To Kill Again: Episode One Read Online Free Page A
Author: Darren Howell
elicits a mournful scowl from Dyson.
PRESIDENT : I’m sorry, John. Go on, Brad.
RATSKI : Joined the Metropolitan Police Service in 1999... First stationed at Stoke Newington... Shot twice in an armed robbery in 2014... (smirks) Investigated by Internal Affairs for breaking the nose of a convicted pederast during interview.
PRESIDENT : Bravo.
RATSKI : Spent four months undercover with the Area Drugs Squad in Leeds... Eight weeks undercover in Glasgow, Scotland... Moved to Whitechapel detective’s department in 2016 when the new station opened... Received a total of twelve commendations.
He snaps shut the file.
PRESIDENT : Quite a career.
RATSKI : (begrudgingly) Quite.
PRESIDENT : Of course, what the file doesn’t mention is that you’re running your department at the moment, since your superiors’ alleged involvement with certain underworld characters.
Dyson gives him a questioning glance.
PRESIDENT : We did our research.
He downs his scotch. Asks the 64 thousands dollar question:
PRESIDENT : So, will you do it?
DYSON : But what about the guys Ratski here killed? How do I explain that?
PRESIDENT : I don’t condone the use of execution squads. Their deaths are regrettable, but given the nature of their profession, an expected hazard you might say. Bury the case, John.
DYSON : Bury... But I can’t do that. Your man here screwed up. He left evidence.
Ratski takes a step forward in protest.
RATSKI : I screwed --
PRESIDENT : Leave it, Brad. (to Dyson) As difficult as it is for me to suggest, I’m sure that evidence can be misplaced, if need be. I can’t imagine the good people of this city shedding too many tears for them. It’s a small price to pay. (beat) Will you do it?
DYSON : You’re asking me to solve one crime, but leave another unsolved. I’m a cop, I... I don’t think...
Ratski glances at the President. Steps in.
RATSKI : Detective Dyson, you’re missing the point here. We have a time machine . We can fix the deaths of these men if that’s what it takes to appease your conscience.
DYSON : It’s not about conscience, Ratski. It’s about right and wrong.
PRESIDENT : Your integrity’s unquestionable, I like that. But if that’s what it takes, then you can go back and stop Brad here from killing this Dennis and Richards. But first...
He flashes his best vote-winning enamel, the passion growing in his spiel.
PRESIDENT : But first, let’s get Jack the Ripper. Let’s finally put this one to bed, huh? Let’s discover if he’s prince or pauper, surgeon or patient . Let’s end the years of theory and speculation. 130 years , John. Let’s end it. Tonight . What do you say?
Dyson hesitates for a moment, looking at the President and Ratski in turn. Then he nods, a smile breaking across his face.
The President rushes forward and almost hugs him.
PRESIDENT : There’s an old warehouse in... Where is it, Brad?
RATSKI : Colbart Street, Mr. President.
PRESIDENT : Colbart Street, that’s it. We’ve assembled the machine there because it’s empty and --
DYSON : Was empty in 1888 too.
Impressed, the President grins broadly.
PRESIDENT : Shall we say eight o’clock tonight?
Dyson manages a nod, still somewhat dumbfounded. The President guides him to the doors and ushers him out with a handshake.
DYSON : Who do you think he was, sir?
The President thinks for a moment...
PRESIDENT : I truly don’t know. Jack the Ripper has become what we’ve made him. What we want him to be. A poster boy for the depraved, a zeitgeist for the inhuman suffering of that era, a demon that lurks within our darkest shadows. But as to who he was... I’ve learnt as a politician never to speculate. But I do know this much. (deliberate pause) In a little under twelve hours, you will be the man that apprehends him. Crime detection changes tonight. Goodbye, John.
Dyson likes that. His grin grows even wider as the door gently closes on him.
The President switches off the smile and rushes for the oxygen tank.
PRESIDENT : I’m sorry, John. Go on, Brad.
RATSKI : Joined the Metropolitan Police Service in 1999... First stationed at Stoke Newington... Shot twice in an armed robbery in 2014... (smirks) Investigated by Internal Affairs for breaking the nose of a convicted pederast during interview.
PRESIDENT : Bravo.
RATSKI : Spent four months undercover with the Area Drugs Squad in Leeds... Eight weeks undercover in Glasgow, Scotland... Moved to Whitechapel detective’s department in 2016 when the new station opened... Received a total of twelve commendations.
He snaps shut the file.
PRESIDENT : Quite a career.
RATSKI : (begrudgingly) Quite.
PRESIDENT : Of course, what the file doesn’t mention is that you’re running your department at the moment, since your superiors’ alleged involvement with certain underworld characters.
Dyson gives him a questioning glance.
PRESIDENT : We did our research.
He downs his scotch. Asks the 64 thousands dollar question:
PRESIDENT : So, will you do it?
DYSON : But what about the guys Ratski here killed? How do I explain that?
PRESIDENT : I don’t condone the use of execution squads. Their deaths are regrettable, but given the nature of their profession, an expected hazard you might say. Bury the case, John.
DYSON : Bury... But I can’t do that. Your man here screwed up. He left evidence.
Ratski takes a step forward in protest.
RATSKI : I screwed --
PRESIDENT : Leave it, Brad. (to Dyson) As difficult as it is for me to suggest, I’m sure that evidence can be misplaced, if need be. I can’t imagine the good people of this city shedding too many tears for them. It’s a small price to pay. (beat) Will you do it?
DYSON : You’re asking me to solve one crime, but leave another unsolved. I’m a cop, I... I don’t think...
Ratski glances at the President. Steps in.
RATSKI : Detective Dyson, you’re missing the point here. We have a time machine . We can fix the deaths of these men if that’s what it takes to appease your conscience.
DYSON : It’s not about conscience, Ratski. It’s about right and wrong.
PRESIDENT : Your integrity’s unquestionable, I like that. But if that’s what it takes, then you can go back and stop Brad here from killing this Dennis and Richards. But first...
He flashes his best vote-winning enamel, the passion growing in his spiel.
PRESIDENT : But first, let’s get Jack the Ripper. Let’s finally put this one to bed, huh? Let’s discover if he’s prince or pauper, surgeon or patient . Let’s end the years of theory and speculation. 130 years , John. Let’s end it. Tonight . What do you say?
Dyson hesitates for a moment, looking at the President and Ratski in turn. Then he nods, a smile breaking across his face.
The President rushes forward and almost hugs him.
PRESIDENT : There’s an old warehouse in... Where is it, Brad?
RATSKI : Colbart Street, Mr. President.
PRESIDENT : Colbart Street, that’s it. We’ve assembled the machine there because it’s empty and --
DYSON : Was empty in 1888 too.
Impressed, the President grins broadly.
PRESIDENT : Shall we say eight o’clock tonight?
Dyson manages a nod, still somewhat dumbfounded. The President guides him to the doors and ushers him out with a handshake.
DYSON : Who do you think he was, sir?
The President thinks for a moment...
PRESIDENT : I truly don’t know. Jack the Ripper has become what we’ve made him. What we want him to be. A poster boy for the depraved, a zeitgeist for the inhuman suffering of that era, a demon that lurks within our darkest shadows. But as to who he was... I’ve learnt as a politician never to speculate. But I do know this much. (deliberate pause) In a little under twelve hours, you will be the man that apprehends him. Crime detection changes tonight. Goodbye, John.
Dyson likes that. His grin grows even wider as the door gently closes on him.
The President switches off the smile and rushes for the oxygen tank.
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