He filed the shoeprint with other documentation and thought back to the strange man. The man had been tall and stocky and his clothes had been very unusual – made of a simple dark cloth that clinched the man’s body at his neck, waist, hands, and ankles. He tried to picture the man’s face in his mind but the man had appeared and disappeared so quickly. Coupled with his own shock, he couldn’t conjure the face.
Could he be some sort of magician? he asked himself. He didn’t believe in magic personally but he had been erroneous before. He wasn’t sure if the man was a magician or not but something inside of him told him that, however improbable, he was on to something.
He thought on the man longer and began to recall some of the statements of people interviewed after the murders. Several people had mentioned seeing a man in the area that was outsized. Then, a new thought came to him. Was that the Ripper?
The thought worried him. If the man was the elusive killer, he had an advantage unlike other men. At least it would explain how he is able to kill at will undetected in a matter of minutes and then disappear, he thought.
He picked the lamp off the floor and set it back on the table. When he was done putting each of Liz Stride’s items away, he blew out the lantern and walked out of the police station to catch a late dinner and determine what must be done.
CHAPTER FIVE
London, England – December 1897
Jack noticed Phillips watching him intently. Jack started to speak but something in Phillips’ face warned him against saying anything. It had been a risky endeavor to accompany Phillips to the Golden Goose but the gentlemen that existed in him (at least in public) called for the encounter.
On a number of occasions, he had the notion that Phillips was on to him but then Phillips would change the subject leaving Jack with a paranoid disposition. This time was different. He knows, Jack said to himself.
Jack thought quickly on what he would do next. He had established a fine life in 19th Century London and was content to live out the rest of his life there. Now that was in jeopardy. I could disappear. And when Phillips leaves the pub, I’ll drag him into the alley and slit his throat, Jack thought. The longer he waited for Phillips to react the more superior he thought this idea. He didn’t receive the opportunity to test it.
To his surprise, Phillips asked him a question. “Will the snow return tonight?” Jack wasn’t prepared for such an awkward question and as it rolled through his mind, his thought slipped from time travel.
Phillips deliberately used the question as a distraction and the ruse worked. He saw confusion pass across Jack’s face and used that moment to act. He pulled his gun from his shoulder holster and leveled it at Jack’s chest. He could have killed Jack but wanted Jack alive so he could question him.
Jack knew Phillips wanted him alive and instead of surrendering, he reached down hastily and pulled a burning log from the fire. He burned his hand but barely noticed. With one fluid motion, Jack hurled the flaming log across the table at Phillips. Phillips ducked just in time and Jack used that as an occasion to run towards the exit.
Phillips recovered and located Jack running towards the door. Phillips yelled at Jack to stop but Jack kept running. Phillips had no choice – he squeezed off a shot and the bullet hit Jack in the back. Phillips had aimed for Jack’s shoulder, just enough to slow him and perhaps knock him to the floor so that he could catch him but at the last moment, Jack had twisted and Phillips shot hit the middle of Jack’s back.
Jack fell face-first and Phillips rushed to his side, rolling him over. The exit wound in Jack’s upper right chest was bleeding copiously. Phillips cursed. He turned to Charles who stood behind the bar with a stunned expression. “Go get the police!” Phillips commanded Charles.
Charles stood there motionless and it took a second command for him to snap out of it and do as he was instructed.
Phillips turned his attention back to Jack whose life was slowly bleeding out of him. Phillips cursed again. He needed Jack alive so that he could find out more details. Was he really the Ripper? If Jack died on the floor of the Golden Goose, the true identity of the Ripper would always be shrouded.
Phillips took off his cloak and placed it under Jack’s head. Then, he took off his outer jacket, folded it and pressed it into Jack’s open wound. It was not the best dressing but it was all he had at his disposal.
Phillips grasped that Jack was fading rapidly. He knew he didn’t have much time to gather information before Jack died. “Are you the Ripper?” Phillips asked.
Jack didn’t answer.
“Are you the Ripper?” Phillips repeated louder.
Again, Jack didn’t answer and Phillips screamed the question in Jack’s face a third time.
This time, Jack responded by smiling weakly. As he did, he coughed and blood appeared on his pale lips.
Phillips prepared to ask Jack the same question a fourth time when Jack went into a coughing fit. The fit turned violent and Jack’s entire body shook.
Phillips heard a noise behind him and he turned and saw that Charles had returned with two uniformed officers. They looked to him for answers but instead Phillips diverted his attention back to Jack. He watched helplessly
