by Ben Hopkin
Rhys nodded at that, but his frown came back a moment later. “But how on earth will that help you with finding the current killer?”
Good question, thought Kyra. She opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment, Kent came bursting back into the room. It was about time.
“Gotta go,” Kent said, pointing at his phone.
“But…” Lord Rhys sputtered.
“No time to explain,” the profiler said, grabbing Kyra by the arm and pulling her toward the door.
Kyra made an apologetic face at the Baron as she was dragged out into the hallway. At least this wasn’t something that he could blame on her.
But the real question was what Kent’s phone call had been about. It wasn’t beyond him to fake the call to get them out of there, but if Kyra was reading him correctly, he’d found something on his unauthorized tour of the apartment.
She hoped so. Time was running out.
Fast.
* * *
Nicole increased the pace of her walk to match Cordelia’s. Seriously. This woman was at least twenty years older than she was, and yet the pace the woman set matched something out of a speed-walking race.
It was getting late in the evening, and a lot of the tourist attractions were beginning to close, but Cordelia had promised to show Nicole the other side of London. Whether that meant higher or lower class, Nicole now wasn’t so sure.
Cordelia Blackwater was clearly someone important. And her dress, manner and speech indicated she might be royal. That, combined with the occasional “Lady” that the guards at the museum had uttered before Cordelia had given them a withering stare, and Nicole was pretty certain there was more than a drop of blue blood running through the woman’s veins.
But then there had been the Secretum. That, plus some of the older woman’s statements, and for all Nicole knew, she was being taken to a nightclub. Hell, a strip club might not be outside the realm of possibilities with this one.
“Have you taken the Tube yet, dear?” Cordelia asked her.
“Not yet. I’ve mostly just walked around and taken cabs.” To be honest, the thought of taking the Tube was a little intimidating. Nicole was no stranger to big cities, but something about going underground to catch the infamous London public transport had given her pause.
“Well, it’s an experience that you simply must have,” the woman gushed, as she led them toward the stairs leading down to the Tottenham Court stop, with its green railing that was typical of the entrances to the Tube.
As they moved down into the bowels of the city, Nicole was surprised to see that there were convenience stores dotting the sides of the Tube’s station. She’d been to New York, and the subway was the closest equivalent to what she’d imagined London’s Tube to be, but once again, the city had surprised her.
Everywhere she saw the incredible diversity that existed in this city. As someone who was not herself exactly Caucasian, Nicole didn’t find it troubling that there were so few white faces. As much as the US claimed to be the melting pot, she wasn’t positive they could claim that distinction. Not when a place like this existed.
And what was weird about it was that no matter the color of the skin, the accent was British. To Nicole’s ear, they were all the same.
A shop owner in one of the kiosks to the side called out to her in some unintelligible version of what sounded like English.
Okay, so maybe down here, they didn’t all sound identical. She nodded to the man, who was wearing a turban. Hopefully she hadn’t just agreed to something she shouldn’t have.
At least the man wasn’t chasing after her. Although his grin had seemed to get a lot bigger after her nod.
“Careful, dear,” Cordelia said with a chuckle. “You’ll end up taking a trip to a different country if you don’t watch yourself.”
It was the first indication Nicole had gotten that Cordelia saw herself as a member of a different class. It wasn’t the worst instance of racism Nicole had seen from someone, by far, but it did diminish the woman a bit in her eyes.
“So, speaking of being taken somewhere…” Nicole hinted. While she was more than happy to follow along in the wake of this tsunami of a woman, it would be nice to know where they were headed.
“I told you, it’s a surprise.” A smile played about the lips of the elegant woman at her side as they moved up to where they would catch the next train. There in front of them was a stenciled phrase in big, white block letters.
MIND THE GAP.
That was about right. It wasn’t just the physical gap that she had to worry about. It was the cultural divide, that she had been so sure wouldn’t be a problem for her. As an Anglophile, she’d thought her experience here would be magical.
Instead, it had been filled with all kinds of unexpected strangeness. Things that were different about this place that she never would have imagined.
And somehow, that was almost better. Although after a long day here in London, she was ready to have a vegetable or two in her diet. A carrot maybe? She would kill for some broccoli. What was it with the British and their loathing of anything that was not a pea?
You would think, with Kent’s aversion to anything green, that he would be the one to go ape over England. With the thought of her husband, Nicole’s mind drifted back to the torso. There was something about that crime scene that kept tugging at her brain, dragging it back towards her consciousness.
“What is it, dear?” Cordelia asked, and Nicole realized that she had zoned out.
“Sorry,” she answered, as she was jostled by another traveler in the press of bodies to get into and out of the train. There was a polite British apology, as per usual. They’d knock you to the ground, but by God they’d make sure and say they were sorry while they were doing it.
“Nothing to apologize for, dear. You do look a bit peaked.”
“Just hungry, I think,” Nicole replied.
The woman chuckled. “Don’t you worry about that, dear.”
Once again that got Nicole wondering about their destination. Were they going to get food? They’d gotten on the Northern Line. Just where in the world were they headed?
But rather than push the issue, Nicole decided that, for once, she was going to relinquish control. She was being taken care of by a lovely British woman she had met at a museum. So far, there had been nothing but positive experiences to come out of it.
Nicole could trust her to pick out a restaurant.
CHAPTER 13
“What the hell was that?”
It was a fair question, Kent supposed. It just wasn’t one that he cared to answer right now.
The call had come in.
After hours of waiting for the J and J tech partnership to come up with something, Joshua had finally come through for him. Much as Jimmi had the boy outgunned on the hacking side of things, in Kent’s experience, there was little that made up for sheer enthusiasm.
And that enthusiasm had screamed over the line when Kent had first picked up the line. He’d had to hold the phone away from his head to keep from having his eardrum blown.
“Kent! Dude! I’ve got it!” Joshua had gushed.
Truthfully, it had been a wild shot in the dark that had gotten Joshua the information he’d been looking for. After a series of dead ends, the enthusiastic young man had tracked down a list of the employees who had worked at the old location of the New Scotland Yard right when it was moving.
Not the cops. The other employees. The janitors, the secretaries, the bean counters.
And sure enough, after enough digging, the lad had hit pay dirt. And now Kent was headed off in the direction of the nearest entrance to the Tube.
There had been no need, up to that point, for Kent and Kyra to use any of the public transportation available to the denizens of this fair city. They’d pretty much stayed within a two-mile grid of New Scotland Yard.
But now they were headed out to a more residential area. A place that would take some time to find. An area that wasn’t only ava
ilable to those with a fat wallet.
Because when it came to tracking down information about the underlings at a police station, it perhaps wasn’t so shocking to realize that they, their children and their children’s children were not in the upper echelons of wealth and power in London.
“Fine,” Kyra finally said, cutting into Kent’s thoughts once more. “If you won’t tell me what was happening with you back there, can you at least tell me where we’re going?”
Kent kept his mouth closed. After most of an entire day with him, Kent would have thought that Kyra would understand that he only shared information that she couldn’t figure out on her own.
Okay, knowing where they were going was perhaps out of her immediate grasp. But guessing what had precipitated their abrupt departure from Chez Dynevor shouldn’t be a stretch.
That was the problem with youth these days. No work ethic.
Whether it was Kent’s aggressive silence, or her own dawning awareness that there might be something here she could figure out on her own, Kyra’s face settled into what Kent was starting to think of as her “active listening” face.
She was engaged, alert and responsive, but to most outside observers it might appear as if the lights were on but no one was home. To Kent, it looked like the stillness of a chrysalis or the eye of a storm. Nothing seemed to be happening, but on the inside, there were mighty changes taking place.
When she spoke next, Kent wasn’t disappointed.
“It was one of your contacts from the States,” she said after a long pause.
“Ah, but which one?” he teased her.
She ignored his tone and answered the question. “Joshua.”
Kent nodded, impressed. “You did that with remarkably few clues,” he said, approving of her deductive skills.
“Wasn’t too tough. You make a different face when it’s Joshua instead of Jimmi,” she answered back.
It made sense that she would be observant enough to see something like that. But Kent wasn’t positive he wanted to know what each of his faces looked like. He’d have to check that in front of a mirror. Couldn’t let too much information about how he felt about each of them be allowed to surface.
If Joshua ever knew how much Kent liked him, the guy would never leave him alone for a second.
“Whatever,” he replied, trying to ignore the smile that played about her mouth.
“So, did you not find anything back at the apartments?” Kyra asked once she had her expression under control.
“Oh, I found plenty,” Kent corrected her. “Including a room that’s filled with Ripper pictures and article clippings.”
Kyra stopped dead in her tracks. “Wait. What?”
“Yeah, a bit obsessive for my tastes,” he said, shrugging. “Kinda over the top.”
“Says the man who shoves his hands inside of bodies so that he can ‘get to know’ the victims?”
Okay, she might have a point there.
“Look. No big deal,” he replied. “It’s not like there was anything there that wasn’t what we’ve already seen.”
Kyra threw her hands up in the air. “That’s not the point. The point is that one of the people that we’re looking at as a possible suspect in a Jack the Ripper copycat killing spree might just be obsessed with Jack the Ripper.”
Kent just stared at her, allowing his gaze to do the work for him.
“Okay, right,” Kyra admitted after a moment. “I wasn’t all that thrilled about Lord Rhys as a suspect. But we’re running out of time.”
Working his way to an intersection that didn’t have a stoplight or a crosswalk, Kent looked both ways before moving out into the street. Even at that, he was almost run down by a scooter that zipped around the corner, coming close to clipping his side.
There, on the opposite side of the street, was one of the many staircases that lead down to the Underground. He made his way toward the entrance, not checking to see whether Kyra was following him.
Of course she was. What else was she going to do?
Once they were headed down into the depths of the Tube station, Kent grinned at her. “No person worth their weight as a agent, a profiler or even a House of Lords type who happens to spend a lot of time at the police station... isn’t at least a little bit obsessed with Jack the Ripper.”
“But he has a room,” Kyra said, with emphasis.
“Yeah. Like I said. A bit obsessive for my tastes.” Kent let her sweat it out another moment, then took her off the hook. “I’m not saying it’s not important, and I think we should still have our eye on Dynevor. But this lead could get us the Ripper.”
Kyra continued walking, but Kent could see that there was much more going on there. She was holding back something, and he was pretty sure he knew what it was. The more time he spent with her, the more of her “nonexpressions” he could interpret.
“What?” he demanded.
Her eyebrows lifted, as if in surprise. “What, what?” she answered.
“Don’t pull that with me. I know better.”
She sighed, a long, laborious breath that seemed to come from her very soul. Glancing back up at him, it seemed like Kyra finally made a choice and opened her mouth up to speak.
“I was just thinking that I should call my team in. They’re pretty much wrapping things up there in Italy, it wouldn’t be a--”
Kent cut her off. “Why should you need to call them in? The case will be solved by then. Eleven o’clock, remember?“
“How?” She asked. When Kent didn’t respond, she spoke again. “How is finding Jack going to get us the copycat? I’ve gone with you on this all day, but it’s getting late and I’m… I’m not positive you can pull it off.”
You and me both, sister. Kent knew better than anyone what the pressure of expectation could mean. Everyone knew Kent would make things better.
Except when he didn’t. At some point the flaws were sure to be exposed, right?
And yet, in spite of the fact that part of Kent wanted to just give up and tell her to call in her International Campers or whatever the hell they called themselves, he couldn’t do it. It wasn’t just pride, although that was probably part of it.
It was the fact that he knew that he would solve this case. Just like he knew that finding the Ripper would lead them to the current day killer. He knew it.
That, unfortunately, didn’t mean all that much to someone that didn’t share a brain with him. Like Nicole, as an example.
Kent was surprised to find that he missed her. Missed the fact that, even though she’d call him on his crap, she believed in him. Trusted that he would get the job done.
Okay, so maybe there was a little bit of revisionist history going on here, but Nicole had his back. On every single level.
He found himself wanting to pick up the phone to call. After all, it was after dark, and most of the tourist-type things would be mostly closed by now. He could just talk to her. Ask her what she would do in this situation.
Because Kyra was still waiting. Her statement hadn’t been intended as a statement. It was a question that she fully expected him to answer.
Too bad. So sad.
Kent turned and went through the turnstile for the Tube, trying to ignore the vendors off to the side of the station down underground. The platform smelled of damp and sweat and piss.
There was no answer coming out of Kent because he had no answer to give. This wasn’t him withholding because he was trying to teach her a lesson. This was him not having any idea how to begin to explain what was going on inside of him.
He was going to figure out who Jack the Ripper was. And he was going to catch the copycat.
Everything else was just a means to an end.
* * *
Nicole was in heaven.
Sitting inside Toff’s, the restaurant that Cordelia had taken her to, it was clear that the fifteen minute walk up a hill to get to the place was worth it. The wash of delicious smells that poured over Nicole had just about driven her to he
r knees, she was so hungry at that point.
At first, she’d been rather upset when she realized that there wasn’t a Mexican restaurant to be seen. After all of the Chinese, Indian and even Ethiopian food she saw everywhere, there wasn’t a taco in sight. Her craving for guacamole was not going to be filled tonight.
And yet, somehow, she just no longer cared.
Right now, she was in the middle of what she could only describe as a religious experience. The fish and chips she had ordered was the best meal she’d had in as long as she could remember.
One of the things she’d noticed earlier on today was that when the English talked about “chips”, they were speaking of fries. But not the kind of fries that Nicole was used to. Those were more like kind of soggy steak fries that you might get at a bad burger joint.
But here? These chips were hot, crisp and bottomless.
And the fish? It was so simple, it almost defied her ability to describe it. Crispy batter? Check. Moist fish? Double check. Tart vinegar? Absolutely. Yet the experience transcended those simple descriptors.
“Good?” Cordelia asked with a smile as Nicole shoveled the food into her mouth.
The older woman was sitting primly, her legs crossed, watching as Nicole ate everything in sight. It would have been embarrassing, if Nicole had cared about anything other than getting the food in her mouth as fast as possible.
She swallowed hard, trying to clear her mouth. Instead of the intelligible phrase praising the virtues of the fish that Nicole had intended, what came out of her mouth was an incoherent groan of pleasure.
Cordelia’s smile grew.
“I’m so glad you’re enjoying it. I do love a good meal of fish and chips, and I could never stand the mushy peas they serve everywhere else,” she stated.
Nicole nodded, not trusting herself to speak any longer. Almost before she realized it, and certainly sooner than she might have wished, her food was gone.
Cordelia chuckled. “That was an impressive sight. But we’re not done quite yet.”
At that, she nodded to one of the servers, who gave her a conspiratorial wink and dashed away, only to reappear in a flash with a bowl of something Nicole couldn’t identify. She turned a questioning look at Cordelia.
