Murder in Whitechapel (The Judas Reflections) by Aiden James, Michelle Wright

ledger, meticulously writing in the monthly incomings and outgoings, when I disturbed him.
    “I am surprised to see you make an appearance, rare indeed,” said he. “Should I be alarmed at your presence?”
    “No, not all. I’m merely passing by and thought I would update you on my progress. How is business? Prospering?”
    “It’s going great guns. England is wanting foreign imports more than ever before and the office boy, Malcolm, is working out very well. But, Manny, it saddens me that you pay him such a pitiful wage. The poor lad struggles to feed his family on account of his father passing away.”
    “Albert is assisting me to obtain files from Scotland Yard. I am waiting for his response. I knew he could be bought.”
    “Did you hear what I just said? Malcolm must be paid more for the work he does.”
    Yes, I had heard, but residues of greed forced me to change such a delicate topic as an increase in wages.
    “I intend to make progress with this Ripper chap, there will be no more of my lethargy or indifference.”
    “Correct me if I am wrong, you have asked that drunken idiot Albert to steal files from Scotland Yard? Have you gone insane? What if the man is caught? Do you not think he will want to save his own skin first and damn yours?”
    “What’s the worst that can occur? I will state categorically that I know nothing of the matter and accuse him of slandering my good name for his own means.”
    “Why are they so important? You never mentioned a need of them before.”
    “The police are not very forthcoming in details to the newspapers. A lot of what you read is contradictory and misleading. I need to see witness and crime scene reports.”
    “What is to become of the coin searching now you have transformed yourself into a sleuth? Will you next be hunting wild boars in Borneo? Chasing lustful women in Cuba?”
    Roderick’s Irish bluntness stopped me dead in my tracks. He would say precisely what weighed on his mind, even when I did not want to hear and, always at the most inopportune moment for example, like now.
    “I have recovered coins and not without personal sacrifice, you know that.”
    “A meager amount for so many years of searching.”
    “I have, to date, done my best and, besides, they are not easy to recover. Detective work is needed, plus I have been busy in other things,” said I, knowing it sounded a trite too arrogant.
    Soon after I betrayed Jesus, I returned my payment to the chief priests, in the hope I would be exonerated in the eyes of God. I vowed, upon finding myself still alive after the hanging, to find every coin that had scattered to the four winds. I believed if I was successful in recovering all thirty pieces of silver, I would finally be able to grow old and die. Whether myth or fact, I was willing to try with little to lose either way. There had been many obstacles I was forced to endure as I traveled to far off lands too numerous to mention. Journeys that became nothing more than a wild goose chase, with nary a coin in sight. The hunt for Jack surely had to be less of a complication, considering his close proximity. “Will you consider changing your mind and accompanying me on my search? After all, two heads are better than one,” I asked.
    His effort to reply was painful indeed, “That’s something I would need to think about.”
    Roderick had much to bear- his own immortality and my exceedingly embarrassing behavior, irksome for someone who tended to have his feet firmly rooted on the ground.
    I enjoyed the short moments I spent in the office. The view from the high Georgian windows onto the bustling street was agreeable, as was the fine oak carved desk made exactly to my taste by a skilled wood maker in Lancashire and delivered in perfect condition. I also acquired a beautiful rug imported from Persia. An impressionable sight for prospective clients, it showed we were doing well in business, an absolute prerequisite to a sound deal.
    “I must be on my way,