The Hogarth Club Ch. 01

Released she walked to the drawers selected and stepped into her underwear and slipped into a plain frock.

"You are the enemy, I'd definitely enjoy consorting with you," she said, as she walked towards Roger.

"Without the bloody war who knows what could have been possible?"

She stepped into his body, anticipating an embrace he relaxed. She pushed him with surprising strength, off balance she beat him to one of the guns, he grabbed the other.

"Russian roulette, how interesting," she said, with a smile in her voice.

He saw her finger tighten on the trigger, he threw the knife which he had re-sheathed. She tried to avoid the blade, she spun and the bullet which was meant for Roger hit Ernest in the forehead. He needed nothing more in this life.

A gasp from Cynthia gained his attention, she was still standing, her gun hand limp. He cautiously approached, he caught her as she fell.

"My life has been about dark secrets, hidden like treasures. I am released there will be no more hiding."

Her voice was till strong, he held her hands trying to stay the inevitable.

"Roger, I like that better than John."

"You'll be OK Cynthia, stay with me."

"Life's purpose is death," she said in a still firm voice.

He brushed the hair from her eyes.

"Why?"

"I said I would be honorable. I would be hanged as a spy when I was being loyal to my country," her voice was weakening.

The wet, red stain extended, like a sinister shadow across her bodice, and a trickle of blood seeped from her mouth.

"Roger, there is only honor and truth to purpose, nothing else matters."

Her eyes fluttered shut and stilled, as did her breathing.

Roger was strangely moved, he had killed many times from ten thousand feet but never before had he seen such a vibrant life lost.

He wiped away a tear and cursed. Cursed his own reaction. Then he cursed that they were dead. The path he had pursued for the last six weeks, fucking almost every prostitute in London to find Cynthia was now closed with their deaths. He saw a way but could he do it?

He imagined his brother's disappointment which steeled his resolve.

He picked up Cynthia's body and carried it back to the bed, he cuffed her, this time with her hands above her head. With his knife he cut her clothing off. Unable to stop himself her caressed her soft curves it was not a sexual contact but an apology.

Through moist eyes he positioned the blade, on her chest above the swell of her breasts, he sliced across her body. The cut was deep but there was no blood. Roger then placed the knife between her breasts and cut again, from the previous slice down to her navel where he hooked the blade upwards. He wiped his eyes and stood back.

Gynaecide Jim had struck again. The police had not made public that Jim always marked his victims with a J.

Cynthia had hidden her treasures, she had protected the German spy network. A vibrant life had been sacrificed to the war.

He hoped the Germans would think her death was unconnected with her espionage and come and retrieve her files.

He went to the window a blew his police whistle hard. He tucked the files under his arm, they would have to be returned later, and ran down the stairs. Roger wiped her blood on the front door which he left ajar. She would be found soon, he hoped.