ONCE BITTEN

SEVENTEEN: KATHRYN SUE JOHNSTON

i

The murder of Kayla Green did not, in the end, yield anything much in the way of new information.  Bitten knew it had be clearly the work of the Ripper/Werewolf, but there had been no message carved into the body, and the woman’s missing clothes never did turn up.

            There remained a pair of footprints that might have belonged to the maniac, a slightly different size and style, but clearly nothing belonging to anyone except Walter Sickert.

            After several days in police custody, Vivien Neves spoke to Inspector Bitten a second time, to ‘clear things up’. The unfortunate i***t explained at tedious length that the man he’d tried to frame was having an affair with his wife.  At least, that appeared to be his belief.  As for his claim of having been robbed, he’d thought to use the opportunity of the murder as way to bolster his shop’s flagging finances, so he’d set some broken crates up at the scene, and prepared a box to claim as full of jewellery.

            The Inspector carefully and sympathetically noted everything down as a full statements as evidence to support his original charges, and wished the fellow good luck in prison.  When his wife enquired as to his disposition, Bitten personally informed her that her husband would be going to prison.

            Mrs Rice expressed satisfaction at the news, and left happier than she’d come.

            On the afternoon of the 8th of November, a telephone call came in to the SID offices.  Bitten picked up the device curiously.

            “This is Bitten.”

            “Detective Inspector Bitten, sir.  Hello.  My name is Constable Craig Osborne.  I work out of Bethnal Green.”

            “How can I help you, Constable Osborne?”

            “I’ve…I’ve just found one of your cases, sir.  Brookman’s Park.”

            Bitten’s pulse quickened, and his stomach churned.

            “How much do you know?”

            “Only what everyone does, sir.  That you’re in charge of bad attacks on working girls.  If they’re dead and badly slashed up, particularly if they’re set out all showy, then you need to look at them first, and about half the time, you take the case over.”

            “Well, yes.  But I actually meant about the victim.”

            “Oh, of course.  Sorry, sir.  Her name is Kathryn Sue Johnston, from Lowestoft, in Suffolk.  She was eighteen, the daughter of a fisherman who’s finding times hard.  She came down to London just last week to go on the game.  She had rooms near Liverpool Street, and she’s been drinking in the Nine Bells with Melanie Hicks, who came from Lowestoft as well, six years ago, for much the same reasons.  That’s about it.”

            Bitten finished jotting notes.

            “Very well.  You said that her body is in Brookman’s Park?”

            “That’s right, sir.  Towards the eastern end of the park, past the lake, there’s a place where one path diverges out into three others, like a chicken’s footprint.  Take the left-hand path towards Brook Street and go past a bunch of rhododendron bushes, and there’s a fairly dense thicket about a hundred feet on the left.  That’s where they found her.  No one has touched a thing, as far as I know.  She’s not really visible until you actually get to the edge of the thicket.”

            “Excellent work, Constable.  We’ll be out there shortly.”

            “Very good, sir.”

            The line went dead.

            Bitten checked over the details he’d hastily scrawled down, and went over a couple of words to make them more legible while his memory remained fresh.

            “Wilk!”

            A moment later, the constable appeared.

            “Round up Dr Loup.  We’ve got another victim, and we shouldn’t dawdle.  If it’s Sickert, then he’s been busy this last few weeks.  Might mean he’s ramping up his efforts up, or maybe he’s getting hasty and a little sloppy.  The corpse is outdoors, it sounds like.  So, bring plenty of notepaper, and whatever you think you might need to the place a real scouring.  With this weather, who knows how long evidence might last.”

            “Right you are, sir.”

            Wilk scurried, and Bitten set about taking his own advice.

            The rain that had been pouring down all day finally came to a stop.  Brookman’s Park, known locally as the ‘People’s Park’, had been very popular with the poor of Tower Hamlets and the shabbily genteel of Hackney.  It covered almost ninety hectares of greener spreading out eastwards from the heart of Bethnal Green.

            It was not a particularly long distance from the SID’s headquarters, and within an hour of Constable Osborne’s call, Bitten walked into the park.  Rather than start at the western end and make their way through most of the place, he had the coach drop them at the entrance by Brook Street, and then followed that path back to the rhododendron bushes that the man had mentioned.

            Turning back around, they retraced their steps and in short order spotted a thicket of ash and elm, with a large oak dominating the other, small trees.  Bushes sat around the outside of the thicket making it clear that it had been designed as a decorative feature of the park.  The ground around the thicket appeared to be muddy earth, proof of the park gardeners’ close attentions.

            They made their way over there, and as they got close a dark shape became visible past the bushes, up against the trunk of the oak tree.  Bitten pushed his way into the thicket the others close behind.  It was the dead girl, all right, a petite shape with long, glossy black hair cascading over her shoulders.

            She was wearing a cheap but fashionable dress, and a brimless little hat held in place with a ribbon under her chin.  Apart from some apparent cut marks in the fabric, her clothes and shoes were spotless.  There appeared to be a savage s***h across her throat, which had almost decapitated her, and starting at the inside edge of the hat ribbon, all the skin had been carefully flayed from her face.  Apart from her lips, that was, which were untouched and pouting prettily.  Her eyes bulged in their sockets.  Below the s***h across her throat, the skin bare and clean of blood, the better to display the word ‘SEEN’, cut into her with the Ripper’s precise letters.

            Bitten closed his eyes for a moment and pinched the bridge of his nose.

            “First, she’s definitely one of ours.  Second, she wasn’t killed here, so he had to get her in.  we need to see if anyone saw him at it.”

            “Why is that sir?”

            Wilk asked.

            “The victim’s clothes and shoes are clean, but the ground of the grove is muddy.  She couldn’t have just walked in, Constable.”

Ii

While Dr Loup went to begin inspecting the body, Wilk pulled Bitten back a few paces.

            “I’m not sure I like this much, Inspector.”

            Bitten shuddered.

            “What’s to like?”

            “Not like that, sir.  This is…odd.  He’s not left a girl outdoors like this before, for one thing.  And where’s the copper what called you, or one of the other lads from Bethnal nick?  How’d a girl who’s fresh off the train having such a detailed file? And why is she just sitting here, all on her lonesome? I don’t like it.”

            “Who can say?  We’re dealing with something that we have never seen before.  Some small changes in the pattern are to be expected, I’d have thought.  As for Constable Osborne, I’m sure he has his informants.  Maybe he cautioned her the other day.  He’s probably waiting for us at the main entrance, or along the route somewhere, or he could even have got called off to do something else.  He sounded green.”

            “I suppose so, sir.”

            Wilk said unhappily.

            “Chin up, lad. We’re getting closer and closer to this bastard.  We’ll have him yet.  I reckon he’s getting madder and sloppier.  It’s usually the way with repeaters.  We’ve got soft ground around this patch overgrown shrubbery, so go have a good look around before anything else.  I’ll come and join you in a minute.  First, I want to see if there’s anything on or around the body.”

            “Yes, sir.”

            Wilk said, pulling himself straighter and pushed out through the bushes.

            Bitten turned back towards the oak, and the girl sitting underneath it.  Loup was knelt down beside her, talking quietly, whether to himself or to the corpse, it was hard to say.  Looking closely at the ground around the body, Bitten got the impression that it had been carefully trampled smooth.  Their own footprints entering the thicket and approaching the big tree were visible, but no other clear prints were evident.  There were some thin streaks of blood on the ground around that body, but only a few, reinforcing his certainty that she’d been killed elsewhere.

            “Inspector, may I have your attention for a minute?”

            Loup sounded thoughtful.

            “What is it?”

            “Look at the dress, here.”

            He fingered a band of woven into the clothing, a dark grey against the navy blue of the cloth.

            “This band is almost connected to some further material, and there’s an identical band across the hips.”

            He used a small tool to lift up a loop of the same dark-grey material.

            “This is a felt covering over some substantial leather.  It’s long, and my guess is that it’s supposed to be criss-cross back and forth across the dress to give it the appearance of multiple straps, perhaps even suggesting a set of restraints for gentlemen who are minded that way.  It isn’t in place, however.”

            “Interesting.”

            Bitten said.

            “Perhaps he was in too much of a hurry to set her outfit back up properly.  That’s useful.  It looks like he hasn’t taken much time over her, either.”

            “Ah, yes, I can see why you’d think that, but my patient has hidden secrets, Inspector.”

            Bitten’s eyes tightened.

            “Do speak plainly, man.”

            Loup nodded and used the same forceps-like tool to pull at one of the tears in the dark cloth.  It opened up like a door, revealing the girl’s torso form just below the breasts down towards the belly button.  A very similar tear had been made in her flesh.  Once again, Loup pulled at the tear in her flesh, and a slab of skin peeled back in the same way that her dress had.

            Her torso lay open beneath, the protective caul of the cavity cut away to clearly reveal her lungs, stomach, and diaphragm.  Each had a Christian cross precisely charred into it.  Loup then lifted the lungs carefully to fully reveal the liver, pancreas, and heart, and they too had the cross burned into them.

            Bitten stared for a long moment.

            “Yes, that clearly took some time, but this is my patient’s crowning glory, Inspector.”

            Loup tapped the inside of the piece of skin that had been peeled back from the girl’s torso.  Lines had been cut into the muscle.  It was a rough sketch, but it was obviously supposed to be Christ in the pose associated with the Crucifixion.

            “I’m not an expert on the theological, but I suggest that my patient ought to be considered a crucifix, of a sort.”

            “I…What? Great God above!  Absolutely not, man.  Are you insane?  Say anything like that in earshot of a priest and you’ll be strung up for blasphemy.”

            “I mean in the mind of our quarry, Inspector.  I am hardly suggesting a new liturgical practice.”

            Bitten shook his head.

            “Even so. I’ll consider it.  But he’s hardly seemed like a religious nut so far.”

            As he said it, though, he remembered the almost cathedral presentation of Marie Massoli, hanging in shafts of dusty sunlight.

            “Well.  Perhaps.  Keep investigating.  Look for other damage.”

            “Of course, Inspector.”

            Bitten pushed his wat back out of the thicket.  Wilk approached slowly, looking round as he did.

            “Anything, Constable?”

            “Yes, sir.  There’s footprints leading in from around the back.”

            “Show me.”

            He followed the constable around the outside of the trees, to more or less the opposite side from the one they had entered from.  Where the grass gave way to mud, heavy, hobnailed boot-prints began, just one set that transformed into paw prints, leading in to the thicket.

            “You have a sketch?”

            “Of course, sir.”

            “Good man.”

            He followed the prints, careful to step in the marks that Wilk had left.  They went in to the copse between a pair of close bushes, past a couple of elms, and up to the oak.  They stopped there, a few paces from it, where the smooth trampling began.

            “I looked around very carefully.”

            Wilk called.

            “All along them.  In the shrubs and everything.  I didn’t see no scraps of cloth or nothing.  There’s no other prints, neither.”

            “Very good.”

            Bitten said, coming back out again along the same route to minimize disturbance.

            “Sketch the whole route if you haven’t, then go back over that path he used again and check to eight feet either side of the prints.  He may have left something.”

            “There’s an attendant kiosk over there, Inspector.”

            Wilk pointed off to one side, where a small hut was visible.

            “There’s no drag-marks of any sort, so the killer must have carried the girl in his arms.  Maybe he saw something.”

            “She wasn’t necessarily carried so obviously.”

            Bitten said.

            “The loops that form part of the girl’s dress are intact, and the extra leather pieces are large and strong enough to go around another person as a harness.  It’s feasible that the body was supported next to the killer, a far less conspicuous mode of transport, particularly if the Ripper had an arm around the corpse for further support.”

iii

While Wilk started poring over the path that the killer had taken, Inspector Bitten walked over to the small booth where the park attendant sat.  The man watched him approach, obviously curious, and when the Inspector got close, he stood up politely.

            “Good afternoon, officer.  My name is Hudson.  Can I help you with anything?”

            “Good afternoon, Mr Hudson.  I am Detective Inspector Benjamin Bitten with the SID.  I’d like to ask you a few questions about the traffic in the park this afternoon.”

            “Of course, Detective Inspector.  Anything you need.”

            “Has it been busy here today, Mr Hudson?”

            “Quite the opposite, sir.  Rain saw most everyone off.  A few souls hurrying through on their way to somewhere else, but that was about it.  When that cleared up, about half an hour ago, people started to come back out.”

            He waved out across the park, which was not untenanted at this point, but was still fairly quiet.

            Bitten pointed back towards the thicket and the path that ran past it.

            “Have you noticed anyone in particular along the path over there, or messing about by those trees?”

            “No, sir.  Not in particular.  I saw you and your lads arrive, of course, and since you’ve been looking around over there, everyone has given you a politely wide berth.  Before that, well, it was only about fifteen minutes since the rain slackened.  There was the usual scattering of mums and tykes, a noisy group of boys, a few couples, and that’s about it.”

            “And you didn’t see anyone going to or leaving the thicket?”

            “No, sir.  I did not.”

            A thought occurred to Bitten.

            “What about police, earlier? There must have been a policeman poking around in there, and most likely whistling for assistance.”

            “Begging your pardon, Detective Inspector, but no, there’s definitely been no such thing.  I always pay particular close attention for policeman, because often you’re looking for someone or on a chase or some such.  When you’re around, I try to make damned certain I’m watching exactly who’s around, in case you need a pointed for where some toe-rag has peeled off to.  If one of your boys had been out and about, I would definitely have seen him.”

            “That’s…”

            Alarming.

            “Very helpful of you. Thank you, Mr Hudson.  I, or one of my men, might have some further questions.  In the meantime, until one of my fellows takes up station, would you mind warning people off from the thicket.  There’s, ah, evidence in there.”

            “Of course, sir. Of course.  I’ll make sure no one comes to bother you.”

            Bitten left the attendant and made his way back to Wilk thoughtfully.  The lad had almost completed his detailed inspection, it seemed.  He looked up as the Inspector approached.

            “I owe you an apology, Wilk.”

            “Of course not, sir.”

            The constable said instantly.

            “Oh, but I do.  You said when we got here that things seemed rum.  The attendant over there, a helpful old boy named Hudson, swears blind that no coppers haven been anywhere near this thicket all day.”

            Wilk opened his mouth, then closed it again.

            “Yes, lad.  That’s what I thought, too.”

            “There’s only one set of prints in. Do you think…?”

            “We’ve poked under every shrub.  He’s not lurking in here.  Probably walked out backwards, in his own tracks.  But I still want you to go raise the alarm.  Head up the path to Brook Street, and start whistling.  Hopefully, you can get some extra men down here sharpish.  We want to keep curious eyes away.  There’s definitely something off, and it doesn’t pay to take unnecessary chances.”

            “Right away, sir.”

            Wilk pushed back out from the thicket and started jogging up towards the road.

            Bitten watched him head off for a moment, then made his way back to the other side of the thicket and back in to where Loup was working.

            “Doctor?”

            “Am I right in recalling that the, ah, your patient hair is dry.”

            “Quite dry, yes.  The same is true of her clothing.  It must have been put on her after she was worked on.”

            “It was raining almost until we got here, Doctor.  All day.  Could she have been sheltered here beforehand, and juts kept dry by the tree?”

            Loup frowned, looking disturbed for the first time that Bitten could recall.

            “Out of the question, Inspector.  She was still alive no less than three hours ago.  Her body temperature could be counterfeited perhaps, but other markers are far harder.  She must have been wrapped against the elements when she was brought in.”

            In the distance, Bitten heard Wilk’s whistle start up, calling officers in range for assistance.

            “I have an observer who says not.  He’s not foolproof, but…”

            “Then she was prepared elsewhere, and set here shortly before we arrived, clearly.”

            “If that’s the case, then who telephoned me eighty minutes ago?”

            Loup abruptly stood, his face alarmed.

            “This is…”

            Something clattered loudly in a dense shrub behind Bitten, and he spun round, hand going to his truncheon.  He took a few steps forward, trying see into the trees.  There looked to be a lump in there.  He peered forward as Loup sighed quietly in an oddly soft, nasty manner that made the Inspector whip back round immediately.

            The doctor was slumped over the dead girl, motionless.  Next to him, stood a tall man in an expensive, high-collared dark coat and similarly dark suit trousers.  Beneath his top hat, he had dark hair, and looked to be about five-foot-nine.  He wore spectacles of darkened glass on his strong, Roman nose, and a thick moustache and chin beard his mouth from view.

            The collar of the coat obscured his ears, but he had high cheekbones and a slender face, and looked to be in his mid-to-late-twenties.  He was clutching a long, wickedly sharp knife with a heavy pommel.  The moustache spread out in a wide grin, still keeping the mouth hidden, and he bobbed a mocking little bow.

            Bitten stared aghast, and in that frozen instant the Ripper was on him.  The Inspector tore his truncheon out of its clasp. As the knife swept towards him, he swung wildly, battering the knife away.

Bitten swung a punch with his free hands as the Ripper threw an arm up, and forced the punch wide.  The Ripper kicked up at Bitten’s groin, and he turned his body away.  Then pain exploded in the side of his head, hot and white.

Bitten staggered, the truncheon dropping to the ground.  Another blow smacked his temple, hard rather sharp.  His vision swam.  He clawed at the Ripper’s face urgently.  The tall hat fell off.  His fingers clutched at the dark glasses, and he pulled, almost on reflex.  They came off too, along with the proud nose, and the moustache, and the beard, all in one piece.

For an instant, the Inspector stared into the face of a strikingly lovely woman with brown eyes, dark-red hair starting to fall down around her cheeks.

Stephanie Clifford.

The friend of the victim Vivien Neves.

This hesitation cost Bitten his life, as the pommel of the knife descended a third time, and darkness consumed him.

iv

By the time that Constable Wilk returned, the Ripper was long gone.  Later investigation on Wilk’s part, confirmed beyond doubt that there was, of course, no police officer of any rank by the name of Craig Osborne anywhere in metropolitan London.

            Wilk and the Inspector had canvassed the area carefully beforehand, and the Ripper had definitely not been hiding in the shrubbery or undergrowth.

            It hadn’t transformed into a werewolf because it was daylight, and Wilk quickly discovered that the reason her tracks led to the tree and not away turned out to be brilliantly simple.

            Stephanie Clifford had climbed up the tree and hid in the branches above Kathryn Sue Johnston’s corpse waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

                                                                                        THE END.