CLUE AND NOTE

RECORD ONE: Detective Ralph Brimmly

It was about 1888 I think...no, maybe the year before...when the greatest crime of the century took place. You know this story, right?"

The child beside the man speaking shook his head profusely.

"Ah! What a treat this'll be then." He laughed darkly, "You've not been poisoned yet with society's version. Son, what I'm about to tell you is the real story. Absolutely true and unadulterated. The story of Jack-The-Ripper. You ready?"

"Yes." The boy piped.

"Alright, alright." The man smiled faintly. He paused to think for a moment, then: "It all began when Ralph Brimmly-he was the detective at the time-was assigned to the case. Or, at least, that's where I'm starting, kid. Because, let me tell you, that's where the real fun began..."

-DETECTIVE RALPH BRIMMLY-

The music was loud.

Too loud.

"-So the deal is," The chief of police-a beer-bellied, stout, half-balding man-speiled on as he shoved another forkful of food in his mouth, "We've got a critical situation here, Brimmly. Between the gaurds around the queen and calls from paranoid chaps and dames in the tired hours, we can't keep up. We can't spare any more young lads on this case. I was hoping you might be able to...clear things up a bit. I need this case solved, Brimmly. you're the best I know."

Ralph Brimmly stared intensely into the glass on the table before him. The dim, swaying lights of the back-alley, downtown club illuminated his reflection in the darkened tea within it. He looked...nearly bored. But this was merely a mask. In truth, this was his thinking face. Detective Brimmly's bright blue eyes flicked up. He removed his hand from his chin and took the glass in his hand, twirling it instinctively.

"You think you can handle it?" the police chief asked.

"I think I'll have to." Brimmly grinned sloppily, "The Ripper, huh?"

"Yes-ser-ee."

"This should be fun."

"No doubt."

The detective pushed aside his tea and lifted himself from his chair, adjusting his cap with a frown. He'd been at this club too long for his own liking. He was just about to say so when:

"Oh, and," The captain stirred, "I forgot to mention, there'll be two others working with you. From your department. You three should all be well acquainted."

Ralph's frown grew deeper underneath the long shadow of his brown-and-plaid cap. "Who?"

"That information-file lad...What's his name..."

"Private Simon Douglass?" Ralph offered, curious and hopeful at the same time. Simon was a young boy, not yet eighteen, but he was bright and eager to learn. He looked up to Ralph, so it wouldn't be that hard to mold him into a helpful side-kick.

"Yes, him." The chief mumbled around more food, "And...detective Merridew as well."

"Oh."

"Mm."

"Well then." Brimmly sighed, running a hand through his tangle of light-blonde hair, "I'd better get going and round them up."

"Quite." The chief agreed, "Thanks Brimmly. You have no idea how much I owe you one."

"Pick up my tab maybe?" Ralph chuckled sarcastically, shoving his hands at last in their rightful place; the pockets on his long coat. With his chin, he gestured to his half-drained tea cup. The chief laughed heartily.

"It's coming out of your paycheck."

"Yeah, I thought so. Be seeing you."

"Same."

Briskly, Ralph pushed through the bustling, late-afternoon crowd of the 'pub n' club' and made his way outside. He had to screw up his eyes even in the shade of his hat as the light from the sun flooded his vision. In his mind, detective Ralph Brimmly drew up a map of the backstreets. Whitechapel London was pretty busy this time of year, he thought to himself. It was probably better to steer clear of the main cobble-roads. But, which way was the quickest to get to the headquarters? In accordance to his mental-map, he veered into a shaded alley-way lined with backwater apartments and fell into a well-metered step. This, like his expression of earlier, was a sign of thinking. Inside his brain, the cogs began to turn.

He thought mostly about the case. What evidence had there been so far that he'd heard about? A few photographs of mutilated corpses surfaced immediately, splaying themselves out in his mind as if being thrown onto a kitchen table. The crime scenes he knew pretty modestly. No witnesses...as far as he knew. He'd have to do a call for those. Maybe he could offer a reward for any that testified. In all honesty, detective Brimmly hadn't been following the case all that closely. He'd heard snippets of conversation and been curious about it, but got caught up in other things. Serial killings of prostitutes...organs missing from the crime-scene...how strange! He wouldn't have thought of it in a million years. That given, he was also no criminal.

All too soon, Ralph found himself at the steps of the Yard headquarters. It was a shame, too. Ralph really had needed to think in peace a bit longer before talking to the two strange figures he had been assigned with...even Simon...buffoons. They were totally and utterly round the bend. Batty. Wacco. Bonkers beyond all belief. With a sigh he jogged up the stone stairs and pushed through the doors. Inside the newly-furnished building, it was stuffy and slightly warmer than the outdoors and the early-autumn weather. Brimmly tossed his cap and coat on the rack by the doorway and turned the first corner. It opened up into a smallish room with large glass windows and a multitude of bookshelves lining the walls-filled to bursting and ordered alphabetically. The detective grimaced at the two people leaning over his desk, arguing heatedly.

"There has to be a motive!"

"But what if there's not?!"

"Then he's either A: a psychopath, or B: stupid!"

"Well, he's obviously not either of those, considering how calculated these appear to be..."

"So there is a motive then!"

"Not necessarily!"

"How in the bloody-!"

"-Mates!" Ralph snapped, alerting them both to his presence, "Come on now! Act like full-grown adults!"

The shorter of the two quarrelers shot up from where he was previously slouching, straightening his back and folding his hands behind it. "Detective!" He squeaked, "We were just talking about the case, ser!"

Ralph quirked an eyebrow and joined them around his desk, glancing over the photographs quickly, some of which he'd never seen before. "So I heard." He mumbled, then louder, "You can drop the formalities by the way, Simon. Haven't you heard, we're all working together."

"Yes, but that by no means qualifies me, an inferior Yardsman, to step out of line like that and call you by-"

"Oh, shut it, Si." The other boy, a lanky, hot-headed ginger, smirked, "Stop kissing arse and just listen already."

"Merridew-"

"There was a motive, by the way, I just know it." Jack Merridew added as an after-thought.

"There doesn't have to be!"

"Hey!" Ralph snapped his fingers in each of their faces once and drew their attention back to himself. He gave them an angry look and gestured to his desk, where the evidence sat, "We've got work to do, you two! No don't make me request for you both to transfer! I'll make sure you both get demoted!"

"Yes, ser." Simon Douglass glanced down, crestfallen. The other detective, the vibrant Jack Merridew, scowled and stepped closer to the table with Ralph. He fingered the edge of a black-and-white photograph and started to speak.

"We just got this in before you arrived, Ralph." He commented, "What do you think?"

Ralph took it in wholly. Jack went on as he did so, pointing out different things.

"There's been threee so far, at least what we've documented. There could be more by the end of the day with the way that this is going. I'll tell you, it's not going north, chap." Jack gestured to a few photographs of dead women, stabbed and mutilated beyond recognition. Some of the older ones were familiar. Most of them were not. "There's Annie Millwood, admitted to an infirmary after being stabbed in the legs, arms, etcetera. She died in early March. Then there's Ada Wilson, there, she died near the same time. Almost the same type of wounds. All knife stabs. Ada was alive for a while, but we haven't heard from her. She's either out of the country, or dead as a doornail. Then, there's the new one..."

"What do you mean?" Ralph Brimmly grimaced. His eyes flickered to the last few photos. He picked one up and studied it carefully. Meanwhile, Simon had joined them and picked up where Jack had left off.

"Mary Ann Nichols." He piped in, "Murdered just yesterday, ser. On Buck's Road. There were two slices in her throat, and a deep cut in her abdomen...And...the organs were damaged."

"Who has the body now?" Ralph questioned, sliding the photos away to reveal the reports underneath.

"Local undertaker." Jack answered, "I've already looked into it, and it's no use going to see her. Anything that's happened to it is right here in the reports, Ralph."

"Go visit anyway." Ralph ordered, "just you. And be thorough."

"Weren't you listening?" Jack snapped, "It's already been taken care of! Why do I have to go do it again?"

"Because." Ralph answered plainly, "Someone always missed something. Now, get to it. Me and Si are going to check out the crime scene. Any of us still there?"

"Yeah." Simon sighed wearily, "Crawling with the local Yard. We'll have to have our badges to even get anywhere close."

"Good. that means the public hasn't gotten to it yet."

"Yeah, but it also means that they've trampled over everything, ser." Simon mentioned, "Do you really think there's something there?"

Ralph pondered this for a moment, still staring intently at the papers he held in his hand. His eyes scanned the page for anything useful. Nothing of interest, really. He didn't know why he bothered. But, there had to be something. Criminals like this didn't just disappear of the radar for a few days or weeks or even months without leaving a trace. There was bound to be a finger print, a paper trail, a blood stain from a struggle...anything. Anything was helpful at this point. At least, if they all wanted to get paid.

"I sure do hope so, Douglass." Ralph Brimmly huffed tiredly. He set the papers back on the table and glanced at his meager crew. This was all he would have to solve this case...and it was probably not going to be enough...still, he could hope. "Now, let's go. We're wasting time just standing around here."

Ralph and Simon parted ways with Jack at Fournier Street and continued on to the crime-scene on Buck's. They went on foot; it was less of a hassle than tracking down a horse-and-buggy and would probably be quicker in the long run anyway. (the first car wouldn't be invented for almost 30 years, you know. It was quite the strange world compared to what you know, kid.)

They arrived at the busy, roped-off alley in the late afternoon. Eager or worried or curious common-folk milled about nearby, never approaching the dreaded velvet line, but watching carefully for any breakthrough all the same. Ralph and Simon pushed through with ease, flashing their badges whenever need be. This usually warded off the pesky town-person, as no one wanted arrested these days. Nearest to the rope line, a black shroud hung about the scene, not swaying with the hungry gossiping voices or the push and shove of the throng of officers beyond her. Detective Brimmly tapped her on the shoulder when she didn't move and flashed his ID promptly.

"We're with the Yard, madam." He announced, "I'm afraid you'll have to leave. We're clearing the premises for a while. I like to work in peace and quiet, you see..."

The woman in black half-turned and fixed him with an acutely solemn and sad green-eyed stare. He frowned and noted her features. A tuft of bright scarlet hair had fallen from her cloak and curled down onto her forehead. Her features, or what was showing of them, were very fine and pretty.

"I'm sorry, officer." She mumbled, "I'll be off, then."

"Were you related to the victim?" Ralph asked reflexively. At his side, Simon Douglass pulled out a pen and paper and started to jot something down with a practiced hand.

"Yes." She said, prouder, "Sister. I was just about to come for a visit when I got the news...the name's Scarlet, by the way."

"Last name?" Simon queried. Scarlet glanced at him strangely for a moment before answering once more:

"Just Scarlet."

"Oh."

'Okay." Ralph pulled out a little card from his pocket and handed it to her deftly. "If you remember anything useful-"

"-I'll stop by." She cut him off, taking the card from his hand. "G'day...detective."

"G'day."

From there, Ralph and Simon ducked under the rope and joined the small band of bustling officers on the other side. The crouched near a single spot on the pavement, some blood-stains, some yellow cards with numbers on them. Detective Brimmly nodded to them, flipping open his badge just slightly. A few of them nodded back, and went back to work. Ralph adjusted his cap in thought. It's a good thing he put it on before he left. He didn't like being outside without it.

"My name's Detective Ralph Brimmly." He introduced himself to the Yard. They looked up at him expectantly. "I stopped by to snoop around a bit. You chaps pick up anything new lately?"

The head officer stepped forward from the group and took Ralph's hand in his own, shaking it hard. He was a middle-aged man by the looks of him, his lip hiding behind the fur of a thick, clean-looking moustache. "Nice to meet you, detective." He cordially greeted, "We got a tip from the chief that you might be stopping down here sometime or later."

"Aha. The man knows me well, I must say." Ralph smiled.

"There's a reason he's at the top." The officer agreed, then he shook Simon's hand and lead them across the scene, transforming into their own personal tour-guide for the murder scene.

"So, anything new?" Simon repeated Ralph's earlier question doggedly.

"Nope, afraid not, boys." The officer sighed. Ralph glanced at his nametag, cataloguing it for later. Willoughby. Thomas James Willoughby. "We've been combing the lot all day, and we haven't got a thing to show for it."

"Shame." Ralph drily huffed.

"Sure is." Thomas Willoughby said, licking his lips, "You would swear the culprit was a ghost, at times."

"Maybe he is?" Simon joked. Nobody laughed. Ralph shot him a look of warning. "Sorry."

"Oh well...We'll have a look around anyway." Ralph announced. "Thanks for showing us in, Officer Willoughby."

"No problem. Shout if you need anything."

"Got it."

"Did they find anything?" The boy asked curiously.

"No." The storyteller-man answered quickly, "Not a thing. But Jack did."

"Can we just jump to that part then?" The boy sighed, "I don't want to listen to this all night, dad, it's boring."

"It's not boring." The man insisted, "It's history. History is never boring."

"...whatever." The boy puffed, "Just get on with it...I could be doing something else, you know..."

"Oh, come on." The man flicked the boy's nose affectionately and went on, "Okay, Jack...let's see...Oh, yes! Jack went to the Undertaker's...if my memory's correct. He lived down the street from your great-aunt. Now when Jack got to undertaker Stoddard's, he was very surprised to see that the body was already waiting for him..."

YO! I'M ALIVE, YOU GUYS! So, did you miss me? Did you? DID YOU?!

yeah, I thought not...

ANYWHO, I'm back from hiatus. I got a new computer, so I should be updating again in a regular fashion. *does funny dance* Yup. I'm going to update everything pretty soon. However, I'm taking this week to write this little doo-dad. It's a break and something fresh to get me back in the rhythm of things. A five-shot mystery about the Ripper. How do you like it, huh? Pls tell me things...

So, thanks for reading, guys! I appreciate you all putting up with me for this long! Pls read and review and blah blah blah.

WRITE YOU TOMORROW! I HOPE YOU ALL LOOK FORWARD TO THE NEXT INSTALLATION OF: CLUE AND NOTE!

Ps...and yes, it is the inspiration-baby of Shinee's song. Though, I've never actually looked up the English lyrics...probably should do that sometime soon...hm.

TO FANGA:

have fun in freaking UTAH, looking at hills and trees and crap. hope all your wildest vacation-dreams come true, man. ALL OF THEM.