by Ben Hopkin
* * *
One of the reports sat in Kent’s hand, an almost weightless scrap of paper that seemed to get more and more weighty by the moment. But he didn’t care. After decades and decades of searching, Kent had found Jack the Ripper.
“Call Locroft. Tell him we know who the Ripper is. And that I know how we can find our copycat.”
“You do?” Kyra asked, as she was pulling out her cell phone to dial. “How?”
“It’s genealogy with a twist. He needs to check all the descendants of Robert Mann and look specifically for those with royal connections.”
“Will that work?” she asked. “I thought you said that was just BS.”
That was the question. He hoped that was the solution. But on an entirely different level he knew… knew… that having found the Ripper, they were now inches away from apprehending their copycat.
“It will work.”
Kyra shook her head. “But wait. You said he was lower class.”
“I did indeed,” he answered. “But one of his descendants must have married into a family with royal ties.”
There were so many connections here, it should have been so clear. To him, to her, to everyone who knew the case. The profile he had laid out fit so perfectly, and it was what original police reports had said about the killings. Those early policemen had been looking for a local man.
Right up until the newspapers got involved. So many years of misinformation had turned everyone away from the residents of Whitechapel.
And now it was going to possibly result in a woman’s death.
Kent stopped. Something was bothering him. A sense of some missing piece of the puzzle. There was something he wasn’t seeing.
Close. He was close. He could sense how near he was to the solution, but once again, it was escaping his conscious mind.
What he really needed right now was a comic book store. Or a good video game. He wondered what the chances were that there was either one nearby.
Regardless, it was time for them to get out of here. Perhaps a change of scenery would jolt something into his awareness. Get out into the London fog, let the cold, wet air clear his head. Or, you know, give him pneumonia.
“Call while we’re moving,” Kent urged. “We need to get down to Whitechapel. Now.”
They knew the basic parameters of where the copycat was supposed to strike. That had been known from the beginning.
The problem had always been the size of London. The sheer numbers of people there. Knowing the general locale of the murders did nothing if they didn’t know who they were looking for.
That was why Scotland Yard hadn’t been able to prevent any of the other murders, even while knowing where they needed to look. There had just been too many variables.
But now things had shifted. And while Kent and Kyra still didn’t know exactly who they were looking for, by the time they got down there, they should. It was only a matter of a few conversations to get the information they needed.
Kent just hoped it was in time.
* * *
Nicole rounded another corner of the parking garage. They hadn’t seen another living soul for the past five minutes, and all they’d done was circle past a bunch of cars. Her feet were starting to ache, and she wanted to get back to Kent.
She glanced at her watch. 10:17. There was no longer enough time to get to the park, which would have been a lovely way to end the evening. Instead, she was taking a tour of something she saw way too much of back home.
Time to say something. She cleared her throat.
“Cordelia…” she began.
“Ah, here it is,” the woman uttered just at that moment. She was pointing to a car. It wasn’t a new car, neither was it old. It was one of those not-quite-white vehicles that existed everywhere that automobiles were used as transportation. The kind of deliberately unnoticeable cars that never drew attention to themselves.
“We’re here to look at a car?” Nicole asked, trying and failing to keep the disappointment out of her voice.
“It’s not the car,” answered Cordelia. “It’s what’s inside the car.”
Okay, this was getting stranger by the minute. The woman pulled out a set of keys and opened up the trunk of the vehicle. Reaching down inside, she brought up a rough-hewn box.
Moving around to the passenger side of the car, Cordelia unlocked the door and motioned for Nicole to step inside. Upon seeing the quizzical look Nicole was giving her, the woman smiled.
“You’ll hold onto the box, while I drive us down to Battersea Park.”
She moved around to the opposite side of the car, letting herself in to the driver’s side seat. The older woman situated herself while Nicole got in and shut the door.
Whatever was in that box had to be something good. There was no way Cordelia would have brought her out to such an odd location if there weren’t going to be a dramatic payoff here somewhere.
Once they were both in and settled, Cordelia hefted the box up and laid it in Nicole’s lap. She gestured for Nicole to open it up.
“It’s really quite interesting, I promise you, dear,” she said in an encouraging tone. “Especially for someone like yourself.” She started up the car, pulled out of the parking space and headed toward the exit.
Curiosity winning out, Nicole lifted the lid of the box, the old hinges creaking with age and rust. Angling the box to catch the dim light from a florescent bulb that they were driving past, she caught sight of what was inside and gasped.
Whatever she had been expecting, it had never been this.
CHAPTER 15
“It all works together,” Kyra murmured, feeling the weight of the statement.
After all their searching, all the tracking down of strange leads, they had done it. Jack the Ripper was discovered.
“You really figured out who Jack the Ripper was…” Kyra breathed out.
Kent looked at her like duh. “With an hour to spare, I might add.”
Only Kent.
How many decades had Scotland Yard been looking for Jack? How many thousands upon thousands of professional and amateur detectives had tried to solve this age-old riddle?
Yet Kent had stepped in and solved it within hours.
No wonder she was in love with him and his arrogance.
He had saved her as a child and now again as an adult. She hadn’t wanted him to worry, but her business wasn’t going on that well. They probably had another month before the bill collectors ate them alive.
But now? To have been on the team that not only discovered the identity of Jack the Ripper, but also with a little luck was about to catch the Soho Slasher? That was going to bring in the business they needed to go from the red to the black.
She would have kissed him on the cheek, but she knew how that would look.
And she was not the only one he’d saved. She knew that along the way Kent had picked up some strays, children of serial killers. Most profilers walked away once the case was done, but not Kent. If there was a child involved, he made sure they had the resources they needed to have a full and happy life.
Kyra knew, because several of them had called her. There wasn’t exactly a twelve-step program for the children of killers. Yet, Kent had created one. And she was happy to be a part of that.
“What?” Kent asked.
“Nothing,” Kyra said. For all his arrogance, he didn’t like to be complimented, especially on something as personal as his SK kids’ network.
Besides, he knew how she felt about him from that misguided kiss.
An idea came to her, and she pulled out her cell, firing off a quick email to Darchak. Narrowing the list of suspects down to just one would allow her IT guy to hone in on his search. Seeing her phone out, the profiler gestured to the device.
“You need to call Locroft,” Kent urged. “He’ll already have policemen staking out Mary Kelley’s crime scene on Commercial Street, but tell him to up it. And find out if anyone’s been seen moving into the area. Anyone.”
That was Kent. Barely done with one superstar result and onto the next. The man was unwavering.
He propelled her up the stairs as she dialed Locroft’s number. It rang twice before the Superintendent’s deep voice crackled over the line.
“Superintendent Locroft here.”
“Locroft, it’s Kyra. We’ve found Jack, and here’s what we need from you.” She gave him the details of the parameters that Kent had mentioned, and then added, “And check on the connection with Lord Rhys first.”
“Lord Rhys? Good heavens. That can’t be right.”
“I’m hoping that it’s not, but I would get a car out there immediately, just to make sure he’s not out and about tonight.” If Rhys was the copycat, they needed to make sure they were staying ahead of him.
“I will,” Locroft promised.
“One other question,” Kyra continued. “Has anyone been in or out of the Commercial Street area you’ve been staking out?”
“A few, but no men accompanying women.”
“Keep me updated. We’re heading there now.”
Kyra pressed the END button to disconnect the call, and followed Kent out to the front of the house. Nearing the door, Kent paused and turned to the woman whose house it was.
“Thank you for all your help,” he said. “I know that you were told to keep this a secret.”
“I was told that no one would ever come looking for it,” she sneered. “Those uppity bastards should’ve asked me what I’d do if anyone asked. I would’ve told ‘em.”
From the expression on his face, Kyra decided that Kent rather liked this crotchety old woman.
“I bet you would’ve,” he said.
“Will it get one of those royals in trouble?” the woman asked.
“Absolutely,” he assured her.
“Then it was worth it,” she said, and slammed the door behind them.
Charming woman.
But Kyra had more important things to think about right at the moment. She rushed out into the street to try to hail a cab. There was a copycat murderer out there, ready to take down his next victim.
All of the sudden, she watched as Kent stopped, almost in the middle of the street. Which in London, was never a good idea.
“There’s something…” he murmured, pulling out his cell phone. He fired off a text, his thumbs darting about the screen of his phone. Kyra had no idea what he was doing, but she guessed that if it was important, he’d let her know. Or make her figure it out. One way or the other.
She hoped it was the first, because she was beginning to feel as if she didn’t have a clue what was going on. Her mind just wasn’t as sharp or as quick as Kent’s.
And they didn’t have much time left.
* * *
As the cab rounded the corner onto Commercial Street, Kent took stock of where they were with the case. There was something still missing, and it was itching at the back of his brain.
It was time to bring it to the forefront.
In the place of the shoddily built housing that was present in the days of Jack the Ripper, now there was a shoddily built parking garage. That was the main area of concentration for the troops that Locroft had amassed.
But time and time again the copycat had managed to elude law enforcement. Which meant that they had been missing something. Something important.
“Here,” Kent called over the seat to their Pakistani cab driver. The man nodded and pulled over to the side of the street. The wrong side of the street. No matter how many times Kent had been to England, he’d never gotten used to them driving on the left. It was unnatural.
He paid the driver, and waited for Kyra to join him before walking over to the garage. As they walked, Kyra cleared her throat.
“So what are you doing now? Aren’t you afraid you’re going to spook our killer?”
Kent shook his head. “For whatever reason, our killer seems to be spook-proof. Which makes me wonder…” That itching feeling was back. His subconscious knew something that it wasn’t letting him in on quite yet. “Thought we’d go talk to the security guard.”
As they approached the gate, a large black man stepped out of the guard booth. “All right?” he said in greeting. “What can I help you two with?”
“We’re working with Scotland Yard,” Kyra answered. “Wanted to know if anyone’s gone into the garage recently.”
“Not much traffic tonight,” the guard admitted. “But there have been the odd one or two come through.”
“Any pairs?” Kent asked.
“You mean like couples? Naw, I ain’t seen any like as that. Told the same thing to that copper just a bit ago.”
And then it struck Kent. The thing that had been eating at him. It could be nothing, but…
“What about pairs that weren’t just couples. Any with two women?”
“Right. Sure. There were one just about twenty minutes ago.”
Kent perked up at that. “Are they still here?”
“Naw,” came the response. “Left not too long after they was here.”
And just as quickly as it had come, Kent’s excitement turned to disappointment. There hadn’t been any pairs that had stayed. Still, might as well follow up a bit.
“Did you happen to get a good look at them?”
“Sure, sure. I knew one of them. Has a permanent space here in the car park. Name’s Cordelia Blackwater.”
Just at that moment, Kyra’s phone began to ring. “It’s Locroft,” she muttered.
“Hold on a sec,” Kent replied. He turned to the guard. “We’ll need the name of that woman, plus any security footage you have of them. I’ll get a policeman over here to take your statement.” He turned back to Kyra. “Put it on speaker.”
Locroft’s voice echoed off the wall of the parking garage, creating an eerie effect. With the fog as thick as it already was, the bouncing sound waves of Locroft’s deep voice might as well have come straight out of a horror movie.
“We went by Lord Rhys’ apartment, but were informed he wasn’t at home.”
“That’s--” Kyra began, but Locroft cut her off.
“We were able to track Lord Rhys via his mobile. He’s been picked up and is being brought back to the Yard.”
“You’ve taken him into custody?” Kyra asked, her tone shocked.
“Well, you see,” Locroft answered after a moment. “He was found in the company of…” The Superintendent coughed a bit and mumbled something incoherent.
“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t get that,” Kyra answered. Always so polite, that Kyra. Kent would’ve said something entirely more incendiary.
“I said, he was found in the company of a prostitute.”
Well, Kent hadn’t seen that one coming.
* * *
After assigning one of the policemen to go back in and retrieve the security footage, Kyra had managed to find another vehicle willing to take them back to Scotland Yard to question Lord Rhys. Now they were on their way up the elevator to meet with Locroft.
Kent, however, had gone completely silent.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Kent turned to look at her. “I’m not sure. This doesn’t feel right.”
“He’s a royal, he has close ties with Scotland Yard, and he was with a prostitute,” she countered. “Seems like a smoking gun to me.”
Kent just grunted.
The elevator dinged and they got out. There in the hallway waiting for them was Mumambo Smith.
“Superintendent Locroft is down this way,” he said. “And so is Lord Rhys.”
“What are the details?” Kyra inquired of the man. In spite of how much schooling the poor man had received this morning at the hands of Kent Harbinger, Kyra knew him to be a good policeman.
“Lord Rhys was found with an escort,” he said, shrugging.
“We knew that part,” Kent inserted. “Anything else?”
“Her name was Mary Jane.”
Well, that was something. Kyra glanced over at Kent
, but he seemed to be showing no reaction to this news. How could they find someone who more closely fit in with the profile? And he had been caught with a prostitute.
Locroft was exiting the interrogation room when Kyra and Kent got there. Taking in the sight of them both, he motioned for them to step into the observation room off to the side of where Lord Rhys was being kept.
As they entered, Kyra’s eyes were drawn to the Baron sitting in the other room, waiting to be examined. His gaze darted about the space, and his tongue flicked out of his mouth, wetting dry lips.
“I was able to look into the descendants of Robert Mann,” Locroft said without any pleasantries.
“And?” Kyra prompted.
“You’re looking at him,” answered the Superintendent.
“Lord Rhys is…?”
“A straight line directly back,” he confirmed. “His son wooed a young girl from a royal family in Wales. Spectacularly ugly, by all accounts. Bit of a scandal.”
That was it. They had their man. And he was sitting just on the other side of the glass from them. But once more, Kyra saw the stony look on Kent’s face, and it gave her pause. He was staring at Locroft, a slight notch between his two eyebrows.
“Are you going to interrogate him?” she asked.
“I was just waiting for you two.”
Locroft stood and left the observation room, stepping into the frame of the one-way mirror moments later. He seated himself opposite Lord Rhys.
The Baron looked up with eyes that were bloodshot… and desperate.
“Locroft,” he pleaded. “You know me.”
“With all due respect, my lord, what am I meant to do?” Locroft sighed and leaned in. His technique was good, honed after what was probably decades. Sympathetic tone, soft speech, putting the person interrogated in a position that encouraged them to talk.
“You’re meant to get me out of this bloody box,” the Baron barked, then immediately withdrew. “I’m sorry. I’m just… I’ve supported this department for years…”
“And you must know how this looks, my lord.”
Kyra’s phone dinged, her alert for an incoming email. Pulling out her cell, she opened the message after seeing it was from Darchak.
Kent moved behind her, reading over her shoulder. She felt his presence behind her, an electricity flowing from him that now just reminded her of her earlier mistake on the bridge. But all of the sudden Kent’s energy changed, growing both darker and more intense.