“This is ridiculous,” I muttered. “I can’t see a thing. We need to get closer.”
Evelyn had closed her eyes and reclined her seat. “This is as close as it gets. The cops are blocking the main road on the opposite side.”
I drummed my fingers against the steering wheel. We weren’t going to catch the killer without a fair view of the square. I glanced up and down the street. No one was in sight.
Out of nowhere, a thick fog settled over Whitechapel, enveloping the car in a translucent gray cloud. I didn’t dare turn on the headlights; they might scare away the killer if he was heading toward the square.
Evelyn breathed deeply. Was she asleep? Quietly, I opened the driver’s side door a mere inch. She snapped to attention.
“Don’t even think about it, Jack,” she hissed.
“Do you see this fog?” I shot back. “The view down the passage is completely obscured. It’s almost 1:45. The Ripper will be here any moment, and if we miss him—”
“Maybe it’s better if we miss him!” she said. “Since you’re clearly trying to volunteer as his next victim!”
“I’ll be careful. Lock the doors after me.”
“Don’t you dare—!”
The last thing I saw was the livid look on her face as I grabbed the baton, slipped out of the car, and darted into Saint James’s passage. It was easy enough to keep to the shadows, since the entire square was shrouded in darkness. I crouched down and crept along slowly. Every sound was amplified: my shoes rasping against the concrete, the drip of water from a nearby gutter, a mouse scurrying off into the night. I listened intently for any hint that the Ripper might be behind me.
The hair on my arms and the back of my neck rose as I neared the end of Saint James’s Passage and got my first full view of Mitre Square. This was it. In a few minutes, the Ripper would appear to claim his next kill, but with no one else in sight, who would he choose to stand in as the next Catherine Eddowes?
The police cars all but disappeared in the fog. All I could see were the bright-yellow patches on the sides of the vehicles. The officers remained within the comfort of their heated sedans. If they bothered to keep watch over the square, I couldn’t tell. It was impossible to see through their windshields, but that meant their visibility was low too.
Something cracked behind me, and I nearly leapt out of my skin as I whirled around to face the passage. It was nothing. The wind had blown a dead tree branch off the roof of a nearby building. No sign of the Ripper.
In the square, a door creaked open and then settled shut again. I ducked lower and kept behind my shadowy corner, my pulse skyrocketing as I watched for the source of the noise.
It was a small woman, not much taller or heavier than me. She had emerged from the bank building, carrying a briefcase and her coat. What she was doing there at such a late hour was a mystery. She shivered as the fog settled on her skin and set her briefcase down to put on her coat. The police didn’t move. Had they even noticed her?
The woman picked up her briefcase, squared her shoulders, and turned toward an opening in the buildings. My eyes widened. There was another passage into and out of Mitre Square, smaller than the alley behind me, that neither the police nor Evelyn had bothered to mark on their maps.
The woman disappeared into the narrow passage. Then, out of the shadows, came a tall, dark figure. It followed the woman into the alley. My blood pressure dropped, and a dull roaring filled my ears. The Ripper had been in the square this entire time, right under the cops’ noses. Right under my nose. And now he was about to claim another victim.
I couldn’t stand by and wait while an innocent woman was in danger, and the cops certainly weren’t doing anything. I sprinted across the square, my shoes slapping against the wet concrete. Police lights flashed, and sirens blared.
“Sure, now you’re watching,” I muttered breathlessly.
I didn’t stop, even when the police called after me. A scream echoed from the darkness as I skidded into the passage. A flowery scent wafted over me as I spotted the tall cloaked figure, his knife at the woman’s throat.
“Oi!” I shouted as loudly as possible, channeling Evelyn. I pulled the baton free and ran straight toward the struggling pair. “Get away from her!”
The killer paused and looked at me. Straight at me. It was too dark to see his face. I caught a glimpse of fair hair before the knife slashed across the woman’s throat.
“No!”
The Ripper dropped the victim and ran. I almost followed him, but the woman was still alive. I dropped to my knees beside her, tore off my sweater, and used it to stem the blood flowing from her throat. The police thundered toward me.
“Medic!” I cried, fumbling with the bloodstained sweater as I tried to blink away my tears. “She’s still alive! The killer went that way!”
A group of officers ran off in the direction of my pointed finger. Two others yanked at my arms, trying to get me to my feet, but I refused to move until a paramedic took my place. When the paramedic arrived, they replaced the sweater with thick pads of gauze and applied deep pressure to the wound. The woman’s eyes flickered and closed as she fell into unconsciousness.
“What’s your name?” a police officer asked me gruffly, his thick fingers encircling my arm. “Oi, what’s your name? What were you doing in Mitre Square tonight?”
“Is she dying?” I fought to look around his broad shoulders and keep an eye on the bleeding woman. “Is she going to be okay?”
“I think you got to her in time,” the paramedic called back. “The wound isn’t
