Stalking Jack the Ripper (Stalking Jack the Ripper, #1)(59)
“—and isn’t it wonderful I’m informing you directly of my newest plans,” Blackburn interrupted, clearly put off by the delay. I wondered fleetingly if this was something he put up with often, given his young age. “Unless you’d like to answer to me later, I suggest you allow us passage,” he said. “I’m growing rather annoyed, Constable. Each precious moment wasted here is another moment my scientist loses accuracy.”
With that, the man stepped aside. All thoughts of how aggravating he was disappeared when I saw the pale foot sticking out from beneath the nearest shroud.
I wish I’d been disgusted by the sight. Instead, I found myself grossly fascinated, longing to lift the sheet and take a closer look. Blackburn motioned to the men standing guard around the body and they promptly scattered themselves.
Blackburn leaned close. “Take your time. I’ll make sure no one disturbs you.”
I nodded, then knelt beside the body, carefully avoiding the pool of blood near the shoulders, and gently pulled the sheet back. I held my gasp in, squeezed my eyes shut and prayed I wouldn’t drop the covering like a squeamish little child.
Perhaps I wasn’t as ready for this as I’d imagined.
I kept my eyes closed, breathing through my mouth until the dizziness eased up. It wouldn’t do to faint in front of most of the police force in London. Especially when they already thought me handicapped by my gender.
Gathering my wits, I forced myself to examine the body.
The woman was slight, probably about five feet tall. Her face was badly damaged; blood and cuts disfigured her mouth and nose. She was lying on her back, right knee bent and facing outward, her left leg lying flat. Not entirely unlike how Miss Annie Chapman had been found. A small blue tattoo was on her forearm.
Bolts and gears—smeared in blood—peeked out from beneath her body.
I’d no idea why Jack needed such things. Continuing with my inspection, I focused on what I could figure out.
Her entire torso was sliced open down the middle with surgical precision, her intestines thrown over her shoulders. A portion of them even appeared to be cut and draped between her left arm and body purposely. A message of sorts.
I swallowed my emotions down. I needed to get through this examination. I needed to understand the mind of this madman, understand what drove him to such violence so he could never do this to another woman again. I took a deep breath, my focus trailing over the corpse once more, though my heart refused to be tamed.
Like the others, her throat had been slashed.
Unlike the others, however, a slice ran down her right ear. It seemed he tried cutting a piece off. A memory nearly knocked me backward. I called to Blackburn, my voice rising with excitement.
“The letter,” I said, thoughts racing along with my pulse as he drew near. “The author of that letter is the killer. He said he’d clip her ear—look.” I pointed out the disfigurement on her person. “He did exactly as he promised: ‘The next job I do I shall clip the ladys ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldn’t you.’”
Blackburn’s attention drifted over the body, then quickly moved away. “Even if the letter is proven authentic, we’ve no way of tracing its origin.”
I sat back on my heels, contemplating scenarios. I thought about the editor of the newspaper and an idea jumped up, waving its arms in my face. “Well, what if you had Mr. Doyle print a facsimile of the letter? Surely someone might recognize the handwriting. Plus he said he’d run it if it proved true.”
Superintendent Blackburn tapped his fingers against his trousers, staring into my eyes so deeply I believed he was trying to send a secret message. I wasn’t sure why he was hesitating; it was the perfect solution. After a minute he reluctantly nodded.
“It’s a fine idea, Miss Wadsworth.” Blackburn smiled, a dimple appearing in his cheek. He pointed toward the body, setting my focus on the horror once again. “What else have you got from all this, then?”
“Well.” I stared at the blood spatter, knowing it told a story of its own, losing myself completely in the science. The blood on the left side of the neck appeared to have been spilled first, as it was clotting differently from blood located on the right side of the body. It wasn’t hard to deduce her throat had been slashed first before she was split open. I crept closer, pointing each injury out for Blackburn.
“He started with her throat, then probably cut or struck her mouth. I doubt he appreciated what she’d had to say and wanted to punish her.” I moved on to the next injury. “Once she was choking on blood, he laid her body out, placing her legs straight out before running his blade over her abdomen. He removes the intestines, probably for easier access to her organs. See? This cavity is too hollow. It’s how a body looks after Uncle removes organs during postmortems. I can’t tell without getting my hands in there which ones are missing. But I think it’s probably her uterus or ovaries, possibly even a kidney or gallbladder as well. What do you think?”
I looked up when Blackburn didn’t respond, seeing signs of sickness sprawled across his handsome features. I pressed my lips shut. What a monster I must seem to him. Aunt Amelia would drag me to church and say a thousand prayers if she were here. I watched the column of his throat move in an attempt at swallowing.
He tried maintaining his composure, but gagged when a fly landed on her exposed cavity. I shooed the offender away, watching it land near her bloodied face. They’d need to remove her from the scene before flies began laying larvae.