The Second One

Erik Selvig didn't want to be called into any office. Being a foreign officer, he felt under a constant microscope, so he tried to keep a low profile.

Scotland Yard was a dreary place to work. Very grey. Very loud.

Higgins came up to Erik and smiled. "Sir Anderson wants a word, Mr Selvig."

Erik rolled his eyes, but smiled all the same. "Indeed? Well…I best be on with it," and he rose from his chair and went into the assistant commissioner's office.

"Selvig," said the balding Robert Anderson from his desk, his nose in some papers. "Have a seat." The commissioner was older, much older than most in the department. There had been talk of him retiring.

But here he remained.

Erik sat down. "So…you were asking for me?"

"What do you know of Whitechapel?"

Dirty. Poor. Some mercantile activity. "Not that much."

"There was another murder there in the early hours, and I'd like for you to be our man on the ground."

Erik liked being on the ground.

He didn't like multiple murders so much. "Another?"

"Yes…" and Anderson shuffled papers. "Just so. Another. Bit of a panicked situation there just now, Selvig. We need a presence there to inspect and such. We have reinforcements there now, but an investigation is ongoing. We are asking Inspector Abberline back, as he knows the area quite well. You'll be answering to him if he returns."

Erik nodded. "When will we know if he's returning?"

"Within a few days," Anderson had yet to look at him.

"Very good," and he rose. "Well…I'll leave information I've gathered with…"

"Abberline," now he looked at him.

"Right…" he wasn't an idiot. He was Swedish.

And he left for Whitechapel Road.

Buck's Row. It held no particular meaning to anyone in Whitechapel or Spitalfields until the morning of August the 31st.

That was where Mary Ann Nichols was found, throat sliced, abdomen open, with other slash marks on various parts of her body.

The crowd had dispersed, though there was plenty of unease.

And Jane Foster was there, watching as the body was taken from the scene at about five thirty in the morning. She was visibly shaken.

She would need to start watching out for herself…this was no game.

Not that she believed it ever was, but she herself hadn't felt threatened. Now, she rather did.

Jane lingered long on Buck's Row, thinking about what she should do.

"Everything all right, Miss?"

Jane was startled from her reverie. "Yes!" she cleared her throat. "I mean…yes. Fine, officer. It is awful, isn't it?"

"That it is," said the officer.

"You aren't British, are you?"

"No. Swedish," and he smiled.

"What are you doing here?"

"My wife is from London. We moved here just a year ago."

Jane nodded. "Well…London can be a bit rough. But it has its charms, too," she smiled. "Are you heading the investigation for Ms Nichols?"

"Not exactly. Holding it for someone for the next couple of days," he rocked on the balls of his feet, smiling. "Did you know her?" he added softy.

"No," she didn't…never saw her the way she had seen Martha. "No."

"Well. I understand that there has been some violence here as of late. Best mind yourself."

"Do the police…" she began as Erik started to walk away. "Do you have any leads at all?"

"I'm not at liberty to say, Miss."

"No, but…there was another murder here…not even a month ago. And no one was arrested. Nothing came of it," she paused, swallowing. "I…asked questions…I think that there was something very different about her murder. And if…if you don't find any leads straight away for Ms Nichols, maybe we could talk?"

Erik looked at the young woman crookedly. She appeared to be very anxious…well. Who wouldn't be? "Of course, Miss. Of course," and he turned once more…

But Jane grabbed his sleeve. "No," she breathed. "No…I mean it. I'm not being smart. I know some things that might help."

And the officer looked at her steadily, and nodded. "Thank'ee, Miss."

He left her there.

And Jane wrapped herself tight despite the heat filling the air. She shivered, and turned to walk in the direction of Spitalfields Market.

She hadn't been able to sleep…she awoke just an hour previous, and decided to take an early walk to work. Maybe stop for a pastry she never allowed herself.

And another violent murder.

She felt positively ill.

Jane walked in the direction of her shop and went inside. She slumped into the chair and felt tears threaten.

She didn't know Mary Ann Nichols, but from what she had heard at the crime scene, she had been a prostitute.

Given this, she needed to rethink herself….was she threatened? She wasn't a prostitute, never had been, and God willing, never would be. But she felt kin to these women. She was a woman. That in and of itself meant something. No…she surmised. She was relatively safe.

She sighed.

It meant something, being a woman…What it meant, she wasn't sure.

But it meant something.

And those Officers…they were all men. They didn't care. Not really.

Jane swallowed. She would start this afresh. She would do this thing.

It was eight thirty when she finally opened the shop, a full two hours after she had arrived. She had spent the morning deep in thought, wondering what she was going to do to discover this murderer.

He only needed to be relatively bright. The officers weren't that adept.

The bell rang out.

"Jane! Have you heard?"

She turned to see Fandral there. That was odd. "I did. Yes…were you on your way to Asgard?"

"I was. I thought that I'd stop by. Loki is likely there already, and would want to check on you. I wouldn't see him for the rest of the day," he added with a smile.

"He can be a bit intense," she smiled and opened the salt cabinet.

"He means well. He's concerned."

"No doubt," she wiped off the counter.

"I'm in earnest, Miss Foster. I think…" Fandral paused a moment. "…I have reason to believe that following this latest crime, that Loki will…" he swallowed. "That he may offer you his help."

Her eyes snapped to his. "He will?" she breathed.

"Now…I'm telling you thins so that you are prepared for it. I do not want you to be taken unawares and laugh at him."

"I would never…!" she stopped, seeing his eye. "Very well. Yes. You are right," and she smirked.

"He wants to…" Fandral paused. He must tread lightly. It wouldn't do to suddenly give away his boss's heart, especially since Loki had confessed nothing besides idle attraction for the lady. "He wants to help sort this out."

Jane heaved a heavy sigh of pleasure. She wasn't going to be alone in this! What a mercy! She would even suffer Loki's cheek for it.

And, as she had often admitted, Loki wasn't all bad. He had many good points, she reminded herself.

She would be pleasant to him when he arrived that morning.

"Thank you, Fandral. You are a good sort," she smiled.

"Thank'ee Miss. I find you particularly amiable," he tipped his cap and left the store.

And Jane Foster smiled widely, then chided herself for such a display. A woman was murdered! Have some care, Jane.

But she continued to smile all the same.

"Mornin' boss," cried Fandral, entering Asgard.

"Well. A happy man arrives at his place of employ half an hour after opening," he was behind the counter, absorbed in a book.

"Come, Loki. You've heard about Miss Nichols. Everyone is in a state."

"That doesn't concern me," he replied.

"Doesn't…" he began. "What is your problem, my man? What of Jane Foster?"

This started him. "What of Jane Foster? Well, Fandral, you should know. Were you not just at the apothecary's?" he spat, staring at him.

Fandral looked at him a moment, then laughed. "Loki… I was merely verifying that she was all right. I know her too, and I thought that if you went there, I wouldn't see you for the rest of the day."

Loki looked at him, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why are you concerned?"

"Erm…because I'm a human being?"

"Paltry excuse," he mumbled, then finished opening the shop.

About an hour later, Loki was fidgeting, inventing silly chores, and Fandral was annoyed beyond measure. "For god's sake. Go see her!"

Loki snapped his gaze at him. "I haven't…"

"Go see Jane! You are dying to! And you are driving me round the bend with your idle chores."

Loki cleared his throat. "I…" he stopped. "Oh all right. But only because you are practically begging me to."

And he left.

And Fandral fell into the chair, sighing heavily. "Thank the Lord above," then he smiled. "Good luck, Jane Foster."

Loki's hands were shoved in his pockets.

When he had heard about Mary Nichols, he nearly fainted. And he wasn't faint at heart. There was something very much amiss here. He had come to believe that the same person had murdered both Mary and Martha.

And that person would strike again.

He looked up, having almost run right into a gentleman, and he eyed him quizzically. Could this be the man?

And then everyone became a suspect…

He was suddenly aware of every man on the street…their look…their gait…he fancied they were watching him, watching them.

Loki arrived at the apothecary in a pant, and slammed the door closed behind him; his back on the door, leaning against it. He looked around the shop to see Jane Foster staring at him. He swallowed. "Jane. Good morning," he coughed, then let go of the handle.

She laughed. "All right, then, Loki?"

"Fine. You?"

"Well enough."

He nodded. "It's rather close in here Jane. You should keep your door open," and he opened it once more, smirking at her.

"Well, you can't be too careful nowadays. Look at poor Mary Nichols."

"Don't make jokes, Jane. It is unattractive," and he peered at the street, then turned back into the shop. He had let his fancy get the better of him. How humiliating! He would need to tread lightly if he was going to do this thing. "So, Jane," he sat in his chair.

No…not his chair. The shop's chair.

"Yes?" she asked sweetly.

He gave her a critical look. Then rolled his eyes. "Fandral."

"Pardon?"

"That knave! I should sack him this very moment."

"What are you on about, Loki?" Jane handed him some tea.

"He was here. He spoke with you," he accepted the cup.

"He was," and Jane sat opposite him with her own cup.

"And what did the two of you discuss?"

"Many things. The weather. He was concerned about me given the recent…" she paused. "Unpleasantness."

Loki glared at her. "Hm. 'Unpleasantness'? That's what you are calling it now? Not so long ago, you were in quite a state about this business."

"I remain in a state! But I also discovered that getting myself in such a state isn't helping. It isn't keeping women alive."

"No," he downed his tea. "Jane, I've been thinking."

She braced herself. "You have? Is that safe?"

"For whom?"

"For anyone," she smirked.

"I daresay that Fandral that dimwitted cur has alerted you to at least part of my purpose."

"I don't know what you mean," she replied with saccharine delight.

He cleared his throat, eyeing her suspiciously. "I wish to help you," he lowered his gaze.

"Excuse me?"

And now he looked at her. "I said, I wish to aid you in your endeavor. I believe this is the work of the same man who murdered Martha Tabram. And I also believe that the authorities are not equipped to handle this sort of crime."

Jane clapped her hands together. "Excellent," and she closed the windows, the door…she peered out of the front window, then locked them all. She turned to Loki. "I am very happy that you have agreed to this. Now, we needn't do anything too risky, but we might need to scour the nights when the ladies walk for their doss."

"Jane…calm down. Are you serious? You want us to be on the streets at all hours…?"

"That's when he strikes. I am absolutely convinced the same person murdered them both, too," she pulled the chair closer to Loki, and he sat back, a concerned look about him.

He nodded. "Very well, Jane Foster…what do you know?"

"Not so much about Mary Ann Nichols. Except that the police are about to launch a search for the wrong man."

"Wrong man?" he asked.

A smirk played upon her countenance. "Tell me, have you heard of 'Leather Apron'?"