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Night had fallen over nineteenth century London. A hunched figure in a dark long coat, the collar pulled up and a hood hiding his face, hurried through the darkness.

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Night had fallen over nineteenth century London. A hunched figure in a dark long coat, the collar pulled up and a hood hiding his face, hurried through the darkness. Clouds drifted across the sky obscuring the moon. The figure reached inside his coat and withdrew a short silver sword with a golden hilt. An ear splitting scream filled the night. 'Looks like another one of them street urchins 'as been murdered guvnor.' The body lay in the middle of the room; it was a young lady, a look of shock on her face, her eyes staring wildly into space. 'As far as I am concerned, every single one of them deserves the same fate as her,' replied the Police Chief grimly. He was a stout man with a large ginger moustache covering most of his rosy face. His piercing cold, blue eyes inspected the body with obvious distaste. The heavy oak doors to the room burst open as two men strode in, dressed in matching tweed overcoats and caps. 'Ah, detectives Evans and Brumbley,' exclaimed the Chief. 'Nedler,' Evans acknowledged the Chief with a slight nod. Evans was a tall and rather weedy man with calculating eyes behind thick-rimmed glasses. ...read more.


So they hadn't caught the murderer, the murderer was still out there somewhere. Evans hurried back to the station. Brumbley crossed the river and headed down Temple Street. He kept on glancing over his shoulder to check that he wasn't being followed, his eyes were restlessly darting from side to side, and his brow was furrowed. He glanced back once more and then slipped down a dark side alley. He reached the end and pushed open a door in the side of a grotty and decaying building. 'How could he have let this happen? How could he have let everything get so out of hand?' He stepped into the building; inside it was dark, damp and dingy. Rats scurried across the floor. Dusk was falling; rain was lashing against the windows. Brumbley hurried over to a little desk in the corner of the room. He had enough evidence to stop all this once and for all, but what would the consequences be for him? He shook his head; this had gone on for long enough already. There was a sudden clap of thunder and Brumbley shuddered. As he opened one of the drawers in the desk he noticed something wrong, something missing, but he could not quite figure out what. ...read more.


I congratulate you Evans, you nearly did it, you nearly figured out what was going on!' and with that he withdrew the final sword from within the depths of his coat. Evans lifted his hand and fired. Nedler gasped, his hands grasping at the air and pitched forward. Dead. A dark pool of blood started to form around his body. Evans knees buckled underneath him and he fell to the floor sobbing. 28 November 1832 THE TIMES Detective Kills Officer Chief Police Officer, Michael Nedler, was shot by Detective John Evans late yesterday morning. The murder took place at the same location as Detective Brumbley's murder just two days before. The Chief Police Officer was believed to have been investigating the street urchin murders when he was savagely attacked by the detective. He was shot in the chest by the detective who also had a knife on him at the time matching the ones used in the street urchin murders. He was in hysterics when he was found. The detective has now been held responsible for his partners (Brumbley) and the street urchins deaths as well as the Police Chiefs and has been locked up. This series of events has proved what a state the police force of London is in. But with the capture of this immoral, malevolent, cold and heartless More on pg 2 ?? ?? ?? ?? ...read more.

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