Military Romance Collection: Contemporary Soldier Alpha Male Romance (141 page)

Chetham pulled his pipe from between his teeth.  “Frankly,” he said, “it all seems rather hodge-podge, as though someone were taking elements from all directions and throwing them together into one big pot.”

“Perhaps you can answer this for us, then,” Logan said, and looked into Chetham’s eyes.  “Do you know of any religious groups associated with any of these symbols which might be inclined to kill children?” 

“Well, I can assure you the Golden Dawn would never bring harm to a child,” Chetham said, the tone of his voice making him sound quite offended by the mere suggestion.  “Of course, that is not to say there are
no
groups out there who use children in rituals.  Such barbaric practices harken back to far older times, when priests would take the innocents as virgin sacrifices, ushering them into adulthood while the congregation looked on while reciting enchantments.  There are still cultures in the world today which require proof of a bride’s purity on her wedding night by means of blood on the sheets of her marriage bed.  To be chaste is often to possess great power, and some believed in a transference of that power with the claiming of one’s chastity.”

“But are there any groups
currently
which might be even the slightest bit suspect?”

After a moment of hesitation, Chetham heaved a sigh.  “I can think of only one,” he muttered.He grimaced, his pale blue eyes darting from Logan to Ruby and back again.  “There have been whispers about them among the members of the Golden Dawn.  They are a smaller, more sinister knot of people who believe that the next century will bring about greater wars than we have ever seen before – not just one country battling another but on scale of global proportions.  They have also prophesized the coming of terrifying technological advances beyond the electric current, and that these inventions will be used for the
sole purpose
of killing.  In their world, Anarchy will reign supreme.”

“Who are they?” Logan demanded.

“They call themselves ‘Apocalyptics.’”

“Where can we find them?” asked Ruby.

“Their meetings are held in the basement of a house located near Kensington Garden.  One of the founders had once been a member of the Order – Myles Usherwood.  He left when he claimed to have had a vision whilst taking opium and absinthe, a vision which showed him the future.”

“Opium and absinthe?”  Logan gave a derisive snort.  “Well, that will give you visions, all right…just not certain they portend to anything other than madness.”  He nodded to Chetham.  “Thank you for your assistance in this matter, Professor.” 

“You are quite welcome.”  Chetham reached for the photographs Logan had left on the desk.  “Would you mind if I kept these for a few days, to study upon them?  I may take them back to Canterbury with me, to show to some colleagues; perhaps they might be able to offer some insight.  I shall return them forthwith.”

“That would be fine, Professor.  At this point, I will turn down no assistance in solving this mystery.”  Logan turned to Ruby and offered her his arm.  “Care to accompany me to Kensington, madam?”

“I believe I could use another carriage ride,” she said, and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.

***

The carriage deposited them at the address in Kensington.  Logan stepped out first and offered his hand to help Ruby down.  It was already dusk, and lights glowed in the windows of the three story town home.  “Shall we just walk up to the door and knock?” Logan asked.

“I see no reason why we should not.”  Picking up her skirts, Ruby started along the brick walk to the porch.  She rang the bell and they waited. 

A moment later, the door opened a bit.  Both Logan and Ruby found themselves looking up, at the golden haired woman with ruddy cheeks who stood there towered over them.  She regarded them with narrowed, deep-set eyes, her full lips curved into a frown.  “May I help you?” she asked, her voice low and husky.

Logan showed her his credentials.  “Inspector Tummond, Scotland Yard,” he said.  “We are here to see a Mr. Myles Usherwood.”

The woman regarded them for a moment before opening the door wider.  They saw she was dressed all in black, like mourning clothes, from the high collar down to the skirts which brushed the floor.  “Come with me,” she said.  “I am Imogene.”

“Thank you, Imogene.”  As they followed her inside, Logan leaned in toward Ruby.  “Nephilim?” he murmured, referring to the race of giants Professor Chetham had mentioned.

“Hush,” Ruby said, and pasted on a polite smile. 

The doors to every room they passed had been drawn closed, giving no glimpse of what lay beyond.  For an exceptionally tall woman, Imogene’s footfalls made barely a sound on the polished hard wood of the floor.  She ushered them down a set of stairs to the basement.  In normal households, this would be the location of the scullery, pantry, wine cellar, and rooms for the servants to dine and sleep.  Indeed, some of these chambers served their original purposes, well-stocked with food and other non-perishables.  The main dining area, however, had been set up like a small church, with narrow wood benches lined up and facing a table at the head of the room.  Black banners hung on the wall behind the table, each bearing the embroidered image of a single large eye looking upward.  On some of the benches sat men and women, all dressed in black and with black veils – even on the gentlemen – over their heads and covering their faces.  They maintained their position, backs straight, hands folded left over right in their laps.  Logan took this in and looked at Ruby, who mirrored his mild frown of inquisitiveness. 

Imogene brought them to what should have been the butler’s quarters.  She knocked twice and waited until acknowledged by a man’s voice which responded with a simple command.

“Come.”

Imogene turned the handle and pushed inside.  “Your Holiness,” she said, and curtseyed.  “We have visitors.  Inspector Tummond of Scotland Yard and his…” she paused and considered Ruby for a moment before concluding, “companion.” 

Logan entered the room and saw a man of average build seated in a chair.  He wore the same black, otherwise nondescript suit as the men in the makeshift chapel.  His wheat colored hair had been pulled back from his face and secured at the back of his skull in a knot, while a full, wiry beard lined his jaw and met with a mustache set above the wide pink gash of his lips.  He opened his green eyes and regarded Logan and then Ruby for a moment before speaking.  “Inspector,” he said, addressing Logan.  “Welcome to the Church of the Apocalyptic.  Have you come to be enlightened to the vision of the future?

“That would depend,” Logan replied.  He glanced over to a desk standing to left and saw a bottle of absinthe, a glass with a slotted spoon over the top of it, and a bowl of sugar cubes.  He turned back to the seated man.  “Are you Myles Usherwood?”

“I am.”  By his slow, almost slurred manner of speaking, Logan could tell he had already danced with the Green Fairy at least once in the past hour.  “I foresaw your arrival, Inspector.  You come seeking answers to a question that troubles your heart as much as your mind.”

“And what question would that be?” Logan asked with a smirk.

“The child.  The son of a man who would seek peace and put an end to man owning man,” Usherwood said, effectively describing Thomas Cotton’s father and his recent mission to Brussels.  “This boy who fell dead at a young woman’s feet, leaving this world as he had come into it – naked and crying in pain.”  He lifted his eyebrows.  “Do I speak the truth, Inspector?”

Logan could feel his blood start to simmer in his veins, his temper heating up.  “If you know something about it,” he said, not without a mild note of threat in his tone, “it is recommended that you speak.  What information might you have regarding the death of Thomas Cotton?”

“I know what I have heard in the street,” Usherwood replied calmly.  “I know what the papers have printed, about this boy whose killer is still at large, who spoke of the coming of an angel before he passed from this life to the next.”

The press spoke to the girl from the music hall,
Logan concluded. 
There is no other way that information could have been revealed.
  “Do
you
believe there is an angel coming, Mr. Usherwood?” he asked.

“The only angels who shall visit this earth again will be those who come to avenge and destroy the pathetic humans who have sullied the gift the Lord had given them,” Usherwood said.  “Tell me, Inspector, are you familiar with the Bible?  With the story of Genesis?”

“Yes,” Logan said.

“Then you know that God, according to gospel, created the Heaven and Earth, and all the living things upon it that crawled, swam, or flew, before He created Man.  And the purpose of Man – the sole purpose – was to act as steward.  God charged him with the task of caring for the planet and everything on it.  Centuries later, we stand here, just one hundred years from a new Millennia, and what have we done?  We kill not just for food but for sport.  We kill each other.  We fight over small bits of land when there is so much more we could share.  We blacken our lungs with the dust of coal which we use to poison the air.  We throw our waste into the sea.”  Usherwood shook his head.  “This is why we have no future save for the one which will end us.”

For the first time, Ruby spoke.  “I for one do not believe this,” she said.  Logan looked at her, and she lifted her chin.  “The future is what we make of it, Mr. Usherwood.  Instead of sitting with your eyes veiled, waiting for the destruction to come, do something to make a change.  There are men in America who are finding ways to end our dependence on raw materials such as coal.  Thomas Cotton’s father worked to put an end to slavery in the world.  Why, then, can we not all work as one to bring about these and other changes?”

“Because, madam,” Usherwood said, “it is not the way of Man.  We are, for the most part, a monstrous lot.” 

She sniffed.  “Well, I, for one, do not believe in monsters.  They are the stuff of fairy tales.”

“Then you shall be among the first to feel their teeth in your throat.”  Usherwood’s gaze shifted back to Logan.  “I regret to be the bearer of bad news, Inspector,” he continued with a small smile, “but this is only the beginning.  Men like Jack the Ripper – bloodthirsty murderers who prey on the weak and unassuming like jackals – will grow in number over with the coming century.  The future belongs to them, and all those who would make War and Destruction their gods.  They feed off the fear they instill in others, the bleating sheep who run about with no shepherd to guide them and soothe them with lies while blinding them with judgmental hatred toward each other.  Our order has foreseen this.  These children that lie dead in your streets are in a much better place now…for they shall never live to see the dark misery that is the world they might have inherited.”  He pulled himself up out of his chair and smoothed his large hands down the front of his clothes.  “If you will excuse me, I have a sermon to deliver.  You are, of course, welcome to stay and listen.”

“I think we have heard enough, for now,” Logan said with a tight smile.  “Good evening, Mr. Usherwood.  We will show ourselves out.”

They returned to the main floor.  Just before they could reach the front entry, they heard a voice calling to them.

“Inspector Tummond!  Miss Waterbrook!”

Logan and Ruby both stopped, turning to see Imogene coming down the corridor, making great strides even in her long skirts. Upon reaching them, she glanced back over her shoulder before holding out a slip of paper.  “Here,” she said.  “This is the address of someone who might be of interest to you.  His name is Bill Dabs.  He parted company from our organization some months ago.” She looked into Logan’s eyes.“You said the person you seek has an interest in death symbolism and rituals.  Dabs is such a person.”

“What else should we know about this Dabs fellow?” Logan asked.  “Is he the type of man who would prey on children?”

“He did not seem to have a fondness for them,” she said.  “While it is one of the core beliefs of our group that there is no hope for future generations and thus pointless to procreate, Mr. Dabs expressed a deep loathing for children that bordered on violent.”

This made Logan frown.  “How so?”

“I once bore witness to him shoving aside a matchstick girl and then kicking her while she lay upon the ground, spitting on her and telling her she should be dead.”Imogene grimaced.  “It was…disquieting.”

“Sounds like an ideal candidate for our investigation,” Logan said.  He gestured with the paper.  “Thank you for your assistance in this matter.”

“You are very welcome, Inspector.”  She nodded to Ruby.  “Miss.”

As Imogene turned and retreated back to the stairs leading to the basement, Ruby looked up at Logan.  “We seem to be shifted from place to place,” she murmured.

“And yet, it feels like we are no closer to the truth than when we started,” Logan concluded.  He sighed and shoved the paper into his waistcoat pocket.  “Stay for a sermon…  Usherwood is a complete loon.”

“Well,” Ruby said, “sometimes you simply have to humor the madman.”

They caught another cab.  Logan gave Ruby’s address.  “The hour grows late,” he told her, as he settled back into the seat.  “I shall see you home, and then retire to my own rooms.  I still have a station to run, and other cases which require my attention.”  The hansom rocked gently as they rode along, the only light that which came through the windows from the passing street lamps.  Logan removed his hat and rubbed his tired eyes.  “There is a voice, deep down inside of me, and it whispers to me that this is just the beginning of another string of murders that may never be solved, that they may go on for years just as the Ripper has, and all because I feel there is something that I have missed.”

“Then let us recount what we know,” Ruby told him.  “We have established that in all likelihood, for the level of detail involved, the suspect would have had everything planned out before he began killing in April, during the month of Aries which is the sign of the Initiator.  Because he was new to this, his first victim might have been someone he knew, someone he saw every day and thus could easily envision himself carrying out his actions.  As a beginner, he might have encountered some unanticipated difficulties for which he would have compensated when he made his
second
attempt, in May.  This would be the sign of Taurus, which is Patience.  He is still practicing but getting better, honing his skills.  On to Gemini in June.  As with Taurus, the victim would be random, unknown, a child of the streets.  Gemini represents Adaptability.  He has now found his place, his focus, and he is ready to move on to the next victims – the ones who matter.  These are children he has taken care to select, as they are in themselves symbolic: Cancer, the Diplomat, is matched to the son of an ambassador.  He allows this one to stay alive long enough to act as a messenger.”

“Stop.”  Logan held up a hand.  “Professor Chetham said that the word ‘angel’ means ‘messenger.’  And yet, the Cotton boy’s last words were ‘he is coming’ in reference to ‘the angel.’”  He shook his head.  “A messenger to herald a messenger?  Does that not seem a bit odd?”

“Perhaps the murderer meant to infer that his fifth victim – Leo, the Ruler – is the true message he wishes to send.  If he is to remain true to his pattern, he will, as I have said before, select someone of royal blood.  He did not want to draw attention to himself until he chose Thomas Cotton.  Before that, he disposed of the bodies.  The first two have not been found, the third found by happenstance…they were inconsequential to the goal he wishes to achieve.  By killing children, he causes despair.”

“’Suffer the little children unto me,’” Logan muttered under his breath.  “What if he does not stop with Leo?  What do the other signs represent?”

“Well, after Leo comes Virgo – the Virgin, but is often associated with Memory.  Then Libra, which is Justice.  This is followed by Scorpio, which is Isolation.”

“Initiator…Ruler…Memory…Justice…Isolation.”  Scrubbing his short fingernails into his scalp, Logan pushed his hat back onto his head again.  “Ruby, I am beginning to think none of this means anything.  It’s just like the stew my mum used to make when I was young: a little bit of everything thrown into the same pot.  Even Chetham said as much.  The astrology, the yew branches, the Death dolls – it could mean nothing at all, just nonsense to send us scurrying in all directions, and all this bastard really wants to do is
murder little boys.
  Only now, he’s targeting the sons of important members of society, the ones who
will
be missed.”The inspector grimaced.  “He truly has thought of everything, and he will be less likely to make mistakes.”