Quill understood that Ross had been right when she’d said that the most important indicator was the Ripper’s new MO: killing rich powerful men, and that Costain had been right about the scrawled message being just a load of front. ‘And you being Jewish yourself, as you went out of your way to tell me when we first met-’
‘Led you off into a whole different briar patch of conspiracy theories.’
‘But so many of your people must have been hurt in the riots-’
‘My “people”?’ Vincent actually laughed. ‘I don’t have a people, Quill, I have shareholders. My mother just happened to be Jewish, it’s not like I regard myself as one. Oh, hey, and you also bought that bit about the anonymous death threats, about me being worried by “dark forces”! I do believe most people actually think those are out there, that there’s some sort of … controlling evil under everything. Or, hey, perhaps because of ostentation, now there actually is.’
Quill wondered if Vincent might have a point there, but he didn’t let his face give anything away. The invisible presence in the room shifted, as if reacting to the notion, whether in pleasure or apprehension. ‘You were there before us with ostentation — you must have been.’
‘Well, I had rather got the idea that something like that must happen. When I tried to use Twitter to get together a few Toffs in Staunce’s neighbourhood, to make it look as if they were connected to the Ripper, who was due to make his full debut that night, I thought it was a long shot. But they arrived much more quickly and in greater numbers than they should have. I started to see that they felt somewhat compelled to. Though, if you asked any individual Toff, I doubt they’d realize that.’
‘So you used Staunce to get our home addresses, then killed him when he started to think of turning you in-’
‘Then I had a lucky break. Mary Arthur contacted Challoner, who’d originally employed her. She’d figured that after the death of Spatley she couldn’t still be in trouble, or at least that’s what she told him. I suspect she wanted to find out if she’d been let off the hook. Of course she had no idea that I knew what Spatley had told her. I had Challoner pretend to offer her new work, to set up a meeting at a specific place and time. She was careful; she chose somewhere crowded — that Soviet bar. Bless. Once she got there, I had Challoner keep her talking, then “pop out for five minutes to meet someone higher up”. Of course, he went straight home. He knew enough about occult London to guess what was coming.’
‘But that time your Ripper wouldn’t play ball, would she?’
Vincent smiled. ‘I keep forgetting, you know it’s a she.’
‘Yeah. My team kept underlining their assumptions, but that was a huge one they ended up making, that the Ripper was a bloke. You led us into that too, when we interviewed you at the mews flat. We kept saying “it”, you kept saying “he”.’
‘I’m so pleased you noticed that. Well, now I am, I mean.’
‘Maybe we should have realized the truth when the Ripper refused to kill Mary Arthur.’
‘I tried so damn hard to make her do that.’ Vincent sounded as if he was sharing an anecdote about a difficult mount. ‘But she just bucked and bucked. In that bar, she swerved aside at the last moment and suddenly I was stabbing just some random bloke! She was fine with letting me do that!’
‘I think she’s got a problem with men,’ said Quill. ‘A feminist Jack the Ripper. Anything really can mean anything these days. This is why she’s leaking silver, isn’t it, because you’re forcing her into a shape she doesn’t want to be in?’
‘Yes, and I do wonder if she’ll last much longer. Again, I only know about the fuel thing thanks to you lot. At any rate, she’s probably done her bit now, but I’ll keep using her. I’ve got a few more people to kill. I’ll wear her down to the point where there’s nothing left. Safer that way. Of course, if I’d known she wouldn’t kill women, I’d never have started all this in the first place.’
‘I presume this was when you decided, since Mary Arthur then went back into hiding, that getting us to find out about supernatural means of locating people was a good idea.’
‘I’d already bought your wife’s newspaper, and a few others at the same time so it wouldn’t look odd, with a view to meeting you, looking you in the eye, eventually planting the seeds that would send you after whatever occult knowledge I might want to know. You surprised me by seeing that silver stuff on my cards. I only knew about that once I saw your memory of our meeting. When you came to interview me, I was prepared; I dropped a few hints about the sort of thing I wanted you to look into. Didn’t work out. Perhaps I was too subtle for the plod mentality.’ He grinned, enjoying Quill’s reaction to that. ‘Mind you, I did fob you off with that fake scrying glass. Just like with the Bussard Inquiry, I admitted to a little guilt, and this time got away with something much bigger. The detail of the ripped shirt, that’s just the sort of visual image that sells a story, that makes people swallow a narrative.’
‘Then you killed Tunstall because he was about to talk to us-’
Vincent sighed. ‘Only because he was definitely going to implicate me. He’d done everything I asked, including finding that piece of paper with all the contact details on Spatley’s corpse. Really, he got so close to having a happy life with his family and a big payoff.’
‘If only he hadn’t had a conscience.’
‘Well, exactly.’ Quill couldn’t tell if Vincent was being sarcastic or literal.
‘What about me, then? What did I do that drove you to…?’ Quill mimed stabbing himself repeatedly.
Vincent wasn’t put off his stride in the slightest. ‘Two things. You got hold of the name Mary Arthur, and you had that meeting of minds with my power source while I was looking into your dreams. I decided I could still use the other three, but that you had to go.’
‘I nearly got away from you, though, didn’t I?’
‘Yes, and you would have done, I grant you, except…’ Vincent seemed to consider for a moment, then smiled again, chancing his arm. ‘Well, okay, perhaps there’s something you could tell me. Perhaps something you found out in Hell has given you a lead on this.’
‘And I should answer your questions because…?’
Vincent held up the button. ‘Because then I might let you live.’
Quill made an expression as if he was weighing up that promise. ‘I’ve seen how you err on the side of caution with that.’
‘If you don’t, I’ll definitely send you back to Hell, okay?’
Quill nodded. ‘I’m convinced by your argument.’
‘Who first called me anonymously, to tell me you were at Baker Street, then again to say you were going to be at Finchley Road, and finally texted me to say you were parked near Edgware Road? When I got to the car, I saw through the Ripper’s eyes, and … I think it was someone you’d recently met, but I can hardly believe it…’
‘Gaiman,’ said Quill, amazed. ‘I thought he was working for you.’
‘Not at all. I want to know how he knew my number. Why he got involved.’
‘Presumably you don’t want to send him a thank-you basket of muffins.’
‘Indeed not. He’s another loose end.’
Quill looked again to the presence in the room that Vincent couldn’t perceive. Was it his imagination, or did it seem to be gloating? The Smiling Man was the other power in London who might use a proxy like Gaiman to achieve his ends, but what were they? Had he just wanted to make use of Vincent to get Quill killed? There had to be more to it than that. He could surely have done that in a million different, far less ornate, ways.
Vincent put his finger back on the panic button. ‘You know,’ he said, ‘if you’re none the wiser about all that, then it’s time I brought this conversation to an end anyway. You’ve heard everything. You can’t stop me using the scrying glass, and — come on — you’ll never successfully bring me to justice. So I assume you’re now going to launch yourself at me in the vain hope of stopping me pressing this button?’