Page 28 of Secrets in the Dark
“But, of course, he could just be a common thief,” Della reminded them.
Mason could see that Sean and Jeanne Lapierre were seated at the bar, chatting with the bartender.
Della was watching the bar, the patrons and the street, and he knew she was hoping, as he was, that if something was happening, they’d see or even sense something first. Of course, if this killer was following the Ripper, he wouldn’t kill again so quickly.
“I’m going to stretch my legs for just a second!” she said suddenly.
He almost protested; it was difficult not to. But she smiled at him. “I’ll be right there, on the street,” she said.
“Right,” he said.
She left the table. Edmund spoke as they kept their vigilance. “Some of the conspiracy theories that have gone around are pretty crazy to me. Like the royal connection—and not because I’m a major monarchist or anything, but just because it makes no sense. Here’s the idea on that one—Prince Albert—known as Eddie—secretly married a commoner and had a child with her. Mary Kelly witnessed the union. So, either Prince Albert or his physician—or both—had to get rid of Mary Kelly because she had a great blackmailing scheme devised. And, if you go by that theory, the women knew each other. And Liz Stride wasn’t left unmutilated because a killer had been interrupted, but because the killers had the wrong woman. So, if they were just getting rid of people, why the overkill?”
Mason shook his head. “Instrumental murder, they say, is murder just to kill. Beyond a doubt, the killings were, in my mind, expressive murders. Massive overkill. What, exactly, he was expressing, it’s hard to tell these days. No one knows if the letters were real or hoaxes.”
He spoke casually to Edmund but watched Della a distance away on the walk where the outside pub tables were set.
She was pretending to speak on the phone.
But she was really speaking with the ghost of Abigail Scott.
He almost stood to join her. He knew that Della would tell him anything that was said and if they gained new knowledge, they’d devise a way to share it with the others.
“I think he was crazy and just got crazier as he went along. Some suggest that it was Herman Mudgett, or H.H. Holmes, the American serial killer. But Mudgett was a poster boy for being an organized killer. He devised hiscastle, or his hotel for murder, devised ways to get rid of the bodies... I don’t see them as being the same in any way. Some think he was Montague Druitt—even his family members supposedly thought it was him and his body was found in the Thames soon after Mary Kelly was killed. That’s a more logical suspect to me, or, for that matter, George Chapman—aka Seweryn Klosowski, who was imprisoned and executed, but he was a poisoner—there is a difference between poisoning someone and ripping their body to shreds and removing flesh and organs, and he wasn’t imprisoned or executed until several years after the Ripper killing stopped. There you go—hmm. My money is back on Montague Druitt. After he supposedly kills himself after the horror of the Mary Kelly killing, the Ripper killings stop.”
Mason smiled briefly. “From what I understand, through the years, every English law enforcement agency known to man has tried to discern the truth. Still, no one knows. I’ve heard that the FBI and the CIA have also tried to figure out the truth. No dice. I guess we’ll all have our theories, but none of us knows the truth.”
“Even the best profilers are stymied—with their own theories, of course,” Edmund said.
Mason was listening, but as he watched Della out on the street, he saw that she was being approached by a man. The ghost of Abigail Scott was still by Della’s side.
But she was a ghost.
Not an armed officer or agent—or sumo wrestler.
She was a beautiful woman and it wasn’t a surprise that a man might be interested in speaking with her.
Except that any man who wanted to speak with her might be a killer.
“You think?” Edmund murmured, watching as well. “Early thirties, I’d say. Handsome enough bloke but looks strong enough to quickly strangle a lass.”
“Not that lass, trust me, but I think we might move slowly and approach from either direction,” Mason said.
He stood, pretending to do so casually. Edmund did the same. They nodded briefly to one another, and then approached the couple—and the ghost—standing on the walk from opposite ends.
“Hey, there,” Edmund said, as if greeting a friend.
Mason was ready.
He expected the man who had approached Della to run. The man did not.
He stared at Edmund and then turned to see Mason approaching.
“Friends of yours?” he asked Della.
“Yes, as a matter of fact. We’re all on the same tour. Edmund and Mason. Edmund, Mason, this is Trey Harper—he’s from Liverpool. Just like the Beatles!”
“Liverpool, eh?” Edmund said.
