Downtime (28 page)

Ezra shook his head. “I’m too tired to decipher your slang. Perhaps after a good night’s sleep.”

I gave him a gentle push ahead of me, keeping an eye on him as we passed Finch and headed out of the station. Without waiting for a cab, we headed back toward Fairclough, where I’d left my gun. The night was cold and wet and even so, I was relieved to be out in it after spending time in that dank hole of a jail. Pimblett might not be close to catching Jack, but I felt sure he was doing a hell of a lot better than I was—and with no modern technology to back him up.

Once I had retrieved my gun, worry lifted from my shoulders, to be replaced with weariness. I pushed back my coat and rested my hands on my hips as I surveyed the dark street, no cleaner for the rain that had been falling since early afternoon. Considering what I’d accomplished, the day would’ve been spent more productively in bed. “You know what my problem is?”

Ezra paused in the midst of trying to dry the rain off his hat with his coat sleeve. “I’m to narrow it to one?”

“Smart-ass. And to think I was worried about you.”

“Were you?” He was smiling. “I am sorry, then. Do go on.”

“My problem is I’m stuck in the nineteenth century without a damned thing at my disposal to help solve this case.”

“You’re saying you’re spoiled?”

There was the way to put a brutal spin on it. “Well, yeah. I guess I am,” I admitted as we turned toward Commercial and the nearest cab stand. “At home, I’d have a backup team. I’d have a fingerprint kit and a decent camera, a lab, a car, and enough goddamned light to search for evidence in even the blackest back alley….”

Ezra had stopped walking. He stood a few feet behind me, staring past me as if I weren’t there.

“Ezra?”

His hat and walking stick clattered to the pavement. Alarmed, I grabbed his arm and he sagged against me. “Hjälp mig,” he gasped.

I knew enough Swedish to know he’d asked for help and, no matter who was doing the asking, I wasn’t about to turn him down. “You’ve got to talk to me, Ezra. Tell me what’s going on. What you’re seeing.”

In the distance, the sound of police whistles shattered the night.

I wanted
to follow the urgent whistles, knowing where they’d lead, but I couldn’t leave Ezra. He’d regained his legs but not his color. “Ez? You with me? Just take it easy. Rest a minute.” I laid a hand on his perspiration-sheened forehead, brushing back the disheveled hair. “Can you tell me what you saw?”

“I didn’t see anything.” He hooked his fingers under his collar and a spasm of pain crossed his features. “Something came about my throat and pulled until I couldn’t draw breath.”

“He’s got her.” I felt sick at the realization. “And he’s still with her.”

“No, he’s gone.”

Ezra started to walk and I had to hurry to keep up. “He’s gone? But—she was alive when she came to you. Wasn’t she?” Jack worked fast, but not that fast.

Ezra looked as sick as I felt. “Her body—she’d left it, but—I don’t think she knew. She was fighting, searching for rescue, and I was receptive and—very near,” he finished as we turned on to Berner Street and into a crowd of chattering people.

“Son of a….” The murder was moments old and already people were crowding into the scene. Sully would’ve hit the roof. “What time is it?”

“Just after one. Morgan, reassure me we’re not courting further confinement,” he said as we reached a high gate leading into an alley between buildings. I looked around for Pimblett and saw no sign of him, although several constables were on the job, directing onlookers away from the body.

“I think we’re safe.” For the moment, anyway. Surely Pimblett or one of the inspectors would be along to write up a briefing and send the men out to canvas the area. The police station was only a three- or four-minute walk away. I didn’t know how much I could investigate in that amount of time. Ezra and I could barely squeeze through the congregation of the morbidly curious. Walk-throughs were apparently performed en masse in 1888. By the time a photographer showed up to photograph evidence, there’d be none left.

“Stay here,” I whispered, and before he could object, I slipped around a distracted policeman and moved closer to the body lying in a pitiful heap near the building. How in the world Jack did his damage without enough light to see his hands in front of his face, I couldn’t guess. Blind walls rose on either side. With the cloud cover overhead, the alley would have been pitch-black when he made his move.

Even with the police lanterns now tossing beams of light around the street, it was still damned dark. Braced for the sight of mutilations, I was startled to see the victim still fully clothed and lying curled up on her side, the only apparent injury to her throat. The thought that she might still be alive brought me to my knees and then I saw that he’d sliced through her left carotid and—it appeared—her windpipe as well. Blood puddled under her neck and in her hair, seeping down the gutter toward a drain.

Apart from her bonnet lying on the ground nearby, there was no sign of struggle. I dug out my file to jot down everything I didn’t think I would remember later. The absence of blood on her clothing suggested she’d already been pulled to the ground when he dragged the blade across her throat. If she’d managed to scream, whoever had interrupted Jack before he could mutilate her had been too late to save her life.

“Morgan.” A firm hand latched on to my coat and tugged.

“You shouldn’t be over here.” I stood, but couldn’t take my eyes off her face. It was oddly peaceful, I thought, remembering the terror in Ezra’s eyes and the plea for help. I had been just around the corner when he’d killed her. Just around the goddamned corner.

“I’m not certain you should be here either.” Ezra tugged again, gently but insistently. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, just fantastic.” I blew out a disgusted breath, then tore my eyes from her to look into Ezra’s worried face. “Sorry. Yeah, I’m all right. You?”

He nodded. “This one, it isn’t like the others.”

I noticed he was determinedly not looking down at the body. “No, he only cut her throat. But that did the trick.” I put away the file. “If this is the Ripper’s work, and it appears to be, he must have been interrupted before he….” Oh damn.
Damn
.

“Morgan?”

“There were two.” I turned him around and started for the street. “He killed two in one night. I even remember thinking when I read it that the guy had balls of steel to attack another woman when there were cops swarming all over the place with the news of the first murder.” I wasn’t thinking it so much now, having had a taste of the labyrinth of streets Jack wandered in search of victims. So many dark corners, so many vulnerable, desperate women. It was a serial killer’s paradise. “We’ve got to get out of here. I don’t know how soon he’s going to strike, but this may be our chance to nail him.”

Ezra abruptly stopped in his tracks and grasped my arm. A glance toward the gate showed me why. Our shot at catching Jack had just dwindled to nothing. The constables had shut the gate, having rounded up for questioning everyone who had strayed into the alley for a peek at the latest victim. “How will we go?” Ezra whispered. “They’ve a guard on the wicket and the door into the club. I don’t see another way past.”

“Wicket?” I assumed he was referring to the smaller door in the gate, where a constable stood posted to prevent anyone else from entering. Well, I’d wanted the police to start showing a little common sense in regard to preserving evidence. They’d just picked a God-awful time to start. “We can’t exactly tell them to let us go because there’s going to be another murder. We need….”

What we needed appeared like a miracle through the wicket. “Inspector Pimblett,” Ezra said in alarm and began to pull me in the opposite direction.

“No, listen. This is perfect. He’ll kick us out of here.”

“And straightaway into manacles until they can take us to Newgate,” he finished with grim certainty.

“For what? Getting pulled in by the crowd on our way home?”

“For being at the scene of another murder when we’ve already been arrested on suspicion of the first two. You’ve a knife—”

“A pocket knife wasn’t used on this woman’s throat, trust me. Pimblett will have no reason to hold us.”

“Something about you seems to inspire reasons to put you under lock and key. I suppose there’s no escaping it now.” He looked around anxiously. “I wish we could get a message to Derry. They must be worried.”

I hadn’t thought of that. “Kathleen won’t let him come looking for us,” I said, wishing I could be sure. The good inspector caught sight of us in the crowd and, excusing himself from the group of constables he’d been instructing, headed in our direction with a demeanor remarkably similar to my dad’s the time I’d wrecked the truck.

“We don’t follow orders particularly well, do we, Mr. Nash?” Apparently it was clear to him who had instigated this unauthorized detour. “Am I mistaken or did I not specifically request that you stay out of Whitechapel?”

“I haven’t left Whitechapel yet, so I haven’t had the opportunity to stay out of it. Technically speaking.”

Faulkner would have busted me down to chief dishwasher for that one. Pimblett looked as though he wished he could. “Since you are a visitor to our fair isle, I will allow for a second error in judgment, but you may trust that a third will bring an investigation upon your head which will involve a considerably longer stay than I imagine you’ve anticipated. You do take my meaning?”

“Yes, sir, I do.” But something in me couldn’t help offering some parting advice. “Inspector, just one more thing. Your perpetrator was interrupted before he could do anything else to this woman besides cut her throat. Don’t you think there’s a possibility he may be out there looking for another victim, to finish what he started here?”

Pimblett seemed about to launch into another tirade, then he hesitated. His brows knit and he shook his head. “We have men on every street. If he strikes again tonight, he’ll be caught, and he must be aware of it. We are doing everything we can, and I think that is apparent even to you.”

“You can do more. Get your scene marked off and assign one officer the task of keeping everyone outside the perimeter. You’re documenting visitors, which is good, but your men weren’t quick enough securing the area around the body. The scene’s already been contaminated and you’ve lost a lot of evidence. I know you don’t do trace analysis and you can’t run any DNA—but someone’s got to be protective of these scenes to the point of neurosis, and since you’re the senior officer, it’s up to you. Photograph everything….”

I sighed. Onlookers might have been shuffled out of the way, but several constables still stomped around, mixing in their own hair, fiber, and prints with those of the murderer. Maybe it didn’t really matter, since none of it would be collected, but it made me wince. “At the very least, rope off a boundary starting at the gate, and at sunup you can do a thorough spiral from the body outward and collect whatever’s left. Here….” I handed over the slip of paper on which I’d made notes. “I documented my own observations. If you want to talk more about this, you know where to reach me.”

Pimblett looked at my notes, then at Ezra blankly. “What the devil is he about?”

Ezra’s face lit with a weary affection. “I’m still mulling that myself, Inspector. He does seem to know what he’s talking about, even if we don’t. It would do no harm to hear him out.”

A constable who’d been moving in our direction slipped deferentially to Pimblett’s side and whispered, “Dr. Phillips is here, sir.”

Pimblett looked as if he still didn’t know what to make of me. Finally he shook his head impatiently. “I’ve finished with these gentlemen, Constable, if you will escort them to the gate and send them on their way.”

Maybe later on, after he’d thought about it, he might decide to contact me. But I had no real expectation he would. The police were protective of the case and their reputation. I’d seen it before. They weren’t about to share the spotlight with any other agency, foreign or domestic, even if that spotlight got a little hot before the case finally broke. Pimblett just didn’t know yet that it never would.

Once past the wicket and left to our own devices, I immediately latched on to Ezra and headed away from the agitated crowd growing ever bigger on Berner Street. All of Whitechapel lay around us, and somewhere Jack was closing in on another woman. Maybe just a block over, for all I knew. “Ez, is Sully around?”

Startled by the question, he took a moment to answer. “I’m afraid not.”

“How about the victim? She’s not still around? Or anyone who’d possibly cooperate with us?” I knew my frustration was showing, but I couldn’t help it. Enlisting ghosts—there was a new low for Agent Nash. This job was a hell of a lot easier with modern advances, not to mention the law, on your side. If I had a car and the cooperation of the police—hell, even a dog with a good nose….