John sits in the conference room scrolling his phone and sipping the cheap, bitter coffee that was slightly viscous Joan, the receptionist, had made that morning. She went home early when everyone realized this is a slow day, and it has been unusually slow. Usually there would be walk ins, visitors, nice old ladies bringing cookies, the odd petty criminal being escorted in in handcuffs but today there is nothing. Dead silence. John absentmindedly sips his coffee again, coating his throat and mouth once again in the acrid liquid.

His face screws up in a mixture of disappointment and disgust when there’s a muffled scratching and barking coming from the direction of the front doors. Confusion washes over his face and he sets his phone and cup down, rising from his seat. If it insisted on being such a slow day at least he could go investigate this. He sticks his head out of the conference room and through the main lobby he sees a Jack Russell terrier sitting expectantly at the large glass front double doors. John inches into the lobby and the closer he gets the more the animal shuffles it’s paws, big brown eyes pleading to be let in as if they live here. John takes the few steps so he’s directly parallel with the doors and peers around as if the creature’s owner is going to materialize and take the dog away. John only opens the doors just far enough for the animal to squeeze through and the dog darts inside between his legs like a bullet. John 180s and lets the doors close behind him; now looking more closely he sees a note pinned to the dogs harness collar. This day went from mind-numbingly boring to confusing in a hurry. John slowly reaches down, testing the waters of the dogs temperament. When it doesn’t run or growl John unclips the mystery note from the dog and gives him a few pats on the head. John rips open the letter, immediately regretting touching the paper. He doesn’t know what could be on, or in this envelope, but he calms himself. If the dog seems fine he hopes he should be too. He pulls the folded piece of paper from its confines and opens it. A hand written letter that reads:

Dear Boss,

Do you remember me? Probably not. The last time you heard from me was over a hundred years ago and across the pond.

Let me jog your memory

They called me ‘Jack The Ripper’ back then. You can call me whatever you want now. The outcome will be the same.

Bet you didn’t see this one coming! HA HA!

I love pulling one over on you. Then or now, here or across the pond. You’re all the same easily manipulated and fooled. You cops have never had the slightest idea of my true identity, and I don’t expect you to start now! I will do what I do, prove my points, play my silly little game then slip into the night as always.

Hope those phones didn’t need answering!

She’ll be my first victim this time, I think!

A shame, I’ve been watching and she’s good at her job!

Lovingly,

Saucy Jack

John stares at the note in shocked horror. What was this? Was it a prank or real? He takes a deep breath. ‘Don’t be silly’ he says to himself aloud. A Jack The Ripper copycat? That’s ridiculous. ‘That’s right, this is silly, don’t work yourself up.’ He jumps with a start as his phone rings. He cautiously walks to the conference room as the dog trails behind him, docked tail wagging.

He picks it up, pressing the green button.

‘Hello, John speaking.’

A uni he mentors a bit, Sean, is on the other end ‘we got a body.’ He says somberly. ‘And you’re really not gonna like this’

John can’t hear anything past that as the roaring in his ears becomes deafening. He feels the color drain from his whole body and the note he still held in this hand floated to the conference room floor, face up, like a taunt.