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with the accursed police so maybe he would be all right for a while. He shuffled along Red Lion Court looking for somewhere to get some semblance of food. He had been up all night and now he was tired and hungry, a mere petty thief at times, he eventually found himself in Brick Lane after a few minutes and spied a bakers shop.
    He watched in a very calculating manner through the shop window at the activity inside. It was early with hardly anyone around and inside was just the baker and what he considered was a ‘ripe’ young girl. He looked up and down the street and could see no one in his immediate vicinity. In the gutter he spotted a lump of broken wood, most probably a broken chair leg, what it came from was not important, the fact it was a weapon was. Ostrog bent down and took a hold of the piece of stained and chipped shaped timber and looked it up and down smiling. Looking along the road again he saw no one for a hundred yards or so in either direction and turned and dashed into the shop. The young girl looked up startled, the baker, her father had his back turned and knew nothing as Ostrog clubbed him viciously over the head just once and with immense force knocking him unconscious and drawing blood. Almost before the girl could scream Ostrog dropped the club and lunged at her covering her mouth, all she could now do was shiver and sob, paralysed by fear.
    His left hand covering her mouth and his body pinning her to the back wall of the shop he began a deep resonant laugh revealing foul and decrepit teeth and drooled. She was so young, so innocent, what an opportunity. He thrust his right hand up under her skirt and apron and felt for the inside of her undergarments. He ripped them away from her body violently and she clenched her eyes tightly shut and began sobbing harder. His stubby rough fingers fumbled within her garments and he felt himself begin to shake with excitement, he hissed at her and spoke in a low and sickening tone.
    “You are so fresh and ripe, my lovely, mmm?” Her eyes opened and widened with terror. He continued in a loathsome accent “Now I only want bread, I shall return another time for dessert,” he pushed the now hysterical girl to the floor and grabbed four loaves of bread shoving them under his coat. Almost hyperventilating, the girl watched as he left the shop back into Brick Lane and disappeared. Her gaze then fell to her father, motionless and his head lying in a pool of blood.

CHAPTER TWO  
    Millers Court, 7.30.a.m and the auburn haired Mary Kelly was returning to her slum of what would now be called a bed sit. At twenty-five and being attractive even she could not fathom why she was working the streets of East London as a common whore. She rationalised and realised that for the past four years it was all she had known. Born in Limerick in Ireland, she had come to the mainland in Wales as a child when her father had come to work in an ironworks in Caernarvonshire. Her closest sibling, Henry, had gone off and joined the Scots Guards a matter she had always considered strange with their family heritage, while she had met a lovely young lad called Gareth Davies. Gareth was a miner, and when she was sixteen she married him. Three years later she fell pregnant, and then cruelly, as fate would often have it, Gareth was killed within a matter of months in a pit explosion. The subsequent distress had caused her to lose the child and once recovered from the physical drain of the two catastrophes she fled to Cardiff where she first fell into prostitution. Some say the oldest profession, once into the cycle of it seemed you could never escape.
    After a long illness, caused by the real emotional trauma of her life to date catching up with her and her body trying to fight off infection and disease from the physical and sexual abuse she had found herself receiving, she eloped to Liverpool and eventually to London in hope of a fresh start. She found one initially in domestic service in