Free To Kill Again: Episode One by Darren Howell Page A

twinkle. He blows the steam off his coffee, motioning at the deserted street ahead.
    DYSON : Can you believe they threw a bucket of water over the blood?
    Thoroughly bored and equally exhausted, Detective Sergeant SARAH CLARKE, 35, cool-headed, good at her job, but too damn beautiful to be a cop, blinks her despair.
    SARAH : Tragic.
    She slumps back in her seat. Lets her eyes slip shut.
    SARAH : Wake me up if something happens. Ever.
    Dyson doesn’t take his eyes from the street. Captivated by the imagined activity all those years ago.
    DYSON : But just think, this is where it started. The mystery, the folklore.
    Sarah paints an invisible banner across the interior of the car.
    SARAH : Ta-dah! Jack the Ripper !
    As she talks her voice transforms into a deep, parodied American. Trailer Man.
    SARAH : A faceless enigma. The uncaught murderer of five Victorian prostitutes. All horribly mutilated . Mary Ann Nichols, followed a week later by Annie Chapman. A month passes. Whitechapel explodes with fear and speculation until dum-dum-duuuum... the ‘Double Event’ . Two hapless, pathetic woman, Elizabeth Stride and Catherine Eddowes, slaughtered like pigs , within an hour of each other. Speculation rises. Is the killer a surgeon, a member of the Royal family? As the police investigation, lead by Detective Inspector Edmund Reid --
    DYSON : Abberline! Reid was just the head of H Division; Abberline lead the actual --
    SARAH : As the investigation begins to crumble, the Ripper plays his final card. His cruelest trick . Mary Jane Kelly. A murder so foul, so depraved , that even today it --
    DYSON : Finished?
    SARAH : Yes . (in her own voice) Yes. Oh, come on... It’s boring, John. Nobody cares anymore.
    DYSON : The tourists care.
    SARAH : Yippe-dee. A few Japs and rich Yanks. Most of Whitechapel don’t even know the name. Christ sake, most of Whitechapel doesn’t even speak English. There’s enough real crime in London. Nobody cares about Jack the Ripper anymore. You’re London’s leading authority on something nobody gives a shit about.
    Ouch, that hurt. Sarah glances over at Dyson as he turns away, the remains of something, poorly hidden in her gaze.
    CLOSE UP: Sarah’s hand comes to rest on his, squeezing gently.
    SARAH : Okay, I’m a bitch. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.
    Dyson doesn’t answer. Pulls his hand away.
    SARAH : You can understand my negativity? Nearly midnight, stuck in a car, in this pissing weather, probably not getting paid for it.
    She pauses, hoping he’ll look at her. He doesn’t.
    SARAH : With you. Talking about Jack the Ripper. Again.
    DYSON : Go home then.
    Sarah shakes away the offer. Picks a newspaper off the floor. We’re instantly drawn to a headline that reads ‘US PRESIDENT ARRIVES IN LONDON’.
    Sarah scans though it for the umpteenth time. Folds it with a resounding sigh.
    SARAH : Oh, this is bullshit. Nobody’s coming.
    DYSON : They’ll be here.
    SARAH : So your informant says.
    DYSON : He’s never wrong.
    SARAH : This is a man called Sticky Dave?
    Dyson doesn’t respond. Sarah changes tact.
    SARAH : I take it you informed ADS about our little jaunt?
    DYSON : Area Drug Squad are far too busy for this. They only want the sharks. This is small time.
    SARAH : But you did phone them?
    DYSON : Course I did.
    SARAH : And?
    Dyson makes an awkward face.
    DYSON : They were engaged.
    SARAH : Unpaid and unauthorized? Great. So, on a fish scale, how big is this? If it ever goes down.
    DYSON : This is, I dunno... a tuna?
    Sarah sits up. Glares hard.
    SARAH : Tuna? Tuna are big fish, John. We are in so much trouble.
    DYSON: No we’re not. Jesus, stop panicking. You know that’s why we never worked. You were always too by the book.
    SARAH : I was too by the book? I don’t believe it. How dare... No, we never worked cos you were always too wrapped up with your disappearing daddy issues to give me what I needed.
    DYSON : What? Don’t bring my dad into this.
    SARAH : Oh, come on. You