Ch. 2: Informant

Theresa started her day like any other. She went to the reaper dispatch headquarters and made her way to Will's desk. He looked up slowly, his yellow-green eyes indifferently gazing over the rims of his spectacles. "Sorry Theresa, no work for you today." Theresa left the office and walked down the hall. The snickers and rude comments she heard on the way out still hurt, but not as much as they had previously. Today she was filled with confidence and determination. Theresa wasted no time in heading to the police station to get some information. Upon arrival Theresa saw a man in a tan trench coat with red hair. He turned and saw Theresa as well, and started walking towards her. "Good morning miss," he said with a tip of his hat. "What can I do for you?"

Theresa let a small smile tug at the corner of her mouth. "Well, I was reading the paper and saw that the serial killer hasn't been caught yet." The man's eyebrows perked up in slight surprise, but he regained his composure.

"Fear not my lady. The Yard will soon apprehend the criminal. You'll be able to sleep soundly, rest assured."

"Actually," Theresa said, working as much charm as possible, "I'm pretty good with detective work. Maybe if you share some of your information I could be of assistance."

The man's expression instantly turned deadly serious. "Absolutely not, "he said. "This case is too dangerous for a civilian, and a woman at that." He began to walk away when Theresa grabbed his arm, suddenly desperate.

"Please, you have to let me help! If I don't do this I'll never be able to prove myself to my coworkers."

"I'm sorry, but I cannot allow it."

"There must be something you can do." After a few beats of silence the man sighed, looked around, and leaned in next to Theresa's ear.

"There is a man who should have some information about the victims. Go down the street and turn left at the corner store. Don't stop until you've reached the Undertaker's shop. He might be able to help you."

"Thank you sir," Theresa said with a breath of relief.

"The name's Abberline. Now you be careful miss." With that he gave a small nod and walked away. Theresa turned and ran down the crowded streets, filled with a nearly uncontrollable excitement. She was starting to get closer to her goal; hopefully this Undertaker character had the information she needed.

It didn't take long for Theresa to reach the shop. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. Once her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she saw plenty of coffins, but not a single person, living or otherwise. She took a step inside and called out. "Hello? Is anyone here?" There was no response. Theresa turned to leave when she heard the sound of creaking hinges. She turned back and saw a lid opening on one of the coffins. A man with silver hair and black clothing emerged, wearing a top hat and the biggest grin Theresa had seen. He climbed out of the coffin and turned to look at Theresa, or she assumed he was since she couldn't see his eyes. "Welcome. What can I-"he stopped and his face changed to an expression of shock.

"Is something wrong?" Theresa asked. The man she assumed was the Undertaker shook his head and the grin was back.

"Not at all. Now, what can I do for you?"

"I'm told you're the person to come to for information." Theresa said, trying to maintain a professional tone. The Undertaker tapped a finger against his chin and hummed a little tune under his breath. His head moved up and down, almost as if he were measuring her for one of his coffins. 'Something feels…off about him.' Theresa thought to herself. She couldn't put her finger on it, but he gave her the impression that he wasn't quite… human. She was broken from her train of thought when the Undertaker spoke again.

"What kind of information, my dear?"

"I'm investigating the recent serial killings."

The Undertaker's smile widened and he let out a small laugh. "And why would a pretty reaper like you need information like that?" Theresa froze, completely caught off guard. How in the world did he know she was a reaper? And did he call her pretty? He began laughing uncontrollably, making Theresa slightly uncomfortable. Eventually he stopped and looked at Theresa again. "Sorry dear, but your reaction was just priceless. Yes I know reapers exist. Now, why are you interested in the victims of a serial killer?" Theresa hesitated to share that information with a man she just met. But she needed information, and somehow she felt she could trust him.

"I'm trying to track down the culprit and reap his soul."

"Interesting. But, if you don't mind me asking, couldn't you just look up his name on the 'To Die' list? That would save you a lot of trouble, I think."

"Well, I haven't exactly been assigned to get the killer's soul. You see, I haven't been given a single assignment since I became a reaper. I was hoping that if I caught the killer, I could prove that I was as good as any other reaper and be given tasks." The Undertaker listened intently, silently feeling sorry for the young woman. She seemed really eager to do her job, but there was some sort of barrier that prevented that, and he could guess what that barrier was. "I'm sorry," Theresa said. "I've said too much."

"There's nothing to be sorry about. Now follow me and I'll show you the victims' bodies." Theresa followed him to the back of the store where there were three bodies lined up in a row, all young men in between sixteen and nineteen years old. "They all have been murdered the same way, as it is with most serial killers, but I haven't found any other clues as to who the culprit might be." Theresa moved closer to inspect one of the victims. Well, it was obvious the killing blow was a slash across the chest. And it was the same blow on each victim. 'There must be something I'm missing,' Theresa thought to herself. She leaned in closer and gently pulled at the pale flesh to better examine the wound. Then she saw it; looking deeper into the cut she saw a choppy row of torn tissue and muscles. These tears followed the line of the blade's incisions.

"Did you see these tears?" Theresa asked, not looking up.

"What?"' Undertaker said, sounding as though he were just daydreaming. He moved to the other side of the table and leaned down, his forehead nearly touching Theresa's. "No, I hadn't seen those before. Very observant miss."

"What caused them, I wonder? The cuts are clean on the surface, and it's too uniform to be more than one blade." The Undertaker shrugged and walked away from the bodies. Theresa moved more of the man's shirt, completely unfazed by the fact that he was quite muscular and in life would have been considered very handsome. Her hands travelled upward along the chest until she saw black and blue marks that clashed with the now pale skin. Bruises, she noted. They continued all the way around the neck in a uniform manner. "What are these bruises from?"

"Near as I can tell they were from the victim being strangled. But why the killer would do that I have no idea. Seems like overkill to me."

"Indeed." Theresa continued studying the bruises when she had an idea. "Do you have any rope?" No response. She looked up and saw the Undertaker in a daze once again. 'I wonder if he's usually this unfocused.' "Ahem," she said. He shook himself from his stupor.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Do you have any rope?"

"Ah, yes." He turned and opened up a nearby cabinet, pulling out a three foot piece of rope. He handed it to Theresa who laid it against the victim's neck. It matched the bruises perfectly, except for at the front of the neck, just above the collarbone. Theresa twisted the rope so it would match the shape, causing it to resemble a knot. She picked up the rope and tied it. "Interesting knot, deary."

"I've only seen this knot in one place: the harbor. Sailors use this kind of knot on their ships."

"And what were you doing down by the harbor might I ask?"

Theresa paused. "That's not important right now." She set down the rope and went back to examining the slash across the chest. "Of course! Fishermen use knives with hooks on the end, which would explain the tearing in these cuts. The end of the blade would hook onto the tissue and rip through it as the blade kept moving."

"I'm truly impressed. I never would have deduced that myself."

"But it's not enough to identify a single killer, seeing as there are a lot of sailors in London. Did you find anything else on the bodies?"

Undertaker tapped his finger to his chin again. "As a matter of fact, I did. Let me see, now. Where did I put it?" He began looking into different cabinets and drawers. "Aha! Here they are!" He brought over three pieces of fabric. "They each had a pretty handkerchief on them. Didn't think much of it when the bodies were dropped off here. Course most of the time I just think about making my guests look their best." Theresa examined one of the pieces of fabric. She had never seen any type of material like this before.

"Do you know what kind of fabric this is?"

"Last time I saw material like this it was on a dress imported from India. Very few ships here make that journey on a regular basis." Now Theresa had something to work with; she just needed to stake out the harbor and find out which ships were going to and from India. She refastened the victim's shirt and looked up at the Undertaker.

"Thank you for your help, Mr.….."

"Just call me Undertaker. I don't believe I got your name miss."

"Theresa."

"Well Theresa, I hope you find what you're looking for." Theresa headed for the door and was about to step outside when Undertaker called out again. "Miss? I would actually like for you to do me a favor. When you get the culprit, bring his body back here. I would simply love to fit him for a coffin." Theresa nodded and left the shop.

As she walked down the street her mind was finally starting to process some questions she had pushed to the back of her mind. How did Undertaker know about reapers? Was he one himself? Whenever he got close to her she felt an aura similar to what she felt at dispatch from her colleagues. But if he was a reaper, why was he running a funeral parlor? And where were his spectacles? Why did he keep spacing out while she was examining the dead bodies? And why did he call her pretty? That last question really plagued her mind. Maybe it was just something he said to all women who entered his shop. It was probably just messing with her because nobody ever called her pretty, with the exception of drunk people. Her thoughts were interrupted when she saw that she had reached the harbor. There were a large number of boats of all sizes to her left, each one floating carelessly on the water. To her right there was a variety of shops. She took a deep breath and entered the nearest pub; it was time she got some more answers.