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

get ‘in the mood’, so to speak.
    “It’s five shillings for the girl and the room. ‘Ow old do ya want? I’ve got ‘em fresh as a daisy or seasoned.”
    Doing my best to hide amusement at her comment, I opted for seasoned. A young girl would know less than one out on the streets. I gave up the exorbitant sum of five shillings that she stored in her ample bosom. Archie watched my every move, keeping a distance.
    “Wait ‘ere.” Rosie handed me a small glass of rough whisky, leaving me to my own company. Less than a minute later, a young fair haired woman appeared in a long white dress, so transparent her under slip could be seen. Barefoot and beautiful, she smiled sweetly.
    “Would yer like to come with Mary? I’ve got something to show yer.”
    Taking me by the hand, she led me up narrow stairs to a small room with a single bed, a nightstand and a small oil lamp giving off a rancid smell. Her clothes were scattered everywhere with not a place to sit except for the bed, which I avoided.
    “Take off yer coat an’ yer ’at unless yer not stoppin’.”
    “I would like it if we can talk first. I am a trite nervous of this strange situation.”
    “First time for yer, then?”
    “No, I have had women before.”
    “I meant first time with a scrubber. You know what I mean, don’t ya?”
    “Yes, this would be the first time.”
    I expected she had seen many unusual situations in her line of work. I had suspicions the men who needed only to talk were the married ones who experienced sexual difficulties with their wives. I envisioned Mary sitting on the end of the bed watching the clock tick the time away as she took the role of psychiatrist. Happy, I’m sure, to listen to his tale of woe, easy money indeed. Presuming I was one of those men, she sat next to me on the bed, hitched up her skirt and launched into her patter.
    “Tell me the problem, dearie. Mary’ll sort yer out.”
    She may have been a little rough around the edges, but her shiny blonde hair, porcelain skin and slender, well manicured hands were a joy to see. Mary smiled a sweet smile, astute and skilled in her work.
    “Did you know, perchance, any of the poor girls who were murdered in recent weeks?”
    “Who are yer? What yer be wanting with me and why’s a gentleman like you asking?”
    “I am a detective of a private nature, so you have nothing to fear from me. I am only looking for information on the victims or anything else you can tell me.”
    “Information? That’ll cost extra, me brain needs to work ‘arder.”
    I passed her another five shillings, a sum I considered more than enough, trusting her to not give false information.
    “I’ve been done, yer know. Dog stealing,” said she.
    “Why on earth would you steal people’s dogs?”
    “Nah, not the four paw variety! It’s called that. Yer go up to some bloke who’s worse for the drink and you rob ‘im. Normal it’s gotta be a stupid fella. I’d nab ’is watch, ’is money or anything else. I’d ‘ave me minder with me, a bloke. If the punter gets shirty then the minder goes up and knocks the punter about like ’e’s my boyfriend, yelling to leave ’is woman alone. It’s mostly the mugs we get and I can make a lot of money that way. Mind you, like I said I got caught once.”
    “What happened, did they send you to prison?”
    “Nah, I got bound over to keep the peace and fined a shilling. I knew the Judge yer see, one of me regulars!” she replied as she tucked the money down the side of her boot.
    Mary was a character, indeed, and I was enthralled with her tale of dog stealing. But I needed to stay on track and gain information.
    “Mary, did you know any of the victims?”
    “Yeah, yeah. I knew Long Liz.”
    “I don’t recall anyone killed of that name?”
    “It was her nickname. ’Er real name was Lizzie Stride, short as a midget she was, so I never got why they all called ‘er long Lizzie. She was always on the streets or in the ale ‘ouses. Brothels