Page 77 of Secrets in the Dark
He turned, looking down the alley, shaking his head.
“He’s long gone now, but...”
“We have to try!” Della said.
He nodded. They headed off through the darkness of the alley.
By the end of the night, dozens of police, Metropolitan and City, along with every member of their Blackbird team, had searched.
And searched.
They didn’t give up until the sun broke through and the dampness of the fog begin to lift. Surprisingly, it was going to be a sunny summer day, devoid of the rain that could so easily plague the city.
They were holding Rick Fields before charging him, though Edmund admitted he wasn’t sure himself what the charges would be. When they’d had some sleep, they could talk to him.
Their team had broken into twos to search, as it happened, by nationality, Jeanne and François together, Edmund and Sean, and Mason and Della.
Mason, Della realized, was determined to be at her side—at least for the rest of the night. And it was all right. He knew that she was capable, but they both knew that anyone could be taken by surprise. While it wasn’t always true that there was safety in numbers, with this killer on the loose, it well might be.
It was right before they headed back to the hotel for the night that Della saw Abigail Scott standing just next door to their rental home. She elbowed Mason, pointing out their helpful spirit. He instinctively looked around, but light was just breaking and they could see no one else near them.
“Abigail,” Della said, hurrying to greet her.
“I was going to try to reach you!” Abigail told them. “I saw him. I saw him lurking near the pub, Daphne’s, but then I saw the girl rush after another man. And I saw him produce a knife and I was going to risk making fools of you by rushing into the pub for help, but you came out and came after the two of them and I thought that I should follow the killer, but... I lost him! I searched again, all night, but I haven’t seen him again!”
“Abigail, thank you. We knew he had to be near, too, but he does have an amazing ability to disappear. We—and dozens of others—searched and searched. We thank you for your help, always. And we’re grateful to know that you are here, helping us when you can,” Mason assured her.
She shook her head, not looking at them as she stared ahead and seemed to be seeing the past. “They concluded that one of the first murders that awful summer wasn’t the work of the Ripper. The poor woman was Martha Tabram. She was killed on a bank holiday and for many, especially in this area, the holiday meant so much. They attended so many outings. August 6, 1888. A young couple lived at 47 in the George Yard Buildings. They didn’t come home until after one. Another resident came home, but it was dark, and people were known to sleep anywhere, so...her body wasn’t discovered until a gentleman going to work went out in the very early hours of the morning—he hadn’t celebrated—he’d had to work too early. He ran for a patrolman and...she was so viciously killed, but as the day wore on, people gathered to stare. The streets were so crowded there that...” She paused, shaking her head. “Time and distance change things. I know that in your field, studying men and the past is important, but after Martha was murdered, more killing began, and if the Ripper didn’t kill poor Martha, they never did find out who did.” She seemed to give her ghostly self a shake and gave her full attention to them again. “He was out there tonight. And as with the old nursery rhyme, ‘Humpty Dumpty,’ ‘all the king’s horses and all the king’s men’ couldn’t find him. But here’s something you must realize to be equally important. You saved the life. And every life is precious. Some of us are born into good homes and grow into a world where we manage well. And some are struck with tragedy and poverty. Every life, no matter the material wealth of a human being, is precious. You saved a life. I wish that I might have saved any of the lives lost to that monster!”
“You’re helping us. You are helping to save lives,” Mason assured her gently.
“I have friends about the city, too. They let me know.” She managed a smile. “How convenient it would be if we could use the newfangled things—cell phones!”
Della and Mason both smiled.
“Scratch the phone. I wish I could hug you,” Della told her.
She smiled and moved forward. As the ghostly figure embraced her, Della felt a strange mixture of hot and cold.
“You must get some sleep. You must stay sharp. This man has an agenda, but he will kill anyone in his way.”
She looked at Mason. He nodded. “Don’t worry—we learn early on that a gun is a good equalizer that can often mean size and strength mean nothing.”
Abigail nodded. “Now get to sleep, please. Go on. I will watch until morning.”
“Thank you!” Della said softly again.
Abigail hesitated. “I wonder if I see him in everyone now. But, sometimes, I do believe that I’ve seen him, watching the house.”
“Oh?” Mason asked.
“He is monstrously alive,” she said, “but with the capability of disappearing into the shadows and the mist.”
“One of us is awake at all times,” Mason assured her. “We have alarms as well. And in the house, there are six of us, all armed.”
She nodded. “And I watch!”
“Truly appreciated,” Mason said.
