AN: For any readers that have any background knowledge on the Jack the Ripper case, I'm focusing solely on the canonical five so as to ensure the plot isn't too convoluted. As this is based on real life events, I've tried to approach the murders with sensitivity and sympathy. These were real women with real lives, and I solemnly hope their souls found peace.
Riley and the Ripper
Skulking around in the shadows before dawn wasn't one of my favourite past times, but it was increasingly becoming central to my job. The crescent moon offered little light, but the lanterns of the muggle police officers shone brightly around 13 Miller's Court. I couldn't hear much of their speculations from my vantage point, but words and phrases drifted across the square to my ears, carried in echoes. "Mutilated" they said, "beyond recognition", "inhuman", "it's him again, alright". It was another dastardly deed, that was for sure. I watched as they brought the body out, covered in a cloth that was quickly staining with her drying blood. She was followed to the coroner's wagon by a tray filled with her innards, and at the sight of it, I grimaced. The sight of it was all I needed to know that this one was worse than the others. This one was more daring, more brutal. Poor girl.
The officers began to depart around dawn, clearing the scene before the crowds emerged on their way to the main street's vendors and workplaces. They left the scene cordoned off, in case of the need of further investigation and, ultimately, to clean up the devastation as if it was never there in the first place. They left two officers standing on guard, as was custom. From the quiet of the back alley I was waiting in, I drew my wand to mutter two quick Confundus charms before making my way casually across the street. I approached the two men with confidence, paying no attention to the muggles I passed.
"Officer Riley," I introduced myself to the confused men with confidence, tipping my hat as I smiled. "I've been asked to do a final sweep for evidence. Shouldn't take me long."
The two men looked at each other and back at me, but I was already walking past them. I wasn't waiting for their permission – I was assuming I already had it, which meant they didn't ask questions.
Within the house, I followed the police rope to the room I needed, the last one on the ground floor, behind the stairs. On the threshold, I stopped still, appalled at the scene in front of me. The brown-red of dried blood decorated the ceiling and walls, where it had spurted from the victim's horrific wounds. It was a sign that the culprit hadn't killed her before making his incisions; her heart had still been beating. The bedsheets and mattress had been soaked through and blood was still dripping onto the wooden slats below. I was hesitant to enter, but knew that I had little choice.
I breathed in deeply as I drew my wand, stepping onto the floor boards of the room that, until a few hours ago, had belonged to Mary Kelly. The charm to reveal what magic has been used in a vicinity was complex and long, but I'd learned it by heart already due to my line of work.
The canary yellow light of the magic began to twirl around the room, before settling into place. It approached the bed, and I watched as it re-enacted the gruesome scene. I learned one thing, one very important thing. The knife with which the cuts were made was not wielded by hand, but rather controlled magically. I scoured the room with my face set hard against the horror, searching for any clues or evidence the muggles may have missed. I found a couple of strands of hair, which I took and placed within the pages of my dragon hide notebook, but not knowing the hair colour of the victim, Mary, they were of no use to me at that time.
I turned from the room and left, nodding my thanks to the guards.
Bad news travels fast, and by the late morning, both the wizarding and muggle worlds were buzzing with the gossip. It wouldn't reach the papers until the evening editions were published, but that didn't seem to matter too much to the general public. I was sat in my office at the Ministry, comparing the details of Mary Kelly's murder with those that had happened previously. The magic – both its involvement in the killing and the specific types of spells used – meant there was no doubt that we were dealing with the same culprit who'd committed four earlier murders. The muggle police weren't confident on that fact, and there were other murders they were comparing with these five as well, but magic wasn't involved in the others, so we could be certain, whereas the muggle police were still clutching at straws. I added Mary Kelly's name and photograph to the investigation file, alongside those of Mary Ann Nichols, Annie Chapman, Elizabeth Stride and Mary Jane Kelly.
There was a noise at my door and I looked up as the Head of my department, The Department for Magical Law Enforcement, Justus Pilliwickle, walked in and takes a seat. He looked as tired as I felt as he shook his head. He was no doubt up for half the night, too, when news reached him.
"We're against the clock now, Riley," he told me, addressing me by my last name. "Five, now. It's no good, no good at all. Spavin has already been to see me this morning, he needs a conclusion," he continued, naming the Minister for Magic. "We need to find this madman, Riley, at any cost, before it reaches six. Six, right in the heart of the city… can you imagine?"
He seemed to be almost in despair about the case, and I could only imagine that the Minister's visit was far from a social call.
"I'm on the demon's trail every waking moment, Sir," I informed him, hoping to set his mind a little at ease.
"You're young, I understand. I don't take that for granted. Riley, but you're good. Better than those blasted fools of the Old Boys' Club. You've got a fresh perspective on matters, and I'm relying on that. You see things that others miss," Justus maintained, which I considered high praise indeed, but took with a pinch of salt. He had a vested interest in this case, after all. "It's come to light, however, that we've been looking in the wrong direction. Now, are you certain the Kelly case matches the others?" he queried.
"Oh, yes. The modus operandi was the same. The magic had the same distinctive flair; the same spells were used. It was much more brutal, which suggests our culprit's dramatic predisposition is strengthening. They're perhaps feeling untouchable, but we're closing in, I'm certain of it," I stated.
"Well, the vampire has an alibi. He was in Camden draining a flower girl dry. He's not been caught, but there were plenty of witnesses, and his trademark is unmistakeable. Sir Herbert Varney's not our man," Justus sighed.
"Merlin's Beard," I cursed. "His alibi for murder is murder. He's not our only suspect. I'll shed some more light on the others and report back later today."
"Have it to me by three. We need the whole department on this," Justus ordered, standing to leave.
"Of course, Sir," I replied.
I set about my work as soon as he left, losing track of time in my work. I wasn't sure how long had passed before the knock on my door, but I was startled out of concentration by the harsh rapping. I place my pencil on my desk and arrange my paperwork back into its file before allowing my guest to enter.
A woman entered dressed in London's finest fabrics. Her dress fell in shades of black and forest green; silk and velvet were completed with fine embroidery and gemstone detailing in the bodice. She carried a green umbrella and wore an intricately detailed hat atop of her silken black hair. She looked at me with heavily lidded eyes and smiled.
"Bertrand Riley, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she greeted with a voice as fine and smooth as the fabrics she wore. "I'm Elladora Black. Apologies on interrupting your work without prior notice."
"The pleasure is all mine," I insisted. "There's no need to apologise. You and your kin are welcome here whenever it pleases you."
"Oh, you're too kind."
"Please, take a seat," I smiled. I knew her name, of course – every witch in the British Wizarding community knew her name. She was one of the most prominent members of one of the oldest and richest Pureblood families in the United Kingdom. What intrigued me was her reason for visiting, and I was intent on finding that out.
"I was hoping to discuss the recent incidents in Whitechapel with you," she divulged. "My family and I are concerned that the culprit is still at large, as I'm sure you'll understand, and the newspapers are full of speculation but have little to say regarding the investigation itself."
"The investigation isn't public knowledge, ma'am," I advised her, although I was sure she already knew.
"Of course not," she smiled. "But is Sir Herbert Varney still the main suspect?"
That little piece of information certainly wasn't public knowledge, as we were still hoping to capture the vampire and have him brought in for questioning until a few short hours ago.
"I'm afraid I can't comment on that, ma'am," I cautioned her. Her smile didn't fade, but the muscles on her face tightened. I could see I was beginning to get under her skin.
"Are you aware of the influence my family and I have over certain Ministry officials? I would suggest that answering my question would be rather beneficial for your future here, Mr Riley," she simpered, staring at me with a heavy, intense expression.
I frowned at her, weighing up my options. It was a simple question, and one that I only need answer yes or no to, but I didn't like the tone with which she'd asked. But threatening my job was more than I was worth, and although it went against my initial impulse, I knew the news would be in the papers that evening no doubt, as the two murders were both public knowledge.
"There were two incidents last night, Miss Black, one of which we've connected to the previous cases, while the other was entirely different in its execution. These incidents occurred in Whitechapel and Camden respectively within ten minutes of each other. Herbert Varney was seen by multiple witnesses at the latter," I disclosed.
She frowned at this news, which I considered an altogether unusual reaction for a member of the public whose only concern should have been that justice be served.
"So the pool of suspects has widened once more," she commented. "Thank you for your time, Mr Riley. I'll see myself out."
I knocked patiently on the door and called out my name, waiting to be admitted. It was a while before I heard Justus call out. I strolled in with my file, taking a seat at his desk. I was there to report on the suspects, and while the first two names on the list wouldn't come as a surprise to Justus, the visit that morning had prompted me to widen my horizons, and I'd had one of the secretaries pull together character profiles and notable histories on the Black family themselves. I was taking a risk, but I was sure Elladora's visit had some ulterior reason behind it, and the research that had been done about the family had uncovered some interesting histories and possible motives.
"What have you got for me, then?" Justus asked, sounding hopeful.
"Caractacus Burke, owns half of Borgin and Burkes on Knockturn Alley. We've had a few run-ins with him over the years and his animosity towards muggles is hardly a secret," I began. Justus only nodded, and I continued. "Amarillo Lestoat, American vampire well-known to the authorities over there. He's a bit of a flamboyant character, and we've had communications from the New York sub-division of the American ministry stating their suspicions that he boarded a ship bound for our coast back in April, as well as a few tip-offs that he's staying in the Lambeth area."
Justus, of course, already knew this information, but a summarised reminder at this stage in our investigation was always helpful for all involved.
"Is that all we've got?" Justus inquired.
"Actually, Sir, I'd like to add two more names to the list," I informed him, and felt my heartrate pick up a little. I was uncertain how he would react to my bold theories.
"Continue," he prompted.
"The third suspect is a man whose hatred of muggles is no secret, and it's only worsened since his sister gave up the family name to marry one seven years ago. It's believed she's recently given birth to her second child, which could have been the provocation he needed," I reported.
"I need a name, Riley," Justus grumbled.
I watched his reaction as I spoke. "Arcturus Black."
His eyebrows raised as his eyes narrowed and his jaw set hard. He said nothing, which was all I needed to promptly move on to the next suspect.
"An ageing bitter woman whose fiancé, fifty years ago, contracted a disease from a muggle prostitute, dying on the morning of the wedding. Her mental health has recently been brought into question – there are claims she's somewhat delusional – but she's still capable of strong and intricate magic. Alexia Walkin Black," I finished. I looked up at Justus, waiting for his reaction.
"Those are dangerous accusations to make," Justus warned, looking at me with sincerity.
"I understand that. I was hoping we would be able to keep the matter private for the time being. But I do believe there's substance in them. I'd like to investigate further, with your permission," I requested.
"I think we can't completely discount Herbert Varney from our search," came Justus' response.
"With all due respect, Sir, the man can't have been in two places at once," I countered, aware that it was not my place to question my superiors, but his complete change of heart from our earlier meeting left me completely mystified.
"Of course, but I think we should still aim to bring him in for questioning. That's our stance in the papers, Riley. Three suspects, with a warrant out for Varney's arrest. Do you understand?" he concluded, and I understood his meaning exactly.
"Of course, Sir. I understand. If it pleases you, I'll take my leave now. I have a social call to make to Penrose Lane." Penrose Lane was north of the river, in a quiet residential area close to Trafalgar Square, and it also happened to be the street on which Alexia Walkin Black resided.
As well as skulking around in the shadows, knocking on doors and waiting for them to be opened was also in my job specification. In the summer, I didn't mind it so much, but the cold November drizzle made the seconds slip by much slower than I was accustomed to.
Eventually, I heard the turning of a key in the lock followed by the scraping sounds of bolts being pulled back. The door was opened by a short, portly, balding man in a fine black suit: Madame Black's faithful butler.
"Good afternoon. Bertrand Riley, Department for Magical Law Enforcement, at your service," I began, holding out a hand for him to shake. "I was hoping to speak to the Mistress of the house, Miss Alexia Walkin Black. Is she available?"
A House Elf seemed to spring up out of nowhere to take my coat and hat, which I handed over gratefully as the Butler closes and locks the door. The house was dark, lit only by gaslights sparsely dotted about the walls. There was a stale taste about the place, as if it had been uninhabited for decades. The grandfather clock at the end of the hall read five to ten and the pendulum hung still behind the glass.
"May I enquire as to the nature of your visit?" the butler asked.
"Certainly. I wanted to talk with her concerning her personal safety, regarding both her person and her property. There's been a string of attempted burglaries in the area and the culprits appear to be highly skilled and organised, and not opposed to violence," I lied. It wasn't a lie I felt particularly guilty about, either. It never did anyone any harm to be more vigilant, after all.
"The Lady is taking her afternoon rest. I'll see if she can make herself available. You may have to come back tomorrow. Please wait here." He motioned to three chairs that rested against the wall beside a cabinet and I dutifully took a seat. I took a dislike to the butler, thought I couldn't be certain why. He seemed to me to be caring too much about his job.
Nevertheless, it wasn't long before he returned.
"Please, follow me," he asked, and I did. The room he led me to was certainly unusually decorated. It appeared to be a ladies' dressing room, and in the centre of the room hung a dress. It appeared to have once been white, but it was now a putrid shade of yellow. The veil hung over the dress was similarly decayed, with mothballs hanging from its lace and holes nibbled out of the netting. There was a dressing table in the room, covered in so much dust the mirror hardly reflected anything but faint light. All sorts of bottles and jars lay out on its worktop, organised neatly in a fashion I couldn't begin to guess at. A changing screen stood in one corner near the window, the curtains of which were Indian red velvet, drawn closed against the world.
"The lady will be with you shortly," the butler told me before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.
Knowing what I did about Alexia Walkin, I could surmise that this was the room she was in when the news of her betrothed's death met her on the morning of her wedding. It had been left almost untouched since then, but the chair in front of the dressing table was the only item in the room not covered in dusts and cobwebs. A House Elf entered the room, carrying a chair, which he placed down by the dressing table. The Elf said nothing, but gestured to the chair he'd brought it, and I understood that was where I was supposed to sit.
When the door opened again, I rose to greet Miss Alexia Walkin Black. She walked in wearing a long black dress, complete with gloves and a veil, as if in mourning still. She did not smile, but looked at me with something close to disdain with hollow eyes. Her face looked papery and pale, ghostlike, as if she hadn't ever seen the sun. She leant on her butler as she crossed the room to her seat in front of the dressing table.
"Miss Black," I began, but I was cut off before I could finish my sentence.
"Please call me Mrs Alexia Walkin," she commanded, in a voice that sounded like a funeral dirge: low, long and miserable.
"Of course, Mrs Walkin. I wondered if you were aware of the recent crimes in the area?" I asked her.
"Egan and I were going to move to a new area after the wedding. He was going to inherit enough for us to move to a grand house in Notting Hill," came her convoluted response.
"I'm terribly sorry for your loss, Mrs Walkin," I told her. "But Primrose Lane, where you currently live, has played victim to a series of attempted violent robberies."
"When you call me Mrs Walkin, the way you do, I can almost imagine I'm her. I can almost see what my life should have been. Almost."
My approach, I saw, was getting me nowhere. It was a risky strategy, but I was alone with her and I needed to bring her thoughts back to the present, so I decided to go straight for the gold.
"Mrs Walkin, have you heard of the recent Whitechapel Murders?" I asked.
It was then that she looked at me, her eyes no longer peering off into the distant past but directly at me.
"Why does The Prophet care about the deaths of a few dirty muggles? Better where they are," she hissed, her lip curling up as her fingers clenched tightly to the arms of her chair. Her reaction shocked me; it was so far from the mournful peace I'd witnessed just moments before.
"The whole wizarding world appears to care, Mrs Walkin. It's being reported throughout Europe," I informed her.
"Hussies! Whores! Broads and floozies! Death is too kind," she growled. Mentioning the incidents had obviously provoked her, and I was intrigued.
"Mrs Walkin, if you don't mind me asking, may I inquire as to the cause of your fiancé's death?" I asked, encouraging her to go on.
"You know what caused it! The whole world knows what caused it," she cried. "One of those women of the night gave my poor betrothed a disease, they did! He didn't even know he had it until he woke up dead!"
Ignoring her oxymoron, I observed her as she spoke and saw the wild hatred in her eyes; I could hear the venom in her words. It stuck me that she was beyond hatred, that she had harboured and cherished her hatred for so long, it had matured into something stronger, something innate.
"Thank you, Mrs Walkin. You've been very helpful," I acknowledged. "I'll take my leave now, and allow you to return to your rest."
As I stood to leave, I saw the understanding pass over her face and watched the fight leave her. Before I reached the door, she'd reverted completely to the shadow of her former self I was first introduced to. She was a shell of a life again.
The butler escorted me downstairs in silence, but as we reached the main hall, there was a sound at the door like a key was in the lock. The butler barely glanced up, which suggested the visitor was expected.
I watched, inquisitive, as a man enters with a sure and certain step. He was well dressed, wearing a satin cloak over a full three-piece suit in the best cotton. His shoes were shined perfectly, and his walking stick was decorated with gold bands and a hand-carved serpent's head is the handle. His eyes were a stormy grey and his hair, short and styled in line with the fashion of the day, was black as midnight.
"Bertrand Riley, Department for Magical Law Enforcement," I introduced myself.
"Phineas Nigellus Black. What did you want with my great aunt?" He spoke quickly, with a harshness to his consonants, as if he despised the world but kept himself very busy.
"Nothing worth troubling yourself over," I reassured. He eyed me with great suspicion as I spoke. "There's been some attempted robberies in the area. I'm making the rounds to ensure personal security is in line with my department's guidelines. Your aunt has everything in order."
"With all due respect, Mr Riley, my aunt's health is not what it once was. We've requested numerous times that all Ministry dealings with her go through the family at Grimmauld Place," Phineas Nigellus notified me. There was something aggressive about his character that I took a disliking to.
"My sincere apologies. As I said, I was doing the rounds," I replied with a friendly smile. The scowl of disgust on his face told me he didn't appreciate it.
"Surely you should be more concerned with the so-called criminal killing off the Mud," he snapped. "I'd imagine something like that should be keeping your department far away from my family until the culprit's keeping company with your soul-suckers." The culprit was indeed looking at a life sentence in Azkaban.
"Of course. I'll be on my way," I finalised, mentally adding his name to my list of suspects. There was something about his manner that made me suspicious.
"For your information, you'll find I was at the opera in Diagon Alley last night, before moving on to the Wizarding Chess Society's Social Club. There were plenty of witnesses," he told me as he passed me to ascend the stairs. What kind of man, I wondered, offers a motive without being asked for one? One, I supposed, with something to hide.
Sat in one of the meeting rooms on our floor of the Ministry of Magic, I looked around at my colleagues. I was younger than them all by at least ten years. Justus was sat at the head of the table and called the room to order, casting a Silencing Charm on the door to ensure we weren't overheard. The investigation was, after all, a sensitive matter.
"Parkin, what have you got on Burke?" Justus asked, turning his attention to the greying, weathered man sat opposite me. He began to search through his papers as he spoke.
"I paid him a visit yesterday, and he didn't seem to appreciate it. He claims to have been home alone on the night of Friday the ninth of November. No witnesses. He can't recall his whereabouts on the nights of the previous murders. As for his character profile, he's been involved with petty theft, the trade and transportation of restricted and prohibited goods, as well as blackmail and defamation. I would suggest he's a man unlikely to commit murder, but he can't be ruled out," Parkin addressed the room, which was completely engrossed in his words.
"Sandhurst, have we been able to engage Varney?" Justus inquired as he turned to the older man on his left.
"We had a lead on a house in Butcher's Path, close to the location of the first incident, but the room was bare by the time we arrived. We're suspecting he had received a tip-off. A report reached us half an hour ago of a potential sighting in Baker Row, so my boys are on their way there now."
"Good work, Sandhurst. Keep on his tail," Justus complimented. "What of Lestoat?"
The man to my right, McCarthy, took the lead. "Our favourite American is almost certainly in London, and has been for some time. The meeting with the Yanks yesterday was fruitful to say the least. They've provided us with copies of the reports into crimes he's wanted for on their side of the pond. We've been able to piece together his modus operandi and it's bad news, I'm afraid. While he's got an air for flamboyant gaiety in his manner and dress, he prefers easy targets. The old, the weak, the invalid, the sleeping. He'll go straight for the simple kill and isn't prone to the type of ghastly dramatics we've seen in the victims. He's simply not our man," he revealed, to a grumble of agreement.
"I wouldn't say it's bad news to cross a name from our list, McCarthy. Well done," Justus acknowledged. "Riley."
At the sound of my name, I looked up, startled. I couldn't think what he could possibly want me involved for, unless he meant for me to discuss my new line of enquiry, which at this point was still being kept heavily under wraps. I was perplexed, unsure and uneasy regarding his motives.
"Our young protégé has opened up a new line of enquiry. I'd like to understand your opinions on the matter. Now, this is strictly confidential – I don't care how much money they offer, you'll be out on a limb if word gets out," he warned. "Riley, share your thoughts."
I was unhappy about this, and more than a little nervous, but I did as I was bid, and brought the Black family to the table. I informed them of my three suspects, Alexia Walkin, Arcturus and Phineas Nigellus. I described Alexia Walkin's reaction to my line of enquiry, and told them how Phineas Nigellus offered an alibi up front. "Never underestimate the power of a guilty conscience," I finished.
I looked around the room, seeing the same expression of unease and uncertainty reflected on every face. They were wary of the implications of my words, I knew.
"I don't think it's wise to implicate such a family based on circumstantial evidence," Parkin opined.
"Well, I don't believe it needs to be circumstantial evidence," I countered. "I have a visit to pay to Phineas Nigellus, and I should soon be able to narrow it down to a single suspect within the family. We have pieces of evidence from every crime scene, including a hair. Once we have a single name, piecing together the evidence with the suspect ought to be child's play."
"Only if you're right," McCarthy added.
"Of course, but I believe there are strong cases to be made here."
"I won't stand in your way, Riley, but you need to tread softly, and as it currently stands, my money's on Caractacus Burke," Justus agreed with Parkin.
Despite the pessimistic response of my teammates, I took solace in Justus' words. By saying he wouldn't stand in my way, he was effectively encouraging me to continue my investigation alone.
Justice Street was completely cut off from the humdrum of the rest of Central London, accessible on one end by only a narrow cobbled alleyway and a footpath through a shaded park on the other. I found myself once again stood on a doorstep waiting for an answer. It was a House Elf who responded, swiftly taking my hat and coat and asking who it was I wanted to see.
Arcturus was the nephew of Alexia Walkin Black, the second son of his family meaning he hadn't inherited the fabled 13 Grimmauld Place. Arcutus' brother was long since deceased, but his eldest son, Phineas Nigellus, was the heir of the family and now resided in the Black family home with his unwed sister, Elladora.
What I was interested in, however, was Arcturus' other sister, the estranged Isla, who was disowned and disinherited seven years ago when she married muggle Bob Hitchens. That type of dishonour and disloyalty was not tolerated among the Pureblood elite.
The House Elf asked me who I had called upon, and I asked for Arcturus. The House Elf disappeared into the house and left me in the entrance way waiting. There was much more colour and life in this house than in Alexia Walkin's, but the signs of their heritage were abundant. From the decadent serpents slithering in cast iron on the fireplace, to the portraits lining the walls, frowning down on me with mistrust, there was no mistaking where Arcturus's loyalty lay.
He approached me himself from a door at the end of the hallway, with an expression on his face that very much mirrored his nephew's when I'd first encountered him. Mistrust and suspicion seemed to be rife amid these descendants of the noble line.
"Bertrand Riley, to what do I owe the honour?" he asked, his voice calculated and controlled.
"I wished to discuss the recent incidents in Whitechapel with you. Your sister, Elladora, paid me a visit yesterday. I understand your esteemed family have taken an interest in the case, and are eager for a swift conclusion. Well, there have been some recent developments that I thought may be of interest," I revealed, hoping to capture his curiosity.
The fact that he hadn't yet invited me inside was telling. He didn't wish for me to stay longer than he considered necessary. In fact, the hostile expression he wore told me he didn't want me there at all.
"And what might this recent development be?" he asked.
"Sir Herbert Varney is no longer a key suspect. A warrant is still out for his arrest, but we don't believe he's connected to the events of the ninth of November. Our eyes are instead turned towards Caractacus Burke," I uttered, aware that I was breaking my vow of confidentiality.
"Caractacus Burke is a vagabond and a damn fool, but serial murder is entirely beyond him," Arcturus scoffed. "He's an acquaintance of my family, and a business partner."
"His motive would be a weak one," I agreed. "But he's lacking alibis. The old boys have him tipped as their favourite, but I'm inclined to disagree."
"The old boys are blind fools, by Merlin's beard," he accused.
I laughed, attempting to build a sense of comradery, and it appeared to work when I caught sight of a half-smile.
"There is another matter I came to discuss," I teased.
"There's always an ulterior motive with you people," he claimed.
"We've been asked by the muggle government to assist in a missing person's case, as the muggle in question had ties with the wizarding world, and it's believed she knew of our existence. When I say the wizarding world, I mean, specifically, your family."
Arturus's eyes narrowed as he looked at me, as if he was aware of who I was implying before I named her.
"Is there anything you could tell me about Eliza Hitchens?" I queried.
"My family do not associate with Mud," he dismissed, his words reaching my ears like a warning.
"I'm afraid I have some questions I need to ask. By the book procedure. Perhaps you'd like to move to somewhere more private?" I suggested.
Reluctantly, he turned and led me into the belly of the house. We reached a grand oak door and he searched for his key to unlock it. He beckoned me into his office, an oak-panelled room with a grand, continental writing desk in the centre. An owl sat in a cage by the small window. He drew his wand to light the oil lamp on his desk and the four on the walls, allowing a little illumination into the dark and dreary room. It had an air of seriousness, but I noticed the lack of books or paperwork almost immediately, wondering where he kept them hidden away.
"Ask your damn questions, then," he ordered as he took his seat.
"Are there, or has there ever been, connections between your family and the Hitchens family?" I began.
"Yes," he answered, knowing I already knew the answer. "A woman who used to be my niece married their son, the brother of your Eliza."
"And what became of your niece? Her father, Cygnus, had already passed away by this date, had he not?"
"He had. Phineas Nigellus had inherited, and it was his decision as the patriarch to disown his sister, as any true and honest Black would have done," Arcturus recounted.
"And do you have any contact with the Hitchens family?"
"Not personally. I receive information from time to time. I deal with the matter on behalf of my nephew. An owl arrived earlier this year to inform us of the birth of Isla's second child," he explained.
"What news arrived via this method concerning Eliza Hitchens?"
He was uncomfortable with my line of questioning, that much was clear. He shifted in his seat and avoided eye contact.
"We were informed that Eliza, Mr Hitchens' younger sister, ran from the family farm to London around six months ago. She was identified and tailed for a while by someone we employed. It's known that she was unable to find employment, and took to a form of self-employment, if you will."
"To speak plainly, she became a prostitute?" I clarified.
"Yes. The last we heard was five months ago."
I nodded. "Thank you, Mr Black. You've been very helpful."
I reached out my hand to shake his, and began to leave.
"You don't think, do you, that the business with Eliza Hitchens has anything to do with the Whitechapel murders?" he pondered aloud.
"Not at all," I denied with a smile, lying through my teeth.
After this latest conversation, I had a lot to think about. I returned to the office to collate my notes and study the case file once again. I knew most of the information by heart, of course, but the connections we'd already made were whimsical at best, and I needed to solidify my information and reach a strong conclusion.
"We need answers, men. We need facts and figures; solid ground. It's now or never," Justus addressed the group the next morning as we were gathered around the table once again.
"I'm almost certain it's Caractacus," McCarthy began to a murmur of agreement. "I just need a little more time to compare the facts with the evidence."
"We don't have time, McCarthy. If there's another incident, we'll have no jobs to come back to. The blasted Daily Prophet's questioning our competence and the Minister's inclined to agree with them," Justus implied.
"Well, it's him, by Merlin's beard I'm certain," Parkin uttered.
"I disagree," I protested. All eyes turned on me at the statement, curious and concerned.
"State your piece, Riley," Justus urged.
"The only piece of evidence we've found on which we can formulate an identity for our culprit was a single long black hair found beside Mary Kelly's bedside. Caractacus, if I'm not mistaken, is entirely grey." There were frowns at this, but I didn't want to leave them thinking that was my only proof for very long. "Secondly, at each incident we've reached certainty that every attack has been carried out entirely by magic. There's been no restraining of the victims, or asphyxiation – methods we're used to seeing at similar crime scenes. We're aware that the culprit was in very close quarters with the victims, and in public for four of them, no less. Relying entirely on magic, particularly if you're a well-abled male, appears to be a bit of a hindrance rather than a help," I theorized.
There were nods at this, albeit reluctant ones.
"Now Caractacus certainly has the background and credentials, but what's his motive? He has a strong dislike of muggles, but up until now we have no record of him interacting with them in anyway. He avoids them, along with the majority of wizardkind. Considering that this is serial murder on a grand scale, someone with no history of interaction with mugglekind seems an unlikely suspect. Ultimately, the motive isn't strong enough for this kind of horror.
"Lestoat and Varney have already been discounted, which leaves me with the Blacks: Alexia Walkin Black, Phineas Nigellus Black and Arcturus Black. Arcturus' motive would be his niece's betrayal. I've uncovered that he's been involved with the Hitchens' family since Isla Hitchens' marriage and estrangement from her birth family, receiving regular updates on noteworthy news. He paid a private investigator to follow Eliza Hitchens, the younger daughter of the family, when she ran away to London. It's known that she became a prostitute, but not what happened since. Eliza's death at the hands of a Black would strike a blow to the heart of the Hitchens family, and I don't consider it beyond Arcturus's morals.
"Alexia Walkin Black's motive would be the death of her betrothed, many years ago. He contracted a disease from a muggle prostitute and died on the morning of the wedding day. She's harboured hatred for muggles, and specifically whores, ever since, and has never been able to move past the unfortunate event. She's become more extreme and reckless as the years have rolled by, perpetuated by her declining mental health.
"Phineas Nigellus has an aggressive and somewhat repulsive personality, but he has no clear motive. He certainly has the wherewithal to commit murder, but the only possibly motive he would have would be the events surrounding Isla and Eliza Hitchens, and he no longer seems emotionally invested in his estranged sister, and I doubt he would strike up the hatred required for such an act.
"Which leaves us with two suspects, and I am certain the culprit can be named as Alexia Walkin Black," I concluded, to cries of indignation from my co-workers."
"I beg your pardon? A batty old woman?" Parkin objected, as McCarthy stammered, "She's mad as a March hare!"
I wasn't alarmed or offended, but I allowed them time to digest the information before explaining my reasoning.
"Alexia Walkin Black is an old woman," I began, "which makes her weak. Even to walk around her home, she had to rely on the strength of her butler. Therefore, it makes sense that she would rely on magic throughout the attacks – she doesn't have the physical strength to use if she wanted to. Secondly, the hair found at Mary Kelly's bedside was long and black, and she's the only suspect for whom that description matches. And yes, she is in poor mental health – she's delusional and stuck in the past. That is until you mention the incidents. She's angry, bitter and violent about the whole thing, and claimed death was too kind a fate for the women. This statement pairs nicely, I believe, with the gruesome and prolonged nature of these murders, and her flair for the dramatics is evident in the wedding dress still hanging in the dressing room she likes to entertain visitors in. I promise you," I finished, "this woman is our Jack the Ripper."
"By Merlin, Riley, I think you're right," McCarthy observed as the room descended into silence.
"Parkin, comb the evidence for anything you can find. "McCarthy, Sandhurst: bring the woman in. Riley, with me. We've got paperwork to organise and an arrest warrant to circulate," Justus ordered as he began to depart from the room. We were all on our feet in an instant to follow him, all bright eyed and eager now the case of the Whitechapel murders was near an end.
AN: I have never written this genre before! I absolutely loved writing this, and I had a lot of fun with the research, despite how long it took! I thoroughly planned this story out before execution, researching the case, the characters and the genre, but it was still something new to me, so if you have any thoughts on how well this went, what maybe needs some work, or anything at all, it would be absolutely wonderful if you could let me know in the box below then I know what I can improve on in the future (or do more of if there was something you really liked xD). Thank you!
This story was written for:
School of Prompts: Genre – Mystery
Chocolate Frog Cards Challenge: Herbert Varney – 5 Knut Bonus! Write about any character who would have been alive at the time as Jack the Ripper.
Gringotts Prompt Bank: Muggle Occupations: detective. Alliterating Phrases: by the book, dastardly deed, mad as a March hare. Figures of Speech: against the clock, heart of the city. Proverbs: bad news travels fast. Street Names: Butcher's Path, Justice Street, Penrose Lane, Baker Row. Colours: canary yellow, white, yellow, red-brown. Said Words: accused, acknowledged, addressed, advised, agreed, cautioned, claimed, concluded, continued, countered, cried, cursed, denied, disclosed, divulged, encouraged, finalised, growled, grunted, hissed, implied, informed, inquired, insisted, lied, maintained, notified, objected, opined, ordered, pondered, protested, queried, reassured, recounted, reported, requested, revealed, scoffed, sighed, smiled, stammered, stated, teased, theorized, urged, uttered. Prepositions: amid, among, atop, below, beyond, considering, concerning, despite, including, opposite, throughout, via, within, worth. Family Vocab: aunt, daughter, descendant, estranged, heir/heiress, kin, loyalty, patriarch, sister. Friends Vocab: colleague, co-worker, teammate. Celestial, Weather and Nautical Prompts: crescent moon, drizzle. Emotions: aggressive, appalled, bold, certain, daring, engrossed, hesitant, hostile, hopeful, in despair, indignant, inquisitive, intent, perplexed, pessimistic, provoked, suspicious, uncertain, unhappy, unsure, wary. Once Upon A Time Quotes: "Never underestimate the power of a guilty conscience." – Mr. Gold. Word Sets: cut, engage, caring, dismiss / heavy, impulse, found, scowl.
If You Dare Challenge: 715. Demon's Tail
Credit for inspiration and influence from: Charles Dickens' Mrs Havisham from Great Expectations, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle, From Hell movie and The London Dungeons tourist attraction.
Words: 6,944