Ripping Time by Robert Asprin & Linda Evans

The cotton merchant slid up onto Lachley’s long work bench and lay back with a smile, clearly pleased with the night’s work and equally clearly looking forward to another two repeat performances of the evening’s fun. Lachley stared down at the insane insect and loathed him so intensely, he had to clench his fists to keep from closing his hands around the man’s throat and crushing the life from him, as he’d crushed it from Annie Chapman. Maybrick’s eyelids gradually grew heavy and sank closed.

Lachley took Maybrick through the standard routine to bring about trance, went through the litany designed to abate his physical complaints, then repeated his injunction against ever mentioning or even hinting that Lachley existed when he wrote out his diary entries. “You will wake naturally in several hours, feeling refreshed and strong,” Lachley told the drugged murderer. “You will leave this place and go to Liverpool Street Station and take the train for home. You will remember nothing of your visits to Dr. John Lachley, nothing except that he is helping you with your illness. You will not mention Dr. Lachley to anyone you know, not even members of your family. You will remember nothing about this room until the twenty-ninth of September, when you will receive a telegram from your physician informing you of an appointment. You will then come here and meet me in this room and we will kill more whores and you will enjoy it immensely. You will write of your enjoyment in your diary, but you will mention nothing about your London physician or the help I give you. In your diary, you will write of how pleasurable it was to rip your whores, how much you look forward to ripping more of them . . .”