Panic

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Leopold. “My father wasn’t calling me from beyond the grave. Whoever made that call was just trying to rattle me, that’s all.”

“But - ”

“Drop it, Mary,” said Leopold, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair. “It’s late and I need to be at my best when we arrive in London.”

Leopold made it clear the conversation was over, and he heard Mary sit back in her own chair again with a resigned sigh. He kept his eyes closed and let the gentle thrum of the aircraft’s engines take over, the sound lulling him to sleep within a few minutes. As the aircraft cruised across the Atlantic, Leopold shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, his dreams flitting in and out, amid flashes of broken memories from a childhood he couldn’t quite remember.

Chapter 2

The early morning was colder and wetter than usual, and the moon provided only limited illumination as he stalked the cobblestone paths that wound through the ancient city. London was a maze of densely packed alleyways and side streets, especially in the east of the city where he had chosen to hunt, and there were plenty of shadows and sheltered recesses that could be used to his advantage. It was still several hours until dawn, but only a few minutes until last call at the several dozen pubs and bars that lined the more well-lit areas, meaning his prey would venture outside soon.

The case he carried had room for sixteen knives, and it was full. He had lovingly sharpened each blade by hand earlier in the evening, placing them in the case in order of size – ranging from the tiny paring knife all the way to the butcher’s cleaver. They were all strapped in tight and rolled up, making it easy and discreet to carry them around in public. Thanks to the predictable British weather, he didn’t look out of place wearing the transparent raincoat, which meant he wouldn’t have to burn his clothes afterwards. He kept the surgical gloves in his pocket for the time being.

He checked his watch. It was two a.m., meaning it was nearly time. He crossed to the end of the street and stood in one of the pools of shadow that had formed just out of reach of the streetlights, keeping his eyes locked on the pub on the opposite side of the road. The King’s Head looked dreary from the outside, but he could make out a considerable crowd within, all laughing and drinking away their lives, sheltered from the miserable weather outside. He caught sight of her as she passed by the window and allowed himself a smile. Soon, her suffering would be over.

Several minutes passed, and he saw the pub’s light dim, signaling closing time. The front doors opened and people began to pour out into the soggy streets, fumbling for their umbrellas and hoods as the fat rain caught them by surprise. She followed at the rear, trying to catch the attention of the young men who had dawdled. She looked a little off her game tonight.

After a few minutes she gave up, slurring something inaudible at the last youth as he backed away and walked off with his hands stuffed into his pockets. She wavered slightly on the spot and leaned up against the pub’s dingy walls for support. She regained her balance, adjusted her tight dress, and slung her tiny handbag over her bare shoulder, hugging herself against the cold as she stumbled off to try her luck at one of the late bars further down the road.

He caught her eye as she crossed the street, and she smiled. He stepped out into the light and took her by the hand. She didn’t flinch. He led her for a few minutes until they reached a more secluded part of the neighborhood, and chose a spot where nobody would be able to see them. She mentioned something about payment, and then began to put her hands on him. He resisted the urge to vomit in her face as the foul whore’s skin touched his own, instead pretending to reach for his wallet. Her breath stank of alcohol.

He pulled on the surgical gloves, and the whore said it would be extra for the kinky stuff. He wanted to wrap his hands around her throat and squeeze until he felt the larynx pop, but he knew he had to be patient. Methodical. There was an art to this that had to be respected. He inhaled deeply and pushed the thought to the back of his mind. She asked about payment again.

His hand moved too quickly for her to register what happened next. The polished blade he carried in his pocket was light and strong, and he whipped the razor-sharp edge across her throat in one smooth motion, then again in the opposite direction. Nothing happened for a second or two, and then the blood came. First in slow drips and then faster, the arterial pressure forcing the two wounds to open wider, spraying his waterproof coat with hot, red liquid.

He licked his lips slowly, tasting the familiar copper flavor as some of the blood coated his face. Her eyes were wide in shock but there was no chance of her screaming as she crumpled slowly to the floor. She tried to grab at his coat for support, but it was slick with blood and no use to her. Within a few seconds she had lost consciousness and lay still, her breath shallow and weak. Time to go to work.

He knelt and unrolled the case, selecting his favorite blade: a sturdy, six-inch knife with a carbon-fiber edge and excellent balance. He cut open her dress at the hem and peeled it away, revealing her naked body. He ignored the fact she wasn’t wearing underwear and focused on her stomach area, using his fingers to detect where the first cut should be made. Satisfied, he slipped the knife’s tip into her skin, peeling it apart with ease and opening a tear in her soft, exposed abdomen. There was very little blood left.

His heart pounded with excitement as her last breath drifted slowly into the night. Now for the fun part.

Chapter 3

Leopold snapped awake as the Dreamliner hit the runway and the jet engines threw themselves into reverse. Leopold grabbed his armrest with renewed vigor as the forces acting on the aircraft caused the cabin to tilt and sway as they slowed. Within a few seconds the plane had settled into a gentle taxi, and Leopold allowed himself to relax a little.

“Interesting dreams?” asked Mary, unbuckling her seatbelt and stretching out. “You were muttering something in your sleep for most of the flight. Couldn’t make out a word.”

“Don’t remember,” said Leopold, yawning. “Probably nothing exciting.”

The arrivals process at Heathrow proved surprisingly painless, and Leopold, Mary, and Jerome collected their luggage without issue and made their way though to the arrivals lounge. Leopold spotted the young driver from Scotland Yard, who was dressed in civilian clothes and holding a placard.

“No black cab?” said Mary, as they approached their contact and shook hands.

“No, ma’am,” said their contact, smiling. “That’s just the cabbies. Sergeant Cooper, at your service.”

“Pleasure,” said Mary.

“No uniform, Sergeant?” said Leopold, as Cooper led them in the direction of the parking lot.

“No, sir. I’m part of the – um,” – he stuttered slightly – “case you’re here to help with. The Superintendent will fill you in when we get back to the Yard.”

“Your accent, Cooper,” said Leopold. “Not from around here, are you?”

“No, sir. Transfer from South Yorkshire police. Came down two weeks ago specifically to work on – well, you’ll find out soon. Here we are.”

Cooper opened the rear passenger door of the black Audi A4 sedan and gestured for Leopold and Jerome to climb in. He held the front door open for Mary, before packing the luggage into the trunk and settling himself into the driver’s seat. Leopold winced slightly as he nestled into the chilly leather seats and hoped the car would warm up quickly.