Spring Heeled Jack- An Inspector Lockhart mystery

London, 1837: The begining of the Victorian era. A man stalks the streets, hailed as a hero by some, condemed as a villian by others.
London, 2012: A young woman is attacked. Then another, slightly worse. It keeps going on untill a corpse appears in the Thames. Inspector Lockhart is slowly making connections. How could a boy from the 17th century, a superbeing from the 19th and a string of murders from the 21st be connected?


2. A continuation of Chapter One- "We have him sir."

Jack, Jack, Jack the name of the devil be Jack.

Lockhart was standing in front of a board.

“Apart from the witness’s description of her attacker we have no other sightings of this man. We spot someone fitting his description briefly appearing on a roof top before disappearing.”

“Sir, how could he have disappeared?” Josh sipped at a mug of tea.

“The camera was a revolving camera Josh. It caught him just as it was turning in the opposite direction. He had gone by the time it returned.”

“How long would the gap have been sir?”

“22.5 seconds exactly.”

“Bloody hell. Has it been tampered with sir?” Sarah asked.

“No.” Lockhart stared at the board.

“How on earth could any human being do that?” Tyler, a young constable piped up.

“I don’t know Tyler and that is what we are going to find out. I want you to go all across this area. I want this sicko person caught. Now, get to it.” Lockhart was not normally so severe with his team but this time he felt he had a duty to let them know where he stood.  He grabbed hold of his coffee cup and took a swig. When he had finished, he neatly bent it in half and put it into the bin.

Lockhart opened the door of his office.   A note was on his desk. It sat neatly on top of a pile of old battered files from old cases. He liked to read them sometimes when nothing interesting happened. Lockhart frowned. He walked over to it and picked it up. The paper was old and crinkled but the ink was fresh. He picked it up. The note said

“This was a practise run, Inspector.  Next time it will be for real.” Lockhart rubbed his hand against his head and slumped down in his chair. A knock came on the door.

"Come in," Lockhart mumbeled his eyes still on the note. Josh came running in. Lockhart didn't look up. He could tell it was Josh because Josh always wore a pair of battered red trainers.

"We've got him sir."


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