Inspector Abberline's reflection wasn't his own. He blinked, rubbing his tired eyes, but the shimmering, ethereal form of Mary Jane Kelly remained, her wide, terrified gaze fixed just over his shoulder. This was the third time this spectral visitation had haunted his study, a chilling echo of the lives brutally extinguished in Whitechapel's fog-choked streets. Polly Nichols, An...Read more