A moment later, the ambulance arrived in a confusing array of flashing lights. More paramedics unloaded, carrying a stretcher and additional medical supplies. One of them checked the woman’s pulse and nodded to another. She was still fighting. They carefully got the woman on a stretcher and into the emergency rig. All the while, the police officer kept me from going anywhere.
“Miss, calm down,” he said as I struggled to free myself from his grasp. “We need to ask you a few questions.”
“She’s in shock,” the paramedic who’d first spoken to me told the officer. She was a short but stout woman. As the ambulance drove away, she discarded her medical gloves and sanitized her hands with a wipe from her equipment bag. Then she shined a flashlight in my eyes. “Hi, I’m Bryony. What’s your name?”
“J-Jack,” I stammered.
Bryony pressed two fingers against my wrist and checked my pulse. “That was an amazing thing you did back there. You saved that woman’s life. How did you know this was going to happen?”
“I’m a Ripper expert,” I managed. “I knew he would be here tonight. I wanted to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone else.”
“Job’s a good ’un,” she said.
The police officer—his badge said Stowick—pulled Bryony aside. “How do you know she’s not the killer? She could be feeding you a pack of lies. She’s the only one we saw in the square or the passage, other than the victim.”
“Because you weren’t watching,” I butted in. Slowly, my bubbling blood settled. I could draw full breaths again. “I saw the whole thing. The Ripper was waiting in the square while you lot were laughing it up in your cars.”
Stowick’s plump face turned bright red. “See here, miss. If you’re not the killer, then you must’ve seen him. Who was it?”
“He was tall,” I replied firmly. “At least six feet or more. He had fair hair and was wearing a long, hooded cloak. Oh, and he smelled of flowers.”
“Flowers, eh?” The officer snorted. “I’m sure Jack the Ripper likes to smell rosy fresh.”
“You asked,” I snapped.
The other officers returned from their jog around Mitre Square. When Stowick asked them for a report, they had nothing to give.
“No sign of him,” said one. “He got away again, sir.”
Stowick growled and pointed at me. “You’re coming with me to the station.”
“That’s fine,” I said, “but I have to check on my friend first.”
With the Bryony’s help, I convinced Stowick to let me go back to my car, with one of his officers to escort me. Evelyn was asleep inside. When I knocked on the window, she didn’t wake. I knocked harder. She didn’t respond. Bryony took one look at Evelyn’s pale face and grasped the baton from my hand.
“Stand back,” she warned and smashed the window.
14
My recent nightmares were nothing compared to not knowing what was wrong with Evelyn. I had been stupid to let her push me away, to ignore the signs that she was unwell. I should have never dragged her out of the flat when I knew she wasn’t feeling up to par, but if I hadn’t gone to Mitre Square, the Ripper’s latest victim would be dead by now.
As Bryony and another team of paramedics loaded Evelyn into a second ambulance, Stowick badgered me with the same series of questions. What were we doing there? Why was I so interested in the new Ripper? What was an American doing in London anyway?
As the ambulance was about to pull away, Bryony took me by the arm and hauled me into the back of the rig. To Stowick, she said, “Back off. Her friend is sick.”
With that, she slammed the ambulance door in Stowick’s face. As we rode to the hospital, I held Evelyn’s limp hand.
“What’s wrong with her?” I asked in a quiet voice.
“My best guess?” said Bryony. “It’s probably a major infection. No one goes from fine to fainting in a few hours. How long as she been like this?”
I thought back on our last couple of days together and our mutual pact to improve our situations. She was well enough to do her exercises the previous day, and I didn’t think she looked unwell until we got into the car before the stakeout.
“I don’t know,” I murmured. “She doesn’t always tell me how she’s feeling.”
“This would have been a stupid thing to hide,” Bryony mentioned. “Especially with her shoulder. Dislocation?”
“Twice.”
“Christ, that’s gotta hurt.” She studied me for a long moment. “Were you telling Stowick the truth back there?”
I squeezed Evelyn’s hand, wishing she would squeeze back. “I wasn’t lying. We went to find out who the Ripper was, but when I saw him stalking that woman, I couldn’t leave her to die.”
“That was brave of you,” she said. “Not many people would confront a serial killer head-on like that. It could have been a Double Event after all, with you as the second.”
“Stowick was right behind me,” I replied. “He would have prevented something like that.”
“Still.” Bryony braced herself as the ambulance bumped over a dip in the road. “She’s lucky you were there.”
The ambulance lurched to a stop, and the paramedics went into work mode again. They brought Evelyn out of the rig and into the Accidents and Emergency unit. I hurried alongside Bryony, afraid of being left behind.
“What do we got?” demanded a doctor as they wheeled Evelyn into a private room.
“One of Wagner’s,” Bryony answered, handing the doctor a clipboard with Evelyn’s information on it. I answered most of the questions while one of the other paramedics filled out the forms. “Dislocated shoulder. Two surgeries. Tenderness and swelling at the surgery site.”
The doctor nodded. “Thanks, Bryony. We’ll take it from here.” He beckoned to one of his assistants, and I recognized James—William Lewis’s best friend—as he stepped forward. “James, get in there and take a look at that shoulder.” The doctor’s gaze
