Thursday; November 8th, 1888:
Two months had passed since the last murder at the hands of the serial murderer that had been dubbed 'Jack the Ripper'. Little evidence had been properly collected and preserved from the crime scenes, while the rainy weather only aided the killer in hindering the investigation process. Four young women had been butchered on the streets of London and no one had been identified as the culprit, as such the victims had yet to receive their due justice.
Sherlock Holmes spent his waking hours meticulously reviewing the evidence from each murder, analyzing every detail of the crime scenes and eliminating potential suspects until only seven names remained remained. All evidence suggested a man of education as well as a man of considerable skill with a blade, such either as a medical doctor or perhaps a butcher. It was crucial to deduce a motive as well as the likelihood of each man possessing these key skills.
Montague John Druitt. A barrister who also worked as an assistant schoolmaster from Blackheath of London. A man of education no doubt, however he had a solid alibi during the events of the first murder.
Seweryn Kłosowski: alias George Chapman. He had no relationship with Annie Chapman, one of the Ripper's victims. An immigrant who changed his name upon arrival in England wherein he is employed as a barber. No motivation for the murders could be pinpointed but his skill with a blade favored his odds as the suspect for the local inspectors.
Aaron Kosminski, born Aron Mordke Kozminski, a current resident of the Whitechapel District. Though his skills seem rather unremarkable he appears to be deranged and paranoid with little ability to form healthy relationships. His mental state and close proximity to the murders, as well as fitting the description of the man supposedly seen at the latest murder, was enough to catch the attention of the investigators.
Michael Ostrog, a Russian conman with several aliases. It was a rumored but unable to be substantiated that Ostrog was a surgeon in the Russian Navy. Despite the requited education and skill it seemed unlikely that such a man would devolve from petty schemes to murder so abruptly.
John Pizer, a boot maker who also resided in Whitechapel, who had also been previously convicted of a previous stabbing offense and had been reputed to assault several prostitutes. Seeing as all the victims had been confirmed prostitutes the above evidence and previous acts of violence should have been damning. Unfortunately he too had alibis for two of the murders.
James Thomas Sadler, a man known to frequent the company of prostitutes. He even appeared to be good friends with one young woman, though his nightly habits and apparent addiction to the 'drink' created a gray area where a vile temper could reveal itself while under the influence of drink, causing the man to attack the women in a drunken stupor.
Francis Tumblety, a man who made a good fortune as an 'Indian Herb Doctor' from across the pond. Personality wise this man was deemed both a quack and misogynist who had been connected with the death of a former patient but escaped prosecution, he had even been connected to the assassination of the former President of the United States; Abraham Lincoln. Even then the detestable parasite was released without conviction. The following evening he had been arrested for engaging in sexual acts of an illegal nature, but it had been reported that the deplorable deviant had fled to France while awaiting trial.
Seven men had been suspected but no one man could be clearly identified as the murderer in question.
For the past eight weeks the Stradivarius sang a somber melody that echoed mournfully throughout the flat of 221B Baker Street. Sherlock seldom slept as the threat of another victim falling prey to the Ripper haunted his unrestful dreams and relentlessly plagued his thoughts. Watson did his best, as both Sherlock's friend and doctor, to encourage Sherlock to try to rest or at the very least eat something.
"Come now Holmes, you'll catch the fiend in due time." Watson walked into Sherlock's private chamber and spied the tall detective pacing anxiously in front of his mist covered window, the Stradivarius still in his pale hands.
As Watson stepped into the room the bow suddenly fell still, the strings no longer in contact. The Stradivarius dropped at his side in Sherlock's tired grip. "When Watson? Tell me when I am going to identify and catch this madman."
Watson sighed heavily in empathy knowing all too well that Sherlock was nearing his physical limits as well. "You know as well as I that I cannot see into the future."
"And yet here you claim that I will undoubtedly stop this lunatic."
"Sherlock, please listen to reason." It was uncommon for Watson to address Sherlock by his surname. "You're exhausted. If you don't rest you are going to collapse and be of no use to anyone. What then?"
Placing the now silent violin and bow on top of the desk that had been completely covered with assorted paper and photographs all connected to the Ripper. Sherlock turned toward his colleague, his eyes red with fatigue and stress. "It appears I am of no use to anyone at this moment." Not wanting to engage any further into a needless argument Sherlock grabbed his long trench coat and pushed his way past Watson who had planted himself firmly in the opened doorway.
"Holmes? Holmes! Where are you going?" Watson followed Sherlock to the top of the stairs and watched as his taxed colleague walked down the stairs at a brisk pace.
"Out." His arrogant and impatient reply only emphasized the amount of pressure he had placed on himself.
Watson shook his head as the door to the flat slammed shut. He contemplated following Sherlock but opted to let him be. "Holmes, what I am to do with you?"
...to be continued...