Page 18 of Secrets in the Dark
Pain streaked through her. It was maddening to know that they had been expecting this—and that they hadn’t been able to stop it.
“Maria Monty, a teacher from Seattle, Washington,” the medical examiner, Dr. Elizabeth Woodward, said, her tone even. But she looked across the body at Della and Della knew that they were feeling the same depth of dismay. And the ME said so aloud.
“I’ve seen a lot. I’ve been at this for twenty years. But the way that this woman was torn apart... Thankfully, I can tell—due to nonreactive tissue—that the ripping came after death. Bruising there—” she indicated the woman’s neck with the deep slashes “—indicates that she was strangled quickly and effectively, then the slashes were made, one from each side, and, as you can see, the head barely remains attached to the body.”
“And she was forty-three years old,” Edmund said flatly, his eyes on the corpse as well. “The same age as Mary Ann Polly Nichols.”
“Which is quite amazing,” Mason said. “I believe that he stalks his victims—”
“Did the original Jack the Ripper stalk them?” Edmund wondered aloud.
“Depends on whose theory you go by, maybe,” Della said. “If you go by the Royal Conspiracy theory, either Prince Albert Victor or Sir William Gull, the royal physician, chose the victims to rid the world of anyone who knew about Annie Crook and her illegitimate child. Personally, from everything I’ve read, Sir William Gull was an exceptionally good man. And other members of the royalty have had illegitimate children without killing everyone around them. Of course, back then, that kind of behavior by a possible heir to the throne... Anyway, I believe it was one of the other suspects, and that, no, he didn’t stalk them. But as I said—”
“Choose your theory,” Mason finished for her. “Doctor, is there anything else you can tell us? Hairs, fibers, anything?”
“Well, I have cat hair, according to trace,” Dr. Woodward said. “The alley has several cats—fed by the bar and the coffee shop, so...”
“We haven’t been to the scene yet,” Mason said. “And we should go now.”
“I don’t get it,” Dr. Woodward said. “Talk about your theories. The original Ripper was supposedlydown on whores. This woman was a schoolteacher!”
“This Ripper thinks all women are whores,” Edmund said. “But for his first, he did find someone the same age as the original victim. Coincidence? Or did he do his homework? And if so, how did he know that he could find this woman, the right age, at a bar when he wanted her there?”
“We need to know if she’d been there before,” Della said quietly. “It’s time we move on. We can’t help her any now. We need to—”
“Right. Find him, stop him,” Edmund said.
“Please!” Dr. Woodward whispered.
They thanked her and headed out. Edmund’s car was parked close and they were soon in it.
“Imagine, I have spent my life believing in modern techniques and science—now mixed with reason and logic and maybe a little instinct and intuition. But this bastard has managed this!”
“He will slip up,” Mason said. “Not to mention the fact that I think that we know who he is.”
“We know what he looked like—once,” Edmund said.
“I have a feeling we’ll know him again,” Mason said firmly.
Della glanced back at him. She wondered if he was convinced himself, or if he was trying to convince Edmund that it would be so.
“We’ll hope,” Edmund said. “And, I take it, you’ve both been here before?” he asked.
“And taken the Ripper tour,” Della said quietly. She loved London and she had loved visiting here—even this area. She’d been here first as a college student, even before she’d almost been the victim of a serial killer herself, learned she could see the dead, and decided that yes, beyond a doubt, she would learn everything that she could and use whatever strange “talent” she had in law enforcement.
“Well, he couldn’t leave her exactly where he probably wanted—there are cameras in the street there for the bar and for an ATM across the street. Bank in the box, as my little sister called them. We can park in the alley—they still have the crime scene tape, though Forensics have been through. They waited for us. We can bring the car up to the bar area,” Edmund said, turning into what appeared to be a tiny side street.
They passed by garbage and recycling bins in the narrow area and several feet before a line of crime scene tape, Edmund drew the car to a stop.
They exited.
Numbered markers around the crime scene showed them where the victim had lain.
A massive spray of red showed where she had bled out.
Before they could exit the car, Mason’s phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and murmured, “Jackson! Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
Della followed Edmund, carefully moving under the tape as Edmund briefly introduced her to the cop watching over the scene—and keeping sensationalists, journalists and others from crowding to stare or to create more of a media whirl.
