Page 54 of The Business of Blood
Nelson took vigorous notes in shorthand.
“She could have been murdered at the very moment we were all attending the autopsy.” Crouching, Aberline retrieved the white ashes from the fireplace, testing them between his thumb and forefinger. “The killer must have remained with her for a time, then. Kept the fire going.”
I’d spent a great deal of time catching up on my sleep. So much so, that the autopsy felt like yesterday rather than two mornings prior. “The Ripper’s never been known to keep vigil before,” I remarked. “Even with Mary, he couldn’t have stayed more than a few hours between when she was last seen alive and when her body was discovered.” And he’d had to have been working on her almost that entire time.
I was proud of myself for being here. For not allowing the twisted mélange of tormented and excited emotions to manifest themselves in front of these men. I didn’t let them see how much Mary’s name still affected me.
I couldn’t let on that I could feel the Ripper with me, with us, in this room. His evil lingered, much like the sickly-sweet smell of death would cling like an unwanted ghost to this dwelling for days. Maybe longer.
It seemed ludicrous, didn’t it? To sense a presence so acutely? To feel his pleasure at the blood, at the deed. To absorb his rage. At whom, I wondered? At this poor victim? At someone with enough audacity to claim the Ripper’s hard-won infamy as his own?
I kept that lunacy to myself.
Well done, me.
“You make an excellent point, Miss Mahoney. Our biggest mystery regarding Miss Riley here is to ascertain if she is, indeed, a Ripper victim.” Aberline brushed ashes off his hands and stood, looking as grim as I’d ever seen him. “I find myself certain there is a link between this butchery and the Sawyer murder. Perhaps the deeds were not committed by the same odious hand. But we have to consider that Ms. Riley is the Ripper’s brutal answer to a copycat killer.”
Croft returned from the kitchen with several knives from the butcher block. He accepted an evidence bag from Nelson and placed them inside. “At the moment, the biggest mystery to me is why Miss Mahoney is allowed at this scene instead of being relegated behind the police constable line with the rest of the curious civilians.” He glared at me, gesturing to the door where a line of police constables already held back an anxious crowd.
“If you remember, you expressly forbade me to seek out Thaddeus Comstock on my own,” I said as if that were sufficient explanation.
“Ifyouremember, I forbade you to follow me here, as well.”
“Just so.” I made a production of gathering my skirts and readjusting my reticule and parasol. “In that case, I’m off to the offices ofThe London Evening Examiner. Good morning, gentlemen. I’ll give Mr. Comstock your regards.”
I expected to make it five steps before Croft stopped me. I only managed three before his hand bit into my arm, anchoring me to his side.
“I suppose I’ll stay right here, then,” I snapped tartly. “Though I’d take it as a kindness if you’d make up your mind.”
Croft’s mouth opened, promising a remark every bit as thunderous as his expression, but Dr. Phillips beat him to it.
“Thaddeus Comstock? The idiot who imagines himself a journalist?” Phillips frowned at the masculine hand currently gripping my arm.
“The very same.” I tossed the ringlets I’d arranged to spill down my bodice back over my shoulder. I’d hoped they’d hit Croft in the face, but I didn’t dare turn to look.
“That self-proclaimed Ripper expert has barely enough grasp of the Queen’s English to thread together a coherent thought.” Disgusted, Dr. Phillips stood with a great deal of ease and grace for a man of his age, pinning me with a narrow-eyed glare of his own. “Pray tell, why ever would you seek outhisodious company?”
“Because there’s a chance he mightbeJack the Ripper.” I left that proclamation hanging in the air for a moment like a shimmering mist so each of the gathered investigators could process the implications. Turning to Croft, I poked at his chest. The joints of my finger crumpled unexpectedly against the muscle beneath his vest. I shook my hand, undeterred. “Now we can ascertain where he was yesterday. Maybe he celebrated his terrible Sawyer article by conducting this bit of savagery.”
Phillips accepted a towel from the ever solicitous Nelson and began to clean blood and such from his fingers before peeling the sleeve covers away. His eyebrows dropped in bewildered increments. “Other than Comstock’s uncanny knowledge of the Sawyer scene, which you already pointed out could have been obtained in a variety of ways, why would he make a viable Ripper suspect?”
Croft’s grip tightened. “Fiona, don’t—”
“Because I believe he got the information for his article when he dragged me into a dark alley, put a knife to my throat, and interrogated me about the Sawyer scene, all the while insisting that he was Jack the Ripper.”
“Good God, Miss Mahoney. How distressing,” Aberline gasped. “Are you convinced it’s him?”
“That’s why I want to go visit him,” I declared. “To find out.”
“Did he harm you?” Dr. Phillips asked, his eyes owlish behind his spectacles.
“I’m almost entirely unscathed.” I held my free arm out to advertise my wellbeing.
This morning, I’d donned what I considered my most flattering dress, a mahogany silk blouse with dark lace at the collar and sleeves that almost matched my hair. A fitted vest of crushed velvet in a lighter hue paired with the intricate pleats, drapes, and tassels of my skirt, shot through with pinstripes of dark, lush gold. I’d dressed thusly in hopes Croft would feel less like stretching the neck of a comely woman than a dowdy one. Though, judging by the murderous glint in his eye as he glared at me now, I had the feeling my efforts were for naught.
“Why didn’t you inform us of your ordeal at the autopsy?” Aberline’s mustache drooped, conveying equal parts concern and effrontery.
“Why, indeed?” Croft finally released me to cross skeptical arms over his intimidating chest.
