Strangely, now that she was dead, he felt no desire to insert his Bowie into her vagina, the way he had with his previous two victims. That would be perverse, like necrophilia, and he wasn’t into that.
As he’d done for each of his previous victims, The Disciple carefully recited the satanic scripture before extracting the relevant organ. This was the third time in as many days, and he was reaching the point where he could remember the words without referring to the parchment.
He sensed the menacing presence of the deity he was summoning growing stronger with each word uttered, and his chest began to swell with joy as the spiritual empowerment guaranteed by the sacrifice began to take effect. He made the sign of the horned hand, which represents Baphomet: The Goat of Mendes, to pledge his allegiance to Lucifer, extending the two outer fingers of his left hand to represent the horns, and folding the inner two fingers over the thumb to represent the goat’s head and beard.
When the chanting concluded, the Disciple began the medical procedure by making a wide incision below Rye’s rib cage and cutting through several layers of fat and muscle in order to expose the kidney. There was no attempt at finesse; he needed to get in and get out, as fast as he could. Then he severed the connections to the blood vessels, adrenal gland, and ureter. Reaching inside, he removed the dripping organ in one piece. In a living patient, such a procedure could take up to three hours; he had done it in a matter of minutes. The second kidney took even less time to extract.
Once the organs were safely stored, he turned his attention to her breasts, carrying out a total mastectomy on both. After all, such needless mutilation was what distinguished the Ripper’s work from that of any other killer; it would be expected, and he didn’t want to disappoint. Acting on impulse, he decided to add a few flourishes to his work that were relevant to the reason she had been chosen. What did they say? Hear no evil, see no evil, and speak no evil. The Blackmailer would still be alive if she had abided by that simple mantra; instead, when he had approached her for some discreet assistance in tracing the Infector, who had seemingly dropped off of the face of the earth after giving him a dose of the clap, she had decided to try her hand at blackmailing him, threatening to reveal all to his wife unless he agreed to her extortionate demands.
Respecting client confidentiality obviously wasn’t a priority for her, and it gave him immense satisfaction to know that she had paid the ultimate price for abusing the trust he had placed in her.
When he was finished, he carried her mutilated corpse through the rain and dropped it unceremoniously on the flowerbed. “At least, as compost, you might actually serve a purpose,” he said spitefully. The Disciple lingered over the body, debating whether to slit her throat. There hardly seemed any point now that she was dead, but on the other hand, he liked to be consistent where he could. In the end, he knelt down beside her head, drew the Finnish skinning knife from its scabbard, and set to work. “Goodbye, and good riddance,” he whispered, turning the nearly severed head to rest on her left shoulder.
Climbing back in the van, he quickly removed the blood-drenched nitrile gloves and apron, and checked his appearance. Satisfied, he started the engine and drove off calmly. As Mitre Square receded in his wing mirror, he wondered how long it would be before the Blackmailer was found.
The Disciple drove along Commercial Road for a while and then cut through the back doubles towards the Highway. Fighting to keep his eyes open, he steered the van into an unlit car park at the back of one of the predominantly Bangladeshi estates in Shadwell. It was one of several suitable locations he had identified during the preceding weeks. He pulled up opposite a couple of burnt out wrecks and killed the engine. The Disciple climbed into the rear and sat down in the darkness with his back against the cabin divider. He was physically and emotionally spent, and he was struggling to think clearly. Each trembling limb seemed to weigh a ton. He closed his eyes and sat still for a few moments, using the deep breathing techniques he’d learned to clear his mind.
Before commencing the second part of the ritual – the consummation of the organ – he splashed some water over his face and then drank the rest greedily; tossing the bottle aside after it had been drained. He was careful to take his time reading the parchment, ensuring that every word of the incantation was recited word perfect. Then, and only then, he ate from the still warm kidney. When the rite was finally over, he staggered back into the cab, wiped his bloodstained mouth on his sleeve and turned the key in the ignition. It was almost time to rest, but first, he had an important delivery to make.
CHAPTER 19
The young reporter was laughing merrily. The source of her amusement was a sleazy snippet of gossip her colleague, Julie Payne, had just shared with her during the ride from their Fleet Street office to her luxury apartment at Canary Wharf.It concerned a mutual acquaintance at a rival newspaper, a man who went to great pains to portray himself as a womanising playboy; a man who had recently been caught doing something promiscuous in one of the print room toilets.
With another man!
The raunchy tale appealed to her
