admire your work, Wilson. More to come, dear Boss. More to Come.
He had an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach on just what kind of present the bastard might have sent him. “Let’s go to the lab.”
“You’re not going to open it?”
“Not until I have gloves on. And all of them are in the laboratory, my dear.”
“Very smart, sir. We don’t want to disturb any fingerprints.”
“Care to join me in this endeavor, Gita?”
“Absolutely.” As frightened as she appeared, her curiosity seemed to propel her forward. Like him, she wanted to know if this package had really come from The Ripper, or was just something innocuous from one of Wilson’s distant relatives or admiring students.
He held the box and took Gita’s hand. They stepped into the lift and went down to the floor below. Walking through the double doors, he entered the most sacred space in the world to him—his beloved laboratory. Quite the opposite of his quarters above, which were reminiscent of an earlier age, this massive room was modern in every way with its bright lights, computers, and stainless steel surfaces.
“Dr. Wilson, how are you doing?” The man who spoke was perched on a stool in front of some slides, pulling on a pair of neoprene gloves. He was the only person Wilson didn’t recognize.
“Mr. Reeves, I assume.”
“Yes, sir. John.”
“May I have everyone’s attention?” He appreciated their hard work, but he didn’t want to expose them to whatever gift the monster had sent. There would be too many questions and not enough answers. “Today is a holiday. Everyone go home.”
“Sir, are you sure?” Reeves seemed to have a fire and eagerness for his research.
He admired that greatly in anyone. There are so few. “I’m certain. Bring me a pair of gloves and then go. All of you.”
One bolted out the door. The other three, including Reeves, seemed confused.
Sharpening his tone, he said, “I do not want to repeat myself.”
The rest left, save Reeves. The lad brought him the gloves as requested.
Reeves’s eyes fell to the package. “Anything I can help you with, sir? I’d be happy to assist.”
“Thank you, but I will be fine.” Will I? Really? “Just want to inspect the lab and make sure everyone is following my protocols.”
“I think you’ll be happy with what you find, sir. I know I was when your team gave me the tour this morning. Thank you again for this amazing opportunity.”
“Go enjoy the day, young man.”
Reeves walked out, leaving him and Gita alone in the space.
Wilson placed the box on the nearest table, donning the gloves. He carefully brought out the note, unfolding the paper. The script he saw matched that of the previous letter, though the message was more succinct and had no grammatical errors. Perhaps the killer wasn’t as illiterate as previously believed. Was the man trying to present a more educated version of himself in this note?
A gift for you, Boss. I know you will like it. Want to help you with your work.
Jack
Wilson tried to digest the full meaning of the letter. If his first inclination was right, he needed to act cautiously.
“It’s obvious to me that you already have an idea what’s inside the smaller package.” Gita’s voice sounded meek, something he had never heard before. “Would you care to share your thoughts, Thomas?”
It was rare for her to use his first name, another sign at how nervous she was.
“I believe this may contain blood samples of The Ripper’s victims, Gita.” He sighed and opened the second carton. His stomach lurched at what he found.
Not blood samples.
Gita shrieked, seeing the two severed fingers packed in dry ice.
“Calm yourself.” The words were for him as well as her.
Peering into the package, he could see the digits were not from a male—too slight. One of the fingernails was painted a bright red; the other was clear. “I’m fairly certain these came from Nancy Black and Gail Simmons.”
In a shaky voice, she
He had an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach on just what kind of present the bastard might have sent him. “Let’s go to the lab.”
“You’re not going to open it?”
“Not until I have gloves on. And all of them are in the laboratory, my dear.”
“Very smart, sir. We don’t want to disturb any fingerprints.”
“Care to join me in this endeavor, Gita?”
“Absolutely.” As frightened as she appeared, her curiosity seemed to propel her forward. Like him, she wanted to know if this package had really come from The Ripper, or was just something innocuous from one of Wilson’s distant relatives or admiring students.
He held the box and took Gita’s hand. They stepped into the lift and went down to the floor below. Walking through the double doors, he entered the most sacred space in the world to him—his beloved laboratory. Quite the opposite of his quarters above, which were reminiscent of an earlier age, this massive room was modern in every way with its bright lights, computers, and stainless steel surfaces.
“Dr. Wilson, how are you doing?” The man who spoke was perched on a stool in front of some slides, pulling on a pair of neoprene gloves. He was the only person Wilson didn’t recognize.
“Mr. Reeves, I assume.”
“Yes, sir. John.”
“May I have everyone’s attention?” He appreciated their hard work, but he didn’t want to expose them to whatever gift the monster had sent. There would be too many questions and not enough answers. “Today is a holiday. Everyone go home.”
“Sir, are you sure?” Reeves seemed to have a fire and eagerness for his research.
He admired that greatly in anyone. There are so few. “I’m certain. Bring me a pair of gloves and then go. All of you.”
One bolted out the door. The other three, including Reeves, seemed confused.
Sharpening his tone, he said, “I do not want to repeat myself.”
The rest left, save Reeves. The lad brought him the gloves as requested.
Reeves’s eyes fell to the package. “Anything I can help you with, sir? I’d be happy to assist.”
“Thank you, but I will be fine.” Will I? Really? “Just want to inspect the lab and make sure everyone is following my protocols.”
“I think you’ll be happy with what you find, sir. I know I was when your team gave me the tour this morning. Thank you again for this amazing opportunity.”
“Go enjoy the day, young man.”
Reeves walked out, leaving him and Gita alone in the space.
Wilson placed the box on the nearest table, donning the gloves. He carefully brought out the note, unfolding the paper. The script he saw matched that of the previous letter, though the message was more succinct and had no grammatical errors. Perhaps the killer wasn’t as illiterate as previously believed. Was the man trying to present a more educated version of himself in this note?
A gift for you, Boss. I know you will like it. Want to help you with your work.
Jack
Wilson tried to digest the full meaning of the letter. If his first inclination was right, he needed to act cautiously.
“It’s obvious to me that you already have an idea what’s inside the smaller package.” Gita’s voice sounded meek, something he had never heard before. “Would you care to share your thoughts, Thomas?”
It was rare for her to use his first name, another sign at how nervous she was.
“I believe this may contain blood samples of The Ripper’s victims, Gita.” He sighed and opened the second carton. His stomach lurched at what he found.
Not blood samples.
Gita shrieked, seeing the two severed fingers packed in dry ice.
“Calm yourself.” The words were for him as well as her.
Peering into the package, he could see the digits were not from a male—too slight. One of the fingernails was painted a bright red; the other was clear. “I’m fairly certain these came from Nancy Black and Gail Simmons.”
In a shaky voice, she
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