He should have struck by now. He'd need to kill again soon. She paced back and forth in her room. A day passed since she'd examined Kelly's body and no word about Copycat. Vivian sat at the desk, jotting down her report for the case files. She'd be leaving in a few hours. Jane could feel the impending goodbye coming. She felt so alone in this mess. Vivian was the only one. Jane needed her here. Nobody else could stay on her level or at least fake some interest. They all fell behind eventually. Tommy would soon enough. He committed crimes. He didn't solve them.

"There isn't much to the coin," Vivian said. "Only Kelly's blood was on the coin. Then again, he uses gloves. I think they're surgical since leather leaves prints. Anyways, I finished my report. I noted the skin beneath her fingernails. It can't tell us anything except that she scratched him. I can't imagine the police station having a laboratory to test it on. I feel sorry for you."

"You could get some of your equipment and come back," Jane said.

"No," she said. "We agreed one one day. I'm leaving tonight and I can be home before James wakes up."

"It'll be like you never left."

"Jane, if you had children you'd understand," she told her. "You can't abandon them every time a case comes up. It's important that you're there for them. They need to know someone cares for them."

"Speaking from experience?"

Vivian narrowed her eyes, "Matter of fact, yes I am. My mother constantly shoved me off to my nanny. I want to be there for James. I don't want him seeing me as some stranger. He'll know that I care about him because I'll be home. I can't run off any time you ask, Jane."

"You can bring him when he's older."

"You don't get it," she grumbled. "Everything is always about you in the end. Your case, your feelings, your thoughts. You get so involved in your cases that you don't time to think of anyone else."

"I thought of you."

"Because you couldn't find anyone else. You would've given an arm and a leg to get me here. You don't even care that I dropped everything for you, do you? It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter because Jane is getting what she wants."

"I thought of you because you're the only person I trust."

"You used to trust a lot of people. You used to have more friends and your little network. Now, you do everything yourself. You never see your parents who adore and love you. You ignore your brother despite all the favors he's done for you. If Arnold really didn't care, then why did he save you in France? You wouldn't have gotten out of that bunker alone. You can't do everything on your own."

Jane froze. She hardly thought of France anymore. She tried forgetting it. The more time she spent working, the less time she spent remembering. She recalled needles, hard fists, swift kicks, lashes, and water. Lots of water. She could hear the gunfire and boots. She could still smell the smoke on Arnold's jacket. She shuddered. He told her he took care of the commander himself. He was the only one who didn't face the firing squad.

Vivian realized what she'd said and stood from her chair. "Jane…" she said, "I'm-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"-I'm going for a drink."

"Jane," she said, "Jane, wait."

Jane ignored her. She went downstairs towards the bar and ordered a drink. She tossed back the first drink Harry gave and ordered a second. She ignored the noise and people around her. She tried shaking the memories off. She hated them. She wouldn't let them win. She took up the second, and then the third. The burning sensation in her throat kept them at bay. She'd been so weak back then. The job made her feel invincible. She liked going from man to man, discovering secrets and relaying them back. She'd been helping her countrymen survive. Arnold said her information saved hundreds of British lives. Then they found out. She drank a fourth.

"Finn, what the hell you doing, lad?"

Harry asked the youngest Shelby, who'd climbed onto the bar top. They all watched him take down The King's portrait. Jane couldn't bear looking at it. She hated seeing those cold eyes staring down at her. "We're having a fire," Finn said. The small boy hopped off the bar and several people followed.

John approached Harry and paid him to bring beer to Watery Lane. Jane already knew what they'd planned. Tommy would've eventually fired back at Campbell for the raids. She grabbed her coat from upstairs and left the tavern. The idea might strike a blow at Campbell, but it could be fatal for others. She raced to Watery Lane where she saw dozens of people in the street. Children carried portraits down to the fire. Peaky Blinders paid people for theirs. Everyone felt the excitement of the event. Tommy's men sealed off both ends of the street with their cars and only let in people with paintings. Jane pushed passed them despite their calls. She needed to see Tommy. People surrounded a large fire, drinking and cheering. The familiar cracking and smell of burning wood filled the air. No one there had a single care about the danger. To them, there was no Copycat. It was a celebration for them. It was a hunting ground for Copycat.

"Tommy," she came to him, "What are you doing?"

Tommy stood alongside his brothers at the fire's edge. He finished his cigarette and said, "Making a statement."

"What statement?"

"That the King should be loyal to his people. He shouldn't look down and see what's happening. The Inspector had men come into our homes, harass our women and destroy our belongings. We went through Hell for him and he disgraces us."

She snorted, "Right. And burning his pictures will help you? It'll only bring down more hammers on your head."

"You worked for him," he said. "Certainly you know-"

"-I know more than you think, Shelby," she spat. "I know more than you do! You think you-" She stopped herself. She needed to stay on topic. "Stop this. Now. This is the perfect opportunity for him. All these people, all this commotion and booze, only lets him blend in with the crowd. The women here aren't safe. No one is safe when he's around. He'll kill tonight if he has the chance."

Tommy noticed the change in subject. "Then you'll have another body to examine," he said instead.

"I don't want another body," she said. "I want to catch him before he kills."

"We don't always get what we want, do we?" he asked. "If he kills tonight, you get what you want. If Winston Churchill reads what happened tonight, then I get what I want. The reporter can write about your problem too. Then more people will know what is going on."

"So then can intervene and take over?" she said. "Having them sniffing around will only slow things down. This isn't a time to slow down."

"You just don't want anyone helping you."

"They slow me down."

"I didn't seem to slow you down last night."

"Because you had nothing better to do."

"No, because I care about the people here," he said. "They depend on my men and me to protect them. I can't have law and order if someone is going around breaking it. Business can't thrive if there's chaos in the streets. There are rules here, Jane. This man isn't following them."

"Didn't know I was speaking to the lawman around here," she said. "Have fun with your fire."

"Jane…"

She felt her head swimming. Water stung her skin. Blood spewed from her mouth. Metal nails sparked with electricity. She couldn't breathe with the rag over her face and the water pouring down. She struggled against tight grips and snipping scissors. Jane leaned against a wall, clutching her chest as it grew tighter. She closed her eyes and saw blurry faces in dim lighting. Jane kicked against people who weren't there. Her body became stiff and she trembled. She felt their hands. She felt their fists and kicks. She pleaded to the laughter around her.

"Jane? Jane!" Jane moved away from the hands coming towards her. "Jane! It's me! It's Vivian!"

"Stop!"

"Jane! Please! Jane!"

Jane remembered pliers at her fingernails and the patches of hair on her head. She screamed. She felt the cold ground underneath her. She tried pushing the slender figure back. "Jane! Jane, please! You're home, Jane! You're home in England! Nobody's hurting you here! You're safe, Jane! You're safe!"

The faint scent of lavender hit her nostrils. Her fingers gripped the damp pavement beneath her. She heard the cheering crowd and the boots walking by the alleyway. She shivered at the bitter cold touching her cheeks. She looked around and saw the alleyway she'd stumbled into. Vivian sat straddled on her. Worry filled her green eyes, and she brushed the hair from Jane's face. Her soft fingers warmed Jane's cheeks. They wiped away the tears wetting her lashes. She took in more lavender perfume.

"Wha-Uh-" she stuttered. "I-I did it, didn't I?"

"You did," Vivian said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up."

Jane rested her head back and gasped for air. The tightness began clearing up as Vivian helped her to her feet. She felt the full nails on her fingertips. They'd taken ages to grow back. Vivian hugged her, but Jane couldn't hug her back. "Should I stay another day?" Vivian asked in her ear, "I'll stay if you-"

"-No, go home to Ja-James," she said. "I'll-I'll be fine. I know how much you love him. Go home and be a proper mother."

"Jane…"

A sudden shriek ripped through the conversation. Jane's head whipped towards the continuing path between buildings. Someone bolted her way until the crashed into her. Lizzie Stark stood sobbing and clamping a hand over her mouth. Tears streaked her cheeks and she simply shook her head.

"Lizzie?" Jane asked. She tried hiding her shaking hands. "What happened?"

"Oh Jane, it's a-awful!" Lizzie wept. She looked down the alley, "I was walking home and-and I-I found here lying there! There's blood everywhere and-and-Oh my God, it's terrible!"

"Jane," Vivian took her hand, "We'll go get the police. You should go to bed."

"No," Jane shook her head.

"Jane, please."

"No!"

Jane stormed passed the two of them and went down the alley. A small courtyard in the center was their crime scene. The woman sat slumped against a wall, her throat cut twice. Her dress ripped open, Jane didn't see any incisions and cuts anywhere on the torso. Wobbly knees took her towards the body, where she bent down. She pushed away her attack. She tried forgetting the sounds and faces. She ran her hands through her thick, full hair. Jane felt the soft curls, sensing no bald patches there. She was home, she was home, she was home. She wasn't in the bunker. She was in a side-street with a Copycat victim. Jane was home.

She focused on the body lying in front of her. She dove into it.

'Young woman between 25 to 35-years-old. No sign of assault. Throat slashed twice. One injury right on top of the other; cutting the jugular arteries and vocal chords. Clean cuts mean a longer, thinner knife. He knows exactly where to cut to keep them from screaming.' She looked at her dress, touching the dry fabric. She sniffed the dress and through the blood she smelled bread. Baked bread? Flour on the fingertips and under her nails suggested she'd just put it to bake. 'She'd finished when she came out here.' She saw an archway leading from another side-street. 'He came through there. He waited until she left her lodgings and attacked her. Perhaps he's done baiting them.' The knocked over bin said he'd pushed it over. She would've thought it was a cat or a child. With everyone at the bonfire, she wouldn't have thought it was anyone dangerous. She turned back to the victim. Her mouth appeared slightly ajar. Jane parted the dead woman's lips and found another five-penny. 'Another token of worthlessness.'

"Jane?" Vivian came to her side, "Oh God…"

"He did it again."

"How do you know it's him? He didn't cut her open."

'The ripped dress…' "He'd started but didn't finish. He must've heard someone coming and dashed. Dash…"

Jane left the body and looked around the area. "Jane," Vivian said, "Moss is on his way. You should go back to the pub. You need some sleep."

"He could've dropped something," she said. "He would've dropped something."

"This isn't healthy," Vivian said. "I know things have been hard since France. They were hard for everyone."

Jane stepped about and saw it. In a thick mud patch was a boot print. About ten inches in length, Copycat had wide feet. The mud would've splashed on his shoe as he ran away. This wasn't a whole lot of help seeing as most men in Small Heath probably own boots. She narrowed it down to a dock man or butcher. They wear boots for work. Each one would have knowledge of anatomy or at least have similar tools. Yet, they wouldn't have money for opium, especially the powdered kind. Anyone could've thought the cuttings were simply good guesses. Jane shook her head. No, Copycat doesn't guess. He knows. A medical student might not wear boots while he works, but he would for camouflage.

He'd used the fire as Jane said he would. Yet, having done it so close by, Lizzie interrupted him. She didn't think he'd be so careless in location. Copycat didn't finish this one.

"He's going to do it again," she said.

"Enough of this," Vivian said. "I'm taking you back to the pub."

"No, Vivian," Jane said. "He'll kill again tonight. Don't you see? He has a ritual. Operating on them is his signature. He needs to take something from them! He didn't take anything from her!"

"Jane, if he almost got caught, what makes him think he won't-"

"-Because anyone who can stop him is at Tommy's stupid fire!"

"You need to rest. Let's go back to The Garrison."

"I don't fucking want to go back to The Garrison!"

"Ladies?"

Tommy appeared with John and Arthur. Tommy didn't even glance at the dead woman, but his brothers did. They both took off their hats, holding them to their chests. He wasn't even concerned. He only stared at Jane. Jane glared, "What did I tell you?! What did I tell you, you ignorant bastard?!" She reached for him, but Vivian held her back. "Look what you did! You let him do it! You had to go have your stupid fire and look what happened! You don't care about these people! If you did, you'd be trying to stop him! You only care about your stupid ambitions! Get off me, Viv!" Her anger flashed over her body. She began shaking again. She took a breath, but it did no good. "You-You bastard…"

"Jane," Vivian kept her on her feet, "Let's go. You men can stay here until the police come."

"What's wrong with her?" Tommy asked, looking Jane over.

"Nothing," Vivian lied. "She polished off a bottle of whiskey is all. She'll be right in the morning."

Jane saw flashes of a man's face inches from hers. He threatened her, but she couldn't hear him. "N-n-no…"

"Come on, Jane. Let's go home. Come on now."

Vivian half-walked half-dragged her towards The Garrison. Jane didn't sleep that night.