by Stacy Green
“Since this guy seems to be picking and choosing from Jack’s bag of cruelty, it makes sense he’d categorize Bonnie selling porn as a form of prostitution. But what’s he playing at? Did he intend for us to find this? He didn’t exactly leave it in plain sight like the message on the rafters.” Erin glanced up at the beam where the bloody carving seemed to glow in the lousy lighting.
“We photographed it where we found it,” Marie said. “But looks like he threw it away and forgot about it.”
“I think it’s all a game,” Beckett said. “He’s leaving these breadcrumbs to keep us off balance.
“Even if Will Merritt didn’t know about the videos,” Erin said, “I’d say finding out his girlfriend’s playing prostitute on film would be humiliating and a good motive.”
“Why the Ripper reference then?”
“There’s more written on the back.”
Something in Marie’s tone made Erin’s pulse stutter and sent butterflies through her system. Erin turned the paper over, and all of the blood in her body drained to her toes.
More words. This time emphatically scrawled. Written over and over again in an embellished flourish.
Abberline was right.
—Jane
Beckett carefully took the paper and stared at it, his eyes roaming each letter of the signature. “Inspector Abberline was the lead investigator on the Jack the Ripper murders. He considered the possibility the Ripper could be a woman, possibly a midwife. He believed that might explain the Ripper’s ability to escape the crime scenes covered in blood. But Abberline never had enough evidence to prove it.”
Erin’s lips numbed as she spoke. “What if our killer’s a woman too?”
His gaze flashed to meet hers. “Because of this? If the killer actually wrote them, then the logical assumption is we’re dealing with a Ripper fan who buys into Abberline’s theory.”
“But then why sign the name Jane?”
“He may not have meant for us to find this,” Beckett said. “It’s probably his notes and ramblings. Especially since Jill is the name used in the Ripper lore.” He shook the evidence bag. “This is like crack to a reporter and keeping a lid on a high-profile murder investigation takes an act of God. It’s not a stretch to think our killer is deliberately leaving these crumbs to muddy the case.”
Jane the Ripper. The idea refused to leave Erin alone. “You do realize a lot of women are into true crime stories, right? Why couldn’t our killer be one of those?”
Beckett’s face had gone blank.
“She left us the note to make sure we knew. She practices the message she wanted to leave. Tosses it aside and forgets it. Or the paper falls out of her pocket while she’s fighting with Bonnie.”
Heat bloomed at the back of Erin’s neck and then crept to her ears and cheeks. Self-doubt chiseled away at her confidence. Jumping to wild conclusions in a case like this usually meant disaster. “It’s way too out there. Forget I said anything.”
“No,” Beckett said. “It’s not out there. We keep the idea as a possibility and keep investigating. If this killer is a woman, the evidence will lead us there.”
The demon speaks to me again. He basks in the furor stirred up by the slaying of the first woman and demands another. My stomach recoils at the thought of tearing another’s flesh, and yet my mouth salivates at the prospect. What have I become?
—JTR
8 September 1888
This entry is my favorite. Jane is beginning to understand her own needs. Nine days after the first murder and no one in London had any clue who roamed the streets or the beautiful things yet to come. And poor Jane is still afraid to accept the demon, but with time, she learns.
Everything good comes in time.
The truth will be preserved.
My identity will be protected.
The world will be right again.
* * *
Mina’s big, scared eyes always made Charlie feel like he’d been sucked under water. The little girl had been through so much unfairness in her short life. And yeah, maybe life wasn’t fair. But little kids weren’t supposed to know that. Kids Mina’s age should still believe in Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny and their parents. She shouldn’t be clinging to a confused teenager for protection.
But Charlie made a promise. He kept his promises.
He shoved his blond hair out of his face. It needed to be cut, but he couldn’t spend the money. And he didn’t want the argument from the others. They liked his hair long, and since Charlie believed in choosing his battles, he kept his mouth shut and dealt with the hair.
“Charlie.” Mina whispered to him from her hiding spot. “Do you think the cops know about us?”
“No.” He wasn’t certain of anything, but he couldn’t tell Mina. She already hung on by a frayed thread.
“But what about Bonnie?”
Charlie couldn’t feel sorry for Bonnie—she didn’t have the guts to do the right thing. And if she didn’t want to tell the truth, then they wouldn’t, either. He checked his bag to make sure the laptop and digital camera were still inside. “Stop worrying and help me find a place to hide these.”
“But Charlie—”
“I’m not talking about it anymore.” He hated losing his patience with the little girl. “Don’t I always keep you safe? Don’t I hide you from all the bad things?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have to trust me, Mina. It’s the only way we don’t end up like Bonnie.”
Mina sniffled. “Poor Bonnie.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said. “But she should have said something when she figured out the truth.”
“You know what’s going to happen.”
“Hush.” Charlie’s hissed words cut through the quiet night. He searched in the darkness, hoping he and Mina hadn’t been discovered. “You need to forget what we saw, or we’ll end up like Bonnie. Is that what you want?”
“No, Charlie.”
He settled back against the wall. “All right then. Let’s get rid of this stuff and get out of here.”
“Nice place.” Erin met Beckett in front of the Archers’ two-story, brick colonial in Forest Hills. Pine trees framed the quintessential family home, providing a nice natural privacy fence. Like every neighborhood except for the wealthy, the houses in Forest Hills sat too close together, every inch of available real estate used up. Growing up, Erin felt sorry for the “regular families,” as her sister called them, who didn’t have the luxury of sweeping, landscaped yards and large acreages. But those kids had something Erin didn’t: a neighborhood to roam and friends across the street and down the block. She deliberately chose exactly that sort of neighborhood for her daughter to grow up in.
Beckett folded his long frame out of a small Toyota Prius and quietly shut his door. He’d donned a black windbreaker as nondescript as him. “Is this an expensive area?”
“Every place in D.C. is expensive compared to the rest of the country,” Erin said. “This is average middle class.” She hoped she didn’t sound as snobby as it felt. She’d grown up in a house at least twice the size of the Archers’, and her parents still held court in the mini-palace. “There are quite a few international embassies in the Forest Hills area, so it’s a bit unique. Lots of cultural mix but still affordable for the most part.” She spoke in low tones. It was after midnight, and every house on the street was dark.
Beckett leaned against the fender of her car. “So your nickname is Princess? Seems kind of obvious. You’d think the squad would come up with something better.”
“I’m fine with the nickname, as long they back me up. So far, so good.”
“From the way Merritt talked, your father must be a pretty significant political figure. He’s a defense contractor?”
“Consulting is the magic word,” Erin said. “And Baker-Allen provides that on all levels, but it’s only a bonus to the defense contracts. My father plays politics to get what he wants. So did my grandfather. I’m sure there’s a myriad of things they
’ve been involved in I don’t want to know about.”
Beckett nodded. “And you never had any interest in their world?”
“No.” Erin started down the quaint cobblestone path. Each stone was individually laid, well-worn from years of use. Dread settled into her shoulders.
They stepped onto the Archers’ porch. A wooden swing hung at the far end, and two planters of yellow mums decorated the entrance.
Her legs became wooden and heavy. “How many of these notifications have you done?”
“More than I want to admit.” Beckett cocked his head. “You?”
“A few.” Truthfully, only one. “I haven’t quite perfected the technique.”
“I don’t think anyone ever does,” he said. “But if you want me to tell them, I can handle it.”
His placid expression made Erin wonder how he’d perfected the art of compartmentalizing. “Let’s just do it together and be as compassionate as we can.”
Beckett nodded. “I like the way you think.”
Her stomach rolled with fresh nerves. The other death notification she’d made was to the mother of a gangbanger, and while the mother collapsed in silent tears, the woman wasn’t shocked. She’d tried to get her son out of the life for years. But the Archers had witnessed their daughter descend into drugs and then pull herself back out. They must have had high hopes for her future. They certainly weren’t expecting a visit like this in the middle of the night.
Erin took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
An upstairs light flashed on. She breathed through her mouth, focusing on her breath.
The porch light came on. Erin knocked and held up her badge to the tiny peephole. “D.C. Police. We need to speak with Neil and Carmen Archer.”
Slowly, the door opened, and a middle-aged man with rumpled pajamas and a balding head peered out. Suspicion filled his small eyes. “What’s this about?”
Erin hoped the pity didn’t show too strongly on her face. Surely the man had an inkling. He must be wondering about his only daughter living in a rough area. But his internal voice no doubt insisted this had to be something else, because this wasn’t happening to them.
“Neil?” A sleepy sounding woman called from somewhere inside the house. “Why are the police here? Is it about Bonnie?”
Erin’s heart dropped into her stomach. She refused to break; these people needed her to be strong. “I’m afraid so.”
Neil Archer’s sleepy face paled. “Is she in trouble? What’s happened?”
“Mr. Archer.” Beckett’s smooth voice soothed Erin’s nerves. “May we come in and speak to you and your wife?”
“Oh my God.” Carmen Archer appeared beside her husband. Silver decorated the temples of her dark hair, mussed from sleep. The wrinkles between her eyes deepened. “Bonnie’s dead, isn’t she? That’s the only reason you would be here at this time of night.”
Putting the truth off another second felt cruel. “I’m so sorry,” Erin said. “But Bonnie was murdered in her home tonight.”
Carmen Archer clamped her hands over her mouth, her wedding rings glinting in the porch light. Wordlessly, she shook her head back and forth.
“You can’t be right,” Neil choked out. The smooth skin on his head flushed. His shaking hand rattled the doorknob. “Bonnie’s doing good. She’s smart. She wouldn’t let someone in who would hurt her.”
“Her friend Will Merritt found her,” Beckett said. “It’s Bonnie, and I’m so sorry.”
Neil sagged against the doorframe as though his knees had turned liquid.
His wife closed her eyes, tears squeezing out of them, making the mascara she’d left on smear. Finally, she took a deep breath. “Who killed her?”
“We’re doing everything we can to answer that question,” Erin said. “I know this is a horrible time, but can we come in and ask a few questions?”
Carmen nodded, taking her husband’s arm and guiding him out of the doorway. Erin and Beckett followed. The door closed with a click, the finality of the sound making Erin jump.
A tabby cat sitting on the arm of the couch stared at Erin with judgmental yellow eyes. “First, is there anyone we can call for you?”
Carmen shook her head, slightly rocking. She had the look of a woman who’d accepted the truth yet couldn’t quite fathom the monumental change in her world. Erin couldn’t blame her. A life without her daughter—a life where her daughter had been savagely taken from her—seemed unimaginable. “Where is Bonnie? We’ll need to get her to the funeral home and make arrangements.”
Erin’s heart lurched at the woman’s need for some kind of control over the situation.
“She’s with the medical examiner.” Beckett seemed the picture of compassion and calm. “Her autopsy is tomorrow, and we’ll know more then. But the medical examiner will call you about releasing the body. It might be a few days.”
“What happened to her?” Neil’s raw voice sounded like his throat had been torn open. “Was she raped?”
“We don’t know yet,” Erin said. “Someone stabbed her.” She swallowed, trying to gather her nerve. She didn’t want to give them the horrific details. What good could it possibly do? But if the cops delivered this sort of news to her, Erin would demand every detail. “I’m going to be honest because I don’t want you to hear this from the media. It was brutal.”
Erin clamped her jaws tight as she watched the rest of the color drain from Carmen’s face. Let the M.E. decide whether or not to give the specifics.
“Did she suffer?” Neil’s broken voice cracked.
“The medical examiner will be able to tell you more,” Beckett said, managing to defer the question without sounding dispassionate. “We’re aware of her past, but can you tell us about her current life? Was she afraid of anyone? Worried about anything?”
“She took classes,” Neil said. “She wanted to be a teacher, but she needed to get her GED first. She was doing great.” He kept staring at them as though this should have been enough to keep some madman from murdering his child.
“Where did she attend classes?” Beckett asked.
“The Adult Learning Center in Edgewood,” Carmen said. “She also worked part-time in the evenings as a server at a high-end restaurant in DuPont Circle. Daniel’s. We’ve never had the chance to go. I don’t like to drive into the area. But Bonnie said the place was black tie, great tips.” Carmen reached for a tissue.
Erin kept silent. She’d have the information on Bonnie’s employment at Daniel’s in the morning, but she guessed Bonnie and Merritt had mutually agreed on the lie.
Erin made her voice as gentle as possible. “I hate to ask, but we have to address Bonnie’s drug use. Is there a possibility she had started using again and upset a dealer? What drugs did she use in the past?”
Carmen Archer emphatically shook her head, her soft black hair dancing around her face. “Prescription pills. She had a talent for getting doctors to write her prescriptions, and then when that failed, she went to the streets. But there isn’t a chance she was using again. Bonnie had bi-weekly drug tests. That’s the only way we agreed to help her get on her feet.”
A hint of guilt crept into her voice, and her pleading eyes made Erin feel worse by the minute.
“We knew her living here with us wouldn’t help. She has our support, but she needed—she wanted—to be on her own. And if she couldn’t get clean without a babysitter, then she wouldn’t stay clean.” Carmen’s voice broke, the guilt pouring into the crevice. “That’s why she lived by herself.”
“I think it’s very brave of you to help her.” Erin reached for the woman’s hand, desperate to offer some kind of comfort. “And to stipulate the drug testing. Your support must have worked.”
Carmen’s cold fingers squeezed back. “It did. She also had to share her class information with us. We weren’t going to help if she wasn’t attending.”
“Where was the drug testing done?” Beckett asked.
“At one of the Howard University Hospital cli
nics. Bonnie gave them permission to report to us.”
“We’ll need the contact information,” Erin said. “And for you to let them know we have permission to access her records.”
Carmen rubbed her cheeks, further smearing her mascara. “Of course. I’ll call first thing in the morning.”
“Can I ask if you helped her financially in any way?” Beckett said. “This is an expensive area for a single person to live on their own.”
A hint of defense crept into Neil’s posture. He folded his arms. “Occasional spending money, the first month’s rent on the house. Her laptop for school. But she made great tips at Daniel’s. She hasn’t needed any help for several months.”
“It’s a high-end place,” Carmen echoed the earlier conversation. “Good clientele.”
But working part-time wouldn’t cover everything. How could her parents not know this? Or had they played ignorant to make life easier? Bonnie’s drug tests came back negative, and she went to school. Perhaps Carmen and Neil considered that more than enough.
Erin tried to frame her next question carefully, without giving too much away. But Beckett beat her to it.
“So Bonnie only took GED courses? Nothing recreational like film or photography?”
Carmen nodded. “The Adult Literacy Center has a college prep program as well. She planned on going through it so she could apply to schools. Once she passed the GED.” Her small body seemed to shrink into the cushions as she realized someone snuffed out her daughter’s dreams.
“What about her friends?” Erin asked.
“She didn’t have a lot of friends,” Carmen said. “Her old friends still did drugs, so she walked away. She left all of that behind.”
“What about her cousin Sarah? Will Merritt said they were close. How do we get in touch with her?”
Carmen flinched as though Erin smacked her. Confusion overtook her grief. “That’s not possible.”
Neil Archer’s face turned stormy. “Bonnie and Sarah haven’t spoken since they were little. I don’t know why he said that.”
