Rag and Bone by J.S. Cook

Author:J.S. Cook [Cook, J.S.]
Language: nld
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: MLR Press; ISBN 978-1-60820-113-6; Inspector Raft No 2
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

“He hit her in the face.” Freddie crouched beside him.

“Probably to immobilize her.”

Raft nodded. “Or to keep her quiet.”

There was a circular bruise on the left side of the face which

also might have been inflicted by the pressure of the fingers,

especially if the killer had held one hand cupped around the dead

woman’s jaw. Raft pointed out a deep incision originating on the

left side of the neck, about an inch below the jaw. Some four

inches long, it ran from a point immediately below the ear, then

stopped. On the same side, but an inch below, and commencing

about an inch in front of it was a second incision, which took up

where the first one left off.

“The cause of death, I think.” He dropped his head and took

a few deep breaths. “Started to cut her throat, stopped, then

finished the job.”

A terrified woman, screaming, running from him, struggling,

straining to push him away with all her mortal strength. It was

over, Raft knew, as soon as he hit her. The knowledge that she

would die had filled her mind and she was still, resigned, waiting

for him to get it over with. He had held a hand over her mouth

as he killed her; he had probably grabbed her from behind, but

it was unlikely that a woman such as Arabella Leech would be

walking by herself in Bow Street, especially at this hour, so all of

this was staged for Philemon Raft’s benefit.

“Where is Mrs. Stringer?”

“Gone to bed. She hasn’t seen any of this.” Freddie leant

closer to the corpse. “Phil, there’s something in her mouth.”

Raft felt about his pockets but of course he was still in

Hoare’s borrowed incognito. Freddie handed him a narrow set of

tweezers, watched while Raft extracted the folded slip of paper.

Moving slowly and carefully, he opened it to the light.

“I gave the lady no time to squeal, ” he read, “How can they catch me

now. ”

180 J.S. Cook

“Dear God.” The hand holding the light trembled; Freddie

Crook was well and truly shaken. “Is he serious?”

“First victim,” Raft said. “Done in the same way as Polly

Nichols.” He glanced once more at the dead face of Arabella

Leech. “First victim, and this letter.” He gazed at Freddie, a

chasm of horror yawning in his eyes. “Good Christ, it is starting

all over again.”

ten

Sir Newton Babcock liked being roused from sleep about as

much as he liked enforced starvation, so when Raft and Crook

showed up on his doorstep sometime after midnight, he was

rather less sanguine than he might otherwise be.

“What the devil do you want, Raft?” His dressing gown

flapped open and his nightshirt barely reached his knees; the

tasselled nightcap he wore seemed like something out of one of

Mr. Dickens’ tales. “This had best be very important.”

“It is, sir. May we come in?”

Raft drew off his hat and gloves as he entered. The fire had

been banked up for the night and the inside of the house was

warm. Something moved on the stairs, hesitated for a moment

and then disappeared into a room. Raft understood that whatever

he said here would be overheard by Lady Babcock.

“I wanted to advise you first-hand.” The ridiculousness of

what he was about to say was immediately apparent.

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