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"Jack the--? Yes, he did call himself that once, didn't he? Is that the name they kept for him? Suitably macabre, I suppose."
"And you believe this friend of Edwin Shanahan, the real Jack, came out of that portal with you?"
"No, he didn't." Hull swung to his feet, trembling with agitation. "That's what they're trying to do. The rite, the one they need the letter for."
"How do you know that?" Jeremy asked.
"It's obvious, isn't it? I know they want that letter. When I was hiding from them yesterday, I overheard the man say something to the woman about getting it back."
"To free this killer? They said that?"
Hull's brows knitted as he looked at Jeremy. "No, but that must be the reason, mustn't it? That's their purpose, to act as his servants. This killer can't have come through yet or they would be serving him, not Mr. Shanahan's grandson."
"G
reat-grandson, presumably," Jeremy murmured.
Hull nodded. "I suppose it has been that long, hasn't it?" He went silent, eyes downcast.
"If he isn't through yet, then we really need to close that portal," I said. "As quickly as possible. So how do we do that?"
Hull looked at me as if I'd just asked him how to turn off the moon. "I--I have no idea. I thought you knew how to close it. That's why you're still here, isn't it? Trying to close it and set things right?"
Clay made a noise deep in his throat. "In other words, you're just here to warn us that yet another catastrophe might strike if we don't fix this damned thing."
"Perhaps I can do more than that. If I could lure in a zombie, would that help?"
"You still haven't told us what you want in return," Clay said.
"I was hoping for your assistance."
"With what?"
Hull spread his hands and gave a tight laugh. "Anything. To me, just days ago, I was a bookkeeper in London, under the reign of Queen Victoria. Now I'm here, and I'm not even sure where here is. What little money I have on me is useless. Since I've arrived here, I've had to..." He flinched. "Steal to eat, to clothe myself--"
Jeremy took some bills from his wallet. "This will be enough to find a place to stay tonight and buy food. We'll meet with you again tomorrow, in case we have further questions."
"Did anyone else get the impression he was hoping we'd take him with us?" I asked as we left the park.
Clay snorted.
"It would be the humane thing to do," Jeremy said. "If his story is true. But if it isn't..."
I nodded. "If he's working with Shanahan, he'd like nothing more than to go back to the hotel with us."
"You think he's full of shit, then?" Clay asked.
Jeremy shook his head. "I have no idea."
"We could skip the wrap-up," Clay said as he held open our hotel room door. "Let Jeremy bring the others up to date, while we get an early night."
"No, I want to--" I stopped, seeing the bed across the room, so inviting, and feeling lead seep into my bones at the thought of heading out again. "Yes, I want to be there, but...sure, let's call it a night. They don't need--"
Clay had moved to the middle of the room, and was slowly turning, scanning the room, nostrils flaring. "Someone's been here." He strode to the work desk. "I left this drawer open when I grabbed my key card."
He dropped to a crouch and inhaled. A pause and a frown, then another sniff, his head dipping almost to the carpet.
I walked over. "Maybe the maid service popped in--"
