New York journalism in 1897 was in a pretty technicolor space. Newspapers, so long the grey, stolid, medium of the merchants and businessman, were instead being filled with lurid stories of murder, scandal and drunken debauchery and the public were loving it. As papers fought for readers in the streets, sometimes quite literally, the stories that filled the pages and the methods utilised on order to write the stories grew more and more sensational by the day. It all came to something of a boiling point in the high temperatures of Summer, when a body washed up in the East River, carved up and lacking a head. The investigation that followed was carried out just as much by the journalists as it was the police, as the lines between who was who became increasingly blurred.