**************************************************************
JAG HQ
Conference room
0920 local
Mercedes was shuffling papers and making occasional notes in the
six files spread out in front of her when Harm and Mac arrived. She
looked up just long enough to greet them before turning back to the
folders. "Hey. Thanks for humoring me on this...I'm just too used to
presenting info like this, I guess. Have a seat and I'll get on with it
in a minute."
CD had made one final scribble in the last folder when the door to
the conference room opened again-- this time, admitting Admiral AJ
Chegwidden. "Tiner told me you'd found some new information, Ms. Von
Kleist. I thought I'd come see what you had, if you don't mind," he
said amicably.
CD mentally groaned. Yeah...she was going to throw him out of his
own conference room. Riiiiiight. Instead she plastered a smile on her
face, telling him, "Not at all, Admiral. I'm just about to get
started."
Oh well, so much for keeping this low key. Mercedes picked up her
notepad, and half-leaning, half-sitting on the table, dove in. "Now,
I'm going to ask you all bear with me. What I'm going to propose is
going to sound more than a little nuts, but I think once you see the
details and the evidence, you'll at least seriously consider my
theory."
"From the beginning, as I've mentioned several times to Commander
Rabb, I've had the feeling that there was something familiar about this
case." Harm nodded, and CD noted with dismay that the Admiral's
eyebrows rose disbelievingly. Well, she'd know this was going to be a
hard sell. "But mostly, it was only a gut feeling-- I had nothing to
back it up. Until I did some research last night."
She began pulling pictures of each of the victims from the folders,
pinning them on the bulletin board behind her as she spoke. "First,
let's look at our case. We have five victims. Claire Tabram, a 24-year-
old student at Georgetown, found near Alexandria. Lt. Cmdr. Suzanne
Nichols, a 34-year-old naval officer stationed in Norfolk, found near
Williamsburg. Annabella Chapman, 29, an executive secretary found in
Norfolk. And Margaret Stride, 36, a housewife, and Navy Lt. Catherine
Eddowes, 28, both found near the dock in Newport News," she finished,
tacking the last picture on the board and turning back to the three
officers. "All the victims were found with throats slit and some form
of abdominal mutilation, except for Margaret Stride."
"Now here comes the part that's going to be hard to accept," CD
stated, then took a deep breath and continued. "I believe these women
are victims of an unknown killer who is attempting to recreate events
that happened almost 115 years ago on the other side of the Atlantic."
AJ's eyebrows weren't the only ones that rose this time. Harm had a
look of confusion, while Mac appeared to be struggling to keep the
disbelief off her face. AJ didn't bother. "I know, I know," CD added
quickly. "It's nuts. But stick with me here for a bit, all right?"
She began pulling more photos from the file, and like before,
pinned them up, this time below the corresponding victim. "Martha
Tabram. Murdered, throat slit, minor abdominal mutilation. Polly
Nichols was next--same MO. Same for "Dark Annie" Chapman. Then, on the
same night, Liz Stride, who only had her throat cut, and Kate Eddowes,
whose throat was slit was well as having both facial and abdominal
mutilation." This time, though, there was a sixth photo, black and
white and taken postmortem like the others. "Finally, we have Mary
Kelly, who was, simply put, butchered nearly beyond recognition."
Mercedes turned away from the board, only to see the disbelief had
tuned to apparent shock. "These women were murdered in an area of
London, England known as Whitechapel in 1888. Their killer was never
caught, and to this day is simply known as Jack the Ripper."
AJ was the first to speak. "You're saying that there's somebody
out there who thinks he's Jack the Ripper?"
"That, or simply feels a need to recreate his crimes." CD took a
deep breath, then continued. "Unfortunately, this doesn't much for a
suspect profile except complicate it. If our UNSUB thinks he is
actually the Ripper, well, it's a whole new ball game, especially if he
claims more victims. I mean, we know about Mary Kelly," she said,
gesturing to the photo, "but what about after that? Both he and us are
on unknown ground then. The only thing I could tell you is that it's
very likely he's going to continue to escalate his level of violence
against his victims, and possibly the frequency."
Mac spoke up. "What if he's only recreating the crimes?"
CD raked a hand through her hair, nearly undoing her bun.
"Honestly? We're on even more uncertain ground then. We can't even
really begin to make an educated guess as to why he's doing this. It's
just too wide open. And what about when he runs out of Ripper victims?
What then? I would hazard a guess that he wouldn't simply start
'making things up on his own', if you know what I mean. He's already
proven that's not really his style. He's unimaginative--a follower,
not a leader. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say he'd find someone
else to emulate. But that's only a guess."
The room fell silent as each person adsorbed the information and
contemplated it. For her part, Mercedes still wasn't sure she had
everyone convinced. Finally, the Admiral spoke. "Much as I'm
personally inclined to dismiss this as a crackpot theory, Miss Von
Kleist, you've presented far too much evidence to do so."
"Believe me, Admiral, I don't like it any better than you do," she
replied. "But I've got to go with what the evidence, both physical and
circumstantial, tells me. And it's telling me I've got a copycat
Ripper on my hands running around Virginia murdering women."
"I agree." He stood, noting with a slight touch of amusement that
everyone present stood. "Keep on this. I want this bastard caught,"
he added as he left."
An "aye, sir" from Harm and Mac and a nod from Mercedes were his
answers. After he'd gone, CD sagged against the bulletin board,
muttering. "Thank God that's over. For a while there I thought I was
going to end up as Purina Admiral Chow."
Harm snickered, earning a dirty look from Mac. "So where do we go
from here?" she asked.
Mercedes sighed wearily. "As thrilled as I am to have found this
information, the simple truth is doesn't help us all that much."
"Well, we need to fill Mac in on more of the details anyway," Harm
suggested, "so why don't we start with reexamining what we already
have..."
"Bearing in mind the Ripper connection," Mac finished.
"Sounds like a plan."
*****************
1325 hours
Harm's office
Mercedes sat at Harm's desk, pouring over the file on Annabella
Chapman.
Harm and Mac had gone out for lunch, but CD opted to stay behind and
review files. She was also waiting for several phone calls. She'd
contacted several "Ripperologists" she knew, wanting to confer with
them and perhaps gain more insight in to the killer.
She was almost ready to move on to the still-developing file on
Margaret Stride when her cell rang. "Hello?....Yes, this is Mercedes
Rabb speaking...."
She continued with her conversation, never realizing that just out
of sight, Lt. Lauren Singer was listening to every word.
TBC....
JAG HQ
Conference room
0920 local
Mercedes was shuffling papers and making occasional notes in the
six files spread out in front of her when Harm and Mac arrived. She
looked up just long enough to greet them before turning back to the
folders. "Hey. Thanks for humoring me on this...I'm just too used to
presenting info like this, I guess. Have a seat and I'll get on with it
in a minute."
CD had made one final scribble in the last folder when the door to
the conference room opened again-- this time, admitting Admiral AJ
Chegwidden. "Tiner told me you'd found some new information, Ms. Von
Kleist. I thought I'd come see what you had, if you don't mind," he
said amicably.
CD mentally groaned. Yeah...she was going to throw him out of his
own conference room. Riiiiiight. Instead she plastered a smile on her
face, telling him, "Not at all, Admiral. I'm just about to get
started."
Oh well, so much for keeping this low key. Mercedes picked up her
notepad, and half-leaning, half-sitting on the table, dove in. "Now,
I'm going to ask you all bear with me. What I'm going to propose is
going to sound more than a little nuts, but I think once you see the
details and the evidence, you'll at least seriously consider my
theory."
"From the beginning, as I've mentioned several times to Commander
Rabb, I've had the feeling that there was something familiar about this
case." Harm nodded, and CD noted with dismay that the Admiral's
eyebrows rose disbelievingly. Well, she'd know this was going to be a
hard sell. "But mostly, it was only a gut feeling-- I had nothing to
back it up. Until I did some research last night."
She began pulling pictures of each of the victims from the folders,
pinning them on the bulletin board behind her as she spoke. "First,
let's look at our case. We have five victims. Claire Tabram, a 24-year-
old student at Georgetown, found near Alexandria. Lt. Cmdr. Suzanne
Nichols, a 34-year-old naval officer stationed in Norfolk, found near
Williamsburg. Annabella Chapman, 29, an executive secretary found in
Norfolk. And Margaret Stride, 36, a housewife, and Navy Lt. Catherine
Eddowes, 28, both found near the dock in Newport News," she finished,
tacking the last picture on the board and turning back to the three
officers. "All the victims were found with throats slit and some form
of abdominal mutilation, except for Margaret Stride."
"Now here comes the part that's going to be hard to accept," CD
stated, then took a deep breath and continued. "I believe these women
are victims of an unknown killer who is attempting to recreate events
that happened almost 115 years ago on the other side of the Atlantic."
AJ's eyebrows weren't the only ones that rose this time. Harm had a
look of confusion, while Mac appeared to be struggling to keep the
disbelief off her face. AJ didn't bother. "I know, I know," CD added
quickly. "It's nuts. But stick with me here for a bit, all right?"
She began pulling more photos from the file, and like before,
pinned them up, this time below the corresponding victim. "Martha
Tabram. Murdered, throat slit, minor abdominal mutilation. Polly
Nichols was next--same MO. Same for "Dark Annie" Chapman. Then, on the
same night, Liz Stride, who only had her throat cut, and Kate Eddowes,
whose throat was slit was well as having both facial and abdominal
mutilation." This time, though, there was a sixth photo, black and
white and taken postmortem like the others. "Finally, we have Mary
Kelly, who was, simply put, butchered nearly beyond recognition."
Mercedes turned away from the board, only to see the disbelief had
tuned to apparent shock. "These women were murdered in an area of
London, England known as Whitechapel in 1888. Their killer was never
caught, and to this day is simply known as Jack the Ripper."
AJ was the first to speak. "You're saying that there's somebody
out there who thinks he's Jack the Ripper?"
"That, or simply feels a need to recreate his crimes." CD took a
deep breath, then continued. "Unfortunately, this doesn't much for a
suspect profile except complicate it. If our UNSUB thinks he is
actually the Ripper, well, it's a whole new ball game, especially if he
claims more victims. I mean, we know about Mary Kelly," she said,
gesturing to the photo, "but what about after that? Both he and us are
on unknown ground then. The only thing I could tell you is that it's
very likely he's going to continue to escalate his level of violence
against his victims, and possibly the frequency."
Mac spoke up. "What if he's only recreating the crimes?"
CD raked a hand through her hair, nearly undoing her bun.
"Honestly? We're on even more uncertain ground then. We can't even
really begin to make an educated guess as to why he's doing this. It's
just too wide open. And what about when he runs out of Ripper victims?
What then? I would hazard a guess that he wouldn't simply start
'making things up on his own', if you know what I mean. He's already
proven that's not really his style. He's unimaginative--a follower,
not a leader. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say he'd find someone
else to emulate. But that's only a guess."
The room fell silent as each person adsorbed the information and
contemplated it. For her part, Mercedes still wasn't sure she had
everyone convinced. Finally, the Admiral spoke. "Much as I'm
personally inclined to dismiss this as a crackpot theory, Miss Von
Kleist, you've presented far too much evidence to do so."
"Believe me, Admiral, I don't like it any better than you do," she
replied. "But I've got to go with what the evidence, both physical and
circumstantial, tells me. And it's telling me I've got a copycat
Ripper on my hands running around Virginia murdering women."
"I agree." He stood, noting with a slight touch of amusement that
everyone present stood. "Keep on this. I want this bastard caught,"
he added as he left."
An "aye, sir" from Harm and Mac and a nod from Mercedes were his
answers. After he'd gone, CD sagged against the bulletin board,
muttering. "Thank God that's over. For a while there I thought I was
going to end up as Purina Admiral Chow."
Harm snickered, earning a dirty look from Mac. "So where do we go
from here?" she asked.
Mercedes sighed wearily. "As thrilled as I am to have found this
information, the simple truth is doesn't help us all that much."
"Well, we need to fill Mac in on more of the details anyway," Harm
suggested, "so why don't we start with reexamining what we already
have..."
"Bearing in mind the Ripper connection," Mac finished.
"Sounds like a plan."
*****************
1325 hours
Harm's office
Mercedes sat at Harm's desk, pouring over the file on Annabella
Chapman.
Harm and Mac had gone out for lunch, but CD opted to stay behind and
review files. She was also waiting for several phone calls. She'd
contacted several "Ripperologists" she knew, wanting to confer with
them and perhaps gain more insight in to the killer.
She was almost ready to move on to the still-developing file on
Margaret Stride when her cell rang. "Hello?....Yes, this is Mercedes
Rabb speaking...."
She continued with her conversation, never realizing that just out
of sight, Lt. Lauren Singer was listening to every word.
TBC....