'. . . although the majority of the killings had occurred in Liverpool. Jack the Ripper, due to media pressure, and public outcry, was transferred to the capitol.

'The last public hanging in London was in 1868, but such was the nation's interest, Parliament agreed to suspend the Capital Punishment Amendment Act.

'News sheets of the day reported that over one hundred and twenty thousand people gathered around the gallows at Tyburn (commonly known as the Three-Legged Mare or Tyburn Tree) to witness the execution of Britain's most evil serial killer. His parade from prison took over four hours, such were the crowds.

'At two o'clock, on the afternoon Thursday, 22nd of June 1893, the trapdoor swung, and Tyburn saw the last death of its 650 years run as a place of public execution.

'The body was taken away and buried in an unmarked grave, 'foregoing either prayer, or name, or dates'. The coffin was presumably limed and flagged over, as was the custom, but little is known about the final resting place.

'Even less is known about the life of this killer, a man who seemingly had no past, no family, no address, and no obvious form of income. He appears to have sprung into existence out of thin air. The enigma surrounding his identity remains to this day.

'Legends have sprung up around his gruesome deeds: urban myths say that he was in fact a member of a European royal household, his identity shielded to avoid disgrace. Others say that he was an insane beast of a man, an escapee from one of the many asylums at that time. Others still believe that the murders were the acts of numerous killers, a sect or cult.

'We may never know the full tale, where he came from, or what his deviant motives were. We may never even discover the real name of the man who notoriously signed his written confession with the chilling initials 'J. R.'

'What we do know is that the love between Betty and Pat O'Leary survived for years to come. They are buried, together, in the churchyard at St Anthony's in Liverpool. Their headstone remains undisturbed.'

'Thank you for this, an excellent addition!'

Johnson waved the book in the air, signalling to Wallace that he may take it and catalogue the signed first edition amongst the others in the library.

'But tell me: why not simply travel back, find the grave, witness the arrest, put a name to this, this, Ripper? You'd be famous, even more than you are now!'

'To be honest, sir, I had difficulty even tracking the crimes, despite the help you kindly provided.'

The young writer grimaced at the well-worn notebook she'd set upon one of the side tables around the fire.

'I was more interested in the love story, the interaction between a lowly street walker-turned-actress and the country's most famous police officer.

'Their lives were far more interesting to research. They accomplished some great things in the four decades they were married. Jack was merely the means of bringing my two main characters together. The blood and gore were, quite candidly, not my thing!'

'Each to their own, my dear, each to their own! Now, if you'll forgive an old man, the evening is drawing in and there are things I must attend to. Such is the life of a bloody Editor. I wish you every good fortune in your future; Wallace will show you out.'

Once the door had closed, Johnson wearily picked up the notebook, flicking through Riding's research, going to the rear of the book.

He hesitated briefly upon the drawings of the red-rimmed nightmarish maw before throwing the pages into the roaring fire.

It was a pity about the love story: he genuinely liked it, and the author, but it would never be read by another soul. Still, needs must!

He took out his pocket watch, it was finally time for the Re-write.

FWR

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