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

Long, came forward with this information and was taken to the mortuary to identify the woman she had seen in Hanbury Street. Upon seeing the body, she confirmed it was the woman she saw, claiming the man was around forty years of age with a quiet disposition, dressed in a dark overcoat and a brown hat partially covering his face. A man not of great height, no more than five feet four inches.
    “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked Roderick, hoping he too sensed the familiarity of the description. “A foreign man, extremely short, dressed in a dark overcoat.”
    “Oh dear God, tell me it’s not who I think it is,” he replied in alarm.
    “What would the chances be? Of all the immortals I encountered, and not that many, I would be so unfortunate to run up against Ratibor.”
    Even the sound of his name being said brought shivers down my spine. He was once a devilish eleventh century warrior who terrorized anyone in his path. He was an evil immortal from the Byzantine Empire who gained pleasure from creating hell on earth. Lo betide anyone who dared to stand up against him.
    Roderick knew much about my time spent in Constantinople and how I watched Ratibor crush the skull of a young maiden who refused his advances. He was a misogynist, a murderer of great strength and capacity, often torturing his victims before he killed them; begging for mercy would be futile, Ratibor’s destructive rage was unstoppable
    It had not been my good fortune to come face to face with his short but muscular frame and blazing black eyes. Upon my confession to another I was immortal and on a quest for coins, word reached him who I was. To prove I was a liar, he attempted to stake me through the heart and missed. Seeing I bled little, and recovered in a second, he challenged me to a duel with swords. We fought, for hours long, until neither won and drew a guarded truce. I despised the man and what he stood for. If he was in London, I was to be assured he continued relentlessly with his killing spree throughout the centuries.
    “I expect that we are only surmising it’s him. It could be all manner of suspects and we have no evidence that the man is here in England,” said Roderick.
    “’Indeed,” I answered, “but we have no evidence to the contrary either.”
    “If it is him, then he’s going to be a challenging adversary. Difficult to stop, I would imagine.”
    Roderick was never far from the truth. How will I stop another like myself, yet more powerful?
    I was to be stopped in my tracks by the unthinkable; someone knocking on the front door.
    “Who can that be? Tradesman always knock downstairs,” said I in panic.
    “Are you expecting anyone? Perhaps it’s Marianne?”
    “No, she assured everyone it would be improper to call on me now she is engaged.”
    We looked at each other in nervous anticipation. I carried the guilt of theft, not a comfortable feeling, by all means. Whoever was calling would be administered a cordial greeting regardless, I could give nothing away. Within moments my worst nightmare unfolded. Edward informed me that a Chief Inspector Donald Swanson wished to see me. “Please ask him to wait.” I kept little variation in my tone, acting as normal as I could under the circumstances, and closed the door. We had but a moment.
    “Lock the file away in the safe, Roderick Quickly, man!” I urged.
    “Eist moran agus can beagan!”
    “What are you saying? You know I have little knowledge of Gaelic.”
    “Hear much and say little!” Roderick’s habit of speaking in his Gaelic tongue when in a tight corner only served to increase my anxiety.
    “I must away, right now!” he said in great panic.
    “Then that would appear mighty suspicious. Wait until the introductions are over then explain calmly you must go to the office, there is urgent business to attend to.”
    I rang the bell for Edward to allow the Swanson fellow to enter my study, as the seconds ticked by; I did my best to bring about