Page 46 of Secrets in the Dark
“Very true,” Sean murmured, shaking his head. “I’ll watch him while he waits. Bring him coffee or water or whatever he wants, and I’ll make sure he knows that you will all be with him just as soon as you can—but that there are other pressing matters.”
“There’s a plan,” Mason said lightly.
“If we leave him to sit a while, he may be ready to say all kinds of things,” Della said. “But he didn’t bring up a right not to speak with us—”
“Nope,” Edmund said. “He assured me he was completely innocent—and that I should be arresting you. He’s innocent—he doesn’t need legal counsel. But when you do talk to him, you’ll hear more about that. Poor man! You were so terrible to him, Della. He’s really out for your blood.”
“I noticed,” she said dryly. “All right then—”
“ME’s office isn’t far,” Edmund said. “I’ll have an inspector drop you off and bring you back when you’re ready. Follow me.”
A morgue was a morgue.
And there was no way out of the fact that the empty shell of a body that had once housed a human being was a sad sight.
But today...
In the military and in law enforcement, Mason had seen his share of death. But there was something exceptionally sad about seeing a beautiful young woman with her life ahead of her stripped of that future on an autopsy table.
Worse when Dr. Cyrus Monroe described her injuries—and why he had suggested that they really understand what they were up against.
“I don’t claim to understand the workings of the human brain and mind,” Monroe told them as Mason and Della joined Jeanne, François and the doctor’s assistant around the table, “but your killer is a truly deranged individual who is also something of a historian. I drew up the autopsy reports from 1888 and this poor lass was butchered in nearly exactly the same way as Mary Ann Nichols was killed—down to the bruising at the throat that suggests a sound knock to subdue the victim. Both women were strangled. Mary Ann Nichols was missing teeth, unlike this lass, but the loss of teeth had nothing to do with the murder. One other difference, this young woman was drugged, but I believe you know that. Date-rape style, dropped into her drink. But once the killing began—” he paused to demonstrate two gashes that nearly severed the head from the body “—on the left side of the neck, you have an incision that is about four inches in length. It has completely severed the tissues down to the vertebrae. Then, an inch below, you have a similar incision, running just below the ear. Both are caused by a strong blade, the same blade. Then...”
He paused and his assistant moved the sheet that had given the body a semblance of dignity.
“You see the slashes just below the abdomen. Downward and jagged here. They were done with exceptional strength and brutality. They cut through the tissue deeply.” He looked at them. “I believe that your killer has seriously studied the autopsy reports from 1888 and that he is doing everything in his power to recreate the original killings in every way possible. The difference, of course, is that Polly Ann Nichols was older, destitute and living a hard life, resorting to prostitution. And this young lady... But, of course, I understand that this killer believes all women to be of one ilk. And I’m hoping that my work might in some small way help you to stop this man.”
He looked around at them all.
“If this murder is in any way indicative of what is coming, it’s indeed terrible. I’m no historian myself, but certainly aware of the past. But the original killer advanced with his savagery and while I, more than anyone, am aware that death itself is the great equalizer, and the victims are dead before the mutilation of the body and organs begin, thinking of more young women departing in this fashion is a concept far too horrible to entertain.”
“Dr. Monroe, thank you,” Mason told him. “We, and every member of every kind of law enforcement in Britain, are seeking to stop this killer, rest assured. We have a suspect—we need to find him. He’s a chameleon.”
“Ah. Monsieur Bisset said that you have a suspect in custody?” Monroe asked.
“We believe that we have a man in custody who killed the vampire victims—I don’t believe that he killed this young woman,” Mason told him. “We are hoping that he may shed some light on what is happening.”
“The vampire was arrested in the United States,” Monroe said, frowning.
“No. He had followers. He was an instructor in murder and killed many, but not all, of the victims in the States and in Europe,” Della said. “But, Doctor—”
“You mean there may be more killers this savage and brutal out there than the one committing these crimes?” He paused again, shaking his head, wincing. “We’ve all heard this, of course—I speak for the dead. Many wonder how anyone does this for a living, a vocation. But it is very true—I speak for the dead. And while I constantly seek justice, in this instance...”
“We understand,” Mason said quietly. “And it does help to know the extent of this man’s obsession with a past killer. It will help weed out the truth when we interrogate those we seek as witnesses or persons of interest. We appreciate your dedication to detail.”
Dr. Monroe nodded, studying Mason and then Della.
“Take care,” he said. “And rude though it may sound, I hope we do not meet again.”
“Understood,” Mason said.
Monroe’s assistant covered the body once more. There were thanks all around and they left the morgue. He studied Della’s face as they left. She was stoic.
“You know,” he murmured softly for her ears alone, “you can talk to Jackson. You are an exceptional agent, Della, I know that more than anyone. But—”
She turned to him. “Mason, I have seldom been more determined to see a killer brought to justice. And you know that I can take care of myself—more so, because I have your backing and that of the others. And now we have Gary Hudson. And while I’m convinced that he’s guilty of a murder, he’s not guilty of the Ripper murder—he’s not that organized. But he may know who is—these men who followed Dante had to have seen each other at some point, or... Mason! How? How does a man turn others into killers? Maybe Philip can get a grasp on such a thing, but...”
“There are people out there who feel wronged. In this case, Gary Hudson is lying through his teeth. But somehow and somewhere along the line, he was wronged horribly by a woman or believes that he was wronged by a woman. We can look into his history, but... Dante was an incredible Pied Piper for finding those who were disillusioned and on the verge.” He hesitated and winced, his focus on the past as he said, “We saw it often in small ways during the pandemic. People home and in their own company for hours and hours. They’d get on social media and because they were frustrated, they’d find a cause and embrace it, real or imagined, and they’d let their hate and anger at life boil over into horrible passions on the internet. In this case, a person lives focusing on how they’ve been wronged, perceived or otherwise, and they let it simmer and grow...and in real life, meet up with a Stephan Dante. They’ve wanted to lash out. To kill. And he convinces them that it’s their right, that they should spew vengeance on others, that they can be the best ever, excel at killing and becoming not just noticed—but infinitely famous.”
