Bethnal Green Division was a bustling police station full of a myriad of colorful riffraff and coppers. Detective Edmund and Doctor Llewellyn entered through the haze of London fog and pipe smoke. Creaking floor boards, sticky with mud, shit, and blood were covered with a thin layer of sawdust that did nothing to help with the smell. A large brick of a man stood behind the main desk, a smoldering cigarette clinging to his large lips. His unearthly blue eyes squinted against the smoke and watched the hubbub of the station with dull interest. A small smile played across his face as Detective Edmund entered, cursing the filth that had collected to the soles of his boots.

“By the bloody ‘eavens do me mince pies clock dear Three Card Trick I mean Detective Edmund?” the man roars, his cigarette bobbing and spit flying. Edmund groaned inwardly and forced a smile on his face.

“Hello Sergeant Alfred Armstrong.”

“Alfie, my dear chap, call me Alfie.”

“Sergeant Alfred…I am looking for PC Mizen and Neil, as well as Detective John Spratling and Joseph Helson.”

“They’re in the Hammer and Tack old chum wif that body the spooks brought in.”

“Will you stop that bloody nonsense?! I know that is not how you speak; I do not know why you insist on playing that old trick!” Edmund shouts, finally losing his patience. With a hearty laugh that seems to shake the floor, Alfie points down the hall towards the backroom where most autopsies happen. Shaking his head, Edmund marches down the hall with Dr. Llewellyn chuckling softly behind him.

“He seems like a good chap.”

“Alfie…he’s a real card. Came over from the East End London site a few months ago, saw his fair share of murders, gang violence, that sort of thing. He’s a good man but he takes things too far sometimes. Like that ridiculous Cockney accent, but in this line of work sometimes you need some laughter. I just get frustrated because he did that accent in front of my superior one week ago and I was the one that got written up.” Edmund walks through a small wooden door, wrinkling his nose at the small of manure, blood, and entrails that clung in the air despite the open bottle of vinegar on the small counter. There on the cold table lay the young woman, her body exposed and Edmund could see the extent of the damage done. The room was a bit crowded with PC Mizen, Neil, Wynne Baxter, and Craig Huse all standing near the one window.

“Hello Detective Reid, Doctor Llewellyn, she is all prepped and we were just waiting for you to begin. I made some observations about the body, would you like to hear them?” Wynne proclaims in a baritone that did not fit his narrow frame.

“First Mr. Baxter, I would like to know if this poor girl’s identity has been discovered,” Edmund replied, his tone brisk.

“Right sir,” PC Neil spoke up. “We went and talked to the other ladies of Lambeth house. They said all their girls were accounted for.”

“Ah well perhaps PC Thain will have better luck. Now tell me about your findings Mr. Baxter.”

“So she had a few teeth missing and a cut on her tongue. You see this bruise on the lower part of her jaw, I suspect it is either from a blow or the pressure of a thumb, as if the assailant grabbed her face hard in order to slash her throat. The theory matches the bruise on the left side of her face.” Baxter pauses for a moment before pointing to the left side of the neck “Here is a strange sight, an incision that runs about four inches long starting from her earlobe and right below that a circular incision that runs about three inches below her jawline…”

“What is so strange about that?”

“Well sir that completely severed all her tissues, down to her spine. The blood vessels on the sides of her neck were also severed.”

“Jesus….poor creature was slaughtered,” Edmund whispers, his face going pale. Baxter nods solemnly. “Continue, please, let’s have this nasty business done with.”

“Well as you can see along her left side there is a jagged wound, very deep and once again the tissue is cut through. There also several wounds along the stomach, as well as three or four cuts running down on the right side. All these cuts were caused by a sharp instrument, most likely a knife, with was used with malice and violence in a downwards force. This leads me to believe the killer may be left-handed but I cannot say for sure. Would you like to take a look Doctor? Confirm my findings.”

“Yes, why don’t you gentlemen,” the doctor gestures at the police officers “step out and we will come retrieve you when we are finished here.”

“Yes, come lads let us retire and review what we know so far.” Edmund stepped out of the cold, morgue relieved to breathe somewhat fresher air. He turns to Detectives Spratling and Helson “Where to gentlemen?”

“We can use my office for now, this way…” Spratling leads the two other detectives past the main desk where Sergeant Armstrong is engaged in deep conversation with another burly bloke sporting a bowler hat. Past the drunk cell, reeking of piss and vomit, down another narrow hall, to a small but well-lit office. There is a simple wooden desk, two beaten up chairs, a bookshelf, coat rack, and small window that admitted the early morning light. Detective Spratling moves the chair from behind the desk and offers it to Edmund who sits with a heavy sigh. “I usually would not do this while on duty, but can I offer either of you gentlemen a swig of brandy?”

“Yes please, I would be very grateful,” Edmund replies. Spratling nods and rummages around in his desk drawer, bringing forth a dusky decanter and three small glasses. He pours a generous shot in each glass and hands them out with quick, practiced movements. Edmund takes a long gulp before setting the glass down on the desk in front of him.”

“Gentlemen I have to be honest, this is the first time I have seen anything as gruesome as this murder. Do you have any inkling of who could have committed such a crime?” Edmund inquires, his throat burning from the potent drink. The two detectives sit in silence for a long moment before Helson slowly nods.

“Not exactly like this no, but there were two women who were attacked and killed in similar fashion. Emma Smith who was beaten badly and later died of her injures and Martha Tabram who was stabbed almost forty times and left in a pool of her own blood at the bottom of a flight of stairs. Seeing that poor girl on the table brought back memories of Martha. We may be looking at the same fiend who killed our newest victim.” Edmund shook his head, his graying hair sticking to his forehead. Gazing deeply into his glass, he let out a long, heavy sigh.

“Were they working girls?” He asks, dreading the answer.

“Yes sir and both had issues with drinking and gambling.”

“Does that make murder acceptable?” Edmund’s eyes narrow at Helson, who reddened slightly under his mutton chops.

“No sir,” Helson admits, sipping at his drink. “My own sainted mother once worked the streets, after my no good father turned her out to make money for his own nasty habits.” An uncomfortable silence falls over the room, Edmund shifting quietly in his chair. Helson blushes slightly more, his ruddy complexion darkening under the strain of silence. “My apologies, I lost my temper.”

“I cannot say that I understand but I am sorry for your rough upbringing, truly I am. Now, can you tell me more about that Martha girl? She sounds the most like this newest victim.” Helson nods, knocking back the rest of his drink in a single swig.

“Martha Tabram was killed in the early morning hours of August 7th. A local woman by the name of Mrs. Hewitt was awoken by the cries of murder but since this was a bad area near George Yard Buildings sounds of such nature were common and she ignored it. Later, close to four a.m. resident Albert George came home after a long night work and saw Tabram’s body lying on the landing above the first flight of stairs. He thought she was drunk and unconscious so it was not until five that another resident of the building, a dock worker by the name of John Reeves, realized she was dead.”

“Hell,” Edmund gulped the last drop of brandy from his glass.

“Dr. Killeen examined her and determined that she had been dead for about three hours. Her killer had stabbed her thirty-nine times including nine times in the throat, five in the left lung, two in the right lung, one in the heart, five in the liver, two in the spleen, and six in the stomach, also wounding her lower abdomen and genitals.” Edmund hunched over his knees, hands clasping at his temples.

“Was there any sign of sexual assault or anything of that nature?” He asks, through gritted teeth.

“Dr. Killeen said there was not, even though the position her body was found in was of a sexual nature.”

“So now what? We have a serial killer on our hands?”

“Not sure, sir, I suggest we wait to see what Dr. Llewellyn and Baxter discover in the autopsy. Detective Reid, you do not look well; perhaps you should go home and rest. We will come fetch you when the autopsy is done and we have some more information.” Edmund nods slowly, rising carefully to his feet.

“Thank you both for your help in this matter. I apologize for my reaction but this is probably the worst case I have ever seen in my career. I shall retire to my home but please come fetch me as soon as you have more information.” Edmund shakes both the detectives’ hands and walks out of the station and into the cool London morning.