Sacred Evil

Page 25

“What the hell do you mean, you don’t know?”
“He was just a phone call…and you can see by the date—he was scheduled to go out with Melody more than a week ago,” Patterson said.
“Just a phone call? You don’t demand payment in advance?” Jude asked.
“Cash,” Patterson said.
“You just send a woman out on the streets with a man who promises to pay cash?” Jude said incredulously.
Patterson seemed to be shrinking in his chair. “Many men don’t want their identities known.”
“Did he come in with the cash?” Jude demanded.
Patterson winced again. “It was in an envelope under the door.”
“God help me, by any wild chance, do you have the envelope?” Jude asked.
Patterson, as he had expected, shook his head. “I tossed it,” he said apologetically.
“And the cash is in the bank, right?” Jude asked.
Patterson brightened. “Oh, no!” Again, he practically bit his own tongue shutting up. He couldn’t have been much of an attorney, Jude decided.
“Right. It wouldn’t be in the bank. It would be under-the-table income,” Jude said. He leaned toward the man again. “I need it.”
Patterson looked a little ill again.
“Well?”
“You’re kind of looking at it,” Patterson said. “I—uh—I went out and splurged on this suit.”
“The whole thing? Patterson, damn it, do you have anything left?”
“Maybe…maybe.” He stood and reached into his pocket and drew out a slim leather wallet. He dug in it and leafed through his bills, producing one. “This…well, I’ve mixed up money, but I wasn’t carrying any other hundreds…this is the last, I think!”
Jude reached for a tissue, took the bill from him and wrapped it. He doubted they could really gain anything from it; a killer organized and meticulous enough to have gone this far had probably worn gloves when he’d handled the money. They were likely to get dozens of prints, and possibly, none of them the killer’s.
But he was grasping at straws. And he’d found one.
“Whitney?” She stood and turned around.
Jake, tall, handsome and lanky, was staring at her with concern.
She winced. “Did you see it?” she asked.
“See what?”
“The dog?” Whitney let out a breath. “You didn’t see it,” she said.
Jake walked over to her and set his hands on her shoulders. “Whitney, because I didn’t see it doesn’t mean that it wasn’t there. You mean a ghost dog, right?”
She nodded. “I guess seeing a ghost dog isn’t all that helpful, is it?”
Jake affectionately touched her cheek. “We don’t know yet, do we? You may have a key to many pieces of information through that dog,” he assured her.
Whitney heard a shuffling sound from the stairway. Startled, she and Jake spun around.
Jude Crosby was coming down the stone steps that remained on the ground that led into the foundations.
“Hey!” he called.
Whitney was surprised to see him there. She was equally surprised that they hadn’t heard him coming; they had to be more vigilant.
“Is anything new?” Whitney asked, breaking away from Jake and walking toward him. “You met with the guy who runs the escort agency—Patterson?”
Jude nodded. “I’m on my way to another meeting with the director, Angus Avery, and a few members of his cast and crew.”
“You found something that points to the film crew?” Jake asked. Will walked curiously toward them.
“Maybe.” He paused a minute. “I found the name Jonathan Black written in Harold Patterson’s ledger. Naturally, whoever he is, Patterson never saw him. He dealt with him over the phone, but he had an appointment with Melody Tatum a week before the murder. Jonathan Black can’t be that unusual a name, but under the circumstances…”
“Under the circumstances,” Whitney said evenly, “I’d say that our killer definitely believes that Jonathan Black was Jack the Ripper, and that he’s taking on his persona.”
“It’s a sound theory,” Jude agreed. “I’d hoped that knowing who had been in to study the rare books would be more helpful. I’m not surprised that either my father’s name or Fullbright’s name were on the list. Fullbright is an armchair detective, fascinated by the Ripper and the past—and the possibility that he came to the States. And my father is such a history buff. And I’m not surprised about the film crew. Angus Avery claimed to be working on accuracy. He’s an excellent excuse for having looked into the past.”
“Along with his key actors,” Whitney added.
“Accuracy again, I guess,” Jude said. “The list is important.”
“Yes.”
“But,” Jude told her, “I’m sorry to say that we still don’t have a real shred of forensic evidence against anyone—though I’m now trying for a print on a hundred-dollar bill. The only witness we had to the night that Virginia Rockford was killed is Captain Tyler, and I doubt he’d do well on the stand, even if he had actually seen anyone he could identify—other than a cloaked figure that looked like Jack the Ripper. But, yeah, I think someone who has something to do with that film is involved—gut feeling, if you will. We’ll go over what we’ve discovered, the autopsy reports and discuss the psychology of the killer further at the meeting in the morning.” He paused, looking at Whitney. “I knew you were here, so I thought I’d stop by and see if there was anything you needed—or anything you’d discovered.”
“So far, we’re just on setup,” Whitney told him.
He nodded, but she was pretty sure he was thinking that it hadn’t taken a special team to arrive at the Ripper theory. He was skeptical that cameras in the foundation of an old building—even a building where terrible things had once been done—could really make a difference.
Yet, he had been told to work with their unit of the FBI; he would do so.
“Jude, if we can discover more about the person this killer is trying to emulate, it will tell us more about him, and hopefully, help you trip him up,” Whitney said.
“Of course,” Jude said politely. “Profiling a killer can be extremely helpful.”
It’s not exactly profiling when you get the information from a ghost, Whitney thought. But she kept silent.
Jackson appeared with Jenna and Angela and greeted Jude with, “Anything?”
Jude briefed Jackson and the others on his meeting. “I’m praying we don’t get another victim tonight,” Jude said. “I’ve got patrol cars doubled up all over Lower Manhattan—the Bowery isn’t that far from the south end of Broadway, and I have a feeling the killer is going to stick to the area. It’s a gamble, but if this killer is working on the identity of Jonathan Black as the Ripper, then he will keep his murder spree down in this area.” He shrugged. “I see that you’re busy, and I know that Whitney’s expertise is film, but that’s why I really came by—Angus Avery seemed to have some kind of rapport with you, Whitney. I thought it might work well if you accompanied me to talk to him.”
She was surprised; she tried not to show it. “I can finish up here with Jake’s help,” Will said. “And I’m sure the police consider the interview far more important than our work down here with cameras—always a long shot,” he said evenly.
“Whitney, yes, go on with Detective Crosby,” Jackson said. “We’ll finish here.”
She nodded, and was surprised at how glad she was to leave the foundation of the old building, and the miasma that seemed to loom there.
Or maybe she was just glad to join Jude again.
It didn’t matter; Jackson had assigned her to go.
Tonight, Angus Avery was simply annoyed. His two young stars, Bobby Walden and Sherry Blanco, were nervous, anxious—and bored. Missy Everett and Jane Deaver, the girls who had been prostitute extras and had last been with Virginia Rockford, were scared, huddled together on a couch. They seemed so nervous, in fact, that they didn’t even seem excited to be in the company of greatness—Angus Avery, the director, and Walden and Blanco, the two stars of the movie O’Leary’s. Which was good; they were unaware that the two spoiled celebrities seemed to think nothing of them at all. The security guard, Samuel Vintner, sat by himself, rolling his hat and looking awkward in the plush lounge of the five-star hotel that housed Avery.
He was sure that all of them would have bolted when he was on his way over if it weren’t for the two members of Sayer’s team who had escorted them to the lounge and held sentinel at the door until Jude had arrived with Whitney.
“Detective, I’m happy to help with this investigation, but I’m a busy man. I’m the director, you know. The producers are under the gun to come in under budget. I’m naturally horrified that young women are being murdered, but you’re a cop and I’m a filmmaker. I need to be making my film. We’re already going to go over by several days and several million dollars,” Avery complained. He looked toward the two men at the door and added in an aggravated tone, “My costume department has been ravaged, our wardrobe mistress is in tears daily and I met with you immediately to tell you what I could.”
“I just want to get a real picture of what went on that day,” Jude said. He smiled pleasantly. “You’re quite something, Mr. Avery. Impressive, the way you look into realism.”
Avery frowned. “Thank you.”
“Not only did you look up information at the library—studying rare ledgers—but you brought along your lead players.”
Sherry gasped. “How did you know that?”
They hadn’t actually known just which document the trio had studied, but now they did.
“You signed in, right?” Jude asked.