Soho Slasher: Jack Is Back: A Harbinger Crossover Novel to International Hunters, Inc.

by Ben Hopkin

  Laughing in spite of herself, Nicole stretched out her hand. “I’m Nicole Ush-- I mean Harbinger,” she said, stumbling over the unfamiliar last name. Come to think of it, was she taking Kent’s name? They hadn’t really discussed it.

  Kent probably didn’t care, and Nicole wasn’t really sure. But that was a question that was going to have to wait until eleven o’clock tonight. Well, probably closer to two or three in the morning, knowing Kent.

  “Not so sure of that name, are we?” the woman replied, her gaze sharp. This wasn’t someone who was likely to miss much. “Mine’s Cordelia. Cordelia Blackwater.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Blackwater.”

  “Please, call me Cordelia,” she replied with a smile. She peered around the reading room for a moment, as if she was taking it all in. “I’m a docent here at the museum.”

  “Oh,” Nicole said, surprised. “Were you… are you working right now?”

  “I’m a volunteer, dearie, and I’m just on my break.” She shifted in her seat. “And what is it that you do when you’re not on holiday?”

  Nicole hesitated. There were so many assumptions that were made whenever she first confessed to being in law enforcement. And this woman had been nothing but kind and sweet to her. How would she react to Nicole’s job?

  But it was only a brief moment. “I’m a detective,” she answered.

  Cordelia’s mouth shaped itself into an O. “That’s lovely. What an exciting profession that must be.”

  Nicole chuckled, relieved. “Well, the truth is a bit more boring than what you might think,” she replied.

  “I can’t imagine that,” Cordelia replied in a disbelieving tone. She ducked her head in an embarrassed gesture. “I’m a bit of a crime novel addict, I must confess.”

  “So… this isn’t your usual reading?” Nicole asked, pointing to the copy of Emma.

  “Oh, heavens no,” the woman answered with a laugh. “I’m forcing myself to read it, as several friends have pointed out my lack of Austen lore as a serious failing on my part.”

  “That’s a failing I share with you.” As much as she loved all things British, she’d never fallen for Austen, which was surprising when she stopped to think about it. She always much preferred Dick Francis, which might not say much for her literary tastes.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it, dear,” Cordelia said, standing up and patting Nicole on the shoulder. Nicole was surprised to feel a pang of disappointment course through her. Even with her tight museum schedule, she’d been enjoying her conversation with this pleasant, energetic woman.

  But Cordelia had only taken a step or two before she backtracked. “Listen. I must admit I’ve taken a liking to you. I think you remind me of myself as a younger woman.” Shifting her book from one hand to the other, Cordelia cleared her throat. “Would you like me to show you about the museum?”

  Wow. Nicole’s idea had been to spend this time on her own, taking in the wonders the museum had to offer, but how could she pass this up? To have a knowledgeable guide to take her through, someone that could give her insider information about the exhibits? This was a no-brainer.

  “Thank you,” Nicole answered after a stunned moment. “I think I would enjoy that.”

  “And don’t worry,” the older woman said with a grin, “I promise I won’t hold you up.”

  Somehow, in spite of Cordelia’s age, Nicole didn’t doubt it. And as her newfound guide moved off at a brisk pace to begin their tour together, another question arose.

  Would Nicole be able to keep up with her?

  * * *

  Kyra watched as Kent examined the torso. As much as he had seemed to eschew the rules when it came to the victim’s bodies in the morgue, he appeared to be doing what he could to keep the crime scene intact here.

  “Okay,” she said, wanting to understand this quirk better. “Back in the morgue, you just shoved your hands inside a body. And you took me with you. What’s different here?”

  Kent didn’t even glance at her. Just kept examining the body as best he could from their vantage point. There was enough room behind the shelving that they could get pretty close to the body, but there wasn’t space to maneuver, or for both of them to make an inspection at the same time.

  Kyra knew the pattern here. Whenever he didn’t respond, she knew it was because he thought she should be able to figure it all out with no help from him.

  Didn’t he understand that he was unique? That there probably wasn’t another person on the planet that could match him?

  But at the same time, there was a part of her that responded with an inner thrill at the challenge. If he could figure it out, she could too.

  So instead of oressing him for an answer, she thought it through. What made this different?

  Kent wasn’t much of one for following the rules. That she knew both from his extensive reputation and her own personal experience with the man. But when it came right down to it, Kent was on the side of law and order.

  No, wait.

  That wasn’t true. He wasn’t opposed to law and order, but he didn’t really embrace it, either. The answer lay elsewhere.

  There was a powerful amount of darkness in Kent, but he always landed on the side that was fighting those that would prey upon the innocent. He helped those who couldn’t help themselves.

  That statement would probably not be one that Kent would make about himself. Kyra wasn’t sure he could even see it. But her own experience as a child raised by a serial killer father and then saved by Kent’s generosity told her all she needed to know about the man’s heart.

  Kent was good. In a way that Kyra was not.

  So when it came to evidence, it was more than likely just an assessment of the probabilities. Was it more likely that he could get some piece of evidence he needed by foregoing protocol? Then he would do it. But if now, why not leave things intact for local law enforcement to be able to do their jobs?

  “You don’t think there’s much evidence here that will help us, still you don’t want to contaminate the crime scene,” she said, after a long pause.

  Kent grunted and deigned to glance at her. “Or I just don’t want anyone to know that we’ve been here.”

  “What?” Kyra asked. “You mean we’re just going to leave the body here for someone else to find?”

  “Why not?” he said, still peering down at the torso. “Not like these Limey’s are going to know what to do with her.”

  Right. So maybe her theory of Kent was off by a bit. Maybe good was too strong a term for him. Perhaps he was more like Kyra than she’d thought.

  He straightened up in one smooth motion, and without another word, walked past her and toward the door. Kyra exhaled and scurried to catch up with him. This was beginning to be a pattern of behavior for them that she wasn’t sure she wanted to continue. Staying three steps behind the profiler was not where she wanted to be.

  “Where are we going now?”

  “Where do you think?” Kent answered without turning. “Scotland Yard.”

  “But I thought we were already here,” she muttered. She knew what he meant, but this back and forth was getting tiresome. Nothing they were doing seemed to be bearing fruit, and time was running out.

  Kyra glanced at the screen of her cell, checking the time. Less than 10 hours remained, and as far as Kyra could tell, they had no real leads.

  Kent’s outrageous claim of solving the case before the next murder had always seemed an arrogant assertion for anyone to make. But for the first time since she’d been reunited with her mentor and adoptive father, Kyra felt a thread of doubt worm its way into her gut.

  The killer was out there, and Kyra wasn’t sure that Kent could catch him.

  CHAPTER 9

  Nicole was having the most fun she’d had since she stepped onto British soil.

  “So, this is Nesperennub’s mummy,” Cordelia said, pointing out the outer wooden sarcophagus.

  The coffin was painted to depict the fleshed-out visage o
f the desiccated one within, giving life to its unliving occupant. The face seemed to stare up at Nicole, its strange blue hair standing out in sharp contrast against the dark reddish brown of the figure’s skin. There was a huge bird painted on the mummy’s chest, its wings sweeping up to brush the shoulders of the form. Below, scenes and hieroglyphics covered the rest of the coffin.

  This was the fifth or sixth exhibit she’d shown Nicole in the past half hour. And for each one there had been some tidbit of information that wasn’t on the official plaques.

  As they moved around the exhibit, Nicole noticed something. There was Egyptian text toward the front of the sarcophagus.

  “Look at this,” the older woman pointed out. “I’ll translate for you.”

  “You can read Egyptian hieroglyphs?” Nicole asked, startled.

  “Oh, no, dear. I’ve just learned what it says. An offering which the Pharoah gives to Osiris, so that he might give life to the Beloved of the God, the Libationer of Khons of Benenet, Nesperennub, son of the like-titled Ankhefenkhons, justified.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “Oh, who knows, dear,” Lady Blackwater said with a smile. “They tell me it means that Nesperennub and his father worked as priests.”

  Cordelia was a font of wisdom and information that seemed unlikely to ever dry up. They circled around the exhibit, looking at it from all sides.

  “Have they seen what’s actually inside the sarcophagus?” Nicole asked.

  “Certainly,” Cordelia answered.

  “But how do they do that without hurting the mummy?”

  “They use x-rays and computerized scanning topography. This was one of the first exhibits they experimented on. Used to be they’d have to unwrap the damned things.” Lady Blackwell shuddered. “Bring curses upon everyone involved.”

  They passed a security guard, who, when he saw Cordelia, straightened up even more that he already was and nodded. The older woman acknowledged his gesture with an absent-minded grace.

  The other part of the excursion that Nicole had found thrilling was the deference displayed by every worker in the museum with whom they came into contact. Everyone seemed to know Cordelia, and nothing but smiles and yesses seemed to follow in her wake.

  “Where are we headed next?” Nicole asked.

  “Wait and see, dear. Wait and see,” came the response.

  That, of course, just piqued her interest even more. Nicole had to fight a desire to press for more details. Patience had never been Nicole’s strong suit.

  As they approached a metal door, a security guard looked up from a screen he was monitoring. “Oh, er… Lady Blackwater.”

  “Please, Geoffrey. I’ve told you. It’s Cordelia.”

  “Right, Lady Blackwater. Sorry, Lady Blackwater.” The guard seemed as if he was about to tug at his forelock in some kind of outdated gesture of obeisance. Nicole suppressed a smile.

  Cordelia sighed. “Oh, Geoff, you’re hopeless.”

  “That’s what my mum always said as well, Lady Blackwater.”

  Nicole couldn’t be positive, but she thought she saw Cordelia’s lip twitch upward at that. But the tone that came out as she spoke was as crisp as any schoolmarm’s.

  “Be a good lad and let us through, Geoff,” she said, her lips pursed in apparent disapproval.

  “Right away, Lady Blackwater.”

  The guard pushed a button, and Nicole heard a click, after which the door in front of them slid to the side, revealing what looked to be an elevator. Cordelia stepped inside, her low heels clicking against the tile of the floor. The sound changed as she stepped onto the metal floor of the elevator car, the timber much more hollow and echoing.

  “Coming, dear?” she asked Nicole, who hadn’t yet moved.

  “Oh, yes. Of course,” Nicole answered, joining the woman inside the car. “Where are we headed?” she asked.

  “Down,” was the woman’s only response.

  Down? They were on the first floor. Where the hell were they going?

  Nicole had a feeling that things were about to get a lot more interesting.

  * * *

  New Scotland Yard. It was a like some planet that kept pulling them back into its gravitational field. It loomed above them, engulfing them in shadow as they moved toward the entrance to the building.

  Maybe black hole was a more appropriate descriptor. Sucking them in to never be seen or heard from again.

  Kent knew that Kyra’s faith in him was shaken. It was written all over her face. It rang out in the cadence of her walk. Even the way she was breathing spoke of her disapproval.

  That was a good space for her to inhabit.

  His adoptive daughter was talented, brilliant even. But she was also young, and her youth showed through in her impatience. So much of what they did here was based off grunt work. The slow, grueling process of figuring things out, chasing down leads, following misguided paths through to their completion.

  Time for her to figure out that there were no magic wands that could be waved at a case. You just wanted to make it look like there was.

  The trick was to do all of the legwork in those in-between moments when everyone else was eating, sleeping or otherwise living their lives. Then when they came back, poof! The sorcerer reveals, through the wonder of prestidigitation, the hidden secrets that had eluded everyone else for so long.

  The fact that so far they had managed to get valuable information at every single location they had visited had somehow slipped past Kyra. Her expectations for Kent were much too high, and her level of trust in him was far too low.

  Time to change all of that.

  As they moved toward the elevator, Kent caught sight of an unwelcome figure approaching. The Baron Von Hasenpfeffer or whatever the hell his name was. Lord Rhys, that was it. Replete with his black leather gloves. The man’s face brightened as he caught sight of them.

  “Ah, Inspectors… er…” It was clear the Baron had no idea how to address them. Kent had no real desire to remedy that. For one thing, it was humorous to watch the nobleman squirm. For another, Kent had no interest in interacting much with his lordship. If the man didn’t know what to call him, he might be less likely to make the attempt.

  The upshot of the situation was that the Baron was in the awkward situation of not knowing Kent’s official… and therefore social… standing. For someone who was so clearly obsessed with titles, that had to be a real bitch.

  Well, there wasn’t an easy way to avoid the situation, as the Baron was blocking the hallway where they were headed. Might as well embrace it.

  “Rhys! What’s up?” Kent called out, a big grin on his face. “How’s my favorite Redcoat doing?”

  There was a tightening about the man’s jaw that told Kent his shot had been well-aimed. The Baron was careful this time to keep his gloved hands clasped behind his back when approaching Kent, more than likely to keep from having to shake the profiler’s hand once more.

  Smart man.

  “Yes… Harbinger, wasn’t it? What a pleasure to see you again.” It was amazing how the British could say one thing and yet communicate the exact opposite. “I was hoping to speak with you two about your progress on the case before the meeting.”

  “Meeting?” Kyra asked. “What meeting?”

  “Superintendent Locroft is gathering the team together for afternoon tea,” he answered, as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

  Perfect. That was exactly how Kent wanted to spend his precious minutes right now. He had things to do, places to go, people to meet. Killers to apprehend. He had no desire to sit around eating cucumber sandwiches or crumpets or whatever it was these Brits scarfed down in the early afternoon.

  “Oh, that sounds lovely,” Kyra replied, with a significant glance at Kent that was probably asking him to keep his mouth shut.

  Fine by him. He didn’t want to talk to Lord Farquaad here anyway.

  Which seemed unlikely, as the Baron turned to him once more. “Yes. Quite. Well, about
the case…”

  Right at that moment, Paggie’s cell phone rang. He slipped it out of his pocket and glanced at the number. It was Joshua.

  “Hey. Wow. Sorry, Rhys,” Kent said, moving off and shrugging an apology at the man. “Gotta take this one.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he watched as Kyra tried to smooth over Kent’s abrupt departure. Lord Rhys’ face was turning an interesting shade of purple. Good. It was important that every human being on the planet experience disappointment from time to time. When you thought about it, Kent was offering a public service.

  He swiped the phone’s screen to answer. “What do you have?”

  “Um, yeah… you can pretty much ignore everything I’ve told you so far,” Joshua said, his voice hoarse and cracking. He should get that checked. “The stuff’s not at Scotland Yard or in a vault at a bank or--”

  “I don’t need to know everywhere the evidence isn’t,” Kent said, cutting him off. “Any idea of where it is?”

  “Well, that’s the thing, dude. It looks like it might have been taken by one of the original guys that worked the case or something. Like, it could be anywhere.”

  “I think it’s time I check in with Jimmi,” Kent responded.

  “No, no… I think I might--” Joshua gushed before Kent hung up on him.

  That’d get a fire lit underneath him. Seriously. Joshua knew better than to call with a bunch of negatives. Did no one have a work ethic any longer?

  Moving back toward the Baron Munchausen and Kyra, Kent reassessed his earlier irritation with the idea of going to tea. This might be the perfect opportunity to get some resistance. Kent always worked best when he had someone to push against, as long as that person had a modicum of intellect. So far there hadn’t been too much of that here, but there was always a chance. Maybe Locroft, if he wasn’t too busy stroking his enormous mustaches.

  “So,” he said, sidling up to the Baron and putting on a huge grin. “Are we doing this tea thing, or what?”