THE JOURNALIST STOPPED a few meters from Wynne's sculpture. Meggie was standing at the agreed spot, smoking a cigarette to keep her anxiety at bay, indifferent to the sculpture of the boy and the dolphin. She was visibly nervous, swaying slightly and looking from side to side in search of her boss. In less than two minutes, she checked her watch several times, as though the gesture might force time to move faster.
If I weren't in such a hurry, I'd torture her for a few more minutes... — Saul thought with a smile on his face.
She smiled with relief when she saw him approaching, marking each step with his cane.
— Your night was pretty eventful — Meggie said, greeting him with a kiss on the cheek.
— I hope yours wasn't — Saul replied.
— Why did you arrange for us to meet here? Wouldn't it have been better at the newspaper office, or in some restaurant? — Meggie asked, taking a drag from her cigarette.
— How about a walk?
— I thought this was supposed to be a serious conversation...
— We'll follow the example of the Peripatetics.
— Who? — his assistant asked, raising her left eyebrow and frowning.
— In Greek, "those who walk." They were disciples of Aristotle who philosophized while walking outdoors.
— Which way do you want to go?
— Let's cross Albert Bridge and enter Battersea Park. We're close to the Old English Garden, an inspiring place — Saul explained as he took the first step, and Meggie followed him.
— You told me on the phone that you need my help bringing the iceberg to the surface so it can hit some Titanic.
— I think it's time to lay all the cards on the table.
— Finally... — the American said, looking at him as they walked.
— Off the record, Meggie — Saul warned, returning her gaze.
— Of course.
— You already knew part of the story, and last night you witnessed an important episode.
— The murder of that braggart.
— Exactly.
— According to the priest's research, he was the leader of the satanic cult.
— The so-called Ipsissimus...
— Yes... Earlier this morning, another man connected to them was found dead in his home office — the journalist revealed.
— Murdered too?
— The evidence points to suicide, after a phone call from another alleged member of that order...
— The puzzle is finally starting to take shape.
— Yes... But that's not what matters. The investigators found ashes in the trash, and some fragments were still intact. They appear to contain references to the serial killer, the priest, and me.
— You?
He nodded.
— And that's not all. This morning, I had a long conversation with my father.
— You... You made peace with each other? — she jumped in.
— That was one of the consequences of our meeting.
— The most important one, I assume.
— The one that interests us least right now — the journalist shot back.
— And what could be more important, Saul? You've waited for this for so long...
— He was being threatened by Hawkings. Now that the Ipsissimus has departed this life for... the worse, my father is going to give me an incriminating dossier against him and his cult.
— Don't you think your father got the timing wrong, Saul? Baruch Hawkings can no longer be put on trial, and he's already received the punishment he deserved.
— I agree that the leader is out of the game, but what about the other members of the cult?
— They all share responsibility for the deaths and must answer for them...
— Besides, the psychopath who carried out the crimes is still out there.
— You're right.
— Even if this were a different case and involved no crime at all, I'd still see it through to the end, Meggie. A journalist's greatest commitment is to his readers, and the truth must always prevail.
— I didn't know you were an idealist.
— Let's focus on what matters right now. The timing to dismantle the cult is perfect. The evidence shows there's a power struggle between two internal factions: the British and the American. Possibly a third power is involved.
— What?
— Exactly. There's evidence that a group within the Catholic Church is interested in this whole affair.
— Wow!
— The murder of Baruch Hawkings and the suicide of the Earl of Essex indicate that your compatriots have the upper hand — Saul explained as they entered Battersea Park.
— Let me guess: you intend to catch them in the United States and you want my help? — Meggie ventured.
— Wrong! The war is happening here, and this is where they intend to begin what the priest calls...
— Dark Apocalypse.
— Don't forget that these people's horned god isn't as nice as yours. He enjoys impaling young, beautiful women in a much more literal sense.
— Merely an aberration created by Christians — Meggie commented.
— Whatever! That's what the members of this cult believe, and as far as I'm concerned, they've already planned their next act. They'll have the help of a woman crudely referred to in Christian prophecies as the Great Whore.
Meggie stopped in front of the metal gate at the entrance to the Old English Garden and stared at Saul in astonishment.
— Who?
— Off the record, Meggie.
— You already told me that.
— Jessyca...
— It can't be! Her... That's nonsense... Are you sure about what you're saying, Saul? — his assistant asked, putting another cigarette in her mouth. She lit it as her boss answered.
— It's a very good hypothesis — he confirmed, resuming his walk.
— I'd love to hear your "hypothesis."
— Does she have any connection to Satanism?
— Candomblé isn't Satanism, Saul, and Jessyca is a Spiritist. Those are very different concepts from Satanism.
— I know... that's not the point.
— So, if Jessyca has no connection to the satanic cult, she won't be an active participant in the... ritual.
— Not at first.
— She'll be a passive victim — the Englishman deduced.
— If she's in danger, we'd better warn her.
— No! I have another plan.
— And what's your plan?
— I suspect I know who the real London Ripper is.
— And how does he fit into all of this?
— I think he'll go after Jessyca after the advertising campaign launch, meaning tomorrow night. It's the perfect moment to catch him in the act — Saul revealed.
— You want to use my friend as bait?
— Exactly! If we work as a team, no one will hurt her, and on top of that, we'll catch the psychopath. He's the link between Baruch Hawkings and the serial murders.
— What do you mean?
— He's the Ipsissimus's bastard son.
— Okay! So even with the loudmouth out of the game, we still have someone playing in his place.
— Yes...
— What's your plan? — the American asked, taking a drag from her cigarette.
Saul stopped in front of the reflecting pool with a fountain at its center and, without saying anything, stared at Meggie for a few seconds. He felt he could trust her and continued:
— My exclusive interview will be in the suite, right?
— Right.
— During the interview, you'll plant listening devices around the place.
— And who guarantees that the psychopath will attack her at L'oscar London?
— I assume the suite is the only place where Jessyca will be alone and unprotected.
— And who's going to protect her, Saul? You? No offense, but...
— Obviously not — he said, interrupting her — but I have an informant at Scotland Yard who is just as interested in solving this case as I am. I'm meeting him tomorrow morning.
— So you're finally going to meet Makhail in person.
He nodded.
— Can I count on you, Meggie? — the journalist insisted, staring into his assistant's eyes.
— If anything goes wrong, you'll be the only one to blame.
— Can I count on you? — he repeated, more emphatically.
— Yes.
— Perfect. Now we need to head back. I have a meeting with the priest.
— I bet you arranged lunch with him — Meggie insinuated.
— Don't be jealous, darling. Priests are celibate.
— My friend Sabrina would disagree with that.
— Some temptations are irresistible. If I were celibate and you were the masseuse, the same thing would have happened... — Saul joked, making his assistant laugh.