Original subtitles

You shouldn't smoke in bed.

Oi! Not when you're gonna fall asleep.

You'll burn the whole place down one of these days.

That'd be no loss.

Where's the matches?

Must have used the last one last night.

That's typical of you, that is.

And if you don't like my place, find your own.

We've been over this, Iris, so many times. Money's tight.

You're bleeding tight!

We were supposed to be married this time last year.

Bloody bells!

Look, don't start, I've gotta headache.

When you got those bonuses from those Ripper stories.

Yeah, those were the good times.

You said you were gonna take me somewhere nice

and make an honest woman out of me.

The Good Lord God himself

couldn't make an honest woman out of you, Iris.

It was either that or we

spend the money on having that basin fitted.

And I think we made the right decision.

I mean, at least now you can wash yourself off

when you get in in the morning.

I wouldn't have to if you brought in a decent wage,

Sebastian.

Do you think I like going out every night?

How much do you make?

-Not a lot. -Give us a penny.

What for?

Matches.

-It's a crime, that is. -What is?

Living off immoral earnings.

Make an honest living from the newspaper, Iris.

Your wages don't even cover the rent no more.

Told you, Iris, money's tight, even at the newspaper.

I mean, everyone's so bleeding poor and miserable.

And no one wants to read all about it

because they're all bleeding living it.

You used to do all right.

Yeah, that was back when we had stories like the Ripper murders.

They were horrible.

I used to be scared for my life every night I went out.

Yeah, I bet.

I did sell a lot of newspapers.

Speaking of which, I've gotta get going.

You got time for a quick one before work?

I'm sure you've had enough for one night.

It ain't the same, doing it for them as

doing it for me, Sebastian.

No, I've gotta go, I'm gonna be late.

Those were the good times.

Mr Stubb is it?

Your Iris tells me you're responsible for

-the rent these days. -Does she?

Well, it's due.

Right.

-Three shillings and six pence. -As much as that, is it?

-You must be doing very well. -Well...

I would be if any of you buggers paid me on time.

See, missus, the thing is, is if I'm late for work,

I don't get paid.

And if I don't get paid, I can't pay the rent.

But you have my word that I'll square up with you

by the end of the day, all right?

Bollocks.

Nice of you to join us, Mr Stubb.

It's hardly like there's a lot going on, Mr Stimpson, is there?

Oh, young Mr Cartwright here is managing to keep himself busy.

I am writing my first story.

I saw a robbery on the way to work.

Mr Stimpson says I might get the frontpage.

You promised me the frontpage.

The frontpage and its associated bonus

goes to whoever most deserves it.

These are your stories of the day?

Make what you can of them.

What the bleeding hell's this? A missing dog?

What am I supposed to do with this?

It's a valuable hunting dog.

It's a dog. No one gives a damn about a bleeding dog.

This ain't gonna make frontpage and you know that.

The missing dog is the best one of the lot.

I made this paper.

My Ripper stories made this paper.

That was a year ago.

What have you brought us since, hmm?

Missing dog, what am I supposed to do with that?

You always say a reporter can make a story out of anything.

What was it you said once? "Heroes into villains."

A good reporter can turn heroes into villains

and villains into heroes.

Take this robbery you saw earlier.

Well, it was outside the bank

near Adelina Grove and they were bringing in

these briefcases full of cash.

Now this bloke walks up,

snatches the briefcase and makes a run for it.

And the guards, they fire after him, but with everyone

screaming and panicking in the crowd.

Well, he just disappeared.

And that's your story, yeah?

Ain't bad at all.

But answer me this, Lenny.

Who's the villain?

Well... the robber, of course.

Why's that?

Well, he's a criminal, a thief.

Who'd he steal from?

The... the bank.

And who cares about banks?

Nobody, Lenny, nobody cares about banks.

I mean, you take a majority of our readers,

probably haven't got two pennies to rub together,

won't give a damn about some rich banker

that's lost a few quid.

So...

well, you'd like to make the bank the villain.

Right.

Then who's our hero?

This fella, why did he do it?

Needed money, I suppose.

Hmm. And who couldn't do with a bit of extra cash these days?

I mean, what's to say he ain't got a family to support?

Starving kids to feed, wife too sick to work.

His wife's too sick to work? Who said that?

You did, Lenny, just then.

What, What?

Our exclusive source,

who personally witnessed

the robbery commented that the suspect

may have acted out of desperation

due to having a sick wife.

I can't be a source, I'm writing the story.

Not anymore, Lenny. How does this sound?

Dodging bullets, the suspect made his escape. No.

The plucky young man.

Well, he wasn't young, he had grey hair.

The distinguished-looking man

made his escape into the crowd,

who cheered him on.

Well, they weren't cheering, they were screaming.

I don't even think you're cut out for this, Lenny.

Maybe you should stick to doing your drawings.

You're the one who gets to be more creative

when you're writing the stories.

Are you implying that I just make stuff up?

Never.

Lenny, I've never printed a single word of a lie.

It's all about choosing the right angle.

Bollocks!

Forgot to get matches.

What's that?

Letter with my name on.

Where's it from?

Don't know, I just found it in the bag.

Well, did you bump into anyone in the street?

Perhaps they slipped it in when you weren't looking.

Not that I know of.

Why are you so scared by this?

It's written in red ink.

Look at that, signed Jack The Ripper.

Someone having a laugh, mate, gotta be.

I mean, even the writing is the same as the ones that I wrote.

The ones you wrote?

Yeah, just over a year ago now, before you worked here.

You remember the big Jack Ripper scare?

That was me, I came up with that.

So you made it up.

I don't make stuff up, do I?

I just came up with the angle.

See, it was the letters that he supposedly wrote

confessing to the murders, I did them.

That still sounds rather dishonest.

See, I never said the letters were written by Jack the Ripper,

just they were signed Jack the Ripper, which they were.

And they looked just like this.

Well, what does it say?

"Dear boss, I warrant you'll be most surprised

in receiving this letter from me, your old friend Jack.

I've been enjoying a leave of absence these past 12 months.

But presently I've had a yearning to once again

feel the touch of warm flesh and blood.

She told me her name was Mavis.

I found her on Mulberry Street.

Which is where I slit her throat before concealing the body

in a nearby workshop whose door was helpfully unlocked."

That's quite specific, Mulberry Street.

Yeah.

Well, what are you gonna do?

Nothing.

It's someone having a laugh.

Well, where are you going then?

To get matches.

So not down to Mulberry Street?

No.

See, that would be a waste of my time, wouldn't it?

This'll give Lenny something to work with.

Oi.

What are you doing there?

I'm telling you, I'm a reporter for the London Morning Times.

I had a legitimate reason to be there, yeah.

See, I'm writing a story.

Tell it to Chief Inspector Wingate.

I'm off duty now.

And where do I find this Wingate fella?

He'll find you.

And what am I supposed to do till then?

Write your story.

You Wingate?

Chief Inspector Wingate, yes.

Sebastian Stubb, London Morning Times.

I'm not in the habit of shaking hands

with criminals, Mr Stubb.

You got it all wrong. Like I said to your man earlier,

I ain't nothing to do with this. I shouldn't be in here.

Ah, yes, Mulberry Street, isn't it?

Nasty business.

They're still trying to identify the girl.

Her name was Mavis.

I thought you said you had nothing to do with it.

I'm a reporter for the London Morning Times, yeah?

Found this letter

and it said that this young girl called Mavis

has had her throat cut and that her body had been stashed

somewhere in a warehouse in Mulberry Street.

I mean, I thought it was a joke at first.

A joke? It doesn't sound very humorous to me, Mr Stubb.

Have a look at the signature at the bottom.

"Jack the Ripper."

See what I mean?

Wait a minute, we had a newspaper man

in custody before over these Ripper murders.

He had a clutch of letters, said were from the Ripper.

And it turned out the bastard was writing them himself

so he could gain some cheap publicity.

See, that... that was me.

And here you are, up to your old tricks again.

-See I didn't write that one. -Really?

And why should I believe that?

How could I have written it,

when I've been stuck in here all day?

Have a look at it, it's written with an ink pen, red ink.

Give me your bag.

One ink pen

and one bottle of red ink.

You know, I forgot that was in there.

I mean, that's from before, the old letters.

Didn't even know I was still walking around with them.

The fact remains that you could easily

have written that letter whilst you were in the cell.

Even if I did, that don't make me a murderer, does it?

And you can't keep me locked up in here just 'cause

you don't like the way I'm doing my job, Wingate.

I suppose not.

Come with me, Mr Stubb.

We have a lot to discuss.

When I heard about Mulberry Street, my first thought

was of the Ripper murders.

So I sent someone down to the records room

to bring me the original case file from last year.

Now that I think of it, I seem to recall your name

being mentioned in several places.

Yeah, well, like I said to your last inspector...

-What was his name? Er... -Rees.

He tried to pin it all on me over the letters.

But in the end he know it was just a load of old bollocks.

Mmm.

Yes, I had to let Rees go in the end, early retirement.

A decent man by all accounts.

But his lack of results on the Ripper case

was simply unforgivable.

So you never did nab anyone for it then?

To my great shame, no.

And now he's back.

That's a big assumption, Stubb.

The case was well-known, thanks to you.

Everyone knew about his methods.

So what, this is just someone trying to get in on his act?

Quite possibly another killer

trying to make a name for themselves.

That's an interesting theory that, Wingate.

-Don't make sense though. -And why is that?

Well 'cause he ain't making a name for himself, is he?

He's just using someone else's name.

So?

So my theory is, this bloke, whoever he is,

he's doing it for the publicity.

Everyone talking about him.

Everyone's scared of him.

That's why he sent me that letter.

-Yes, of course, but... -Why sign it Jack the Ripper?

Why not come up with his own gimmick?

I don't know, Mick the Stabber.

You're rather good at coming up with these names,

aren't you, Stubb?

All I'm saying is, all the publicity's going

to the old Ripper, innit?

Not the copycat, so why bother?

Unless it is the same man.

These are the original letters

that Inspector Rees took from you.

Yeah.

That you wrote.

Well, you see, Rees would never let me keep the letters,

despite me telling him it weren't real evidence.

Let me see that letter again.

It's hard to be sure, but they look the same.

Yeah, that's what I thought when I first saw it.

So you want me to believe that you wrote this one,

but you didn't write this one?

Look.

Let me tell you something.

Yes.

If you can just assume just for one minute

that I'm telling you the truth.

Yes.

That would mean

whoever wrote that new letter is the real killer

because nobody else knew about that body

first thing this morning on Mulberry Street

when I found that letter in my bag.

And your point is?

My point is this.

That letter is written in the exact same style

as the ones that I wrote last year,

which up until now have been kept in a case file

locked away in your records room.

So, whoever this killer is,

he's got access to your records.

You're later than normal.

Actually been doing some work today, have you?

Yeah.

Look, have a look at this, will you?

Are you taking the piss?

You know I can't read, Sebastian.

Yeah, you can see that that's a letter though, Iris.

Yeah, the red ink?

You're trying that one again, are you?

Fake Ripper letters?

That ain't gonna work unless there's a murder to go with it.

There's been a bloody murder, Iris.

Just like last time.

Saw the body. Her throat had been, er...

And I've been in the police cell all day

trying to convince them I ain't nothing to do with it.

And that I didn't write that letter.

Are you saying Jack the Ripper's come back,

after all this time?

There ain't no such person as Jack the Ripper, Iris.

That's just a name that I came up with.

Yeah, but somebody killed all those girls.

Yeah.

Look, come here, sweetheart.

I mean, what if tonight you didn't go out?

What about the next night?

Mmm?

And the next?

Before you know it, we'll both be starving in the streets.

Besides, I always carry some protection.

Protection?

Yeah.

It ain't much.

It's a bit blunt,

but it does the job.

So where you gonna be working tonight then?

Mulberry Street seems a nice bet, it's nice and quiet.

Anywhere but there, that's...

that's where that woman got her throat cut.

All right then, Jubilee Street.

As long as Maggie Mercer ain't around.

-Who? -The cow.

She reckons own everywhere from

Jubilee Street to Mill Yard.

She's always telling me to "get off her patch".

With any luck, Jack the Ripper will scare her off.

Or do her in.

This ain't funny, Iris.

What you so down about?

If there's more killings, that's a good thing, isn't it?

Just like last time.

No. Last time was different.

That letter, that's, that's the real deal.

And whoever wrote it slashed that girl's throat last night

on Mulberry Street.

Whoever it is,

they've got their eyes on me.

Can I help you with something?

I've got a room.

I know it ain't much.

Warehouse owner lets me use it as long as I clean up after.

So what'll it be then?

Iris.

Bollocks!

Iris?

Where are you, girl?

Are you all right, mister?

Yeah. This is Jubilee Street, right?

Yeah.

I was looking for a girl.

Well, it looks to me like you just found one.

No, no. I was looking...

-What's your name? -Maggie.

Maggie? Maggie? Maggie Mercer.

-And what's it to you? -Don't worry.

I'll look somewhere else.

What's the matter, ain't I your type?

You don't understand.

You know I can get you whatever you want.

What do you like? Little boys, is it?

-No. -Some dirty pictures?

Just forget about it.

You don't know what you're missing.

You seen any strange men round here?

Only the one.

Very good, yeah.

It ain't free, you know.

-What ain't? -My time.

Rather than wasting my time talking to you,

I could have been servicing some nice young gentleman.

You gotta be kidding me.

Oh, you one of those, aren't you?

-You just wanna talk! -Keep it down.

You ain't got the nerve to get your cock out,

-let alone your wallet. -Shut up.

You'll have the coppers on to us. How much do you want?

-What you doing? Get off that. -Get off!

Oh, you bleeding cheapskate!

Get off!

Christ!

Come on, you're gonna be late to work again.

Went out looking for you last night.

You did what?

Yeah.

I thought you said you was gonna be on Jubilee Street.

Yeah, changed my mind.

Job and all.

Bumped into an old pal of yours down there.

Maggie Mercer.

I told you, she ain't my friend, she's a cow.

You ain't wrong.

Shouldn't come looking for me at night.

You might see something you don't wanna see.

Oh, don't worry, Iris, I'm under no illusions.

I mean, I can imagine.

It ain't the same as seeing it in the flesh though, is it?

If you must know,

I went down Limehouse,

gobbed off half a dozen Chinamen.

All lined up for it they were.

And it ain't true what they say, you know.

Leave it out will you, Iris.

Well, I told you you wouldn't like it.

Sod this, I'm going to work.

Ain't you gonna have any breakfast?

-I could do you a sausage. -I ain't hungry.

Is that you, Mr Stubb?

-Good morning. -Don't you good morning me.

-Where's the rent you owe me? -Look...

I get paid by the end of the week

and I'll square up with you then, all right? Cross my heart.

Three shillings and six pence.

Cheek!

Not again.

Look at this. This morning's Daily Herald,

exclusive story.

Murder on Mulberry Street.

A young girl with her throat torn out.

And look what we had to lead with.

"Valuable hunting dog goes missing."

You're losing your touch, Stubb.

I did say the missing dog story was no good.

And now we're playing catch up with the Daily Herald.

Yeah, well the Herald have got a copper on the payroll.

-Know that for sure, do you? -They must have.

How else do you think they're getting all these exclusives?

You need to get your finger out, Stubb,

or else Lenny there will be doing your job

this time next week.

It's all right.

I don't think I want your job.

I'm not sure I've got the knack for it.

Where were you really yesterday?

I was out investigating that murder.

Oh, you saw the body?

Yeah.

And it was exactly like the letter said.

This, I can work with this, this is good.

Why don't you tell Stimson? He would've been over the moon.

Not even the Herald have a picture.

Because I'm not sure we should run with it.

What?

I mean, I was working on it all day yesterday and...

I don't know, call it a gut feeling,

just don't think it's a good idea.

But you've been waiting for a story like this

all year, haven't you?

Yeah, but not this.

Why do you think he sent me that letter?

I... I don't know.

I'll tell you, 'cause he wants to be in the newspaper,

just like before.

I mean, it was me that made his name, weren't it?

Jack The Ripper.

If you wrote about him before, why not do it again?

'Cause this time it's different.

It's personal.

I mean, if I give him what he wants,

he's just gonna keep doing it, ain't he?

Bit like chicken and the egg, eh?

He kills people, I write about it,

I write about it and he keeps killing people.

Kind of makes me a bit responsible, doesn't it?

You don't know that, this could have been a one-off.

What's that?

Another letter from him.

Found it in my bag this morning.

What does it say?

"Dear boss.

So I see you saw my handiwork on Mulberry Street.

Tonight's was a little different.

I took myself a souvenir.

You might wanna wend your way down to a warehouse

in Adelina Grove,

for there's a girl down there

who had something I wanted to get off her chest."

Come on.

Where are you going, Adelina Grove?

Yeah, and you're coming with.

Lenny.

Here.

Oh!

Oh! Oh, God!

You getting it, taking it all in.

Why have you dragged me up here?

So you can understand,

that there could have been my Iris.

The bloke that did this, he wanted me to find that body,

so I'll do a big story and put a picture of it

on the frontpage of the newspaper.

So do me a favour and get drawing, yeah?

I was just thinking,

you said the "bloke" who did this?

Yeah, what about it?

Well, why assume it's a man?

Last time they questioned dozens of men

and never a single woman.

Perhaps that's why they never found their culprit.

There's no way in hell that a woman

could do something like that.

No?

Well, it seems to me anyone with a knife could do that.

And you know what they say?

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Do you know any scorned women, Sebastian?

You still going out tonight then?

You know I am.

Don't worry, got my knife on me.

Yeah, you said it was a bit blunt.

Yeah, but it does the job.

Sure it does.

Look, if you don't want me to work,

you better start bringing some more money in.

Aren't you making anything off the back

of those Ripper murders?

I heard they found another body.

Yeah, Adelina Grove.

Geezer cut off one of her, um...

Well, this is what you've been waiting for, isn't it?

"Jack the Ripper is back."

It's time to start writing those headlines, Seb.

Yeah.

What the bleeding hell is wrong with you?

What's that supposed to mean?

I'm working myself to death,

screwing anything that looks in my direction

and, well, you,

you can't even be bothered to get off your arse

when something like this falls into your lap.

These Ripper letters, they're a gift from God, Sebastian.

Gift from God, Iris?

Yeah, gift from a murderer, I think you'll find.

A murderer who seems to know who I am and seems to be

following me around, yeah? How do you think that makes me feel?

I don't care how you feel.

I'm going out.

Hang on.

You said "Ripper letters".

What of it?

"Letters", Iris.

I showed you one letter. How do you know I got another one?

There was another murder, wasn't there?

Yeah.

So you got another letter, didn't you?

-Yeah. -I ain't got time for this.

What's going on, Iris?

-Sebastian... -I was watching you.

What do you mean?

Just found this letter in your bag, so...

Saw you coming in.

And I saw you trying to plant that letter in my bag.

Now don't lie to me, Iris!

What the bloody hell is going on?

I did it for you, you prick!

No, you tell me it ain't you writing those letters?

How could I write the letter, you stupid sod?

You know I can't read and write.

I... I didn't know what it was about.

Not at first.

He said it would...

He said it would be good for you.

Who?

I don't know.

I don't know who he is.

Only ever saw him at night

and he'd got a scarf over his face.

He said that all I had to do

was pass to you these letters without you knowing

about where they came from.

And then there'd just be a couple of quid in it for me.

What about after I told you what was in those letter, Iris?

There's no reason to stop taking them.

People get killed all the time in this town.

What's to say he ain't gonna come after you next, hmm?

He needs me, don't he?

To get to you.

You're here early.

I've got a story to write, ain't I?

The Ripper murders?

Got it in one.

Is this a new one?

Yeah.

So he's killed again?

And did you see what happened?

Did I see "him" you mean?

The Ripper?

No.

Pity, you could have described him, I could have drawn him.

You can still do the body.

I thought you didn't want do it, the Ripper stories.

Did I ever tell you how I got into this business, Lenny?

No, I don't think you did.

Saucy, innit?

The girl in that photographic print

was the daughter of someone very important.

I've forgotten all the details now.

She thought she was doing it for the art

and the images ended up getting shared round all the, er,

the gentleman clubs in White Chapel and Bethnal Green,

which is where I managed to get hold of one.

And trust me, Lenny, nothing sells newspapers

better than a sex scandal.

You shouldn't have this.

Keep it if you like.

If that's how you get your jollies.

What exactly does this have to do with the Ripper murders?

Printing newspapers gives us a lot of power.

I mean, we could take someone down just like that,

with an incriminating story.

Heroes into villains.

Exactly.

Now you take this Jack the Ripper.

He wants to be frontpage news, right?

His name on the tip of everyone's tongue.

People too scared to leave their houses at night,

just like before.

But he ain't gonna get that.

Not if we can come up with the right angle.

Stubb.

-What have you been up to? -What now?

There's someone downstairs demanding to see you.

Tell them I'm busy.

-Who is it? -Chief Inspector Wingate.

This is bollocks.

I ain't done nothing and you know that.

On the contrary, Stubb.

I'm preparing to press formal charges.

For what, writing letters?

No, for murder.

You what?

Some new evidence has come to light.

Rather compelling evidence.

I've have no choice but to act upon it.

What are you talking about, evidence?

I have a statement here from the gentleman standing behind you.

He just happens to be the constable

who patrols the Jubilee Street area.

Two nights ago, he reports that he witnessed you

attacking a local prostitute by the name of Maggie Mercer.

Attacking?

He's even done a little sketch.

Here.

See? This is you

grabbing her by the arm.

That's what happened, isn't it, constable?

-That's what I saw, sir. -I weren't attacking her.

-So you admit you were there? -Yeah.

And you admit that this happened?

-Yeah... -Because the very next night.

Do you know what else he saw?

Do tell us, constable.

Maggie Mercer.

Only this time she was dead in an alley

with her throat slit from ear to ear.

This is circumstantial bollocks.

It's a clear-cut case, Stubb, and you know it.

And it's not just Maggie Mercer, it's all the others as well.

What?

You do have a habit of mysteriously

turning up at all the murder scenes.

You knew about Mulberry Street before we did.

-'Cause it was in the letter. -That's another thing.

The so-called Ripper letters

that you've already admitted to writing yourself.

That was the old ones.

You were under suspicion a year ago,

but Inspector Rees was too damned incompetent

to finish the job.

Now we've got you.

Let's take him to the cells.

Frankly, Stubb,

I've rarely seen such a mountain of evidence.

My advice to you is to confess now,

show enough remorse and maybe,

just maybe, you'll end up with life in an asylum

rather than the noose.

Although if it was me, I think I'd much prefer the latter.

Why are you so keen to pin this all on me, Wingate?

What have I ever done to you?

You can deny it all you like, Stubb,

you'll get what you deserve, I'll see to that.

There's more to this than you think, you know that?

What do you mean?

I know you don't believe me,

but I didn't write those letters.

Whether or not you wrote those letters

is the least of my concerns.

It's the murders I'm interested in.

First, I thought the killer was sending me

those letters for the publicity, yeah?

I was wrong.

He's sending me those letters to set me up.

And why would he do that?

I don't know.

Look, talk to my girl Iris, she'll tell you.

Tell me what?

That I didn't do these murders

and I didn't write the letters.

She's the only one that can prove that.

I mean, I didn't wanna involve her at first but, well,

I don't have a choice now, do I?

And where can I find this Iris?

-What's going on, Wingate? -This is the only person

who can prove you're innocent, Stubb.

A downmarket, Whitechapel whore.

I doubt anyone would believe a single word

this slut has to say, but then again...

You're going down for these murders, Stubb.

I'll make sure of it,

even I have to slit the throat of another whore

right here in front of you!

I don't understand any of this.

You think you are the only clever bastard

who can ruin someone's life with a story?

Remember the one about the innocent girl

with a good upbringing?

Who made one mistake, a mistake that you caused her

to regret for the rest of her life,

which wasn't very long.

She killed herself, Stubb,

my only daughter, my Jessica.

After you printed that story about her little indiscretion.

- The girl in the photograph. - Oh!

It's coming back, is it?

Well, I didn't forget, Stubb,

having my family name dragged through the mud.

I wanted to come after you

with the full weight of my position,

but apparently no crime had been committed.

That's why you did it, hmm, killed all those girls?

And why not? Girls die on these streets all the time.

You'll never get away with it, it's a police station.

This is my police station, Stubb.

And the doors are locked and I have the keys.

Like I said, Stubb,

you're not the only one who can come up with a good story.

Try this one.

Penniless gutter reporter,

who longs for the good old days,

resurrects his greatest villain, Jack the Ripper.

That's bollocks.

You can't report on a string of murders

unless there's a string of murders to report on.

-So he goes out at night... -That's bollocks.

He goes out at night, as witnessed by a police constable,

attacks prostitutes,

and makes up fancy letters!

I have no doubt that you're gonna hang for this, Stubb,

and when you do, I'm gonna be watching

from the public gallery with a big smile on my face!

There's just one fly in the ointment, isn't there?

One witness who can attest

to where the letters really came from.

Let her go.

She ain't done nothing to you, has she? It's me you want.

So?

I'll confess.

You'll what?

I'll confess to the murders, Wingate.

All the girls.

There'll be, um...

no trial,

no need for witnesses, hmm?

I'll go straight to that noose.

Just let her go.

You'd do that just to save this little whore?

Iris, I'm so sorry.

I didn't wanna involve you.

I love you.

I'm sorry.

I can't accept your proposal.

I have total confidence

that you'll hang whether you confess or not.

One more audacious murder right here in the cells

of the Metropolitan Police

will only make the case stronger.

So here she is...

the final victim of Jack the Ripper,

otherwise known...

as Sebastian Stubb.

No!

I had to do it.

He was... He was going to kill her.

Lenny, how'd you get in here?

I took a set of keys from my father's study.

Your father?

Who's that?

I'm sorry about your woman, Iris.

Don't apologise. I mean, you saved her life.

If you hadn't have done what you did.

I had no choice.

I couldn't watch as he murdered another woman.

See, I'm still trying to get my head around all this.

I mean, how comes Wingate's your father?

He's my stepfather.

That's why we don't share the same family name.

This is his place?

This is his study.

He was never the same after Jessica's suicide.

Something inside of him just broke.

He put a brave face on it,

but he was entirely consumed by it.

I had to take his pistol out of fear

that he'd do something stupid.

That's why I agreed to help him.

With what?

To get revenge on you.

This whole Ripper episode gave him the perfect opportunity.

My father got me the job at the Morning Times

so I could find out more about you,

to help set you up.

But I swear,

I knew he was going to write more Ripper letters.

But I didn't know he'd go through with it.

The murders.

So why didn't you say something earlier?

Do something to stop him?

I had no idea what he was doing.

I thought he was just going to take existing cases

-and pin them on you. -Oh, nice.

So you were happy for me to go down for something I never did?

He raised me since I was a boy.

Wouldn't you do what your father told you to,

even if you thought it might be wrong?

I don't know.

I never knew my old man.

God knows what will happen in the morning.

They'll find his body

and I'll have to explain everything to them.

You'll have a field day, won't you?

Why's that?

Well, it's the story of the year.

A man in my father's position doing

what he did.

You'll have the frontpage for a month.

You never know.

The thing is,

I'm not sure I could stand that.

The family barely recovered from the last scandal

and this would be a hundred times worse.

I think I'd do just about anything.

to stop that from happening.

Hold it right there, Lenny.

Story's gotta come out somehow, ain't it, hmm?

But saying that, there's always an angle.

Heroes into villains.

Hard at work for once, eh, Stubb?

Your little run-in with the police

seems to have done you some good.

Is this ready to go?

If we hurry, we can make the afternoon edition.

I'll bring it down to you in a bit.

I want Lenny to proofread it first.

"Chief Inspector Wingate,

heroic to the end."

-That would be your headline. -Hold on a minute.

I thought this was gonna be a Ripper story.

Oh, it is.

Right. Well, all right then,

just bring it down when it's ready.

I'll hold the frontpage for as long as I can.

"A highly decorated Chief Inspector

of the Metropolitan Police

was shot and killed last night

in the process of confronting a prime suspect

in the notorious Jack the Ripper case."

You make it sound like he was shot by the suspect.

But does it say that?

-No, not exactly, but... -Keep reading.

"The tragic loss of this respected man's life

did however successfully prevent another murder."

I can't believe it.

-You've turned him into a... -A hero.

Now give it back to me quick.

If we're lucky, still make this afternoon's edition.

Wait.

I just wanted to apologise

for how I pressured you into doing this.

This whole thing just had my head spinning. I...

I wasn't thinking straight.

I bet.

I just wanted you to know how much this means to me.

Mr Stubb.

-Good evening, missus. -Never mind your good evenings.

There is still the matter of your outstanding rent.

Three shillings and six pence, I do believe.

You ain't going out tonight, are you?

Who said I was?

This...

is for you.

And these are for you.

Better put them in water.

Did you remember the matches and all?

Jesus, Lord God, it's a miracle.

-What's all this in aid of then? -I got paid today, didn't I?

-Is that today's paper? -Yep.

Afternoon edition, frontpage.

"Chief Inspector Wingate, heroic to the end."

Such a nice thing you're doing for Lenny.

I sometimes forget you're capable of doing nice things.

But then...

every now and then...

you surprise me.

Still can't believe what you said in that cell.

I'm not entirely selfless, Iris.

There is this small matter of this rather generous

frontpage bonus.

I'll take that.

And how comes you get to keep that?

'Cause I'm gonna earn it, right now.

What's up?

You read out the headline.

What?

Just then, you said, "Wingate heroic to the end."

No. No, no, I was just guessing.

-You said you couldn't read. -I can't.

-Why would you lie about that? -Seb, you're hurting me.

You knew, didn't you?

What was in those letters right from the start.

You knew Wingate was setting me up.

You just what? Went along with it.

You think you figured something out.

You think you are so clever, don't you?

You don't know fuck all!

You got it then?

Every penny.

You took your time.

Well, I had to go to the Herald,

let them know I no longer have access to the police records.

I seem to be saying this quite a lot recently,

but what the fuck is going on?

Seb, I really must thank you again

for the story you wrote.

That's alright, Lenny. I know it meant a lot to you.

Indeed it did, £1,000 to be exact.

I don't get it.

And you never will.

This sort of business is out of your league, Sebastian.

Well, it's quite simple really.

My father was an important man

and the title of Chief Inspector

comes with a generous life insurance policy.

But these policies, well, they're complicated.

It was only valid if he was killed in the line of duty.

Which according to your newspaper report, he was.

And you were in on this and all, were you, Iris?

Where'd you think I go each night?

Hmm? Walking the streets?

Yeah, sometimes.

Sometimes I go to Lenny's place.

He's the one that taught me to read.

And how to pose.

How to pose?

For the camera.

I never knew you were into photography, Lenny.

It's a sideline. I'm into anything that makes me money.

And I've had the equipment lying around since art college.

Did you take the, um...?

I took the photographs of Jessica, yes.

Are you only just figuring this out?

Your own sister, you dirty bastard.

She was my step-sister.

We weren't related.

But we were close, very close.

Which is why I'll never forgive you for what you did.

So all this was your idea, not Wingate's.

I told you, the man was broken.

I could have talked him into doing anything I wanted.

So I did.

Well, seems like you both got everything you want.

-So I'm just gonna. -Not quite everything.

My sister is still dead

and you're walking around enjoying life.

I wouldn't exactly say that.

I would've loved to see you hanged

for those Ripper crimes.

I suppose any death's as good as another.

Come on.

Now I have got to say,

after everything you've done for me,

I am struggling to pull the trigger.

Let me do it.

I'll kill the fucker, any time you like.

Iris.

How long did you think I was gonna hang around

waiting for you to make an honest woman out of me?

Did you really think that I wouldn't find someone better?

Someone that could gimme more than a limp three inches

every once in a blue moon.

You're pathetic, Sebastian,

in every fucking way.

Especially what you said in that cell,

begging for my life!

No one wants to see their man beg, Sebastian.

It's such a turn off.

Wait!

It's all right.

I know what I'm doing.

One quick slice across the throat,

the coppers will think it's another Ripper murder.

No, they won't.

The Ripper only targeted women.

The murder of a man like Stubb,

that might attract a full investigation.

But his suicide won't.

-Fuck me, that was loud. -Yes.

I don't recommend we hang around long.

Listen, why don't me and you

take that briefcase of money uptown

and I can show you a good time.

-Iris. -Yeah.

I think our little partnership has run its course.

What?

It's over, finished.

I'm not planning on staying in London

and I no longer require your assistance.

After you've got that £1,000, you mean?

But I thought I was going with you.

What about my share of the money?

-I never promised you a share. -But I thought that...

You have been well paid for your services.

Now I must go.

My... services?

Consider it a bonus.

Don't you do this to me, Lenny.

Iris.

Don't you fucking dare do this to me!

I am a wealthy man.

I cannot be seen consorting with prostitutes.

Surely you understand that.

Give me that case!

Iris, don't do this.

I'll cut you up, Lenny!

-Don't think that I won't. -You don't understand.

Now you just stay put and I'm...

A thousand pounds?

Why don't it weigh anything?

What the fuck's this?

A banker's cheque,

payable to me.

How do I spend it?

You can't.

♪ Cold blood in chaliced hands ♪

♪ To the dregs towards the end ♪

♪ Hard iron won't talk ♪

♪ The sun, the moon for the rising son ♪

♪ Disappear ♪

♪ I defy your lies ♪

♪ There is no discourse to explain ♪

♪ Why? ♪

♪ Time looked at with fear ♪

♪ There is no matter for ♪

♪ For those who disappear ♪

♪ Who disappear ♪