Every Breath You Take|Olivia (casual)(done)

[JACK THE RIPPER]

The police were desperate. They were drawing whatever cards they could shovel out of their sleeves and Victor loved it.

This was the reaction he had been hoping for. He had left authorities completely in the dust, and they were now reduced to making door-to-door inquiries. What else were they to do? They had no conclusive evidence, all of their suspects led to dead ends, and the murders were still raging strong. Victor relished in the risk he was taking--they were always a mere breath away from grabbing his coattails, but he always managed to slip past them. It was like playing Blind Man's Bluff with the entire city of New York.

All the same, he had been initially concerned when he and the other people who lived in his high-class apartment complex learned that they were to be interviewed in a matter of hours. He didn't have to hide anything yet--they couldn't do a thing without a warrant, which he was one hundred percent certain they didn't have--but it was still disconcerting. Why would they pick his apartment to question? They couldn't be on the right track. Ha ha.

His anxiety quickly disappeared, and by the time they were all being summoned to the lobby, Victor actually was feeling quite excited. How fun it would be to have a chat with some detective who had no idea that he had caught his man. No idea!

*****

Javert squinted and flipped open the sun visor of the driver's side as he turned into the parking lot of this swanky high-rise. He couldn't say that he was looking forward to interviewing these people; they'd been interviewing half of Manhattan all day, as if they would have any effect on the case. The Ripper wasn't in Manhattan. But god forbid anyone listen to him. They were all so desperate, but they wouldn't be if they just used their heads a second.

He glanced over at his partner, Olivia Athos, who was seated in the passenger side. He could tell that she wasn't having any more fun than he was, and that fact at least put a teasing smile on his face. "Are you pumped for this?" he asked flatly, slamming the car door and going around to meet her on the other side. They entered the lobby of the apartment complex together, and he surveyed the scene there.

None of the people there looked at all pleased. Most of the men looked as if they had somewhere much more important to be, and all of the women were picking their nails as if not making eye contact would divert attention from them. Only a few people looked either indifferent or expectant, including a man who was leaning on the arm of one of the buttery leather couches, his arms crossed. For some reason, this person put a frown on Javert's face. Maybe it was because he was looking directly at them.

*****

Victor and the other thirty or so tenants were divided up between the three detectives who had arrived. He was scheduled to speak with the only woman of the bunch, exactly third in line. This pleased him; women were easy for him. They appealed to emotion. And this being a very on-the-fly interview, it would just be she and him in a room together for however long she took.

Piece of cake. He was already observing her behaviors, which was grade school stuff compared to what he could guess. The quirks of people were his best friends.

"Victor Griffiths!" Finally, one of the officers signaled him to proceed into the landlord's office, where his Miss Athos was conducting all of her interviews. He slid in and quietly shut the door behind him, looking up at the woman with a friendly gaze.

"Hey," he said, holding out a hand to shake as he moved toward his seat. "Pleased to meet you."

[DETECTIVE OLIVIA ATHOS]

Detective Olivia Athos straightened the collar of her crisp white button down as her partner pulled their unmarked cruiser to a halt. She wasn't used to sitting in the passenger seat but, seniority dictated that Javert held claim to the wheel. She trusted the tall, stoic man with her life and he was a skilled driver to be sure; she just preferred to be in control rather than sitting on the sidelines in the passenger seat. The entire ride she'd remained silent, her mind racing, what was the commissioner thinking? Olivia was all for an all-out investigation of these Ripper Murders but, door-to-door was just ridiculous. But, hell, it was better than traffic duty and in expensive apartments like this one there was bound to be air-conditioning.

Javert's deep voice was strangely jovial as he exited the car. Olivia followed suit noticing the mock enthusiasm on his face. "I can barely contain myself." she retorted sarcastically, releasing the seat belt from its buckle. The moment she opened the door a rush of heat swept her back. How long was it supposed to be like this? The weatherman said something about a heat wave but, Olivia took everything those so-called meteorologists said with a grain of salt. She joined her partner on the other side of the car and the pair walked down the curb towards the building in silence. If there was one thing about Javert that Olivia absolutely admired it was that he always seemed unaffected by everything about him.

A gust of cold air met her when she entered the high-rise and Olivia did her best not to smile. The last thing she wanted to do was give off the impression that this was a) all fun and games or b) she actually had emotions. Conducting mass interviews like this was tricky. She couldn't afford to be seen as too eager or too lenient; this was a murder investigation after all. Back at the precinct she'd have time to interrogate; time to leave the suspect to sweat. Here, there had to be thirty or so tenants and no time.

Saying the first two interviews were absolute crap would be an understatement. The moment the second tenant left Olivia felt like slamming her head against the desk, perhaps traffic duty wouldn't have been so bad after all. This particular tenant felt compelled to pace around the room berating her for quote "dragging him down here for some bull-shit investigation when he had better things to do. He was a famous architect and made more money on one deal than she'd make in three years as a NYPD fuzz". She didn't like term fuzz but kept that to her self. Finally, realizing that this man had an alibi for the murders and was most-likely going to continue shouting at her if she asked any more questions she let him leave.

The officer outside signaled for the next tenant to come in and she quickly collected her thoughts, brushed her hair back into place, and put on her best detective stare; eyes narrowed, lips pursed, hard as nails. The man that entered was Victor Griffiths, his warm, gentle smile made her feel a bit more at ease. Although, not relaxed by any means. She tentatively accepted his hand and indicated for him to sit in the chair opposite her. "Mister Griffiths, I'm Detective Athos, I assume you know why you are here today?"

The commissionaire insisted that they start out these interviews with this question. Olivia found it to be incredibly forward and put the interviewee on the defensive but, these interviews were recorded and the last thing she wanted to do was listen to another hour long rant about how she was disobeying direct orders despite how stupid they were. Olivia stared at the man with his thick, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Most people would have said he's too handsome to be a killer but, in Olivia's mind everyone could be a killer. She'd seen enough cases in the last few years to know anyone can be driven to desperation no matter their appearance, status, or reputation. "Where were you on last Friday night between the hours of five and seven-thirty?

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor remained smiling as he sat, the same friendly and unassuming smile he had taken on from the beginning, though he was smiling for a completely different reason now. Of course he got the woman--the doe-eyed beauty would be so easy to manipulate away from asking the questions which he couldn't answer, or questions he simply didn't want to answer.

"Mister Griffiths, I'm Detective Athos, I assume you know why you are here today?"

He nodded, running a hand through his hair and sitting across from her, his posture relaxed. "I think it's a little silly, but yeah, you're just doing your job." Victor shrugged passively and watched her, his eyebrows raised expectantly. He knew that he was handsome, and he, of course, always used that to his advantage. It made him sick that women couldn't resist it, but it was how it happened, and why not put it to use?

He seemed to look about the office as she pulled herself together for questioning. "Where were you on last Friday night between the hours of five and seven-thirty?" His attention was called back to her, giving her a look of alert attention, his smile returning.

He looked directly at her and leaned back in his chair, entwining his fingers over his stomach as he put on his thinking face. She had said Friday night. He didn't even need to make up an alibi for that. "Let's see...I was at work," he told her, one eyebrow quirking. "I was at work until ten-thirty that night, like always." Now, if she asked about the early morning, there would be no strange discussion as to where he had been--sleeping, of course. As far as his landlord knew. Sleeping alone, he might add smoothly.

[DETECTIVE OLIVIA ATHOS]

Olivia found herself staring into those cold, blue eyes as the man spoke. There were incredibly sultry and filled with emotion as he spoke. People could do what ever they pleased to try and hide or dissuade their emotions but there they were, always tucked away in their eyes. She liked to make eye contact with the people she was interrogating; see how they reacted to a stern gaze. Did they shy away? Did they stare back? Did they seem comfortable? She found most often that criminals who were guilty either enjoyed sitting with the enemy or did what ever they could to get away. It’s what separated the sociopaths from the first time offenders; the fear.

His tone was gentle, as he leaned back in his chair, “I think it’s a little silly, but yeah, you’re just doing your job.” She watched him run his fingers through his hair; it was a common occurrence although she couldn’t tell if it was out of habit or nervousness. He didn’t seem all that perturbed but, most people try to hide their feelings around a cop, tried to be smooth and calm. It was the badge; it made people paranoid and made Olivia’s job a hell of a lot harder.

He smiled as he answered her next question. “And what is it that you do, Mister Griffiths?” it didn’t matter that it was on the sheet in front of her, she was still required to ask. Olivia let her eyes wander around Mr. Griffiths, looking him up and down as subtly as she could manage. He was handsome, well-dressed, and had this charm about him, there was no doubt of that. She looked for any scars, recent cuts or bruises that might be visible and looked ragged. Victims don’t usually go down with out a fight especially the way in which these women had been killed.

Finding no immediate red flags Olivia continued marking his answers down on her sheet as he spoke, “I’m required to ask, so please do not take this personally, have you ever had relations or encounters with anyone who could be classified as a prostitute? Call girls, escorts, what ever term they go by these days.” It was a good idea to get the suspects viewpoint on the victim type in a serial murder case such as this. The murderer didn’t engage in any sexual behaviors with these women so it was pretty clear that wasn’t the reason he sought them out. He obviously found them to be easy targets or disagreed with the way in which they carried themselves in public. These were murders of passion, not random killings. But then again, they would have to arrest half of New York if they were looking for someone who disliked prostitutes.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor found that he quite liked holding her gaze. Her eyes were big and pleasant to look at, filled with inquiry. He could clearly see that this woman liked her job, and he respected her for that, even if they were on opposite sides. She probably had more intellect that half of the force combined, considering what a snail's pace they were moving at. They weren't even close. They were so far away that they didn't even have a track.

“And what is it that you do, Mister Griffiths?”

"I wholesale tobacco," he replied, half frowning. He didn't like his job, and it showed on his face. "But I do own a restaurant on the side..." Technically a bar, but high-class enough to be considered either. He liked this part of the job better--being able to meet new people, making the decisions. He had superiors with the wholesaling, however few.

Victor was acutely aware of how she looked him up and down. He felt that it was to look for any clue, but also for her own enjoyment as well. He knew that he wasn't all that unpleasant to look at. But she'd find nothing she wanted to find--he didn't have any scars or markings where she could see them, unless she wanted him to remove his clothing. Which he only half doubted. His skin was riddled with little scars here and there, mostly on his upper arms and his torso, but the nasty ones--on his stomach and shoulders--were the ones he always made sure to keep covered.

He paused at her next question, and looked down at his lap, then back up at her. He answered her softly, "Well, fifteen years or so ago, I was in a serious relationship with a prostitute. She's dead now." Victor clenched his jaw and looked at the desk. "She was killed too. So. I'm not exactly happy that these murders are taking place."

It wasn't a good idea to dwell on that. She might ask more questions. He looked up at her again and easily relaxed, trying to put on a smile. He had created the figure of that long-lost love, the poor, desperate prostitute, by building upon the first woman he'd ever killed. She hadn't been a prostitute, and he was stupid to kill someone he knew so closely and in their home, too. It took months to seal out all the details. Months of dreading and knowing that he had to kill a girl he actually was fond of.

He had over-romanticized her when he spoke of her since her death, and now she was nothing more than a sob-story. He didn't even use her real name at all. But the practice he'd had and the emotion he could easily feign sealed the story tight, and there was nothing telltale of a lie in it.

"Any more questions?" Victor tried to make himself sound slightly uncomfortable, now holding her gaze again. His blue eyes searched her face; of course she had more questions. A woman like her wouldn't be able to stop asking questions now.

[DETECTIVE OLIVIA ATHOS]

Wholesale tobacco, just the sound of it made Olivia sick, she did her best not to frown. Her mother had taken up smoking when her father passed away, saying it was a way to relieve the stress. Unfortunately, that stress she was puffing away was most likely going to grow into lung cancer at the rate she was inhaling those cigarettes. Olivia glanced down at the sheet and placed two small check marks next to the two occupations he mentioned. She’d been to that bar a few times before, but it was a little too far away from her apartment for her to be a regular. Not to mention it was a little upscale for her taste. If she was going out with friends she would probably take them there but considering she mostly drank by herself she preferred to drink locally.

Everything seemed fairly normal he mentioned the death of an ex-girlfriend who happened to be a prostitute. A thousand questions filled her mind: who was she? Did they break up before she became a prostitute? Did they break up before she died or did she die while they were dating? How did they meet? If there was a break up was it mutual or explosive? Was she one of the victims of the Ripper or an isolated case? She bowed her head away for a moment trying to regain control over her overly inquisitive mind. Olivia wanted to be considerate of his loss but, fifteen years was a long time and she figured he had some time to get over it. But, she supposed that would depend on when the murder took place.

Scribbling herself a note in the top right hand corner of the page, Olivia looked back up and asked “What was her name?” She was going to be careful with this part of the interrogation; she didn’t want to upset the man before he had a chance to explain. The last thing she needed was a scorned lover blowing up a storm in this makeshift interrogation room. She’d dealt with that before and she didn’t want to end up pinned to a wall again. Men can get so temperamental about their women, especially pimps. She had managed to break away from his grasp, employing a knee break, followed quickly by twisting the man’s arm behind his back and slamming him to the floor. Three cops burst into the room to handcuff the suspect but, the bruises on her neck were already starting to appear. She was black and blue for almost a month after that. She was hoping Mr. Griffiths would be less volatile and it appeared that was the case.

“Were you two together at the time of the murder or separated?” she paused feeling as if she need to reiterate, “Romantically speaking.” Although knowing if he was present at the time of the murder would be good to know as well but, she was going to focus on the relationship to start. She glanced down at the paperwork, to her watch, and back up at the suspect. She wondered how Javert was faring in the other room. Most of these people weren’t as cooperative as Mr. Griffiths. Olivia pictured Javert sitting in his chair stoically glaring at the tenant, making them feel nervous, paranoid even. She’d learned a lot about interrogating just from watching him; actually it was one of her favorite past-times watching him nab a confession from a tight-lipped suspect.

“I never run out of questions Mr. Griffiths,” her green eyes focused on his face as she smiled, “Not until the case is solved.”

[JACK THE RIPPER]

“I never run out of questions Mr. Griffiths,” her green eyes focused on his face as she smiled, “Not until the case is solved.”

He looked up at her with a tentative look of reassured confidence, giving her a submissive smile. Women liked to be in control, and he didn't mind giving her what she wanted if it meant he would gain a sufficient amount of trust. After all, in the end, it would be him in control.

"Alright, detective... I guess you've earned the details." Victor shrugged with a deep breath, as if he had told the story too many times to even care about her curiosity anymore. "Her name was Tara." That, at least, was the truth. He knew better than to lie to a person who could very well check the facts. The fact was, Tara had not been a prostitute. But the police didn't have to know her private life. There was an excuse.

"We were still together when she died," he said quietly, crossing his ankle over his knee. "In fact, we were engaged. We lived in an apartment in D.C., and one day I came home, and she... yeah." Victor cleared his throat and rubbed at the bridge of his nose uncomfortably.

After a long pause, he said softly, "They thought it was me."

[DETECTIVE OLIVIA ATHOS]

She watched him carefully as his dispelled the tragic tale of his deceased prostitute fiancé with the remorse befitting such an occurrence. The cross of the knee was a protective measure, a subconscious way of putting up his guard. It was a hard task to recount memories such as this one; Athos knew all too well, except hers hadn’t ended in murder although some days she wished it had. The way he massaged the bridge of his nose was telling: it was a sore subject and men especially used this as a way of relaxing in order to prevent tears or reassure them that their brain wasn’t about to fall out of their head.

The way he spoke "Alright, detective... I guess you've earned the details." made it sound as if she was entitled to his secrets. Although she felt as if he was doing so begrudgingly and she tried not to feel sympathy for the man; sympathy clouded the mind. She settled back into her chair, resting one hand on the desk and the other beneath her chin running her thumb gently back and forth across her lips unwittingly. “Tara” that wasn’t one of the victims name, was it? “Apartment in D.C.” certainly not part of the Ripper Murders, unless… “Prostitute” could it be a coincidence? Olivia scratched another note for herself on the page to call the MPD when she got back to the precinct. She had a few contacts down there and they would be sure to send her a copy by fax that afternoon. It always helped to have connections.

“They thought it was me.” the comment made her pause. She didn’t want to admit it but the thought had come to her head. A man engaged to a prostitute, wouldn’t there be jealousy; rage even, that she was sleeping around with other guys? It seemed an odd thing to become involved with a prostitute. Although, she’d seen it a thousand times when she was regular P.D. Men breaking into homes beating up lovers because they put their hands on his woman. There was just something about paying someone to fall in love with you for the night that was disturbing; add on falling in love and proposing to that mix and it just spelled trouble.

Perhaps Mr. Griffiths hadn’t hired Tara as a prostitute. It was entirely possible that the pair had met outside of that world and she had sworn to leave it and get a “real” job. Olivia weighed what her next question should be. “Apologies, I’m sure that must have been difficult to deal with,” she began in a gentle tone but still retaining it’s professional, stern edge, “Unfortunately, it’s our job to expect anyone to be a killer. Especially, if there is motive involved.” She hoped it hadn’t come off as an insinuation of his guilt, after all it was fifteen years ago. “How long had you and Tara—” she cut off unaware of the woman’s last name and hoping Mr. Griffiths would fill it in for her.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

She really was more intelligent than half of the force combined. He could feel her making observations about his behaviors, and he knew that from here on out, he had to plan his act very carefully with her. Victor sat back again and watched her closely, his steely eyes holding hers with very natural-looking, albeit fake sorrow.

"I understand that they had to take the necessary measures, but really... I loved Tara. She wasn't actually a prostitute when she was killed, you know. I wouldn't have had her out on the streets when I could give her a home. But she had a long history." Victor paused a moment and then scoffed. "I couldn't do that. Even if I hated her. I mean... she was stabbed forty-three times."

He would never forget that number, because he remembered that he'd counted each time he stuck her twitching corpse. He remembered every jolt, and when the burning had started in his throat. She'd been destroyed, but not ripped. It was easier to just rip them--take all human qualities from them. Much easier.

“How long had you and Tara—”

Victor patiently waited for her to continue, but when she didn't, he said, "We'd been together for a year at least." He knew that she wanted a last name to work with, but he decided not to provide her with one. She could find it very well on her own. Oh, he loved playing with them... if only he could get her off of the topic of Tara. But that wouldn't be hard to do at all. She just needed a little work.

[DETECTIVE OLIVIA ATHOS]

She could see the sorrow melt in the man’s eyes; it couldn’t have been easy to walk into that. Olivia had been to enough homicide crime scenes that she was uneasy with how desensitized she’d become to the whole thing. It was inhuman to be so nonchalant around the dead but, it was part of the job. For a man like Victor Griffiths, it must have been a shock, especially to have the victim be someone whom he cared for a great deal. He was sincere when he told her that he understood that the police “had to take necessary measures” although she wasn’t entirely sure he meant it. Olivia had met plenty of people who weren’t so understanding, or at least so good at keeping it to themselves. Hell, there were quite a few times she had to have family members of the deceased restrained for disorderly conduct.

But, after fifteen years it was clear this was still affecting him. He loved her, he truly loved her, and it was clear on his face. These things never leave you; Olivia thought to herself, they never ever leave you. They just burrow into your soul and hold you hostage. There was a pause, a long pause in Mr. Griffith’s tale, before, “Even if I hated her. I mean... she was stabbed forty-three times." Her eyes narrowed at the specification of the number. This man was scarred by this experience. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder she was willing to bet, years of therapy she was sure. It was a typical indicator of PTSD to recall even the minutest details. Olivia knew all to well although she’d never show it.

Keeping her gaze steady and her lips in that stern-devil-may-care sort of way that she’d learned from Javert, she wanted to ask more about the body but knew it wasn’t the time or place. She’d read all about it in the coroner’s report. There was no need to make this man rehash that sort of thing. If need be she would call him up for a follow up interview but, for now she’d leave that subject. “A year, Mr. Griffiths? How long after your relationship began with Miss…” she paused, not used to calling a victim or even a suspect for that matter by their first name. “Tara” it felt so foreign and strange as the name left her mouth. “did she stop prostituting herself?”

She wasn’t quite sure what made her press the matter, but she was a detective wasn’t she? her job was to detect. Olivia took a deep breath, “Was there anyone in her life, a past client perhaps, or even her handler that was upset that she had stopped?” She took a moment to glance down at her notes before looking back up at Mr. Griffiths, feeling foolish for not asking this question first “Was her killer ever found?”

[JACK THE RIPPER]

He watched her very carefully, assessing her discreetly. The sympathy on her face was very apparent to him, and there was something else there too... a little bit of understanding? Victor knew now that he had to start observing her as carefully as she was observing him. If he struck the right chords, it would be easier to avoid uncomfortable questions.

"Well, I encouraged her to stop, but she couldn't until after we started living together, which was just a few months before her death..." he said, leaning forward a bit and resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers latticed together again. "She didn't like being... what she was. She didn't make it public."

Victor was sick of these questions, actually. It was a challenge, trying to keep it truthful without feeling emotion; emotion wasn't something he liked to feel. He liked to pick and choose emotions and put them on, like some sort of mask... but not to feel them. Feeling them made him human, and being human hurt far too much.

Suddenly, he sat up a little straighter, one hand on his knee. "I can tell, Miss Athos, that I'm your most interesting interviewee so far." Victor adopted a crooked, charming grin. He was just trying to get her off of the subject in such a way that she would not notice he was doing so. He liked her; she was smart. But even she could be manipulated.

[DETECTIVE OLIVIA ATHOS]

He shifted positions twice as he talked about the late Tara, Tara whom she still hadn’t managed to get a last name for. Olivia was looking forward to getting back to the precinct so that she could get in touch with her contact down in D.C. she hated loose ends and right now Tara was a loose end. It wasn’t likely that there was a link between her death and the deaths of the women in New York but, then again perhaps there was. If anything, Olivia just wanted to be thorough. She could tell he was growing uncomfortable with these questions, people didn’t like their private life pried into especially, when it was dark and twisted. She wondered what was going on in his head right now, not being able to read his face the way she could before.

"She didn't like being... what she was. She didn't make it public." Perhaps it was simply the fact that she would never get involved with a prostitute that made this whole thing seem so strange. It didn’t matter that people got involved with them for one night stands but, falling for one. It just seemed so, so unreal. Olivia had to stop herself, she was thinking far too much about it. Who would want to kill a prostitute who was no longer a prostitute and kept her job secretive? An overbearing pimp? An angered client? There was something odd about it. Not that she’d have much more time to think about it. Mr. Griffith’s cool voice interrupted her thoughts, "I can tell, Miss Athos, that I'm your most interesting interviewee so far."

She thought about it a moment before responding. He was only her third interviewee and yet she’d sat and talked with him much longer than the others. Olivia glanced at her watch it was twenty minutes past the hour, how long had he been in here? "Still a fair few to go, Mr. Griffiths. Don’t get your hopes up.” she smiled jotting down another note for herself. So far she had a collection of random lines and arrows all pointing to the name “Tara” which she much have scribbled down at least half a dozen times. Tara, what? She thought. There were a few other scrawling words: the name of her contact in Washington, a reminder to do a credit history check on the suspect, and the number forty-three. She decided not to address the fact that she preferred to be call Detective Athos rather than Miss Athos, for the moment. If it came up again she’d be sure to correct him. She wasn’t about to be belittled, she had earned her title and she’d be damned if she didn’t get to use it.

“Just a few more questions and I can send you on your way.” She assured him, pulling out a form from her manila folder so that she wouldn’t forget about it at the end of the interview. She wanted to ask about the woman’s killer once more and was about to but figured she could get it from the police reports and if need be a follow-up interview. “How long have you been in New York?”

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Victor became rather irritated upon hearing that the interview was not over, though it didn't show on his face. Hiding that one emotion had become a specialty of his, anger. Not even his victims in their last breath would see it, and when--god forbid--he did appear angry, he was flying off the handle.

He could see the confusion and longing to ask more personal questions in the detective's face. The story had worked on her, and now there was really nothing she could do; she was in the palm of his hand, though she didn't know it yet. From here on out, he hoped to be able to manipulate her do to anything he wished, perhaps--perhaps--even drop him off the suspect list. He was a little irked, though, that she had completely deflected his attempts to bring her off of the subject of the case.

He shifted again, into his original, more relaxed posture as she set down her notes and pulled out a manila envelope or folder. “How long have you been in New York?”

"Oh god," he muttered, glancing at the ceiling. "About... ten or so years." Victor thought for another moment and then nodded. That seemed about right. He'd drifted up from D.C. to New York after college and after Tara, leaving all memories of his former life behind, including his mother. As he drifted, he'd passed through many cities to kill, ceremonially in the winter. Three or four women, next town- three or four, maybe two, next town- more murders, next town, and so on. They had hardly classified it as serial murdering--he had only ripped someone before now very rarely. In his early day, he could only risk violent stabbing.

All the same, these murders had left a gash in the East Coast if one cared to plot it, which he knew a certain Detective Javert had, or at least some of the more brutal ones. He looked across at Detective Athos with a tilted head--he'd seen her come in with Javert. Could they perhaps be partners? The thought caused a small flutter in his stomach--he'd have to be more careful with what he said around her, or urge her not to say anything.

[DETECTIVE OLIVIA ATHOS]

There were murders everyday all over the world, what was the probability that Tara’s murder was in anyway connected to these Ripper murders? The answer that any other cop would have given you was slim to none and Olivia knew this to be true. The number of prostitute murders in the U.S. alone was staggering, especially women prostitutes. Although there were some cases of female murderers of female prostitutes, the majority of cases involved an enraged male. What was she always taught? Follow the facts. But, the problem was that there were no god-damn facts.

Olivia stretched her neck to the side, knowing that she’d have to cut this interview off in the next few minutes. After all, she’d kept him in here long enough there were half a dozen other tenants that she still had to talk to. As pointless as she had thought this to be, she couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if she didn’t get a chance to talk to Mr. Griffiths. Not that his ex-fiancé’s murder was directly connected to today’s murders but, it was a strange coincidence. And Olivia didn’t believe in coincidences.

Victor Griffiths tilted his head to the side, glancing at the ceiling as he contemplated the exact number of years he’d been in this city. Everyone does that: tilts their head, scrunches their eyes, or bites their lip, something that subconsciously indicates that they are thinking very, very hard. Olivia was a lip biter. She spent countless hours staring at murder boards, the corner of her lip trapped beneath the edge of teeth.

“Thank you for your time Mr. Griffiths.” Olivia shifted in her chair, her fingers tracing the page she’d taken from the envelope, “There’s just one more thing before I let you go.” She slid the page across the table along with a pen, making sure not to hand either object to the man across the table. “It’s just a confidentially agreement. Nothing you say will be released to the press unless it proves pertinent to our case and if that were to occur your name would in no way be associated with it. It’s our way of saying thank you for your time.” Olivia watched intently, her heart beating in her chest as she awaited the man to pick up the pen and sign the sheet. It wasn’t the confidentiality agreement she was worried about, it was figuring out which hand he used to sign it. Although, a warrant to anyone’s office or apartment would allow her full disclosure to any paperwork they’d written or signed, this was infinitely easier and far less suspicious.

[JACK THE RIPPER]

Ah, he was definitely treading dangerous ground now. He could see in her eyes that she was far too curious about Tara. The thing was, she really wasn't connected to the recent murders at all. In perpetrator, perhaps, but in everything else...

But Victor would let her think what she wanted to think. He thought that perhaps she shouldn't have mentioned Tara. He could have manipulated her in other ways, if he really wanted. Ah, no... he didn't have time to doubt his actions, and even if he did, he couldn't backpedal now. When she went back and checked whatever files she had to, she would see that Tara's case was nothing special. A lot of stabbing to a young girl, as opposed to the ripping open of middle-aged prostitutes.

His eyebrows raised as she slid the paper over to him, his expression saying that he was willing to comply if she thought it was that important. The way she was eying his hands wasn't exactly discreet--she must have been testing him. Of course! The coroner was absolutely convinced that the Ripper was left handed, despite the fact that that made no sense.

"Alright, thanks," he said, picking up the pen and signing on the line with his right hand. He made sure to sign at a moderate pace, as if to make sure she saw that he was right-handed. After he was finished, he simply smiled up at her. "I'm guessing there'll be another interview, yeah?" Well, wasn't that a strange way of asking her out on a date, he thought, completely and utterly amused with himself.