"Who sent you?! Who sent you?!"

"You know who sent me, you German shit."

The sack went back over her head and they poured more water. Tight hands held her down whenever she thrashed. She couldn't escape. They asked the same questions over and over. 'Who sent you?' 'What are their plans?' 'Tell us where we can the preparation plans'. She didn't answer. She'd rather die than betray Arnold. It went on for hours. When they finally removed the sack, it wasn't the face of a German officer. It was a faceless figure with a thin silver knife. She saw only the crack of a smug smile.

"Ring around Janey," it said in a sing-song voice, "Pocket full of pennies. Slashes, Slashes, she fell down."

She never felt a knife so sharp.

Jane jolted out of sleep. A thin layer of sweat covered her body from head to toe. She felt the draft creep on her now, and she shivered. Catching her breath, her heart stopped rapidly beating. She'd nearly forgot where she was and what happened. She sat up on her bed and touched her throat. It was intact. The faceless figure and its morbid tune floated in her head a short while. The fear still lingered inside her chest like phlegm. She felt unsettled. Her body could set into trembles any moment. She shut her eyes and took her deep breaths. Whoever brought her home removed her dress, but kept her in her chemise. She recalled what happened earlier. Kimber tried choking her. She rubbed her throat and felt no harshness at all. Her voice wasn't even croaking. Kimber faked his strength, using it on women who were weaker than him.

Copycat isn't weak.

"Do those happen often?"

He sat at her desk, the case file in his lap and cigarette in hand. A rush of embarrassment hit her. She looked away from him and hugged herself. "Sometimes," she said. Jane wished it were Vivian and not Tommy. Vivian never questioned them. Tommy saw her fear. He'd comforted her through it. He brought her home and waited until she woke. Why would he do that?

"You called for your brother," he said. "I always understood that you didn't like him."

"We're still family," she admitted. She tossed away her headband and combed her fingers through her hair. "Wouldn't you do the same for Ada?"

"Ada wasn't a government spy," he answered. He studied her again. "I saw the scars on your back when I took off your dress. They're whip lashes."

"It's nothing." She slipped onto the edge of the bed, keeping her back from him. Whipping her had been the least of it. She touched her fingernails. She remembered her nightmare. She gulped.

"I heard stories about what they did to prisoners in those bunkers," he said.

"And I heard stories about what happened in those tunnels." Her words silenced him. "Does anyone ever ask you about them?" When he didn't answer, she said, "Didn't think so.

He didn't say anything. He didn't give her a hard look or even snap back at her. He sensed her pain. He might even foolishly believe he understands. He never would. Tommy wasn't in those bunkers. She stood on shaky knees and said, "I'm better now, so you can go."

Tommy put out his cigarette, yet didn't make to leave. "It isn't Kimber."

"No, it's not."

"Kimber's a weak man," he said. "He isn't smart enough either."

"He has the kit for show," Jane said. "There weren't any medical books and he couldn't name any of the instruments. He has no experienced with bodies."

"He also drinks and abuses cocaine," Tommy added.

"Copycat doesn't partake in those things. They'd dull his senses."

"He doesn't have any sort of handicap that'd make him undesirable to women."

"They also flock to him because of his money."

Tommy paused. "Your killer might have money. Maybe he doesn't have a disfigurement at all."

"Go on…"

"We could be looking at this wrong. He might be someone that attracts these women. He'd be the sort they'd run to because he offers them more. He already has drugs, which are hard to come by for poor women. He might've promised them something. Maybe offer more money or protection."

"Protection…" Jane thought for a moment. She gripped her knees, "He'd be somebody in a powerful position-"

"-Somebody who arrived around the time the killings started-"

"-Who isnt interested in the deaths of poor women-"

"-He'd try stopping your investigation-"

"Chief Inspector Campbell," they said in unison.

"There's also his work in Ireland."

"His work?"

"Before he came here, he was rounding up the IRA in Belfast. They charged him with stomping them out as much as he could, and he succeeded to a point. He used to torture and beat men to death for information," he said. "They'd find them in the river the next day when he finished."

Jane's fists clenched. Campbell seemed a likely candidate. Looking down at the evidence, a common criminal or gangster couldn't commit these murders. This was the work of someone with skill. Copycat knew what he was doing and he did it well. Campbell had enough experience and cruelty to carry them out. Perhaps Belfast gave him a taste for blood and now he wants more.

"It makes sense," Jane said. "He wasn't very happy when I said I wouldn't help him. It could've been a misdirection tactic. He'd keep me preoccupied with the guns so that I wouldn't be looking into the murders so much."

"Too bad you proved him wrong."

"I think I proved a lot of his assumptions wrong."

"I know you certainly did it to mine," he said, standing up.

Jane turned to him. He was beautiful. She wouldn't deny that. He'd seen her. He discovered her pain and wasn't appalled. He didn't try coddling or comforting her because there'd be no use. Tommy might not know what happened, but he knew it'd hurt her. Nothing she did faze or intimidated him. Tommy battles his own demons. The dark circles under his eyes told her as much. It didn't stop him from caring about hers.

"You liked her, didn't you?" she leered.

"Liked who?"

"The ditzy, sexy kitten. You liked her."

He moved closer to her. "No, I didn't. I prefer the bold, brilliant detective."

He'd left her breathless. The chill on her skin vanished under his warmth. She never expected it from him. She suddenly felt relaxed and warm in his company. His lips were only inches from hers. He could kiss her right now. He should kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her.

"Are you going to kiss me now, Mr. Shelby?" she whispered.

"If only you'll let me, Ms. Dawes."

Jane grinned at him. A hint of a smile came on his face, and he cradled her cheek. Their lips met in a small peck. A short, sweet gesture, Tommy didn't go any further than a lingering kiss. She held her breath as if she'd plunged into water. She released it once he let go of her. She couldn't think of what to say to him. For once, Jane was speechless. She only let him rub her cheek with his thumb.

"Bold and brilliant enough for you?" she finally asked.

"More than enough."

Rapid knocking came from the door suddenly. Tommy tore himself from her and answered it. "Jane! Jane!" Harry panted, leaning against the door, "You gotta come! There's been another murder!"

Jane arrived at a side street not far from Garrison Lane. Blocks were already places in the front of the street so nobody could enter. She spotted someone right away.

"Ms. Dawes!" Gerald Irons appeared on the scene again with a cameraman beside him taking pictures. "Ms. Dawes! Is it him?! Has the Alleyway Butcher struck again?!"

"No comment, Mr. Irons."

"You have to give the public something, Ms. Dawes!" He noticed Tommy behind her, "Are you two working together on this?! Is this gang related, Mr. Shelby?!"

Neither of them answered his questions and Jane shielded her face from his cameraman. Jane and Tommy walked past the blockade and into the damp alleyway. In a small resting point, she saw the body. A brunette slashed in the same fashion as the others. Jane imagined she'd find a five-penny on her as well. Moss stood nearby giving orders to his men as someone began taking evidence photos.

"Evangeline Williams," Moss said before she could ask, "Factory worker."

Jane bent down over Evangeline. She was so young. She couldn't have been older than twenty. She felt nothing but pity for her. Jane discovered the same marks up her nostrils as the others. They were consistent with the last victim's making her also an opium abuser. The five-penny glittered inside the throat slashes. She didn't need a medical examiner to see what he took. There was emptiness where the stomach is normally located. The severed intestines implied it.

"One of your men found her, Mr. Shelby," Moss told Tommy. "He said he was patrolling the street like you asked him to. It was that black fellow, the preacher."

"Jeremiah," Tommy nodded. He looked down at Jane, "I'll talk to him. He'll tell me if he saw anything."

"Because why bother with the police?" Moss said irritated. "I mean, we're the law around here. I don't see why nobody is running to us when this happens." He turned to Jane, "They'd rather talk to you than me or my men. I can understand maybe Campbell, but you?"

"Don't forget, Sergeant," Jane said, "You're the one that hired me."

"Because you said you'd stop him. He's killed three more since you've been here," he said. "When do you plan on capturing him? When he starts knocking off the higher ups in this town?" His eyes glanced at Tommy. "I don't understand why my men suddenly can't be trusted. I had to call in a supposed specialist because nobody would fucking talk to me."

Moss stormed off before anyone said responded. Jane found this turnover odd. Sergeant Moss always seemed so eager to help. He'd cared about his town. Now he regretted hiring her.

"I agree with the Sergeant, funnily enough." The smell of tobacco told her Campbell came onto the scene. He stayed a few feet away from the body, smoking his pipe and looking smug. "For someone so renowned, you haven't been effective."

Jane crossed her arms, "And you have?"

"Not as much," he said, "But at least I'm getting somewhere. I told Moss he should have sent you back to London. Women are too sensitive for things like this."

"If anyone is sensitive, it's you, Inspector," Tommy said before she could. He walked towards him, hands in his pockets, "Where were you when all these murders were going on? Surely, even a lawman like you should be at least a tad worried? He's not killing simple prostitutes anymore. He's killing hardworking women supporting their families. Doesn't that worry you, Inspector?"

"There's more where these came from," he said, nodding to Evangeline's body. "From what I've seen, he isn't done yet, Mr. Shelby."

"And you'd know that?" Jane asked, coming up to them, "Because you're so experienced in murder? We know about your work in Belfast. Good Catholic men used to disappear in the night and turn up dead the next morning. I heard some gruesome things they endured. You were behind it, they said."

"It'd be a shame if Mr. Irons learned about it," Tommy said. "Everyone knows the papers like to twist the facts around."

He emptied his pipe and said, "You two ought to be careful where you tread. You both aren't as impenetrable as you believe."

"And neither are you," Jane said.

He left the street and the men let him pass. She watched him leave before saying, "He knows something. He knows and he's not telling us."

"I'm sure there's a lot he keeps hidden," Tommy said.

"Do you still have cops on your payroll?" she asked.

"One or two. He dismissed the ones he knew were taking bribes," he answered.

"Can they look into him?"

"What should they be looking for?"

"Whatever they can find out about Belfast," she said. "Anything they can find that would link him to this."

"I'll see what I can do," he said.

For a moment, she wished they'd stayed in her room. Tommy's warmth beat the biting cold any day of the week. She shook off the feeling and returned to the body. Kimber definitely didn't do it now. His victims were girls who couldn't fight back. These women could. Jane spotted the odd position of Evangeline's mouth. Jane pulled on her gloves and pried the lips apart. Rather than see a tongue, she saw a severed stub. He'd removed her tongue as well. Stomach and tongue. Two more parts often taken from animals.

"Why are you taking them?" she asked herself. "Are you eating them? Preserving them? You don't take organs without intent. Nothing you do is thoughtless, Copycat."

'Give me something,' she begged. Moss's angry words became worrisome. He'd been right. She hadn't done much to stop Copycat. She'd only been gathering information. Yet, how can she stop someone she can't see? Like in the dream, he was a nameless, faceless shadow. Tommy crouched beside her and said, "It's not your fault."

"It is," she said. "He isn't bothered by me being here. He's killing and he knows nobody will stop him. I have done nothing to help these people." She was running in circles. Every victim was almost like the last. "He's mocking me now," she said. "He's saying 'look I can kill and you can't catch me fast enough'. They're both right. I can only tell people to 'stay safe' and girls have to remain indoors. That's impossible in a slum. Women need to eat too. Look at her, Tommy. She's so young. She had a life. I could've saved that if I didn't waste time chasing dead ends."

"There is one thing you can do," he said.

"And what is that?"

"You confront him," he answered. "Irons is right over there. Like you said, everyone reads the papers."

Jane looked over her shoulder at the anxious reporter. She nodded at Tommy and moved towards Gerald Irons of the Evening Dispatch.