Thane walked into the kitchen and blinked.
Blankets, books and tossed toys were strewn across the floor as if a tornado had cycled through while he slept.
Next to the fridge, tears streamed down Sloane’s cheeks, her lashes soaking wet as she screamed while sucking her thumb. Cross-legged on the floor beside her unable to console his sister, Adam cried empathetic to her tantrum.
Kayla stooped over the dining table, fingers tapping on the keyboard furiously. It wasn’t like his wife to ignore their children.
“What the hell is going on?” He picked up Sloane in one arm and Adam in the other, and they both tucked their wet cheeks into his neck.
“Kayla,” he barked.
Her fingers stalled over the keys and she looked into his eyes.
Bad. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
“Mattie.” Her brow tightened into thin creases. “Mattie’s disappeared.” She straightened, pressing the back of her hand against her forehead. “I’m going through all her data files to see if we missed something.”
The front door opened with a bang, then slammed shut, causing Kayla to jump.
“Kayla!” LaPierre shouted from down the hallway.
She flicked both her hands with exasperation and sucked in a deep breath. “We’re here.”
LaPierre entered the kitchen like a massive wave curling with intensity before slamming into the shore. Even the air around him blistered with rage.
“Have you found anything?” Greg barked.
Kayla bit her lower lip. “I’m looking.”
“Look—harder.” His chest heaved with a stuttered breath.
If Kayla wasn’t talking, Thane would go to the source. “LaPierre, what’s happened?”
Greg drove a hand through his hair, knotting his fingers in the strands. “When we went to sleep, she was in my arms. Safe.” Releasing his hair, palms up and arms outstretched, he looked into his hands. “In my fucking arms, Austen.”
With Greg’s loss and frustration palatable, Thane shook his head. “When?”
“Sometime during the night. They found her car at the grocery store on Simcoe Street. Police interviewed the night shift employees. She’d picked up muffins, milk, things for breakfast.” He paced the kitchen, stopping at the sink and stared out the window. “Fuuuuuck!”
Thane watched as the normally calm and in control JTF warrior unraveled. He understood that feeling all too well, and sympathized. “What do you think happened?”
“The Ripper was waiting. Saw his chance and took it.” Greg ground the heels of his palms against his brow as if his brains were going to explode. “Kayla!”
“I’m trying. Please don’t yell at me.” Her gaze skimmed the laptop.
“Mattie doesn’t have time. Find him!”
Sloane and Adam sensed the anxiety in the room and started to cry again.
Thane surveyed the situation. Arms filled with his rattled offspring, LaPierre looking like he was about to lose his shit, and Kayla’s expression curled tight with concentration and worry, Thane knew he was overwhelmed and undermanned. His kids crying wasn’t helping Kayla or LaPierre. And since his children had lungs that could make a grown man slink away in terror, he had to do something.
Five hurried, long steps, and he put the kids on the couch and dug out his cell, calling in backup.
“Hello?”
“Tonya. We need a sitter, short notice. You in any position to come to the rescue?”
Nina’s mom didn’t hesitate. “Thane? Of course. What’s going on?”
“I’ll give you a debrief when you get here in fifteen minutes.”
“In other words, don’t dally,” she said. “I’m leaving now. Are you at Greg’s?”
“Yes.” He gave Tonya the address and disconnected the call.
He plucked Sloane’s favorite stuffed bear from the floor, and she tucked it under her chin, her tears subsiding. As soon as she stopped, Adam’s did too.
“Take care of your sister,” he said to his son, a miniature version of himself.
Big blue eyes stared up at Thane. “Sloane’s scared.”
He hunched down in front of his son. “Then you show her there’s nothing to be scared about. Protect your sister.”
Adam nodded and a shimmer of a grin pulled at Thane’s lips. He ruffled his son’s blond locks and gave him a wink.
Putting attention back on the two people in the kitchen, Thane strode to the coffee pot and poured two cups. He set one on the table next to his wife who’d resumed her position hunched over the laptop—she couldn’t think without three cups of caffeine in her system, then shoved the other into Greg’s hands, who hung over her like an expectant father, practically perched on Kayla’s shoulder.
“What are you looking for?” Greg asked.
“Silence, so I can think,” she snapped.
LaPierre’s gaze darted away.
“When do you suspect Mattie left the condo?” Thane asked.
Taking an absent-minded sip from the mug of coffee, LaPierre said, “I fell asleep and was out cold.” His throat flexed with a thick swallow. “I have no idea. The police didn’t find evidence of a struggle near her car. When they popped her trunk, her groceries were inside.”
“We only have one lead,” Thane said, attempting to get LaPierre to concentrate on the facts, instead of Mattie at the Ripper’s mercy. Considering the killer’s track record, Greg had good reason to lose his edge of control.
LaPierre vaulted from the oak chair and paced the beige colored tiles of his kitchen. “The cops have nothing. We have nothing.”
“The Dark Angel,” he offered. “Your Ka-Bar was stolen while you were there. That means the Ripper was there. Montgomery and his men were watching the movements of customers as well. We need to go back. The cops can’t put pressure on the owner like we can. And we’ll use a rack if we have to.”
He stepped to Kayla’s side, and she turned her focus up to him.
“I’ll keep looking. Go.”
LaPierre followed him out to the car and got in, lost in his thoughts. Thane jumped in the driver’s side of the rented four-door sedan and started the engine.
“Don’t leap over those fences yet, LaPierre. We’ll find her. I promise you.”
LaPierre’s jaw sharpened to a rigid angle and his gaze darted toward the passenger window. He shook his head. “She’s as good as dead.” The tone in his voice flat. “Her stubbornness will make it worse. My Mattie will fight back, and she’s going die.”
Thane gripped the cap of his shoulder. “It’s one thing for the Ripper and his twisted mind to put her in the ground, but are you going to abandon hope when she still has a chance? Would she give up on you?”
“Drive, Austen,” he growled. “I need answers.”
That was good enough for him. He threw the car into reverse and with tires leaving thick tread marks on the pavement, they headed for the Dark Angel.
* * * *
Kayla helped Tonya buckle Adam and Sloane into her luxury SUV, then stood beside the driver’s door as Nina’s mom started the moss colored Infinity.
“I hope you find her,” Tonya said. “Mattie probably doesn’t realize it, but she’s admired by thousands of people. Women at a charity event I held last weekend were talking about her. Her articles have always shown the empathy she has for those poor women. Reading between the lines, it’s easy to see how much she wants the Ripper caught. If anyone can find her, you, Thane and Greg can do it.”
“Thanks. Think I need a bit of reassurance right about now.”
“Greg must be beside himself with worry. Maybe I’m imagining things, but it looked to me when you all came to dinner last week that Greg wore his heart on his sleeve every time his eyes veered to her.”
She nodded. “He is.”
“Do you think Mattie feels the same about him?”
“Pretty sure that’s a yes. Most women lose their morals when Greg turns on the charm. Mattie had the balls to tell him to go to hell when he got cold feet. She’s perfect for him. I think he’s finally figuring out that his past has no bearing on his future.” Kayla blew the kids a kiss when they waved, happy to go on a road trip with Grammy Tonya. “Thanks again for taking care of the kids.”
“As long as it takes.” Tonya tapped the side of her cheek with her painted fingernail expecting a peck.
In the years when Kayla was a broken shadow of her old self, Tonya accepted the role of surrogate mother, urging her back with unconditional love. She leaned in the window and kissed Tonya’s aging soft skin. “I’ll call you.”
She stepped onto the lawn and watched Tonya back out of the driveway, then waited until the vehicle rounded the bend and disappeared from sight. She didn’t trust the safety of her children to many people, but Tonya would die before allowing any harm to come to Adam and Sloane. Tonya took her adopted grandmother duties seriously, not to mention spoiling them rotten.
A glance at her wristwatch told Kayla it was noon. She strode toward the front door. As a top-notch journalist, Mattie had systematically recorded every detail of the Ripper’s murders. Kayla would start at the beginning of her notes and comb every last word.
But first, she needed to talk with Sergeant Montgomery.
After closing the door behind her, she pulled her cell and dialed his number. When he answered, she jumped right in, not knowing whether he’d hang up or give her a minute of his time.
“Sergeant, this is Kayla Austen. We met at the Dark Angel.”
A long pause followed.
To prompt his memory, she said, “The night you gave Mattie a warning about reporting your connection to the BDSM club.”
“Yes, Mrs. Austen. I’m busy at the moment—”
“I’m sure you’re aware Mattie’s been taken. What concerns me is whether you’re relieved she’s gone. If she turns up as the tenth victim, your secret stays safe.”
“Sounds like a threat, Mrs. Austen, and I don’t have time for a housewife’s insecurities.”
“It’s fact, Sergeant. I just need one thing from you.”
“And that is?” His voice coiled into a tone of displeasure.
He knew she had him by the short hairs. Mattie wasn’t the only one who could spill his secret to the press. “You told us that night you suspected one of your men might be involved. Maybe acting as the Ripper’s Sub. I need to know who and why to determine whether you’re right or whether it’s just another red herring.”
“You think you can find the Ripper when a force of police officers, who’ve worked months on this case, can’t?”
Kayla entered the kitchen and sat in the chair, opening a directory on Mattie’s laptop titled Suspects. “I have a little experience with serial killers. They don’t walk around with neon lettering over their heads. They blend in. The Ripper will be somewhere between thirty-two and forty years of age. He’ll have a job that reflects his narcissism. He wants to be in charge, but not stand out like a public figure.”
“You’re correct in theory.”
She had his attention, now she needed to earn his trust. “The events of his life led the escalation of his behavior until he found the level of attention he needed when they coined him The Victoria Ripper. There are distinct similarities between him and the famed Jack the Ripper. He chose to hunt in Victoria for a reason. He uses the media to satisfy a desire for notoriety. He intends to keep killing because he’s looking for something in each woman, and when she disappoints him, he kills them.”
Montgomery cleared his throat. “One moment.”
Kayla heard the sounds of a police precinct in the background and then a door closing, cutting off the ambient noise. She didn’t have time to wait, so she jumped right in.
“The Blood Shark of San Diego had beaten his wife for years. When she finally left him, his psychosis pushed him into teaching every woman who looked similar to her a lesson in submission and respect.”
“I studied the reports available on the Blood Shark. Apparently, you were his last target.”
“Yes, I was. The difference between the Shark and the Ripper is we’re not seeing the same personality traits in the women the Ripper kills; different nationalities, different features. The one thing we do know is that Greg recognized Aimee Wallace. She’d been to the Dark Angel. The only trail we have leads back to the club.”
A creak of wood as if he’d leaned back in his chair met her ears.
“Mrs. Austen, we have exhausted every profile of each club member. None of them have motive to murder or any indication of being a killer. We know Aimee was a customer at the club. The night she disappeared, no one at the club remembers seeing her leave with anyone in particular.”
“Were you there that night?”
Another pause followed.
“Yes,” he finally said.
Kayla rose and paced the kitchen straight into the living room to look out the patio doors toward the harbour. “He left Aimee near the Johnson Street Bridge. The same place Agnes Bings was found mutilated at the turn of the century. At the time, people feared the murder was similar to Jack the Ripper, but it was one kill only.”
“And he was caught.”
“You suspect he’d been caught. He died soon after in jail for a minor offence. He never admitted blame.”
“Admittedly, forensics wasn’t the best in those days.”
She leaned over and tossed a few of the kid’s toys onto the couch. “My point is, whoever the Ripper is, he knew about Agnes Bings. Did you follow-up on the flowers left at her grave?”
“How did you know about those? Sergeant Hellman reported them and we had a forensics expert collect the flowers.”
They wouldn’t have wasted any time and completed a thorough search. “Mattie told Greg last night. Who purchased the flowers?”
“Paid in cash at a florist shop on Johnson Street.”
“Again with Johnson Street. And his description?”
“Not much of one. He was tall, wore a long coat, scarf wrapped around his face, and a cap to cover his head.” Montgomery paused for a moment. “One characteristic stood out. His eyes. Green riveting eyes.”
“Like yours.”
“Like LaPierre’s.”
Kayla rolled her own eyes. “You know damn well Greg isn’t guilty of this. The Ripper told you something with the flowers, but you’re not hearing it. Every move he’s made is a taunt to catch him, believing you can’t.”
“Then give me something, because quite honestly, Mrs. Austen, the task force has reached a brick wall. With Mattie more than likely in his captivity, she’s only got so much time.”
“The BDSM club feeds his need between kills. There’s a connection between the first and the sixteenth when he leaves his victims to be found in highly visited places.”
“But we haven’t found a connection yet.”
Obviously, she thought, but her entire being wished this was over and Mattie and Greg were making plans for a future instead of the terrifying end Kayla kept envisioning.
“The connection means something to him. Aimee’s body was eviscerated and found under the bridge where Agnes had been mutilated, connecting, although wrongly, a link with Jack the Ripper. By taking Mattie, the woman who reported his case since the beginning, he’s telling us that she is the star in his crown. That he can take any woman, even one as popular as Mattie.”
“It’s more than that,” Montgomery said. “He wants something from her.”
“To dominate her?”
“No, more. He wants her love.”
Kayla blinked. “Her love?”
“I believe so. The union between a Dom and a Sub can go far beyond a club. Many are couples who live as man and wife. Work in the community. Raise their children, but their play is different than most.”
She sat with a plop on the sofa. “Alright, then if he’s looking for a mate, could that mean he lost his? He’s trying to replace her?”
“If he lost his Sub, it could have been the catalyst that pushed him into becoming a killer.”
“But why Victoria? Why only the first and sixteenth? Why the historic kill sites?” She needed a pattern that pointed toward the Ripper.
Montgomery took a moment before answering. “Because as you say, it means something to him. Or maybe he hopes it means something to us.”
She let out a long, shallow breath. “Serial killers don’t show remorse or have empathy. I doubt he intends to leave clues to catch him. Those clues are to play with us in a morbid way. The evidence all dates back to the turn of the century. The link to Agnes Bings’ death, Helmcken Alley, the Cenotaph, Craigdarroch Castle, all have importance, but what the hell does that have to do with the Ripper?”
“We’ve investigated all links to Agnes Bings and the families that have remained in Victoria. Old families, but none have presented a possible suspect.”
“I need to go back through Mattie’s notes.”
“Do that. My suspect pool is void and other than what we’ve surmised of his motivations, they’re flimsy at best.”
Kayla couldn’t agree more. “His motivations are conflicted. Sexual, for certain, but he also shows rage after he kills by tearing out their organs.”
“You’d make a good Behavior Analyst, Mrs. Austen. Often serial killers will create an elaborate justification to link themselves to the victims. We may never know what that is unless we catch him.”
“I’m only theorizing. It’s possible he’s removing the organs not for the gore factor, but for something else once she’s dead.”
Montgomery shuffled some paper in the background and the phone’s speaker amplified not only the sound, but their combined frustration. “It’s my job to answer as many questions as the killer presents, but this guy is clean with his kills. Leaves no trace of himself, other than marks on the women. The condoms he used in his sexual play with the victims can be bought at any pharmacy or Walmart. Crime Scene investigators found particulates, but they’re so minute it’s of no use to the investigation at this point. The Coroner’s Office has revealed all they could about the bodies.”
Kayla sat upright with a jerk. “What kind of particulates?”
“For some reason, I’m sharing more than I should, Mrs. Austen.”
“That’s because one more brain on the case can’t hurt. What type of particulates?”
“Salt water and diesel fuel. Two elements that everyone who walks in downtown Victoria can pick up on their shoe.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. I appreciate you sharing it with me.”
“Thank you for calling, Mrs. Austen. I have to admit that my conduct at the Dark Angel was unbecoming of a police officer. I want to catch him. Believe me.”
“I have to catch him. Before he kills Mattie.”
“If you find anything in her notes. Please, call me.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. But you never answered my initial question. Do you think one of your men is working with the Ripper?”
“I had unfounded suspicions.”
“Just because you didn’t find anything to substantiate your suspicions, doesn’t mean they’re not valid. Is it Sergeant Hellman?”
“The Ripper is not one of my men, nor is his Sub, if indeed he has one.”
A chill coursed through her blood. “You think he was training another killer, don’t you?”
Montgomery released a deep sigh. “Yes, I do.”
The thought was terrifying, but she couldn’t be drawn off her target. If they found Mattie, they’d find the Ripper. If he’d spawned another serial killer, she couldn’t worry about it now. “I’m sure we’ll talk again.”
“I truly wish Mattie would have taken the Ripper’s message more seriously. Good-bye, Mrs. Austen.”
“Wait! What’re you talking about? What message?”
“He left a message above Marlene’s body last night.”
No one told her that. Greg had said the Ripper killed again and the victim worked with Mattie, but that was all. “What message?”
“It said, Mattie, it was so nice to meet you. Trust we’ll meet again.”
“Meet her?”
“Mattie has interviewed hundreds of people. It isn’t farfetched to believe the Ripper was one of them.”
Even planted on her rear-end, her knees quivered a little remembering her close encounters with the Blood Shark. “I’m sure it’s not. Good-bye.”
She trotted to the coffee pot, sweeping her empty mug from the counter on the way and filled it to the brim, then sat on the cushioned chair at the oak table. The Suspect directory Mattie had created on her laptop didn’t help. Each person of interest had an alibi or didn’t fit the profile.
Kayla surveyed the other sub directories within the main folder called TVR, most likely an acronym for The Victoria Ripper, and opened a sub directory called Witness Reports.
She leaned back in the chair as literally hundreds of folders filled the screen. Mattie had created a written reference for every single call she’d ever received on the Ripper case.
Kayla closed her eyes, shifting through the possibilities of who would give a report with the most valuable information. Any information. When she opened her eyes again, they came to rest on a folder called Old Man in Market Square.
She remembered Mattie telling her how she’d found the homeless guy squatting in the shadows of the square after Diana’s murder. She’d given him money and her business card, but the old man had died not long after.
Kayla clicked on another subfolder titled Interview, and read over the transcript Mattie created of the conversation. Halfway down the page, her eyes came to a screeching halt. Mattie hadn’t mentioned this to her. Gripping both sides of the laptop, she drew it closer and read again.
MB: “Could you hear them? Did they talk?”
OM: “Didn’t say much.”
MB: “What did you hear?”
OM: “Taller one had a voice like sandpaper. Said something like, he had no choice. Said he’d gone for a drink and thought about it. Said something like she’d (Diana) deceived him. For a minute, I think she thought he’d let her go. He was fast. Slit her throat and then laid her down and started cutting her up.”
MB: “What did the other guy do?”
OM: “Watched. Smiled while the big guy hummed to himself while he did the gruesome deed.”
MB: “Did you recognize the song?”
OM: “When I was a lad back in Britain, me father taught us shanties when he was home from sea. Recognized the tune right off.”
MB: “What was it?”
OM: “The Black Ball Line.”
Kayla quickly searched the main directory for any reference to the Black Ball Line that Mattie might have made. She hadn’t. Why not?
A spark of hope, small but very alive, jumpstarted her nerve endings. The Black Ball Line wasn’t just a song, and anyone who lived in Victoria long enough should recognize the name.
She brought up a search engine and typed Black Ball Line shanty.
The search populated the page and she clicked the first link, then carefully read each line. With a pulse double its normal resting rate, she did another search for the Black Ball Line shanty and found a slightly different version.
Another search set her heart racing. On the right column of the page an image of The Black Ball flag was hoisted high on a mast: a black ball on a red background. Kayla’s thoughts flitted to Agnes Bings’ gravestone and the black flowers with the red tips that’d been left there. She kept reading.
The first Black Ball liner dated back to 1817, which took passengers on a routine voyage from New York to Liverpool, England. But it wasn’t the voyage itself, it was the dates. The ships departed New York on the first and sixteenth of every month.
Had she found a tiny fractured piece of the Ripper’s puzzle? Kayla took a steadying breath. Her gaze shot to the clock above the stove. One-twenty p.m.
“Slow down,” she shouted at the second’s hand, ticking without empathy around the dial.
She vaulted out of the chair and stared out the window over the kitchen sink. “Thinnnk, Kayla!” The Ripper has a disjointed fascination with Jack the Ripper. The Black Ball Line was the first passenger ferry dating back to the eighteen hundreds. The first and the sixteenth of each month connects the victims to the original passenger liner schedule. Black Ball. Sea Shanties. He’s tall. Dark hair. Green eyes. Particulates of salt water and diesel fuel found on the women. The Dark Angel BDSM club.
Without noticing, she’d strode halfway to the living room when her feet stalled.
“Oh my God. You did meet Mattie, and I know who you are!”