Herbert raised his glass in a tired ‘cheers’, she did the same, “I can only imagine”, he said.
The clock had sloped its way well past twelve, they both still sat in the wingbacks, blankets over their knees. Herbert was asleep, his chin was on his chest and he was occasionally snoring. Trencher stared into the dying embers of the fire. The dancing flames had been replaced by warm embers.
Trencher stood, stiff from the position she’d sat in too long and a little unsteady from the liquor. She moved across to the sleeping Herbert and pulled his blanket up around him. She took a long look at the clock on the mantel, drained the final drop from her glass and left it beside the clock. She then scooped up her boots and left the room, gently closing the heavy door on the scene.
The hour was early, and in the dark shadows of the Southwest corner of Mitre Square nothing good was happening. Jackal knelt over a body; he was hard at work with his knife. It glinted occasionally when the moonlight broke through the clouds. He worked furtively and fast, stopping to wrap something he pulled from the body and slip it into his coat pocket.
A voice suddenly broke the background noise of Whitechapel, “Busy night?”, asked Trencher, taking shape in the darkness as she stepped out of the shadows. Jackal didn’t flinch, he sat and shuffled around to face her.
“Wondered when you would show yourself Agent, round here a clean woman is a treat to the nostrils and I remember your scent very, very clearly.”
“You’re sick Jackal, and I’m going to fix you”, she said.
He laughed quietly to himself, he shook his head and pointed at her, “You. You’re drunk.”
“Been drinking, there’s a difference.”
Jackal rose from his seated position, stretching lazily. “I wonder, when did you follow me here Agent Trencher? How long have you tracked me? Have you enjoyed my other great works?”, he stepped away from the body, with his arms open wide.
“Jackal, I sentenced you to life, you’re a fugitive. I am well within my rights to wipe you from existence right now.”
“But you won’t”, he said confidently.
“But I won’t, because I’m putting you back where you belong”, she nodded towards the inert body of Catherine Eddowes, “Why two tonight? What happened?”
Jackal wiped his blade on his coat, “Not much you miss, is there?”
Trencher shook her head, enough to notice, not enough to break her steely stare, “No. Now, the blade, give it to me.”
“To answer your question, Liz, sorry, Elizabeth was a fine catch, but I was too hasty taking her where I did”, he scratched his head like a man that was asked for directions, “We were disturbed, and I barely got away, but found myself here. This unfortunate, was just a bonus opportunity, do you know her name?”
Trencher nodded and step closer into striking distance. “I do.”
“You won’t be telling me.”
“Correct, but I’m still taking you in.”
The sounds of the city seemed to be getting closer, “Now here’s the thing I don’t understand. Why are you here?”
“Thought I made that clear.”
Jackal wagged a finger, “No, no. I mean here, right here, hiding in the shadows, waiting for me, as if, as if you knew…” In the distance Police whistles cut through the night. “You knew. Of course, you knew all along”, he laughed up at the sky, “You and your fancy computer knew exactly where I was going to be.”
“It’s called history, maybe you should have studied it.”
“No matter to me bitch, you won’t know your own name after tonight”, he was coming forward.
“Jackal. Face it, this is over”, Trencher squared up ready to fight.
“I’ve only just begun, you delivered me here from Hell and I will make the most of it Trencher”, he launched himself at her, his blade a flash in the moonlight.
It looked like chaos, it took seconds, it felt like a lifetime. Trencher parried his assault and smashed an elbow into his face, he stumbled and flailed into a wall. From which he regained his feet and sparing back slashing wildly. Trencher backed away from the whirling blade, he kept coming in a rage. She took advantage and stepped inside his reach. She gasped as a slash glanced off her ribs. She grabbed him, span him around and kicked him squarely in the back.
Jackal dropped his knife, momentarily losing control, it scattered between them on the cobbles. Trencher dropped to her knees, holding her wound she winced at how deep it was. Jackal forced himself to his feet, but stopped, cocking his head.
Across the square there were footsteps and a muffled shout, the body had been seen. Trencher and Jackal were still hidden in shadow. Trencher flicked her eyes toward the intruder, when she looked back at Jackal he was gone. She slid closer to the knife, pocketed it and slinked away unseen.
Jackal’s lair
London, 1888
Jackal had been calling a nondescript room in the back of a disused warehouse home. Perfect for the lair of a creature that wants to be hidden, an overgrown entry from a muddy back street that led inside. Jackal climbed the stairs with his damaged pride and aching back, he made his way to the room he had commandeered and turned the handle.
The door swung inwards, revealing an unexpected sight inside. Jackal saw his chair, it was facing the door and sat on it was Barrelman with a long knife across his knees. Either side of the door stood Barrelman’s thugs arms folded. Barrelman waved him inside, “Good evening Jack, may I call you Jack?” Jackal took in the scene slowly; he exhaled a low whistle through his teeth and nodded. “Please come in, we just want to talk”, said Barrelman in his most benevolent tone.
“About what, exactly?”, growled Jack.
Barrelman stood up and moved to a position behind the chair, “I’m hoping to find out if you can help us out with these horrific murders”, he gestured to the chair, “How’s that for starters?”
Jackal sighed, he crossed the threshold into the room, his room and started closing the door. Then everything went black, and he crumpled to the floor under the weight of right hook. Barrelman nodded at the man that landed the blow, “That’s a good fellow, now please take a seat”, he said to the unconscious man.
Reid’s office was not where Trencher expected to find herself today, especially as night was turning to a new day outside the grimy window. Trencher was sat perched on the edge of his desk, her feet on the visitor’s chair. Reid stood alongside her, jacket off and sleeves up, he was wrapping a bandage around her waist, “A knife fight, somehow I thought you’d be better off.”
“I left my gun at home.”
“Still, what were you thinking, getting into knife fights on my patch in the middle of the night?”, he pulled the dressing tighter, and she winced.
“It just so happens I was trying to solve your problem for you.”
“Well, I would really rather you didn’t Miss Trencher”, he rubbed his hands on a bloody cloth, “Two more women are dead this night and the only possible suspect”, he started unfurling his sleeves, “Being somebody in the area, wounded, bleeding and carrying a suitable knife, is you.”
Trencher pulled a face as she pulled her shirt back down, “Reid, I really need you to trust me.”
Reid threw himself behind his desk with the air of an exhausted man, “I’m getting there my dear lady, believe me, it’s the rest of the world we have to concern ourselves with. Frederick for starters.”
“Your Boss?”
“Of sorts”, she nodded to herself, “I have read of Mr. Abberline.” “Between us, a somewhat dour investigator in my opinion”, he whispered conspiratorially.
Trencher winked theatrically and tapped her nose, “I appreciate your help Reid, I really do”, she said. They were disturbed by a knocking on Reid’s door, followed by a polite silence.
“Yes!”, called out Reid. The head of a young Constable appeared through the opening. “Sir”, he opened. “Yes Constable?” The Constable glanced at Trencher before continuing, Reid nodded to signal it was okay to t
alk, “There’s been a fire Sir, down by the river and old warehouse on the docks. There’s report of bodies Sir.” Reid pushed himself away from his desk and grabbed his coat, “Then I believe we should take a look.” He turned to Trencher, “I’m afraid I have to take my leave Miss Trencher. Please find your way safely home.”
“Something else Sir”, said the Constable, Reid looked back expectantly.
“Go on.”
“Witnesses saw Mr. Barrelman going in there not long before, him and his boys. They never came out.” Reid took a moment to let it sink in, his mains racing Trencher’s across the possibilities and probabilities, “Hell”, he said flatly. He turned once again to Trencher, the air of authority was stronger now, “get a cab, go home. I may have need to speak with you again Miss.”
Trencher was up on her feet, “Let me help.”
Reid was shaking his head, “This is Police business Trencher, go home and lick your wounds. The Constable will escort you to your door and see you inside.”
“But you…”, she tried to protest.
“Yes, I do. I know exactly where you are lodged. Mr. Wells will soon be wondering where you are”, he guided her with a friendly, but firm hand to the shoulder, “Constable! You have your orders.”
“Sir.”
“Escort the lady home and then back to me on the double if you will”, Reid pulled on his hat, tipped it to Trencher and thundered out of the room, shouting instructions to other unfortunate men in uniform.
Brig's faith
London, 2088
The giant clock in the control room had slipped under a final two minutes of countdown. Brig was busy checking displays, the Chief sat against a desk sipping from a well-worn coffee mug. “Nothing yet?”, asked Mikkelson.
“She will make it Chief Mikkelson”, came back the irritatingly calm response.
“Why so sure Brig?”
“I trust her, I trust in her abilities and have faith in her drive.” Mikkelson slurped a noisy gulp of coffee in reply. Brig turned to face him, her blue eyes piercing across the room. “By my calculations enough time has passed for her to be nearing the discovery of Mary Kelly. The final recorded murder victim. With that she will soon return with the prisoner.”
Mikkelson grunted, “A machine that chooses to trust in Trencher above all others. I’ve seen it all now.”
“Chief there were no more murders after Mary Kelly, you have to believe she is the influence that ends his spree.”
“What if you’re wrong, what if it changes?”
“Then quite simply we’d already be talking about other victims.”
“What if we already are?”, he asked, clutching at straws, but hitting a nerve.
“Obviously we wouldn’t know any different and she may already be lost.”
“But you don’t believe that do you Brig?”
“Correct.”
an audience with reid
London, 1888
A few weeks had passed since the knife fight with Jackal, a few weeks since Barrelman was lost to the fire. Trencher, wrapped in a towel, sat on the edge of Herbert’s bath gingerly unwrapping her bandaged side with some modesty. The wound had healed well, no infection was the most exciting thing she’d heard from Herbert’s Doctor. The door opened and Herbert entered with easy familiarity, he carried fresh towels.
“It’s looking good, even if I say so myself”, said Trencher peering at the modest scar.
“No gangrene, that’s nice.”
“Charmed by your bedside manner, I’m sure. It’s a good job you never pursued a Doctor’s career”, she plucked a towel from the pile and rubbed her face hair dry.
“My dear lady, your insults gain no ground with my conscience”, he pushed his glasses up his nose and folded his arms. She stood and planted a playful kiss on the end of his nose, fogging the glasses with her breath.
She threw her arms around his neck, letting the towel fall, “Take me walking in the park today my love. I need some air and time to reconsider my plans.”
Herbert held her closely, “Anything.”
Later that day, Trencher and Herbert shut the door on his house and stepped out like happy lovers. When they arrived at the pavement, they found Reid leaning up against a fence across the street. He waved and trotted across the road to be near them, he extended a hand to Herbert.
“Good day to you both, out for an afternoon stroll?”, he asked, Herbert offered a gloved hand and Reid shook it. Trencher and Reid locked eyes long enough for a short nod.
“Mr. Reid, I believe. I have kept abreast of your investigations in the papers. A pleasure, Sir”, he was aware of the look Reid and Trencher shared, “And I believe you are already acquainted with Miss Trencher.”
“That I am Sir”, said Reid as he moved his hand towards Trencher, “Miss Trencher.”
“Inspector”, she took it politely.
“A moment, if you will”, he was getting to his reason for being there.
“We were just heading out”, Trencher said warily.
“Oh, the park perhaps. Well, let’s share my cab”, he turned and signalled to a nearby carriage. The driver brought the horses up and it clattered toward them.
The inside of the carriage swayed and rattled, but it was a cosy fit with Trencher, Herbert and Reid crammed in. They had to talk loudly over the clatter of hooves. Reid had just finished describing a letter that had become of interest to the case. “May I see it?”, asked Herbert, pushing his bystander privileges.
Reid handed over the letter he was holding, “It was received around three days ago by Mr. Luck of the Whitechapel Vigilance Committee. We’ve seen a fair share of hoax letters already...”, a bump jostled them all and broke his sentence, “But this one has some credibility.”
Trencher peered at the letter in Herbert’s hands, “Why so sure?”, she asked.
Reid craned forward to reduce the space between them, “Because the letter was accompanied by the other half of the kidney that he claims to have eaten. I’m calling that conclusive.”
“He’s a cannibal?”, asked Herbert.
“Half a kidney doesn’t exactly rate a man as a cannibal”, said Trencher.
“I would rather you saved the glib comments and added some insight”, said Reid, “You’re the one that survived a run-in with him, you’re the one that supposedly knows more about him than anybody here and you’re the one I haven’t had the liberty of investigating.”
Trencher reluctantly took the letter, “Let me see.” She read it again, this time from her own hand, “A kidney, adds up, that was his memento then.”
“Excuse me?”, asked Reid.
“Just before he attacked me, I saw him pull. Something from the body and place it in his pocket”, she absently felt her healed side, “I wasn’t sure until now.”
“Anything else?”, pressed Reid.
“It’s genuine.”
“And how do you fall on that inclination?”
Trencher looked outside at London passing by, “From Hell.”
“That’s it? Two words?”, asked Reid. Trencher nodded, finally turning back from the window.
“He said I’d brought him here ‘From Hell’, and he was loving it.”
“I don’t quite follow”, said Reid.
“If I may Inspector”, interjected Herbert, “The ‘Hell’ he refers to is the prison that Costigan had previously incarcerated him in.”
She spoke again, “It’s genuine, that’s all you need to know.” Reid gave up, took back the letter and folded it away to a pocket.
“Any news on Barrelman?”, asked Trencher.
“Death by misadventure would be an understatement. All three of them were violently murdered, then burnt. Took us a while to ascertain which was which.”
“Any leads?”
“Nothing that helps either of us, I think we both believe it was him.”
Trencher nodded, “Angus was looking for him, partly for me, partly for the grandeur of being the man that stopped the Ripp
er”, she turned her attention back outside, “I warned him off, I tried.”
“Career criminals never change, they don’t listen”, Reid reached out to touch her arm, “I’ll take your concerns and review the evidence.”
“I had grown to like him, Angus”, she said to Reid.
A moment passed in the carriage, Reid broke the silence, “Rogues like him, they come and go all the time. It’s Whitechapel.”
The carriage slowed and the street view gave way to trees and grass, Herbert spoke up, “Looks like our stop.” The carriage pulled to a halt, Herbert opened the door and stepped out, he stood at the roadside offering a gentlemanly hand to Trencher.
Inside the carriage Reid spoke to Trencher, “I am grateful, sincerely”, he said.
“What for?”
He shrugged, seeking the words. “I don’t really understand your part in this, and I really don’t believe I want to, but I do feel you will be instrumental in ending it”, he sat back with his hat in his lap, “Whatever it is you’re going to do, then I’m thanking you for it.”
Trencher alighted from the cab, taking Herbert’s hand for guidance, not because she had to, because she wanted to. She pushed the door shut and spoke to Reid through the window. “One way or another it ends soon; you’ll be able to rest at night by the eleventh of November.”
“Is this goodbye Miss Trencher?”
“I may see you again”, She smiled to herself, “I may buy one of your postcards at the seaside one day.” He looked confused and sat back from the window, “Think about a happy future Edmund.”
Still confused, he thumped the roof and called to the driver, “Back to the station if you please”, the carriage rolled on leaving Trencher and Herbert at the roadside.
Herbert extended the crook of his arm and she slipped hers through it, they set out towards the park entrance.
The day was crisp, a few trees were clinging to their Autumn leaves, fighting the season’s pull towards Christmas. Trencher and Herbert walked together under the skeletal trees, alongside a still lake. Wisps of cool air occasionally showing their breath. “Do you recall exactly when it will be?”, asked Herbert.
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