Chapter 7 – Strange Knowledge
The name Jack the Ripper spread across London faster than the morning fog.
Every newspaper printed the letter. Crowds gathered outside newsstands, reading the words again and again as if the page itself carried the voice of the killer.
Some people laughed nervously, calling it a cruel joke.
Others were not laughing at all.
Thomas Hale stood near the entrance of a police station in Whitechapel, watching officers move in and out of the building with hurried expressions. Since the letter had arrived, the police seemed more tense than ever.
He opened his notebook and reread the description of the wounds from the two victims.
Something about them continued to bother him.
The cuts had not been random.
They had been deliberate.
Precise.
Almost careful.
Thomas closed the notebook and stepped inside the station.
The smell of damp coats and tobacco filled the room.
Constable Briggs looked up from his desk when he saw him.
"You again," Briggs muttered.
Thomas smiled slightly.
"I'm beginning to think you'll get tired of seeing me."
"That depends on how long these murders continue."
Thomas walked closer.
"I wanted to ask about the injuries again."
Briggs sighed.
"You reporters never stop digging."
"I have a reason this time."
The constable leaned back in his chair.
"Go on."
Thomas lowered his voice.
"The wounds. They weren't clumsy."
Briggs said nothing.
"They were placed carefully," Thomas continued. "Like someone who knew exactly what he was doing."
Briggs looked at him for a long moment.
Finally, he spoke.
"The doctor who examined the bodies said something similar."
Thomas felt his pulse quicken.
"What exactly did he say?"
Briggs hesitated before answering.
"He said the killer seemed to know human anatomy."
The words hung heavily in the room.
Thomas wrote quickly in his notebook.
"Meaning the killer could be medically trained."
"Possibly," Briggs replied.
"Or a butcher. Or someone who works with knives."
Thomas nodded slowly.
"But not just any street criminal."
"No."
Thomas closed the notebook.
That confirmed what he had been thinking since the first murder.
The killer was not acting blindly.
He was studying his victims.
Understanding the human body.
Choosing where to cut.
This was not rage.
This was knowledge.
Thomas stepped outside the station again.
The sky above Whitechapel was gray and heavy, and the narrow streets looked darker than usual.
People were already whispering about the name Jack the Ripper.
A killer with a name.
A killer who wrote letters.
And now, possibly a killer who understood medicine.
Thomas thought back to his meeting at the hospital.
Dr. Elias Whitmore.
A respected surgeon.
Calm.
Confident.
Interested in the murders in a way that had seemed almost… curious.
Thomas stopped walking.
A disturbing thought crossed his mind.
If the killer truly had medical knowledge…
then the person they were looking for might not be hiding in the shadows of Whitechapel at all.
He might be walking openly through London.
Respected.
Trusted.
Even admired.
Thomas looked down the street where fog had begun gathering again between the buildings.
Somewhere in that gray mist, the killer was still out there.
And Thomas was beginning to realize something terrifying.
The man they were searching for might not look like a monster.
He might look like a gentleman.