Watcher by Grace Monroe

Bancho’s windscreen wiper. When Bancho had been given the case months earlier, there had been a fanfare of publicity – he was Lothian and Borders’ blue-eyed boy because he’d been seconded to the FBI for six months. He was trained in profiling techniques, but this was his first serial killer.
    The two unknown victims were particularly heartrending. Their families didn’t even know that they should be grieving. In the last six months, five bodies had been found, in various locations. After the first one, the Ripper made sure to place the bodies where a member of the public would find them. Now, he was becoming increasingly reckless.
    ‘You must have learned something with the FBI,’ I said. My shoulders hunched instinctively and it sounded like a criticism. It wasn’t the tone I was looking for, but old habits die hard …
    ‘The FBI have unsolved cases too,’ he said snippily. ‘The Ripper has chosen these girls carefully. At the moment only he knows the reason – but he’s marked them with a signature that keeps changing.’ DI Bancho turned to look at me. ‘He hunts his prey – knows all about them. At the moment he’s scouring the brothels of Leith but, as I’ve said, the bastard keeps changing.’
    DI Bancho and I stood in front of the photographs, a heavy silence between us as we stared at the girls.
    ‘What’s his signature … you’ve said it’s changing … how did it start?’
    ‘With Catalina you can see her body is badly decomposed, but he’s cut off her feet and hands to stop her escaping. Then he sewed her eyelids open using heavy black twine. Florenta got the same treatment, but look here.’ He tapped an eight-by-ten photograph. ‘He tore her tongue out by the root. Finally he cut her throat from ear to ear.’
    ‘What about this one?’ An unknown girl, her mouth twisted into an obscene scream, stared at me.
    ‘I told you he varies it slightly … he’s taken the skin off her left knee. And this one …’ He pointed to the other unidentified victim. Her breast had been cut open and her heart removed. Bancho coughed. ‘The media didn’t dub him the Ripper – that’s what he calls himself. These aspects of his signature, along with the torn-out tongue, are taken directly from the history books.
    ‘There’s also speculation that the original Jack the Ripper was a Mason; he scrawled an incriminating message on the wall at the murder scene. The chief constable at the time rubbed it out and that’s why he was never caught. It’s no secret there are some pretty powerful Masons in this city. How often have there been calls for public declaration of membership among police and the judiciary? You can see why I am trying to keep this secret – especially after your recent publicity stunt.’
    He offered me a Mars bar from a stash of sweeties in his desk and I couldn’t resist. I always use food as comfort; it was late and we were both sick and exhausted. A sigh of weariness escaped from his lips as we stared at the dead girls. Christmas was coming but to Bancho and me, the season of goodwill had never felt further away.
    ‘What do they look like to you?’ His finger reached out to touch the portrait of Bianca Kowalski, the third body to be found. ‘They’re all redheads for a start – foreign—’
    ‘So far …’ he said, interrupting me. I looked back at the gallery of death, recalling the training that Patch, my Professor of Forensics, had given me.
    ‘Good nutrition in childhood has strengthened her bone structure – see the Slavic high cheekbones – but her mother worked in the fields, I’d guess. Her dress is cheap but she’s copied it from something like American Vogue . It’s bloody sad – she was the prettiest girl in the village, probably dreamed of something more. I bet that all she wanted was to get out, away from the arranged marriage, anything to escape. Jesus, the price was too high,’ I said the final words under my voice. I had to admit that it made