Page 92 of Secrets in the Dark
“Did it look as if anyone had been living in it or using it to sleep?”
“No. But it’s along the same line as if... Mason, I think that there might be tunneling that either connects—or at one time connected—the buildings. And if I’m right, I’ll find the same in the clothing shop I’m going into now. Then I’m heading to the house and we can ask Bisset and Edmund if they can find legal maneuvering for us to get down into those rooms and explore more fully.”
“Tear down walls.”
“Well, yes.”
“We will need both François and Edmund to assist in that.”
“Where are you?” she asked.
“Just leaving.”
“Did you get any help?”
“Not really but Goodridge is going to see if he can discover whether there is something historically notable about the properties that we should know.”
“Lucretia Mayberry is doing the same. But she had an interesting story for me. Apparently, the buildings there were all owned by the poor younger son of a rich and titled man, and in her diary, his daughter wrote about his erratic behavior. People disappeared around him. I think his own daughter suspected him of being a murderer. But, of course, there were never any bodies.”
“You think that he buried them in the basement in the wall?”
“That’s possible. But I’m also thinking that he had tunnels through his buildings—and that’s how he disposed of his victims.”
“All right. I’m heading back and I’ll be there soon. François and Edmund are heading back there now, too. Sean has decided that he’s not leaving Stacey’s side, and I’ve said that was fine—she needs protection until this over. But we’ll have dinner like normal people and I agree with you—we need to pursue this line of investigation. We’ll run it all by the rest of our unit—minus Sean, we’ll catch him up when we can. Meet you at the house.”
“See you there,” Della said.
Mason ended his call and hurried on up to the road. He didn’t call the patrolman, either.
Rideshare seemed faster.
And he wanted to get back as soon as possible.
The clothing shop was not pretentious. Specials were advertised and clothing was arranged with men’s to the left and women’s to the right. More formal wear was in the rear, while the center held the items that were on sale.
It was nice, Della thought. But she had liked the area around St. Botolph’s. It offered such findings as the comfortable pub, the unique candy shop and this place where the average man and woman might shop without going into debt.
As in the other two establishments, the interior had been updated. The clothing racks were a shining silver, the walls were freshly painted, and she was greeted by a handsome young man in casual attire as she walked in and surveyed her surroundings.
Once again, she went through the routine of showing her badge and explaining her position in the United Kingdom.
He was quick to understand—shaking his head over the Jack the Ripper murder and even more so over the way the killer was taunting the media.
“Strange, of course. There were hundreds of letters sent to the police in 1888 and they believed that the majority of them were hoaxes. But when I see the news and what this horrid excuse for a human being is saying, I think that it is him. And we have created a good working man’s neighborhood here, a reputable place where people come, and... Well, what can I do? What could a twenty-two-year-old shop lad possibly do to help you?”
“Do you have a cellar?” she asked him.
“Yes.”
“May I see it?”
He shrugged. “No management is in, but...it’s a cellar.”
“What do you keep down there?”
“We buy wholesale before we sell retail. Stock. Lots of stock. As you can see by my name tag, Special Agent Hamilton, I’m Mark.”
“Mark, thank you. In the cellar, is there a little room? One where you might keep cleaning supplies?”
