In every case of the missing where there was anything in the way of eyewitness reports, all the girls involved had been seen talking to and in some cases walking off with a woman. A cautious coroner whispered in me ear that we are fools to think that women are less susceptible to the lowest forms of mania and sexual perversions.
What with the Ripper murders on London’s East side in 1888 and ’89, when new Vanishings began here in the city, they were overshadowed by the mutilations left behind by that fiend Jack. Six prostitutes in all that we know of. Meantime, dozens upon dozens of children going missing, and no one in authority or the press caring as they were focused on when the next Ripper letter might appear. The disappearances ended on the cusp of 1890 becoming ’91. These Vanishings I speak of, and for ten years chased, to my disgrace, have never been solved.
Sincerely,
Inspector Kenan Heise, London, April 14, 1891
“So what do you make of it, lads?” asked Ransom of the other two inspectors.
“Are you asking our opinion of these circumstances?” asked Logan, hands gesturing with a wide swath. “Your eminence?”
“Cut out the foolishness.”
Behan too was doing a bit of a pirouette before him, ending with a bow. “After all, it was our case before we became your dotes and gophers.”
“Which am I,” asked Logan, “dote or gopher?”
“Both!” announced Ransom. “Lads, we’re working on equal footing here. We’re a team.”
“Like you and the kid?” asked Logan, indicating the empty desk across.
“That was different.”
“Really?”
“How so?”
“He was young, green, and-” He stopped short of telling them that Griffin Drimmer had been put on him by Kohler, not wishing to despoil Griff’s memory.
“And…?”
“And you fellows are old farts like myself, well versed in the ways of the detective,” finished Ransom. “I suspect our combined years on the force may do better than this fellow Heise working alone in London.”
“Do you think there is a link between his killer and ours?” asked Behan.
“Dunno. Interesting bit on perverted female suspects, heh?”
“Do you think there’s a woman involved?” asked Logan.
“Dunno, but it’s often true; you hear it in every lament and song-a woman made me do it.”
“You think?”
“It’s what we get paid for, to think.”
Logan pulled at his beard. “Imagine if it’s so…that the Vanishings is done by a woman.”
“Women are more readily accepted by children, less threatening,” Ransom suggested.
“Imagine it,” repeated Logan.
“A lotta shell games are begun by a pretty woman,” said Behan.
Logan laughed. “You well know it, too, don’tcha, lover?”
Alastair laughed at this. “We shouldn’t discard the notion out of hand, Logan.”
“True enough, we’ve all seen tough bitches in our time, but a cannibalizing woman? What’re you thinking, Alastair?
“The Phantom went invisible because we didn’t see him, and who is more invisible in our society than-”
“Than a woman!” It was Dr. James Phineas Tewes standing over his desk now, looking straight in his eye.
“And how, Dr. Tewes, did you arrive at this conclusion?”
“I interviewed a child who was nearly snatched by a woman.”
“What child? What woman?”
“A rag-and-bottle lady who makes her rounds pretty regularly in the child’s neighborhood.”
He took Jane aside. “How did you come by this information in the first place?”
“I intercepted your man.”
“What man?”
“Bosch.”
“Bosch? He spilled information to you meant for me?”
“Says I pay better.”
“The little weasel.”
“He’s rather cute when you get to know him.”
“All right, tell me what he said.”
“I can do better than that.”
“How so?”
“I have the child at my home. Gabby is with her now.”
“Why didn’t you bring her with you?”
“To this place? It’d only terrify her, and she’s plenty terrified enough as is.”
“I see…but she has no fear of Dr. Tewes?”
“None whatever; I am, after all, a gentle soul and children-”
“Know a gentle soul, yes.”
Ransom found his cane and pressed on his bowler hat, checked his pocket watch, and joined Tewes at the door, telling the other detectives, “I’m off lads to interview this child that Dr. Tewes feels may have some useful information.”
“Meantime, what would you like us to do, boss?” asked Behan.
“I may’ve been put on as lead investigator, Ken, but I’m no one’s boss. Let’s be clear on that.”
“But Ken’s question still remains, boss,” countered Logan. “Whataya expectin’ us to do meanwhile?”
He thought to say, Carry on as you were before I was thrust in on your case. But he saw that this was not going to do. “Go down to the yards tomorrow and speak with a fellow named Jack Houston, and-”
“A butcher?”
“A knacker to be specific.”
“A g’damn horse cutter?” Behan erupted.
“You know my constitution doesn’t permit such odors,” said Logan.
“Meanwhile,” Alastair emphasized the word meanwhile, “you’re to interview three others at the yards.”
“Four? Conduct four interviews at the yards?” Behan sounded stupefied.
Alastair flipped open his notes and rattled off the names. “Hatch…Quinn…and Sharkey. Houston can point you to Hatch, then on and on.”
“Butchers? Our killer’s not likely a butcher, Ransom, and you know it.”
“Still…we have to cover the bases, boys.”
“Cover the what?” asked Behan.
Logan explained, “It’s an expression, comes out of cricket, and now that new game people are betting on, base on balls.”
“Gotta look at the usual suspects and any leads,” Alastair added.
“What lead?”
“Houston says that these other three are queer fellows, even for butchers.”
“And you believe him?”
“Houston’ll tell you all about it when you get out to the knacker stalls.”
Logan gave a last verbal balk. “Look here, we’re interviewing people who live in the areas where the children’ve disappeared.”
“Continue that as well. Don’t let me stop you.” As Alastair was about to turn and exit with Tewes, he and Jane noticed Nathan Kohler atop the stairwell, staring down at them, his features unreadable. Ransom gave him a little wave of the hand and said, “Night, Chief.”
On arriving at the Tewes home on Belmont, Jane quickly explained to Ransom, “I’ve a temporary house guest, now being kept occupied by Gabby, “Someone you must meet. It could be crucial to our case,” she was going on in that practiced whining male voice of Tewes’s that always got on Alastair’s last nerve. Jane also pointed toward Gabby’s room where the door stood partially open. “She’s in there with her now, giving her things. Old clothes, old dolls, whatever the child wants.”
“You say she’s a homeless child?”
“’Fraid so, yes. Her name’s Audra. Sweetest face you ever saw.” Alastair caught snatches of giggling and words between Gabrielle and her guest.
“She won’t talk at all to Dr. Tewes. For some reason, this personae frightens her. I suspect men have used her badly.”
“If she fears men and in particular you as a man, she will likely be terrified of me,” Alastair reasoned.
“Not necessarily. Her father was a large man like yourself, who unfortunately died of yellow fever while nursing her mother through it. Both died, leaving her an orphan six years ago, according to records I dug up at Cook.”
“She’s been on the street since then?”
“Not entirely. In and out of foster homes until she went into hiding.”
“Into hiding?”