A Rip in Time (Out of Time #7) by Monique Martin Page B

their pads and pencils hadn’t given them away, they had the hungry look of men about to feast on another’s misery. A quick survey told him nearly half the crowd fit that bill.  
    It wasn’t surprising. Nothing sold papers like murder.
    The rest of the crowd was a mixture of East End locals and a smattering of upper class men and women, no doubt slumming for sport.  
    Mr. Baxter, the coroner for South-East Middlesex, opened the proceedings with an interview of Nichols’ father and their estranged relationship. Even though Victor had read the files, it was a far different experience to be in the chamber as the testimony was given. Edward Walker was not a name on a page, but a man, flesh and blood, who had lost a daughter.
    Polly, as her friends called her, was a mother of five children. She’d been in and out of the workhouse, drank too often and too much, but had no enemies to speak of.
    Next to testify was PC John Neil. Victor listened for any inconsistencies in his testimony, but found none. Things had happened as the PC said they had. That left Dr. Llewellyn, who had been called to the scene and later examined the body.
    As the doctor testified, Victor turned his attention again to the crowd. He didn’t need to hear the testimony anyway. He had read the autopsy file, seen the drawings. In his mind’s eye, he could recreate each wound in perfect detail.  
    The sort of man who had committed that horror would be here to relish in it. To relive each cut as it was described with vivid precision. Gasps went through the crowd as Llewellyn testified about the two slashes across her neck.  
    “ This incision completely severs all the tissues down to the vertebrae. The large vessels of the neck on both sides were severed. The incision is about eight inches long. These cuts must have been caused with a long-bladed knife, moderately sharp, and used with great violence.”
    One man, short and thick-necked, wearing a boot maker’s leather apron caught Victor’s eye. There was something off about him.
    The man turned to look at the people on either side of him before turning his full attention back to the doctor as he described the multiple cuts and jagged wounds that had been carved into Nichols’ abdomen.
    News of those wounds caused a murmur of surprise to filter through the crowd. But the man Victor watched remained stoic, focused. And then, as though he felt Victor’s eyes upon him, he fidgeted and glanced nervously about again.  
    Victor looked away and by the time he looked back, the little man was gone.

Chapter Ten

    E LIZABETH TOOK S IMON ’ S OFFERED hand and climbed into the hackney coach. He smiled at her, his color and his mood noticeably better.  
    After the night of the murder, they’d slept through what was left of Friday. That night, he’d put on a British upper lip so stiff it was positively starched. She knew he needed a little time to heal and there was nothing that made him happier than taking care of her. Sometimes the best cure for what ailed a person was found in helping someone else.
    And so she’d faked a small stomach ache. Nothing too worrisome, just enough for them to stay in for a day and rest. Next time, though, she was going to fake a headache. By nightfall she was hungry enough to eat her pillow.
    She should have felt guilty over her little deception, about not searching for the Ripper for a day, but she couldn’t manage it. They were going to be in London for over a month. The next murder was still a full week away. Pacing themselves would be important. And, after their inauspicious beginning, maybe even more so than she’d thought.
    Luckily, the day of physical and emotional rest had done the trick. By Sunday morning, Simon was back to his old self and growing irritated with their lack of progress. They set off early to Hyde Park in hopes of finding George and John Druitt, and their first honest to goodness lead.
    After a short carriage ride, they pulled up at Hyde Park corner