Wendy’s head was filled with a mixture of impending doom and sheer excitement as she leaned over the shoulder of DC Debbie Weston, with Culverhouse and Suzanne Corrigan crowding round the table in the incident room.
‘How closely does it match up?’ Wendy asked Debbie, who was thumbing through a large hardback copy of the Jack the Ripper book she’d been reading.
‘Large chunks of it are word for word. Some bits are missing completely, but with good reason. The context of the original wouldn’t mean anything in this case. Call it a modern day version, if you will. But there’s no mistaking that whoever wrote this is referring to the original. Most of it is identical, even down to the spelling and grammar errors.’
Wendy glanced down at the letter Suzanne Corrigan had received that morning and read it again, carefully.
Dear Boss,
I keep on hearing the police are nowhere near catching me yet. I laughed at the press conference when they look so clever and talk about being on the right track. I am down on whores and I shant quit ripping them till I do get buckled. Grand work the last job was. I gave the lady no time to squeal. How can they catch me now. I love my work and want to start again. You will soon hear of me with my funny little games. The next job I do I shall clip the ladys ears off and send to the police officers just for jolly wouldn't you. Keep this letter back till I do a bit more work, then give it out straight. My knife's so nice and sharp I want to get to work right away if I get a chance. Good Luck. Yours truly
Jack the Ripper
‘Look at these bits,’ Debbie said. ‘Word for word what was in the original. Even the missing apostrophes in "shant" and “ladys”, and the grammar — “the last press conference when they look so clever”. It’s identical.’
‘Why not the bits about the blood and the red pen?’ Wendy asked.
‘Maybe he only had a blue biro,’ Culverhouse quipped.
‘The Leather Apron stuff from the original wouldn’t make any sense here, nor the mention of being a doctor. That’s probably because we never mentioned that in the press conference,’ Debbie said.
‘What’s your view then?’ Culverhouse asked her. ‘Seeing as you’ve read the book, I mean.’
‘Well, he’s leaving out bits that aren’t pertinent to the modern day versions of the killings, as he sees them. Which I think we now have to accept is what’s going on, don’t you? If that’s the case, the bits he’s left in are relevant. Which means we can expect him to send us a lady’s ear if we don’t catch him before he gets to her. Whoever she is.’
‘Fuck,’ Culverhouse replied. ‘We must be able to narrow it down, though. Who was the third Ripper victim?’
Debbie flicked back a few pages through the book to locate the information.
‘The third victim was Elizabeth Stride, born Elisabeth Gustafsdotter in Gothenburg, Sweden. Moved to England when she was about twenty-three Five feet five inches tall. Forty-five years old when she died.’
‘Married?’ Culverhouse asked. ‘History of prostitution?’
‘She married in 1869, three years after moving to the UK. They owned a coffee shop, and apparently she claimed that her husband and children were killed in a steam ship disaster, which was later found to be a lie. Her husband died in 1884 and a year later she was living with another man. There’s some evidence that she was an occasional prostitute, yes.’
‘She seems to fit the type, then,’ Culverhouse replied.
‘What type?’ Wendy replied. ‘If you mean the MO of the original Ripper, then yes, but the only MO we have for the current one is that he seems to be finding people who meet some — not all — of the original victims’ attributes. So if you’re about to say that the next victim will be another prostitute, think again. Lindsay Stott wasn’t a prostitute, for a start.’
‘Only because she gave it away for free,’ he snorted.
Wendy glanced sideways at Suzanne Corrigan, who was still sat at the table watching this all going on.
‘Where was the letter when you received it?’ Wendy asked her.
‘In my desk tray, along with a load of other letters. It came in through the mail room with everything else, so it must have been through the mail system.’
‘Which means it could’ve been posted anywhere,’ Culverhouse added. ‘We’ll need to get forensics to analyse the paper and ink. They’ll be able to tell us what type of paper and pen were used. With any luck, there’ll be traces of DNA, too. Fingerprints, maybe, or a bit of hair or skin.’
‘I’ll get it fast tracked,’ Wendy said.
Culverhouse was silent for a few moments before looked sternly at Suzanne Corrigan. ‘Whatever happens, this stays completely secret, understand? I don’t want to see this popping up in your paper. There’ll be a time, not long, when we can make this public, but not just yet. If I promise you the exclusives, will you promise to only report on what we permit? I don’t think I need to warn you about little things like contempt of court.’
‘No, of course not. You have my word,’ Suzanne replied, her voice quivering.
Somehow, Culverhouse knew she was telling the truth.