Whitechapel District, London ─ 1888"Murder or no, I'm not going down that alley in the dark," Constable Barnes insisted. "And you shouldn't either."Inspector Cranford glared up at the man. "In-sub-ordin-ation," he said, drawing out the word, rain running off the brim of his bowler. Having just returned from her Majesty's service he'd been newly assigned to this latest in a series of brutal murders in White Chapel Alley."Begging your pardon, Inspector, no one who goes into that alley after dark has come out alive. You'll not be getting anyone to go in there tonight. Best wait for daybreak.""I'll have your pension, man!" He turned to Constable McBurn, who shrank back toward the street lamp."Inspector, I have four children," McBurn begged. "We can go when it's light and no harm done.""No harm done," the inspector thundered. "Why, the rats will have been at the remains by then. This downpour will wash away evidence.""Please, Inspector," coaxed the taller constable. "Sunup is in less than two hours. We can wait inside that tea shop, where it's nice and dry, with an eye on the alley."By now the rain-soaked inspector was beginning to long for a hot cup of tea and allowed himself to be led through the puddles and into the shop.The proprietress greeted them with a toothless grin. Without waiting for their order, she placed three steaming cups of strong tea on one of the small tables."Thought for a mo, you were actually goin' down that alley," she chortled."I fail to see the humor," Cranford snapped. "Oh, no one ever goes in there after dark. Not if they want to come out alive."The inspector grabbed her skinny wrist. "Tell me about it," he demanded. "Who's responsible for these deaths?" She twisted frantically, but he held her fast."All right," she moaned. "Something in there. After dark. Like the Ripper it is, but not human.""What does this murderer look like?""Oh, sir, the only ones who's seen it is dead."He released her. "Claptrap!" He started for the door. The constables blocked his path. The old woman began keening softly."What is the matter with all of you?" Cranford demanded."Begging your pardon, inspector," Barnes said, "when you see the body . . . after the sun comes up . . . you'll understand."Cranford would have ordered them to stand down, but their eyes told him more than their lips ever could. Reluctantly, he took his seat and picked up his tea, wondering if the cup had been properly washed.With the first rays of sun, the men ventured into the alley. They poked about amongst the garbage and human waste until they came to the corpse. It was a man, lying on his back. His eyes were staring, mouth wide open, as if he'd seen something horrible.
