INSPECTOR FREDERICK ABBERLINE's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Abberline locked the metal box and stepped back into the fog, his boots scraping against cobblestone. The witness could provide answers, but first he needed to understand how information moved through these streets. He walked until he found a corner where three alleys met, a place where people would naturally cross paths. A wooden board leaned against the wall, weathered but sturdy. He pulled a nail from his pocket and hammered a blank sheet of paper onto the board. This would be his message post. Anyone with information could leave notes here, and he would check it twice daily. The system was simple, but it gave the locals a way to reach him without being seen at a police station. He stepped back and studied his work. The witness tonight might offer one piece of the puzzle, but catching the killer would require a network of eyes and ears across the district. Now he had the beginning of one. Two streets over, he found what he needed. A glass and metal case stood mounted at eye level, its panels catching the gaslight. He opened it with the key he'd been given and arranged his materials inside. A map showing the murder locations went on the left. Sketches of the surgical cuts from the forensic book went on the right. At the center, he pinned a notice asking for information about men with medical training seen in the area between midnight and dawn. The display would update weekly as he gathered evidence. People could stop and read without approaching him directly. The tea shop sat at the end of the street, lamplight glowing through its mullioned windows. Abberline pushed open the door and warmth hit his face. A few customers sat at small tables, their voices low. He ordered tea and took a seat near the window where he could watch the street. Within minutes, two women at the next table began talking about a doctor who'd moved into rooms nearby. A man at the counter mentioned strange lights in the churchyard three nights ago. Abberline wrote it all down. This place would become his listening post, where the district's rumors and fears collected like rainwater. He finished his tea and walked back into the fog. The message board, the display case, the tea shop—each one gave him a way to pull information from these streets. He had his base, his network, and his methods. The witness would arrive in an hour with whatever she knew. But Abberline understood now that catching the killer wouldn't come from one conversation. It would come from building a web across this district, patient and methodical, until there was nowhere left for the Ripper to hide.