RIPPER STREET Episode 1 - "I Need Light!"
Written by Richard Warlow YELLOW AMENDS 10/04/2012
(c) Tiger Aspect & Lookout Point 2012
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
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EXT. LEMAN STREET - EVENING 1/1 The last rays of a spring sun bounce off the decaying sandstone spire of Christchurch, Spitalfields. And bounce back again to the heavens. Where they belong. Because they don’t belong where we’re going... Down here. Leman Street. The axis of our world. The unholy chaos of it. Naptha lights being lit for the night, flares bouncing off the glass windows of horse-drawn omnibuses. Kids - untamed, running wild. Drunks hanging off tarts. A wild mass of humanity. And a dateline: APRIL 1889. EAST LONDON. EXT. COMMERCIAL STREET / MILLERS COURT - EVENING 1/2 TIGHT on the purple, veined face of this TOUR GUIDE. A man in his early 50s, attempting gentility -- GUIDE And he laughs unpleasantly. Turns away into a small alleyway as a group of perhaps 15 WELL-TO-DO MEN AND WOMEN follow on. All obey the instruction to avoid the various forms of shit and matter on the cobbles beneath them. GUIDE (CONT’D) Miller’s Court. Five months’ past - the scene of the worst of them. The worst and - please God - the last. Mary Jane Kelly. What the man Jack did to her... well, we shall not say. The MEN and WOMEN gawk - a visceral chill running through them. Behind them another group building up. LOCALS, themselves gawking at the fine clothes and hats of the tour group. Among them - a number of SMALL BOYS. GUIDE (CONT’D) But let us not dwell. Ladies. Gentlemen. Be sure to look down as keenly as you would up. Mr. Gladstone himself - only last week - found himself fitted for new boots. The GUIDE moving on again, turning through a narrow archway. Above and around them various lodging houses. From their windows, several TARTS look out. Much laughter as a gap- toothed HAG lifts her skirts for a young CHURCHMAN. GUIDE (CONT’D)
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Rents here are paid by the day. I believe that is all you need know.
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
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Pick out - A BOY PICKPOCKET, perhaps 10, catching the eye of the GUIDE. Collusion here. The barest of nods exchanged as the BOY makes his move toward a particular COUPLE. In a footstep, he’s relieved the entirely innocent GENTLEMAN of his wallet. GUIDE (CONT’D) (all outrage) I say! You, boy! And in a deft step or two, the GUIDE lays a meaty fist on the collar of the escaping boy, takes back the wallet in triumph. Holds it aloft. GUIDE (CONT’D) Gentlemen. Please. Vigilance is your only guardian on these - mean and wicked pathways. The BOY and the GUIDE - another barely visible moment of complicity as the child stamps on a foot -- GUIDE (CONT’D) (all theatre) Wretch! Ruffian! But the BOY - a smile on his face - is gone. EXT. FOLGATE - CONTINUOUS 1/3 Stay with the BOY as he runs. Fast, agile, a left, a right. And then he careers to a halt. Sudden, real fear on his face. Stood above him -- A man. All we see - his looming black GREATCOAT. And the DEAD BODY at his feet. What was once a young woman, wrapped in drapes, her throat cut, her face sliced, disfigured. The GREATCOAT - disturbed from his work perhaps - advancing on the appalled child as -- GUIDE (O.S.) ... the young of this parish know little else but thuggery... The grateful BOY - his skin surely saved by this interruption, taking off and away. The GREATCOAT no choice but to scarper too. And here is the TOUR GROUP again, turning blithely into the alleyway -- GUIDE (CONT’D)
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... how best to raise them up from such iniquity? That is a matter for you good people, of course...
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But he has not seen what lies beneath him. That privilege belongs to an OLDER WOMAN. Her utter disgust at the profane sight of the body, and she SCREAMS. The GUIDE - seeing what the WOMAN sees -- GUIDE (CONT’D) Black shit and buggery. (then; bellowing) Murder! Murder! TITLES Those screams and bellows mixing into music. Urgent, orchestral, onward-moving. And images - archive photographs, drawings, press-cuttings - of serious, whiskered, hard-looking POLICEMEN about their business. They clobber FELONS, hold back MOBS, drink outside pubs. And they are all gathered now about the imposing Victorian frontage of the Leman Street Headquarters of H Division. Over which, letters form now. The legend: 1/5 A YOUNG MAN (HOBBS, 19) - a police constable in uniform. And he is sprinting across wet dark cobbles. Coated in sweat, his chest heaves, at the limits of his endurance. And his face - almost a boy’s face - is the picture of fear and anxiety. Still he runs, keening with exertion. Clattering around a corner now. Sees what he’s looking for: 3 other COPPERS in uniform, gathered, hidden in an alleyway about a Black Maria (police-wagon). HOBBS - almost collapsing into the arms of an older COPPER -- HOBBS (can barely speak) The Inspector... Must... see him... COPPER dismisses this notion with a laugh -- COPPER 1 Show yourself in there - he’ll have you bounced and flushing sewerage by morning. HOBBS won’t listen though. Just hands his helmet across and strips rapidly to undershirt and trousers. 1/4 RIPPER STREET. EXT. STREETS - NIGHT
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A look for the COPPER and he’s striding away, disappearing into the darkness... INT. DOCKSIDE WAREHOUSE - NIGHT 1/6 A FIST strikes out toward us. And a man’s nose SPLINTERS beneath it. The atavistic roar of a crowd greets us as two BARE-KNUCKLE FIGHTERS in a makeshift ring withdraw and circle each other. One of them - BENNET DRAKE (early 40s), grins for his opponent. Tight on his fist as he inspects it. Withdraws a fragment of bone that’s lodged in the fleshy webbing. Tosses it back to his OPPONENT -- DRAKE Yours, shitspade. And he launches another left right combination. Enough for his OPPONENT to seek time out. He deliberately drops to a knee. Check DRAKE out - a huge bear of a man. A couple of TATTOOS on his bicep: Sergeants stripes; and a snake coiled about it, eating its own tail. Boos ring out. SECONDS move in to their men, soap and water them. An UMPIRE jumps in. Moves to the centre of the ring and with a piece of chalk draws a yard length’s square. A number 3 beside it. THE CROWD - booming out a count. Thirty downwards. Take them all in. A seething, bawling maelstrom. All creeds, all classes. Stevedores and traders; a few blacks; Lascars, Chinamen, Micks. And the Upper Crust too, easily spotted in their evening dress. All as one in their blood lust -- CROWD ...27, 26, 25.... Find HOBBS now. Pushing through, his eyes desperately scanning them all, and finding who he seeks now. This man, stood the opposite side of the warehouse -- Flinty, piercing eyes, handsomely moustached. This is REID (late 30s), and he’s not counting. He’s lent against a pillar, conferring and drinking with another man - JOSEPH SMEATON (40s), wily, weasel eyes. Both have a dolled-up TART draped around them. SMEATON - watching the boxer DRAKE. Waiting for the count - and despite his heaviness - he dances nimbly from foot to foot. SMEATON (above the clamour) He’s tasty alright.
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SMEATON (cont'd)
(beat) Where d’you find him? REID I looked. Wasn’t hard. REID - pulling his TART closer, a hand beneath her bustle -- REID (CONT’D) Fighters; whores... flesh is what you seek, there’s no shortage in these parts. SMEATON grins for that. Likes REID’S style, as -- CROWD ... 4, 3, 2, 1 ... And another almighty roar as the two fighters move to the edge of that chalk square and are joined again. DRAKE - easy, dancing about his quarry, more wounding jabs lashing out. SMEATON (of DRAKE) He’s no shame, then? Does as he’s bid? REID Money’s right, he’ll give you his sister and his mother too. Which is the right answer. SMEATON smiles - until he finds himself jostled, his drink spilt. He reacts, quick to violence, an ugly shiv in his hand, held now in the face of HOBBS. HOBBS - it was a gambit, but he wasn’t expecting this. He holds his hand up -- SMEATON Streak of piss - I’ve gutted younger for less. REID - his expression inscrutable, his eyes meeting HOBBS’. And he acts -- REID (to SMEATON) Let me. A rabbit punch to HOBBS’ throat. The lad gags, collapses to his knees. SMEATON - his regard for this man growing ever more. Watches as REID catches HOBBS, drags him to the wall, pins him to it. REID - in the boy’s face - an inscrutable look.
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
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REID (CONT’D) (vicious; whispered) This had better be good. HOBBS - a desperate nod, managing to get the words out -- HOBBS They’ve found a tart. Up on Folgate. (a beat) She’s been ripped, Inspector. REID - his eyes, the shock of this, the worst possible news. EXT. STREETS - NIGHT 1/7 The Black Maria - flying through nighttime streets. Inside - those three uniformed COPPERS. And with them - REID. Urgently addressing his men as they travel -- REID And looking now to the boxer DRAKE - towelling the sweat from his body throwing his jacket on. Around his waist he slings a chain, vicious billy club attached to the end of it -- DRAKE They’ll do their duty, sir. EXT. FOLGATE - NIGHT 1/8 The sounds of a seething MOB - gathered at one end of a now sealed street. Rage and fear in equal measure. DRAKE and the other COPPERS barely manage to hold it all back. Beyond them a courtyard at the end of the street that is signalled and illuminated for us by a series of phosphorous flashes. Like as not, word will have spread. We find a mob there - you follow the Sergeant. Reveal the source of that strange light - the insect-like shape of a PHOTOGRAPHER, a tripod camera, and the stamen of his flash gun raised high. Reid, lantern in front of him, stops - despite everything, the machine fixates him. A moments wonder as the gun FLASHES. And reveals the bundle of drapes and flesh that was once a young woman. REID You. The photographer - CECIL CREIGHTON (50s, pale, bespectacled, unimpressive whiskers) - turning to Reid, who still must shout above the clamour of the mob --
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REID (CONT’D)
Name.
CREIGHTON
Creighton.
REID Creighton - have you touched anything? Arranged matters to your benefit in anyway? CREIGHTON No, sir.
REID - stepping slowly, his lantern in front of him, lighting the ground beneath, his eyes keen, focussed as he approaches the body. Moves the light over the corpse. The things he doesn’t want to see are the things he sees -- Her cut throat. Slits cut into her eyelids, small stars carved into her flesh and forehead. REID - the clear dismay on his face at the sight of this. Turns to CREIGHTON -- REID Who is it’s paid for your time here? CREIGHTON The Star, Inspector. Who else? REID Well - you’re on my ticket now. I want these details - her face, her eyes, her throat. CREIGHTON - nothing to be said. He nods, goes to it, as REID steps back. He scans the cobbles all about -- REID (CONT’D) (to himself) No pooling of blood. She wasn’t cut here. He looks up - the sound of the mob baying from the streets at one end of the courtyard, a small alleyway. REID (CONT’D) Then where was she brought in? He walks slowly, swinging the lantern before him, working the scene with the little light available. Disturbed now by the sound of a pair of heels clattering into the courtyard. It’s DRAKE, and he looks worried --
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
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DRAKE Sir. We can’t keep ‘em penned much longer. REID (of the area around him) But this is vital. All of it. (the lantern) And this is next to useless. (beat) I need this place uncorrupted and in daylight.
But DRAKE is distracted by something. His eyes move beyond REID, to the wall behind, only now lit by his own lantern glow -- REID (CONT’D) (cont’d) What is it? DRAKE The wall. He’s left word again. REID turns, his light thrown ahead of him. Both men aghast at what they see. On the wall - thick, ill-formed letters. But the message entirely clear. DOWN ON WHORES. REID (almost a plea, this) I need more time with her. DRAKE Sir. There’s the way things are and the way they should be, but that lot are coming through... REID - a contained fury. Knows there’s nothing for it -- REID Then we have to move her. Get the Maria brought through. DRAKE - on it immediately. Turns back to the crowds. REID - turning to CREIGHTON -- REID (CONT’D) You. You’re not finished. I want the cobbles - running in all directions away from her. As many as you can get. The wall, that writing too. Understand? CREIGHTON does, steps away as REID crouches to the body --
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
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REID (CONT’D)
(to himself)
Come on, boy. And - Creighton’s phosphorous flashes going off behind him - he places his arms beneath the drapes and the body. Searches for strength. Lifts. And as he does, a pain (that we won’t understand yet) shoots through the left side of his torso and he grimaces, steals himself against it... EXT. FOLGATE - NIGHT 1/9 The COPPERS - still somehow holding back the crowd. But the MOB’S fever is intensified now by the sight of REID emerging from the courtyard, that burden in his arms. But here’s DRAKE - riding the Black Maria, whipping the horses through, driving the crowds aside to screams of objection. One DRUNK tries to clamber aboard, but a lash of DRAKE’S whip opens his cheek and sends him back into the scrum. DRAKE - jumping from the carriage, a concern on his face as he goes to him -- DRAKE Here, Mr. Reid. Give her to me. REID does just that. Watches as DRAKE effortlessly places the bundle of ex-human in the carriage. He breathes, extends his left shoulder. And now has to contend with -- BEST (O.S.) (a shout) A comment for The Star, Inspector! Is it him? Is it Jack? The crowd, hearing the name. The hysteria. The shouts of ‘Ripper!’ and ‘He’s back!’. REID - turning to the owner of that voice -- FREDERICK BEST - 30s, aspires to the dandy, though neither his looks or his ancestry are helpful in this matter. His thumbs jammed into the pockets of his yellow waistcoat, his mood is entirely at odds with the febrile mob. He could be at a Sunday fair. REID - an ugly look for BEST, then he ignores the man. Climbs up to join Drake. BEST - he hasn’t got as far as he has by being this easily dismissed. He pushes his way through the baying mob, shouts up to REID -- BEST (CONT’D) These citizens need their questions answered, Mr. Reid.
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REID - leaning down. Right into BEST’S face -- REID (steel) No. They need their fears pacified. And he pushes the reporter away. REID (CONT’D) (to DRAKE) Go!
And away DRAKE takes them. The carriage clattering back through the incensed crowd and away into the night. BEST - a grin on his face, at the forefront of this ever more incensed mob, crying out above the tumult -- BEST And where would be the sport in that!? EXT. CARRIAGE - TRAVELLING - NIGHT 1/10
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REID and DRAKE atop the flying carriage -- DRAKE
Where are we taking her? The London? Mr. Bagster-Philipps’? REID No. No hospitals; no Met surgeons. They’ll all talk. (beat) You take her back to Leman Street. Use the back. Find a cell and lock her in it. You don’t book her in; and Sergeant - you tell no one. DRAKE And yourself, Mr. Reid?
REID - eyeing DRAKE --
DRAKE (CONT’D)
Sir. Not the American. REID - ignores the protest; jumps to the street. REID Just get her hid. EXT. 22 TENTER STREET - NIGHT 1/10A Establish this exterior. The seemingly unremarkable facade of this well appointed house on a quieter street.
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Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
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INT. 22 TENTER STREET / ROSE’S ROOM - NIGHT 1/11 A bed, the softest of furnishings, thick, luxurious drapes, low lights. The perfect scene for the carnal delights taking place within. A tangle of quilt and sheets and limbs, and a young woman’s face. Flushed porcelain cheeks, green eyes, thick red hair. This is ROSE. Perhaps 23, she is raised on her elbows, looking down, a look of delighted disbelief on her face -- ROSE Captain Jackson. This is all topsy- turvy, I’m sure. Smiling back at her - a man. Moustached, a wasted elegance and infectious charm. CAPTAIN HOMER JACKSON (late 30s), the American in question. About his neck - a chain. On the chain: rabbits paw, Indian feather, and a fat, gold, four-cornered and rubied fraternity ring -- JACKSON Rose. Darling. There’s no rules here. Haven’t I told you that? And he slings the chain behind him and throws her skirts up over her giggling face. INT. 22 TENTER STREET / CORRIDOR - CONTINUOUS 1/12 Another woman - sliding a peephole shut. She steps away from it and turns toward us, irked by what she’s seen. She is handsome, blonde, early 30s, well dressed. This is LONG SUSAN, and this is her brothel. It’s nice, though. Draped, brocaded; beautiful YOUNG WOMEN shown off by gentle lighting. A world away from the broken tenements we saw in the opening sequence. She stalks away down the corridor. Stops now to the sound of a disturbance below. From a balcony, she sees: REID - pushing through the entrance. Which does little to improve her mood -- LONG SUSAN Sweet Jesus. INT. 22 TENTER STREET / RECEPTION - NIGHT 1/13 REID - looking up as LONG SUSAN stalks down the stairway toward him -- LONG SUSAN You cannot simply intrude here any time of your choosing...
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REID (across her) That this house thrives - and that your girls aren’t walking the
streets this night - is at my whim and indulgence, Madam. Don’t forget that. (then) Where is he? SUSAN - she resents the truth of that. Finds a shrug -- LONG SUSAN Why should I care? It’s not as if he ever pays... INT. 22 TENTER STREET / ROSE’S ROOM - MOMENTS LATER 1/14 ROSE - her bottom lip held between her teeth, transported. Disturbed now by this sudden banging on the door -- ROSE (shouts) What!? He’s taken me for the night! REID (O.S.) Jackson! JACKSON - his face emerging, his eyes closing -- JACKSON (shouting) Reid? I’m occupied. I’ll come see you in the morning. REID (O.S.) Can’t wait. I need a surgeon. JACKSON - off the bed in his britches, covers a crestfallen ROSE with a quilt, thrusts his pendant back inside his shirt. And opens the door to reveal REID. A direct look between the two of them -- JACKSON You have your own. REID They’re drunks and incompetents. I want you. JACKSON Five minutes. And he moves to shut the door. Can’t. Because REID’S foot is in the way -- REID Now.
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EXT. LEMAN STREET. H DIVISION HQ - NIGHT 1/14A Gaslight illuminates the soot-black walls of this - our precinct headquarters. A tide of humanity sweeps in and out beneath the sign POLICE. JACKSON You going to tell me what this is about? REID Just keep walking. And Reid leads him through. INT. LEMAN STREET - BOOKING OFFICE - NIGHT 1/15 Night shift. A barely contained anarchy. COPPERS, their COLLARS, DRUNKS, the HOMELESS. And JACKSON, a leather satchel over his shoulder, following REID though -- On they go, heads down, REID leading the way past an imposing DOCK at which the booking Sergeant, ARTHERTON - huge black ledger in front of him, sits surveying the chaos. INT. LEMAN STREET - OUTER OFFICE - NIGHT 1/15A Reid unlocks a gate, shows JACKSON through a humming Outer Office - desks and more COPS and DETECTIVES talking, drinking, interviewing SUSPECTS, in the shadow of a wall-to- wall CASE BOARD. A blackboard divided in columns, wheeled step ladders beneath. At the far left in bold chalk capitals, the word RIPPER, the various KILLINGS detailed below. Jackson - wide-eyed for this. But Reid isn’t waiting for him. Pushes on through. INT. LEMAN STREET - REID’S OFFICE - NIGHT 1/15B A large cork-board. A map of the precinct. Red spots mark the whereabouts of these 5 crimes -- Photographs: a number of them. Several original police photographs of these five dead women. And Jackson - watching Reid as he unpins a handful of these. Marches away with them. INT. LEMAN STREET - CELLS - NIGHT 1/15C First an open quadrangle of holding cells and drunk tanks, groaning with arrested and restless humanity, then a long corridor of several isolation cells. On the last door on the left, REID raps three times and the door opens to reveal DRAKE. JACKSON and REID step through. Shut the door behind them.
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INT. CELL - LEMAN STREET - NIGHT 1/16 Reid - turning this wall into a makeshift gallery of these previous SCENE OF CRIME PHOTOGRAPHS. Turning to the dead and disfigured woman laid out on an oak table. JACKSON - looking at Reid. The gravity of what might be laid out before them -- JACKSON Is it him? Reid - a long beat, his grim fear, but -- REID That’s what you’re here to find out. JACKSON And your sudden passion for the furtive? REID I must be sure before that hell rises again. JACKSON - a nod. Understands the grave severity of this. Takes his coat off, opens his satchel, removes a battered wooden box. The box - glimpse the faded engraving on its lid: UNITED STATES ARMY. And inside - the tools of an autopsy kit. JACKSON Get her naked, Sergeant Drake. DRAKE - not sure he likes Jackson’s tone, but REID nods to him and he moves to the body. JACKSON (CONT’D) (sharp) Gently. Are those hands or meathooks? (beat) Really. It’s no wonder to me at all you’re a bachelor. DRAKE - a special kind of hatred for this man. INT. CELL - LEMAN STREET - LATER 1/17 The body - naked, its wounds washed. JACKSON and REID in their shirtsleeves, poring over it. The slash across the throat. Jackson looks to Reid. Every fact an escalator to their worst of fears -- JACKSON The hemorrhage is from the severance of the left carotid.
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REID The stroke left to right. DRAKE Like the others.
The carvings in her face -- JACKSON
Stars, aren’t they? And this - her eyelids slit apart... REID (as the grave) Catherine Eddowes and Mary Jane Kelly had the same. DRAKE And the writing on the wall? Like Goulston Street the night we found Miss Eddowes’ apron. The same words as was in that letter...
JACKSON - moving down the rest of her body. Her thighs. Pushing them gently apart. Finds some kind of SMUDGING on white flesh. Moves back to his satchel, produces a petri dish. REID (CONT’D) What is it? JACKSON Some kind of gelatin. REID What kind? JACKSON gives him a look for that. JACKSON From a meat pie. (then) How am I to know yet? (beat) Don’t you have evidence to collect? REID - a nod. Goes for his coat. REID (to JACKSON) Do what you do. (to DRAKE) I know it’s tempting, but try not to kill him.
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INT. LEMAN STREET - MOMENTS LATER 1/18 REID - on the move back through the chaos of reception. Heading for the doors, as -- ARTHERTON Mr. Reid, sir. REID - turning. Seeing the wiry, bespectacled form of his Desk Sergeant. Going to him. ARTHERTON (CONT’D) I’m hearing strange rumours. REID Oh yes. ARTHERTON Mmm. That there’s an unregistered female on the premises. REID - casting a look about him. Various WHORES laughing in a corner. REID Always an abundance of those, Sergeant. ARTHERTON - a thin smile -- ARTHERTON I’m not here to judge you, sir. EXT. CREIGHTON BASEMENT - NIGHT 1/19 An ugly, subterranean basement. A steel door and padlock. Which Reid now hammers upon -- REID Creighton! Open up. OMITTED 1/20 INT. CREIGHTON BASEMENT - NIGHT 1/21 Barely anything to suggest this is home. A camp-bed; two-ring stove. A filthy sink in which the man might occasionally wash his face. What life is lived here is devoted to work. Shelves and chemicals and lenses and apparatuses. Just to remind you of our obligations under the law. REID And I thank you for that, Artherton. Always.
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And Creighton - bent over his fixing solution, images appearing on photographic paper. Reid - watching. He picks up a dry plate. Touches his fingers to the edges. Rubs the GELATIN SOLUTION that emerges from it between his fingers. Puts the plate back, wipes his hand on his trouser leg. CREIGHTON - handing a couple of images to REID. The DEAD WOMAN’S face, that message on the wall, the cobblestones. REID grabs for a magnifying glass, studies one in particular. The way dirt and dust and leaves have been divided and pushed apart -- REID This one - which side of the courtyard? CREIGHTON (checks) North. REID He brought her in through the alleyway. CREIGHTON - it makes no bones to him. He presses on. Moves steadily through a rack of photographic plates. Hands a few more similar prints to REID. Stops after a while. REID points to a few more plates -- REID (CONT’D) And those. CREIGHTON I over-exposed them. REID - his eyes, studying the man -- REID Worth our while to check, however... A curt nod from CREIGHTON. He takes the plates to the solution, immerses them. Silence for a long beat as he washes the plates. And feels REID very close behind him now -- REID (CONT’D) Do you think me some bone-headed flatfoot? He takes CREIGHTON’S arm. Pushes him aside. REID (CONT’D) They need to come out. (a beat)
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REID (CONT’D)
Professional man like yourself. I would have thought you’d know better.
REID - taking over, fixing the image himself now. CREIGHTON - watching, his calm evaporating as REID watches the image take shape. Grabbing for another of the earlier prints. Two images of the corpse in the alleyway. Key differences between the two photographs, though . One has that graffiti on the wall; the other does not . REID - a cocktail of fury at the deception and hope at what that might mean. Thrusts a photograph at CREIGHTON -- REID (CONT’D) Where’s the message? The writing on the wall, Creighton... Down On Whores . (that steel) Was it you painted it up there? CREIGHTON - a direct look for REID -- CREIGHTON You know who it was. REID Best. CREIGHTON (confirms it) I just record what I see. Reid - one last look for him and he’s gone.
OMITTED 1/22-23A
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INT. THE STAR - DAY 1/24 FRED BEST - a vivid red waistcoat today. Ever jaunty, pushing through the humming life of these newspaper offices. Heads into an office - the words “ Chief Reporter” carved into it, kicks the door shut behind him and - before he knows what’s happened - feels his jacket pulled down, used to pinion his arms by his side -- REID (O.S.)
How do you think they felt, those girls, the moment they knew that was it - that breathing this air was up?
BEST - being slowly turned about to face the walls of his office. Framed copies of his front-page by-lines on the various Ripper murders and The Star’s own muck-raking inquiries as to the perpetrator.
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REID (CONT’D) The later ones. They would have known what that lunatic intended for their bodies. Do you have a pity for them?
He turns BEST - thrusts him toward a framed edition. The drawing of a hunted looking man. The print screaming: John Pizer. Is this the Whitechapel Killer? REID (CONT’D)
A pity for the many men whose lives you have ruined with accusations? BEST (a protest) I have never accused. I have asked questions. Speculated!
Another headline on the wall. The Star reporting that the killer has written to the police, a copy of the latter where he signs himself Jack The Ripper - that name, the vast bold letters of the legend. REID (off this) Speculate. Well I speculate. About
you, Best. About the hand that penned that letter. A letter I never credited as bona fide. (beat) And now this.
REID - taking CREIGHTON’s prints of the crime scene. Showing them to BEST. Then pushing the man hard into the wall; that framed edition crashing to the floor by his feet. REID (CONT’D) What else did you alter? BEST - sprung. Doesn’t deny it. Eyes Reid directly. Smiles -- BEST
Nothing. Didn’t have to, did I? Just underlined what’s plain to a man who’s as intimate with the Ripper’s doings as myself.
REID - a look of contempt for this. BEST (CONT’D) (off this; sly) Myself and Chief Inspector Abberline. Which gets just the urgent reaction BEST was hoping for --
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20.
REID You’ve spoke with Fred Abberline? BEST - straightening his waistcoat; knows the balance of power here has been re-calibrated -- BEST
Your boss as was. I have. And he finds himself in agreement with me. Our friend is back.
REID - his cold eyes on BEST, he collects the print of the writing on the wall, “DOWN ON WHORES” , advances on the man. BEST - a coward at heart, he is entirely intimidated -- REID
Nothing’s for certain. And I won’t have people hiding in their homes again ‘til I get certain. (beat)
I see this in print, I’ll be back here for some ripping of my own. REID strides from the office, past all the assembled HACKS and ASSISTANTS wondering at the disturbance. BEST - coming after him, shouting across the office -- BEST Do not fear good citizens, do not shake. For - sleepless, tireless - Detectives Reid and Abberline hunt our Jack down dockside and rookery. Two finer police the world has not yet made so be of good heart, this maniac will be brought to ground and hard. Reid - his face. Stopping. Hooded eyes turn back to Best. BEST Only he wasn’t, was he? The man and his works abide. (beat) Friday. Unless you have something proves it’s another knifeman, this story turns over on Friday. REID - meeting the man’s eye. Holding it. Then he’s out the door. And BEST - turning back to the newsroom -- BEST (CONT’D) What are you lot gawking at!? Who d’you think you are, Reid? Come here to rattle me when you forget what I know of you... (beat)
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
21.
1/25
INT. LEMAN STREET - DAY 1/25 REID - deeply preoccupied, pushing in hard and head down as -- ARTHERTON (O.S.) Inspector... REID barely looks at the bespectacled Desk Sergeant. REID I know, Artherton. It’s taken care of. ARTHERTON It’s not that, sir... REID (turning on him) Then what? ARTHERTON - clear discomfort, eyebrows raised toward -- The stooped and haggard form of CHIEF INSPECTOR FREDERICK ABBERLINE (50s). He is not all that much older than REID, but he wears his years, the stresses of his professional life, with a weary and belligerent gloom. ARTHERTON Our past come to say how-do. Reid - squaring his shoulders. Moving to the man -- REID (CONT’D) Enough dancing, Detective. If there’s a diced up girl in this shop, she’s mine. INT. CORRIDORS - LEMAN STREET - MOMENTS LATER 1/26 Reid and Abberline - advancing through the inner tributaries of the station. UNIFORMED MEN stand aside as they go. Watch the deference observed for Abberline, as -- ABBERLINE (greeting them) Watts. Cartwright. (and) My greetings to Margaret. And your boys, Ted. Reid - that fury. Makes a mental note to have both men drawn across coals. Pushes on. Chief Inspector Abberline of the ‘Yard. What merits such a visit. ABBERLINE
1/26
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
22.
1/27
INT. CELL - LEMAN STREET - MOMENTS LATER 1/27 DRAKE and JACKSON - looking up as the door is thrown open to reveal REID and ABBERLINE -- ABBERLINE Out. DRAKE and JACKSON - their eyes flick to REID, who nods for them to leave. ABBERLINE - a particularly filthy look for JACKSON as they go. Turns his attention to the slab. This naked, dead woman. Scar now running sternum to pubis. ABBERLINE (CONT’D) How could you do this? REID (calm) You have complaints, you direct them to Commissioner Monro. H Division is my shop now. ABBERLINE (sudden violence) And this is my case! INT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE CELL - LEMAN STREET - CONTINUOUS 1/28 DRAKE and JACKSON - waiting outside; looks exchanged at the sudden outburst. INT. CELL - LEMAN STREET - CONTINUOUS 1/29 REID (still calm) I know how it looks, Fred. He shows him the photograph with the writing - DOWN ON WHORES - on the wall -- REID (CONT’D) But the graffito is Best’s contrivance, and we... ABBERLINE (across him; won’t have it) Look at her! Her eyes. The stars on her face. Her guts. REID Her abdomen was opened fresh, right
1/28
1/29
here, as part of the autopsy conducted by Homer Jackson. Another bark of outrage from ABBERLINE --
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
23.
ABBERLINE That Yankee clap-doctor! REID (rising in defence) The man was a US Army surgeon and a Pinkerton. EXT. CORRIDOR OUTSIDE CELL - LEMAN STREET - CONTINUOUS
1/30
1/30
DRAKE and JACKSON exchange looks again. ABBERLINE (O.S.) A Pinkerton? REID (O.S.) That’s right. ABBERLINE (O.S.)
A chartered mercenary with a badge. (beat) An ocean between him and his rightful manor...
JACKSON shrugs. Examines a fingernail. INT. CELL - LEMAN STREET - CONTINUOUS
1/31
1/31
ABBERLINE (CONT’D)
(bitter now) ... and you place his word above mine. But Reid won’t be shamed, shows him the body -- REID I think you’d have her Ripper above all else. Another bite, another chance at him. ABBERLINE And you would not? REID I would have my innards served to me cold if I thought it would show him to us but, Fred - what if this girl has been dressed as Jack for our eyes and, in our fervour, we fill the streets with uniform hunting him and miss the truth of it? Abberline - digesting this. Eyeing Reid -- REID Let me bring my mercenary back in and have him speak.
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
24.
1/32
INT. CELL - LEMAN STREET - DAY 1/32 ABBERLINE stands - stiff, disapproving. But he’s listening -- JACKSON
Fact he didn’t open her up that strikes as strange. Their guts - that’s always what he wanted the most. Open them up; see their viscera in his hands... ABBERLINE (counters)
Then he got caught short; as he was with Elizabeth Stride. Her throat was cut, the rest of her untouched. Reid - those photographs in his hands - the body; the alleyway with and without the painted words -- REID bringing her here. So long in fact that all blood had ceased to spill from her. See - the cuts about her face, the gash in the throat but no blood on the cobbles she was dragged across... JACKSON I doubt there’d have been much where they cut her either. ABBERLINE (a bitter scoff) When the woman’s throat was cut!? JACKSON The throat is a - post-mortem injury. Drake - following hard, trying to make sense of it -- DRAKE Then what did for her? JACKSON Asphyxia. Her hyoid bone is broken. Reid - a smile, a hope emerging -- REID She was strangled. And all else took place after. (beat) But if he was disturbed with this one, he went back to her. Or hid beside her. But whichever, he waited some few hours before
(MORE)
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
25.
REID (cont'd)
These stars and slits in her face - with Kelly and Eddowes, they were a postscript, an indulgence. (to Abberline) This girl - they’re top billing.
ABBERLINE - the logic may be wearing him down, but this is the obsession of his life and he’s not going to give it up as easy as all that. He has a long look for REID, then -- ABBERLINE This is theory. Not proof. (then) Get proof. If you cannot, I’ll pull rank and claim her. And with a curt nod for REID, he ignores the other two and heads for the door. REID - watching him go. A sadness certainly. But the bit is between his teeth now. He spins back to Jackson -- REID What else? Jackson - points out the photographs, the blank wall, the writing Down On Whores -- JACKSON (CONT’D) Whatever your friend Best’s connivery, she had been serviced. Recently. And vigorously. DRAKE So - she was a tart? JACKSON her - apparatus. By that age... even the more costly are - worn through. REID So, if she wasn’t a professional... JACKSON My guess - the lady taught fiddle. A scoffing hoot of disbelief from DRAKE. But JACKSON ignores him, focusses on REID, who’s intent, interested -- JACKSON (CONT’D) And she lived to the north. The new suburbs. I reckon not. I make her no younger than twenty-eight, and her skin, nailbeds... the essential health of
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
26.
DRAKE Has the Pinkerton been conferring with spirits!? REID Enough Sergeant. (to JACKSON) Go on. JACKSON - grateful for this, continues -- JACKSON Beneath her chin. See the moon-like
impression in the clavicle. Her fingers. The skin toughened and puckered by strings. (beat) And her hair - there are heavy deposits in it. Soot. REID (a smile) From the underground railway. Jackson - shucking his coat on. Ready to go. Allows himself this little moment of victory -- JACKSON Which arrives - Drake - from which direction? DRAKE - a bulldog who’s swallowed a wasp. INT. LEMAN STREET - BOOKING OFFICE - MOMENTS LATER Jackson - on his way out the door as Reid barks his instructions -- REID
1/32A
1/32A
Finchley, Highgate, Crouch End - missing persons reports. There won’t be too many lady violinists. DRAKE Just a warning, sir. It may take some time.
A sharp look from REID --
DRAKE (CONT’D) The Type Printing Telegraphs that you ordered... REID What of them? They’re faster. DRAKE So it’s said, sir..
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
26A.
Jackson - stopping at something. Turning back in and -- JACKSON Reid. Reid stops. Looks to him -- JACKSON You have a type-printer? Reid - a long look for him. Then jerks his head to follow.
OMITTED 1/33-34
1/33-34
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
27.
1/35
INT. LEMAN STREET - COMMUNICATIONS ROOM - DAY 1/35 The frankly terrified face of Constable Hobbs, his neck rigid in a bright, white brace, sat at the only desk in this white, pristine, silent space. A world away from the rest of the station. On the desk and in front of Hobbs - a shiny, new Telegraph. Entirely untouched. REID Hobbs. You were instructed, were you not? HOBBS Yes, Inspector. REID Well? HOBBS It’s a bit of a handful, sir. REID (a frustration) It’s the future! DRAKE - gentle, stepping in -- DRAKE The lad might come to terms with it sooner, sir, if you weren’t stood so close. REID - acknowledging this. Steps back. To JACKSON who’s greatly entertained by all this -- JACKSON That, Reid, is the human barrier to progress. Reid - not so amused. But catches sight of something. The sleeves of his coat. Dark ruby stains: dry blood. REID I’m home to change. (to Drake) And you’ll be needing rest too. Then - to JACKSON, a new thought -- REID (CONT’D)
Captain Jackson. The tonic you took from her thighs. Have you wondered if it might not be some kind of silver solution?
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
27A.
Jackson - a smile, his own curiosity suddenly fired by the question -- JACKSON From a peeper’s dry plate? Reid - a nod confirms it.
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
28.
1/36
EXT. REID HOME - DAY 1/36 Although not sure where we are yet. A tidy, modest home. And - O/S - the growing sounds of a man and woman in congress. INT. BEDROOM - REID HOME - DAY 1/37 The source of those sounds: a man and a woman who have barely bothered to undress. REID and a WOMAN we’ve not met before. She is younger than him, very pretty. His wife, EMILY. REID - his hands pressed down on her shoulders. Their eyes fixed on the other. You wouldn’t call it love-making. But it is intense and it is consensual. Much passes between them. INT. BEDROOM - REID HOME - DAY 1/38 REID - exhausted, sat now on the edge of the bed -- REID I’m home for a coat and shirt. EMILY - emerging from a bathroom. Gives him a look for that -- EMILY Not simply that. REID No. EMILY (matter of fact) And now you go back. REID It can’t be helped. EMILY - a nod. Moves to a linen cupboard, opens it. Selects from a pile of freshly pressed shirts. Hands one to him. REID (CONT’D) Thank you. REID - only now removing the one he’s still wearing -- REID (CONT’D) I’ll try to get word to you, if I’m to be gone [all night]... EMILY (across him) There’s no need, Edmund. REID I don’t want you to worry.
1/37
1/38
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
29.
And he throws the old shirt into a laundry basket, turns back to her in his vest. For us - the shocking and pitiful sight of his left shoulder. TERRIBLE BURNS. Mottled scars stretch from his upper arm to just beneath his neck. Emily, however, is unmoved -- EMILY And what is it you imagine I worry about? If there’s an answer to that question Reid is not prepared to offer it. Finds a weak smile for her. Turns from the room. INT. REID HOME - REID’S CHAMBER - DAY 1/39 REID - climbing another set of stairs, pushing into this attic room. His bolt-hole. A day bed that is much slept in. A lovingly constructed hot-air balloon swings from the ceiling. Books and bookshelves everywhere. Contemporary science and mathematics mainly. Posters advertising lectures at the Royal Society - among them see a recent one: Edward Muybridge’s - Studies in Animal Locomotion. The images of a horse captured in motion repeatedly; as if in flight. He moves to a mirrored cabinet. From within a bottle of some kind of oil is produced. A portion poured into his right hand, which - stood in front of his reflection - he proceeds to massage the oil into the shoulder joint. A movement that is practised and thorough. Then he’s moving to some kind of (clearly self-constructed) piece of MACHINERY that he has bolted to a wall. Reaches for a leather sling. Fits it about left elbow. Drawstrings are tightened. A metal chain makes its way through castors that are fitted to the wall and connected to a rotor. REID turns this with his right hand and the chain grasps. Ratchets his left arm up and away from his body. REID’S eyes - dead ahead. His right hand - turning the rotor. His left shoulder and arm - slowly extended to a normal - if extreme - range of motion for most but for REID... He sweats. Resists the intense pain. Cannot. And screams. INT. BEDROOM - REID HOME - CONTINUOUS 1/40 EMILY REID - combing mussed hair. Dressing herself after her exertions. Her reflection in a glass as she stands - head to foot in black now. Her mourning weeds. Taking herself in as another scream rips through her home.
1/39
1/40
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
30.
1/41
INT. DRAKE COTTAGE - DAY 2 1/41 A truly vacant space. The smallest of worker’s cottages. A kitchen, a bedroom, a small washing chamber. On the sideboard - a solitary cup and plate washed and upturned. DRAKE - washed, in front of a mirror. The bruises and cuts about his hands. Hands that turn to his uniform. A clothes- brush swept across it; brass buttons polished on his tunic; black boots polished. These tasks somehow completed, he turns to a small table. On it - a book. Check the title - Etiquette For The Modern Gentleman. How Manners Maketh The Man. It’s some kind of Victorian self-help manual. But DRAKE clearly takes it very seriously. The book is well-thumbed, sections underlined and ticked off. Then - from a pocket he’s placing a couple of crowns inside a small brass tin. Placing the tin back inside a bare cupboard. INT. 22 TENTER STREET / JACKSON’S ROOMS - DAY 2 1/41A Small. A bed. A basin. An examining table and a sooty overhead light. On the wall - a few entirely spurious and florid medical qualifications. Various solutions in jars. And Jackson on his knees, pulling storage crates out from underneath. Inside: various phials, all labelled - Dr. Jackson’s Topical Remedy . Not what he’s looking for. Pushes it aside. Reaches for another crate. Examines its contents -- JACKSON Got you. INT. LEMAN STREET - COMMUNICATIONS ROOM - DAY 2 1/42 The Type Printing Telegraph - clattering away. A strip of paper sprouting from it. Hands ripping it off. Moving to the door, throwing it open to the clamour of Leman Street and -- HOBBS (gleeful triumph) Send a runner for Mr. Reid. (beat) VARIOUS ARCHIVED IMAGES 1/43 The Victorian Steam Engine dream. Maps and machines and advertisements. A new age! EXT. FINCHLEY - DAY 2 1/44 The sounds of a railway engine departing. Smoke in the air perhaps. He’ll be taking the Metropolitan - Finchley’s missing a violinist.
1/41A
1/42
1/43
1/44
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
31.
And Reid and Drake - turning out on to this wide street. DRAKE It’s the call to send them underground that troubles me, sir. Seems unnatural. REID Well - they’re building more. More trains, digging more tunnels. It means the city can spread out - and we can stop living like rats. Drake - looking around him. The trees, the grass. Genteel, * peaceful, entirely to be desired. DRAKE What? And come live on these streets? REID Would you like that, Bennet? DRAKE (may as well walk on water) I’d like many things, sir. REID - a sad little smile for that. And on they walk. Until -- DRAKE Left here. Number 42. Left they turn. REID, noticing an impressive coach parked * opposite - two black horses, plumage, a coachman. On they go, * past small but tended front gardens. Down a pathway. To a * door that’s hanging open... REID - casting DRAKE a curious look, calling out -- REID Mr. Thwaites, sir? It’s the police. From inside - a clattering, a crash of something being turned over. REID and DRAKE on the move. I/E. THWAITES HOUSE - DAY 2 1/45 * A pair of boots - suspended mid-air, thrashing. A CHAIR * KICKED OVER beside them. Above - A MAN in his 30s (CHRISTIAN * THWAITES), hanged by rope from a high ceiling, his face puce * and distorted, CHOKING. Desperate hands clawing at the rope * about his throat. * REID - to the man in an instant, his shoulder forgotten. Thrusting the legs upwards. But - from the interior of the * house. Another NOISE, a CRASHING. *
1/45
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
32.
And Drake is racing through in an instant. Sees -- * The window bust open and two GREATCOATS sprinting away across * the front garden and boarding that coach, its door held open * by THIS MAN - 30s, aristocratic, saturnine. DONALDSON. He * meets Drake’s eye - the briefest moment. And the coach is * gone. * Drake - every instinct in him willing to give chase, but -- * REID (O.S.) * Drake! With me! I cannot hold him. * Thwarted for now, he turns back in. * Sees REID - grimacing with the weight of the struggling man -- * REID * Your knife! * Drake - producing a blade from the inside of his coat. Moves * to them. * OMITTED 1/46 *
1/46
1/47
OMITTED
1/47 *
1/48
INT. 22 TENTER STREET / JACKSON’S ROOMS - DAY 2 1/48 TIGHT ON: a few dog-eared photographs of women posed in their underwear. And Jackson - starting - as Long Susan barges in. LONG SUSAN What did he want? JACKSON Weren’t you taught to knock? LONG SUSAN The day you pay rent, I’ll knock. What did Reid want? (then) Is that maniac on the strut again? JACKSON Who? Reid? Susan shoots him contempt for the lame joke.
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
33.
JACKSON
(off this) Relax darlin’. You need to start frisking men for knives again - I’ll let you know.
And he hands her the photographs -- JACKSON
Now. Any of your girls get their picture taken?
SUSAN - checking them --
LONG SUSAN
Who’s asking?
JACKSON (shrugs; who does she think?)
Reid. Susan - her frustration at this -- LONG SUSAN
Jackson - that man could ruin us. JACKSON He wants my help. What am I to do? LONG SUSAN Tell him sorry, you’re indisposed? JACKSON Fine. But he’ll ask himself why. And Reid - he asks himself a
question, he’s liable to look for the answer. He goes looking for an answer, he won’t rest ‘til he gets one. You and me - we don’t want that. LONG SUSAN (hard) Then stop lavishing your care and attention on him. JACKSON - undeterred, taking her elbow, pulling her hard toward him -- JACKSON Coming here was your idea. You said it was the kind of lawless
shitswarm we could hide ourselves in and you were right. But darling - it’s our kind of shitswarm and, in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re not hiding anymore. We live here.
(MORE)
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
34.
JACKSON (cont'd)
(beat) That man wants to make a friend of
me, he’s welcome. ‘Cause if he ain’t a friend he’s an enemy; and an enemy like that we do not need. So please - which of your girls has a leaning to smut? SUSAN - a long look for him, weighing this up. Then she heads for the door, opens it and shouts -- LONG SUSAN Myrtle! Get Rose up here. INT. 22 TENTER STREET / JACKSON’S ROOMS - DAY 2 1/49 Tight on a photograph, printed on a postcard. A set of them and of significantly better quality than the previous. Hands and thumb flick through the cards, creating a moving image of sorts. Of ROSE - slowly undressing and disporting herself. JACKSON - looking up from the pictures. Looking at ROSE. Who’s brazen. Just looks at him right back. Cheeks him -- ROSE You can keep ‘em if you like. JACKSON I may. (beat) Where’d you get these done, Rose? ROSE - looking to LONG SUSAN; who nods her approval. INT. THWAITES HOUSE - DAY 2 1/50 REID and DRAKE help THWAITES into a chair. Sit next to him as * the man drinks water, recovers. * REID * Mr. Thwaites. Those men - did they * put you up there? A traumatised nod from THWAITES -- * DRAKE * Boarded a coach with some toff. * Trimmed whiskers. Black Moustache. * THWAITES, unsure now. *
1/49
1/50
Episode One - YELLOW AMENDS - 10/04/12
35.
REID
* *
Do you know him? The man Sergeant
Drake describes? THWAITES - entirely at a loss. Puts his head in his hands. Looks back up at the police now. His voice is weak -- THWAITES Were you here to talk about Maude? My wife? REID - on his feet, moving past a violin and music stand with sheet music open on it. Takes from beside it a framed photo, a very pretty woman in her late 20s -- REID Sir - you should prepare yourself. INT. THE STUDIO - DAY 2 1/51 A Roman chariot. Upon it - A WARRIOR, helmet, spear in her hand. Naked. A PHOTOGRAPHER takes her photograph. ROSE (O.S.) Boadiccea. Queen of the Britons. ROSE - leading JACKSON through this large, light warehouse space. The whole place hived off into perhaps ten different units. One of which encloses the WARRIOR. And next door - another YOUNG WOMAN. She’s sprawled in a chair with a three pronged hat, two pistols, her skirts raised for another PHOTOGRAPHER. ROSE (CONT’D) Highway-Woman. JACKSON nods appreciatively. Casts around - sees more girls and photographers in different units taking similar shots. Everywhere - dry plates, gelatin solutions, flash guns. Along the way - a PORNOGRAPHER operating a new printing press. Hundreds of those postcards being turned out from. He sees JACKSON. Stops. Suspicious, until -- ROSE (CONT’D) S’alright Perce. He’s with me. (cheek for JACKSON) Thinking of joining up, aren’t you? JACKSON gives her a smile for that. Turns back to the PORNOGRAPHER. Offers him a cigarette. Lights them both up. JACKSON Business good?
1/51
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