Anno Dracula - Kim Newman [62]
‘One thing,’ he said when he had finished. ‘This is an end for Silver Knife.’
‘What?’ said LeQueux.
‘“Don’t mind me giving the trade name,” it says in the postscript.’
‘Trade name?’ D’Onstan asked.
‘“Jack the Ripper”. He signs himself “Yours truly, Jack the Ripper”.’
D’Onstan whispered the name, rolling it around his mouth. Others joined in the chorus. The Ripper. Jack the Ripper. Jack. The Ripper. Beauregard felt a chill.
Kate was pleased, and looked modestly at her boot-toes.
‘Beauregard, would you care?’
Reed gave him the letter, exciting grumbles of envy from the rival newspapermen.
‘Read it out,’ the American suggested. Feeling a touch self-conscious, Beauregard tried to recite.
‘“Dear Boss,”’ the letter began. ‘The hand is hurried and spiky, but suggests an education, a man used to writing.’
‘Cut the editorial,’ LeQueux said, ‘give it us straight.’
‘“I keep on hearing the police have caught me but they wont” – no apostrophe – “they wont fix me just yet. I have laughed when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track...”’
‘Bright boy,’ D’Onstan said. ‘He’s got Lestrade and Abberline bang to rights there.’
Everyone shushed the interruptor.
‘“That joke about Silver Knife gave me real fits. I am down on leeches and shant quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games.”’
‘Degenerate filth,’ spluttered D’Onstan. Beauregard had to agree.
‘“I saved some of the proper red stuff in a ginger beer bottle over the last job to write with but it went thick like glue and I cant use it. Red ink is fit enough I hope. Ha ha. The next job I do I shall clip the ladys ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldnt you...”’
‘Jolly wouldn’t you? What is that, a joke?’
‘Our man’s a comedian,’ said LeQueux. ‘Grimaldi reborn.’
‘“Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight.”’
‘Sounds like my editor,’ said the American.
‘“My knife’s so nice and silver and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good luck.” And, as Reed said, “Yours truly, jack the Ripper. Dont mind me giving the trade name.” There’s another postscript. “Wasnt good enough to post this before I got all the red ink off my hands, curse it. No luck yet. They say I’m a doctor now, ha ha.”’
‘Ha ha,’ said an angry elderly man from the Star. ‘Ha bloody ha. I’d give him a ha-ha if he were here.’
‘How do we know he isn’t?’ said D’Onstan, rolling his eyes, wiping his moustache like a melodrama villain.
Ned was back, with Lestrade and a couple of constables, puffing as if they had been told the murderer himself, not merely a communication from him, were in the Café de Paris.
Beauregard handed the letter to the Inspector. As he read, his lips forming the words, the journalists discussed it.
‘It’s a ruddy hoax,’ someone said. ‘Some joker making trouble for us all.’
‘I think it’s genuine,’ opined Kate. ‘There’s a creepiness about it that sounds authentic to me. All that fake funny. The perverse relish drips off the page. When I first opened it, even before reading, I had a profound sense of evil, of loneliness, of purpose.’
‘Whatever it is,’ the American said, ‘it’s news. They can’t stop us printing this.’
Lestrade put up his hand as if he might have some objection, but let it fall before he said anything.
‘Jack the Ripper, eh,’ said Reed. ‘We couldn’t have done better ourselves. The old Silver Knife monicker was wearing thin. Now, we’ve a proper name for the blighter.’
21
IN MEMORIAM
Dr Seward’s Diary (kept in phonograph)
29 SEPTEMBER
Today I went to Kingstead Cemetery to lay my annual wreath. Lilies, of course. It is three years to the day since Lucy’s destruction. The tomb bears the date of her first death, and only I – or so I thought – remember the date of Van Helsing’s expedition. The Prince Consort, after all, is hardly likely to make it a national holiday.
When I came out of the woods a