Page 37 of Secrets in the Dark
He was about six feet tall with sandy-blond hair that was cut short but still framed his face. He presented a handsome figure, with a good face and light eyes and a quick smile.
“Cindy, what’s going on here?” he asked, a semi-smile on his face to take the edge off words he apparently figured he might have spoken a little too harshly.
“Cindy was politely letting us know that we’re too early to come in.”
“Not by much!” Cindy said. “We could let you sit. I’ll be unlocking the doors in just a few minutes. Gary, they came to see you?”
Gary Hudson arched a brow, studying Mason and Della.
He grinned. “You,” he informed Della, “I’d let in anytime. Now, about you, sir...?”
Mason grinned in return. The words had been said in good humor. Hudson was intrigued, wondering why Americans had come specifically to see him.
“We need your help,” Mason said flatly.
“Of course. But how can I help you? I mean, you’re obviously American, and I’m not the best tour guide around, though I do create one hell of a dirty martini—any bloke out there will testify to that on my behalf.”
“We are American—obviously,” Della said, smiling. She was especially beautiful when she smiled, Mason thought, and, well, of course, she’d won him over heart and soul, but her ability to judge people and use whatever mental or physical assets she had in any given situation also made her an incredible partner.
“Right,” Hudson said slowly.
“We’re part of an international task force,” Mason said quietly.
They were still standing in the doorway.
And Cindy was still watching them, listening.
“Oh, dear Lord!” Cindy exclaimed suddenly. “You’re here because of that horrible business with a madman thinking he can recreate the killings perpetuated by Jack the Ripper. Oh, I mean, not that horrible excuses for human beings haven’t done such things before—”
“The Yorkshire Ripper for one,” Gary Hudson said dryly.
“But...how can Gary help you?” Cindy asked. “How can any of us help you? And international? I’m so confused. He killed here...”
“We believe that he’s a man who was specifically trained by an American killer. We also believe that he committed murders before he decided to emulate the Ripper—and I believe that Gary will know what we’re talking about.”
He looked at Gary Hudson. The man was staring back at him. The bartender nodded gravely. “I gave the police everything that I had at the time,” he said, sounding pained. “But come in. I’m not on duty until seven this evening, so it’s easy enough for you to have a seat and... Well, I just don’t have that much to tell you. You should stay for lunch, though. Cindy is a great waitress and the food here really is good.”
“Thank you. Maybe we’ll do just that,” Mason said.
“I...” Cindy shook her head, looking ill. “I don’t leave here alone anymore. I make my boyfriend come and meet me right after work. And... I have things to do!”
She quickly disappeared. Gary Hudson held the door for them and Mason and Della went on in. Hudson indicated a two-seater high-top table and drew a third bar stool over for himself.
Mason and Della sat and Hudson did the same. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“Well, we’ve read the files, of course,” Mason said. “Mr. Hudson, you were the one who found the first victim on the banks of the Thames. Colleen Denton. An American tourist. I read your statement. You were just walking down to see the river and you were stunned to see someone lying there and you thought at first that she was sleeping.”
He nodded. “It was morning. I was surprised that someone else hadn’t noticed her.” He shrugged. “I’m a water lover—I even love the Thames, since... Well, it’s what we’ve got in the area! And there was a time, of course, before modern sewage, that the river itself was a cesspool. But these days, there’s something about standing on the embankment that... Well, it’s beautiful. Especially when the sun is rising or falling.” He paused, looking at Della, frowning. “You’re really an FBI agent?”
Della nodded. “Really.”
“Oh, are you usually in an office? Are you a profiler?”
“I’ve attended a number of profiling seminars,” Della said pleasantly, “But, no, it’s not my expertise, and no, I’m not an office tech.”
“Artist!”
She shook her head again. “Please, Mr. Hudson, can you think of anyone around you? Was there someone watching you?”
