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Authors: Aiden James, Michelle Wright
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Stop.’
I was, in my sleepy state, not quite sure what he meant, and then the realization came. It was a code, a cover. He had obtained the files!
I hurried my breakfast and perpetually looked out of the window onto the street, eagerly awaiting his arrival with renewed anticipation. One hour later, much to my delight, he was on my doorstep.
“Master Richards has come to call and needs money for the taxi cab, sir,” Edward announced. Rather typical of Albert to presume payment for his travel expenses was on me.
His whole demeanor was one of a nervous man hiding something as he rushed me into the corner of the study, urging me to lock the door to keep Edward out.
“Here, take these,” he whispered, handing me a brown paper parcel. “They are inside, everything you need and I must have three hundred guineas for payment. The scoundrel forced me to pay him fifty guineas in advance before he agreed. He had no trust in me.”
“A tidy sum, but, I surmise, I’m not able to negotiate with such a man. To whom do I write out the bill of exchange?”
“Emmanuel, do you wish for the trail to lead back to you? It must be all in cash. If anything should go amiss, then there is no evidence to point the finger in your direction.”
I had no choice to go to my safe and give Albert money. He was right; a bill of exchange would be too dangerous. What was I thinking?
“I do not suppose you can reveal the identity of who gained access to the files?”
“The least you know the better. Let us say it was an inside job and leave it there. Are you not going to open the package to see that everything is in order before you hand over the money and, please, don’t forget my fifty guineas, also?”
I trusted Albert, but knew nothing of the person who obtained the file. He could have been a conman for all I knew. Carefully, I pulled the string from the brown paper to reveal a buff colored cardboard file. Inside were reams of papers, each one giving great details of each victim, autopsy photographs, names of detectives in charge and a list of possible suspects. I had struck gold!
“Splendid, Albert, and so quickly done.”
“You, of course, never asked me for anything and I hope I can trust you to secrecy. After all, according to your story, betrayal is nothing new to you.
“Do you really think I would do something like that again?”
“There’s no telling what you will do under pressure.”
“Maybe I’m not Judas after all, maybe I jest?”
“Perhaps you do, but I am not prepared to take any risks. Make sure you lock the papers away in a safe place and tell no one!”
“My lips are to be permanently sealed.” I lied of course, Roderick already knew.
Albert was forced to leave urgently for a mundane interview with a lowly politician, his mood somber. Worry about such a serious theft outweighed the handsome sum of two hundred pounds he received. I hoped I had the right information in my possession. All told it cost me a considerable amount for what I considered to be a charitable act. Alone, and with the door locked, I began to study my spoils. Formalities and protocol abounded with papers marked ‘confidential do not show to newspapers.’ Pure nonsense, making use of them brings more attention to the general public. A memory is often jogged if something is written or a photograph seen. There were one or two resignations and dozens of letters, scrawls from pranksters who enjoyed taunting the police whilst gaining attention by claiming to be Jack the Ripper. Albert had seen a fair share of them delivered to his office and the police had even gone so far as to accuse the newspapers of creating the letters themselves to increase popularity and sales.
As I studied the reports, it was clear that no detectives had taken the ‘I am Jack’ letters seriously. Neither did I. Ramblings from the mentally disturbed were little more than a hindrance to my reading. Hastily, I brushed them aside.
Hour after hour, I perused one
I was, in my sleepy state, not quite sure what he meant, and then the realization came. It was a code, a cover. He had obtained the files!
I hurried my breakfast and perpetually looked out of the window onto the street, eagerly awaiting his arrival with renewed anticipation. One hour later, much to my delight, he was on my doorstep.
“Master Richards has come to call and needs money for the taxi cab, sir,” Edward announced. Rather typical of Albert to presume payment for his travel expenses was on me.
His whole demeanor was one of a nervous man hiding something as he rushed me into the corner of the study, urging me to lock the door to keep Edward out.
“Here, take these,” he whispered, handing me a brown paper parcel. “They are inside, everything you need and I must have three hundred guineas for payment. The scoundrel forced me to pay him fifty guineas in advance before he agreed. He had no trust in me.”
“A tidy sum, but, I surmise, I’m not able to negotiate with such a man. To whom do I write out the bill of exchange?”
“Emmanuel, do you wish for the trail to lead back to you? It must be all in cash. If anything should go amiss, then there is no evidence to point the finger in your direction.”
I had no choice to go to my safe and give Albert money. He was right; a bill of exchange would be too dangerous. What was I thinking?
“I do not suppose you can reveal the identity of who gained access to the files?”
“The least you know the better. Let us say it was an inside job and leave it there. Are you not going to open the package to see that everything is in order before you hand over the money and, please, don’t forget my fifty guineas, also?”
I trusted Albert, but knew nothing of the person who obtained the file. He could have been a conman for all I knew. Carefully, I pulled the string from the brown paper to reveal a buff colored cardboard file. Inside were reams of papers, each one giving great details of each victim, autopsy photographs, names of detectives in charge and a list of possible suspects. I had struck gold!
“Splendid, Albert, and so quickly done.”
“You, of course, never asked me for anything and I hope I can trust you to secrecy. After all, according to your story, betrayal is nothing new to you.
“Do you really think I would do something like that again?”
“There’s no telling what you will do under pressure.”
“Maybe I’m not Judas after all, maybe I jest?”
“Perhaps you do, but I am not prepared to take any risks. Make sure you lock the papers away in a safe place and tell no one!”
“My lips are to be permanently sealed.” I lied of course, Roderick already knew.
Albert was forced to leave urgently for a mundane interview with a lowly politician, his mood somber. Worry about such a serious theft outweighed the handsome sum of two hundred pounds he received. I hoped I had the right information in my possession. All told it cost me a considerable amount for what I considered to be a charitable act. Alone, and with the door locked, I began to study my spoils. Formalities and protocol abounded with papers marked ‘confidential do not show to newspapers.’ Pure nonsense, making use of them brings more attention to the general public. A memory is often jogged if something is written or a photograph seen. There were one or two resignations and dozens of letters, scrawls from pranksters who enjoyed taunting the police whilst gaining attention by claiming to be Jack the Ripper. Albert had seen a fair share of them delivered to his office and the police had even gone so far as to accuse the newspapers of creating the letters themselves to increase popularity and sales.
As I studied the reports, it was clear that no detectives had taken the ‘I am Jack’ letters seriously. Neither did I. Ramblings from the mentally disturbed were little more than a hindrance to my reading. Hastily, I brushed them aside.
Hour after hour, I perused one
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