Edge Of Hell

“There’s that,” Bolan replied. “William Gull was supposed to be the man responsible for hunting down and killing the five women who knew about Edward’s fathering a bastard child.”

“There is a problem with that theory, if you might recall,” Dean spoke up.

“You mean that whole thing with Gull being in his eighties, having suffered a stroke and a heart attack, and eviscerating his victims in a cab running through the middle of a crowded London neighborhood?” the Executioner asked.

“That’s the one,” Dean answered.

“No plan is perfect. But whatever went on, it certainly stirred up enough controversy over an entire century to keep the waters muddied,” Bolan said.

Goh shook his head. “So what was inserted into her?”

Randman shrugged. “I ran some X-rays to see if I could get an impression from what was left behind. When a knife is used against flesh or any other soft target, it leaves behind trace elements of metal. I have wear patterns and was hoping to find some trace of what was inserted into our poor girl.”

“How soon will it be done?” Dean asked.

“They’ve been having problems with the X-rays on her,” Randman stated. “The last shot of her was overexposed. We’re trying to fix the glitch now, and we’re not exactly on the priority to take her to the main hospital’s Radiology department.”

“Why’s that?” Bolan asked.

Randman looked crestfallen as he felt the sting in Bolan’s voice. “Because, Detective Cooper, even if she is the latest to bear the mark of Jack the Ripper’s rampage across the centuries, is not important. We don’t even have an identity for her.”

“Jane Doe. Another victim left to fall to the wayside because she isn’t strong or important enough, right?”

“That’s the way it goes, Detective. I don’t like it, but that’s the way it goes. It’s not a perfect world, and justice isn’t always done,” Randman stated.

“It may not be a perfect world, but I can sure as hell try for some justice,” Bolan replied.

AS SOON AS THE MAN in black went into the ME’s office, Vincent Black got out of the back seat of his car. Tony and Sal braced him on either side, obscuring him from casual observers on the street. In the trunk was a trio of sawed-off shotguns, blasters no longer than two feet. They kicked like hell, but they each held four shots, with one in the breech. They had enough firepower to take on any opposition short of encountering a small platoon of Bosnian guerrillas on an ethnic cleansing spree. If that wasn’t enough, Black had his Desert Eagle, and Sal and Tony were packing 9 mm Glocks.

However, if it got to that point, Black wasn’t going to be standing his ground and fighting. Since 9/11, the metropolitan police were very quick to respond to potential terrorist activities. The armed response vehicle units were descended from the legendary Flying Squad—the lawmen who were charged to the task of responding to armed violence with their own force of arms. The Firearms Unit was ranked among the best in Europe, and was equipped with some of the best technology and armor in any police force’s arsenal. If the ARV wasn’t enough, then the cops would call in the Anti-Terrorist Branch, SO13, who could bring anything up to sniper rifles into a heated siege.