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Greetings all,
I would like to introduce my new fiction novel, The Ripper’s Hellbroth, which has just been published. Although the main story s a present day serial murder spree in Western New York, I have a concurrent 1888 Whitechapel story. I take great care in being historically accurate. Instead of bugging you with a couple more Rip articles, I decided to do this!
Here is a small excerpt:
“Monday, September 21, 1888, Leman Street Police Station, Whitechapel, East End, London
Inspector Andrews paced the briefing room with one eye on the closed door to the office of the local Detective in Charge, Inspector Reid. Chief Inspector Swanson was in a meeting with Reid and Inspector Abberline.
Abrupt, loud laughter caught his attention in the corner of the room. It was a group of young detectives and constables surrounding none other than Inspector Moore. He grinned at Moore, who had his clay tobacco pipe dangling from the side of his mouth billowing with smoke.His audience was mesmerized with story after story, which was typical of the inspector. ‘The perfect medicine for a division of exhausted police officers working excessive overtime with no end in sight.’ He thought to himself.
“Inspector Andrews!” Moore yelled. “Remember I told you about Uncle Thomas and his run in with Buffalo Bill at the Carlton Club?”
Andrews flashed him a courteous grin, nodded, and his smile widened as he watched Moore continue with his story. The distinctive smells of years of burning candles and pipe smoking embedded in the wood of the old building assaulted his nose. The low wooden ceilings and walls were in dire need of painting, rickety old floor boards, and well-worn chairs and desks were thrown about the room. It reminded him of those tough days at a divisional police station early in his career, and in a strange way, he missed it.
An older, rough-looking, detective sergeant entered the room, stop, and glanced at Inspector Moore. He grinned, and said loudly, “Sir, are you telling lies again!”
Moore beamed back. “Sergeant Godly, you of all people should know that I am duty-bound to educate my junior colleagues about the ways of class and decorum.” He paused. “There’s room here for the codgers, as well.” He said smirkingly.
Godly raised both hands, surrendering, then shook his head. “Ah, codswallop!” He shouted, and marched through the room to the duty desk.
How coincidental that on the very same day he, Abberline, and Moore, joined the team, the killer struck again. Over a week had passed since the Chapman murder, and as expected, it was the biggest news of the day. These atrocious killings had become world news, embarrassing news that the British government and Scotland Yard detested.
Inspectors Abberline, Reid, and Chief Inspector Swanson entered the briefing room, which signaled everyone to take their seats. Just like Inspector Moore, a visit from the well-loved Chief Inspector Swanson also boosted morale. Andrews had recently worked closely with Swanson at Headquarters and knew him to be level-headed and blessed with a high intellect. He had a kind face and was always in a good mood. His calm demeanor tended to relax subordinates, making it easy to like him and work for him.
Swanson joined Andrews and Moore, shook their hands, and said, “Gentlemen, it’s nice to see you again. How are you doing?”
“Fine sir.” Moore said.
Andrews nodded. “All is well, sir.”
Swanson nodded, then made his way up to the podium next to Abberline and Reid. Ever since the last murder, the Chief Inspector now made a daily morning appearance at Leman Street Police Station in order to get a personal update, and also give the division some words of encouragement.
Swanson glanced out at the seated police officers, and said, “Good morning, gentlemen. Our new boss, Assistant Commissioner Anderson, is still in Ireland, but he and I are in constant communication. He is fully aware that each and every one of you are overburdened with thirty-plus cases only to be loaded with the responsibility of finding the Whitechapel murderer, and both of us are in agreement that this is a recipe for failure. As you know, we have assigned Inspectors Abberline, Andrews, and Moore and their detective teams, to focus solely upon this case, in order for Inspector Reid to handle the rest of your cases. While this will allow you to spend time on your other cases, please continue to keep your eyes and ears open for possible leads. Per the Commissioner’s directive, we have increased the number of police constables in hopes of improving the chance of catching the killer in the act. They have not been trained in effective investigative techniques, but at least this will give you more resources. Good luck and keep your chin up.” Swanson stepped down from the podium, shook Abberline’s and Reid’s hands, then quickly left the building.
Inspector Reid took the podium. Andrews knew Reid well. When Abberline was in this division as Detective in Charge for nearly a decade, Reid was his number two man. Abberline told him he was the reason for his success, which landed him a plush Headquarters job last year. Even though Reid’s weak chin –partially hidden by a thick blonde goatee- gave the impression of an ineffective leader, his subordinates knew the opposite.
Reid cleared his throat. “Good morning, everyone. This meeting will deal strictly with the Whitechapel murder case, so I’d like to pass it on to Inspector Abberline.”
Abberline nodded and took the podium…”
It’s now available on ebook, Kindle, and paperback. If you are interested, my webpage should get you to the right place.
...or Amazon.com and CreateSpace.
Sincerely,
Mike
I would like to introduce my new fiction novel, The Ripper’s Hellbroth, which has just been published. Although the main story s a present day serial murder spree in Western New York, I have a concurrent 1888 Whitechapel story. I take great care in being historically accurate. Instead of bugging you with a couple more Rip articles, I decided to do this!
Here is a small excerpt:
“Monday, September 21, 1888, Leman Street Police Station, Whitechapel, East End, London
Inspector Andrews paced the briefing room with one eye on the closed door to the office of the local Detective in Charge, Inspector Reid. Chief Inspector Swanson was in a meeting with Reid and Inspector Abberline.
Abrupt, loud laughter caught his attention in the corner of the room. It was a group of young detectives and constables surrounding none other than Inspector Moore. He grinned at Moore, who had his clay tobacco pipe dangling from the side of his mouth billowing with smoke.His audience was mesmerized with story after story, which was typical of the inspector. ‘The perfect medicine for a division of exhausted police officers working excessive overtime with no end in sight.’ He thought to himself.
“Inspector Andrews!” Moore yelled. “Remember I told you about Uncle Thomas and his run in with Buffalo Bill at the Carlton Club?”
Andrews flashed him a courteous grin, nodded, and his smile widened as he watched Moore continue with his story. The distinctive smells of years of burning candles and pipe smoking embedded in the wood of the old building assaulted his nose. The low wooden ceilings and walls were in dire need of painting, rickety old floor boards, and well-worn chairs and desks were thrown about the room. It reminded him of those tough days at a divisional police station early in his career, and in a strange way, he missed it.
An older, rough-looking, detective sergeant entered the room, stop, and glanced at Inspector Moore. He grinned, and said loudly, “Sir, are you telling lies again!”
Moore beamed back. “Sergeant Godly, you of all people should know that I am duty-bound to educate my junior colleagues about the ways of class and decorum.” He paused. “There’s room here for the codgers, as well.” He said smirkingly.
Godly raised both hands, surrendering, then shook his head. “Ah, codswallop!” He shouted, and marched through the room to the duty desk.
How coincidental that on the very same day he, Abberline, and Moore, joined the team, the killer struck again. Over a week had passed since the Chapman murder, and as expected, it was the biggest news of the day. These atrocious killings had become world news, embarrassing news that the British government and Scotland Yard detested.
Inspectors Abberline, Reid, and Chief Inspector Swanson entered the briefing room, which signaled everyone to take their seats. Just like Inspector Moore, a visit from the well-loved Chief Inspector Swanson also boosted morale. Andrews had recently worked closely with Swanson at Headquarters and knew him to be level-headed and blessed with a high intellect. He had a kind face and was always in a good mood. His calm demeanor tended to relax subordinates, making it easy to like him and work for him.
Swanson joined Andrews and Moore, shook their hands, and said, “Gentlemen, it’s nice to see you again. How are you doing?”
“Fine sir.” Moore said.
Andrews nodded. “All is well, sir.”
Swanson nodded, then made his way up to the podium next to Abberline and Reid. Ever since the last murder, the Chief Inspector now made a daily morning appearance at Leman Street Police Station in order to get a personal update, and also give the division some words of encouragement.
Swanson glanced out at the seated police officers, and said, “Good morning, gentlemen. Our new boss, Assistant Commissioner Anderson, is still in Ireland, but he and I are in constant communication. He is fully aware that each and every one of you are overburdened with thirty-plus cases only to be loaded with the responsibility of finding the Whitechapel murderer, and both of us are in agreement that this is a recipe for failure. As you know, we have assigned Inspectors Abberline, Andrews, and Moore and their detective teams, to focus solely upon this case, in order for Inspector Reid to handle the rest of your cases. While this will allow you to spend time on your other cases, please continue to keep your eyes and ears open for possible leads. Per the Commissioner’s directive, we have increased the number of police constables in hopes of improving the chance of catching the killer in the act. They have not been trained in effective investigative techniques, but at least this will give you more resources. Good luck and keep your chin up.” Swanson stepped down from the podium, shook Abberline’s and Reid’s hands, then quickly left the building.
Inspector Reid took the podium. Andrews knew Reid well. When Abberline was in this division as Detective in Charge for nearly a decade, Reid was his number two man. Abberline told him he was the reason for his success, which landed him a plush Headquarters job last year. Even though Reid’s weak chin –partially hidden by a thick blonde goatee- gave the impression of an ineffective leader, his subordinates knew the opposite.
Reid cleared his throat. “Good morning, everyone. This meeting will deal strictly with the Whitechapel murder case, so I’d like to pass it on to Inspector Abberline.”
Abberline nodded and took the podium…”
It’s now available on ebook, Kindle, and paperback. If you are interested, my webpage should get you to the right place.
...or Amazon.com and CreateSpace.
Sincerely,
Mike
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