“You’re safe now, Kelly. Everything’s gonna be okay,” she heard Dillon say.
She opened her eyes and nodded sluggishly, and immediately regretted doing so as it made her feel queasy again.
Dillon made her as comfortable as he could before moving on to the distraught woman in the back of the van. “It’s alright, love, I’m a police officer. Can you tell me your name?” He was trying to work the knots that were binding her knees free as he spoke.
“Sarah,” she told him between sobs. “My husband…”
“Don’t worry, my love. We’ll let him know you’re okay as soon as we can,” Dillon promised, only to be taken aback by the look of abject horror that appeared on her face.
“No,” she cried, shaking her head violently. “You don’t understand. My husband did this to me. He’s…he’s the Ripper.”
“You’re Simon Pritchard’s wife?” he asked, stunned.
Sarah stared at Dillon in utter disbelief, which quickly morphed into anger. “If you already know he’s the Ripper,” she demanded, “why the hell isn’t he already in custody?”
“Calm down, love,” he told her. “We only found out a couple of hours ago, and we’ve been searching high and low for him ever since.”
That seemed to mollify her a little. “I see,” she said, relaxing slightly.
“I know you’ve just been put through hell,” Dillon said, trying to comfort her, “and I can’t even begin to imagine how you must feel, but I give you my word that you’re safe now.”
“Where…where is he? Where is Simon?” she asked, scanning the surrounding area nervously, as if afraid her husband might pounce on her at any second.
“That’s a good question, love,” he replied, looking over his shoulder towards the bank of fog that concealed the old warehouse.
Dillon dug out his phone and tried to summon help, but he couldn’t get a signal down here. It occurred to him that if he could get Kelly and Mrs Pritchard back to the road, he would at least be free to come back and assist Jack. He had a horrible feeling that his friend was in need of help.
“Kelly, I’ve got to get back to the main road so I can get a signal to call for help, but I can’t leave you two here alone. If I carry this lady can you walk?”
“I think so, boss,” she said, holding her hand out. Dillon took it and gently pulled her to her feet. She wobbled badly, and he held onto her in case she fell back down.
“I’m okay, really I am,” Kelly lied. She felt rather giddy and very sick, but she knew Dillon wouldn’t leave unless she was capable of going with him. “Where’s Jack?” she asked, suddenly aware that he was missing.
“He went after the killer. To tell you the truth, he’s been gone a few minutes and I’m getting a little worried about him,” Dillon admitted.
Kelly’s eyes widened, her injuries instantly forgotten. “Tony, you’ve got to go after him. Don’t worry about us. I’m fine now. I can get her back to my car without your help,” she said.
Dillon shook his head. “We go down to the car together, sweetheart. Then I’ll come back on my own. Jack wouldn’t want it any other way.” She opened her mouth to protest but he raised a finger to his lips, silencing her. “Let’s not waste time arguing, Kelly,” he said firmly. “I’ll get the woman.”
◆◆◆
As he tumbled over the edge, Jack caught a fleeting glimpse of a rope dangling in front of him. It was looped through a corroded metal pulley, which was suspended from a rotting joist just above the gantry. The rope seemed to stretch all the way down to the floor, thirty odd feet below.
Ignoring the killer, who still clung to him as they fell, he reached for it, knowing it was his only chance of survival. The fingers of his right hand brushed against the badly frayed rope, but his left hand missed completely, grasping only empty air. They plummeted downward, spinning violently in mid-air. Jack clawed at the rope again, first with his right hand, then with his left. On his third attempt, miraculously, he caught it.
With gritted teeth, Jack hung on for dear life. The descent was broken, suddenly and painfully, in a bone-jarring jolt that nearly wrenched his arms from their sockets. The rope cut deep into his hands; a pain almost beyond tolerance.
Jack hung there, listening to the old rope creak; he knew he couldn’t hold on for much longer, not with the added weight of the killer to contend with.
Suddenly, the rope slipped through his fingers and they dropped another couple of feet before he recovered his grip. Tyler looked down gingerly, calculating his chances of surviving a fall from this height intact. His feet were swinging twenty feet above the floor, and it seemed a very long way down.
To make matters worse, immediately below them were several plastic dustbins, a stack of empty crates and a loose pile of bricks. The bins were filled to the brim with rubbish, long since discarded. What really worried Jack was the small cluster of wooden timbers and the rusted metal pipes that protruded from the clutter below, sticking up like spikes on an iron railing.
Jack couldn’t believe his eyes. In a place the size of a football pitch, why did there have to be a huge pile of trash, much of it sharp, all of it dangerous, in that particular spot?
If he landed on it, sod's law dictated he’d either be impaled or break both ankles – knowing his luck, probably both. He could feel his grip loosening, and he doubted he’d be able to hold on for very much longer.
“Grab the rope,” he called down, trying to suppress his panic.
“No,” Pritchard called back
