by Robyn DeHart
This time he’d be able to do more. He wouldn’t have to be so rushed and he could cut her up and show that Ripper bastard that he wasn’t special He was nothing but a coward to have run from London. This would call him back.
He cut her face, cut on her breasts, opened up her stomach and sliced inside.
“Hey, you there? What’s going on down there?” a voice called from the end of the alleyway.
Son of a bitch!
He looked up at the buildings around him and saw that what had been his perfect hiding spot to dissect his latest victim had quickly become his own prison. This would never do. There was no time to flee, nowhere to run, so he did the only thing he could think of: he slashed the knife against his own stomach, careful not to cut too deep. He gasped in pain, but grit his teeth against it.
“It was the Ripper,” he called back. “I tried to save her, tried to stop him, but he got me, too. Hurry—gather the police.” Then he dissolved himself into a coughing fit.
“Yes, sir,” the man yelled back, and then turned on his heels and ran. It didn’t take long for the first constable to arrive. They were still patrolling the area in a greater concentration than usual.
He introduced himself to the constable. “He stabbed me, too. See?” He opened his coat to show the blood seeping through his shirt. “He left the knife, too.” He nodded toward the blade on the ground.
“We need to get you to a hospital,” the constable said.
“No, I’m all right. I want to speak to the inspectors. Make certain I can be as helpful as possible.”
***
Drew was awakened by a knock on his bedchamber door. His butler peeked his head in the room. “Inspector Jeffries is here for you, sir.”
Drew quickly dressed and made his way downstairs. He found Bernard standing there, scowl firmly in place.
“We’ve another one in Whitechapel.” He rubbed at his temples. “Might have caught a break, though. One of our own might have seen him, too.”
A witness. “A constable? On patrol?” Drew asked.
“No, a sergeant on his way home. He heard the woman scream and tried to stop the Ripper. Poor bloke was injured, but I’m told he refused to go to the hospital and instead wanted to wait to speak with us. We sent a doctor to see him and we should be able to speak with him now.”
As Drew approached the crime scene he was struck by the location. It was a dead end, a piece of alleyway pinned in between two buildings. The area was quite different than the other scene he’d been to, where the woman had been killed near the entrance of the alleyway.
“Risky for the Ripper to put himself in a place such as this,” Drew said, nodding to the buildings ahead of them. “No way out.” He couldn’t help but wonder if this kill would prove to be by the hand of the Ripper or that of his new apprentice. No sense in voicing such a thought to Bernard, though, as he’d likely need Simon’s help to convince him.
“He likely thought he could take his time with this one.” Jeffries motioned to the man standing against the red brick wall. “Go see what our witness has to say, and then we need to make certain he gets better medical attention. I’ll check the victim.” Jeffries walked away.
The sergeant stood off to the side of the crime scene, leaning against a barrel. He held a rag against his wound, and his hands were covered in blood.
Drew stepped over to the man. “Can you tell me what happened tonight?”
The man nodded. “I was on my home from patrolling and I stopped off at a pub for a drink. When I was heading home, I heard a woman scream. I came down here and he cut me before he ran away. I tried to follow, but I was too weak.”
Drew made some notes. “Did you see his face? Or notice anything specific about him—his build, his clothing? Was he wearing a hat?”
“I didn’t see his face. It was too dark and it happened too fast,” the man said. “His build . . . he was average, I suppose, but athletic. He overpowered me, took me by surprise. I didn’t even have time to draw my own weapon. I don’t think I had time to notice anything else about him. I was really focused on trying to help that poor woman.” He pointed to the body slumped in the alley. Jeffries was currently kneeling over her.
Drew eyed the sergeant for a while, taking in the sight of him—blood stained the front of his shirt and covered his hands, but there also seemed to be some droplets on his ear, and two above his eyebrow. Odd, that. “What is your name?”
“James Richter. I’m a sergeant. I don’t believe we’ve met.” He gave Drew a snide smile.
“Andrew Foster. I’m working with Inspector Jeffries.” Drew looked over to see Jeffries, who was currently giving instructions to the photographer. There was no need to tell this sergeant that Drew himself was also an inspector.
Drew motioned to the man’s hands. “How did you get so much blood on you?”
“I put my hands on her. Tried to stop her bleeding”—he shook his head—“but it didn’t work.”
Drew made a note. He hadn’t seen the body, but if her throat was as badly sliced as the previous victims’ had been, there would have been no saving her. “Is there anything you can tell us about him? What he was wearing, whether he was tall or short?”
The man shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s a blur. But I think I would know him if I saw him.”
That didn’t make any sense at all. More than likely shock from the ordeal was setting in. Not to mention it looked as though the man had lost some blood, too. Still something nagged at Drew. How could he not know what the man looked like or what he had been wearing, yet at the same time feel certain he could identify him should he see him walking down the street?
Chapter Twenty
Earlier that morning Anna had awakened and come downstairs much earlier than usual. The previous night, while falling off to sleep, she’d had a most unsettling thought about the killer they were tracking and she wanted to look through everything she’d written down both during the postmortem and afterward to see if her instinct was correct. So she sat in her brother, the viscount’s, study to read through everything so as to not upset her mother. She hadn’t yet told her mother that she was assisting with the investigation. Anna had been in medical school for two years and the woman still hadn’t yet got used to that, and though her protests had all but disappeared as of late, nevertheless she would be none too pleased to discover Anna was working on the Ripper investigation.
Anna opened the book and started reading through the notes she’d made on the previous postmortem examinations, and every note she made stuck out to her: precise, exact, clean, and the list went on. A sickening feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.
There was a knock at the study door. “Annabelle, are you in there?” It was her mother.
“Yes, mother,” she said. She quickly folded the book over on her hand to close the notes.
The door opened and her mother stepped inside. “Are you planning on attending the theatre this evening?”
“What?” Anna shook her head. “No, I don’t believe I was.”
“Oh, well, it is just that Doctor Harrison mentioned he could secure extra seats and we could—”
“We?” Anna interrupted. “Mother, if you should like to attend the theatre with my professor, please feel free to do so, but I am quite busy with my studies.”
“Studies? Mitchell said—that is, are you not on break right now?”
So it was Mitchell now? Interesting. “Yes, I am on break, but I want to get a start on the next term, and now seemed as good a time as any.” She couldn’t very well tell her mother what she was actually studying.
Then the butler appeared in the doorway. “Lady Annabelle, there is a Lord Carrington here to see you.”
“Send him in.”
“You have certainly been spending an alarming amount of time with Lord Carrington for a girl who expressly insists that she
isn’t being courted.” Her mother smiled knowingly.
Anna suppressed a groan. If only her mother knew what they often did together. It was most decidedly not the stuff of courtship—it far too often required a dead body for there to be that much romance. Though they had shared many passionate moments. Her cheeks flamed at the thought.
Anna came to her feet. Drew entered the room and she sucked in her breath. Why did he have to be so bloody handsome? “Drew,” she said.
“Anna.” Then his eyes caught sight of her mother. “Lady Wickersham.”
“Lord Carrington,” her mother said, her hand coming to her throat. “Since my eldest son is out of town, I feel the duty falls to me to inquire about your intentions toward my daughter.”
“Mother!” Anna shrieked. “I apologize,” she said to Drew. “Drew works with Simon. I’ve consulted with him regarding a medical aspect of the case. I have illustrations here in my journal.” She retrieved her notebook. “Would you care to see?”
Her mother shuddered. “Absolutely not.” She watched Drew a moment longer.
Drew chuckled.
“I’m not certain what you find so humorous, young man,” she said.
“Mother, weren’t you about to invite Drew and his family to attend our dinner party tonight?”
A frown marred her mother’s forehead, and Anna looked pointedly at her.
“Oh, yes, of course, I had simply forgot about the dinner party. Yes, Lord Carrington, you must come, with your brother and his lovely wife, too.”
“I’m certain Doctor Harrison is looking forward to it as well,” Anna said.
“Indeed,” her mother suddenly agreed.
Drew smiled at her mother, and the transformation to his face caused Anna’s heart to flip upside down. “We would be honored to be your dinner guests.”
“Excellent.” She looked at both Anna and Drew. “Well, I suppose I should be going to check to make certain Cook has everything set for the menu.” Then she left the room, though she did not close the door.
Once they were alone, Anna eyed him. “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve discovered something.”
“And we have a new development this morning. You first,” he said.
“Shall we sit?” She walked to the seating area in front of the fireplace and he joined her, though he didn’t sit next to her. Though she longed for his nearness, she was also thankful she wouldn’t be tempted and lose her attention for the conversation at hand.
“I don’t believe you’ve told me . . . how did you do on your examination?” he asked.
He paid attention to what she said, remembered the small details. Warmth spread through her. “Quite well, actually. Though I did miss some points on my sutures. It’s rather annoying, I must say. Obviously I should have done as my mother instructed and practiced more of my embroidery.” She smiled at Drew. “In truth I don’t see why it matters overly much. As long as my stitches keep the wound sealed up from infection, it hardly seems relevant if said stitches are straight.”
He chuckled. “Sounds perfectly logical to me. So onward with this idea you’ve had.” He motioned with his hand to encourage her to speak.
“I believe the killer went to medical school or has had some form of medical training.” She frowned. “Perhaps he’s a butcher. In truth, it’s difficult to be conclusive, but after studying the postmortems I’ve concluded that his incisions are too precise for the average person.”
She stood and retrieved her notes from the desk and handed them to Drew. “I should like to discuss my findings with my professor, get his opinion. He has been helpful so far. I do hope you won’t mind.”
Drew scrubbed a hand down his face. He was exhausted, she could tell that much. His hair was more unkempt than usual, the soft waves more haphazard. Red lines, like tiny cobwebs, clouded his eyes.
“Have you been awake all night?” she asked.
“More or less,” he said with a shrug.
She stood and rang for a servant, then promptly ordered a coffee tray be brought in.
“Thank you,” he said. He looked down at her notes, flipped through them a few times, then looked back up at her. “So you believe he could be a doctor?”
“No, I don’t think so. It seems his work is more like mine—something almost there, not quite yet masterful. The work of a student, if you will.”
“Interesting. So that would leave us with a former medical student. Now the question is, did he leave medical school or was he forcibly removed?”
“Precisely,” she said. If only they could look at the admission records at the men’s medical college, then perhaps they could find something there that would lead them in the right direction.
The coffee was brought in and Anna went about preparing a cup for Drew. She handed it to him, then made one for herself, adding extra cream and extra sugar.
He took a healthy sip and nodded. “Thank you. This will help.”
“Tell me of your development?”
Another sip of coffee, then he set it down on the occasional table in front of him. “There was another killing last night in Whitechapel. Evidently one of our sergeants intercepted the attack and was injured himself.”
“Two victims?”
Drew shook his head. “Oh, no, the officer is still alive, though he’ll have to be watched for infection.”
“So he saw the killer, then?”
“You would think that, but no, he claims it was too dark, that things happened too fast.”
“Claims—it sounds as if you don’t believe him.”
“I have my suspicions.” He leaned back with his coffee and sipped quietly.
“Have you worked with this particular officer before?”
“No, I haven’t. Until last night I’d never heard of him. Name is Richter.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Jeffries told me that Richter has applied to be put in the detective branch and has also attempted to be promoted to inspector, and has been denied on more than one occasion.”
“I see. He doesn’t happen to have any medical experience, does he?”
Drew chuckled. “No, I don’t believe so, but I could make the inquiry.”
It was nice, the two of them sitting together, sharing coffee and working on the investigation. As if they were truly partners.
“So this dinner party tonight—that seemed utterly impromptu,” he said.
She grinned. “I was mortified by my mother’s question and decided that if she wanted to stick her nose in my affairs, then I would stick my nose in hers.” Then she realized what she had said and she felt the color drain from her face. “Not that you’re my affair, I merely meant that with the two of us working together on this case—”
“Anna, relax. But you know if you wanted to invite me to dinner, you could have merely asked.” He came to his feet. “I’ve got to get some sleep before I go in to question Richter.”
She stood, walked toward him, but stopped herself before she touched his arm.
“I shall see you this evening, though.”
“Yes, of course.”
***
Drew had once again returned to his brother’s townhome. He was to hand-deliver the invitation to the Wickersham dinner party. Anna’s mother had caught him as he’d been leaving the study and tasked him with the invite.
He couldn’t tell if the woman liked him or not, but what he had noticed was the amiable way that she and Anna got along. They didn’t agree on everything, or on much, really, but there was love there. And support. Things Drew had expected from his parents, but had never received. He was glad that Anna had grown up in such an environment, and suspected she was very much who she was today because of it.
At the moment Drew waited in the front parlor which used to be his mother’s favorite room in the house. Drew couldn’t help but notice that the room had been completely re
decorated. Instead of looking as if it had been hosed down in butter yellow, it now was much more pleasant and welcoming in muted shades of blue and green. Mia was settling in nicely as duchess, and for a blind woman, she had exceptionally lovely taste.
“Drew, nice of you to stop by,” Alex said as he entered the room. He was alone. “If you keep up this good behavior, rumors will spread that you’ve been reformed.”
“Reformed? By the likes of you? I seriously doubt that,” Drew said. “I need a favor.”
“Of course.” Alex took a seat in one of the upholstered chairs near the window.
“I hope you and the duchess have no plans for dinner tonight,” Drew said. “I have here an invitation to the Wickershams’ for a small dinner party.”
“Wickersham, as in Simon’s family?”
“Indeed, though not the viscount and viscountess; rather Anna and her mother. Lady Wickersham made it quite clear that I was to make every effort to get you and Mia there,” Drew said.
“Indeed,” Alex said with a raised brow. “Do you and Anna have some big announcement to make? An engagement, perhaps?”
An engagement? To Anna? His brother’s grin only aided in knocking the wind out of him. “Of course not. Alex, you know I cannot marry a lady. Not with my illegitimate birth. She deserves better than the likes of me.”
“Your secret never has to be told, Drew. Father made it clear that he accepted you as his legitimate son by bringing you into the house and raising you with me and Stephen. You are just as much his son as either one of us,” Alex said.
“Are you suggesting I build my marriage on a lie? Would you have kept such a thing from Mia?”
Alex paused. “No, I don’t suppose I would have. You obviously care for this girl.”
“Of course I do. She’s lovely and gentle and kind and smart and any number of other wonderful adjectives that tell me she is too good for me.” He shook his head. “The party is just that—a party. Nothing special.”