Dear Diary

I knew I was right not to trust Sanderson, or Fletcher. Poor Jack, the man he looked up to, mentored him when he was a junior constable, nothing but a white slaver. So many people hurt, Jack, Rosie and the whereabouts of the box taken from the Imperial Club determined – Sanderson had it, all so he could blackmail the Commissioner into resigning and him taking over. Then he told Jack he was reassigning the case to O'Shaugnessy, a Catholic to appease the Bishop – I'm sure if the Bishop knew what was actually happening to the girls he wouldn't give a damn who was leading the investigation.

Jack didn't know which way to turn but he couldn't give up the case, not like that, so he brought the autopsy result to me of the girl Dot and Hugh fished (literally) out of the river. Dot was so brave identifying the laundry mark as that of the Magdalene laundry from the Convent of the Holy Miracle – some miracle to end up in the river, dead!

I need to find a new laundry – one that doesn't use 'fallen' girls as their unpaid workforce.

Sanderson didn't like me working the case, or any probably, I think, now I look back, he might have been a little afraid of the way me and Jack get the job done, bring the criminals to book and well he might have been, after all he turned out to be the worst we have dealt with – him and his godson Sydney. I do feel for Rosie, I'm sure she had no idea; I mean a girl should be able to trust her father, mine aside but he is a whole other story, especially when her father is a police officer. I hope she can find a peace somewhere, with her sister.

Aunt P was pretty marvellous in all this, even if her belief in the 'Gratitude Girl system' has been dented, but she got Joan back and with her help she will give some pretty damning evidence and Sanderson and Fletcher's trials, and Mary will have a place there, and her baby.

I have to laugh when Rosie, in my parlour, after a discussion about the case said I had made things difficult for Jack and Aunt P wondered just how devoted an ex-wife was supposed to be.

So, it appears I was right not to trust Sanderson; there were lots of things about him I didn't like, his high handed opinion of himself, his taking the box from the Imperial Club, I think we should give those things back to the men they were taken from perhaps with a warning to be careful where they leave things lying about, his telling Jack how to run the footie case, and a side thought, his sartorial image – Jack, who must earn less than a Deputy Commissioner, has much better suits, better tailored, better fitted, Sanderson, well they always seemed a little worn, surely he could afford to replace the odd ill fitting waistcoat?

Question to be answered in the fullness of time: Who is Jack Robinson, where does he come from (apart from Richmond that is)?