Chapter 8 stowell ripper

Ben Snow met Archer Kinsman in a small Texas town on the Gulf of Mexico.Ben has been wandering for a year, and seeing that winter is approaching, he headed south before the arrival of ice, snow and cold.Here, near the Mexican border, there was still a smell of the Old West in the air, a mix of horsemeat, longhorns and gunpowder smoke.It was Ben's kind of town—at least until Archer Kinsman found him there. Kingsman is very old and looks older than his actual age.He was a man with one foot in the grave, and not even fancy carriages, pearl-handled pistols, and expensive cigars could pull him out.He found Ben in the back room of a cafe called Riu's, and sat across the table from him with a sort of distraught haste. "You're Ben Snow, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Ben.He noticed his rich clothes, and his gray, hard-lined old face. "I want to hire you to do something for me," he said. "My name is Archer Kinsman. You may have heard that name." "Sorry. I'm not familiar with this place." Whatever his purpose, at least a free beer would be nice. "But your fame comes before you, Mr. Snow." And then that knowing smile again, the one that followed Ben through the West. "You want to hire a gunner?" "I want to hire the fastest shooter in New Mexico." "Wrong state, Mr. Kingsman. This is Texas."

"But you're from New Mexico, aren't you?" Ben sighed and drank the beer in his glass, "Yes, I'm from New Mexico." "Let me buy you a beer," he gestured to the front of the bar. "I've heard rumors, you know. About your little adventure in New Mexico, and others. You really A man." "Let's get straight to the point, Mr. Kingsman. You hear I'm Billy the Kid, who not only didn't die twenty years ago, but is alive and well, wandering the West, hired as a quick-shooter. These The rumors are not true." Kingsman blushed, "Of course not—I didn't believe that at all! But you are still someone I want to hire. This will definitely not involve killing people. In fact, it's just the opposite. I want you to put me Daughter brought back from New Orleans."

"Then why do you need a quick shooter?" "I need someone who can protect me from some villains. My daughter... well, maybe I should tell you the whole thing," he paused, wiping his face with a handkerchief, his Skin as pale as a handkerchief, "There used to be three people in my family - my wife and daughter Beth, and I. We lived in the North. After a few years of having nothing, I managed to raise the money to buy a small farm, The days are finally looking up. But, I guess I'm not a very good father, but I'm sure I'm not a good husband. One night, I caught my wife and my foreman in bed. I shot him, and the reason As it should be, but she jumped up in front of the gun, and just like that, they were both dead. Beth was eighteen when it happened, and I think it was a huge blow to her. I don't Know she blamed me more, or her mother more, but I think the two of us destroyed that night before her eyes. Anyway, she left the farm - left me - and I haven't had it in six years met her."

Although his eyes dimmed a little as he told, it was still clear that Archer Kinsman was a man carved in stone.His wife and daughter are gone, but you can sense from his words that fact doesn't really bother him.The only thing that interests Ben is why, after six years, he suddenly wants to act. "You said she was in New Orleans?" Kingsman nodded. "At first she wrote me occasionally. It was not so much to reassure me as to aggravate my pain, I think. She drifted along the coast, came to New Orleans, and became ...well, a common whore. I think that's the worst thing a father can say about his daughter. But damn it, there's no more polite word. She said in her letter that she Following in her mother's footsteps, this letter literally blew my heart out. Years ago, I went to her and made the journey to - Stowell, as they call it now - and I turned Heads back. Guess I'm terrified of seeing what I might find."

"You want me to run and find her?" He nodded again, "If you bring her back, I'll pay you handsomely, Snow. I know you can do it." "Why are you so impatient after six years?" He reached for the beer with a trembling hand, "Look at me, just look at me! There's death in those eyes, in this face. I've seen the best doctors in the state and they do that to me Said. A disease of blood for which there is no cure and no hope. In a month, two months, three months at the most, I shall be dead. Knowing that I am going to die is a terrible thing."

"Everybody dies, Mr. Kingsman." "But do you really believe it? Don't you ever hope in your heart that maybe you're an exception?" "Maybe I thought that when I was young," Ben admitted, "I think every young person dreams of immortality," and then, neither expecting to say it nor knowing why, he added suddenly. One sentence, "I will help you find your daughter, Mr. Kingsman. I will bring her back." "God, I want to see her more than anything else in the world. To see her before I die. I wrote her a letter, sent her a hundred dollars every Christmas, and her birthday... I now A rich man, Mr. Snow. It's as if extreme success followed a tragedy in my life. The year after she left me, and the year after I killed my wife, on my land Oil was found. Think about it - that damn black thing ruined my ranch! But it made me a millionaire. For a long time I kept it a secret and dared not tell it in letters Beth, afraid she'd come back for the money. But I told her last month because I was dying anyway and the money was hers, all of it."

"Did she write you back?" "No, like I said, at first she wrote to me pretty regularly. Then, for the past two years, she hasn't written me a single word. The 'thank you' scrawled on the postcard One word, in response to my Christmas gift. I also only had a cheap card for my birthday. At least she remembered. But after I told her she was going to be a millionaire, there was nothing, not a single word. " "Do you have her address?" "No. I mailed the letter to the check-in at the post office and she went there to pick it up. I have a picture of her when she was fifteen, if that helps."

Ben studied the photograph of a girl with long blond hair.She is a very cute girl, and she should be a beautiful girl now.In the photo, there is still innocence in her eyes, but it must have disappeared by now.The face must have changed, and so has the body. And thought. "Okay," Ben sighed, "but you still haven't explained it. Why me? Why not get a lawyer to bring her back?" "I don't know. I think it's the murders that worry me." "Murder?" The word sent a familiar chill down Ben's spine. "I suppose you've read it in the paper."

"I rarely read newspapers." "Three weeks ago a woman of that sort was murdered in Stowell. Stabbed. Last week there was another case of the same kind. Some papers hinted that a similar case would happen again. They guessed he did it." of." "He? Who?" "The guy from England. What's his name? Jack the Ripper..." Stowell had only just become the central city of New Orleans a few years earlier—that is, in 1897—thanks to a city ordinance sponsored by Senator Stoley.Although prostitution had been legal in the city prior to the Civil War, this was the first attempt to concentrate the industry in one area of ​​the city.It was a large area—bounded on four sides by Iberville Avenue, St. Louis, North Besson Street, and North Robinson Street.Here, there are brothels, bars, and casinos, which make up the dark side of life in New Orleans.Connecting streets are Arlington House, New Mahogany Hall, Poodle Cafe, Pietrara Cafe and more.Whites and blacks work together and play together.Brothels ranged from a marble building like New Mahogany with an elevator to a small kiln in a tiny single room on the side of the road.It was a city worthy of its name, with the gentle rhythm of a new kind of music floating above it.Winter has already invaded the south, and the closed doors and windows make the music a little muffled.

Ben Snow had heard this music on his first afternoon in Stowell, when he was strolling down Besom Street, following vague clues for the girl named Beth Kinsman.He stashed his gun under his overcoat—not the little Derlinger he always carried, but an old .45, the weight of which he could barely remember.New Orleans was in the East, but it was still a .45-caliber place.At least that's the case this week.Four days had passed since he parted from Kingsman in Texas, long enough for another girl to be murdered in a dark alley in Stowell.The morning paper told him everything: her name was "Sadie Stoud, black," and she was about thirty.She was found face down in the shallow pool of a fountain in front of a luxury brothel.There is no doubt that all three women were killed by a killer with a knife. The Ripper is prowling Stowell!A newspaper screamed so.Perhaps he was indeed prowling.Ben doesn't care about that, as long as his blade leaves the woman named Beth Kinsman alone.But he felt safe with the heavy gun at his side. "Beth Kingsman." "Beth Kingsman? Don't know her. There's nearly six hundred women in this district this winter. You see, you go to the Arlington branch and buy the address book for twenty-five cents. If she's Stowe Whore of Vail, it will have her name in it." "Thank you. By the way, what is this music they're playing?" "That's called jazz. That's real music." In that bar called the Arlington Branch, there was a black pianist who played that melody too.Guests of different races seemed to appreciate the music.A dark-skinned girl in front of the bar danced lightly to the music, and there was a couple of men and women dancing jigs behind.Ben followed the instructions, bought an address book for twenty-five cents, and sat at a table to read it, growing more and more amazed. Above it was a carefully alphabetized list of all the whores—white, black, and mulatto (although there were only half a dozen of them).There are also advertisements for the bar and some hired musicians.Most were pianists, and nearly all were people of color, some who prided themselves on being able to play jazz.But at this point, Ben is more interested in the list of whores.Kingsman, Bass - there it is, big and fierce as life.Well, Bess, we've found you. He walked through three dark blocks to the address written after her name, but he didn't know whether he found a mansion or a shack.When he arrived, he found that the place was between two extremes.It was a grey-and-white house in need of repainting, not a typical New Orleans building with twisted wrought-iron railings on second-story balconies.No, the house seemed to Ben, a layman, to have been originally built by northerners—perhaps one of the post-war shocks that swept across the land of the South like a catastrophe. "I'm looking for Beth Kingsman," he said to the black girl who answered the door. "Sorry, we don't open until seven." "I have something to ask her about. But not your kind, exactly. I want to talk to her." "She's not here. I'll help you find Countess Lulu." Ben shrugged and waited on the doorstep, trying to picture the Countess Lulu in his mind.He was dead wrong—she was a white woman in her forties, with a serene, dignified demeanor, and that was probably where the name came from.She may have been fatter at one time, because the flesh on her face was stacked strangely in places, making her look older than she really was. "Hi, are you looking for a girl from us?" Ben nodded, taking off his hat as a matter of course, "Yes, Bess Kinsman." "Are you the police? About the Ripper?" "No, that's not the case. I just want to talk to Bess. I'll pay her if it bothers you." Countess Lulu looked a little hesitant, "She's not here now, but if you're willing to wait..." "I would, thanks!" He followed her into a living room hung with drab velvet curtains designed to keep out every light and sound.There was only one person in the living room, a fat, pale man smoking a nasty cigar. "This is Piggy, our pianist. Every brothel has to have jazz these days." Piglet smoked loudly on his cigar and grunted a casual hello.He was sitting in front of an old upright piano, and he was so sleepy that he almost collapsed holding the piano, as if there was a woman in his arms. Countess Lulu sat down on a sofa full of cushions, let her body be immersed in the soft light like silk, and said, "Come and sit beside me, sir. Bess will be back soon." "Has she been with you for a long time?" "Followed me since I got to Stowell. Almost two years now. Very nice girl, very popular with customers." "Did she ever talk about her father? And her life in Texas?" "Sometimes, but not often. Women don't live in the past." Ben carefully rolled a cigarette. "Are you from New Orleans?" Countess Lulu shook her head, "Tampa, Havana, Mexico City. I move often. Now I live here." "Is New Orleans a city of crime?" She shrugged slightly, "Prostitution has been legal here for almost fifty years. During the Civil War, a Northern commander even issued an order that in New Orleans, any Southern woman who insulted a Northern soldier could be punished." Treated like a common whore. But this kind of thing doesn't help the city's status. Men come to New Orleans to be a completely open city, and we give you what you ask. Tomorrow is the last day before Lent, so tomorrow night you will Eye-opening!" Ben had heard of this pre-Lent festival.On this day, people from all cities flock to Stowell to forget the routine of the other fifty-one weeks.They often wear masks to hide their faces, and the rich and the poor drink and revel together.Little did he realize that the day was coming, but it was mid-February and Lent began on Wednesday. "Maybe I'll stay here and open my eyes," Ben told her.Behind them, the little pig sitting in front of the piano sneered and began to play an unknown piece of music. "If there is a spare room, we can let you stay," Lulu suggested. "Sometimes the girls come and go, and our place is almost empty. The girls often change jobs. They are here today and leave tomorrow. I came into town just as a brothel was burning down, and I was lucky enough to get a bunch of homeless girls. Well... I guess it's Bess this time." She got up and walked to the front door , open and close the door.Two women and a man entered the room, and he knew immediately which one he was looking for. Her hair was the golden color in the photograph, and if there was any difference in her appearance, it was the difference brought about by age and indifference.She should be twenty-four now, nine years older than the photo in his pocket. "Hello, Bess." She gave him a cold and suspicious look, "Do I know you?" "I am a friend of your father. He sent me to you." She glanced hesitantly at the two people who had come in with her—a handsome dark-haired girl who seemed to be from the South.There was also an alert young man with a chipped front tooth and a thin black beard.The girl was already up the stairs. "I need to change, Bess. If you want me, I'm in my room." "Okay, Dottie. Now, sir, we can talk here." She gestured to the living room. "I want to find a more private place." "Five silver coins and you can go to my room. The price includes a glass of whiskey." Ben hesitated. "Fair enough. Are your friends coming too?" The bearded man snorted softly, and Bess said, "I'll see you later, Hugo. Work comes first, pleasure comes later, you know." She led the way and carefully walked up the thickly carpeted stairs to a narrow corridor with asymmetrical gas lamps lit on both sides, flickering and flickering.Ben followed her, feeling more and more uncertain.A simple job always becomes complicated.Following her instructions, he entered a room. He found a gap in the door on the opposite side of the corridor, and knew that the woman named Dotty was peeping through the gap. "You have a nice room," he told her after she closed the door. "Not bad. Now what do you want?" He walked across the room and sat down gently on the edge of the bed. "I think I told you. Your father sent me." "It's been so many years, what else does he want to do?" "I think you know. He wants you to go home, back to Texas. He's dying." "I got his letter," she confessed. "Are you going back with me?" The look on her face is indescribable.It could be hesitation, it could be fear.But she replied: "I'm not going back. It's been too long." "He still loves you." "Did he tell you why I left? Did he tell you what happened?" Ben nodded. "He told me." "Do you think I can go back? To the man who killed my mother?" "This man is your father, and he is dying." She lit a cigarette.It was the first time Ben had seen a woman smoke. "I can't go back. That's it, no discussion." "He's a rich man, Bess. A millionaire. The money will be yours. Can't you go back for a million dollars?" "You don't understand," she said, "you don't know what I've become." He knew, but he couldn't say it.For some reason, those words didn't match her face. "Those murders worry your father. At least you can see that." "I've lived here six years, living this life, and now he's worried that I'm going to be killed?" Ben sighed and stood up.He knew it was useless to persuade him any further. "Well, maybe I'll come and see you again. I'm going to stay here for a few days," and then, thinking of something, "Who is this guy coming in with you?" "I don't think it has anything to do with you, sir?" "Snow." "Mr. Snow, but I'll tell you anyway. Dottie's room is across the way. I've known her for five years, almost since I came here. Hugo is a good friend. Someday I might marry To him, but I'm sure my father wouldn't agree. Satisfied?" "Satisfied," he said with a smile on his face. "Goodbye. Think about it, huh? He really cares about you." "Goodbye, Mr. Snow." "Did you forget the five dollars?" "I'm mean, forgive me." For the first time, what was beneath that hard shell came out.He smiled and walked out the door. Downstairs, the little pig was playing the piano, and two dark-skinned young men from the street came in to listen.Countess Lulu is gone.Ben walked into the twilight and began to wander the streets without meaning.Around him, the sounds of the night gradually sounded, strange sounds.Happy, vibrating sound, but still weird. From a distance, Ben had already seen the man.With firm and steady steps, he stepped out of the shadows beyond the reach of the gas lamps, with his hands in his pockets, and the coat he was wearing was obviously too warm even for the February weather.The man smiled slightly and blocked Ben's path. "No need to draw your gun," he said softly, "I meant no harm." "Who are you?" "Police. Detective Jonathan Weathers, at your service, sir." "Oh?" "You're a new face here. On the cusp of murder, a stranger deserves to be questioned, agree?" "Agreed." The man was obviously from England, but spoke with a southern accent.He may have lived there for a long time. Detective Weathers smiled. "We hit it off. I've got some reports on you now. Name, Ben Snow. Right?" "Yes. I was employed by an oil tycoon in Texas. I came here to find his daughter and bring her home. That's my purpose." He went on to briefly explain his visit and the day in Stowe. Will's whereabouts. Weathers nodded, seemingly satisfied, "Come in here. I'll buy you a beer. We've got a lot to talk about." A few minutes later, over a beer, he leaned forward and asked, "You heard Have you been to Jack the Ripper?" "Heard a bit. A serial killer in London a few years ago." Weathers nodded, "1888 to be precise. He killed seven women, all of whom were prostitutes, and he hasn't been caught yet. There are rumors that he came to the United States and killed two women in New Jersey." "You're British." Ben said what was on his mind. Detective Weathers forced a smile. "I was a London policeman in 1888. I think I've been trying to catch the Ripper ever since." "You think it's the same person?" "Several cases are strikingly similar. Prostitutes were assaulted in the streets and alleys of the red-light district, all brutally dismembered with knives. Of course, if I am not wrong, there will be more cases. His guts Will grow bigger and break in again, like he did in London. Right in their room." "Who are these three women?" The detective counted on his fingers: "The first case happened a few weeks ago. The deceased was an established prostitute named Jean Swan. She sang in a bar. She was killed in an alley. Then, another At night, Sadie Stoud, died in a fountain a few blocks from here. By the way, the fifth victim of the Ripper was named Elizabeth Stoud. It may or may not have been a coincidence .” "Is there nothing else? From a racial perspective?" Detective Weathers shook his head. "The first two were white men, and the last was a woman of color. We've found no connection other than that they both were or are working in prostitution. Of course, it's hard to trace far back—" There’s always been a lot of mobility here.” The sound of jazz piano music rises and falls from time to time, like the mischievous beating of distant waves. "You don't really think I have anything to do with these cases, do you?" Ben asked. "Probably irrelevant. At least I know you're not Jack the Ripper. But there are reports that..." "That I might be Billy the Kid? As absurd as that." "You have a pistol hidden under your coat." "There's a crazy killer out there, don't you think it's a good idea to carry a gun?" Detective Weathers shrugged. "My attitude has always been that the police are capable of providing comprehensive protection." "Did they provide protection to the woman named Stodd that night?" The detective stood up and ended the conversation without answering Ben's last question. "I'll keep in touch with you," he said. "If you have any news, you can always reach me." Ben watched him go and ordered another beer.He sat for a while, listening to the piano, watching the Night City come to life, stretched and exuded vitality.At last, as he expected himself to do, he found himself wandering back to the house three blocks from Besson Street.At this time, the lights are just on, but there is a sad joy in the darkness.Music and laughs abound, suggesting their escape into Stowell's world.For Bess Kinsman at least, it's always been an escape from reality. Countess Lulu stood by the door, "Have you decided to come and visit?" "No. I want to see Bess again." "This time I have to pay cash, give it to me." He gave her the money and went upstairs.At this time, the house was very quiet, and he noticed that the piglet had left his beloved piano.When a black man passed him on the stairs, he turned away and left in a hurry.Ben knocked on her door, and when she responded, came in.If she was surprised to see him again, she didn't show it, but sat on the bed and waited with an innocence that must have begun with Eve. "See you again, Bess." "You came back pretty quickly." "I wonder if you've considered it. Go back to Texas." "I've thought about it." Coldness and stubbornness appeared in her eyes and on her lips again.This wasn't the girl that Archer Kinsman forced out six years ago. "The results of it?" "I've already told you my answer. I haven't changed my mind." Coldness, even with that innocence, remained like a veil over her face.She must be a good actress, but which emotions did she act out? "I hope……" He didn't have time to finish.There was a scream, like a cursed cry, which came suddenly but stopped abruptly.Bess Kingsman stood up suddenly. "It's Dotty. Across the corridor!" They ran out into the corridor, banging on the door and shaking the lock, for the sudden silence was more frightening than the scream.Countess Lulu came from nowhere, and there was only a horrible guess written on the faces of Piggy and the other women.The door vibrated, shattering under the impact of Ben's shoulder, and they looked inside. At first glance the situation doesn't look that bad.She seemed alive at first, sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, looking down at a large, blood-red hole where her stomach would have been.Then, as they watched, her head slowly tilted to one side, a thin-bladed razor lodged in her throat. Bess screamed... Detective Weathers was depressed.He paced the downstairs living room like a caged tiger, waiting for his men to finish inspecting the upstairs rooms. "The fourth," he said, "is just before the eve of Lent. Can you imagine what this madman will do when he's free to roam about tomorrow, masked and unobtrusive?" Ben sat down on Piggy's piano bench, listening and watching, without ever taking his hand off his gun.He had dealt with many murderers in the past, but this one was so close, but he could not be tracked, which made him physically and mentally exhausted. "How did he get in here?" Weathers shrugged. "Through the window, through the roof. It seems that he chose Dotty Ritham as the target only because of the location of her room, and she happened to be alone in the room at the time." And Ben was thinking, "But her scream was cut off so quickly. She didn't scream when she saw him crawl in through the window. He must have put the knife in her stomach before she could call for help. Then he stabbed her in the throat again to calm her down. Does this mean that the murderer was someone she knew? Or someone she trusted?" "She's probably lying in bed, dozing with her eyes closed." "I suppose so," Ben grudgingly agreed. He waited a little longer, was questioned, told what little he knew, and then watched Weathers and his men cross-examine everyone in the brothel.At last, after midnight, they were allowed to leave.He walked the few blocks to Arlington Palace and found a room for the night. Drowsiness came quickly, but he still had the gun under his pillow, within reach.The last thought on his mind was to find a way to get Kingsman's daughter out of this place.The devil who killed four women is very close to her... Early the next morning, he found that the streets and alleys of Stowell had changed strangely. People used colorful ribbons and festive carnival costumes to hide their hearts of fear.It was the day before Lent, and the streets were already dotted with figures in masks and strange costumes.In the neighborhood, newsboys peddled the Ripper's latest murder, but even that was brushed aside and ignored on a day of celebration. The Arlington branch is adjacent to the hotel lobby, providing guests with a great place to grab breakfast each morning.A bartender was wiping glasses, and one of the waitresses served Ben a plate of bacon and eggs that smelled of the morning's hustle.At this time, besides Ben, there was only one customer.It was a somewhat familiar young man with a beard and a gap in his front tooth.Ben was quick to think of him - Beth's friend, Hugo. "Hey, hello!" He greeted with a mouth full of food. "Snow, right?" "Exactly. Ben Snow." "My name is Hugo Didier, and I heard Beth's father hired you." "I think so. He wants her back to Texas." Didier has been standing in front of the bar.At this moment, he came to Ben's dining table. "It was almost the first day Beth came to New Orleans, and I knew her. I think I can take care of her." "Can you protect her from the Ripper? Can you save her from the life she has now? Can you give her a million dollars?" "I can try," Didier said.This is the eternal answer of young people, even in this sinful Stowell. "Do you think you're the one for her? What are you doing—probably a pimp or a drug dealer?" "Beth and I are the same kind of people. We understand each other." "I'm willing to take a chance. You'll put an ad in her mailing list. It might help her business." This remark angered Didier, but before he could refute, an idea popped into Ben's mind. , "Tell me, do they keep any expired address books here?" "I don't know," Didier shrugged and suppressed his anger, "ask the bartender, don't ask me." Ben walked over to the long, well-polished bar and interrupted the bartender from cleaning the glasses. "Outdated address books—do you have any?" The bartender gave him a strange look, "What's the use of expired ones? The latest issue lists the names of all the prostitutes, and the women whose names are not on the list are gone." "I just wanted to see." "It was only published in 1895." "Okay. Did you have one from 1895?" "I think I can find a set for you in the back office. Wait a minute." Ben waited, and a moment later the bartender returned with five out-of-date address books rolled up. "You can watch it here. But give it back to me when you're done." "OK." Hugo Didier took his seat at the bar again, and Ben sat down and started flipping through the first address book, not knowing exactly what he was looking for, but he had a feeling he would find something in it.The book gets bigger every year, and in 1897 proudly announces the official birth of Stowwell.Gradually, advertisements for pianists appeared, although the word "jazz" was not yet used by them. But right now, Ben is more interested in names.He browsed through the list, making occasional notes, when suddenly he had a flash of inspiration and found what he was looking for.This is the issue from two years ago, but it seems like that's the point.Maybe, just maybe, this is the key to cracking the Ripper case. "Did you see Detective Weathers this morning?" he asked the bartender loudly. "Not yet. He usually comes at noon, but today is the day before Lent." "I know." Ben stuffed an address book into his pocket and headed for the door. "I said, I told you to come back!" the bartender yelled after him, but he was already out onto the street, engulfed by a growing wave of masked and painted revelers. It took Ben two hours to find Weathers.The Briton was helping to break up a crowd that had gathered in front of a house on North Robinson Street when he spotted him.A woman, obviously drunk or drugged, in a very short beaded dress, climbed onto the roof and danced a French can-can to the excitement of the crowd below. "Okay," he said, finally spotting Ben in the crowd, "like the show?" "I've been looking for you. Can we talk?" Detective Weathers studied his resolute expression for a moment, then gestured to the end of the street, "To the station. Come on." There was hardly anyone in the office.他们在一张被香烟烧灼过的桌子前坐下，本掏出了那本两年前的通讯册。他见侦探的眼中立刻闪出了兴致，他说道：“我想我找到了些线索，但我需要你提供关于这个区的一点情况。” "Say it." “你知道，这本书罗列着妓女的名字和她们现今的住址。好，两年前，所有被害者都住在同一个地方。” “见鬼！让我看看！” “她们都住在珍珠欢乐宫。现在，剩下的请你告诉我，警探。” 韦瑟斯皱皱眉，然后靠向椅背，“当然了！我认识一两个在珍珠手下工作的女人，但时隔两年，我忘记了其他的。珍珠宫就是被烧毁的地方。” “那里有多少个女人？” “着火时？她手下有六个，我想。” “没有钢琴手吗？” 韦瑟斯摇摇头，“那时还没有。是那些地方最近添加的。” “好的，”本又拿起了名册，“这是我找到的名字。萨迪·斯托德……” “开膛手的第三个受害者。” “珍·斯万……” “第一个受害者。那场大火后，她就从良了。” “劳拉·欧图尔……” “别管她了。她在那场火灾中被烧死了。” “玛丽·奎恩……” “第二个受害者。” “多蒂·瑞森姆……” “第四个，就在昨晚。你也知道。” “珍珠她自己呢？” 陷入回忆的韦瑟斯蹙着眉头，“珍珠是个中年老鸨，一个严重酗酒者。有人甚至说就是她的醉酒导致了那晚的火灾。去年她用个碎酒瓶杀了一个男的，然后就逃到了南美。现在仍然在那里，住在巴西。” 本对着眼前的名单叹了口气。他翻过书页，低头看着他查出的最后一个名字，“珍珠手底下的第六个女人……” “如果你没错的话，她就是开膛手的下个作案目标。” “……就是贝斯·金斯曼。” 警探的脸僵住了，“快走。”他说…… 但这可没那么容易。临近傍晚，街道上充满了狂欢的喧闹与色彩，挤满了戴面具的男人和身涂彩绘的女人，他们已经把那个杀害了四个女人的开膛手忘在了脑后。他们出来寻欢作乐，这就是宪法保障的“追求幸福”的活例子。宪法——不，本记得是独立宣言——说得好听，但他们对于杀人凶徒只字未提。没有哪条法律规定有凶犯混迹其中时，人们应当立即停止寻欢。 他看着化装的人流经过露露伯爵夫人的妓院前，特别注意到其中一个家伙打扮成警察的样子。看上去像是小猪，但他也拿不准。这时候，他对什么都拿不准。 韦瑟斯从妓院里出来，一双眼扫视着经过的人群。“不用担心，她没事。至少目前为止。我会派个警官过来盯着。” “确保他不会戴个面具。人群中有个假警察。” 韦瑟斯发现了他，推挤着人群，跟了过去。不一会儿，他就消失了，被五颜六色的人流吞没了。但本仍然坚守在露露伯爵夫人的门前。他知道，阿彻·金斯曼不会为女儿的尸体支付丰厚酬劳的。一支爵士乐队经过他面前，这是他初次看见爵士乐队，领头的是个吹喇叭的黑人，装扮成魔鬼的样子。当夜晚的影子开始在街道上拉长，他走进屋去察看情况。 “这一晚！”露露尖声说道，“每个姑娘都忙得很，还有三个家伙在等！” “你的音乐呢？” “小猪喝醉了，逛到别的地方去了。”她扔下他，消失在厅门后。 他待了几分钟，打量着在客厅里等候的化了装的男人们。脑中的念头令他觉得反胃，他转过身，朝街上走去。他的手刚握住门把手，就听到头顶上传来东西倒在地板上的声音。有人尖叫——可能是贝斯·金斯曼。 本三步并作两步爬上楼梯，一只手已经掀开大衣，掏出了手枪。他拧动她的房门的把手，反锁着，她再次发出尖叫，“本，救命！是开膛手！” 他用肩膀撞向脆弱的房门。他想起前一天晚上多蒂·瑞森姆的房门，想起了他在房间里所看到的。但贝斯·金斯曼还活着，和一个戴着面具、扮成小丑样子的男人厮打着。他的右手握着一把弯刀，他们在床边搏斗时，刀刃寒光闪烁。 “开枪，本！他要杀我！” 但她的身体挡在了本和蒙面杀手之间。他向搏斗挣扎的两个人影靠近，却见手起刀落，刺入了贝斯的腹部，她身上的粉色家居服立时就被喷涌而出的鲜血染成了深红色。她再次尖叫，向地板上倒去，本一把抱住了她瘫倒的身体，开膛手向卧房唯一的窗户冲去，砸碎了玻璃，一蹿身，向下面的屋顶跳了下去。 本撕开家居服，试图用他的手绢止住涌出的鲜血。见其他人陆续赶来，他钻出窗户，去追赶那个化了装的人影。 窗外的屋顶向上倾斜，尽头处与临近的房子相隔五英尺。本毫不犹豫，纵身一跃，抓住了滑溜的石板。在他上方，小丑停下脚步，朝他紧紧抓握的手掷下一块石板。他感到石板击中了他的脸颊，爬上屋顶，从肩头拽下了碍事的大衣，一边攀爬，一边摸索枪袋，确定枪仍在里面。前方，对手已经攀下了屋顶，双手并用，飞一般地爬上了房前华丽的铁艺围栏。 本紧跟不放，手中握紧锈蚀的金属，此时，他与对手仅仅相距几英寸，几乎是触手可及的。凶手单手握住栏杆，而那匕首的利刃在黑暗中暗淡无光，像眼镜蛇般舞动。利刃砍了过来，本失去平衡，仅靠双手吊在空中，离下面的街道有二十英尺。此时凶徒向他靠了过来，杀意毕露，舞动着刀子越来越近。悬在空中的本冒险松开一只手，摸向身侧的枪袋，掏出枪，就吊悬在铁格子阳台外，开了枪。 这并不是他这辈子最好的一枪，但却足够了。子弹射入了面具人的体内，他颤抖了一下，松开了紧握金属栏杆的手。他慢慢下落，像一只放了气的气球，“砰”的一声，落在了下面的路面上。 本爬下来，推开围拢过来的人群。他弯下身子，看着血淋淋扭曲的尸体，摘下了他的面具。是贝斯的朋友，雨果·戴迪尔……第二天是圣灰节，四旬斋的第一天。在这一天，即使是在斯托维尔，也有人去教堂。但韦瑟斯警探和本·斯诺却有别的事要做。在医院里，他们见到了舒舒服服地躺在一张白色窄床上的贝斯·金斯曼。虽然几个小时前她得知了袭击者的身份，但仍然面带微笑。 “这真的难以置信，我知道，”她对他们说道，“但有时候，他真的有些奇怪。一想到他那么残忍地杀害了四个女孩儿……” “毫无疑问，是他干的，”韦瑟斯说，“那把刀和所有案件中使用的凶器吻合。当然了，他太年轻，不可能是开膛手杰克，但是他也好不到哪儿去，是个疯子。” “可能不是，”本轻声说道，“或者说至少不像他看上去的那么疯狂。” 贝斯费力地转向他，“你知道他的动机吗？他为什么杀害那些女人，为什么还企图杀死我？” “我想我知道了，”他别过脸去，“我想审判的时候，一切都将真相大白。” “审判！”她惊讶地说道，“但是他已经死了！” “不是他的审判——是你的。韦瑟斯警探来这儿，要以在四起谋杀案中协从犯案的罪名逮捕你。” “但是……但是这简直发神经！他也企图杀掉我！为什么我要杀掉那四个女人？”她从床上坐起身，面色如床单一般苍白。 本叹了口气，感到疲惫，并且有些落寞，“你要杀掉她们，是因为你的名字是劳拉·欧图尔。你要杀掉她们，是因为真正的贝斯·金斯曼早在两年前的大火中丧生……” “你很聪明，”他继续说道，“非常聪明。事实上，你做得滴水不漏。但是我很奇怪所有人中，为什么唯独你没有提起四位受害者之间的联系。警察和其他人也许已经忘了她们都曾在火灾发生时在珍珠欢乐宫接客。之后，当然了，昨天晚上你也遭到袭击。当我发现开膛手是你的朋友雨果·戴迪尔时，我着实困惑了好一阵儿。他是最不可能在昨晚袭击你的人，因为当我在阿灵顿翻阅过期的通讯册时，他也在场。他知道我发现了受害者之间的联系，也知道我预料到了你也会遭到袭击。并且，当然了，他的身份允许他在其他任何时候对你下手——那么为什么冒着那么大的风险，偏偏在昨晚我有所防备时，半真半假地对你下杀手呢？答案显而易见，这次袭击根本就是演戏。他从没想真的杀死你，但他知道我预料到了对你的袭击，所以必须在昨晚做做样子。否则，我就会怀疑你的。” “你觉得这是演戏？”她坐在床上嚷道，“我的肚子都被刀子剖开了！” “我想，在最后一刻，你另有打算。我想你认定雨果必须背上杀害那些女人的罪名。所以，你对我喊，要我开枪射他，那可不是事前计划好的。当然了，你从紧闭的房门内喊我名字的时候，我就提起了戒心——这意味着你一直盯着我进入了房子。” “我究竟为什么这么做？”她已经变了一个人。此时已经完全换上了一副冷酷、心机深沉的嘴脸。 “是这样的，珍珠宫被烧毁时，那四个女人都在那里，于是我自问她们知道了什么重要的事，以致招来杀身之祸呢？我想到了一点。我记得大约两年前，贝斯就不再给她父亲写信了。想到这儿，我恍然大悟。贝斯才是那场火灾的遇难者，而你是另外那个女人——劳拉·欧图尔。你们一定长得很像，足以蒙骗偶尔光顾的主顾和一些泛泛之交，但妓院里的其他女人却知道火灾之后，你窃取了贝斯的身份。” “为什么？你也知道这个吗，聪明人？” “为什么？嗯，我推测，一开始，只是为了每年圣诞节和生日时，他父亲寄给她的一百美金。当然了，你对此一定很清楚，之后，贝斯在火灾中遇难，你发现和她互换身份是如此容易。这就意味着每年两百美金，而且你也确定她父亲绝不会来这里看望她。那四个女人对此一清二楚，当然，还有珍珠和你的朋友雨果。但是在斯托维尔，人们来来去去，很容易骗过其他人。拿露露伯爵夫人来说吧，她就是火灾之后才来到这儿的——所以对她来说，你一直就是贝斯·金斯曼，而不是其他什么人。” “那么为什么我要在两年之后杀掉那些女人？” “她们并不介意你玩弄的这个每年二百美金的小骗局，但是上个月你收到了那封信，信上说贝斯的父亲病重，并第一次对你说明了他拥有价值一百万美金的油田，你就知道，你必须要清除那些知道你是个冒牌货的人。那些女人会要求分一杯羹——一大杯羹——以保持沉默。珍珠已经去了南美，有个谋杀的罪名等着她，她是不会回来的，所以你只要除掉四个人就可以了。雨果替你下的手，他却不知道你一有机会也会除掉他。当然了，开膛手杰克的主意掩盖了真正的动机。” “故事讲得真好，”她说，此时已经镇定了一些，“你觉得你能证明你的话吗？” “你接到那封关于继承一百万美元的信后一个星期，谋杀便开始了。这不算证据，但是陪审团也愿意听。” 韦瑟斯警探打断了她，“我们可以轻而易举地证明你不是贝斯·金斯曼——通过笔迹或是其他什么。然后我们就知道下一步该怎么办了。我敢肯定，我们找到其他认识你们两个的证人。如果有必要，我们可以把阿彻·金斯曼带来见你。” “如果他能活那么长的话。”她出言挑衅道。 本叹了口气，一只手滑过床栏杆，“最初，我也是从这里察觉出有点儿不对劲儿的——就是你不愿回得克萨斯去见你奄奄一息的父亲。起初贝斯经常给她爸爸写信，这就说明她仍然是惦记他的，但是你却拒绝回去，就连有一百万美元等你来拿，也不能打动你。你不能，当然，因为虽然你长得有点儿像照片里贝斯十五岁时的样子，但你不可能糊弄过她的父亲。但不管怎样，你也会冒险赌一把，把钱捞到手。你知道金斯曼没有其他亲戚了。我推测金斯曼一咽气，你就会抬出露露和其他一些最近结交的朋友，使律师们相信你就是真正的贝斯。” “我无话可说，”她喃喃说道，“我们等着看陪审团的裁决。” “是的，我们等着，”韦瑟斯附和道，“我们可能无法定你的谋杀罪，但欺诈罪和你的品性也会把你送进监狱好几年。” 本离开房间后，她失声痛哭起来。冷酷的面具融解了，如果韦瑟斯很快得到一份坦白供认，他也不会觉得惊讶。 但对本而言，此时返回得克萨斯的路程所剩不多，带着他不愿告诉任何一个父亲的事实，回到翘首期盼的阿彻·金斯曼那里。甚至在他内心深处，他希望死亡先他一步，到达金斯曼身旁。那会是最好的结局……