A/N: Wow, I hope this chapter didn't go completely off the rails. I feel like it might have. But go hard or go home, right? Emily gets her chance to shine.

The things I had to look up to make sure the details were right here...I can only imagine the network administrator at my university scrolling through my history and being confused. Wrapping up the mystery is always the most difficult part. On a lighter note, I just started watching the comedy show Another Period, and now I can't take any of our socialites seriously.

Next time: A city-wide search begins and ends. Also, an unexpected visitor. This story is going to have thirteen chapters.

George and Emily Take St Louis

Chapter Eleven

The smell emanating from the chamber was positively putrid. Several comparisons came to mind, including spoiled eggs, sitting water, and rotten sewage. Almost immediately, George began to cough, and buried his face into his shirt sleeve.

Emily was first to enter, holding a handkerchief up to her mouth and nose. Her eyes were watering from the stench, but through the tears she could make out the light switch just over the threshold. A pale glow was cast over the most random assortment of desks, samples, and failed experiments she'd ever seen. There was scarcely room to walk, so she traversed the space by clambering over broken bookshelves and sliding under tables. To her recollection, there had been a room like this at the medical college, where unwanted supplies went to be forgotten.

Their first priority would be to locate the source of the stench, which proved to be difficult, for the air was pretty evenly blanketed. Jonathan noticed there was an odd sort of vapor in the air, and traced the wisp to a forty-five gallon jug propped up against the wall. He placed a hand atop the lid, instantly recoiling. The reinforced metal was scorching to the touch.

"Step back," Dr. Grace demanded, having found a crowbar on a nearby table. Cautiously she tilted it to one side, hearing the slosh of liquid and a bit of solid hitting the rim. A hiss characteristic of an acid making contact with material filled her ears. Making sure to cover her hands with her sleeves, she pried open the barrel.

At once the air was filled with a thick fog which stung the lungs. Emily, who was closest, fell away whooping for air. Contrary to its surroundings, this was a very fresh sample.

George stepped forward to support her by the waist, peering into the opening.

The drum was filled with a mostly clear fluid, which bubbled and frothed as it was exposed to air. It had been tainted with a reddish tone; vague organic shapes were held in suspension. Something that looked a finger bone floated to the top, and he instantly realized what he was looking at.

In all of his days in the constabulary, he'd never beheld something so horrifying.

A set of clothes was found tucked between the barrel and the wall, a finely beaded skirt and matching blouse. They were handed off to Jonathan, who was quite weak in the knees. The fabric slipped between his fingers, an envelope hitting the ground.

"It's sulfuric acid," Emily stammered. She typically had a strong stomach for these kinds of things. "What we smell is the reaction with the sulfates in her body."

After a long moment of silence in which they all watched the remains of their first victim float to the top in disembodied chunks, Mr. Larimore stated in a dangerously even tone, "I'm going to kill her. Mark my words. I'm going to kill that Pearce girl, and they will find nothing left."

Neither blamed him. They quickly closed the lid, but this was nothing that could be erased from memory once the sight was gone. Leaving the light on, the trio reconvened in the hallway, shutting the door behind them.

The tears were freely flowing down the face of Celia's fiancé, his expression contorted with the weight of emotion he was feeling. When George sat down next to him, shaking his shoulder in a feeble attempt to comfort him, he began to weep openly, his sobs echoing about the narrow walls.

All the while, he pressed his face into the clothes they had intended to bury her in, drawing in long drags of her lingering scent. Emily crouched before him, murmuring words of amenity. She'd certainly been there before, having lost a person she cared deeply about in a senseless act of violence, and therefore could not deny his right to mourn.

Once the tears had subsided, they thought to go after the envelope that had been left behind. The outside was addressed, in immaculate cursive script, to dearest William's constable and his lady friend. Mentally steeling himself for what he was about to see, George opened the seal and began to read.

-0-

My most heartfelt greetings to the both of you. It's been several days since we last spoke, in the interview room with Detective Kidwell. He's a lovely gentleman, and quite accommodating of my progress. And you can tell him I said that.

As you can tell by now, I am a woman on a mission. I first came to St. Louis on a whim, to recuperate from my time spent in Dr. Ogden's prison. Really, the cots were uncomfortable, the food was dreadful, and I got so little sunlight that my skin was pasty white. Now, I am more healthy and beautiful than ever. The Midwestern climate does one good, I've decided.

Anyhow, I digress. I had to regain my strength and plot my next move. My William is still caught in that dreadful marriage to that unpleasant woman-I just know he's so passionate under that stoic exterior, and she is cold, sexless, entirely not suited for him. I had a lot of time to think while locked away in that cramped little cell surrounded by those criminals-what quality does the doctor possess that tricks William into thinking that she is a more suitable candidate to have his children than I? At last, I reached the conclusion that it must have been money.

Doctors make good amounts of it, far more than police detectives at any rate. Therefore I do not begrudge William for wanting a safety net in case he is let go from his position-not that I see that happening, he is so brilliant, so well suited for his job. I daresay he almost caught me in compromising positions a few times. But I know he enjoys the challenge, the chase, just as much as I do. So even if he will entertain the presence of that cold fish, the practical side of his mind keeping him locked in an increasingly unhappy marriage, the more adventurous side of him will always desire me. And why shouldn't he? I am young and beautiful, like a modern day Aphrodite. At least this is what my fiance tells me.

Oh, Edward-what a simple, moderate soul. He is completely devoid of interesting qualities, always babbling on about his studies and who bested who in backgammon last night at the social club. But I always smile and bat my lashes, for he has the one thing that I want.

Before my quest for wealth was always self-motivated-I do so ever like nice things. What woman doesn't? Now it is for a higher, nobler purpose. One day I shall return to Toronto, pocketbook bursting with notes, and William will have no choice but to give up this delusion that he is in love with that woman. I will save him from her influence.

It didn't take long to immerse myself into the world of Vandeventer Place; one could say I was a natural at blending in with these glamorous women, their glittering salons and expensive clothes. Henry Bergen and Elizabeth found me charming, and as I had taken the guise of an heiress from the East Coast, were ever so eager to have me court their son. I would have had a charmed life keeping the home while Edward was away on business, and I do not think he would have minded if I took a lover or two. What use is beauty like mine, after all, if you cannot share it?

Then one day as I sifted through the family's correspondence-just to make sure I was fully prepared to be part of their kin-I discovered a frightening truth. Mr. Vandeventer had run afoul of his business partners and would soon be destitute. And he hadn't thought to tell me! Imagine distrusting your son's fiance so much that you didn't inform her of family matters! Perhaps he thought I would become disinterested in marrying the man.

He was correct. Arthur Hampton helped me understand that. It was he that offered me a way out. He would share the Vandeventer's contribution to the Pike fund with me-all I had to do was share his bed, and be ready to flee the country at a moment's notice. The VC truly loves me, unlike Edward, who I suspect only wanted me as arm candy. This will be the downfall of the both of them.

You see, for some time Arthur has been skimming from the top of the donations he receives from the city's elite. I do not blame him. All that money sitting in a vault, and no one would bat an eye to him making periodical withdrawals. As I write this, he's saved nearly a million dollars for the future. For our future.

Of course he can die, just like the rest of them, in a timely accident. That's all Celia's demise really was. The night before, we'd both gotten tipsy on Elizabeth's wine, and while the others slept in the guest rooms, she coaxed the truth out of me. I have very few weaknesses, but the drink is one of them. I told her everything. Hours later, I watched her stumble out of the house on her way to God knows where. And I couldn't let my cover be blown. So I corralled her into the bathroom and imparted upon her Eva's patented hangover cure- a cap of codeine. I had filched it from her fiancé's desk the last time I went to see Arthur. How fortuitous that he is a marathon runner, I thought! Perhaps I may have given her up to a dozen of them. That doesn't matter anymore.

I thought she would simply pass out in an alleyway or on the streetcar and be brought home by a good Samaritan with no memory of what had transpired, but imagine my surprise when we came upon her in the Magic Whirlpool! She'd managed to slip through the service entrance to confront me. Now, as you can imagine, that simply would not do.

Marjorie was just a casualty of circumstance. I told her to see after that wretched Russian portraitist and stop her from spreading my photograph. (They must have forced it out of my poor William. He always did bend to authority.) Nevertheless, she failed in her task, just like I expected she would. So I had to put an end to her part in the scheme. It was her fault really-she was so foolish, always telling people that her father was John Rockefeller and not the truth, that it was one of his less impressive brothers, and that she was illegitimate. Later on, I was so angry at losing a friend that I trekked all the way down to the poor part of town to seek my revenge on the family of the girl who made me do that. I could have broken the door down, ran up the stairs, and killed them all, but I didn't. As I shot into the window to make an opening for myself, the electric lights in the neighbor's parlor came on. I ran before my cover could be blown.

My dear Arthur came up with the idea of switching the bodies, and did so himself while I ran a few errands. The coroner at the precinct had to go next. He knew too much. I destroyed his files on Celia along with the woman in question, which you have no doubt discovered. It was all for the best, though. We were sloppy when Celia met her end, and would not be again.

Unfortunately, because you have found this letter, it seems that my William has trained you well. I understand now that it was a bit of stretch to have Mr. Vandeventer believe that her daughter's friend was killed by those mobsters he borrowed from. They are good, but not that good. They are not me.

I am still in the city, as you might have guessed, and will continue to evade capture as long as it takes for me to reach the goal Arthur and I have set forth. But things are getting messy, and so we had to plot our escape. We will do so this next week after a grand explosion somewhere in town. Thank heavens for the research graduate in chemistry and their willingness to share their theses with a higher up at the university!

Why am I letting you know this? Why, my dear constable, it is so you can prepare. It will undoubtedly be a marvelous spectacle.

And so we are at a crossroads, with several names to cross off my list until I can start my new life. Then there is one more and I can return to William, triumphant, wealthy on my own terms, a better woman. The fact that the two of you are here to see me on the world's stage shows that fate has a hand in all of this. It is a sign. I will finish the job. I will put an end to all of this madness. And my William will be proud of me.

Best wishes,

Ms. Eva D. Pearce

-0-

"Just what kind of game is she playing?" Jonathan exclaimed once they had all read it. His heart was pounding in the heat of the narrow corridor, not to mention with righteous anger. "Why admit all of those things if she knows it will make it easier for us to catch up to her?"

Emily stood, walking back towards the storage room. "It's simple, Mr. Larimore. She doesn't believe she can be caught. Eva's pride is her fatal flaw."

A few moments pass where the only sounds George hears are the overturning of tables and chairs. Finally he gives into his curiosity and follows her in. She is examining every empty cylinder of gas, most likely searching for the weapon with which their suspect plans to level part of the city.

"Assuming she is referring to an actual explosion and not something else in the metaphorical sense, it would make sense that their materials would be down here. We are looking for something that would be easy for the general public to acquire," she said, squinting to read the labels. He soon joined in, reading every canister he found aloud to her, for it was safe to say that he knew very little about chemistry.

The bookkeeper stood in the threshold, keeping silent watch. He had gone through so much emotional turmoil in the past few days, and wasn't sure he was up to the physical challenge of searching for explosive materials in the room where his fiancé's remains lay decomposing.

Soon Emily announced that she'd found something of interest, ripping a blanket from a stack of oblong cylinders. "This is it," she called out.

"How do you know?"

"Any chemist worth their salt would not store containers of flammable gas in such a way, even if they were seemingly empty." Carefully, she righted one of them, holding the label up to the light. Seconds later, a string of curse words escaped her lips.

George rushed to her side, grabbing the cylinder to keep her from dropping it. This was not necessary, for her hands held the pressure gauge in the closed position with a vice like grip. "This is diazomethane. I remember reading about it in a journal about five years ago."

"How dangerous is it?" Jonathan asked.

She shook her head. "If I remember correctly, it explodes when exposed to light, heat, or rapid movement. If you're standing close enough to it, it can kill you instantly."

Silently, the two of them lowered the canister down to the ground and stepped away.

"We have to telephone Detective Kidwell. The search must begin at once."

(to be continued)