Page 19 of Secrets in the Dark
It was an alley. Wide enough for one car—Edmund was going to need to back out. There were bins for glass, plastic and waste lined up against the wall.
There were cigarette butts around the back door that led to the alley. Patrons came out to smoke.
This “Jack” hadn’t been observed by any smokers.
Surveying the place and the circumstances, Della thought that the killer had to have struck quickly. Strangling, slicing and gutting his victim. He’d probably fantasized about it time and time again, and then practiced what he was going to do in his mind, and, in fact, maybe in person, judging how long it took to get to the back of the bar—and how long it would take to escape from the alley into the streets beyond.
He had to be on camera somewhere. They needed to study footage taken from every security and traffic cam to be found.
She heard footsteps; Mason was coming up behind her.
“You’re not going to believe this!”
“What?” Della demanded.
“We may not know where he is now, but we know who he is—at least, we know the name of the man we saw with the young woman in Brixton. And with the crimes he’s suspected of committing, I’m more than certain that we know the real name of the man we’re looking for!”
Four
“Modern forensics!” Mason said, glancing from Edmund to Della. “They were able to lift a print from the jacket.”
“I guess it really is a good thing that you’re so into leather,” Edmund said dryly.
“Hey!” Mason protested. “Well, I’m glad I was into leather that night. Anyway, they got a hit off AFIS. Jesse Miller. Dual citizenship—his father was an American and his mother was born in London. He was born in London himself, and imagine this,” he added, his mouth tightening in a grimace, “he spent time between the two countries, and when he was in the States, the family lived with his paternal grandfather—a shrimper living just outside New Orleans.”
“So, he didn’t just know Stephan Dante from England—he knew him as he was growing up?” Della asked. “Now that, I didn’t figure! But, how—”
“His fingerprints are on file because of an assault charge because he attacked a man with a pool stick at a bar on Bourbon Street, NOLA,” Mason went on to explain. “That’s it on his record. Apparently, he’s never broken any laws in the United Kingdom. But it was enough for his fingerprints to be on file.”
“The only thing is,” Della reminded them, “we don’t know if the man we saw was this new killer or not. I had a hunch about him—that’s all. And we saw him in Brixton. He killed in Whitechapel. We saw him with a young woman and he killed someone Mary Ann Nichol’s exact age.”
“True,” Edmund agreed. “But what a coincidence, huh? Stephan Dante grew up in Louisiana and so did this bloke, half the time at any rate.”
“I’m just saying that we need to be cautious and not jump to hunches,” Della said.
“They’re tracing his credit cards,” Mason said. “And, of course, Philip is going to go back in and have a chat with Stephan Dante. He’ll bring up the name Jesse Miller and see what reaction he gets—in his most amazing Philip Law–way, of course.”
“Now I’m wishing we were still there—and here.”
Mason grinned at her. “We haven’t managed human cloning or time travel yet—not that anyone has shared with any of us, anyway.”
“Ah, conspiracy theory!” Edmund said.
“No, not really,” Mason said.
“Just kidding.”
“Better be!” Mason said with a grin before growing serious. “I think it’s important that we’re here. If this killer is trying to play off the Jack the Ripper legend and become the king of all Rippers, I believe that he’ll wait for his next kill. Of course, he’s stalking his next victim now.”
“How is he doing this?” Della asked, shaking her head, and looking around the alley. “He chose this place. He knew that the smokers at the bar came out back to smoke. But...he must have even timed the servers and bartenders taking out the trash!” Frowning, she looked at Edmund. “Our victim was a smoker?”
“Yes,” Edmund said.
“So, either he was inside watching her, or he knew she was in there.” She studied the numbered markers that showed them where the body had lain. “He caught her right as she came out the back door.” She moved to the door as if stepping out of it, nodding to Mason. He frowned and walked over to her and knew that she wanted to act it out.
“He’d have been there, right against the wall and...” She positioned Mason and continued, “And he grabbed her the second she stepped out, and, as the doctor suggested from the bruising at her throat, he caught her quickly and strangled her quickly.”
Mason feigned the attack the killer must have made—a swift attack with no hesitation.
