Finding Jack: 1888 in Whitechapel

8. Ballad of Brandon Towers

A soft breeze swept Constable Brandon Towers' short, coffee-brown hair. Panic in his eyes, he looked to his surroundings. "Wh-Why?" He stuttered, ensnared between Sergeant Savage and Constable Banks. "Do you r-really think it's m-me?" He asked, edging closer towards the rooftop's brink. Joey took a heavy breath in.

"Brandon," He yelled, "we've got you surrounded, so talk." Brandon turned his head to examine his surroundings. However, he simply stood silent, tears pouring from his eyes.

"I- I-"

"Brandon!" Ellie demanded, "Answer the question." Her hands may have shook, but her grip on her baton was still firm. Brandon wore a look of disbelief, looking to his friends, his lip trembling.

"N-No." He replied, attempting to approach his friends; however, the two stood their ground.

"THEN EXPLAIN!" Ellie screamed, edging slightly closer, "EXPLAIN WHY THE HELL YOU'RE ON TOP OF A ROOFTOP, WEARING BLACK!"

"W-W-Well-"

"No, Ellie's right." Joey sniffed. "The circumstances of which we have found you are far too suspicious." He grabbed Brandon's arm forcibly and pulled him into handcuffs. Ellie grabbed his other arm. As much as he may have wished to, Brandon did not resist. "Inspector Roberts is the highest ranking officer, so it'll be up to him to deal with you."

"J-James? B-But-"

"SHUT UP, YOU SON OF A-" Ellie yelled, gripping him very closely. "HOW COULD YOU??" She shrieked, "HOW COULD YOU KILL KAYLA?"

"Ka- Kayla's d-dead?" Brandon questioned, his eyebrows raising and his mouth widening.

"OH, YOU'RE SICK!" Ellie shouted, slapping Brandon hard. "AND RACHEL? HOW THE HELL-" She paused, tears pouring from her eyes, "H-How the Hell could you kill her?!"

"I DIDN'T!" Wept Brandon, "I- I- I couldn't have! I- I- I loved her." He attempted to turn to face his acquaintances but was held by force. "I have answers. Just let me go." Joey looked to Ellie, observing the anger that was present in her eyes.

"No..." Ellie replied intensely, "I'm not letting you get away with this."

"Brandon, if it's so important, just tell us now." Joey suggested, tightening his grip.

"V-Very well." The prisoner spoke. "For a l-long time I've felt like the, uh, underdog when it comes t-to being a detective." He began, "B-But, I've not been able to sleep, not without-" He paused, tears spilling down his cheeks. "When my shift ended, I went back to the office and looked over the notes again. I noticed that the ink was different."

"The...ink?" Joey inquired, puzzled by the relevance of such a statement.

"Y-Yes!" Brandon replied, confidence reigniting within him. "Two different pens were present on almost every sheet I found. One was the Rac- her pen, which carefully wrote out the work...the other pen belonged to the scribbles."

"How on Earth are you supposed to prove anything with that?" Ellie asked, brushing tears from her eyes with her other hand.

"W-Well, it's not much...but the scribbles were in a thicker ink."

"Th-Thicker, you say?" Joey interrogated.

"Yes."

"Then...that would mean..." Joey realised, but was interrupted by Ellie.

"Joey!" She exclaimed, "How are we supposed to believe him?" Joey sighed and nodded.

"Brandon...if what you says is true, you still prove nothing." Joey agreed. "You could have wielded that pen to frame James; everyone knows that James uses that kind of pen. If James really was Jack the Ripper, would he really be foolish enough to use his own pen to remove notes?"