Page 40 of Secrets in the Dark
They reached the grave of Jack the Ripper’s first canonical victim. A stone was set with a circular brass plaque with the wordsCity of London Cemeteryand thenHeritage Trailset around the center, and in the center, just the name,Mary Ann Nichols, and the date of her death,August 30, 1888.
“May you rest well now!” Della murmured.
Mason set his arm around her shoulder. “I hope she knows, too, that her death—with those other deaths—brought attention to those in the East End. And she is remembered.”
“Just as a prostitute and alcoholic, most of the time,” Della said.
“No. There’s a good documentary out about the lives of the victims. You would like it—they become very human in the documentary.”
“Hmm. You haven’t mentioned that before!”
He shrugged. “I watch lots of documentaries. Let’s...let’s keep moving. I don’t see anyone suspicious hanging around here today.”
“Onward to Catherine Eddowes.”
They followed the directions to the grave that Della had brought up online.
There, too, was a circular memorial set into place by the City of London Cemetery. And there was the name, Catherine Eddowes, and her date of death.
As they stood there, Mason knew that like him, Della was watching the people who were near them and the grave in the cemetery.
“There,” Della said softly. “By the family vault over that way.”
“I see him.”
“Head back up the path and split up?”
He nodded.
He took her hand and they turned, heading along the roadway. Della pretended to admire an angel statue and he let her hand go.
He took off to the left.
She took off to the right.
They circled around the vault. He was surprised to discover that the man they had been watching was still there.
He was even more surprised to discover that they knew the man who was behind the vault, leaning against the stone of the back side.
He straightened, seeing the two of them come at him, and his frown of concern quickly turned to a smile of relief.
“You two!” he said.
“Trey Harper, Metropolitan Police,” Della said.
“Visiting a loved one?” Mason asked him dryly, curious that the one-time undercover policeman who had approached Della the night before was there at the cemetery.
Watching?
“Watching for a freak,” Harper said, as if he’d read his mind. Or, as if he was telling a simple truth. On the one hand, these killers were so good eluding capture by leaving no evidence behind, it just might suggest that the killer was a cop.
“You think that the killer is coming here?” Mason asked him. “What makes you think that he might?”
“I’m off duty, but you know, in this line of work, when a case is a haunting one... Well, you’re never off duty. I figured that this killer is so determined to mimic the Ripper that he might feel obliged to visit the graves of Jack the Ripper’s victims.”
“Have you seen anyone?”
“I thought I did the other day. I mean, obviously, tourists come and because it’s an active cemetery and crematorium, people bring flowers and—” he shrugged “—coming to honor their loved ones. But there was a fellow behaving oddly the other day. He didn’t go to any of the graves, but he walked around and around and I thought that he was talking to himself.”
