Once Rita was settled in her seat, she took out Jon's battered, mutilated book from her bag; she still hadn't properly started reading it beyond a brief skim through the previous night. Heather and Aimee knew she was up to something. Maybe something dangerous. The worry in Heather's face had been palpable, but whatever guilt Rita felt about not telling her about meeting Jon was overshadowed by the need to protect Heather and Aimee from whatever it was she was 'getting involved in'.

Under the heading with Jon's name, she wrote 'Elizabeta Krasovskaya - what is Jon scared of?'

Then she turned back to Unmasking a Monster. She had hardly noticed the dedication when she'd flicked through a few pages yesterday, on the edge of falling asleep after her chat with Heather, but the more she stared at it the more it stood out, made her shudder.

'To E,' it said in sloping italic font. 'You know why.'

Rita snapped a photo of it and attached it to her document, turned the page and read the preface.

'The identity of Jack the Ripper is one of the most enduring mysteries of all time. A mystery that has been unsolved for almost 150 years. And in this ground breaking book, I will use previously unseen evidence to reveal the culprit once and for all.

Why is it that Jack the Ripper is so fascinating, even today? What explains the huge quantity of books written on this matter, declaring one or other person as the killer? The inordinate number of movies and TV shows? The tours offered around the places where Jack the Ripper's victims met their untimely ends?
The street shown in Figure 1 is Buck's Row. What is remarkable about it? Nothing. Except ... it is where Mary Ann Nichols was discovered on that grim day, 31st August 1888. Jack the Ripper's first known victim. During the research of my book, I spent many hours wandering this very street, sitting in its cafes, imagining what poor Mary, or Polly as she was known, would have felt in her last moments.

The story of Jack the Ripper takes you to the dark underbelly of the Victorian class system. The dismal flophouses in which his victims crashed during their grim stays in 19th century Whitechapel. The unsafe nature of their work and their destructive addictions to gin and opium. The prejudices of society and the police tasked with investigating the case. Who could forget the notorious antisemitic message left on the wall in front of the Ripper's goriest murder, stating that 'The Juwes are the men who will not be blamed for nothing'? All these social factors contribute to explaining why the mystery of Jack the Ripper continues to intrigue the world.

Many of those in the field of Ripperology have put forward compelling arguments as to why one or other of the suspects is their man. There have even been a handful of arguments as to why the Ripper may have been a woman. However, using the latest forensic research and via a painstaking process of deduction which took thousands of hours, I can unmask the identity of Jack the Ripper beyond any doubt.

He was none other than Herbert Edmond Drury, the owner of a butcher's shop on Buck's Row. By the end of this book, I am confident that I will have proved to the reader beyond any doubt that Drury was the Ripper, and that he would be convicted as such in any court of law.

I won't deny that finding the true identity of Jack the Ripper has been a deeply personal quest. Like myself, Drury was raised in a chaotic home with neglectful parents, although our circumstances were different. Like myself, he was dealt a rotten hand in life and faced many challenges. Contemporaries of his even discuss his love of 'Penny Dreadfuls', the true crime literature of the day. Yet it is an enduring source of mystery why some turn to a darker path and others do not. Why do some kill and others not? The analysis of Drury's personality within these pages will, I hope, go some way to providing an answer.

I am grateful to all those who assisted me in writing this book, looked over chapters, provided helpful comments and generally provided me with psychological support during the grim task of placing myself in Herbert Drury's shoes. I am even grateful to my critics and detractors. As far wiser heads than me have noted, if one is attacked by all sides, that means you must be doing something right.

Most of all, thank you, the reader, for joining me on this journey.

After almost 150 years, justice can finally be served.

The victims of Jack the Ripper can rest in peace.

Professor Jon Phillips, PhD'

He had to put that 'PhD' in there, didn't he, Rita thought as she read on to Chapter 1. As well as ripping out several pages, Sandra's dirty, furious fingers had left greasy marks on the ones that remained attached. It combined to create a sordid experience. She took a deep breath, trying not to work herself up into a frenzy at Jon's words, the way that he had dared to speak to her and her friends, the way he enjoyed crossing women's boundaries and making them uncomfortable.

The fact that he was dangerous, so many people knew he was, and he was still walking around free.

*

A huge crowd had gathered in front of the arrival and departures boards by the time Rita stepped onto the platform at Paddington; her train had been one of the lucky ones to actually arrive at its destination amidst a plethora of cancellations and delays. She spotted Alfonso in the WHSmith's directly in front of her platform. Nearby was a teenage girl with glossy black hair tied with a pink bandanna. Rita picked up her pace and headed towards him.

'Rita!' Alfonso opened his arms wide and hugged her tightly as a pigeon flew around over their heads. There was a stiffness in his posture, she noticed, and it worried her. Holding her tight, he said, 'I've missed you.'

'I've missed you too,' Rita said.

Drawing away from the hug, Alfonso gestured to the teenage girl, who was now standing beside awkwardly, her lips shiny with lip gloss. Whatever irritation Rita may have felt at not seeing Alfonso on his own was squashed by the relief she felt at seeing him. She was embarrassed to let on how worried she had been about him last night after Jon's unwanted appearance, how desperate she'd been just to see a notification on the screen.

Alfonso said, 'This is Lina.'

There was a seriousness in the girl's gaze that was almost unsettling. 'Hey,' she said without smiling as they walked towards the entrance for the Elizabeth line. 'Uncle Alfonso's talked about you.'

'Have you?' Rita smiled as she squeezed his hand tight. 'Cool.'

'I spent most of the day showing her photos of Pepelito,' Alfonso grinned. He sounded tired and awkward.  Not used to the system, Rita fumbled for her card and tried to pretend she knew what she was doing. It was a relief when the barrier swung open. They took the stairs down to the platforms. Rita's knees ached annoyingly as they walked down. Once they were on the platform, Rita glanced around and for a moment she thought she was being watched by someone. But she couldn't see any obvious candidates. A family with kids. An old lady. Some tourists who looked fresh off a plane.

There was a rush of air as the train pulled onto the platform. The doors opened and they stepped on, managed to grab seats quickly. There was only one carriage which stretched in an endless line. As she sat down next to Lina, Rita saw how tensely the girl suddenly carried herself; her shoulders were hunched as she gazed up at the maps on the opposite side. The closer the train drew to Woolwich, where they were getting out for the bus, the more Lina seemed to withdraw into herself, holding her phone inches from her face.

'Is she OK?' Rita mouthed at Alfonso. 'What's going on?'

Alfonso shook his head. 'Later.'

'Ummm...Alfonso, Dad's out tonight and Matteo's having some...worshippers from his church round,' the girl said suddenly in uncertain Spanish, her voice panicked as they stood up to leave the carriage for Woolwich Arsenal station. 'Can I stay with you instead? Is that OK?'

'It's going to cost a lot to book an extra room,' Alfonso said uneasily. 'Plus, we're meant to be checking out and going to Scotland tomorrow and we need to pack.' With the trip up north and her encounter with Jon, Rita had completely forgotten about that and felt a pang of guilt. 'Don't you have school tomorrow, Lina?'

'Por favor.' Lina's lip trembled. 'I can sleep on the floor, I don't care. I'm not going home. I'm scared.'

Rita remembered Alfonso's text about how Lina had told him something which had upset him. 'A church shouldn't make you feel this afraid.' She looked across the teenager to Alfonso, who had a weary look in his eyes, then back to Lina, the tube juddering away from the platform as the three walked towards the escalators. The escalator she stepped onto was far smoother than its battered appearance gave it any right to be. 'What church is this, Lina?'

Lina swallowed hard. She was standing facing the bottom of the stairs. 'He made me swear not to tell anyone. It's - it's that - that Blessings church.' Her face crumpled and a tear formed in her eye. Rita wished she could have felt more surprised, but she'd guessed as soon as Lina had said church.

'Your dad doesn't know Matteo goes there?' Rita said, looking up at her.

Lina shook her head, clinging to the handrail. Rita wiped her own eyes before the girl could see how affected she was. The light blazed down from the entrance behind them.

'Matteo told him it's a church like the one he goes to. Dad goes to Mass and stuff sometimes; Dad just thinks it's the same. Thinks it's good he's not on his screens all the time. He doesn't understand.' Lina's eyes widened as she reached the top of the escalator; she stumbled backwards and almost lost her balance. Then she turned away, stepping so cautiously it was like she was walking through a minefield.

The station exit was dingy. There was one ticket officer around who was leaning against a wall and looked like he wanted to go home. The barrier opened to let the three of them past onto a dark, rainy street. But Lina's fear was contagious. She kept checking behind her, her eyes darting everywhere although the only other person out here was an old homeless man fifty metres down the road, staying dry under the canvas roof of a shop.

'Lina, do you want something from there?' Alfonso said. The teenager shook her head.

'You can get me some mints,' Rita said to his retreating back.

'Rita, Alfonso said you're a cop,' Lina said under her breath.

'That's right,' Rita said. Alfonso gave her a concerned look as he entered the newsagents'. Rita was sure he couldn't hear exactly what was being said. The fact he didn't want her interrogating his niece had to be a good thing, she told herself.

'If you're not in the conversation, but you can hear people talking about doing, like, a crime,' Lina whispered. Her legs were trembling and she was starting to hyperventilate. 'Can you go to jail if you don't tell the police?'

'It depends,' Rita said quietly. A bus trundled along the road in the distance. Maybe it was theirs. 'What sort of crime?'

'Something really horrible.' Lina hesitated for a second. 'Like, umm, a bomb.'

'It depends.' Rita focused on the bus's approach rather than the shock of that question from this child. She dug her hands in her pockets against the wind. 'If they were under duress, if they had reason to fear for their lives if they said something. Whether they were involved in the plot or just a bystander. Why?'

Lina's face turned red. Tears leaked down her face. With a choking breath, she said, 'Because last time they came round, that's what they talked about.'