*Content warning: this chapter—while not graphic— does mention sexual assault. If this is a sensitive subject for you, please take care while reading.*
Damp soil squelched under his boots as he raced across miles of open field. Erdington was an hour away from Birmingham on foot, but JB hoped to slice that in half. According to Sam's Google search, Mary should be in a clover field near Penns Mill Lane. His blistered lungs could take no more by the time he reached the edge of the field. As much as possible, he kept to the shadows. Plenty of Erdington's residents could be out and about in the hours before dawn, which made sense in a farming community. If spotted, JB did not want to appear agitated.
It was easier said than done. The darkness may have hidden the sweat that oozed from every pore, but nothing muffled his heaving gasps. Thankfully, the field appeared deserted.
That was a good sign, right? If he was here alone, that meant he'd made it before…
His toe nudged something soft and a whimper floated up from the ground. "Please…"
He squinted and knelt down for a closer look. At first all he saw was a trail of belongings—a pair of boots, a bonnet, and a bundle of cloth, all lined up by a large puddle or pond. Then a shaking hand rose from the clovers and curled around his wrist; a pair of terrified eyes flashed up at him. Mary lay sprawled out on the ground like a discarded doll.
"Miss Ashford!" Instinctively JB tried to lift her up, but she unleashed such a tortured wail that he released her immediately. "Miss Ashford, what happened?"
"Th-Thornton…after Hannah's…I cried out, but he would not stop…" her voice faded into another moan.
Thornton. JB had barely managed to skim the internet articles about the carbon copy murders while he raced back to Erdington, but the name had popped up in all of them. In both murders, a man named Thornton had been accused.
"Thornton did this to you?"
"Yes, but I cried out," she coughed. "I swear, I cried out."
His heart ached for the woman because he understood what she was trying to say. In this period, sexual assault was hardly ever prosecuted, and a woman was considered responsible for her own rape if she did not cry out during the incident. Anyone unconscious, too frightened, or otherwise unable to call for help was entirely out of luck and often branded a liar.
"This is not your fault, Miss Ashford," he said, knowing she'd likely never hear it from any of her peers. "Thornton is to blame, do you understand?"
She nodded. "Because I cried out."
"Because of his own actions," JB said as gently as he could, though just the thought of Thornton filled him with disgust. "May I carry you somewhere safe?"
She squeezed her eyes shut. "Pain…everywhere."
JB tried hard not to stare, but it was impossible not to see the bruises on her arms, and he imagined her work dress covered many more. There was no way he could lift her without causing more pain. "I will find help," he decided. "Does anyone live near—?"
Just as he rose to leave, his muscles stiffened and he felt his bones lock mid-turn. Only his head and neck were free to wriggle about in surprise. Then a hooded figure appeared beside Mary and pressed a thumb to her forehead. She had no time to respond, save a final sigh, before her eyes glazed over and her head lolled to the side.
"Noooo!" JB screamed. He flailed his head back and forth until he saw sparks.
"Don't give yourself whiplash," said the figure. The voice was raspy, but unnatural—like the speaker was trying to disguise it. JB could tell it was a man's voice, but it did not sound familiar. "I just put her out of her misery."
"I was going to find help!" JB shot back. "She could have been saved!"
The man shrugged, still hidden beneath the hood, and dragged Mary into the pond. "Saved from death, perhaps, but not from a life of shame. You know how they treat fallen women in this period." He watched until Mary's body sank below the surface of the pond. "A murdered woman gets far more respect."
"That's diabolical! Who are you?" JB demanded.
"Shh!" the hooded man said. "Stop yelling or someone will show up and I'll have to disappear and let you take the fall for this."
As much as JB wanted to keep yelling, he knew the man was right. So instead he hissed, "You've broken so many time laws just by showing up here. Add murder on top of that—"
The man cackled. "They weren't kidding when they said you were a stick-in-the-mud, were they?"
"Who? Did someone send you?" JB didn't want to think about dealing with more than one maniac, but things were not looking good. If only he could break out of this paralysis.
"If you would stop squirming, I'd let you go before sunrise and maybe you'll have a shot at saving your companion."
JB froze. "Sam?"
The man stretched out his arms in mock celebration. "Ah, now he listens!"
"What do you want with Sam?"
"Nothing right now. I admit, I thought I might have to snatch her early when she got a swig of that wine Thornton had intended for Mary, but all in good time. Right now I have a crime scene to stage." The man's face was still invisible under the hood, but JB sensed a sinister smile as he said, "Though if you don't hustle, I may pay her a visit. She was rather beautiful tonight, and you know how the saying goes…something like, 'the death of a beautiful woman is the most poetical topic in the world'? I may not be able to help myself."
"Let me go, then!" JB commanded. "I won't interfere, just release me."
"Oh, I know you won't interfere." The man sauntered away from the pond and planted himself inches away from JB, so close, JB could smell the tobacco on his breath. His face, though, remained in shadow. "You would be stupid to interfere, because I have a fully working elucidator and—seeing as you got here entirely on foot—your elucidator is less than reliable. And I know you wouldn't dare try to tackle me once I set you free, because that would be an immediate death sentence to your Samantha."
JB's blood turned to ice.
The hooded man backed away and started circling around JB as he babbled on. "Elucidators are funny things, aren't they?" He tossed a small rectangular object in the air and caught it again with ease. "If you're not real specific, you can get totally lost. Silly me, I forgot the year of Mary's attack and thought I could get here by punching in some keywords: 'Erdington…Thornton…Whit Monday…twenty year-old girl attacked after party…May twenty-sixth…' and it took me to the nineteen seventies! Imagine my shock when I realized I killed the wrong girl!" He let out an outrageous belly laugh, one that made JB sick to his stomach. What kind of psychopath took such joy in killing people? Even Gary and Hodge weren't this depraved.
"Please, let me go." JB hated how pathetic he must sound. Never in his career had he resorted to begging, even when faced with the most difficult circumstances. But then, he'd also never felt so helpless.
"All right, all right. Here you go." The man pressed a button on his elucidator and JB felt his body zap back into motion.