Stalking Jack the Ripper (Stalking Jack the Ripper, #1)(33)
Once we reached the back alley, we were met with nothing but the sounds of our own beating hearts and Toby’s panting. I removed my gloves and rubbed behind his furry ears.
“Do you see him?” I asked, taking quick stock of our surroundings.
An open crate sat on top of several others that must have been unloaded recently, but there was no one here. I walked over to the wooden box and glanced inside. It was filled with rows of glasses; I imagined rowdy patrons broke a lot of them once they were well into their cups. Not exactly what I expected the captain to be selling on the black market, but profitable for him nonetheless.
Thomas knit his brows, staring at the crate. “Seems a bit odd that Mr. Dunlop would leave these goods unattended.”
“Perhaps he’s inside?”
Without waiting for his response, I turned on my heel and marched back into the noisy pub. I leaned over the scored wooden bar, practically shouting to get the barkeep’s attention. The rotund woman wiped her hands on a dirty dishtowel, running her gaze over me as if I were a complete waste of time.
So much for fear-inspiring ensembles. Might as well have dressed in my Sunday best and left the leather for butchers.
“Shot of bourbon, miss?” she sneered, wiping out a pilsner glass with the rag, filling it with dark amber liquid and sliding it to a burly man at the end of the bar.
I watched him take a deep pull of the drink. I couldn’t control my lip from curling at his ability to ignore the cesspool of filth that had been wiped all around the glass. God only knew what kind of disease he was potentially being exposed to. I longed to take the rag back to Uncle’s laboratory and run a series of tests on it.
The group of men closest laughed, pulling me into the present. I gripped my fist, digging my nails into my palms for crescent-shaped serenity.
“Where’s the man who’s delivering the glasses? He wasn’t out back, and his employer has a message for him.” I leaned closer, dropping my voice to a stage whisper. “I suspect it has something to do with the custom house officer who boarded his ship with a contingent of men, looking for stolen goods. They may be heading here as we speak.” I let my suggestion hang in the air.
Her eyes went wide in her ruddy cheeks. I kept my expression neutral, though I was quite pleased the way the lie came so naturally, and at the reaction it fostered in a woman who looked scarier than some of the sea-wrecked men.
Swallowing audibly, she pointed toward the door to the alley. “He’s just outside.”
Producing a large knife from under the counter, she hacked a fish apart on a wooden carving board. “I’ll gut ’im next time I see ’im. You tell ’im next time he see Mary, he better run.” That explained the name of the ship. She waved the knife in the air, hollering at an impatient patron holding his empty mug in her line of sight. “Keep swinging that in me face and it won’t be the only thing I chop off, Billy.”
I slipped out the door again, shaking my head at Thomas before quickly filling him in.
Thomas knelt beside a crate, sticking his finger in something wet and rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. I gulped down a rising sense of panic when I noticed what he’d found. “Perhaps he broke a glass and went to get a bandage.”
Thomas didn’t dignify that with an answer. He stood, leading Toby close to the blood. “Toby, find,” he gently commanded the animal.
I watched in amazement as the dog obediently sniffed around until he picked up the scent. His tail wagged so hard I thought he’d take off like a bird, flying through the cross streets and alleyways. Thomas let the leash go and we trotted behind the dog while he ran down one alley, then the next.
We’d gone only about five streets over when I saw a heap of tattered clothing propped against an abandoned building.
A man was sitting with his legs outstretched, his chin resting on his chest, eyes closed peacefully. His hand dripped spots of blood onto his shirt. I breathed a sigh of relief. A miserable drunk with a small cut was something I could deal with. Toby stopped a few feet from the man, growling low in his throat.
“Audrey Rose, wait.” Thomas grabbed for my coat sleeve, but I maneuvered out of reach.
I thought it odd Thomas finally used my Christian name, but didn’t stop to ponder it or his worried tone. It was getting late in the day. Nathaniel would be expecting me for supper shortly, and I didn’t want to explain why I was only just arriving home after our lunch at the park.
Walking right up to the indisposed man, I cleared my throat. He didn’t move. I tried again, a bit louder this time with the same results.
Blasted sailors and their love of all things liquid. I heard Thomas saying something behind me, but ignored him, bending to tap the man’s shoulder. Honestly, I didn’t appreciate all the males in my life thinking me incapable. I’d show every one of them I could handle anything they could, possibly even better.
I tapped him a bit more. “Excuse me, sir. Are you—”
I’d barely touched him when his head swung back, revealing a sinister crimson smile slashed across his neck.
It wasn’t his hand that was cut after all. Someone screamed; perhaps it was me. Though it would have made me happier if it were Thomas Blasted Cresswell.
Thomas pulled me back, rocking me gently in his arms, and I didn’t even care that it was vastly inappropriate. “Divorce yourself from emotions, Audrey Rose. See it like an equation that needs solving. That’s all it is now. It’s going to be all right.”