Beyond The Ripper

Whitechapel

(L's POV)
[9th of June, 1889]

I knocked on the door of the chief of Whitechapel's police force. I digged into the right pocket of my vest, and pulled out my golden pocket watch, with an L on the front in the font used by newspapers for their names. I clicked the small button on the top, and looked at the hands, noting that it was nearly 11 o'clock. I had to finish this quickly if I wanted to join the chief to the mourge before the autopsy.

As I put away my pocket watch, the chief, Mr.Johnathon Davis, opened the door and was suprised by my pressence.

"Oh! I never expected you to show up after I had sent the letter five times before, much less without a letter," Mr.Davis said in shock.

"Why would I send a letter? If I did, it's take at least a day if I didn't tell a mail carrier to make haste. Thus, I decided to come here unannounced. Now, if I'm correct, you were about to go to the mourge to perform an autopsy on the most recent victim. May I join you?" I asked the stunned chief.

"Of course! Why wouldn't I allow England's greatest detective to help with the Leather Apron Case?" Mr.Davis replied.
                                  ***
In the morgue, a cold body lay on a table in the ice cold room. I took only a single look at the corpse and immediately gave an in-depth explanation of the woman's death.

"The woman, Ms.Elizabeth Stride, was stabbed approximately fourteen times in the abdomen, and had her face cut off. That much is obvious, but, look at how jagged the cuts around the face are. This suggests that either Jack is a novice with a blade, is using a dull or rusted blade, or both. Despite being adept with blades, Jack seems to not taje good care of his tools. Thus, Jack is not a professional wielder of blades, such as a butcher," I said and, just then, a man carrying a letter for Mr.Davis, which, as Mr.Davis handed it to me, was reveaked to be heavy and have two seperate paper colors.

The front, where there was writing, was the comon white, while, on the back, it was a sickly yellow. The same color as a thin, fire-proof layer of coating. The front read as follows:

"To Mr.Davis,

I have killed another. If you find their bloody body soon, you may find me. If not, I will elude you.

Sincerely,
Jack the Ripper"

After reading the short letter, I hovered it over a lit candle, white side down, and set it on a tray after it had started to burn.

"What the devil are you doing?!" Mr.Davis asked, a look of fear on his face.

"Exposing a message," I replied.

The now exposed messgae read:

"127 East David Street, Whitechapel"