Chapters (37)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- Prologue
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- Epilogue
- Acknowledgements
- By Paul Cornell
- About the Author
‘We don’t know anything beyond the message, not yet. But it makes sense of the shape of the attacker. That Toff image of the protestors is also very like the archetypal image of the Ripper. And, thanks to the press—’
‘Ahem.’
‘Present company excepted. Thanks to them, everyone thinks the protestors have now started murdering people, though they can’t quite work out how. The original version of what’s become the Toff mask was, so the people at the factory tell us, part of their “Jolly King” costume. That costume company have gone from employing a publicity person for the first time, and neither condoning nor condemning the protestors, to slamming the doors and hiding behind press releases.’
‘Royalty? Like in some of the mad Ripper theories? Could that be a thing? One of your lot will have said that, right?’
Quill loved it when she deduced something. She didn’t do analysis exactly in the way his team did, but like the news editor she was, always casting around for a lead. ‘Sefton. He’s been reading up on this stuff. Ross said that when she first got the Sight, she felt a certain gravity from the direction of Buckingham Palace. I bloody hope this Ripper business doesn’t take us there.’
‘Jack the Ripper. God, Quill, I wish I could have this story. Can I have this story?’
‘No. Because you and I have a deal—’
‘I know, I know: you all need to have someone you can talk to about this stuff. But, bloody hell, of all journalists, only I know that there’s a connection between these two incredibly high-profile murder cases. Only I know about the message on the wall. And I’m going to go back into my office this afternoon, and my editor’s going to ask how you are, and I’m going to say, “He’s fine, he expressed sympathy about the ongoing decline of the Enfield Leader and the redundancies that are bound to start happening soon—”’
‘Love—’
‘Fuck, I could string this story to the Mail or the Herald or something. I could make a fortune. They still give people who dob in for them serious money.’ She made grim eye contact with him again. ‘I’m only having you on. Really. No, I am.’