“You need to understand that Montague died long ago and there is only Jack. Jack is much like you were in Vietnam.”
I shake my head. “Not possible. If he was anything like me back then, then this city would be under martial law.”
“Consider him as something of a high-functioning alcoholic or drug addict. Despite his seemingly logical behavior, he is deep in the throes of his addiction. He is always at the pinnacle of his feeding, but manages to stay just this side of losing himself to the blood rage as you did. He has spent the past century killing and feeding on humans in abundance, without creating an international incident. He is as cunning a hunter as they come. The only reason we know about the women he has killed thus far is because he wants us to know.”
“Why would he want to alert an entire enclave to his existence and deliberately act in a way that would have a hit squad set on him?”
Vincent shrugs. “I don’t know, but I suspect he is bored. Simple killing is no longer amusing and fails to feed whatever monster is in him.”
I nod as I think back to when I suddenly lost my passion for slaughter. “You do understand that this falls under freelance work and I will charge you accordingly?”
“I will pay whatever you require—within reason.”
“All right, I’ll go kill your serial killer.”
A heavily German-accented voice echoes across the room. “You will attempt no such thing, Mr. Malone.”
Gertrud Fleischer is a short, stern woman who appears to be close to Victor’s age. Two men and another woman flank her. I tag them as nameless Bond villain henchmen and ignore them. Frau Fleischer on the other hand strikes me as the kind of person not accustomed to being ignored, so I give her my full attention and all the charm that comes with it.
“You sound familiar. Have I killed one of your relatives before?”
“I assume you are referring to Herr Hoefler. He was German. I am Austrian.”
I shrug. “I say tomato, you say heil Hitler. It’s all the same to me.”
She takes several steps forward and stands an arm’s length from me. “If you knew me half as well as I know you, you would not make such stupid and provocative comments.”
“Speaking of provocative, what’s that scent you are wearing, Chanel Number 666?”
“You are neither amusing nor welcome here, Mr. Malone.” She turns her head to face Vincent. “I specifically told you not to contact Mr. Malone and yet here he is. Would you care to explain this?”
“As I told you, your people are not equipped to deal with a foe like Druitt. By going after him yourself, you risk increasing our exposure instead of preventing it. You will turn this into a game for him, one in which he will take great joy in humiliating us in the most public way he can.”
“My people are adept at handling rogues. You have been away too long, Vincent. You have forgotten what it can be like in the old country. I know you think I am the enemy, and you have done a remarkable job of accommodating me and my people throughout what must be a very unpleasant, and even insulting situation, but I must insist that you follow my instructions, particularly in this regard.”
“You are making a mistake.”
“The only mistake is the one you brought here.” She shifts her hawk-like gaze to Wyatt. “Mr. McKay, you are not to leave this building without my permission. Do you understand?” Wyatt flicks his gaze toward Vincent, but gives her a nod. “Return to your station.”
Wyatt shoots Vincent an apologetic look before stalking away.
“Wyatt,” I call after him, “don’t forget you owe Vincent for that airbag.” I look at Vincent. “He childishly set off the airbag. Make sure you dock his pay for it.”
“Mr. McKay is a proper soldier. He will follow orders,” Gertrud says. “I suggest you follow his example and do the same, Mr. Malone.”
“You know, I have never been the order-following type. Besides, I am a warder of my district. I am required to deal with any and all rogue vampires breaking the rules within my area.”
“Not in this regard. If you see Montague Druitt, you will report his location to the office immediately. Under no circumstances are you to engage or attempt to apprehend him. Do you understand?”
“I comprehend the words…”
“If you disobey me, I will see you removed from your position as warder and bring the tolerance of your continued existence to the board for review. I am confident that I can swing the vote in a most unfavorable way. I trust you can find your way out. Come, Vincent.”
Vincent gives me a look bereft of hint or emotion, but I’m pretty sure I understand what he wants me to do. I stand and wish hateful vengeance upon Gertrud as I am left alone. If she does not understand that the fastest way to get me to do something is to tell me I’m not allowed to do it, then she doesn’t know me half as well as she thinks she does.
“Hey, how the fuck am I supposed to get home?” I shout. Only my echo responds to my question. “Every goddam time.”
CHAPTER 6
Being abandoned in Manhattan, again, means I have to take the subway back to Brooklyn. This does nothing to improve my mood. It may come as a shock, but I don’t care much for people. A kid standing next to me is eating some amalgamation of shredded meat and barbecue sauce, a fair bit of it ending up on the subway car’s floor. I give him a look that clearly says that if any of it gets on my jacket, I will paint the inside of this car with his blood.
I have a full schedule today and taking public transportation only serves to make it longer. It takes me three buses to get back to Stanley’s office. At least my bike is still parked out front unmolested, with the exception of a single splatter of bird crap across the tank. I find the likely culprit sitting on a cable running overhead and consider obliterating it with my .500 magnum, but I really don’t need the attention or the unnecessary delay that would cause. I wipe the bird shit off with my sleeve, strap on my helmet, and tear across town.
I need to kill some time, so I make my way to the public library on St. Martin’s Street. If I’m going to chase Jack the fucking Ripper across the city, I need to find out as much as I can. A raised, four-sided counter arrangement surrounds a skinny, older woman wearing enormous glasses. She looks at me as if I’m probably there to use the periodicals sections as a public bathroom.
“Excuse me,” I say as I approach her fortified position. “Can you help me with something?”
“This is a library, not a soup kitchen, and I don’t have any change.”
“Judging from your glasses, you obviously have a powerful aversion to change of any kind. Where can I find information on Jack the Ripper?”
She pushes her facial windshield up onto the bridge of her nose and points. “Biographies are over there, microfilm is in that corner over there, or you can use the computers over there. If I catch you looking at pornography, I’ll call the police. If you start masturbating, I’ll pepper spray you before calling the police.”
“Do you have a sister? You remind me of my shrink’s receptionist.”
Rightly inferring the insult I just issued, she glares at me through her Magoo goggles, or magoggles, as I make my way over to the computer section. My brief humor at my magoggles reference vanishes when I find that all of the computers are in use. I quickly size up the character of the people on the terminals, choose one who looks timid and is not doing anything important, and start to loom. Despite not being very tall, I excel at looming.
Within a minute, the pale, red-haired, teenaged Opie look-alike glances up at me. “Um…did you need to use the computer?”
“Only if Middle Earth can survive without your in-depth research.”
“Actually, it’s—”
“Equally unimportant.”
A thousand responses swirl through his brain, but he keeps them to himself just as I suspected he would. He’ll walk home, playing out a dozen different fantasies of how he should have responded, most of them kicking my ass using sorcery or superpowers he does not possess in real
life. It won’t surprise me if he someday lists me as one of many excuses for why he shot up a school or movie theater. I don’t have time to dwell on the fantasies of a disempowered man-child. I have to catch a vampiric Jack the Ripper.
I stab at the keyboard with my index fingers, typing Jack the Ripper into the search engine window. Only eleven million results to paw through. Super. I begin with Wikipedia then move on to biographies and fan pages. Typing in Montague John Druitt narrows down the search results drastically.
I quickly suspect that he and Vincent might have been more than friends, but I’m willing to take him at his word. What is almost certain is that Montague was probably half batshit crazy before he contracted syphilis. If his genetics leaned toward his female family line, it is no wonder he went insane. His mother died in an asylum and once attempted suicide. His maternal grandmother succeeded in her suicide, and her sister had made an attempt, as well. Montague’s oldest sister killed herself by jumping from an attic window.
I’m nearing the third hour of my cram session and the library is closing. Katherine should be out of court by now, and I hope to catch her before she leaves for the night. I send her a quick text message that I need to talk to her, before riding over.
My thumb hovers over the start button as I look into my mirror, which is slightly skewed. It wasn’t skewed before I went into the library. I lean down to try to get a scent, but it just smells like bugs. I bet it was that Frodo Douchebaggins I evicted from the computer. It shouldn’t be hard to track him down and make him wash my bike—like a cat.
I decide that I have more important things to do and stab the button with my thumb. If that’s not emotional growth, I don’t know what is. Suck it, Dr. M.
Since Kat works in the DA’s office, I have to store all of my tools in my bike’s saddlebags to get past the metal detectors. I make it through security without being tackled to the floor, and find Kat in her office.
She walks over and hugs me when I enter. “This is a nice surprise, but something tells me it isn’t a social call.”
“You know me, I’m all work.”
“That’s for sure. So what brings you by?”
“You’ve heard about the string of killings?”
Katherine lets me go and sits on the edge of her desk. “Who hasn’t? It’s all we can do to keep it out of the papers and panicking the public.”
“I have worse news for you. It’s one of us.”
“I know.”
“You know?”
“It didn’t take long for us to get a whiff of vampire all over the crime scenes.”
“Then you probably know why I’m here. Vincent tasked me with his execution, and I need a nose to help track this psycho down.”
Kat bites her lip, and I know I’m about to get more bad news. “I’m sorry, Leo, but the wolves aren’t going to help on this one. After that calamity with Homeland Security, I doubt you will find a wolf anywhere in the city. They gathered the pack for a meeting and bugged out of town to their rural strongholds. They can’t afford risking exposure getting involved in another vampire problem.”
I look up at the ceiling tiles and sigh. “Shit. Vincent thinks if we don’t get this guy quick, it will turn into a serious nightmare.”
“Do you know who it is?”
“I don’t think you would believe me if I told you.”
“I’m a half werewolf dating a vampire. Try me.”
“Jack the Ripper.”
Kat’s eyes widen. “The Jack the Ripper?”
“The very one, and you know how he liked to make a spectacle of the police when he committed the Whitechapel murders. I think he’s just getting warmed up, but that is likely to change very soon.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Other than staying off the streets at night, no. I guess I will have to rely on my expert detective skills for this one.”
Kat hugs me and kisses my cheek. “Just be careful. You look like crap. Get something to eat.”
“I think you mean someone.”
“I try not to be macabre.”
“Isn’t that a type of salad?”
“Your stupid act doesn’t work on me.”
“It worked on Vincent. He actually thought I didn’t know who Montague Druitt was.”
“People see what they want to see.”
“That must be why you’re naked right now.”
Kat punches me in the arm. “Go eat. You’re getting delirious.”
I leave, but I can’t get dinner just yet. It’s too early, even for the meal I have planned. The last thing I need is for the cops to start looking at me for the Ripper murders. Castillo probably already is.
I wind my way through the side streets and alleys as much as I can to avoid the traffic. There isn’t a whole lot of people going to the ME’s office, so it’s an easy drive, and there is ample parking. I give Raj a call and he lets me in the back door.
“You must be here for our two headless horsemen,” he says as he holds the door open for me.
“Who?”
“The two guys with their heads cut off. I’m pretty sure they bat for your team. I just assumed you were here about them.”
“I was just going to order the special, but I guess I’ll have to take a look at your entire menu.”
“Ah, you must be talking about our serial killer victims.”
“Yeah, but show me the dead vamps first.”
Raj double-checks the autopsy room and waves me in. Sheets cover two bodies already out on the tables. The ME opens the doors to the freezer banks and rolls out four more.
“Since you came here for the serial killer victims and not the beheadings, I assume they have some sort of correlation with your people,” Raj says.
“Your serial killer is a vampire, a particularly twisted one at that.”
“I did a preliminary blood test and found out that the two decapitated men are definitely your kind, but the women are normal humans. Any connection they share would help me a great deal. Given the nature of the wounds, I am almost certain we are dealing with two very different killers.”
“So we have a vampire killing prostitutes and someone killing vampires.”
“What do you think?”
“I think you best start carrying an umbrella, because there is a shitstorm brewing over New York.”
My mostly useless heart jumps in my chest when I hear Castillo’s voice.
“Raj, you back here?”
Hell. There is only one way out of the autopsy room and that takes me right past Castillo. I jump on a vacant table and pull a sheet over my body. Raj tugs the edges to help cover me just as Castillo and Angel walk in.
“Good, you’re still here,” Castillo says.
“Yeah, I will definitely be putting in some overtime thanks to our killers.”
“Killers?”
“Yes. I recovered slivers of metal from some of the victims and sent them to the lab for analysis. I just got it back today and have not yet written my full report.”
“That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to wait on paperwork while this creep is running loose. Why do you think we have multiple killers?”
“The women were all killed with the same weapon. Given the witness description of the blade and the lab’s analysis, I think the murder weapon was a falciform amputation knife. The spectrograph shows that the blade was old and likely forged in England in the late seventeen or early eighteen hundreds. The cuts to the throats indicate that the man was of average height but very strong. Each cut was made with a single smooth motion that nearly touched the spine. The blade used to open the abdominal cavities and remove the organs was a different knife altogether.”
“Maybe our killer bought the knife locally or online,” Castillo says. “This is a medical instrument?”
“Yes, a very old one. It was already going out of style by the early to mid-nineteenth century.”
“There can’t be too many of those around and even fewer places that sell the
m. Angel, get someone to start checking out antique stores or auctions specializing in old medical instruments.”
“I’ll get someone to search the eBay listings too,” Angel says.
“What about our two decapitated guys? You’re thinking different killer?”
“Most likely. Our two headless victims were killed with a very different blade, probably a sword of some type. Again, our killer has above-average strength, but the beheading was completed with a heavy chop, almost like an execution. Given the secondary trauma, both men put up a hell of a fight. One was shot several times, and the bruising suggests an exchange of blows and the use of a Taser. The other lacked bullet wounds, but was also tased prior to being beheaded.”
“Again by a sword-wielding maniac.”
“I know what you’re thinking, Sarge, but we have chased Leo for this kind of thing before and been wrong,” Angel says.
“Just because we couldn’t prove it, doesn’t mean we were wrong. Raj, what about the trace metals you pulled from them?”
“The metal is also antique, dating back to the sixteenth century, but is of Chinese manufacture. However, that is not the most remarkable weapon used. At first, I thought these were ligature marks around this victim’s wrist, but it was only on the one. If someone is going to bind a person’s hands, they would have tied them together. I was able to recover some synthetic fibers as well as tiny diamonds inside the wound.”
“Diamonds?” Castillo asks.
“Industrial type used for cutting. I think the cable or cord was a weapon. Given the depth and smoothness of the wound’s edges, I am guessing it was made of an exotic material like Vectran, Dyneema, or maybe Kevlar, and infused with industrial diamonds to cut into the flesh. I am still waiting for the analysis to confirm the exact manufacture.”
“Two different bladed antique weapons used to kill two different profiles. You are probably right, but I don’t think we can eliminate this being the same person just yet. They are obviously insane. Maybe he has two voices in his head competing for the championship serial killer of the world. What about DNA evidence?”
“I found hairs on the women that were not theirs.”
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