"Her name was Molly Brighton," the doctor said.

'Was'. The worst word a doctor could say to someone. Jane listened to his report on the surgery. Molly hadn't survived her wounds as predicted. The laceration went from one side to another, slicing the vocal chords. He said the blood loss alone killed her. Nobody could survive a cut to the jugular. Jane's guilt worsened with every word. She knew better than to expect anything else. A few feet away, a woman sobbed into her husband's arms. The husband gave her an angry glare, which she turned away from. She knew they blamed her. Everyone did and she agreed. Copycat gave her a message and left his mark. He was a sly one. This murder wasn't for passion. He did it to ruin her investigation. Nobody in Small Heath will speak to her after this. She'd receive no help from them anymore.

He'd slipped away from Tommy. He told her he lost him in the sea of streets and alleys. This didn't surprise Jane either. Copycat knew his way around Small Heath. He killed near her so she would know this. He'd proven her wrong again. It couldn't be Campbell. As much as she wished it were, Campbell couldn't hide in the streets. They'd recognize him right away. It only mixed in with the regret in her stomach.

Tommy stood with the family, cool and collected as always. He and the father exchanged a few words, the other man becoming increasingly angrier. He occasionally glanced Jane's way or pointed in her direction. Tommy reassured him justice would come swiftly. After all, Tommy was the law around here. She figured he'd promised to put an end to this monster. He hid his anger beneath cold eyes and a clenched jaw. She knew this angered him as well. Copycat was right at their fingertips, and then they lost him.

"Would you…" the doctor said, "Would you care to examine the body, Detective?"

Jane shook her head. "It's likely there's nothing on her. Let her family bury her in peace."

"Of course," he nodded and left her.

Tommy walked up to her as the doctor left her side. He didn't say anything as he took her by the arm. Pulling her into an empty room, he rounded on her. "You know, for a clever woman you are incredibly stupid," he began. "You go around harping on about how nobody cares about the victims. You haven't done anything to prove you do either. Was that article supposed to 'bring him out'? How did you think he'd come out, Jane? What made you think you could catch him?"

"Tommy-"

"-Now another girl is dead and the family's looking for blood! I had to convince them that I'd set this right!"

"And how do you plan to do that, Tommy?" she replied. "Put a bullet in my head? Cut me?"

"They wanted me to," he snapped. "I told them I'd look into things myself. I'd get them the results they want. They blame you for what happened, and they should! You haven't given them anyone else. These murders have gone on for three months now! You don't even have any solid evidence naming anyone. You have all these theories based on coins and bodies. There's nothing concrete."

"Cases like this aren't solved overnight," she defended. "Look, I'm sorry about this. I'm sorry that girl is dead. It's because of me that this even happened. I thought if he struck, I'd catch the blow before it landed. I-I didn't think-"

"-Think of the possibility that you would lose him?" he asked, fists on his hips. "Because you're so damn clever that you couldn't lose him, right? Because you're 'Jane Dawes, private detective', right? Maybe you're not as smart as you think. A lot of people are starting to think that now."

"Do you think that?"

"It doesn't matter what I think," he sniped. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I thought you'd have this wrapped up by now. You should've left weeks ago. You'd catch him and then I'd carry on with my plans. In case you forgot, you're not the only one with goals here." He began pacing the room, walking out his anger. "I wanted to expand, Jane! I wanted to become legitimate. I didn't take you to Kimber just because I needed a pretty face next to me. I went there so he'd hire the Peaky Blinders as security. He'd see how strong we are. He would see my operations and give me my race track pitch. I wouldn't have to work out of a gambling den anymore. Then when the time was right, I'd strike at him." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I haven't hidden the guns because I want them. I took them because it gave me leverage. I'd tell Campbell where they were if he agreed he'd stay out of my way. I need the police gone when I move in on Kimber."

"How is Copycat ruining that for you?"

He stopped his pacing and turned on her. "Because instead of focusing on my plans," he said, "I've wasted my time running around with you. I could be getting The Lee Family as an ally but instead, I spent my night in a fucking alley! I've wasted my time chasing a man I never intended to chase."

"I'm sorry, Tommy," she whispered. "I never really thought about..." She shifted awkwardly. She played with the clasp of her handbag, and said, "I-I-"

"-Don't say anything," he stopped her. "Please, for once, keep your bloody mouth shut." He paced back and forth, "You've gone too far this time, Jane. I can't help you." He gripped the bars of the bed, not looking at her, "Moss is going to fire you. Go back to London and never come to Birmingham again."

A lump swelled in her throat. She tried ignoring the aching in her chest. If Moss said this to her, she wouldn't have cared. She wouldn't care if it were Campbell scolding her. Yet, hearing Tommy's smooth, deep voice utter these words broke her. She fought back the tears in her eyes. She stood firm and clutched her bag. "Tommy," she said, "I'll make this right. I'll catch him. I promise."

"You've been saying that," he said, "But nothing's come of it, has it?"

"So, you're just going to let a killer run free due to your own ambitions?" she remarked, fighting back the feeling inside. "That's it, isn't it? You're going to give up? Just like that?"

"Moss will handle it."

"The whole reason I'm here is because he couldn't handle it. You knew he couldn't."

"I said, Moss will handle it," he said sternly. "Go home, Jane."

She studied him. His hands tightly grasped the foot of the bed. He kept his eyes closed and faced away from her. "The IRA want to make a deal with me," he finally said. "Byrne came by the pub a while back. He demanded the guns' location or he'd hurt you until I gave it to him."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"There wasn't a reason to," he told her. "We agreed I'd give him the location in exchange for something else."

"What 'something else'?"

Tommy didn't turn to her. He almost couldn't. "That he doesn't come after you. Bryne promised he and his men would leave you be if I told him where I stored the guns. They think we're together, so they threatened you to get to me. They believe you know something and would get it out of you."

She already knew this but didn't tell him. "So, you're giving them up for me?"

"No, I'm not," he answered. "I told Campbell about the meeting. He and Moss will lie in wait for the right moment, then spring on them." He then said, "Which is why you should go. You've done enough here. There's nothing more to do. You've given Moss some evidence to go on for now. He's stretching out his days between kills. If we're lucky, he'll go away on his own. The Ripper did."

"He's not The Ripper. He'll keep on doing this."

"Go home, Jane. I mean it. Leave Birmingham," he finished, turning to leave.

"Tommy," she took his arm, "You know he won't stop. You and I both know men like him. They're never satisfied."

"Jane…" he pulled his arm from her, "You've done enough damage tonight."

"But he's done much more," she said. "He killed Molly. He will kill someone else. He doesn't care anymore. He's going off pattern, Tommy. If you just gave me more time, then I can find him. I already narrowed it down. He's a religious man who's had the wrath of God engrained in him. He's a man in a position of power. He has a bit of money and knows where to buy drugs. People aren't afraid of him during the day, but they are at night. He can hide in a crowd. He's a local. He's skilled in cutting up bodies. He might've learned it at a young age. Tommy, I know things about him, but I need more time."

"Time's run out, Jane," he said. "Moss can handle it from there."

"Moss doesn't know shit! He hired me because you saw how useless he was! Now you trust his judgment?"

"I don't, but I trust my own," he replied. "I know the people in this town. I know where to look. You don't."

"You can help me."

"I've been helping you and look where it's gotten me," he said. "Nowhere," his words stung like salt in a wound. "Goodbye, Jane."

"Tommy, please…"

He left her alone in the room. The silence thickened and she gulped at the lump in her throat. He'd been right. She truly had nothing. Her "theories" weren't certain. Her bit of evidence only spoke whispers of truth. She'd solved The Diamond Boys case in two weeks. The Devil Cult Murders in a month. She solved dozens of missing persons and home invasions in a week. Yet, this case dragged on for three months. Copycat constantly gave her the runaround. It sickened and tired her. She would catch him, but it was a matter of when. He'd only continue killing until she caught him. He is an unstoppable force and she was the moving object. She'd bash and bash and bash into him, and get nothing in return. Now, Tommy told her to go. He thought of her as the rest did: all talk and no bite. His loss of faith burned deeply inside her.

She finally exited the room. Molly's parents occupied the room next door. Their silhouettes hit in the curtain and concealed the body. The mother's cries only hardened. She'd heard similar cries a year ago. Her mother bawled over her in France. She prayed for Jane's life between sobs. Jane could hear her father shouting at Arnold for letting her leave home. They blamed him for her condition. They never considered that she'd consented. Arnold let it slide off his shoulders as he did with everything. Yet, she sometimes caught him frowning when she rubbed her fingernails.

She sighed heavily as she packed up the last of her belongings the next morning. Despite wishing to stay, a part of her longed for London. She missed her books. She missed Mrs. Phillips's homemade biscuits. The sights and sounds of London seemed like distant memories now. Vivian and James would be happy to see her. She might even tolerate a visit to her parents; perhaps discuss the case with her father. There was no point staying in Birmingham. People turned their backs and closed their doors to her questions. Nobody even glanced her way downstairs anymore. They wouldn't forgive her for what happened to Molly. She took it without a fight. She knew the only way she'd gain their trust is by finding Copycat.

According to Tommy, Moss had it under control. He never said how. He simply said he did.

Going back to her desk, she picked up her pen and finished her letter. "You've been a great help to me here in Birmingham, Freddie. Here's a wedding present. Use it wisely.

-Jane"

She put the money and letter in an envelope and sealed it. Snapping her suitcase closed, she exited her room for the last time. Jane hated feeling so heavy. She hated admitting she didn't solve every case that came her way. There'd been a few who slipped out from under her. Unfortunately, this would be one of them. Walking down the stairs, she found Harry at his usual post. She watched him wipe down the bar, hoping he'd say something first.

"I'm kinda disappointed in you, Jane," he said without looking at her.

"Because of Molly Brighton?"

"And because you're giving up so easy," he added. "In the three months you've been here, you've shown you never back down from anything. When you caught a scent, you tracked it down like a bloodhound. You never backed out regardless of the odds."

"And this bothers you?"

"It's surprising, is all. I thought you would tell Tommy to stuff it and keep on working the case."

"I don't stay where I'm not wanted, Harry."

"And since when did you care about where you're wanted?" he looked up at her. "I'd never seen you simply give in to a man's demands before. I didn't think you'd actually listen to him."

"Nobody here will work with me," she told him. "Not even the Sergeant will help me. How can I catch him if I don't know anything about him?"

"You do know things about him."

"Simple things."

"But it's something," he said. "You can use that to like narrow it down or something like that? Isn't that what detectives do? They find out information and then weed out whoever doesn't fit?"

"I can't find anyone who matches the profile I made," she said. "I can't if nobody will point me in the right direction. It's as if suddenly people trust the police to do their job right. They'll just arrest the first bloke they catch. I'm sorry, Harry. There's no point in me staying anymore. I'm going to give Moss what little evidence I have and let him work it from there." She slid money over to him, "Hand this to Freddie if you see him. Goodbye, Harry."

"I'll take it," he said, "But I won't say goodbye. You'll be back."

"You sound certain."

"I'm a bartender. I know how to read people too."

Jane grinned at him and exited the tavern. She took in the rest of Small Heath as she walked towards the police station. The streets remained empty in the early morning, which made the cold worse. She turned onto Watery Lane. Already, she spotted men and boys entering and exiting his house. The gambling business starts early, she supposed. For a moment, she'd thought about going inside. She imagined Tommy in his office, smoking and reading a newspaper. He'd turn his head and see her in his doorway. Would he kiss her? Would he smile? She already knew the answer and it only hurt more. He'd put faith in her and she let him down. The space between them would only be cold and empty. That coldness wouldn't be her last memory of him. Jane pulled up her collar and moved onward past #6 Watery Lane.

The police station hustled and bustled as usual. A majority of the men there hardly noticed her, but she caught an eye or two. At the front desk sat the same curly-haired young man from her first day.

"Um, he-hello Ms. Dawes," he straightened up his uniform and slicked back his hair. "How can I, um, help you?"

"Is Sergeant Moss here?" she asked. "I'd like to speak with him."

"I-I don't know, Miss. I only just got here. I can show you to his office if you'd like," he said.

Jane decided she'd humor him. "That'd be nice, Officer…?"

"Owens, ma'am," he said with a smile. "Please, this way."

Owens led her down the bull pit towards Moss's office. Already she could see Moss wasn't there. She would've found it odd on any other day. Due to his shaking hands, sweaty brow and sudden rages, Moss must be sleeping off his drink.

"Owens?" she asked as they reached the door, "How has Moss been lately? I understand he's taken to drinking."

"Yes," Owens affirmed, "He's fallen off the wagon again."

"Off the wagon?"

"He'd promised himself he'd stop drinking, ma'am," he explained as he turned the knob. "He'd always enjoyed a drink like any other man, but the war…" he sighed, "It changed him. It changed the lot of us."

He opened the door and they stepped into the empty office. Moss was obviously not there, but she looked around regardless. "I only meant to give him these," she put the evidence files on the desk. On the corner of the desk, she saw a photograph of Moss, a blonde-haired woman, and a little boy. She smiled, "I didn't know he had a family. He never mentioned them to me."

"He doesn't talk about them much," Owens said. "I grew up with his son, Daniel. He and I even enlisted in the war together."

"Really?"

Owens nodded, "We were in the same battalion during training. Sergeant Moss was head of it, and he trained us both."

"So you're close to the Sergeant then?"

"I am," he smiled. "He's never shown me favoritism though," he said quickly. "I earned my position here just like everyone else."

"I'm sure you did," she agreed. She examined another photograph of Moss and Daniel in front of a tent. She assumed they'd taken it in France. "You must've met his wife then?"

He shook his head, "No ma'am. She died a couple of years before the war. She became ill and they couldn't help her."

"I'm going to take a stab in the dark and assume Daniel never made it home?"

Owens didn't speak at first. He gulped and put his hands behind his back. Jane caught the sullen look on his face. "No…" he said, "No, Daniel died in an ambush. We were riding back to camp after a training exercise. The enemy planted mines along the path so once we hit one, the truck flipped into the air. I was one of the lucky ones," he lifted his sleeve to show a long scar going up his arm, "But a few weren't so lucky. A fire started, of course, and some were badly burned or died on impact."

"Daniel was one of them?"

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded. "I-I-I tried to help him, ma'am. You have to know that. I tried pulling him out of the fire. Sergeant Moss saved as many of us as he could. He pulled us out one by one and left us on the side of the road. I tried getting Daniel out, but he wasn't moving. He'd died."

Jane, out of her own curiosity, opened the desk drawer. She saw the typical whiskey bottle and glass. There were empty pens, old ink bottles, and a small paper bag. "I'm sure it hit him hard," Jane said, taking out the bottle and glass. "Losing his wife and then his son," she said, "Moss must be alone these days."

"I try being there when I can," Owens then said. "I cared about Daniel too. He was a good friend of mine. I help Sergeant Moss home when he's too drunk to get there. I once brought him food when I heard he wasn't eating. I never had a father growing up, you see, and Moss was always there for me and my mum. So, I care about him, you know?"

Jane lifted the bag out of the dresser. She gasped when she opened it. "Owens…" she met his eyes, "How did Mrs. Moss really die? Being a close family friend, I'm sure you knew the true reason. Daniel would've told you even if he kept it a secret."

Owens shifted his weight around, not directly looking at her. "She…" he coughed, "She was ill, ma'am."

"With what?"

He sighed, "She took drugs." He nodded, "Yes, she had a problem. Most people take to drinking, but Mrs. Moss liked drugs. Daniel often stayed out of the house when she took it. He didn't like seeing his mother sprawled out on their lounge. A lot of people looked down on her for it too. She'd been a lovely woman."

"What happened that changed her?"

"Well, things…" he said, "Daniel told me they were tight on money. Moss only just started here and the pay wasn't that good. Mrs. Moss…" he said, "Mrs. Moss did what all women do to make ends meet. She didn't tell her husband about it."

Jane felt her hands go numb. They dropped the packet without a single twitch. A fine white power spilled out onto the desk and Jane's heart raced. "He must've been angry when he found out."

"He was," he nodded. "Daniel told me his father found her dead in their lounge. He'd buried her himself in their backyard. Daniel told me he didn't see him do it, but that's what they told him."

"Because Moss killed her."

"Excuse me, ma'am?" Owens said in shock. "Sergeant Moss loved his wife. He would've never have hurt-"

"-Where did she get the drugs? Did Daniel know?"

"How would he know? He was a kid! We both were! What are you playing at, ma'am? You shouldn't go saying things like that."

"Has the Sergeant been acting different? And I don't mean because of the whiskey," she said. "Does he seem like a different person? As if he changes overnight?" She recalled his outburst of rage. He'd even insulted 'women like her'. She thought it'd been the drinking.

"I-I-I don't know, ma'am."

"This is opium," she told him, pointing at the powder. "By the looks of this package," she rthrough the papers in the drawer. She didn't stop looking until she found it, "Dr. Lester prescribed it to him. It's not recreational but medical. Dr. Lester gave him this, and I need to know why."

"Ma'am, you really shouldn't be poking your nose where it doesn't belong." Owens reached into his jacket and pulled out his gun. He held it with a shaky hand. She looked at him and caught his fear. His eyes widened and his pupils dilated. She spotted the barrel of the gun slightly shifting around. It wasn't his first time holding a gun, but she felt his reluctance. "Put the gun down, Owens. You don't want to shoot me and you don't have to. Sergeant Moss could be sick. I might know what he's sick with. He's had really quick mood swings, hasn't he? One moment he's himself and the slightest thing changes it?"

"That's none of your business!"

"Does he wake up sometimes and not remember where he'd been or what he did?" she asked.

"It's the drink! He gets drunk!"

"I don't think it's just that," she said. "Owens, if you care about Moss, you'll let me help him. You have to tell me where he is."

"I-I don't know where he is."

"Please Owens," she said. Slowly, she began moving from behind the desk towards him. He didn't fire his weapon. He did not even cock the barrel to use the bullet. "Owens," she gently touched his arm, "You spent five years shooting and killing men. You want to tally up that score again?"

Owens sighed defeated, lowering his gun, "No, ma'am. I'm sorry. I-I only care about him, you know? Yes, he's been acting strange lately. I don't know what he's up to or where he goes, but I've noticed it. It's almost like he's a different person sometimes. I think the whiskey's got something to do with it. When Daniel died, he sort of went off the rails. He was harsh, mean and all around unpleasant. He wouldn't sleep. He wouldn't eat. He…" he hesitated in his words. "He'd visit the local brothel here. Now, I don't judge him for it. I've visited myself. But, I didn't do what he did."

"What did he do?"

"Smack the girls around," he said. "One girl told us he'd called her a 'filthy whore' and a 'lying bitch'. He's quite rough, she said."

Jane's breath hitched in her throat. "No…" she tried shaking the words from her head, "No, no, no! It's wrong! It's all wrong!"

"Ma'am?"

"I've been looking at this all wrong! I should've seen it! I should've known…" she took off her hat. She felt the tension build in her muscles. It tightened quickly, burning like fire. Her mind raced through every bit of information she knew. She gathered it from every corner, compiling everything together. Everything made sense. "I can't believe I didn't see it! The bloody bastard's played me from the start!" she smacked her purse into the bookshelf.

"What do you mean, ma'am?"

"I have to find him! I have to find him before he kills someone! He'll do it again! I know he will! He…" He thinks he's safe with her gone.

Jane straightened her hat and rushed out the door.