Ripper's Revenge (2023) Movie Script
1
(gentle music)
(water splashing)
(gentle music continues)
(bottle smashes)
(sobbing)
(fire crackling)
(dramatic music)
(heavy breathing)
(heavy breathing)
(heavy breathing)
(bells ringing)
(gentle music)
(footsteps)
(door opens and shuts)
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.
(tap squeaks, water running)
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.
(gentle music)
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.
(door opens and shuts)
(gentle music)
(bells ringing)
Those were the good times.
(woman) 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?
(front door shuts)
(bird cawing)
(bells ringing)
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.
(Stimpson) 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?
(door shuts)
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.
(laughs) 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.
(Lenny) 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.
(creaking)
Bollocks!
Forgot to get matches.
(eerie music)
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.
(machine whirring)
(dramatic music)
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?
(bells ringing)
(door creaking)
(gentle music)
This'll give Lenny
something to work with.
(policeman) 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?
(door creaking)
(door locking)
Write your story.
(gentle music)
(typewriter keys clicking)
(bells ringing)
(door bangs, footsteps)
(door unlocking)
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.
(footsteps)
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.
(sighs) 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.
(dramatic music)
(thunder rumbling)
(door bangs)
You're later than normal.
Actually been doing some
work today, have you?
(Stubb) 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.
(gentle music)
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.
(sighs)
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.
(gentle music)
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.
(chuckles)
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.
(fire crackling)
(heavy breathing)
(heavy breathing)
(heavy breathing)
(heavy breathing)
(heavy breathing)
Can I help you with something?
(heavy breathing)
I've got a room.
(heavy breathing)
(door shuts)
(woman) I know it ain't much.
Warehouse owner lets me use it
as long as I clean up after.
(heavy breathing)
So what'll it be then?
(heavy breathing)
(she screams)
(screaming continues)
Iris.
Bollocks!
(suspenseful music)
(bells ringing)
(Stubb) Iris?
Where are you, girl?
(woman)
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.
-(she laughs)
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.
-(she laughs)
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!
-(police whistle blows)
-Christ!
-(she laughs)
(bells ringing)
(door shuts)
(footsteps)
(Iris) Come on, you're gonna
be late to work again.
(water running)
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.
-(she laughs)
-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.
(door bangs)
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!
(bells ringing)
(dramatic music)
Not again.
(Stimpson) 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.
(door shuts)
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.
(gentle music)
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.
(bells ringing)
(door banging)
Lenny.
Here.
Oh!
(Lenny) 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?
(Lenny) 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.
(Lenny) 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.
(door opens and shuts)
(liquid pouring)
(heavy breathing)
(heavy breathing)
(blade swishing)
(heavy breathing)
(heavy breathing)
(woman screams)
(bells ringing)
(footsteps banging on stairs)
(door opens and slams shut)
(footsteps)
(suspenseful music)
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.
(Iris sniffles)
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.
(typewriter keys clicking)
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.
(gentle music)
(Stubb) 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.
-(door opens)
-(Stimpson) 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.
(bells ringing)
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.
(dramatic music)
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?
(thunder rumbling)
(dramatic music)
(door creaking)
(muffled scream)
(Iris whimpers)
-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.
(dramatic music)
After you printed that story
about her little indiscretion.
-The girl in the photograph.
-(Wingate) 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.
(Wingate) 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.
(Stubb)
I didn't wanna involve you.
I love you.
(Wingate) 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.
(dramatic music)
So here she is...
the final victim
of Jack the Ripper,
otherwise known...
as Sebastian Stubb.
No!
(gunshot)
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.
(Stubb) Your father?
Who's that?
(water dripping)
(fire crackling)
(door creaking)
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.
(fire crackling)
(bells ringing)
(typewriter clicking)
(Stimpson) 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.
(Lenny) "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.
(gentle music)
(footsteps, door closes)
(bells ringing)
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.
(thunder rumbling)
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.
(door shuts)
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!
(knocking on door)
(door opens)
-(door shuts)
-(Iris) You got it then?
Every penny.
(Iris) You took your time.
(Lenny) 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.
(Iris) And you never will.
This sort of business is
out of your league, Sebastian.
(Lenny) 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?
(Lenny) 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.
(Iris) 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.
(scoffs)
You're pathetic, Sebastian,
in every fucking way.
(she chuckles)
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!
(Iris) 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.
(gunshot)
-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.
(Iris strains)
(Lenny groans)
Now you just stay put
and I'm...
A thousand pounds?
Why don't it weigh anything?
What the fuck's this?
(Lenny) A banker's cheque,
payable to me.
How do I spend it?
You can't.
(gunshot)
(sighs)
(thunder rumbles)
(gentle music)
(footsteps)
(door shuts)
(gentle music)
(music: "Disappear"
by Warstead)
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
(song continues)
(gentle music)
(gentle music)
(water splashing)
(gentle music continues)
(bottle smashes)
(sobbing)
(fire crackling)
(dramatic music)
(heavy breathing)
(heavy breathing)
(heavy breathing)
(bells ringing)
(gentle music)
(footsteps)
(door opens and shuts)
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.
(tap squeaks, water running)
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.
(gentle music)
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.
(door opens and shuts)
(gentle music)
(bells ringing)
Those were the good times.
(woman) 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?
(front door shuts)
(bird cawing)
(bells ringing)
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.
(Stimpson) 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?
(door shuts)
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.
(laughs) 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.
(Lenny) 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.
(creaking)
Bollocks!
Forgot to get matches.
(eerie music)
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.
(machine whirring)
(dramatic music)
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?
(bells ringing)
(door creaking)
(gentle music)
This'll give Lenny
something to work with.
(policeman) 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?
(door creaking)
(door locking)
Write your story.
(gentle music)
(typewriter keys clicking)
(bells ringing)
(door bangs, footsteps)
(door unlocking)
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.
(footsteps)
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.
(sighs) 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.
(dramatic music)
(thunder rumbling)
(door bangs)
You're later than normal.
Actually been doing some
work today, have you?
(Stubb) 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.
(gentle music)
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.
(sighs)
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.
(gentle music)
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.
(chuckles)
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.
(fire crackling)
(heavy breathing)
(heavy breathing)
(heavy breathing)
(heavy breathing)
(heavy breathing)
Can I help you with something?
(heavy breathing)
I've got a room.
(heavy breathing)
(door shuts)
(woman) I know it ain't much.
Warehouse owner lets me use it
as long as I clean up after.
(heavy breathing)
So what'll it be then?
(heavy breathing)
(she screams)
(screaming continues)
Iris.
Bollocks!
(suspenseful music)
(bells ringing)
(Stubb) Iris?
Where are you, girl?
(woman)
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.
-(she laughs)
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.
-(she laughs)
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!
-(police whistle blows)
-Christ!
-(she laughs)
(bells ringing)
(door shuts)
(footsteps)
(Iris) Come on, you're gonna
be late to work again.
(water running)
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.
-(she laughs)
-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.
(door bangs)
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!
(bells ringing)
(dramatic music)
Not again.
(Stimpson) 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.
(door shuts)
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.
(gentle music)
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.
(bells ringing)
(door banging)
Lenny.
Here.
Oh!
(Lenny) 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?
(Lenny) 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.
(Lenny) 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.
(door opens and shuts)
(liquid pouring)
(heavy breathing)
(heavy breathing)
(blade swishing)
(heavy breathing)
(heavy breathing)
(woman screams)
(bells ringing)
(footsteps banging on stairs)
(door opens and slams shut)
(footsteps)
(suspenseful music)
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.
(Iris sniffles)
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.
(typewriter keys clicking)
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.
(gentle music)
(Stubb) 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.
-(door opens)
-(Stimpson) 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.
(bells ringing)
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.
(dramatic music)
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?
(thunder rumbling)
(dramatic music)
(door creaking)
(muffled scream)
(Iris whimpers)
-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.
(dramatic music)
After you printed that story
about her little indiscretion.
-The girl in the photograph.
-(Wingate) 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.
(Wingate) 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.
(Stubb)
I didn't wanna involve you.
I love you.
(Wingate) 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.
(dramatic music)
So here she is...
the final victim
of Jack the Ripper,
otherwise known...
as Sebastian Stubb.
No!
(gunshot)
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.
(Stubb) Your father?
Who's that?
(water dripping)
(fire crackling)
(door creaking)
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.
(fire crackling)
(bells ringing)
(typewriter clicking)
(Stimpson) 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.
(Lenny) "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.
(gentle music)
(footsteps, door closes)
(bells ringing)
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.
(thunder rumbling)
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.
(door shuts)
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!
(knocking on door)
(door opens)
-(door shuts)
-(Iris) You got it then?
Every penny.
(Iris) You took your time.
(Lenny) 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.
(Iris) And you never will.
This sort of business is
out of your league, Sebastian.
(Lenny) 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?
(Lenny) 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.
(Iris) 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.
(scoffs)
You're pathetic, Sebastian,
in every fucking way.
(she chuckles)
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!
(Iris) 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.
(gunshot)
-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.
(Iris strains)
(Lenny groans)
Now you just stay put
and I'm...
A thousand pounds?
Why don't it weigh anything?
What the fuck's this?
(Lenny) A banker's cheque,
payable to me.
How do I spend it?
You can't.
(gunshot)
(sighs)
(thunder rumbles)
(gentle music)
(footsteps)
(door shuts)
(gentle music)
(music: "Disappear"
by Warstead)
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
(song continues)
(gentle music)