Brig hovered beneath the giant countdown, if a hologram could look anxious, she was trying not to. The door was being pounded intensely for a few seconds, then it stopped. Mikkelson was there, she could hear the stress in his voice. “Brig!” Followed by more pounding, “Brig! Open the goddamn door, we’re going to burn our way in.”
Brig glided nearer to the door, she didn’t need to, but learned behaviours stuck. She spoke, her voice echoed around the room and corridor outside. “Chief Mikkelson, I am following orders.”
“I’m overriding those orders Brig.”
“Trencher will resolve the situation; your involvement may well jeopardise her chances of success.”
“This building is my responsibility, whatever is going on in there is putting us all at risk, and you well on the way to an early decommission.”
“Costigan Trencher is my friend; I owe her the opportunity Chief.”
“You leave me no choice Brig”, he turned to the men waiting with Oxyacetylene torches and beckoned them forward, “One more question.”
“How may I help you?”
“The Event Clock. How long is left on it?”
“Six minutes, seven seconds.”
“And the wormhole is being held open?”
“Correct.” On cue the power in the building flickered briefly. Chief Mikkelson rested his head on the door, the cool metal a relief on his stressed brow. The nearest guard fired up his torch, it roared into life.
“I can’t wait to file this report. Our advanced AI having feelings that range between friendship to blind faith and is draining the grid by holding open a doorway to a globally destructive event that may well annihilate us all.”
He straightened up, running a hand across his head and turning to the gathered team. “We need to be inside that room, before the clock hits zero.”
“Chief.”
“What did I forget?”
“Just step aside Sir.”
the leather apron
London, 1888
Back under a cloudy night sky of Victorian London, two figures writhed in the shadows of a narrow alley. A woman feigned gasps of passion as the bigger man grunted like a rutting pig. Annie Chapman had a pale leg wrapped around the man, her skirts hitched high and her back against a dirty wall. The man cursed, spat and pulled away roughly. Her eyes sought his face in the semi-darkness, “Don’t worry guvnor, you’re ‘ansome enough to try again later if you like.”
He wiped his sweaty face with a big shovel-like hand. “What’s your name woman?” He asked, his tone was intense.
“Annie, I’m well known around here.”
“I bet you are.” Behind him and out of her view a glint of metal as he readied cold steel, his eyes narrowed.
Annie sensed the change in his manner, felt his frame tense, she spoke hurriedly. “What about you Mister, what’s your name?”, she glanced away at the alley entrance, “What with that poor girls murdered the other day. They’re saying a man called Leather Apron did it. Did you ‘ear about that?”
“Yes. Yes, I did.” The sound of approaching footsteps and conversation carried along the alleyway.
“Sounds like he’s a butcher or something. You’re not a butcher, are you?” The sounds grew louder, shadows started to dance at the corner. “Well?” She asked confidently and louder than normal.
“Well, what?” He snarled.
The voices were clearer now, men, more than one. “You game for another try, or you gonna pay me now?”, Annie was brazen.
He threw some coins onto the floor, “There’s your money. You’ll see me again.”
“Only if I know your name mister.” He took two steps past her away from the oncoming figures. Then an arm snapped out to grab her chin, he pulled in close. His words dripped with venom.
“Name’s Jack, and I can make you famous if you like”, the hand dropped, and he melted away. Gone.
Annie took a moment to straighten her hair and drew a deep, deep breath to steady her pulse. She turned and scooped up the coins, snapping them into her purse as she approached the two burly young men, obviously on their way back to a ship of some sort.
“Well, hello boys.” She said brimming with feigned confidence, “You looking for a good time fellas?”
Daytime in The Broken Drum was a crowded and Smokey as it was at nighttime. Like the inside of a tar covered lung, the walls appeared stickily alive, and crowds of human jetsam were crammed into every corner.
Trencher confidently cut a swathe through the crowd, which parted Moses-like with every step. The people of The Drum did not want to get into a back-alley fight with the now renowned stranger.
Angus saw her approach and stood, stretching to wave his waistcoat strained under his beard. “Well, well, the Princess came back.” He shouted over the crowd; Trencher gave a conspiratorial wink. He waved for the Barman’s attention, “Two more beers. Over ‘ere.”
“What have you got Angus?” She asked as he sat back down and waved toward an empty chair.
“Calm down Woman. Take a seat and be relaxed”, Trencher grabbed the empty chair, reversed it and sat astride it.
“Happy? Now, what have you got for me Angus?”
Angus took in her position, partly curious and partly excited, “Not very ladylike, is it?”
She held his gaze with steel, the world seemed to zoom out of focus for Angus. He slowly raised a sheepish finger, “But, I like it.” He beckoned her closer and leant forward, lowered his tone enough that she alone could hear. “Have some information. Might be your man.”
“Go on”
“Couple of nights ago, one of our girls had a punter. Nothing unusual there, but he was, well, a bit odd.” Their drinks arrived as they slapped onto the table between them.
“His appearance?”
“It was dark, pitch dark, but she caught some.” He took a quick drink, wiped the foam from his lips, “Fair haired, a beard and under the beard a right nasty scar.”
“That’s it?”
“No. But she can tell you herself, she’s here.” He jumped to his feet, then stood on his chair and shouted across the pub. “Annie! Come over ‘ere!”
Trencher craned to see the woman approach, a filthy red dress over a painfully thin frame. Annie had seen better days; she was tired and dirty, and Trencher felt nothing but sadness for her. “Annie. Pleased to meet you.”
Annie looked Trencher up and down, the heavy coat, thick red curls her eyes lingered on the clean hands. Trencher felt interrogated. “You looking for that punter? Barrel ‘ere says he’s dangerous.” Annie opened without pleasantries.
“I am looking for a similar man, let’s see if it was him first.” Trencher offered a hand, “Please sit.”
“I ain’t sitting.” She folded her arms ready to continue, “This bloke, he was hot and cold. Nice at first, then evil the next minute. He couldn’t perform, that’s what got him angry.”
“Where was this, Annie?”
“On the street, in one of the narrow alleys. My patch, I found him there.”
“Anything particular about him? What was he wearing? Did he talk in riddles or did he seem out of place?”
Annie shook her head for a moment, then gazed over the crowd while she spoke, “He had a big coat on, a bit like yours, but more black I think.” Trencher nodded, Annie went on, “As he left, he said something.”
“What?”
“Said he’d make me famous, grabbed my face and said I’d be famous.” She shivered, “That chilled me, the way he said it.”
Trencher turned to Barrelman, “Okay, I’m feeling convinced.”
“One more thing.” Said Annie, “Said his name was Jack.” Trencher closed her eyes and swore under her breath, “Annie could you recognise him again?”
“Oh yeah, no mistaking that lump.”
“Then if you do, promise me you’ll run the other way. As fast as you can.”
Annie heard, but said nothing. She turned to Barrelman and held out her hand. He took her
hand and dropped a few coins into it. She started to pull away, he stopped her and got her attention. “Annie. You listen to her. You be good, you be careful”, Barrelman could see his words were falling on deaf ears.
“Miss.” Said Annie and she span away into the crowd, snapping the coins into her purse.
“You did what you could Angus, she’s a big girl.”
Angus wiped his head and took a long drink, “Aye, it’ll never be said that Annie Chapman ever listened to anybody.”
Trencher drank deeply, before asking him to confirm, “Chapman. Annie Chapman.”
“Yes. What of it?”
“Nothing. I have to go, thanks for the drink”, she stood and straightened her coat, she leant down close and whispered to him, “Be safe Angus, be careful yourself.”
Trencher left The Drum pulling her collars up more out of habit. She mumbled something to herself and stepped out into the street, wrapping her arms around herself. Inspector Reid detached himself from a nearby stack of crates, easing into step beside her. Trencher stopped and wheeled on the man, her hard stare taking in his jacket and hat, a pocket watch glistened on his waistcoat.
“Excuse me Miss. Edmund Reid.” He extended his open hand to shake, tipping his hat with the other, “Inspector Edmund Reid, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
Trencher looked up at the sky and back at the open-faced man. “Here, or ‘down the station’?”, she asked dripping with sarcasm.
Reid snorted, humoured, “What would you prefer Miss? I’m free of engagements today.”
Trencher cocked her head, “Shouldn’t you be chasing Jack the Ripper?”
“I take it that means you’d appreciate a private conversation”, as he took her by the elbow and steered her in the direction of his station.
Reid’s office was dark and uncomfortable, the tired leather seated chair which passed for luxury was old and threadbare thin. Trencher stared at the excuse for a chair from a leaning position up against the wall. Reid sat behind a modest desk, two cups of steaming tea in front of him and pinboard behind him. The board would have been a map of the local area if it wasn’t covered in case notes. “You’d be more comfortable if you sat Miss Trencher.” He said from behind the steam of his tea.
“I’m fine Edmund. I think you’d be more comfortable if I sat to be honest.”
“Fine. At least drink some tea, its delightfully sweet”, she reached out for her cup, “So what purpose brings you here, to Whitechapel, to my patch?”
“I’m visiting a friend”, she countered quickly, if this was chess it would be a swift match.
“Angus Barrelman?”
She shook her head, “No, someone else. How’s the family?”
Edmund leant back; his chair creaked in protest. “I don’t believe you would hold a friendship here, in Whitechapel. You’re too ‘well heeled’.” He paused a moment, “According to at least one of my Constables.”
“Nice to know.”
“No. you’re here for some other purpose, I fear. Something that I need to get to the bottom of, whether your intent is nefarious or not.”
“Nefarious? that’s a new one, even for me.”
“I’m serious.”
“Oh, I know.”
“Who’s Jack the Ripper?” He challenged, trying to catch her off guard.
“Catchy isn’t it, probably the best name so far. Today’s Leather Apron, tomorrow's Ripper.”
Reid laughed nervously, “Are you a journalist Miss Trencher? Driving the masses into a furore while innocent women are slaughtered?”
“Far from it I’m afraid Edmund.” She replaced the cup on his desk and finally sat, “Look here, and listen.”
Not accustomed to being given orders Edmund responded slowly, she waited for his full attention. “You have a vermin problem and its far from over. I’m here to make sure it ends, but at the right time. I can’t explain why, but more girls will die horribly and there’s nothing I can do about it. However, I can promise it will be over in a matter of weeks.”
Reid sat back, his mind obviously working overtime. “Miss. I am a man that deals in fact. Cold, hard, loud facts.”
“That’s what I’m offering.”
“Yet, I hear none.”
“You will soon enough.” The air between them had become more tense, “There is a bigger game at play Inspector and there are reasons why I can’t elaborate, but I have to beg you to play along.” She stood and straightened up.
“I’m not sure we’ve finished”, said the Inspector.
“Oh, we’ve finished. I’m not in the business of repeating myself”, her vehement tone was being firm, but her words carried a smile.
“You have to know this isn’t good enough for me, I have a duty to uphold.”
Trencher was at the door, handle turning in her hand, she looked back, “I know Inspector, because you are a good man, and you will be known for it. Believe me.”
Reid stood to see her out.
“You don’t need to show me out, I’m a modern gal.” He put his hands in his pockets, and thought about speaking, “However, you could give me some advice.”
“What do you need?”
“Where might I buy an Aspidistra?”
Later, Trencher swung open the big heavy door to Herbert’s house. She slipped into the sumptuous hallway and called out, “Herbert!”, she cocked her hear to wait on a reply, “Herbert! Are you home?”
A muffled sound came from upstairs that sounded like a ‘Yes’ but dulled by a closed door. Trencher broke into a grin and started taking the stairs two at a time.
Herbert sat in a steaming bath, he had discarded the newspaper he’d been reading and was reaching for a towel when the door burst open. “There you are!” Said Trencher enthusiastically.
Herbert splashed back down into the bath, in a desperate attempt to rescue his modesty, “Dammit Woman! I’m bathing!”
Trencher made a show of looking him up and down, “Obviously.” She couldn’t help but smile seeing the prim and proper man without his plaid armour, “Don’t worry yourself Herbert, its nothing I haven’t seen before.”
“Nevertheless, please pass me a towel”, she grinned, she had plans, “No. I shan’t.” she said, planting herself on the stool next to the bath.
“Trencher, please, pass me a tow…”, Herbert stopped short seeing something leafy poking from behind her back, “What’s that?”, he asked.
Trencher offered a sheepish, but ultimately playful smile, “It’s a gift for helping me. For being my…friend.” She said gently. From behind her back she revealed the plant. Herbert’s eyes lit up.
“An Aspidistra! Oh, thank you so very much Costigan”, Trencher placed the plant on the floor between them and smiled quietly at the joy she had given him.
Their eyes settled on each other, Herbert smiled back, the moment lasted longer than it should. “Right then”, she stood and shrugged off her coat, “Move over, I’m coming in to scrub your back.”
“But…” he began, but she shushed him quickly.
“Herbert, I’ve had a bad few days and I need to relax. Believe me, ladies from the future can still be ladies, even if they know how to relax”, as she kicked off her boots.
Bright morning sunshine broke through a chink in Herbert’s bedroom curtains, Trencher lay awake gazing at dust motes in the light and playing with her hair. Beside her Herbert stirred as he slowly woke. Herbert focused on Trencher next to him and propped himself up, memories of the night brought a smile, “Good morning.”Trencher didn’t answer, she was focused on the morning lights, lost in her reverie. “Are you okay?” he asked.
Trencher snaked an arm around him but kept focused on the window. “Annie Chapman died this morning”, she said flatly, she let it sink in then rested her head on his shoulder. “She would have been found at the back entrance of a residence on Hanbury Street. Cut like the others, left to die cold and lonely.”
“I’m sorry, I have no words”, he offered.
“You need none”, this was the first time he had seen her obviously saddened, “I’m going for a walk today. I need to see Barrleman, he will be angry.”
“Yes, quite”, he replied. Herbert swung his legs out of bed and rubbed his face, “I’ll get some tea”, he said as he passed her shirt to her.
Early sunshine had turned to grey drizzle in the backend of Whitechapel where Hanbury Street lay. With it came a cold, damp air that clung to the shabby crowd of onlookers. Inspector Reid stood next to the covered body of Annie Chapman, the ground around his feet rusty coloured. Next to Reid crouched Doctor Phillips, an older man, spectacles and white hair topping off his fastidious appearance. A Police surgeon of some years, Phillips stood while he wiped his bloody hands.
“She’s been here a least three hours Edmund”, he said, “Maybe four. Somewhere in between would put her time of death approximately five thirty.”
Reid looked up at the dirty tenement building above them. “Sixteen people in this building and nobody thought to hear a thing.”
“Edmund, I’d say this is the kind of house with many comings and goings. What’s a little more noise on the back step?”
“True. What of your findings Doctor?” Asked the Inspector.
Phillips bent and lifted the covering so that Reid could see, “Throat cut from left to right. Quickly and cleanly I’d warrant.” Reid grimaced at the sight, “She was also disemboweled, as you see intestines thrown over her shoulders.”
Reid lifted his handkerchief to his face, it provided some relief, “Is that significant, do you think? Did our murderer simply toss them. Out of the way or was there another more macabre intention?”
“Beyond my schooling or experience I’m afraid Edmund.”
“Sorry Bill, I was thinking out loud. How deep is the cut?” Asked Reid.
“Oh, plenty deep enough to kill, there is a sizeable portion of the uterus removed. Not all of it, but significant enough to be purposeful”, answered the Doctor as Reid fished around his jacket pocket.
“Little sign of a struggle, perhaps she knew him, or her. Maybe, maybe not, maybe simply paralysed in fear”, he held out his hand to the Doctor, offering a scrap of envelope and a couple of pills. “Where these hers, do you think?”
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