely a person of interest. And thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Wait,” Abigail murmured. “I’ve seen him one more way, too!” she said.
She didn’t quite understand the way Mason had been showing her the images on his phone, but she touched the phone and looked at Mason.
He quickly began to run through Maisie’s renderings again.
“There!”
She pointed to the image of Jesse Miller as a bald man with a neatly clipped brown mustache and beard.
“Where?” Della asked.
“City of London Cemetery,” Abigail said.
Mason frowned. “That’s almost eight miles from here, I think.”
