“A thing?” Bryn asked.
“We were messing around with code,” Emmett said. “Talbot was showing me some of the things he’s been learning how to do and he showed me this anagram generator he made. You put letters into it and it comes up with all possible combinations of letters. We used all our names. Bryn Ashton can be Anny Throbs.”
Talbot giggled. “Gunnar Ericson could be Caring Neurons.”
“That’s better than mine,” Bryn muttered.
“Yeah, anyway…we put in the Walmart manager’s name. One of the options for Drake Romano is Aaron Mordke.”
“I’m not following, Emmett. Is that supposed to be significant?”
“I recognized the name from somewhere, so we did a search. Aaron Mordke Kosminski was a Polish Jewish immigrant who lived in London and has been named as one of the primary suspects in the Jack the Ripper case.”
Talbot took up the story. “Jack the Ripper was responsible for a series of brutal murders in the Whitechapel district of London in 1888, targeting women, particularly prostitutes, and mutilating their bodies in grotesque ways. Despite extensive investigation, the identity of the Ripper has never been proved.
“Kosminski was born in Poland in 1865 and immigrated to London with his family, settling in the Whitechapel area. He worked as a barber, and by the late 1880s, he’d developed significant mental health issues, which apparently led to his being put in anasylum in 1891. He suffered from paranoid schizophrenia and displayed erratic behavior, including a deep mistrust of women and violent tendencies.
“Kosminski became a suspect because he was around the area and because he matched descriptions provided by witnesses. But there was no hard evidence at the time linking him to the crimes, and the police never formally charged him.”
Emmett bounced in his seat. “Recently, interest in Kosminski as a suspect reignited because in 2014, a shawl said to belong to one of the Ripper’s victims, Catherine Eddowes, was tested for DNA. The tests allegedly found a match to Kosminski’s family line, suggesting he may have been the killer. The evidence has been heavily disputed by experts but…well, Jack the Ripper remains a mystery. It can’t be a coincidence, can it? Kosminski could have gotten away with a series of brutal killings.”
Gunnar drummed his fingers on the table. “No, it can’t. It’s an obscure enough connection to fit with a man who thinks his intellect is superior to anyone else’s.”
“He sat in that room at the FBI and didn’t as much as twitch,” Bryn said.
Gunnar got to his feet. “Emmett, call Agent Bell and tell him everything you’ve told us. Let him know we’re on our way to Walmart. This fucker needs to answer a lot more questions.”
“I’m coming too,” Bryn said. He got a hard look from Gunnar. “You’ll need me to read him, won’t you?”
“Fine. But you wear a bulletproof vest and do exactly as I tell you to.”
“Nothing new there then.”
Gunnar was nowhere near certain that taking Bryn with him was a good idea but arguing about it would have taken far too long. As they drove to the store, he kept his focus on the road. The thick drizzle made everything gray and the traffic was sluggish. He’d been tempted to take the Harley but didn’t want to make Bryn even more of a target than he already was.
“Do you think Emmett’s right?” Bryn asked, fiddling with the straps on his bulletproof vest.
“Yeah, I do. The more I think about it, that car crash was far too convenient.”
“How do you want to approach this?”
“I think we go in and say we need to take a look at Dave Frederics’ office. Tying up loose ends, that kind of thing. Then we have a reason to check in with Romano and you can read him.”
“Okay. You want memory or future intent, because there won’t be time for both if he realizes what I’m up to?”
“Memory. If he’s our perp, his strongest memory is most likely to be one of the murders. Then we’ll know for certain.”
“Okay.”
Gunnar pulled into the parking lot and they both got out of the car. “It’s busy in there, if the number of vehicles here is anything to go by. We need to be careful.”
“What do you mean?” Bryn stared at the store.
“If he in anyway suspects why we’re here, we can’t put members of the public at risk. If he thinks he’s cornered, he might get violent. No confrontation in the main store area.”
“Right.”
The piercing wail of a fire alarm sounded across the parking lot and for a moment everyone froze. Shoppers paused mid-stride, heads turning toward the Walmart entrance. Then, the doors opened and people poured out in a chaotic stream. A mother half-dragged, half-carried her crying toddler, while a teenager sprinted past, glancing back over his shoulder. An elderly man shuffled slowly, his cane tapping, assisted by a young store employee. The automatic doors struggled to keep up, sliding open and shut as people flooded through them. A garbled loudspeaker announcement fought against the alarm’s screech, but it was impossible to decipher.
