Page 17 of Secrets in the Dark
“Ah, but you should be resting your mind, too!”
“Hey, it is restful to sort out a disordered mind.”
She grinned at that. “Disordered?”
He groaned. “No, I was going over the past—because I believe our new Ripper is going to try to do a complete repeat of thecanonicalvictims of the original Ripper.” He shrugged. “And who knows—despite every armchair detective, every actual detective, scholar and profiler out there, they might have been wrong. But...” He paused and shrugged. “Here’s where this killer is so different—something he’s saying in his letters—he may have killed his victim in Whitechapel, but the area isn’t the same anymore. Hipsters have moved in. It’s still a melting pot, but it’s generally considered as safe as anywhere else to walk around at night—well, until now. But it’s a very popular place to live—central with easy access to the Tube. It’s just not the same.”
“Nor are his victims.”
“Right. What I was saying about his letters—this killer just hates all women. Being female apparently makes one a whore.”
Della nodded gravely. “And I can’t quite figure. The young lady we met was so nice, just a tourist, and...she was probably excited and flattered to be an American in London with a handsome young man ready to show her a few sights. And, I’m afraid, we’ll discover that our victim now is the same. Mason, do you think he’ll strike again right away?”
Mason shook his head. “No, he’ll want the attention first. He’ll relish the news. He’ll be glued to everything he can hear about the newRipper.”
Della nodded. “Edward seems to believe that we’ll have a bit of time.” She sighed softly. “I’ve done my reading, too. Rereading,” she told him, grimacing. “I had a profiling class with a teacher who was obsessed with the case.”
Mason grinned. “Yep—Special Agent Mike Smith. I had him, too.”
“Okay, so, Mary Ann or Polly Nichols was killed in the early morning hours of August 31 in 1888. His next victim, Annie Chapman, was found at about six a.m. on September 8. Just over a week later. And, of course, that time—”
“The body was mutilated to an even more horrific degree,” Mason said. “But again, the throat so severely slashed that the head was barely attached to the body.”
Della nodded thoughtfully. “Many believe that he strangled his victims first to keep them from crying out. I’m not sure if that’s any better, but it’s horrible to think of how they must have suffered.”
“Small mercy, according to what we know, the mutilations were carried out after death.”
“Small mercy,” Edward said, joining them and taking a seat on the opposite cot. “We’re almost there. But not that I’ve been eavesdropping...the third victim was Elizabeth Stride on the night of thedouble event. She wasn’t mutilated, but her throat received the same treatment. It was right after her body was found that they discovered the body of Catherine orKateConway. Her intestines were pulled out of her body and left over her shoulder and at what we consider the end, he found Mary Kelly in her little apartment or room and what he did to her...” He paused, shaking his head.
“Hey. We’re not going to let this guy get to number five,” Mason said determinedly.
“There were bits of her flesh everywhere. Her face was unrecognizable, he’d stripped the skin from it and other parts of her body. I guess he felt safe and that he had plenty of time because he was in a room,” Edward said quietly.
Mason sat up, reaching across the aisle to take him by the shoulder. “Edward—”
Edward straightened, nodding, and smiled grimly. “Bloody hell, yeah, we will get him! Anyway, I think we’ll be landing soon and...we’ll hit the ground running?”
“Or,” Della said, “land safely and smoothly and drive right where we need to be in your car!”
“That works, too,” Mason said, grinning, but he added, “Edmund, I promise you, we won’t stop, and you know—”
“I do know. Hey, every officer in the city is on this, too. We will stop this would-be king. We’ll let him be king of the prison system,” Edmund said.
And as he had suggested, the pilot said they were landing soon. They headed to their seats and buckled in.
This killer was truly a disciple of Stephan Dante.
The thought drilled through Della’s mind as she stood with Mason and Edmund, listening as the medical examiner explained her findings, seeing the ripped shreds of the new “Ripper’s” victim.
He had known that there were cameras. He’d learned all about DNA and trace. And with heightened security prowling the streets of Whitechapel, he had still found a place, near the scene of the 1888 crime, where he was unlikely to run into resistance.
They hadn’t been to the crime scene yet but Edmund had known where it was and they would visit when they left the morgue. Whereas time always kept things changing, much of the architecture of the area was the same as it had been for the last hundred and fifty years or so.
The alley was directly behind an old bar that had stood there for ages, only the names of the owners changing. It was one of just a few such alleys. While the bar had surveillance cameras inside and at the front, there were none that covered the little bit of back alley that was shared with two clothing stores, a coffee shop that closed at six o’clock and, ironically, a souvenir shop that carried Jack the Ripper T-shirts and other paraphernalia.
But the victim...
They learned that agents couldn’t become too personally involved. Nor could they become cold. Cold would have been the least of her problems at the moment.
