Druid's Daughter (14 page)

Finally, after much discussion Lance and his men settled on
three likely locations. There were others, but Lance decided to hold them in
reserve, as they were either too close to St. Paul’s or too far to see the
spire.

Lance suddenly turned to Morgan. “Do you have normal
eyesight, Morgan? No difficulty with eyestrain in reading, for instance?”

She understood and thought the question an astute one.

“I have good eyesight, my lord. And I am not notably
far-sighted.”

“Could you see the ground, Morgan?”

She knew what he was really asking and blanched again as she
answered.

“No. I could only see the top parts if the fences. If there
was a body on the ground I couldn’t see one. I focused on the writing on the
back fence.”

With a nod Lance turned back to his men.

“I would like you to split up into three squadrons. I’ll
head up one with Shriver and Thomas and Gilman can take the others. Be very
careful. A murderer might be lurking around, or might not, but I don’t want any
of you to take any chances. When you get there stay at your locations. If mine
isn’t the right spot we’ll come along and check out yours.”

“Lance, may I go too?”

Blast, she’d forgotten she’d meant to keep him at a distance
by using his title.

His eyes were twinkling just a little as he came round the
table, handed her her hat, put on his own and escorted her out the door. The
reprehensible scoundrel had probably caught on to her little ploy.

Still his voice was grim as he came close to her and
commented for her ears alone, “Yes, I want you to come. I’ve saved the most
likely spot for myself. I will want your corroboration if what we find is the
same as your vision.”

* * * * *

Morgan and Lance went in his carriage with Shriver as usual
driving, while five of his men followed in another cab. Morgan was silent,
incredulous at the Lance she was discovering. One who valued her visions and
her opinions. He’d sinned against her in caressing her to the point of idiocy
and then disappearing. She didn’t dare forget he was capable of leaving her
without a word. Yet in spite of herself this new Lance fascinated her.

He tried to take her hand in the carriage, but she snatched
it away. After giving her a sardonic smile, he turned and looked out the
window. She did the same, although she saw little of what they passed. The man
completely baffled her. Certainly as erratic as he seemed to be in his
friendships, she’d be wise to guard her heart even more than she had.

They’d long since come to one of the worst parts of town.
Lance now watched the streets with tight-eyed intent. The houses were
ramshackle, most of them narrow two-story houses with only one or at most two
rooms to a floor. None of them had seen paint for a good many years. Refuse
piled up in the streets and the smell was atrocious. The days had turned a
little cooler and Morgan could only imagine the stench in the heat of summer.
She could see a pump with a half-broken handle at the end of one street. How
many homes did this one well supply?

She’d never conceived of this kind of degrading poverty. No
wonder her mother so much preferred living in the country. There, one could
make a real difference. Here, any effort would be swept away by the sheer
magnitude of the problem.

Lance was leaning out the window, evidently watching for any
signpost he could match to the map in his mind.

“Ah,” his small sigh one of relief. “I think we are almost
there. Morgan, I don’t have to ask you to register every point you can in that
intelligent mind of yours. I think you’ll soon know if this is the right alley.
The colors of the fences you described were quite specific.”

He leaned even further out to shout to Shriver.

“Turn right at the next corner, man. I think we’re here.”

They were indeed there. Lance sucked in his breath and
Morgan shut her eyes for a long moment. Before them extended a short alley,
exactly as Morgan had described. Faded green planks on one side and weathered
fencing on the other. In front of them was a whitewashed wall. Only now there
were three Bible verse references written in smeared, uneven red. The red
writing was surely in blood, running a little at the first set of letters and
getting thinner as the script went along the fence. At the center bottom of the
inscriptions was a faint “W”.

And in front of the wall sprawled another pitiful, horribly
murdered girl.

Over the fence could be seen the marvelously beautiful spire
of St. Paul’s. Morgan looked at the body once and then concentrated on the
beauty she could see if she just raised her eyes.

Lance leaped from the carriage before it stopped.

“Damn it to bloody hell,” he cursed. “We’re too late once
again.”

Morgan was not offended by his language, indeed she thought the
situation called for even stronger words. Almost in shock, she shifted her eyes
and read the other two verses. The one to the left of center read Isaiah 13:11
and the one to the right was Proverbs 14:9. She memorized the references so she
could look them up as soon as possible. She had little doubt they referred to
retribution for sinners.

“I don’t suppose there’s a chance you’d know what those
numbers refer to, is there?” Morgan scrambled out of the carriage and went up
to Lance, who was still standing staring at the corpse.

“Oh god,” groaned Lance. “You shouldn’t have to see
something like this. And the hell of it is I can’t take you right back. I have
to do what I can do here. I’m so sorry, Morgan.”

Morgan started to say everything was all right, when he
hustled her back to the carriage almost bodily.

“You’ve done your part by leading us here. Now get in there
and stay. I don’t need anyone tampering with whatever clues there are.”

He lifted her and sat her in the carriage and then closed
the door. “Please, just this once do as I ask. I do not need to worry about
you.”

She started to bristle and then calmed down. He was right
and she’d hate herself past enduring if she handicapped him in even the
slightest manner. Beside, her stomach seemed to be doing the strangest flip-flops.
She put her head down to her knees, but raised it as soon as she could. No way
would she miss any action Lance might take. How thrilling to see him on the
job, masterful, controlled and completely in charge of himself and his men.

The second carriage with the five men arrived. Each officer
filed out, going still and quiet as soon as he saw the body.

“Keep away unless I call you up,” snapped Lance.

He slowly circled the body.

“This one’s different from the others.” Morgan thought he meant
to train his men as he called out what he saw.

“She’s on her back, which is a big departure. I’m guessing
when he asked her for sex from the rear she’d read or heard enough to panic.
The newspapers are getting that warning out at least, although they didn’t much
help this poor girl. Her skirts are not drawn up, so I imagine she turned and
tried to run. Yes, this one is different, her throat is bruised. I think he
strangled her before he cut her throat. Probably strangled her to keep her from
escaping. Yes. He stabbed her after she was dead, there’s no blood around the
slash in her blouse. He seems to want to kill again and again. She was
unconscious, although not quite dead when he cut her throat. There’s more blood
this time, which gave him all he needed to write with.”

He paced around again and then bent over the body and
sniffed.

“And once again the bloody bastard masturbated over the
corpse. This spot is quite fresh and most definitely semen.”

Morgan shrank back into the corner of the cab. Lance had
forgotten she was there. She didn’t want him to think of her right now. Never
would he be talking so frankly if he’d remembered her presence.

Lance went on ruminating. Morgan wondered if he wanted to
clear his own mind or to keep instructing his officers.

“But he’s the same killer, I have no doubt. He deviated into
a little different
modus operandi
, but still left his trademarks. Now we
just have to figure out why he wrote the Bible verses. Not too much doubt about
that either. He’s obsessed with punishing whores. There’s so much sick
hostility evidenced that I pray nobody gets in his way before we catch him.”

He paced once again around the body, but again did not touch
it.

“I suppose it’s too much to hope he left a fingerprint when
he wrote on the wall. Probably wore gloves the whole time.”

He walked over to the fence, staring at the writing.

“I don’t suppose any of you can pinpoint the references?”

His men shook their heads and Lance’s lips curved in a
grimace of his usual attractive grin.

“Too much to expect, I guess. Let’s get the coroner and the
rest of the crew out here. Donaldson, you and Thomas stay here with the body.
Make absolutely sure nobody comes near the corpse.”

He vaulted into the carriage and sat fuming. Morgan didn’t
want to remind him she was there, so she sat in silence. When they were almost
back to the station, Lance roused himself and picking up her hand, kissed its
back. Then, turning her hand over, he set his lips on her palm. Was this his
way of apologizing for what she’d been forced to see?

Morgan didn’t make a sound. She didn’t want Lance to have
any idea how warm and exciting she found his lips even through her gloves. Even
with such a simple gesture and at such a time.

He dropped her hand and looked out the window. There was
another silence, although the air seemed to vibrate. She wished she could read
the blasted man’s thoughts just this once!

When he spoke, his voice sounded completely steady.

“I’m so sorry you had to see such a horrible sight. I would
have spared you if I could. Still, thanks to you we were quicker on the scene
than the others. Perhaps this will make some difference in the long run.”

“Lance, my feelings are not a bit important compared to that
poor girl.”

“Yes, you’re right,” he sighed. “Still I wish I could be with
you tonight and help you erase that terrible memory from your mind. But I
can’t. We’ll doubtless be up most of the night. Is your mother at home yet?”

Morgan smiled. He wasn’t up on everything in London, then.

“No, she’s still gone. And I’m staying right now at the
Commissioner’s house with Jamie. The Commissioner is doubtless having his hands
full trying to persuade my mother to marry him.”

Lance raised his eyebrows, but asked no questions. He didn’t
release her hand, but held it until they reached Commissioner Randall’s house.
She didn’t think Lance was conscious of how very tightly he gripped it.

He insisted on escorting her to the Commissioner’s door. She
gravely bid him goodnight as he watched until she was safely inside.

When would she see him again? She didn’t know why she cared
so much about the answer, but she did. If past performance was any hint she
might be in for a long wait.

She sighed as she turned toward the stairs to her room.

* * * * *

After Lance and Morgan left the alley, the murderer moved
stealthily away from the back of the fence where he’d been lurking.

The damned slut. So she’d somehow led the police to his
latest victim! How in hell had she known? He’d had a close call. Much too
close. Lucky for him he’d heard the carriages coming. Still he’d barely had
time to vault the fence before the police were there.

What were the bloody Bobbies now thinking about his
inspiration of the Bible verses? How he hoped they’d all be printed in the
newspapers. He wanted every cursed whore in London to be afraid to ply her
satanic trade.

Now his mind locked onto a new and imperative mission. Lucky
Lance’s latest inamorata was doomed for her interference. It would be easy to
discover the name of the bitch in the carriage. Whore or so-called lady, he’d find
her out. All women were whoring Jezebels anyway.

He’d make her pay twelve times over. He wouldn’t be so
merciful as to give her as easy a death as the others. She’d meddled in his
affairs and she must pay.

His insane thoughts cackled in his mind, as he ran in
silence from the scene of his latest butchering.

This victim’s death throes had been most satisfactory. He’d
loved the terror in her eyes before he strangled her. Perhaps he’d made a
mistake killing the others before cutting their throats. His sexual
satisfaction was even greater with this one. All was going so well until the
police arrived.

It galled him to the point of fury he’d never be able to
personally pay back the whore who’d once refused and laughed at him. She’d even
had the nerve to call him insane. She’d died of tuberculosis a few months ago,
but there was a plentitude of sisters in sin he could punish in her stead.

Of course he hadn’t been caught. Close, but once again he’d
proved too smart for the bloody coppers.

Before he took care of another whore, he must take care of
Lucky Lance’s woman. His madman’s eyes lit when he considered the increased
pleasure he’d be sure to savor as he slowly killed her. Very slowly. He’d truly
take his time with this slut. The sexual satisfaction would be extraordinary
with her.

Lord Lance would never be called “Lucky” again.

Chapter Eleven

Lance sent word both to the Commander and to Commissioner
Randall requesting an immediate conference. Word came back Commissioner Randall
was out of town on personal business and did not wish to be disturbed unless
the matter was vital. Lance immediately went storming into the Commissioner’s
office.

“How dare you put me off when I need to reach the
Commissioner? Give me his address at once.”

The secretary gave one look at Lance’s darkened face and
stammered out the address of an inn in Kent. Lance immediately dispatched a
messenger to inform Randall of the horrible new developments.