Ripped (111 page)

Authors: Frederic Lindsay

BOOK: Ripped

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She
slid
the
tray
into
the
oven
and
closed
the
door.
'I
didn't
know
I
had
any
choice.
He
says
that
after
Jack
the
Ripper
killed
Mary
Kelly
the
murders
stopped.
They
waited
for
another
one
to
happen,
but
it
didn't.
And
Jack
the
Ripper
wasn't
ever
caught.
They
still
don't
know
who
he
was.
Peerse
said
there
were
all
kinds
of
theories
–
that
it
was
a
surgeon
or
a
lawyer
called
Montague
John
or
a
duke
–
one
of
the
royal
family.
All
kinds
of
theories
.
Even
one
that
it
might
be
a
woman.
But
there
weren't
any
more murders.
Maybe
the
person
who'd
done
them
went
abroad.
Or
died.
Committed
suicide.
But
not
ever
caught.
Peerse
is
waiting
for
the
9th
of
November –'

'Only
he
won't
rest
unless
he
catches
somebody.'
On
impulse,
he
added,
'He
won't
have
to
wait
till
November.
Don't
ask
me
why,
but
I
feel
that.
It'll
end
before
then.'

'That
means
someone
will
have
to
be
killed
sooner.'
She
said
it
as
simply
as
a
child.
'Your
friend
Peerse
says
there
has
to
be
another
one.
And
no
one
will
be
caught,
but
afterwards
whoever
did
it
will
stop.
That'll
be
the
end
of
it.'

'No
,
that
kind
of
murderer
is
like
an
animal
that's
tasted
blood.
Maybe
not
here
anymore,
maybe
another
city,
maybe
even
another
country –
it
wouldn't
stop.
The
temptation
would
be
too
strong.'

'That's
not
true,'
she
cried.
'She
could
go
away
and
start
a
new
life.
She
would
just
disappear.
She
wouldn't
do
it
again
,
and
that
would
be
the
end
of
it.'

'That
doesn't
sound
to
me
like
Peerse.'

She
stared
and
then
said,
'Oh,
yes,
he
told
me
that –
something
like
that.
I'm
sure
he
did.
You
said
yourself
there
are
murderers
who
aren't
ever
arrested
– like
the
man
who
killed
that
woman
you
talked
about.'

'
Annette
Verhaeren.'

'Yes.'
She
knelt
and
began
to
brush
the
fragments
of
glass
into
a
dustpan.
As
she
picked
up
one
of
the
larger
pieces
to
drop
it
into
the
pan,
he
saw
that
it
had
opened
a
thin
cut
along
one
of
her
fingers.
Without
looking
up
she
said,
'I
know
about
him
–
he
works
for
Blair
Heathers.
One
night
in
bed,
Malcolm
was
crying.
Kujavia
had
taken
him
to
that
flat
– the
one
the
fat
woman
was
in.
Malcolm
wanted
to
see
the
black
girl
who'd
been
at
Heathers'
party.
Only
when
he
told
me
what
Kujavia
had
done
to
her,
he
started
to
cry.
But
not
even
that
could
make
him
stop
wanting
to
have
Bradley's
job
for
himself.'

'He's
not
ambitious
now,'
Murray
said.
If
it
was
a
defence
of
his brother,
it
was
a
brutal
one.
'He
told
you
–
and
you
told
Frances.
That
was
a
bit
of
luck
she
had;
it's
not
easy
to
find
someone.
Not
when
you
come
back
to
a
city
as
a
stranger
after
such
a
long
time.

But
when
she
went
to
Mary
O'Bannion's,
Kujavia
wasn't
there.
Sometimes
he
sleeps
there,
but
he
uses
other
places
as
well.
He
has
to
be
careful.
Billy
Shanks
told
me
once
–
if
that
bastard
got
himself
killed,
half
of
Moirhill
would
come
out
into
the
streets
and
dance.'

She
swung
open
the
mouth
of
the
bin.
Glass
glittered,
turning
as
it
fell.
She
licked
the
blood
from
her
finger.

'What
makes
you
think
Frances
wanted
to
find
him?'

'Because
she
knew
he
had
killed
her
mother.
Because,'
he hesitated,
'it's
possible
she
had
nightmares
about
him.'
Tufts
of
black
hair
in
a
carnival
crown
of
spikes.
'Maybe
she
saw
her
mother
being
killed
–
the
way
she
was
killed.
She
had
to
do
something
about
him.'