Capturing the Devil (Stalking Jack the Ripper #4)(101)
We were a twisted pair indeed.
“Audrey Rose. Who has a Shakespeare production happening? Who knew where that body was being kept?”
“Thomas,” I started slowly, trying to shove my own suspicions away again,
“we know he didn’t commit the murders on the Etruria. ”
“He didn’t commit those particular crimes, but there were other crimes on that boat.” Thomas shook his head. “I’m not saying he’s responsible, but I want to see his reaction when we deliver this news.”
On that much I could agree. It was best to unleash Thomas and his deductions on Mephistopheles; it would settle both of our minds and help our
investigation.
We didn’t speak for a while, both of us lost in thought. I knew Thomas’s reaction was one of worry. He’d never forgive himself if something happened to me. But I couldn’t bring myself to believe that the rose and note had been intended just for me. This seemed more directed toward Thomas. I believed it was sent to rattle him enough to make mistakes.
Jack the Ripper had had plenty of opportunities to attack me if he wished to do so. From London to the Etruria, New York, and now here in Chicago, I hadn’t always ventured out with an escort. If he truly coveted me, as Thomas feared, he would have made himself known. He knew my brother; that much I was certain of. He had cause to be in my home. I couldn’t imagine him staying his murderous hand for this long.
Unless I was never his intended target.
We rolled to a stop outside of the theater we’d visited just last week. Thomas cursed under his breath. The door and windows were boarded up; lights were out. A crudely painted sign said FOR RENT.
Even though I’d worried this might happen, I’d still hoped the ringmaster might change his mind and wait until we investigated his missing performer’s death. But Mephistopheles hadn’t wasted any time packing up his carnival and moving on to another city, leaving the bloody chips to fall where they may.
FORTY-THREE
COLD AS ICE
GRANDMAMA’S ESTATE
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
16 FEBRUARY 1889
I stared at the body, the flesh the color of freshly fallen snow. I gently pressed my fingers against her jaw, turning her head slightly to search for marks. My skin burned from the coldness of death. Not one blemish or laceration or outward wound to be seen. I set my cane against the wheeled table holding our postmortem tools. We needed to call upon Noah soon. This woman had been identified as Miss Edna Van Tassel, one of the missing women he’d been investigating.
“Was she exposed to the elements?” I asked. It was unlikely, given there weren’t any signs of frostbite present. No blackened digits or blistering of the skin. She appeared as if she’d simply fallen asleep and never woke up.
Uncle shook his head. “No. The general inspector said the woman who owns the boardinghouse where she rents a room didn’t see her for breakfast, so she went looking. The landlady was quite put out that she’d let food go to waste and marched upstairs to give her a scolding. When she entered her room, she found it empty. A few days passed and she phoned Miss Van Tassel’s family, wanting them to collect her things.”
I inhaled. “Then her family explained she hadn’t returned home.”
“Correct.” Uncle nodded. “Then they hired the Pinkertons through connections they had.”
Which was how Noah became involved.
“After being missing for a week, our victim was found in her bed, tucked under the covers, her clothing folded neatly and left on a chair. The landlady is convinced she must have snuck back in to retrieve her things, then died in her sleep.”
“That’s absurd! Why wouldn’t she think something more nefarious occurred?” I drew my brows together. “Did she hear anything odd?”
Uncle shook his head. “There were no sounds of struggle. Actually, there were no sounds coming from that room at all. The landlady happened upon her when she was about to show the room.”
“Were there signs of a disturbance?” Thomas asked. “Any personal items missing?”
I sneaked a glance at him. He’d barely spoken the entire carriage ride home, his focus turned inward. What little he did utter wasn’t happy news. He said there was no doubt remaining that Jack the Ripper sought me. Then he’d shut his emotions off and entered that land of frost and ice. He hadn’t yet warmed from it.
“Not that the landlady noticed.” Uncle took his spectacles off, buffing them with the corner of his tweed jacket. “The only oddity was Miss Van Tassel wasn’t wearing her nightgown. The homeowner said she’d never sleep so indecently, but she couldn’t fathom what kind of girl went off for a week without a word and snuck back in, either.”
Thomas canted his head. Finally. He was coming around. He gazed at the body. “I suspect the loo was shared in a corridor or on another level of the home, which means it’s unlikely she removed her own clothes before bed.” He looked to my uncle for confirmation. Uncle nodded. “Regardless of her sleeping preferences, she’d likely have kept her nightgown on in case she needed to get up in the night. Not to mention, here where temperatures are frigid, it doesn’t make sense for her to sleep without layers. At least not during this season.”
He paced around the small basement laboratory, his hands near frantic as they tapped along his thighs. I knew he was pushing himself, trying to shove pieces of this impossible puzzle together in hopes of preventing the Ripper from stalking anyone else. Anyone such as me.