Ripper Read Free

thickening fog beyond the large window that looked out onto the street. Its white veil had moved into the city not long after his extended shift had ended. He turned away and looked at his meal onemore time and tossed the fork onto the table and then waved the waiter over and handed him his cup and saucer.
    “Bring me coffee, please,” he said, and the waiter turned away. Abberline thought quickly and then called out. “Apologies old boy, but would you make that a double scotch?”
    “Double scotch, sir,” the waiter said and then moved off.
    The inspector grimaced as he took in the hot kidneypie and then slid it as far away from him as his arm could reach.
    “Inspector Abberline?” the voice said from his shoulder.
    Abberline closed his eyes, angry at the interruption. He knew if he opened his eyes and saw a newspaper man, who was not allowed inside this particular building, he would be tempted to use the butter knife in front of him to stab the man in the heart.
    Instead of followingthrough with his imagined murder scenario, he said, “Yes?” as he opened his eyes and saw a rather tall, thin man standing next to him. The well-dressed gentleman was twisting his hat with anxious hands.
    “Sir, my name is Robert Louis Balfour Stevenson, perhaps my name is not unfamiliar to you? I wrote you a letter three months ago?”
    Abberline looked over the tall man with the brimming moustache.He saw that the man didn’t look well at all as he nervously twisted his hat into ungodly disarray. The words were spoken with a barely disguised Scottish accent. As he saw the man looking down with worry etched into his dark eyes, Abberline gestured to the empty chair across from him.
    “Who wouldn’t recognize the great Mr. Robert Louis Stevenson? Sir, please, have a seat.”
    Abberline watched asthe man hesitated. Stevenson walked the short distance to the chair, but then looked lost as to what to do with his hat.
    “We lack the formality of one of the nicer establishments Mr. Stevenson. Just place your hat on the table, it looks as if it could use a rest.”
    Stevenson looked flustered as he glanced at the crumpled hat. He grimaced and then placed it on the white table cloth. He half smiledas he pulled the chair out and sat.
    “May I offer you some refreshment? I know it’s a little late, but I just ordered scotch for myself.”
    Stevenson swallowed and then nodded his head meekly. The chief inspector waved at the waiter standing at the bar and signaled for two drinks instead of the one.
    Abberline turned and watched the man sitting before him. He was silent and waited for the famousauthor to state his piece.
    Stevenson looked at the men around him as if he had stepped into a lion’s den.
    “If you wrote me a post in advance of this date, I can tell you I have received none.” Abberline then fixed the man with a hard stare. “So, if your lost post was to attempt to get information on … well, on one of my cases, I’m afraid that is quite out of the question.”
    “Excuse me?” Stevensonasked, looking bewildered for a moment. “Oh, oh, you think I’m here to ask you about the Ripper case for a possible book? That was not the intent of my letter to you Chief Inspector. And, I not only sent two letters from the States where I was on holiday, I sent three more upon my arrival in London.”
    “Isn’t that why a famous author such as you would visit such an establishment as this at oneo’clock in the morning, to get a good yarn to write yet another lurid and morbid novel?”
    “No, Chief Inspector, I am not here for that. In case you hadn’t noticed I have already done my horror novel and have no intention of ever writing something like that again.”
    Abberline raised his brows at the man’s statement. He knew that Stevenson’s foray into the horror genre came with his novella the Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde , published two years before to far-above-average sales. He was surprised at the author’s