City of Darkness (City of Mystery) (14 page)

“Nonsense, I like to see a woman
enjoy her food.”

Leanna reached up impulsively and let
one finger trace a faint scratch on John’s face which began just at his temple
and disappeared into the dark brush of his sideburns.

“Last night,” John said, answering
her questioning gaze. “A rough delivery and the mother fought me a bit.” He
reached across the table and took her hand.  “Are you free this evening? 
There’s a new play, you may have heard of it…”

“Hmmm?” murmured Leanna, distracted
by the sight of her hand in his.

“A play,” John repeated.  “I’d be
delighted if you could accompany me.  It’s by Robert Louis Stevenson, and quite
the sensation.  Have you heard of it?”

Leanna hadn’t, but she nodded quickly,
just the same.  She was hardly able to believe her luck.  She would see him in
the day and again in the night.

“Excellent,” said John.  “I’ll come
at eight to pick you up.  Years from now you’ll be able to say you were among
the first in London to see
Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

10: 55 AM

“I want Abrams.”

“That,” Eatwell said, “is entirely
out of the question.”

“If he’s been cast off the case
because he’s Jewish, I must tell you how unfair—“

“Listen to me, Welles, and don’t make
me regret my decision to give you this assignment.  You keep your head in that
notebook, and your focus serves you on some levels, I’ll be the first to concede. 
But you often manage to miss the larger point.  This case isn’t about a single
maniac, it’s about the whole of London.  What will become of this city if the
panic goes any higher, if people begin to lose confidence in the Yard?   And
most specifically, the inevitable violence that will follow if the public
decides a Jew is responsible.” Eatwell looked steadily at Trevor over the top
of his glasses.  “You’re not getting Abrams.  For his sake as much as anyone’s.”

Trevor sighed.  “Davy Mabrey, the
young bobby who found the body – “

“Fine, fine, take him.  The parade of
witnesses will shortly commence and, even though the chances of someone saying
something helpful are small, I want you to record every testimony.  I won’t
have the papers saying we let something slip through.  They’re already starting
to doubt us, Welles, and that’s the one thing that cannot happen.  I’ve had a
visit from a Mister Lusk of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee just this morning
informing me of his concerns.  A group of local tradesmen afraid that the blood
running in the streets might be bad for business.”

“The observations of the public can be
relevant, Sir, if we –“

“Relevant?” Eatwell snapped.  “Of
course they’re relevant, and that’s why you’ll interview every lout we drag off
the streets.  But the group Lusk heads is a vigilance committee, Welles. ‘Vigilance’
as in ‘vigilante.’  We can’t have the citizens taking the law into their own
hands, or London will be no better than one of those savage outposts in the
American West.  And that’s why we -  Ah, here’s the doctor now.”

Phillips entered the room, less
steady on his feet than ever.  Up all night just like me, Trevor thought, only
he’s thirty years older.  This case will kill him before it’s over.  The doctor
nodded curtly and took the chair beside Trevor.

“I was able to construct a most
definite time line,” Phillips said, shortcutting any pleasantries, if indeed
any were to be offered.  “Elizabeth Stride died first, just as we thought.  Apparently
put up a bit of a fight, I’d say, due to her bruising, which was not
post-mortem.  Nothing under her nails or in her hands, Welles, so save your
breath.  A single gash across the throat, about five inches long, left to
right.  Not nearly as deep as what we saw on Chapman or even Nichols.  Enough
to sever the carotid artery but not a cut to the spine like the first two
women.”

Eatwell frowned.  “A different
killer?  A copycat?”

“I think not.  Same narrow blade,
same left to right motion, so likely the same man as the others.  But this time
something stopped him.  The fact she fought back, perhaps, or he could have
heard steps approaching.  Either way, she was still warm when I arrived.  So we
must assume that he was interrupted before he could do his usual tricks of draining
blood and dissecting organs.”

“Approximate time of death?” Trevor
asked, pencil poised above his notebook.

“Between 12:45 and 1:15.”

“That’s quite precise,” Eatwell said.

“Mabrey made the first call at one,” Trevor
said.

Phillips nodded.  “The bobby finds
her at one, she’s still warm at 1:45 when I arrive.  Meaning she couldn’t have
been dead more than an hour, which would take us back to 12:45. So what we lack
in clues we gain with a very tight time line.”

Trevor scribbled in his notebook, excitement
building.  “And at about that same time, another aspect of the story was
unfolding,” he said. “Catherine Eddowes, the second victim, was being released
from the Bishopsgate police station.  She had been brought in about four hours
earlier for public drunkenness.  Some sort of nonsense about imitating the
sound of a fire engine, raising a big ruckus and then refusing to give the
arresting officer her name.  But apparently they knew her on sight at
Bishopsgate, as she’d been in before on various charges.   She slept if off in
a cell and they released her at –“ Trevor reconfirmed his notes – “12:55.”

“Damn tight,” said Eatwell.

Trevor nodded, barely able to contain
himself.  They were finally getting somewhere.  Warm bodies and police records
were far more substantial than the paltry evidence collected from Chapman and
Nichols.

“So here we have it,” he said out
loud, struggling to keep his voice professional and neutral.  “Catherine
Eddowes is walking out of the police station just as Elizabeth Stride is being
killed.  But our killer is interrupted in his task.  So he hides and watches,
possibly was still watching when Mabrey arrived on the scene.”

“Indeed,” said Phillips. “Stride
killed just before one, found by Mabrey at one.  Takes thirty to forty-five
minutes for the three of us to all arrive at the murder scene, during which
time our killer slips away and encounters Eddowes on her way home from the
jailhouse.”

“He knows we are close by, but he also
knows we are distracted,” Trevor said.  “Time of death on Eddowes, doctor?”

“1:30-1:45.  Warm when I examined her
at two.”

“Dear God,” Trevor said, not caring
that these facts were a slap in the face to Eatwell.  “Do you see what this
means?  He truly was right there. We didn’t see him, but he saw us.”

“Yes, so again, there’s no time to
drain blood or risk moving a body.  But he did have time enough to slash up the
poor woman.”  Phillips looked down at his notes.  “Clotted blood, indicating
she fell when her throat was cut and died on the spot.   The mutilations were
post-mortem - thank whatever God we still have to thank.    Abdomen sliced,
intestines removed, cuts to the groin as if he planned to flay her, rather like
a fish.  Pancreas cut but not removed.  One kidney taken out – miraculously
neat job, considering the conditions and the darkness – and apparently removed
from the scene.  Cuts to the womb and of course the complete….the complete
desecration of her face, which we all observed.”

“Done within minutes,” Trevor said
bitterly.  “While half of Scotland Yard is within shouting distance of the
crime.   How he taunts us.” 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

7:10 PM

Leanna was ready for her theater engagement
with John, but once again the entire household had been upended by the effort. 
Geraldine had offered the use of the Bainbridge family topazes, which Leanna
had seized upon eagerly, but the necklace and earrings had looked as dull as
brown glass against the blue satin gown she had planned to wear.  Gerry had
suggested her own russet silk would be perfect, but of course it was too large
for Leanna and Emma had protested when Gerry had offered to baste the gown
underneath to adapt it to Leanna’s slender form.

“Those stitches will tear that silk,
Geraldine, no matter how carefully you take them,” Emma declared, “And actually
I think black is the best choice with topaz jewelry.”

“Black?” Leanna said skeptically,
standing before Gerry’s oval mirror in her chemise.  “I look a fright in
black.”

“No you don’t,” Emma said.  “Black is
striking.  Mature.”

“Hmmm…” said Leanna, biting her lip
as she always did when unsure.  It would certainly be wonderful to appear
striking and mature before John, whom she suspected sometimes viewed her as a
giddy schoolgirl.

“Perhaps she’s right,” Gerry said. 
“Fetch that mourning gown you came in.”

“But it’s ghastly,” Leanna wailed. 
“That dress was homemade in Leeds and the fit makes me all, how should I say,
flat across here and flat in the back…”

“Just because a gown wasn’t bought in
London doesn’t mean it can’t be fashionable,” Emma said stubbornly.

“But to go to the theatre in such a
simple dress…” Leanna said, just as stubbornly.

“Simple is better with jewelry as
elaborate as those topazes.  At least try it on.  If you don’t like it, nothing
is lost.”

“Nothing except time,” Leanna fretted,
but she pulled on the gown, just the same.  It looked precisely at it did the
day she had worn it to the reading of the will - shapeless and drab - and she
stood gazing grimly into the mirror until Emma slipped up behind her and began
to snip away at the black netting which covered the bodice and throat.

“What are you doing?”

“There’s a proper dress underneath
all this somewhere,” Emma said, carefully loosening each tiny thread.  “You’ll
see.  When we get this covering off, there will be a lovely, striking, plain
black gown which will set off that necklace like a star against the night.”

“Just as you say,” Leanna mumbled,
too keyed-up to protest further.  The light supper of fruit and cheese Gage had
sent up lay untouched on her dressing table and she felt slightly faint.  To
make her first London theater appearance in a homemade mourning gown?  But a
few seconds later, when she glanced up just in time to see the netting fall,
she knew immediately that Emma had been right.  Together they did up her hair
in a simple, high bun and Geraldine, watching from the doorway, had to blink
back tears.

“You look like my mother, in the
portrait at Rosemoral,” she said simply.

“No, no one will ever equal Great-grandmother
Bainbridge,” Leanna said, for legends of her beautiful ancestor had been handed
down to her ever since she had been a gangly child.  Just at that moment the
door knocker sounded and Leanna jumped. “He’s here.  He’s early.”

“Gage will get the door,” Emma said,
still fumbling with the triple-clasp of the heavy necklace strand.  “You don’t
have to run down the stairs.”  The women all fell silent, waiting for the sound
of John’s voice in the entryway, but instead they heard unfamiliar high tones
and then Gage’s heavy tread up the staircase.

“Miss Leanna,” he said, his throat
creaky from rare use, “there are flowers for you.”

“Wonderful,” squealed Leanna, rushing
past Gerry to take up the huge spray of red roses Gage proffered.  “Good
heavens, but they’re heavy.  This must be two dozen.”

“Read the card,” Emma called down
after her.

Leanna fumbled for the attached card
and, after one quick glance, sat down on the top stair with a thump, the roses
scattering beside her.

“Whatever’s wrong?” Gerry asked as
Emma joined her in the hall.

“He isn’t coming,” Leanna answered
flatly.  “He’s been called to a case and he’s…” She picked up the note again.
”Devastated.”

“Darling I’m sorry,” Gerry said. 
“But I’m sure he truly is devastated.  You understand as well as anyone that a
physician’s hours are never his own.”

“I know,” Leanna said tonelessly,
making no effort to halt the slow descent of the roses as they escaped her
grasp and began to slide down the staircase.  “I do know,” she said, again,
looking at the brilliant red puddle at her feet and this time speaking with
more conviction.  “Gage, get me some water and a vase, will you please?  A big
vase.”

“That’s the spirit, Leanna.  The play
will be running for months,” Gerry said, putting an arm around Leanna’s waist
as they descended the stairs together.

“It isn’t missing the theater that’s
so tragic,” Emma thought, stooping to pick up the remaining black threads from
the rug in Leanna’s now-silent room. “She’ll never look any lovelier than she
does tonight.”

Two hours later, as Leanna, still in
the black dress and topazes, sat with Emma and Geraldine playing a dispirited
three-handed game of bridge, the door knocker sounded again.  “No doubt it is
John after all,” Geraldine said hopefully. “Perhaps it was an easy delivery and
he’s stopped by to apologize in person.”