Murder in Whitechapel (The Judas Reflections) by Aiden James, Michelle Wright

opportunists who are worse for drink, falling out of the Ale houses desperate for a few pennies to buy another gin. They will see a gentleman like you as easy pickings.”
    “I will watch out for myself, as I explained to you on our last meeting, I have much experience in the line of confrontation.”
    The moment he left, I was wracked with guilt over the young detective put in charge of the files who may lose his promotion or even his job and future. You’re still Judas through and through, look what you have done now!

he early evening brought new thoughts. At what hour would I make my way into Whitechapel and where exactly will I be going? There had been no new murders up to this point, only a trail of mismatched information, conjecture and fake letters that served to throw the police off any of the leads they clung to. It had become a fiasco of grand proportions. I, for one, did not want it to be Ratibor. But the eerie feeling it was stayed with me, forcing me to consider going it alone in Whitechapel. I wanted to leave Roderick out of the picture. Strong as he was, he was no match for such evil. Come to think of it, neither was I.
    After a meal of steak pie that lay heavy on my nervous stomach, I sat by the fire reading. I observed the time on my grandfather clock that chimed gently on the hour. Eight o’clock, nine o’clock, ten o’clock, eleven o’clock. It began to get late into the night. My driver, Donald, waited patiently downstairs for me to ring after I informed him in the afternoon I wished to be taken into Whitechapel. He made neither a remark nor looked surprised. That being said, he was not aware I would be asking so late or my true intentions. At the hour of midnight, I summoned him to prepare the carriage. He was bleary eyed. I was full of anticipation and fully awake.
    Asking no questions and following my instructions to drop me in the heart of Whitechapel, we made our way east. The night streets were deserted except for a carriage or two as our surroundings changed. From the stillness of Belgravia to the noise of the east end, I arrived as the area was in full swing. Donald stopped the carriage by the London Hospital, unsure whether to proceed further.
    “This will do nicely, Donald.” It appeared to be a good spot.
    “Sir, are you sure you want me to leave you here? I can wait if you so wish.”
    “No need to wait for me. I will summon a cab when needed. Off you go, home to your bed.”
    I was content with my attire; Roderick had assisted me in purchasing clothes more befitting a middle class gentleman than upper class. I wore a long dark overcoat in a rather cheap cloth, trousers to go with the ensemble and a hat more suitable for Whitechapel than Belgravia. I did not need to stand out, shock or draw unwanted attention. I watched as Donald disappeared into the distance. Left to my own devices, I was now in unknown territory, eager and willing to complete my quest at any cost.
    “Oy mate, you got a copper for a cup of tea?”
    “Me baby ain’t got no milk, tuppence is all I’m asking, please, sir.”
    The beggars appeared out of the dark shadows, clothing old and torn, faces pale and unwashed.
    “’Ere mister, need a guide?” A small boy, who looked to be no more than ten years of age, latched onto me. I felt for my wallet, it was still there. Experience taught me child beggars were rife wherever I roamed. His unwashed stench was something I tried to dismiss, and I did not trust him, fearing he would lead me into a bad situation.
    “I need to get to Duffield Street, do you know it?” I asked.
    “Yeah I know it. I can take yer somewhere better than that. Rosie’s place. Proper nice it is there, pretty girls an’ all.”
    I understood he thought my intentions were to secure a prostitute, but a small price paid if time spent with one of those ladies might yield information. My brain analyzed the outcome.
    “Rosie’s will do just fine and I expect you to take me straight there, no