Kelly pulled the curtain as far back as it would go, hooking it over the passenger seat to allow as much ambient light as possible inside. Moving ever so slowly, she climbed into the back, pausing to let her night vision take hold. The inside was repellent to her. She felt confined, totally trapped. She wanted to turn around, run away while she still could.
There, at the back of the van, she could make out a shape on the floor. Was it a person? If so, were they still alive?
She had to fight off her claustrophobia, and think of the victim, not herself. “Hello?” she said nervously, thinking she sounded pathetically weak.
Suddenly, the shape moved, only slightly but enough to convince her that it really was a living person. Kelly leapt back, banging her head against the metal partition. As she rubbed the back of her skull, she could hear the shape breathing, slow and shallow, like someone in a deep sleep.
The chemical smell was significantly stronger back here.
She had to get this poor woman out before the Ripper came back. She wasn’t naive enough to think that she could take him on her own. Kelly began to crawl forward, towards the woman.
“What the…?” She realised that the interior was coated with thick sheets of plastic, which rustled and creaked every time she moved. A wave of nausea gripped her stomach as she contemplated its sinister purpose. Had his four previous victims died right here, on the very spot where she was kneeling? Kelly closed her eyes tightly, trying to focus her mind on the task at hand, instead of succumbing to the torrent of terrifying images that threatened to engulf her. This was not the time to ponder such things.
Come on Kelly. You can do this; don’t fall apart on me now. She opened her eyes, taking several deep breaths, and then reached out a hand, gently touching the woman’s shoulder.
“Can you hear me?” she asked, shaking the woman softly. Sarah Pritchard’s moan startled her, and her hand recoiled automatically. She reached forward again, more firmly this time.
“Please, you’ve got to wake up. We have to get away from here,” Kelly said forcefully.
As she knelt down beside the killer’s latest captive, she realised that her vision seemed slightly blurry. Her eyes felt gritty, and her limbs suddenly felt heavy, weighted.
What was wrong with her? She shook her head, trying to clear it. Why was she having trouble focusing?
“W – where am I?” The voice, when it came, was weaker than before.
A wave of relief flooded over Kelly. At least if the woman was conscious there was a chance to get her away from the van; hopefully, they would both see this hellish episode through.
“You’re in the back of a van in Wapping,” Kelly explained. “But we’re both in great danger. We’ve got to move quickly. Can you sit up?”
“Can’t move…tied up, I think…” The woman croaked, her every word a supreme effort.
Kelly checked the woman over. Tied up was an understatement. The woman’s ankles and knees were securely bound, as were her arms. Kelly turned her over gently. Sure enough, just as she’d feared, the victim’s hands were cuffed behind her back. Underneath the cuffs, her wrists had pieces of cloth wrapped around them to prevent marking.
There was no longer any doubt that she was dealing with the Ripper. Everything she’d seen fit his Modus Operandi perfectly. He’d brought this poor woman here for one reason only: to die.
And that was bad news for both of them because it meant he’d be coming back very, very, soon.
Kelly examined the cuffs closely, wondering if her cuff key would fit. They were rigid, police issue cuffs. A shudder ran through her as a disturbing new thought hit home.
My god, he’s one of us. The Ripper’s a cop.
Kelly began to feel around the floor of the van, frantically searching for something to cut the ropes with.
CHAPTER 39
The old warehouse was cavernous, and it had taken The Disciple far longer to explore than he’d expected. When he finally emerged from the hole that he’d made in the boarding to get in, he took a few moments to brush himself down; the entire place had been covered in grease, grime, and cobwebs. Then he set off through the mist, which had noticeably worsened since he’d gone in. it seemed like a long walk back to his van, which agitated him because he was desperately impatient to get on with things. He hated having unfinished business.
The old building was spot on. He could hole up in there until the early hours without any problem. Everything he needed to complete the final ritual was contained within his bag, and he would be able to take his time sacrificing his controlling wife, the third bitch responsible for ruining his life.
The mist soon began to thin out, and before long it had been reduced to a few wispy tendrils. As he left the uneven footpath and regained the cobbled surface of the service road, Simon Pritchard spotted his van up ahead. As soon as he saw it alarm bells began to go off inside his head. Something was not as it should be, but what?
And then he saw it. The driver’s door had been slid back.
It was open.
NOOOO!
He stopped in his tracks, sniffing the air like a wild animal. There was no way that the Queen of Whores could have broken free without outside help. That meant that someone must have found the van.
But who?
And how many of them were there?
His mind spun as he pondered what to do. He couldn’t abandon the van, and he wouldn’t abandon his final target, not after coming this far.
He had promised Tyler that he would kill again within twenty-four hours, and he wouldn’t give that son of a bitch the satisfaction of failing. Slipping back into the safety of the shadows, he began to creep towards the van, ready
