by Ben Hopkin
“It’s a sticky toffee pudding in custard, dear,” the woman answered, nodding toward the desert. “Give it a try,” she urged.
Nicole didn’t have to be told twice.
The spoonful of the creamy yellow custard paired with the dark brown toffee pudding burst into her mouth with the impact of a Mac truck. This was, hands down, the best food she’d ever put in her mouth. And after the fish, that would not have seemed possible.
Another sigh escaped Nicole, and she sank further into her chair.
She might just never leave here again.
* * *
There were many things that Kyra might have expected to find at the other end of a Kent-inspired hunt for clues. This, she had to admit, was not one of them. She was staring at a line of Victorian row houses that stretched down the block as far as the eye could see.
The architecture of the red brick London townhomes, with their pointed gables and narrow windows, were charming enough, although the paint was peeling off the trim on most of them, and wherever there was a touch of greenery, which wasn’t often, it was overgrown and filled with weeds.
“Why here?” she asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer. They had taken the Tube out here to Hackney, which was not a fantastic area from everything Kyra knew of it. The air was oppressive, the fog congealing once more in thick blankets of moisture. Somehow, the scent of oil, onions and frying potatoes managed to mingle with that heavy moisture.
The trip had taken the better part of an hour, and she could feel the time ticking away from them, slipping though their fingers like sand from an hourglass. It was not a pleasant sensation at all.
“Because here,” Kent said with a dramatic sweep of his arm, “is where we are going to find the answers.”
Without any more explanation than that, Kent moved down the row of houses, his movements graceful and sinuous, as always. Kyra wished for just a fraction of the physical ease Kent managed to exude. Was it something he had cultivated, or did it come naturally to him?
Stopping in front of one of the doors in the row, Kent surged up the stairs and rapped his knuckles against the wooden door. Kyra joined him, standing at his left elbow, hoping to get a clear sense of what was going on.
The door was opened by a wizened old woman, who peered at them both through thick glasses perched on the end of her nose. Every time she blinked, it appeared as though the woman was some kind of an owl, with enormous eyes tracking their every movement like prey.
“Whatcher want?” the woman uttered in a crackling voice that spoke of age and hard experience. Possibly some tobacco and alcohol use as well.
“We’re here to look at the files,” Kent said without preamble.
Files? He was talking about the Ripper files! But there was also no working up to it on his end, no explanations, no exuding of the famous Kent charm. Just a We’re here to look at the files.
Kyra did what she could to manage her disappointment. There was no way that this tactic was going to work.
But the woman just stared at the two of them, there on her stoop. Her eyes blinked several more times, then she moved back and to the side.
“Well, it’s about bloody time,” she mumbled, waving at them to come inside.
Kent entered in, hard on the woman’s heels, and Kyra followed along behind them both, peering about the interior of the townhome in some confusion. Apparently, this was the location of the secret stash of Ripper evidence? That didn’t seem at all possible.
This was a typical home of an elderly person. Knick-knacks and pictures lined the narrow and ill-lit entryway, leading to a set of stairs headed both up and down. Their guide shuffled toward the stairs headed down into what Kyra guessed was the cellar.
Kyra cleared her throat. “May I ask your name?” she said, hoping to at least open up an avenue of communication. She had never felt more in the dark.
The woman peered back at Kyra over her shoulder. “D’you really want to know?” she asked, her eyes narrowing to slits that were expanded by the magnifying effects of the glasses.
Caught off guard, Kyra answered honestly. “I suppose not.”
“Well, then,” came the response. “I don’t neither.”
As they followed the woman down the stairs, Kyra whispered to the profiler, “How the hell did the files end up here?”
“She was a secretary for the New Scotland Yard before they moved to their new location,” Kent murmured back. “Joshua reached out to her.”
“And she just told him?” Kyra asked, still looking to make sense of this odd scenario she found herself in.
“I think she was relieved.”
They got down to the basement level, and the woman turned around and opened up an oddly shaped door. It was angled to accommodate the shape needed to access the space beneath the stairs.
Moments later, Kent and Kyra were staring at cardboard boxes full of pictures, letters, files, a leather apron. All of the missing Jack the Ripper evidence that had remained hidden for so long.
Combing through the containers, Kent pulled out a jar that contained something organic that swished about in fluid. Taking a closer look, Kyra breathed out a long sigh of air.
It was one half of a human kidney.
CHAPTER 14
Nicole glanced at her watch. It was getting late, and at some point soon she would need to get back to her hotel room. There wasn’t much that could make her want to risk missing her rendezvous with her new husband. He’d never let her live it down.
But just as she thought that, Cordelia spoke up. “There’s one more thing that I’d like to show you before we part ways tonight. Can you spare the time for it?”
There was still time. It was only about nine, and that gave her more than an hour before she had to get back to the hotel. In addition, Cordelia had yet to steer Nicole wrong while leading her on to new things to do in the city.
Perhaps just one more experience. From there, Nicole could return to her methodical conquering of London tomorrow. But for tonight, why not embrace another amazing experience.
After a long moment of thinking it over, Nicole nodded. “I would love to. Thank you!”
She was pleased to see Cordelia’s face light up in excitement. It might just be her imagination, but it seemed that Lady Blackwater was enjoying their outing together as much as Nicole was.
Walking at Cordelia’s side, Nicole placed her hand on her belly. Luckily, there had been little to no morning sickness so far. Right now, she was just uncomfortable from having eaten too much at Toff’s. No regrets, though. She’d do it again in a heartbeat. In fact, she might find a way to make it back out tomorrow.
“So, should I even try to ask where we’re going this time?” Nicole said with a smile. That hadn’t really been a priority for Cordelia in their adventures together so far.
But Lady Blackwell winked at her. “Why not? We’re headed over to Battersea Park. Thought we’d explore a bit, walk around the grounds, look over the Thames…”
Nicole had to admit, that sounded like the perfect accompaniment to the meal they’d just had. This woman really knew how to create a memorable experience.
“We’ll have to get back on the Tube, dear,” she said, pointing back down toward the station from which they’d come earlier. At least this time they didn’t have to hike up that hill.
And there was nothing more beautiful than the Thames at night.
* * *
Kent felt like a kid in a candy store. A sick, twisted version of a candy store that handed out partial remains of human kidneys.
There was all kinds of evidence hidden here, a veritable treasure trove of Ripper evidence that could allow them to see the case from a whole new angle. Now all they needed to do was sort through it all.
And judging from the amount of material that was here, that could take some time. They would never be able to process it all before the killer struck again.
It might be time to call in the cavalry.
First and foremo
st, Kent and Kyra were going through each letter, taking pictures with their phones. Kent sent his to Joshua and Jimmi. Kyra’s went to some guy on her team.
Now they would need to get some of the physical evidence in to forensics. But first, there was something that Kent had to deal with.
He turned to the elderly woman who was acting as their reluctant archivist. She looked back at him with her eyes once more magnified by her glasses. It gave her the appearance of some kind of desiccated bug.
“Who was it that told you to keep all this evidence buried in your basement?” Kent asked.
This was something Kent had been looking for all along. He might joke about conspiracy theories, but someone was on the other end of suppressing this information.
The woman continued to stare at him, almost as if Kent hadn’t spoken. But finally she stirred a bit.
“Dunno who it is,” she said, pushing her tongue up against her mostly toothless gums. “Some hoity-toity type. They gets under my skin, they do.”
It was clear that Joshua had done a good job of playing off the woman’s sense of being taken advantage of by those in authority. But now they had another piece of the puzzle here.
“It’s confirmed,” Kent stated, looking at his partner in crime as she continued to take shots of evidence. “We’re looking someone with authority and access, possibly royal.”
“I’m not so sure that’s--” Kyra began.
“Stop,” he said. “Think about it for a second.”
Kent could see it in her eyes. She was thinking about the bottom line again. This new development steered them back to looking at Lord Rhys or the officials at Scotland Yard.
He continued. “Our present day killer is related to Jack the Ripper. The only reason to keep this evidence hidden would be to avoid scandal. And what would be more of a scandal…”
“…than a royal being a descendant of London’s most infamous serial killer?” Kyra completed his sentence for him.
Now that was the hunter soul of the child of a serial killer. The bottom line might be important to her, but catching the bad guy took precedence. And her mind was as sharp as a steel trap.
“That’s it,” Kent said. “So now all we have to do is figure out who the Ripper was.”
“Yes,” she answered, rolling her eyes. “That shouldn’t be difficult at all.”
“Watch and learn, Kyra,” Kent chastised her. “Watch and learn.”
He turned back to the evidence boxes. Once again, he had put more pressure on himself.
It was now up to him to deliver on the promise.
* * *
Kyra was getting bogged down in the minutia of the case files. There was so much information here, and the largest part of it was junk.
But they had realized quickly that most of the truly pertinent information and evidence had all been complied into one of the boxes. When Kent had asked the elderly woman if it had been her doing, the mistress of the home had given them another one of her hard-eyed stares, although Kyra would have sworn that there was a slight twitching around her mouth.
But as time continued to tick away, Kyra felt her frustration mount higher and higher. Kent didn’t seem to be doing any better.
“There’s something obvious we’re missing,” he fumed, running his hands through his hair. “Something at the very core of it.”
Kyra refrained from speaking. Even though she might feel the same way, as much as she’d gone over the case in her mind, she wasn’t seeing any other details they weren’t taking into consideration.
Kent glanced down into the box and pulled out what looked to be original coroner’s reports from each of the murders. They were yellowed with age, but seemed legible enough.
As he read through the reports, a light seemed to spark somewhere deep in the profiler’s eyes. Kyra had learned to both love and loathe that look.
“We need to go back to the beginning again,” he said. “We have the same issue here that we have with the current killings. Access.”
“But they were prostitutes,” Kyra responded. “Anyone who was willing to pay had access.”
“Not completely true, but that’s not what I’m talking about,” the profiler said in a near whisper. It was almost as if he was talking to himself instead of to her. “I’m talking about access to the bodies, and to the information that was given to law enforcement about the bodies.”
Kyra leaned forward in spite of herself, lured closer by the intensity of Kent’s tone. There was something so powerful and compelling about the profiler when he was sparking on ideas. It was no wonder she had succumbed to his charms earlier.
“Look at this,” he said, handing the reports over to Kyra. “What do you see?”
Glancing through the files, there was nothing immediate that stood out. But then she saw it. A name that kept cropping up. One man who seemed to have access to each body.
“Robert Mann,” she said.
“Exactly,” Kent said, glancing through the rest of the files there. “He was a morgue attendant that worked at the Whitechapel mortuary. Notice anything else?”
She scanned through the rest of the documents. “He undressed the first victim after being told not to.”
That was significant, but hardly conclusive. There were so many other elements here that needed to be accounted for.
“Okay, but that can’t possibly--”
Kent cut her short, ticking the other pieces of evidence off on his fingers. “He lived in Whitechapel. He was lower class. He could get the scalpels that might have been used in the killings, but his knowledge of anatomy would have been much more limited than a physician or even a butcher.”
Kyra was coming around to his way of thinking, but there were still questions left in her mind. Kent must have seen it, because he held up a finger.
“And the most important piece of information is what?”
Once more, playing the teacher with her. His towering intellect, looking down on her as she struggled to keep up with him.
It was overwhelming, humbling even. And for her, humbling was not a sensation with which she was comfortable. But in a strange way, Kyra found it comforting as well. She knew she could trust this man with her life.
She took a leap out into the darkness with him.
“Access?” she hazarded. And was rewarded by a look of what seemed to be pride combined with a mounting enthusiasm. He grinned at her.
“I think we’ve found Jack the Ripper.”
* * *
“We aren’t anywhere near the Thames,” Nicole said, looking around the area as she and Cordelia walked together along the dark, slick street, lit sporadically by the street lamps.
“You are right about that, dear,” Cornelia replied. “Just a little side trip. I wanted to show you something before we went to the park.”
She reached into her purse and pulled out a bottle of water. “Thirsty, dear? We’ve been walking quite a lot this evening.” She offered the bottle to Nicole.
“What about you?”
Cordelia chuckled. “Old people are like camels, dear. We don’t need to drink for days at a time.”
Nicole shrugged and took the bottle. She was quite thirsty, actually, and the water, even though it wasn’t cold, felt fantastic as it slid down her parched throat.
The smells of London had changed subtly as they entered this area. While they hadn’t seen much of anyone in this more deserted area of London, those they had encountered appeared to be of Indian origin. The smells around them had also taken on that same complexion. The scents of coriander, cumin and turmeric blended together to create the unmistakable aroma of curry.
The fog had thickened in the last hour, creating an otherworldly feel to their walk. Illumination from the street lamps streamed through the moisture, refracting into a hazy glow that was somehow both comforting and exhilarating.
There were quite a few police cars around. The distinctive white hatchbacks with the blue and yellow checking on the back seemed to be ever
ywhere. Nicole wondered if maybe there were some sort of sting operation happening.
“So what did you want to show me?” Nicole asked, hearing the echo of their footsteps ringing back to them, the sound bounced off the walls around them both.
“Something that I thought might be right up your alley.”
“Is this…?” Nicole looked around, trying to orient herself. Once more, the lack of street signs was disorienting to her. “Where are we?”
“Quite close,” came the answer. “You’ll see.”
But what in the world would Cordelia want to show her here? This didn’t seem to be an area conducive to tourism, and there didn’t appear to be any real landmarks close by. It was more of an industrial area. As they walked along the road, a concrete car park rose up beside them.
“Here we are,” Cordelia murmured, rubbing her hands together.
Here? At a parking garage? Nicole had to admit, the woman had once more managed to surprise her. There didn’t seem to be any way that this one could turn out as successful as the others, though. Not that Nicole could see..
Cordelia seemed to notice her lack of enthusiasm. “Don’t worry, dear. It will get more exciting in a bit.” She smiled at Nicole, her eyes sparkling. “Promise.”
Oh well, what the hell. Everything Lady Blackwater had shared with her up to this point had been more than worthwhile.
Nicole walked with Cordelia up to the guard gate, where a guard caught sight of Cordelia and waved. So this wasn’t Lady Blackwater’s first time here. Not by a long shot. If Nicole didn’t know better, she’d say that everyone in London seemed to know this woman.
“Harold, good evening.” Cordelia greeted him.
“Evening, Lady Blackwater.” The guard was a large black man, with a decidedly lower-class sound to his speech.
“Harold, how many times have I told you? Call me Cordelia.”
“Yes, Lady Blackwater,” the man said with a grin and a tip of his hat.
They moved off into the depths of the garage. Nicole sighed. At least she’d have a good story for Kent when they met up in an hour.