A Rip Through Time(86)
“I am not surprised at the unit of measurement but at the speed of your assessment. You are quite good at that.”
“I used to work in a carnival, guessing weights.”
His eyes spark with interest. “Did you?”
“That was a joke, sir. Is there such an occupation?”
“Of course. It is extremely popular, primarily as a way of discovering one’s weight if one does not possess a scale.”
I’m not sure whether he’s joking, so I make a noncommittal noise.
“How much do you weigh?” he asks.
I raise my brows in mock horror. “A gentleman never asks a lady such a thing.”
His look of confusion tells me that’s not the invasive question it will be in a hundred and fifty years.
“I’d need a scale to be sure,” I say. “Probably about the same.”
I catch his look and lift my hands. “Oh, no, if you’re suggesting—”
“I must conduct the experiment in some fashion. And you are my assistant.”
“No.”
“But science.”
His eyes sparkle with mischief, and my heart does a little flip. Oh, no. There will be none of that, Mallory. That way lies madness. Also, serious disappointment, because when he looks at me, he sees his teenage apprentice, nothing more.
“Fine,” I say with a sigh. “After you are done checking Dr. Addington’s work, you may test how far you could reasonably carry my dead weight. Preferably when I’m not actually dead.”
“But science.”
I shake my head, and we get back to work.
* * *
There is no doubt Rose was killed by strangulation. Gray confirms all the signs that allow him to make that determination. Strangled first, and then methodically stabbed to match the marks left on Polly Nichols, which means I’m not the only one who studied the Ripper’s crimes.
I am going to speculate further that the killer didn’t leap straight into Ripper-style killings because he considers Jack a hack. A butcher, chopping up victims for maximum carnage and shock value. Oh, I know the theories about the Ripper being a doctor, but with Gray I can see a live nineteenth-century surgeon at work, and I can question him under the guise of the current crime. That’s a little harder when this victim—unlike the Ripper’s later ones—hasn’t had any organs removed, but Gray isn’t the kind of guy who suspects the motivations of anyone seeking knowledge.
He says that a surgeon would certainly know where to find organs. A doctor should, but the amount of anatomical and surgical experience a regular physician has depends on where and when he was trained. A butcher would have more, at least in the sense of being able to infer anatomical placement from the similarities between humans and pigs.
By no means, then, did the Ripper need to be a surgeon to remove organs from human bodies. And there’s no surgical skill displayed with Rose’s death. Two slashes to her throat, one twice the length of the other. One long, savage slice to the abdomen and several smaller stabs, plus two to the groin. It’s butchery so basic that I suspect an actual butcher would take offense at the comparison.
I think this killer originally wanted to do better than Jack the Ripper. He wanted to be fancy. Be symbolic. And he failed miserably because, quite frankly, no one gave a damn. At least not the degree of “giving a damn” that would put him into the history books. This could, if he keeps it up. Our job is to make sure he doesn’t.
When will he strike again? I should know, right? I studied the crimes. Yet it’s like not knowing exactly when forensic breakthroughs occurred. My interest was in facts, not dates. I do know the Ripper’s entire killing spree lasted only a month, which means he could take his next victim any time now. This killer will follow the pattern, and he does know it. I’m sure of that.
I make notes as Gray rattles off observations. Right-handed killer, judging by the angle of the cuts. Hesitation cuts, as I noted, which supports my personal view that the guy’s heart wasn’t in his work. The stab wounds suggest a thin-bladed knife. There’s no indication that a separate knife was used for the throat. He does, however, find a rope fiber in the neck wound, which he will use under Isla’s microscope to compare to any rope discovered in the investigation.
Gray also examines the clothing for fibers and hairs, explaining as he does that McCreadie is not convinced of the usefulness of this, but Gray has read a French paper postulating potential analysis of fibers, hair, and other particles left at crime scenes. There are no hairs, not even the victim’s, which suggests the killer removed them. When I say as much to Gray, he agrees that’s an excellent idea, but I can tell he doesn’t see why a killer would remove hairs when they can’t yet be analyzed as evidence.
That’s all Gray can get from the body. Then comes the part where he sees how far he can carry me. He tries a few holds before I suggest the firefighter carry—without using that modern term, of course. He agrees that is the most efficient method.
With me slung over his shoulder, Gray walks around the funeral parlor, counting off an impressive two hundred paces before he begins to tire. Then, after catching his breath, he wants to test out stairs. We’re on the second story when Isla throws open the stairwell door. I jump, flailing. Gray only tightens his grip while shooing his sister away with a jerk of his chin.