"ALLEYWAY BUTCHER EXCLUSIVE!"
"Last Monday Evangeline Williams became The Alleyway Butcher's sixth victim. Killed in the same fashion as the others, police are reluctant to release details of the crime. Rumors about police protection, government interventions, and even cannibalism still spread. But this reporter had the pleasure of sitting down with one of the lead detectives. Jane Dawes, daughter of Commissioner George Dawes, is a private London detective. She was sought after by Small Heath Police a month ago. This past night, Ms. Dawes and I sat down to set the record straight.
'We found traces of opium powder on the victims' noses. I theorize that he drugs his victims before killing them," she informed me. "He cuts them open from throat to sternum. Then he removes the reproductive and functioning organs.' I asked what he might be doing with these organs, to which she replied, 'He's consuming them. He needs them, Mr. Irons.'
Everyone has their theories about The Alleyway Butcher and his motives. Ms. Dawes believes he lacks imagination. 'He removes their female organs because he is mirroring Jack the Ripper,' she said. ' Our butcher isn't a creative man. I mean, he's ripping off somebody else's work.' The Butcher has since jumped from prostitutes to working class women. Ms. Dawes believes he's trying to break from his influence. 'And he's failing miserably.'
Ms. Dawes does ask the public be cautious when walking the nighttime streets. People must stay on crowded streets or remain within massive groups. The Butcher, she says, blends in with the people. Several readers believe he's a butcher or fisherman, but she denied these claims. 'No,' she said, 'A butcher or a fisherman couldn't commit such a crime. It is someone with power over these women or the public in general.'
I asked if the detective had any words for The Alleyway Butcher. 'I do, as a matter of fact. If The Butcher does read this, I want him to know he is a coward. He hides in the shadows like a rat. He can't even subdue a woman on his own. He's weak and pathetic. Once I will stomp out–"
"You really do have some balls, Jane."
Harry wiped down the bar as Jane read the article. Irons' article printed in the morning edition overnight. He seemed too eager for the exclusive. The Evening Dispatch is desperate for news, he'd told her. The police give them nothing of substance, and people deserve the truth. Jane only gave them half. Copycat wouldn't like someone calling him a coward. She'd be waiting for it. The article continued suggesting all the terrible things Copycat might be. One thing was certain, butchers and fishermen could rest easier now.
"I needed to do it, Harry," she said. She folded the paper and set it aside. "I needed to contact him somehow. There's no better way than the newspapers. I can't stop him unless I talk to him." She addressed him, "Any news from Freddie?"
"Only a tidbit," he said. He slid over a folded paper. "He says that he's coming back to Birmingham. He wants to meet with you. He says it's important."
Jane opened the paper and read, 'Meet me at the docks tomorrow night. Our friends are talking and it's not about guns.'
"I'll meet with him then," she said.
"What's on the agenda until then?" he asked. He poured her a drink, which she only cradled.
"I'm going to visit the Sergeant," she replied. "He can help me with the Inspector. He talks to him more than anyone."
"From what's been going around," Harry said, "You're not his favorite person right now."
"Doesn't matter. I can't catch his man if he doesn't talk to me. But first, I have to talk to the preacher."
Jane thought Moss's behavior odd. He'd never been so harsh. Then again, she hardly knew him. Being a lawman of a slum must not be easy. Nobody trusted him enough. But did she blame them? No. A majority of his forces are paid off by Tommy or turn a blind eye to their businesses. There was no real justice in Small Heath. Jane would change that if she could.
Jane left Harry in the bar as she began searching Garrison Lane. Tommy said Jeremiah usually preached around town. She walked around for a while before coming upon him alongside the canal. He strode downwards, bible in his hand and speaking. "Please, please pray for the lost lives of these young women. Pray they find peace in the arms of The Almighty." Jane wished she could say that no amount of preaching would help. He caught her coming towards him and stopped.
"You're Jane," he said, his voice hinting Caribbean origins.
"I am," she replied. "You must be Jeremiah," she shook his hand. "Tommy told me I should talk to you about the other night."
"He said you'd find me," he told her. "Walk with me, please."
The two of them began strolling down the canal side. "You said you saw him," she spoke, "Is that true?"
"It is," he nodded. "I was walking home from church when I came across him and the girl."
"What did you see? Everyone says that he's a tall man in a coat and hat. Nobody's seen a face." Jane hoped he'd seen a face.
"That much is true," he agreed. "I wish I could say I did see his face," he answered. "He had his back turned. Yes, he was tall with broad shoulders. He wore a peaked cap and a coat. Honestly, he could be any man walking these streets right now," he gestured to those around him. "There was something else I saw," he rifled around in his pocket before pulling out a ring. "He dropped this when he ran away from me."
Jane picked up the ring. They passed a docked boat, so they turned into the street. A blood stained ring sat in the palm of her hand. It was small and thin, likely for a child or teenager than an adult. "It could've been Abigail's."
"That's what I asked her family," he said. "They said she didn't own any kind of jewelry. I'm thinking this belonged to him."
She then saw the ring's inscription across the outside. Wiping it with her glove she read the cursive engraving. 'God sees you'. "God sees you?" Jane studied the ring in her hand, turning it over as if the answer would come to her. "The phrase is normally 'God sees all'."
"It is. He watches over all his children," Jeremiah added. "I thought the giver wanted to comfort him?"
"No," she shook her head, "It's more than that. They wanted to steer him of wrongdoing. Religious people tell their children this to scold them. If you sin, God will see you. Killing is a sin. He knows God will watch him kill."
"And he doesn't fear it," he added. "He kills and kills and kills because he is destroying God's creations. Whatever made this man lose his faith struck him hard."
"A lot of people lost their faith in God after the war," she said.
"And many gained faith when they returned home," he said. "They attribute their survival to Him. Didn't your husband feel the same?"
"I don't have a husband," she answered. "But I suppose I could sympathize. I never believed in God; that was my grandmother's department. I find it hard to believe in something I cannot see."
"But that's why we must have faith in our Lord," he grinned. "If we could see God, then there's no faith. Faith is not only about seeing and touching. It is about trust. The faithful believe you trust Him with your soul once you die. We trust in him to save and protect us. God gives us the gift of life and in turn, we have faith in him."
"Do you think that is what happened here? Copycat could've lost his faith in God or humanity?"
"Very much so," he said "He is sending these women to their maker. He is using the abilities God gave him to hurt rather than heal."
"Heal?"
"You believe he could be a surgeon, no? Tommy mentioned something like that to me when he visited. Surgeon's have the gift of healing. They relieve people of fatal illnesses or deadly tumors. This man, whoever he is, doesn't want to heal. He wants to kill."
"He's definitely putting it to good use," she said. "If God makes us in his image, I wonder what he had planned when he made him."
"It is not up to The Lord what we do with ourselves. It is why he gave us free will. For instance, God blessed you with several gifts, Ms. Dawes. Whether you believe in Him or not, you have a clear mind and a sharp eye. He gave you the tools to seek out truth and justice. God gave you that. It was you that chose to use them."
"If that is true," she said, "Then his plans for Copycat were horrendously destroyed."
"Unfortunately, that might be true." He paused, "I read the papers today. I worry he might put his tools to use again."
"He might."
She walked into the police station later that day. Knocking on the Sergeant's door, she found him sitting at his desk. He glared at her the moment she entered.
"Sergeant…"
"You said you'd give me results," he said. "You said you'd catch him. Ever since you got here, you've been boasting about how you're going to find him. In truth, you haven't done a single fucking thing that's helpful in any way. First, you steal a dead body, then you start a bar fight with a suspected IRA member. Now you've called him out in the papers." He tossed the latest edition on his desk. "For such a great detective, you don't seem to get far."
"Well, I am dealing with a man who disappears into thin air," she replied. "Sergeant, I know you're upset." She sat down in front of him, "I imagine dealing with a stolen shipment of guns and having a killer on the loose is rough. He isn't leaving any clues behind, but I have new information that may help."
"Which is?"
"He grew up in a religious household," she said, "Or might even be himself. Tell me Sergeant, is Inspector Campbell a religious man?"
"I suppose," he said, "Lots of good men are. Is he one of your suspects?"
"At the moment," she nodded. "He's definitely the personality type and hasn't shown much kindness to women. From what I've heard about Belfast, he isn't a stranger to violence either. It does put him under suspicion for now."
"He won't like that," Moss told her.
"I don't care what he doesn't like," she answered. "He's at the top of my list."
"You sure this isn't because of Tommy Shelby?"
"Sorry?"
"You two have been awfully chummy lately," he smirked. "How do I know you're not blaming the Inspector because of him? Campbell's had his eye on Shelby about those missing guns. What if this is your way of getting rid of the problem, eh?"
"I can assure you, Sergeant," she leaned in, "If I wanted to help Tommy Shelby, I wouldn't need to blame anyone."
"And the papers? What about what you said to that reporter?"
"The paper will draw him into the light. He won't stand public humiliation," she said. "He'll send a message that he isn't a coward, which means he might slip up. Emotions get the better of someone like him."
"So, you're going to let another woman die because you provoked him?"
"I was hoping you and your men could help me patrol his hunting ground."
"This man killed two women on crowded streets!" he said. "He slipped away without anyone seeing him! What makes you think we'd catch him this time?"
"We'll know where to look now," she answered. "Before we had no idea where he was hunting. Now we do. He tends to kill around the south side of town. It's possible he lives in that area."
"So you think you can just cut him off, do you? Think you're so bloody smart that it might work?"
"I do," she said.
He scowled, "I never understood women like you."
"Sorry?"
"You all think you're so damned special because your daddy has money," he spat. "You get to do what you want with no consequence. Nobody can refuse you. You better hope this half-assed scheme of yours works this time, or I'm taking you off the case!"
Jane studied him. She saw the glimmer of sweat across his forehead. He tried concealing his trembling hands by holding on to his chair. "Have you been drinking, Sergeant?"
He glared, "None of your bloody business. Get out now. Go out there and bring me back something worth caring about."
"As you wish, sir," she said.
Jane walked out of his office unsettled. She hadn't cared for his words, but instead the anger behind them. He'd dramatically changed the subject all throughout their conversation. He didn't stay on one topic very long. He almost couldn't. She guessed the liquor was the enabler there. Copycat should be responding soon. Whether he did this with another body or something personal remained to be seen.