Scottland Yard

Detective Harry Macmillan was in an office at Scotland Yard, who had taken an oath herself, to find the murderer of Willemina Winchester; she was analyzing some papers, they were the notes on how the body had been found, with a couple of holes in the neck, some of the funeral service agents and others said with fear; "It must be a vampire", "or some demonic being", those were the rumors that ran through the streets of the city, in the other bodies that had been found the marks were the same, he had his fountain pen between his lips and his nose, he thoughtfully read each one of those notes.

The night fog of London began to fall, and the cold that caused this began to soak to the marrow of the bones, in the fireplace that was in her office, the fire leapt happily between the logs that were completely lit.

I had seen this type of crime on one occasion in Surrey, two wounds in a main vein of the body, wanting to bleed the victim, removing every last drop of the vital fluid that runs through the veins of the body, almost all of them young women and beautiful.

Who are you? - Macmillan said to the green board that at that moment had it full of clippings and annotations, diagrams of possible assassin weapons, and a huge question mark in the middle of everything.

An officer entered the office, it was close to midnight, many of the guards would begin their rounds from King Cross to streets bordering the Thames, in the last nights, these men were accompanied by guard dogs, but always the man was more As smart as they were, some women left them alive but severely face marks, when questioning those women, they did not remember the face, since it was always covered with a ski-mountaineer to cover themselves from the cold of the London fog.

Detective Macmillan, sir, we have made our rounds, the streets are in complete calm, only a fight of drunks who were leaving the brothel, they were not taken to jail since they both belong to the crown guard- the watchman spoke - We have only seen that, my colleague delivers cargo at 8:00 a.m., so he can see his report, attacks are always reported after midnight, so we have the suspicion that the attacker acts between eleven and twelve o'clock the night, since many of the victims can still be found alive or even hot- spoke the man with red hair who wore his navy blue uniform with a large black belt.

Thank you, Grant- Macmillan spoke who was up looking at the blackboard, while he wrote down the information the man was giving him- tell me, Grant, have you found any clues in the places where the victims were found? - The man looked at the blurry photographs that were in front of him - something that is out of place - the detective's eyebrow was frowning.

Grant tried to recall some of the crime scenes and in none of them was anything out of the ordinary, but the man couldn't remember anything at all.

No, Macmillan, sir- Grant spoke- generally we rotate, perhaps my partner Campbell remembers something, he was on duty the day Miss Willemina Winchester appeared dead, so he realized the poor girl could not defend herself or at least she knew the person who attacked her, Grant commented.

Thank you, Grant, now go and rest, tonight you have done an excellent job - the detective told Grant and his colleagues on duty - see you tomorrow, it's time for me to retire to rest, tomorrow will be another day and we can think more clearly.

Meanwhile in the brothel, Sir Walker had Mary Christine Ford on his legs, he began to kiss her neck, the girl smelled of perfume, but not the cheap one that other prostitutes used, it was a fragrance clearly perceived French, none of The two girls with whom he had been in love, these gave him a kind treatment, well if he is kind, yes, but they did not admire him, on the contrary, sometimes they looked at him from top to bottom as if they were doing him a favor just by speaking to him.

You are very beautiful, Christine- she said while she kisses one of her hands- this place is not for you, I would like to be able to support you to leave this place; It is more give me a few days, I will pay for your freedom- said the man to the young woman, he had just met her, but he felt something special for her, perhaps it was her full lips like Anna's, or the shape of her eyes like Willemina's, he only knew that the girl needed help and he was going to give it to her.

My lord, that would be a lot, I hardly know him, and I am a prostitute- said the young woman with a sad face, the girl looked down with a feeling of shame, she remembered the time of medium opulence of her family, in which they had servitude

at home, but all of that ended when her father started gambling and she ended up there.

I will help you, you do not have to be ashamed, you are not like those spoiled little girls in London society, as the case of that Winchester girl, belonging to a good family and rumors say that she was murdered by a lover or that she was a prostitute, of course not like this place, if not within the society of royalty - I speak with a poisonous accent against the woman who had been murdered with cruelty.

Thank you very much, My lord- the girl took one of the hands and gently kissed the back of the hand of the man who smiled at such a caress, Mary Christine Ford was beautiful, it would serve to appease his carnal desires, since despite her status as a prostitute retained a certain degree of innocence that he liked so much.

Hours earlier at the Winchester mansion, Elizabeth and hers, her boyfriend Robert Jones, found her sister's diary; Lady Winchester with her fiancé began to take clothes from the deceased, Betsy as Robert called her, began to save dresses and other things that belonged to the girl, these would be kept in the attic of the mansion and the other smaller objects would be preserved In the room that had belonged to her in life, in one of her side cabinets, the girl kept a notebook bound in black leather, when Lady Winchester opened it she realized that it was the intimate diary of her little sister Willy, would it be prudent Read it? Would you say something about the murderer? Without further ado, he began to read it aloud so that Robert would still know what that little book said, which began like this:

Dear Diary:

I saw him today ...