The Bloody Ripper (Leopard King Saga) Read online

  “You’ll be working directly with me on this one, Mansfield. And this time no muck ups. The last thing London needs is a general panic about a deranged serial killer prowling the East End.”

  Robert didn’t like being associated with the words ‘muck ups.’ He was determined to make positive headway on this case. He owed it not only to the victim, but to his own sense of professionalism as well. He knew Swanson was under a great deal of strain, having been appointed by Robert Anderson, Assistant Crime Commissioner, to head this case, but Robert wanted to crack this case badly, more than any other he could recall.

  “Go interview the deceased’s spouse. He’s down at the coroner’s office now,” Swanson said before returning to his never-ending paperwork. Robert did not envy his superior’s position.

  Down at the coroner’s office he found William Nichols. He was looking over the remains of his former wife. A dour look plastered across his careworn face.

  “Mr. Nichols?”

  Nichols turned toward him. “Yes?”

  Robert offered his hand to the widower who looked at it indifferently before shaking it. Nichols’ hand felt cold and clammy like a dead fish. “I’m Inspector Mansfield, I’ve been assigned to this case, may I speak to you for a moment?”

  Nichols nodded.

  “When was the last time you saw your wife?”

  Nichols paused for a moment, as if trying to understand the question posed to him. “Three years, and yes, I knew she was working as a prostitute.”

  “I see.” Robert took out his notepad and started scribbling down words.

  “She deserted me, and the children, you know. And when I learned she had become a woman of ill-repute, I discontinued support payments to her.”

  “What else can you tell me?”

  “Nothing, may I go now Inspector?”

  “One more thing, Mr. Nichols, does your former wife have any living relatives?”

  Nichols nodded and gave Robert an address for the residence of Edward Walker, her father, living in Camberwell.

  Robert journeyed to South London and found Mary Ann Nichols’ father. Edward Nichols, a wide-shouldered man who worked as a Blacksmith, greeted him cordially at the door and told Robert how dissolute his daughter had been during the time she had lived with him. He claimed she lived in various workhouses and was a habitual alcoholic whom he knew would come to a bad end. Robert took copious notes, thanked Edward and left.

  As he was leaving he passed by Honey Mew’s near Brady street he heard a woman calling out to him from a doorway. As he approached her she looked around cautiously, to check if they were being watched.

  “I know about the Nichols murder,” the woman said.

  “Bad news travels fast,” Robert replied, “and you are?”

  She looked around again before answering, “Mrs. Sarah Colwell.” Robert read fear in her eyes, the murder had to have ruffled the residents of this neighborhood, Robert thought. “Are you with the press?”

  “No, Scotland Yard.” He showed her his badge. She cast a frightened glare at him.“Come inside Inspector,” she said, hurriedly trying to usher him into her home. “We can talk more comfortably in my home.”

  Robert looked around the modest home. It was well kept. Colwell brought him a cup of tea and he thanked her. “Now, what can you tell me of the murder, Mrs. Colwell?”

  Mrs. Colwell took a sip of her tea and paused for a moment, as if collecting her thoughts, which reminded Robert of Nichols’ husband. They both want to make sure they give clear depositions.

  “It happened last night,” she began.

  Robert’s eyes narrowed. “What happened exactly, Mrs. Colwell?”

  She leaned in closer to him; her blue eyes fixated on him. “I heard a woman yelling ‘murder, police!’”

  Robert started scribbling notes. “At around what time did you hear this?”

  “I’d say a little after midnight, at least that’s what I told the press, all the major papers, and some of the local ones.” Robert tried to conceal his disappointment. Then it would be only a matter of hours before the details of this murder are everywhere. He pressed on. “What else can you tell me about this woman who was yelling?”

  “Not much. Did you find any other witnesses? Maybe she came forward.”

  “No one has come forward yet, Mrs. Colwell.”

  He asked her a few more rudimentary questions, and, when realizing that she indeed had no more to offer, excused himself and hurried back to his office to file a report.

  He hated writing reports.

  {3}

  September 4th, 1888

  After breakfast Jack took his paper and unfolded it. He had been married for a few short months, since June, and had spent the next two months traveling Spain. Now he and Mercedes were back and he was anxious to begin his residency training as a physician. He had read through the various stories and had had enough indoor activity. Just as he put the paper on the coffee table he noticed the headline. It read: Leather Apron Murderer on the loose. Scotland Yard baffled.

  He felt his heart pause for a second before it resumed beating. Then he started reading the article. It went into detail about the recent murder in Buck’s Row of a woman named Mary Ann “Polly” Nichols by a mysterious assailant. What caught his attention was the mention of Chief Inspector Swanson, and his brother Robert being named as the main police investigators assigned to the case. A part of him felt for his brother and he wished that his name had been spared in the papers. But that was the life of a policeman.

  Mercedes was out shopping and would later be at her ballet lessons so he put the paper away and went for a walk. It was warm for September and the sun was at its zenith, and, except for the occasional cloud the sky was clear. Jack started walking faster, the article had given him a bout of anxiety and he wanted to work it off with a good walk. A sweat broke on his forehead and he felt better. He found a café on Oxford Street and ordered a cup of tea.

  As he sat outside sipping his tea, Jack couldn’t help noticing a woman walking on the sidewalk near his table. What made her stand out was the black cloak she wore. He thought it a bit strange considering the warm weather and was about to return to his tea when he noticed something that made the woman’s presence more outlandish.

  Around her he could see pedestrians casting long shadows under the fretful sun rays, but this woman…she had no shadow. At first he thought his eyes were deceiving him. He squinted as he followed her motions. Still no shadow. He dug into his pocket and deposited a few coins next to his tea saucer. She was getting ready to cross at Oxford Circus, Oxford street’s busiest intersection. He would lose her if he did not act fast. So he ran.

  To Jack’s credit he did not lose her. He had fought in the first Anglo-Boer War in 1880, and despite suffering a leg wound at Transvaal, he had been able to fully recover, so this burst of speed did not impair his gait.

  He almost lost her in the crowd. But managed to catch her entering a blacksmith’s shop. He waited at a safe distance so she wouldn’t spot him (she struck him as a woman who was alert) and when she emerged from the shop he thought he saw a bulge on her back, underneath her cloak. She turned around for a moment to look about and adjust her corset before continuing. Her long black hair flowed over the back of her cloak and if it wasn’t for the brightness of the sunlight it could’ve easily blended with the cloak.

  He walked for close to an hour. No. He was not mistaken. She still had no shadow. It was amazing that no one else noticed it. When she arrived at Kingsbridge, she disappeared inside Harrods’s. This time he decided to follow her inside, certainly there would be enough human presence inside to allow him cover.

  Inside he watched as she walked by various outfits and inspected them. Once inside the building he noticed how pale her skin was. Almost as if her skin was made of paste. It did not distract from her looks though, she had a long curved nose that blended well with her brimming lips and statuesque cheekbones. She turned and looked around again. He saw a display
of neckties and acted like he was browsing for one.

  A sales clerk approached and greeted him before asking Jack if he needed any help, but he politely declined. By then, the mysterious woman with pasty skin had disappeared from her previous spot. Damn! He ran from his spot, leaving the surprised clerk in his wake, just in time to see her passing through a revolving door. He stopped until she had cleared it before following.

  Outside he turned to his right and saw her ducking into an alley. The cloak billowing up behind her, he saw a quiver strung to her back and she wore tight leather slacks over black studded boots.

  Jack continued his relentless pursuit. He saw her turn right and duck into another passageway. When he reached that spot, she was gone. He looked around. No sign of her. He cursed but made a mental note of this location and started back towards Harrods when he heard the sound of various trash cans being knocked over. He turned around quickly and saw a glint of light speeding toward him. He ducked sideways just as the blade swished by his arm, catching the sleeve of his jacket. The weapon tore through it and he felt the hot sting of blood. He pulled a handkerchief and pressed it against the wound, which was not serious, before tying it around his arm. He had gotten off easy with a flesh wound. It could’ve easily pierced a vital organ had he not been nimble.

  He walked towards the spot where the knife lay and picked it up. Even on a balmy day like today the hilt felt cold in his palm.

  He looked at the blade. There were strange runes inscribed in it. He held it up to the light and still could not make anything of them. Upon further inspection he noticed an insignia inscribed on one side of the hilt. It resembled a coat of arms where a red-eyed bat with outstretched wings stood on a crest depicting two crossed swords. Wrapping the knife in another handkerchief, he slipped it into his trouser pocket. Jack decided he’d seek help of an expert before going to the police. After wracking his brain for the Irishman’s name he finally managed to recall it.

  But first he would need to find him.

  • • •

  It took him a day but Jack was able to track down the office of Seamus McCoy.

  Having an Inspector for a brother helped, and he traced McCoy’s office to London’s Southwark district. He took the tube and arrived late morning. The office was on the first floor of an elaborate building designed in Georgian architectural style. Jack knocked on the door to the office and was greeted by McCoy himself. At first the Irishman squinted as he tried to recognize his visitor. Then slowly, a polite smile formed on his lips. “Why Doctor, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

  “May I come in, please?”

  McCoy opened the door and waved him in. “But of course, Doctor, come in, come in,” he said joyfully. McCoy offered Jack a cup of coffee but he politely declined.

  The office was not very big; two bookcases filled with tomes lined one wall of the office, while an oak desk stood in front of a lone window. Jack was anxious to show McCoy the knife that had been hurled at him. The Irishman looked over the wrapped knife with relish. “What is this, Doctor?”

  “I was hoping you could help me answer that Seamus.” McCoy took a seat behind his desk and donned a small pair of half moon spectacles.

  “Quite an interesting weapon, Doctor. Might I ask how you obtained it?”

  “Someone tried killing me with it.”

  McCoy’s left eyebrow rose. “Indeed. Care to tell me more?”

  Jack told McCoy his story of spotting the shadowless woman with pasty skin on Oxford Street who was overdressed for a balmy day, and how he had tracked her to Knightsbridge. “I remembered our discussion at The Sword & Lion and decided to come find you.”

  McCoy nodded and continued inspecting the blade. He pulled out a magnifying glass and took a closer look at the Bat roundel on the knife’s hilt.

  “Have you ever seen a marking of that kind?” Jack asked.

  “Good question doctor.” McCoy looked up and pulled a thick tome from the bookshelf. Robert waited as the Irishman flipped through pages and mumbled to himself. “I think I may have something, it’s only a lead but for right now it’s all we have to work with.” McCoy pushed the book toward Jack and pointed at a logo printed on the book’s page. Jack noticed a bat-like creature printed on the page, underneath it, the caption read: Vampire Bat.

  “So it is true,” Jack said. “Vampires do exist.”McCoy smiled. “Well of course they do, Doctor. I thought we had agreed on that subject the other night.”

  Robert didn’t want to tell McCoy that he was only trying to be polite the other night, especially in front of Mercedes. But now the evidence was clear.

  “One fact that eludes me is, how this female vampire was able to stay alive during the day. Vampires are nocturnal creatures by habit and sunlight is capable of destroying them.” He took the knife again and carefully ran a finger down the blade’s fuller. “I’m no expert in metallurgy, but I have a feeling this is no ordinary metal found today, even with all the technological advancements.”

  Jack thought about how automobiles had become popular in the past few years. The days of the horse-and-carriage were numbered. “So can you help me?”Jack said.

  “Depends on how you define ‘help,’ doctor. Do you want me to investigate this vampire woman? Or simply give you advice on how to proceed?”

  “Both.” Jack owed it to himself to track down the person who wanted to kill him, perhaps it would shed light on some unanswered questions. “I will pay you of course Seamus.”

  McCoy smiled. “If I take this case it wouldn’t be for money, doctor. You made the right decision by coming to see me for advice, and, I am quite intrigued by the case.”

  “So when can we start?”

  “Can I hang onto this blade for the time being?” Seamus asked. Jack nodded; Seamus wrapped the knife and put it in his top desk drawer before taking his hat and jacket off the coat rack. “We can begin now if you like?”

  They took a taxi back to the spot where Jack had last seen the woman. AfterMcCoy had been satisfied that no clues existed they walked to Hyde park to discuss their next move.

  “Why do you think Vampires are here?”

  McCoy lit a cigarette and they found a park bench to sit on. “They obviously have an agenda. It could be anything from harvest human blood to manipulating our social development. Or maybe something completely different.” A group of pigeons gathered in front of them and started cooing.

  “Such as?”

  McCoy inhaled deeply from his cigarette and exhaled smoke. The pigeons obviously didn’t agree with the fumes, they scattered like frightened children. “There have been rumors of a strange red locomotive coming and going from Liverpool Street rail station. The police boarded this train on two different occasions, but found nothing, except empty canisters.”

  “That doesn’t say much,” Jack answered irritably.

  “No it doesn’t, except that one day I went to investigate and noticed that when the canisters were being loaded, some of them glowed. It’s as if they were transporting some sort of energy.” This still didn’t amount to anything in Jack’s mind. He actually felt more confused than before he had come to ask McCoy for help. McCoy picked up on this and patted Jack on the leg. “But we’ll find out what these blood-sucking fiends are up to doctor, I’ve been a private investigator for over ten years, and there is nothing I dislike more than not having answers to the questions I seek.”

  • • •

  Vampiress’ attendants undressed her before she lowered herself into her bath. They poured warm water and cleansing oils into the tub and soon she felt her body relax. The filth of this city never ceased to amaze her. Even when her people had been at war with Reptokk’s forces, the upkeep was always excellent in all their major cities. She was eager to forget the past few days. First, the argument with the Chief and yesterday’s cat-and-mouse game with the well-dressed Englishman. Why was he following me? Does he know why we’re here? As she racked her brain for answers her attendants scrubbed her arms
and back with soft brushes. The soft follicles felt good on her skin as they cleansed her of London’s grime. She would be glad when her assignment here was over.

  Vampiress turned her attention back to the Englishman. There was no technology available in 19th-century England that could track her. In this timeline the invention of crude radar technology was still decades away; GPS technology, a century away. They had no scanners, or dispersal fields capable of penetrating Sect cloaks. Yet this man had found something that pointed her out to him. Of course. How could she of been so careless. After ordering her attendants to leave she checked her service belt. Her fears had been confirmed. How could I be so fucking stupid? she chided herself. A senior field operative making a mistake a first year Plebe wouldn’t commit. She had forgotten to engage her shadow enhancer. No wonder the human had been able to find her. She was lucky more humans had not noticed she lacked a shadow. Vampires were considered fables in this time period. However unlikely, this human apparently had some sort of training, or knowledge about her kind, otherwise he would’ve never been suspicious enough to follow her.

  Too much was at stake for a careless mistake to undo all of her hard work. It was required protocol to report this to her section Chief, but that would only cast more doubt on her. She knew he had little love for her aristocratic blood. Besides she didn’t want to give the old fool an excuse to dismiss her. Then she would be sent back in disgrace.

  The Sect had already suffered a setback in another reality. Two Hollow Men sent to 2146 Florida on Earth had failed to incite a Zombie assault which would’ve won them an important victory, and secured that timeline for The Sect. The evidence retrieved from their emergency recorder beacon indicated their mission had been foiled by a Cyborg and a mutant reptile called a Crocodile. The last thing Vampiress wanted was another failed mission, especially one where she had been given full command over field operations.