Whitechapel - Sex Stories

Whitechapel

... seemed to Rees a practiced gesture. Rees had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping. He had never been in a police station before and everything about the setting seemed tailored to annoy him. It had taken the entire morning just to get a few minutes with anyone, and now that the man he wanted was here Rees found him of less than helpful character. It was his newly informed opinion that the metropolitan police's most dedicated and contributive members must be its horses. Eventually the inspector gave him what amounted to his full attention and said, "Seems to me if she was dead we would know it." "But she's missing. I've made inquiries to every person she knows and every place that she stays and no one has seen her since the night of the murder." "Pardon my saying so, but a woman in her, hem, position probably knows a lot more people and stays a lot more places than you know. And what if she is gone? She might have just run off. People do." "Rose wouldn't. And if she did she apparently left everything she owns behind. Do people do that when they run off'?" "Sometimes they do, yes. And if she was dead we'd have found her. The killer always leaves his victims where we'll find them." "There's more than one man in this city who might kill a woman!" Rees felt his face flush the blotchy color associated with his more sincere rages. The inspector actually shushed him. "I don't mean to give the idea we're not concerned. We'll term her a missing person. But you can't make this a ...

... murder investigation just because you want it so. We don't have the resources." "What about this then?" Rees brought out a crumpled pile of fabric. It was a woman‘s blouse. "It's Rose's. I found it for sale at a pawnbrokers not three doors from my office, and he said a street sweeper had found it and sold it. Look at this spot on the collar: That's blood. Tell me that's not blood." The inspector examined the garment without touching it or leaning in too close, as if it were a dead rat. "It may be. But that doesn't prove anything either." Rees gritted his teeth. "If you're all so damned busy that you can't take this seriously then when are these murders going to stop, tell me that? What are you all doing if not catching a killer? Now you can't even be bothered to find the victims either. I suppose it's lucky for us you bother to show up to work in the morning at all!" He intended to storm out, but the stationhouse was too crowded to allow for the rapid egress that storming required. Instead he had to push his way through mobs (many people, he gathered, here to give "tips" about the killings in hopes of collecting a rumored reward), holding a handkerchief to his nose to stifle the smell of unwashed bodies. Outside, even Commercial Street's usual stench was a relief. He spent several minutes standing on the corner, gulping in cold morning air and exhaling through his nose until the bile stopped churning. When he was done he realized he was still holding Rose's shirt. He recognized ...