The East End and the West End at night were like two completely different worlds.
There was only one street lamp at a distance, and many of them were broken. Until now, no one had repaired them, so many places were dark. Low, dilapidated buildings, irregular roads, and dark alleys made the place even more complicated. After the Whitechapel serial murders, the police had increased the number of night patrols.
Along the way, Zhang Heng had seen two groups of serious-looking patrolmen, holding batons and whistles around their necks. Compared to the entire area, however, these patrolmen were still a little understaffed. More importantly, even the police found it difficult to maintain such a high intensity of patrols.
In fact, when the second murder occurred, the police had begun to increase their manpower. However, so far, they had not been able to solve the case. Instead, many low-level patrolmen complained. Their salary was not high, but they had to do a lot of work. When they were patrolling, they would sneak into the tavern for a drink and relax. Now that the atmosphere was like that, no one dared to slack off.
Zhang Heng was still wearing the old coat he bought when he first came here. Irene gave him the scarf she wore when she disguised herself as a gypsy busker. Coupled with the makeup skills he had mastered during this period, anyone who saw him would think that he was a resident here.
Zhang Heng first went to the site of the latest murder. The area was now the focus of police patrols, and after that incident, people deliberately avoided the area. Now, there was almost no one here. Zhang Heng stood behind the fence. During the day, he tried to identify the soil here using the method Sherlock Holmes taught him, but it was pointless. The infrastructure of the entire East End was in a terrible state, with puddles and mud everywhere. Even if the murderer's shoes were stained with mud, it would not serve as a clue.
Zhang Heng came here at night mainly to check out the light here and see if the nearby houses were lit up.
To avoid unnecessary trouble, he did not stay for too long. Soon, he walked out of the apartment, only to see a girl in her early twenties on the side of the road.
She was wearing an old coat and holding a bottle of wine in her hand. When she saw Zhang Heng, she took the initiative to open her collar and strike up a conversation. "Hey, do you want to have fun?"
"Here?" Zhang Heng raised his eyebrows, a little surprised.
"It's exciting, isn't it? I won't let you down." The smile on the girl's face was a little forced, but she still tried her best to squeeze her small chest.
"Since you know what happened recently, you should stay at home," Zhang Heng said.
"I need money to pay rent and buy food. Even this bottle of wine is something I just borrowed." Her English didn't sound perfect, and she spoke with a heavy accent. "No matter what happens in this world, we have to work, don't we?"
"At the very least, you should stay in a crowded place or with your companions. That way, you'll be safer."
"This business is not as simple as you think. The prostitutes also have their own territories. I'm just a foreigner who has just arrived here, so they won't accept me," the girl said. "I can only try my luck in places they don't want. Anyway, what do you think about it? I'm much cheaper than them, but my service is a hundred times better than theirs. You can also experience exotic customs from me. "
"You shouldn't be here no matter what," Zhang Heng said indifferently. "Do you know what kind of man would come here at this time?"
"I heard that the murderer won't commit the same crime twice in the same place." Having said that, the girl's body trembled slightly from the beginning. Obviously, she wasn't as bold as she looked.
"That's true, but have you ever thought that even if the real killer doesn't come, someone else will? Behind every famous serial killer, there are many copycats. Your existence is the perfect opportunity for them to pay homage to their idols," Zhang Heng said as he took half a step towards the girl.
The girl couldn't help but shiver, and she subconsciously took half a step back.
Zhang Heng took the bottle of wine from her hand, looked at the label on the bottle, and asked, "Do you usually drink this kind of wine?"
"Yes," the girl replied while secretly looking around to see if there were any patrolmen passing by.
Zhang Heng opened the bottle cap and sniffed it. "How much money do you usually make in a night?"
"Hmm?" The girl thought for a while and said, "Three or four pence. If I'm lucky, I might earn more if someone is generous. Or, I can meet several customers in a night."
Zhang Heng tossed the half-pound gold coin to the girl. "Then, you can follow me tonight."
The girl's eyes flashed with joy when she saw the gold coin. The people who lived in the East End were not rich, and she had never seen such a generous customer. But then she recalled what Zhang Heng said before, and her heart sank again.
Her one night of service was not worth that much. No, she didn't have anything valuable on her other than her own life.
"Don't think too much. I just have a few questions to ask you," Zhang Heng said. "You haven't had dinner yet? Let's find a place to have dinner first. "
…
The girl hesitated for less than half a second before following Zhang Heng obediently.
As she said, she knew how dangerous it was to do this, but in order to fill her stomach, she had to do it no matter how dangerous it was. This was probably the tragedy of people like her.
In fact, Zhang Heng saw a lot of other prostitutes along the way, posing in pubs and alleys to attract customers. Some of them were middle-aged women in their fifties or sixties. After Jack the Ripper's appearance, they should have closed for a while until the police caught the murderer. However, the reality was that they didn't rest at all.
What was scarier than a serial killer was life itself.
"Once you enter this line of work, it's like falling into a swamp. You can't get out, and you can only watch yourself sink."
This was what an elderly prostitute told her when she first entered this line of work. The latter died of typhoid three months ago, alone in the small house she lived in. It was not until two days after her death that the rent collector found her. She did not want to end up like this in her later years.
However, reality was crueler than this. She was not good with words, and she could not speak like others. When she was young, she couldn't make much money. When she was old, life would be even worse.
Thinking of this, she could not help but feel even more gloomy. At this moment, the man beside her spoke again, "How should I address you?"
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